Don't Put Chopsticks In Your Hair

Snow Man

2012-01-16T21:24:00.000-08:00

In the United States, snow man is made typically with three snow balls, like such:

In Japan, snow man is typically made with two snow balls, like such:

I have to say, perhaps this stemmed from our body types and find it kind of amusing.

Also, kids in the U.S. draw yellow sun:

Kids in Japan draw red sun:

My hybrid child draws it with a yellow crayon even though she goes to a Japanese preschool.

Go figure.

Awesome

2012-01-09T14:34:00.000-08:00

On the way to Santa Barbara airport, we blew past this lovely little hut. I screamed at my husband to stop and turn around the car so I can take a picture.

That's right. It says, "Orient Laundry." Love that Chop Suey font. Totally reminds me of the Chinese characters from Thoroughly Modern Millie who kidnaps orphan ladies, put them in the laundry hamper and sell them to slavery. Awesome.

Sadly, this joint is closed. Otherwise, I would commute from Seattle to get my laundry done here.

Restart

2012-01-01T00:17:00.000-08:00

In my culture, people who are in mourning are not supposed to say "Happy New Year." New year's cards is are big tradition (like Christmas cards here), but if you lose a family member, you are supposed to send out "I'm in mourning" announcements prior to the timing of New Year's cards so that people won't send you anything that indicates celebration. I am in that group this year.

2011 was difficult. From the earthquake to my mother's death, it was a year that challenged my mental and physical strength in stress, concern, grief, obligations, and sleepless nights. But because of that it was a year that I also experienced a lot of love in my marriage, my child, friendship and community. It was a year of great loss and confirmation that I am blessed.

So as I look forward to 2012, the year of the dragon, I hope to nurture the connection I established with people and slowly regain my strength to grow bigger and stronger for the next challenge.

I wish you a good, healthy, peaceful year.

At Least They Thought Of Us (?)

2011-12-29T22:02:00.000-08:00

Just after Christmas, we were at a Target and my husband spotted this lovely ornament:

I don't even know where to start. It's like a tiny character from Mikado. I would call this "an Oriental ornament." Or perhaps, "Orinament." We should have bought it.

Thank you, Target.

Japanese Funerals in Films

2011-12-07T15:11:00.000-08:00

Because my world has been immersed in this, I thought I'd extend the sharing of my culture around funerals. There are two films that are excellent (I think) on the topic of funerals in Japan. One is Departures, which won the academy award in the foreign language film category in 2009:

It's a beautiful film about a old traditional ritual of preparing the deceased for their departures. It's quiet, powerful and deeply touching.

Then there is The Funeral.

It is one of Juzo Itami's most famous films, in which a family prepares for a funeral and encounters many drama in the process. Unlike Departures, it's a comedy and it takes many weird turns but shows all sides of Japanese funeral and is thoroughly amusing.

Later day, I shall do a post about other Japanese films I feel people should see, but for now, I'll start with what is on my mind.

Aftermath

2011-11-22T21:40:00.000-08:00

Two days after the funeral, my husband had to fly back to the States. After much discussion, we decided that our daughter should stay with me since I was just away from her. We felt that she could have more time with her cousins and it would do all of us, especially my father, some good to have her around.

From the time I got there until after the funeral, I didn't sleep right. I'm certain multiple jet lags did not help the matter, but even with medication, I could not stay asleep for more than 5 hours and when I tried to lie down during the day, I just ended up spending that time crying and not sleeping. My body felt like it was someone else's and I ached and couldn't focus. But then about about three days after the funeral, and the day after my husband left, I started to sleep. I no longer needed any medication and my body was finally letting me have some rest. Having my daughter sleeping next to me was a huge help and because of that, my days were beginning to have some clarity. And what I was facing was this daunting task of picking up the pieces.

When someone close to you passes away, you are left with their stuff. The house looked like my mother was still in the hospital and it was impossible to even know what to do and where to begin. I walked around the house several times to try to put my mind around this and couldn't start. Then as I do at work when I feel stressed, I narrowed down the task to something manageable for the next 10 days that I was going to be there with a 4 year old. I tried to look around and think what would be the hardest thing to live with for my father. To me, those were things that indicated the strongest presence of my mother. Her medical supplies, her purse, her makeup on the vanity, and her toiletries in the bathroom. Those objects that showed everyday routine would be hardest for me to deal with and see as a companion, so I decided to take care of those.

I first went through the things that were brought back from the hospital. I emptied two paper bags of her things, went through her purse, and put things away for the time being. I went to the small foldable table in her bedroom that she set up to hold all of her medical supplies and divided them into categories of things and bagged them. My father and I discussed contacting the nursing care facility and see if they would take any of these items. I gathered all of her medication from the kitchen where she kept them and bagged them up. This part felt fairly good to do. She was no longer sick. She didn't need them. But at the same time, I saw her efforts of trying to get better and make some sort of routine by the way she had things organized. I was there--just a couple of weeks before and helped her with these routine. Now she was dead.

I went into my parents' walk-in closet and took down everything of my mother's that was hanging on this rolling rack by the ironing board--a set of clothes that was just freshly ironed and ready to wear. I took some that I thought I could use and put the rest away in the closet, out of sight. I then went through some of her casual clothes and bagged four shopping bags for our Filipino house cleaner who has been working for my parents for over 10 years and adored my mother. I couldn't get through all of it. It was starting to feel overwhelming. So I stopped there. My father kept saying, "you don't have to do it all now. Just do a little bit at a time every time you come." The things I kept walking by were the clothes I had just purchased for her. She asked me to go out on an errand to pick up some things she needed. She wore a couple of those items while I was still there but there were some things still in a package with price tags on. I would walk by the entry way a hundred times a day and catch a small shelf full of my mother's shoes and kept thinking, "I gotta put those away" because they looked like she would just use them any minute.

