Crate & Barrel, Japan Division: September 2011

It's September 17th and I'm sitting in Seattle, Washington, USA; already several adventures on and neglecting the close of this blog. But so it goes, and here comes the final post.

I returned to Colorado on July 28th, and in an alarmingly short time Japan felt extremely far away--farther even than the reality of the physical distance. My friend Kaitlyn felt the same way, and called it a wrinkle in time. I don't expect this to continue forever, but right now it actually takes some concentration to remember and truly feel that I lived in Kanazawa for two years.

This is not to imply that my time in Japan left me unmarked. Absolutely the opposite. I made friends I hope to keep for a lifetime; I saw an unbelievable amount of Japanese cultural places and events; I (and if you've talked to me at all in the last few months you've heard this because I cannot resist bragging about it) lost 35 pounds; I took karate classes from a man I could barely communicate with; I learned about myself as a teacher and about how really, kids are kids no matter where you are; I brought my parents to Asia for the first time which had a profound and positive effect on our relationship; I played in a band and paraglided and rode a bike and ate okonomiyaki, yakitori, sushi, curry rice, and bee larvae. The distance and perspective that the experience provided caused me to descend into a crushing existential, ecological, and occupational crisis and ascend into a completely new calling in life.

Somehow, I knew very early on that I would not stay in Japan for the long term; I loved it there, but I never felt like I really got much closer to being a part of the community. I miss the smooth cleanliness and safety of public life in Japan, but I love the overtly unique personalities and idiosyncrasies of America (in all its shambling disorder sometimes). I miss the sense of novelty attached to my presence anywhere, but I love the anonymity of walking down a street now. I miss the beautiful temples and shrines and the mountains and rice fields but I love the feeling that I am free to dig in and create something lasting here.

I just started smiling wryly to myself, because writing this post has made me miss Japan like crazy. The grass is always greener, I suppose. It is immensely important to remember that every cultural or geographical attribute has a positive and negative side, however.

I would very much like to return to Japan to visit, though I feel like it won't be for some time. Hopefully I can engage with the Japanese communities wherever I am and retain some connection to that life, because I value the culture and people very highly. I still catch myself bowing and apologizing far more than necessary; it feels nice, to be honest. If I can say in the future that I learned from and absorbed some of the best parts of Japanese culture to better synthesize a balance for myself, I will be quite proud.

But if there is one impression I could impart to everyone, it would be how little separates "us", Americans or "Westerners", from the Japanese. The cultural rules and gestures may differ, but it felt increasingly difficult and almost ludicrous to answer the question "what's the most surprising thing about Japan?"--a question posed both by my students and friends back home. I'd usually end up drawing a blank and muttering something about the food. Frustrating cultural differences cropped up often, to be sure--especially at work--but in remembering them all I can do is smile and feel a kinship.

Very near the end of my time in Japan, I had dinner with my supervisor and friend Mr. Kondo and his wife. I had specifically requested to meet her, and he was very happy about that. He said later that in 25 years of teaching no one had met his wife--none of his JETs or even any Japanese co-workers. That's in fact very common in Japan, where work and personal life are kept strictly separate. She was truly moved to meet me, and we had a great time.

Midway through the dinner, she wrote her favorite Japanese phrase on a small scrap of paper for me.

今日一日が生涯

kyou ichi nichi ga shougai

The last two characters mean "lifetime" or "all of existence". The translation is "Today, this one day, is my whole lifetime".

It's now my favorite Japanese phrase too.

One final note. I'd like to reprint my friend Dipika Soni's poem. She was a JET and then ended up staying for more than 7 years in Japan. She returned to England in May, and wrote this poem for the art journal I produced. It sums up my feelings now as well as anything, and as a bonus it's gorgeous:

I cannot gather enough

fallen petals

before the wind carries them away

Two hundred delicate memories

and more

Swept away as one cloud

Rained as ten thousand droplets

of something

Meaningless to anyone else

as they join

An inevitable river

Meeting every other thought

in the vast deep blue

Where I washed away those

Lurking dreams

Where I started anew

This is my experience of The East

that lives in me

Where only now

I begin to learn its secrets

In each blink of remembrance

In each discarded blossom

Caught in the wind.

Thank you all for reading. This is Crate & Barrel, Japan Division, signing off (I quite literally couldn't resist).

Yes, quite a significant gap between Parts 2 and 3. Being back in America has been much much busier than I anticipated. But here it is, my final (and shortest) post about Onagawa. I wanted to describe the story of how I became connected with Onagawa, and the project I did before going.

Stuck in Ishikawa, I wanted very much to do something to raise money to help Tohoku and the affected areas. Inspired by some of the other initiatives I saw going on, I collected all kinds of artwork from expats around the prefecture and combined it into a 50-page art journal. I then sold copies of the journal to people to raise money. Most of the people who read this blog regularly know about the journal, but you might not know about the interesting shift in my thinking that occurred in regards to where to donate the money I raised.

I had no real idea where the money would be going, but I had some vague sense that I would donate it to be used for buying blankets, food, and necessities. Perhaps the Red Cross, perhaps my favorite charity organization Mercy Corps.

Then, near the end of the production cycle for the journal, my friend Anna emailed following a weekend volunteer trip that she'd taken to Onagawa. Through her boyfriend Stephen, she met Fujinaka-sensei and heard about one of his many missions--to save two cherry trees.

Cherry trees carry enormous weight in Japanese culture, and they symbolize everything from rebirth to the samurai spirit to the transience of life. Two cherry trees near the center of Onagawa were almost destroyed by the tsunami but miraculously survived; Fujinaka and his friends had decided to save them and create a memorial park. Anna suggested that I donate the art journal money to that memorial park fund.

I liked the story of the trees, and I liked the connection of an art journal going to support something meant mainly as a metaphor, but I had reservations. Wasn't it too soon? Didn't people need food and supplies first, survival? Nonetheless, I talked more with Anna and was convinced that it was a worthy cause. Still, I didn't quite understand or get it in my gut. That changed immediately when I traveled through Onagawa and then stood in front of the trees.

The town is a trash heap, and its survivors live in the higher surrounding areas. In a very real way, there is no Onagawa anymore. What is it that makes a town a town? What binds a community? What is home, and why do we stay there? Onagawa needs rallying points, symbols to remind people about the town they loved and that rebirth is possible. Certainly, the cherry trees are not the only rallying point, and clearly people are taking inspiration from many other sources, but I felt immensely humbled and happy to have been part of that process. I think there is a time for food and supplies and utilitarian survival, and a time for the deeper meanings that make that survival worthwhile.