I kept spotting things that I bought and sent to her this year. A portable DVD player with some movies, a lap table with clip-on reading light, small photo album full of photos of my daughter. That was all I could do from far away. Buy things to cheer her up and send them to her. But all of it was left behind and my efforts seemed ineffective now because she died anyway. "She was using those things you sent her, you know" my dad would tell me. I felt foolish anyway. It was a confusing process. I didn't want to put any efforts into forgetting her, but I wanted to put away things that looked like she was still alive--I wanted her memories to remain for my father, but not her ghost. I somehow found that line in my own way and chipped away every day but I would not last more than 30 minutes at a time before I felt exhausted.

By far the most challenging was my mother's vanity. A very personal space where she sat everyday for just few minutes when she was well to fix her hair and apply make up. She had everything organized just so in small boxes. I sat for a minute taking the whole thing in. There were many items that looked familiar from my childhood, like her gold compact that has a place for a lipstick at the hinges on the outside. I remember helping her hunt down the correct size lipstick to fit it once for hours. When she took me to Europe, we went through Moscow and the immigration officer was very suspicious of this item and had her open it and close it and take out the lipstick many times. I was 10. So much memory packed in this one small item. This was difficult. I almost felt nauseous. But it had to be done. I started bagging up things that can't really be used by anyone, then sorted things that could be used, things that would be a memento (like the compact), and things that were brand new. I went fast and furious because I knew that if I paused at any moment, I would have a breakdown. I got everything on the surface off, then I closed the tri-fold mirror, which had never been closed since this piece of furniture was purchased. I knew there were more things in the cabinets below but they were out of sight. I needed to save those for later. I then went into the bathroom and did the same thing and cleared the counter and shower of all things that belonged to my mother; shampoo, lotion, shower cap, facial soap, and a small glass bottle full of Q-tips. It was sad to see empty towel racks, but it would have been more odd to have towels there so I left it.

As we were going through our week, my father expressed his concern for being alone downstairs in the evenings. Not so much for company but more for something happening in the middle of the night. My brother and I went to a Home Depot type of store and purchased a buzzer that he can ring in case of an emergency that will be heard upstairs. We placed the button next to his bed. Then we had a thought that perhaps my middle niece should move downstairs to sleep. She was the one who helped my mother when she was home from the hospital, carrying down dinner from upstairs, set it up, eat with my parents, clean up and take everything back up. She is 16 and yet is having to share a room on a bunk bed with her 10 year old sister so we thought she would enjoy a room of her own. My mother's office had a sofa bed--and is located right next to the master bedroom so the decision was made to move her down. As I touched on in my previous post, my mother worked. In fact, her last cell phone entry was work related on the day she died. She has piles of paper and books everywhere. I purchased some filing boxes and boxed up some books to clear some space for my niece. During that process I found a note book that she kept from when I was in preschool and she took a parenting class with very through and detailed notes. I put that aside for me to keep and read. I packed about 7 boxes and the space looked more accommodating. My father and I moved some furniture around--some into his bedroom. We stood in the doorway looking at the rest of the stuff and he said, "It's a lot of work, isn't it--when people die." I took a pause then said," Yes it is. Please start throwing things out now." He chuckled. I glared.

When I couldn't deal with her belongings, I kept myself busy with another task, which was to take care of the nearly 40 flower arrangements that were sent to the house. They were placed strategically throughout the house and some of them were starting to wilt and die. Everyday, I would go around the house plucking out the dead ones and watering the rest. Every 2 or 3 days, I would consolidate. This was as skill I learned from my mother who loved flowers. If someone gave her flowers, she would change and add water everyday and trim the stems and rearrange if some died until the very last flower was just floating in a glass of water. When she was ill, this was a task she asked me to do everyday with flowers she received at the hospital. I felt as if she would find a way to nag me if I didn't to that--also, it's sad to be surrounded with dying flowers. That is all you need. What was comical was the amount of Oasis (the hard, green foam) and little baskets that were beginning to pile up outside the kitchen door. As Japan has very strict garbage codes, we had to look up how to throw them away. I probably could have built a castle with them for my daughter. People also give you gift certificates to florists in place of flowers so that when all of them die, you can use those to purchase flowers to place in her shrine at home. My father has a big stack to which he could probably have some sort of floral arrangement for the rest of his life.

The day before I was to return to the States, we were having a private mass given by a priest who has known our family closely since I was a child. We decided not to wear all black for that but my two older nieces felt they did not have adequate clothing for the occasion. I told them to come right down stairs to go through my mother clothes to see if they could find something. You might wonder what an 84 year old woman had in her closet that a 19 and 16 year old would find interesting to wear. Well, let me tell you that she was stylish. She had impeccable taste in clothes that could be worn by any generation. She often sent me clothing and was spot on with what looked good on me and what I liked. She gave me some beautiful clothes of hers from the '40s and '50s that she used to wear throughout my adulthood and those are the clothes I get the most compliments on. She designed and made several formal clothes I wore to my piano recitals and weddings as a flower girl. So she had things that could be of use to these two girls. We spent about two hours, digging through her things and trying them on. We had some laughs and I told them to come down anytime and take what they want. They said "OK-we'll borrow these." I said "Take to keep. Not to borrow. Your grandma would want you to have them."

Even if it's your mom, it's still strange to go through her things and just take. I felt like I was stealing. There was this set of designer clothes that someone sent to her that she felt she may not have the occasion to wear anymore. When I was visiting in September she said, "Look through those and take anything you want." So I started looking and setting some aside. She saw what I was taking and said "Oh, wait, maybe not that one." Then after about 10 minutes of watching me, she said, "I take that back. Let me go through it and get back to you." I made fun of her lightly and backed off. Now I have those clothes. She wanted to wear them. She thought maybe she'll get to. I had mixed feelings about taking them, but I thought better to wear them on her behalf than let them hang in the closet.

The very last thing I took was my mother's apron which was hanging in the kitchen. I walked by it every day and my heart would hurt. Even though my mother was unable to cook much of this year, she wore her apron when she ate. Japanese moms wear aprons. It is their uniform at home. And it hang there being of no use to anyone anymore. So I just grabbed it and put it in my suitcase as if to say, "You're coming with me."

I got on the flight back to the States with my daughter, two and a half weeks after arriving. The priest who gave us the private mass asked me "Do you say, 'I'm going to Seattle' or 'I'm going back to Seattle?'" I thought for a moment and I said, "I think I say 'I'm going back' both ways."

After all that ordeal, my daughter came down with the stomach flu on the flight, but somehow I handled it all without too much panic. It felt challenging but totally manageable. I suppose I was entering the phase where everything seems different than it usually does. I returned to work three days later to an office full of cards and flowers. I was met with many long hugs without any words or "Welcome back," "We've missed you so much," and "I'm so sorry about your mother." Some people just dropped off food. One donated money in my mother's name to the theatre where I work. I was grateful and so touched that people took that time to do those things. I was reminded that I also had a family in my friends here.

After being back for almost a month, I've finally stopped crying everyday but am struck about every other hour by the fact that I don't have a mother anymore. It's easy to almost forget because my daily routine had not involved my mother in so long. I am not certain if the distance is helping or hurting the grieving process but it's the way I'm going to have to work through. I call my father frequently. And I wear something of my mother's everyday to have her with me. I plan to go back in the spring and next fall--at her one year anniversary--and throw a small party to invite my female relatives and friends to divide the rest of her belongings. And we will have a good time.

My mother on her wedding day, 1959
wearing a dress designed by her mother.

Hatched, Matched, and Dispatched

2011-10-30T22:57:00.000-07:00

I had a crash course in Japanese funereal traditions (Japanese Catholic, that is) through my mother’s funeral. My father and brother hired a well-known funeral home that had worked with the church where we wished to have my mother’s service. Catholic or not, in Japan, people have two services: a wake and a funeral. The wake is a shorter service in the evening so that people who work during the day can come and pay their respects. The funeral is during the day, typically the day after the wake, and is more of a formal service. But because most people have work, the wake tends to get bigger attendance. Then there is the cremation. Everyone is cremated in Japan. But there is a service that occurs at the cremation place that involves families and close friends also—like a burial. It is part of the ritual. Deceased are then place in a grave after 49 days, if you are Buddhist, or whenever you feel ready, if you are Catholic. After that, most people create a small shrine in their home to pray for the deceased and make food and flower offerings to remember them.

In between receiving flowers and visitors, we were having meetings and making list of things that had to be done. Through a fog of double jet-lag, I found a drawer full of old photos of my mother and pulled some, which my brother scanned and made into a photo book for people to see. My sister-in-law went through five (yes, five) of my mother’s address books and notified the people in them, which took about three full days. She also walked to neighbors’ homes to let them know that they might see some activities. My brother ran numbers and went over the schedule with the funeral director and figured out who needed food and car service when and to where. And my father, who was still in shock, was making final calls on these decisions with us and answering the phone which seemed to ring off the hook. I’m certain it’s the kind of chaos people experience around the world in preparing for a funeral where you are going from feeling in control while making decisions to getting the wind knocked out of you in between when you are reminded why you are making those decisions. In our case, it seemed extra strange that my mother, who was always in charge of big events, was not there. Stupid to say, but it’s true. I felt suddenly in charge of all decisions that required the female touch like the colors of the flowers at the church.

My first unexpected emotional moment came when I’ve requested to have “Ave Maria” played during the service since my mother loved it. We were told that we could either speak to the organist or play a CD and just in the midst of trying to decide, a phone call came in from a woman who is a professional cellist whom my mother supported. She called to offer to play, along with her husband who is a violinist from Finland. They just happened to be in the country when this news came and they wanted to do something. When my brother told me, I welled up. I’m not sure why that particular thing hit me but I felt like my mother sent them to me as if to help put some professional touches on her funeral. The time frame of planning a funeral can be tight at times, but in our case, there was almost a week from the day that she died until the wake which was helpful in digesting things and thinking of these kinds of small touches.

My mother dedicated her life to helping people. She belonged to number of organizations such as College Women’s Association of Japan (CWAJ) and Japan America Women’s Club (JAWC) who supported artists and contributed to other international relations. And because of that, she has worked with the Royal Family quite frequently in coordinating their appearances for benefits and other events. She had a close relationship with the Empress, the Crown Princess, and Princess Akishino (the bride of the second born son of the Emperor) for years. Two days after her death, flowers were sent from the Empress and Princess Akishino to our home from the palace as well as a message from the Crown Princess which was sent over the phone through the head of the house. The day that most of us were running errands and my father and my niece were home to receive visitors, a phone call came in. It was the palace. The lady said, “Princess Akishino will be stopping by to pay respects. She should be there in about 10 minutes.” In exactly 10 minutes from the time my father hang up the phone, the door bell rang and when he opened the door, Princess Akishino was standing there alone. To be discreet, she had come with just her driver in a regular car and had the him wait across the street. She spent about 15 minutes by my mother’s casket, spoke to my father and my niece and ran across the street to hop back in the car. My father and my niece stood there for a minute trying to figure out what just happened. This is also the same princess who paid a visit to my mother in the hospital in disguise and sent sandwiches and soup to our house after my mother’s passing. We always knew my mother was a big shot, but it was starting to seep in just how big. Did I mention we received about 40 flower arrangements from the likes of her childhood friends, colleagues, a well-known traditional Japanese musician, a top ballet dancer, Mr. and Mrs. Toyota (as in “who could ask for anything more?”), and the Ambassador of Peru? Emails and telegrams were pouring in from around the globe and we couldn’t help but start laughing every time the door bell rang. It was surreal.

On the day of the wake, a team of people flooded our house. The makeup artist from before came to put final touches on my mother with my approval, they cleared the room of flowers to make way for the casket to get loaded onto a vehicle, then rearranged the room with a space for an altar. We were all dressed in our funereal attire (which for men is black suits with black ties, and for women is black dress/suit, often with a string of pearls ) to send her out of her beloved home for the last time. We stood out front and watched the casket get carried and loaded by formally dressed men and got into various cars to church. My father sat in the passenger seat of the hearse, me in the second row next to the casket and my uncle, my mother’s only living sibling, sat behind me with a large framed photo of her (which is also something we do culturally). My brother drove his own car with his kids and my aunt, and my sister in law followed with my father’s car with my husband and my daughter.

The ride to the church was quiet. I was thinking about this being our last ride through Tokyo together and while that was unbelievably sad, I also felt ready to send her off. I wore my mother’s pearls and felt honored to be in the company of two men who adored her. Once at church, we were first invited into a tiny chapel where a Jesuit Brother who we’ve known for ages gave us all a blessing and a prayer. Then we went up to a waiting room to start receiving visitors. As we entered the room, a group of people rose and bowed deeply to my brother who was leading the way. They were all people who work for him at IBM who his assistant arranged to come and help at the reception desk out front. It is customary for people to write their names, addresses, and the relationship to the deceased as they arrive so that the families can track who came. It also typical for people to bring monetary gifts, but in our case, my father announced ahead of time that we are not accepting any money. For all this, you need several people running the table. After speaking briefly with my brother, they scattered to take their posts. My brother looked like a mob boss. Fitting for the son of a big shot, I suppose.

As people filed in, the funeral home staff (with their ear pieces like secret service) came in and told my father, brother, and I to get up stairs to a private room to receive yet another flower arrangement from the Palace. Royalty don’t just wire a florist to do these things, they send an official messenger to deliver it personally and you have to be there to receive it. We waited and there was a knock on the door. The staff opened it and announced the first messenger. A young man, dressed in a morning coat and pin striped pants, appeared with a beautiful Japanese chrysanthemum arrangement in hand and said something like, “Her Highness, the Empress graciously offers you this arrangement for Shigeko Katano. She sends her deepest sympathies.” We bowed deeply and my father said, “We humbly accept the gift.” And took it. The messenger then opened up a beautiful fabric pouch and pulled out a long marker with her title written on it with calligraphy to be displayed with the flowers and handed it to us. After he disappeared, another messenger—who was in a regular suit, because his rank is lower—delivered another arrangement, but from Princess Akishino. A similar message was delivered and we accepted. These flowers were placed to frame my mother’s casket in the church. The funeral director said he has rarely seen anyone who received flowers from the palace twice. “Medals of honor for her hard work,” my brother said.

The view of the altar. You can see the mums from the palace on clear pedestals. The one of the right is the Empress' flowers.

We went into the cathedral to take our places in the front pew then the service began. A Japanese Catholic wake is not a full mass but has similar components. There are scripture readings and a sermon and prayers by a priest. The priest (who is Argentinean) was someone who visited my mother two weeks before at her request because she felt depressed. They had a good talk , as she said to me, and he promised he would come back to see her again. And because of this, his sermon was very personal. My oldest and youngest nieces served the mass (as they often do) which was a suggestion by the priest. My middle niece, who was the closest to my mother and helped to take care of her opted out because she did not think she could contain herself—and she was right. During the opening hymn, incense was lit and holy water was pelted in that stirring, Catholic pomp and circumstance and I, a non practicing Catholic, got suddenly overwhelmed and felt a physical feeling I’ve never felt before. Her casket was surrounded by white and lavender flowers framed by two of her angels in the church where she was married and it was stunning. She would have approved.

My brother doing a reading with his daughters on his sides

At the end of the ceremony, each person brings up a flower prepared by the church to the table placed in front of the casket and takes a moment. They then come around to the back of the church and pay respects to the family in a receiving line. The immediate family is to stand there and bow deeply to each and every person who passes by to thank them for coming. There were 465 people attending that night. That is how many times we bowed. There were many familiar faces I’ve not seen in a long time, including some of my classmates from grade school, their mothers, my kindergarten teachers, and cousins. Many were people I did not know personally but they were kind enough to say “I’ve heard so much about you from your mother” or “She was so proud of you.” Many also asked with great concern to please take good care of my father. It was a long night of emotions I’ve not felt but I put on a professional face to try to represent my mother well.

Us three

The funeral ceremony the next day was similar except that it was a full mass this time with four priests. There was a eulogy delivered by an American woman who is the president of JAWC with a translator—I found it fitting that my mother got a bilingual eulogy. In Japan, eulogies are delivered by a close relative or friend, and never by a family member. This stems from an old cultural modesty that one does not speak of their family fondly to outside people. Also, typically, eulogies are delivered as a letter to the deceased as opposed to it being a speech about them to the congregation. I found it impressive that the funeral director was well aware of this cultural difference and when he heard that it was going to be delivered by an American, he quickly made a decision to place her at a lectern as opposed to a spot facing the casket.

After another long receiving line (of about 300 people this time), we were gathered around the casket with just relatives and close friends and were told to place flowers in it and things we wanted to give to her. We had selected a couple of books my father knew she loved, photos of people she adored, some sheet music of songs she taught to her English students I found in her teaching material, a drawing from my daughter she liked, and a small stuffed rabbit (as she was born – and died – in the year of rabbit and owned a huge collection of rabbit things). We placed those items in and the people placed flower after flower in the casket until you could only see her face. They then closed the lid, and asked some male members of the family to help roll out the casket in a procession. My father led the way with the framed photo in his arms, then the casket accompanied by my brother, my uncle, my male cousins and other close friends. I walked behind the casket and everyone else followed. As the front doors to the church opened, the light poured in and I could see my father in a silhouette and when I got outside, I was astonished to see most of the 300 people lined up across the way to send my mother off. She was loaded into a hearse with my father in the passenger seat, then the rest of us got in hired cars (all in accordance to the Excel spread sheet made by my brother) to go to the cremation house.

My father leading the way

This was the part I was dreading to be honest. I have never been to a cremation ceremony and I was asking my brother what to expect so I could prepare myself. We arrived at this beautiful building with all marble interior and were escorted into a large room. Four men in uniform and hats greeted us and asked us to gather around the casket. They removed the lid for the last time and the priest who accompanied us from the church gave his final blessing. Then the funeral director asked us to take a moment to say good bye. People looked in and said few things to my mother—I heard my uncle say to her, “Thank you for the great memories. I’ll see you again.” I blew her a kiss and thanked her, and my daughter waved good bye. The uniformed men slowly closed the lid and we lined up behind the casket in front of what looked like the door of an old freight elevator which was the crematory oven. You could hear the low hum of the fire and all four men turned towards us, took their hats off and opened the door. One of them turned to us and said “This is your final farewell” and they slid her casket in, bowed, and closed the door. The man reached over an pushed a button and that was that. We stood, took a moment of silence, and were led to a waiting room.

It’s an odd thing to be sitting in a room with drinks and light snacks while waiting for your mother to be cremated. But we all chatted fondly about her and let out some smiles and laughs. About an hour later, the funeral director came to get us and we headed down to the same room. The door of the oven opened up and they pulled out the tray. As my brother described to me, there were ashes and just a small pile of bones that looked like sea shells left. In Japan, we cremate just so that there are some remains. The men ceremoniously gathered around the tray and placed the bones in a large steel box and moved it over to a table. We were then asked to come up, two at a time and using long chopsticks, pick up one bone and place it in an urn. This is why it is considered bad form to pass a piece of food from one chopstick to another at a table. My immediate family (including my 10 year old niece), my uncles, aunts, cousins and some of my mother’s closest friends all picked up pieces of her and placed her gently to rest. My delicate American husband and my daughter stayed in the waiting room during this part of the ceremony. The man then went through what he had set aside. First, he picked up a small bone that was her Adam’s apple—it’s called Nodo Botoke (throat Buddha) in Japanese because for men, it actually look like a Buddha with his hands in prayer position. Then he picked up what was left of her lower jaw, then her left ear, right ear, then finally part of her skull. He gently placed all of these pieces on top as if to recreate her face a bit and asked for her glasses that we held onto. As he opened them up and placed them in there, a lens popped out. We all paused for a second, looked at each other, and told him to just put them in there as is. “That was totally Mom, winking at us,” my brother said later. It sounds grotesque but it was oddly peaceful and interesting. This ritual really let you know that this person is gone and is now down to these few pieces of bones. And doing this as a family gives you a kind of a bond you can’t get through anything else. The lid to the urn was closed respectfully, then it was placed in a black box with a white cross on it for my father to carry. And it was over.

We then went to a restaurant where we had reserved a private room (you don’t want to just walk into a place wearing all black and carrying someone’s remains). The restaurant prepared “kage-zen” which is a meal to offer to the dead (which we are also allowed to eat at the end) and we placed it in front of my mother’s photo. It was a nice meal. My father seemed relieved that all that was behind him. It was good to see him giggling with his kid brother and sister. I felt exhausted, drained, and relieved also.

Ma and her food, of which my middle niece ate every bite so as not to make her cringe from being wasteful.

I learned a great deal that funereal ritual, no matter what the culture, is constructed with people’s care and thoughts and experience. It is the hardest ritual to go through, and yet within it, there are things to help you give closure, comfort, and family bond. I have this experience under my belt now. And what’s most important, we all learned that my mother was a giant who touched so many people so profoundly—that was a gift.

When I was getting married, my mother said to me and my husband that there are three major events in one’s life: when you are hatched, matched, and dispatched. She told us that since the first and the last were out of our hands, we must choose very carefully as to who we married. One of her many proverbs. My husband blurted this phrase out, after she was dispatched, and we both giggled for a second.

And Just Like That...

2011-10-08T14:35:00.000-07:00

5 days after I left my mother, she passed away at age 84.

I received a phone call from my brother on Saturday night, the day after I came back to the States, saying my mother was back in the hospital. She had severe pain in her stomach and woke up my father. He called the home-visit nurse and the doctor and they accompanied her to the hospital. The pain was so terrible my mother, who never complains and can endure a lot, was near tears. They administered a strong dose of pain killer to make her comfortable, which eventually helped her to sleep. I called and talked to my dad who said she was actually doing pretty well yesterday--ate all three meals and even took a short walk outside with him. He sounded exhausted and concerned in a way that he was not previously.

The next 4 days were hell. I talked to my dad and my brother everyday to hear updates, but it did not seem like things were moving in a direction we wanted. In one phone conversation my father said, "I don't know she will be able to come home." I had no words. My brother was still optimistic and we agreed that he should see the doctor with my dad and ask some questions including about going to a larger research hospital. I couldn't shake the bad feeling and every time I got in my car, I broke down crying. I wanted to be there. But at that moment, it seemed better to sit and see if things would improve especially because I had just returned from being away from my daughter for 10 days.

Her condition was not improving but my mother's pain got under control enough for her to talk and visit with my dad and my brother. On Tuesday, my dad spent all afternoon with her, chatting and visiting, and my brother was able to stop by for about 15 minutes before visiting hours were over. On Wednesday morning, the doctor called my dad and asked if they could meet and my dad called my brother to see if he could join them. I got my first phone call of that day that my brother was headed there and when he found out what was going on, he was going to call me back. I spent the next two hours in complete stress. They went in and had a talk with the doctor who explained that they had exhausted their resources and her condition was deteriorating. She was facing brand new issues this time around and the blockage in her intestines, which they were able to remove in her previous visits, was not moving at all. They suspected it was starting to fall apart inside her and putting a lot of pressure on other organs. My dad requested that they do everything they can to make her comfortable and asked how long she had. The doctor said hard to say but the way things are going, she could last for a few days. maybe a week, but she could go as early as that night.

After that meeting, they pondered going into my mom's room--and this is the decision they are still regretting--but they decided if the two of them went together in the middle of the day on a week day, my mom would suspect the worst so they went to grab a quick lunch at nearby place and my dad was going back to see Mom, and my brother was going to go back to his office and stop by later--their normal visiting times. But as they were eating, the phone rang. The nurse said my mother's heart was weakening and they should rush over.

They went in and were stunned to see that my mom was no longer conscious, though her eyes were slightly open. My brother said it was as if all other parts of her body had failed except for her heart, which was working so hard to keep pumping. The second phone call came in from my brother then. He told me to make arrangements to come if possible. Neither one of us thought I'd make it but it was important to make the effort just in case. My brother told two of my nieces (19 and 15) who were home to come right over (the hospital is only about 20 minutes away). He could not get a hold of his wife who was at work and my youngest niece was at school, but the 4 of them gathered. My dad and my brother each took my mother's hands and within an hour, she drew her last breath. And that was my third phone call.

I hang up the phone and cried so hard that my daughter was startled. I don't remember how I packed, but I did with assistance from my husband and I got on the computer to take care of some work related emails--mostly to give myself something to do. I climbed into bed at 3:00 am, but did not sleep a wink. We went to the airport one more time, and though my husband and daughter were following me the next day, it was difficult to part from them. I had no control over my tears while waiting to get on the flight and my entire body hurt from crying all night.

I had minor anxiety attacks during the ten hour flight, which I never had before. I couldn't concentrate and it the flight took forever. I got to Tokyo and my brother greeted me at the airport. We had a long good talk on the way in. Though the day I arrived was warm and sunny, my brother said it was cold and pouring rain the day before. He said it was "Namida Ame," rain of tears.

In Japan, when people die, they come home first, if you have the space to accommodate. My nieces ran home to grab some clothes for my mother and the hospital nurse dressed her and put a little make up on her. As she was being wheeled out, the entire third floor nursing staff (about twenty five of them) who had taken care of my mother all year came out to bid her farewell. My mother got to know them well and knew every single one of their names. The home visit nurses came to help her body into the vehicle and she was brought home that afternoon. She was laid in the guest room.

Because we don't embalm, the body is laid on a futon with dry ice around the it under the blanket and you crank the air conditioning in the room. Once the body is in a casket, they hide some more dry ice. There is a window that you can open to view her face, but it has a clear cover to keep the cold in to preserve the body. It may sound creepy, but it's actually very tastefully done.

When I got there, she had been there only for about 24 hours. My brother took me to her and said, "Look Mom, Mimi came back for you." I held my breath and saw her face. She looked peaceful. Like she was sleeping, with absolutely no pain. And she looked young. And though she was so cold, I gave her a kiss on her forehead.

The next several days were busy. The funeral director and two of his staff came to meet with us to talk logistics and while we did that, a young lady took care of cleaning my mother's body one last time and dressed her in more formal and appropriate clothes, which my brother requested I choose. My mother worked in a wide variety of very high-profile international women's volunteer organizations that raised funds for various causes. She always wore suits in her official duties so her closet was full of them. I went through each and every one and pulled out one that was my favorite, the one we bought together a long time ago at Lord & Taylor in Boston. She always looked good in it. I felt she should look her best for her departure.

The young woman came in to ask how she should tie the scarf so I went in and helped. Then she asked if there was a lipstick she should use so I went and grabbed one from my mother's makeup. I grabbed a blush as well. I sat next to her as she applied my mother's make up and she asked at every step if Mom looked right. She was very gentle and kind in her demeanor and I felt like this was my last daughterly duty I could do for my mom. The woman said, "She had such beautiful skin."

When it was done, she looked good. They then lifted her up with a white cloth and placed her in the casket and made an altar with a large photo (which my brother and father chose the night she died), a cross, and candles. Then the flower arranger came and arranged about 25 of the flower arrangements (including ones from royalty--but more on that another time) that had already arrived around the casket. The room looked beautiful.

Then the visitors started pouring in. Before the wake and the funeral (especially because we decided not to rush the process), people who wish to spend a private moment with my mother paid visits to come view her. We serve tea to each party and sit and chat for a bit. Some really good childhood friends of mine came, some of her students (she also taught English privately for about 60 years), family and old friends. While conversation often repeated, it was comforting to be with people who loved my mother and to have them cry with us.

My brother and I decided to put a CD player in the room to pipe in some music, as she was a great lover of classical and liturgical music. There was a funny side conversation about whether we should keep the music playing through the night but we decided to let her sleep (?!). We also changed up the music every now and then. Every time my brother walked by, he would peek in to say "hi" to my mom which I thought was sweet. I said my good morning and good nights.

This is a time in which it helps you to grasp the concept that she is gone. It still makes it horribly difficult because we are still surrounded by her things to which she intended to come back, but there is also that physical evidence that she is gone, right there in that room. I am appreciating my culture right now.

Her wake is this evening and her funeral tomorrow. She was a devout Catholic so the ceremonies will be more western than traditional Japanese, but there seem to be some Japaneseness peppered throughout. The attire pretty much is black suit or dress, in a modest conservative style with single strand of pearls (apparently if you double it, you double your misfortune). I will be wearing my mother's pearls. While I miss her in this house, I am also anxious to send her off now.

The soup I made was left in the freezer, by the way. One of many things she didn't get to. But rather than collapsing and sobbing in front of the freezer like I felt like doing, we defrosted the soup and ate it as a family. It was good.

Soup

2011-09-25T18:23:00.000-07:00

It has been about 10 years since I've come to Japan alone. I was just here with my husband and child this past spring, but this time, I came to check on my 84 year old mother who has been in and out of hospital all year with bowl obstruction and infections. While we were here last, she had a colostomy done which was supposed to improve her condition, but in August, she went back into the hospital with yet another infection. She was released on her birthday in early September, but all of us felt that it would perhaps lift her spirits for me to go there. I have a window of about 10 days to get away from work so I took the opportunity.

As soon as I decided, I was plagued by stress. It was a lot to endure for both my 4yr old daughter and my husband, and for me to see my mother in her weakened condition. As I have chosen to live this far away from them, I have been dreading this sort of trip and it was in front of me. I have no idea what I'm doing. But it was clear that this was the right thing to do.

The trip here was long. There was a delay in departure, then a long wait after landing before getting to the gate, my luggage came out second to last, then the unusually bad traffic into Tokyo doubled the travel time from 90 minutes to 3 hours. But all the while, in the delirium of jet lag, I was thinking about ways in which my parents traveled to see me. After my first year in the States, I spent a summer at a ranch in Sacramento, working for a summer camp to keep up the English. The ranch was in a small, real cowboy town where people have never really seen anyone from Japan. This summer camp was introduced to me through a friend of my mother's and I worked there for 10 weeks. My mother, then in her mid 50s, flew out from Tokyo by herself and rented a car and drove several hours to come see me. She was pretty concerned about doing this (this was before the time of cell phone or GPS), but she did because she hasn't seen me in a year. My father drove me to Narita air port so that I can have an interview with the representative of the boarding school I attended. The school administrator was coming through Tokyo on his way to Hong Kong to interview some more students and had several hours of lay over. And so in an air port restaurant, I had my entrance interview. My dad introduced me to him and then stepped out and just walked around the air port for about 30 min. I'm not sure how or why I passed, but I guess the gentleman though there was enough potential for me to become fluent so I passed. My father also flew out to California and took me to the East Coast to look at colleges during my senior year. And until I was out of college, my parents always flew separately so that should a plane go down, my brother and I wouldn't become orphans. It was totally my time to travel for them.

I got here and went straight to my mother's bedroom. She lost weight even from the time I was here 4 months ago. She looked weak and small, but stretched her arms to greet me. I gave her a hug and sat with her. The next day, as I was thinking about what to fix for lunch, I thought of the soup my mother used to fix when my brother and I got sick. It is a vegetable soup in which you put, potatoes, celery, carrots, onion, and cabbage and simmer it until everything melts in your mouth. When I was less than a year old, I got a stomach flu and got so dehydrated that I was admitted to the hospital. The doctors treated me with some iv fluids but I was getting any better so after a few days, my mom just took me home and fixed this very soup. Apparently, that's all I needed and I recovered. Every time one of us was sick with a stomach flu, mom would make this soup and nurse us back to health and to me, this is the ultimate comfort food. So I asked my mom if that would provoke her appetite. She said yes. I got to work and within an hour, I had the soup for her. She took a bite and said, "this was the taste I was longing to have" and proceeded to eat the entire bowl of it. It was good to know that I could actually help. That I would make her feel better both physically and in spirits. I made it in a large pot twice because it has become a thing I could do well for her right now.

In between doing things for my mom, I have ducked out to see some friends. Taking the subway alone and seeing good, close friends without kids feels a bit like time travel. It's an odd and confusing place to be--to be alone and be here and watching my mother, who has been so strong and active, age rapidly and become small and frail. It's time traveling in both directions.

More than ever, I suspect will feel the pull in both directions for a while. And tomorrow, on my last day, I will cook the soup with my niece so that she can learn it and make it for my mother after I go. Perhaps through that, my mother can feel my presence until I come back again.

Rememberance

2011-09-11T10:54:00.000-07:00

In Japan, on August 6th at 8:15am, we have a moment of silence every year. In the city of Hiroshima, they sound a siren that blazes through the city and people stop to remember the atomic bombing of 1945. It is ingrained in my body to stop and take a moment to reflect on that day. Interestingly, I also do that on December 7th-Pearl Harbor Day. Perhaps that is because I am a Japanese who live in the States and also maybe because in my work as a Japanese actor, I've done many Internment related shows in which I researched and learned a lot about what the Japanese in America went through. I have realized though that this country does not take particular moment on that day.

As I experienced America live through the devastation of September 11th, it occurred to me that this was the first time in their history that civilians were killed on American soil. And though that launched this country in a war, it did not host battles. War came to Japan. Tokyo, Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed and hundred and thousand of civilians died. Our experiences on war were completely different from each other which made the impact of 9.11 even worse because there was no frame of reference. No one had any idea how to process a tragedy of this magnitude. And for that, I felt even more heart broken. America was now forced to join many others who have to commence in an important, yet sad ritual of remember things for years to come.

5 months after 9.11, our theatre did a production of "A Story of Sadako," the only full length play I ever wrote. Its a story of Sadako Sasaki who died of Leukemia as a result of Hiroshima bombing but about 10 years after the fact. This was scheduled to be produced for about a year, but the timing turned out to be interesting. The kids who were in it had an immediate connection to the story because of 9.11. We had countless discussions which helped all of us to process the events past and present, more so than if it had been any other times. One Nation's tragic history connected to another and what we walked away with was "we should never forget."

I was raised by two war survivors with the notion that it is our responsibilities to pass on their stories of survival. And in that same vein, I hope that people of NY who were there that day, and people elsewhere who lost their families and friends will continue to tell their stories and help us remember.

It's the only way to stop it from happening again.

Do You Know What It Is? Then Stop It

2011-08-12T09:14:00.000-07:00

My husband has a co worker by the nickname of "Gin Fairy." No, he does not work at a bar. Anyway, Gin Fairy was wearing her hair up with chopsticks in her hair, of course, and he told her of this blog. She was apparently excited and let him take a photo of her for me to post here:

OK, so she is totally rocking the look, but still. When my husband told her the premise of the blog, another co worker of his chimed in and said, "but Ariel uses a fork to comb her hair."
Now, I have heard this from people regarding this blog before and here is what I want to say:

ARIEL IS A FICTIONAL MERMAID CHARACTER WHO DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A FORK IS.

Also, are you saying we should forgive certain behavior because Disney characters do them? Should we push our brothers off a cliff during a stampede? Should you share a single strand of spaghetti with a dog you don't know very well? Should we inject poison into apples and feed it to everyone who is prettier than us? Oh, nevermind.

Either way, this blog is now making all my friends be on the lookout for chopsticks in hair. Spreading awareness is an important part of any quest. Even if that awareness was just "Oh, Mimi would be PISSED if she saw that."

Hope for the Future?

2011-07-25T15:53:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, a parental magazine to which I subscribe had an article about ideas on kid's birthday party and there was one entitled "Japanese Tea Party." I cringed and went on to look. Much to my delight, there were some cute ideas in there, but here was the picture:

Photo credit: Fraincis Janisch from parents.com

Two things: 1. chopsticks in hair 2. the fold on the robe is that of a dead person*. In the following month's issue, there was a letter from the reader that said, "thank you so much for the great idea!" with a photo of white children dressed in the exact same manner. So here are my mixed feelings-- should I feel good that people are trying to teach their children to be multicultural or should I feel annoyed that they are just spreading stereo type?

But then on a hopeful note, one of my drama educators at thetheatre where I work was looking something up on her laptop for her students during break. She was just reading this very blog recently so when she opened up her laptop, her students could see the title pretty prominently on her screen. One of her students, a white boy about the age of 9 saw this and said "EVERYONE knows not to do that with chopsticks."

I would like to high five him and his parents.

Win some, lose some I guess.

*In Japan、in accordance to the Buddhist tradition, we dress the dead in white kimono and the fold is right over left. Apparently, it stems from the belief that things are opposite in afterlife. Consequently, if you dress an alive person in that manner, it's believed to bring bad luck to not only the person who is wearing it, but those who are around them.

Cool Biz

2011-07-19T14:02:00.000-07:00

Since the earthquake in Japan, it's been the topic of much discussion all over Japan as to how to survive the deadly heat in the summer while conserving energy.

Let me paint you a picture. Summer in Tokyo is similar to summer on the American east coast or the Midwest. Temperatures can reach above 100 degrees and the humidity above 90%. According to my parents, Tokyo is not a place for humans in the summer. (I stopped visiting home in the summer because having lived in the Northwest for more than 10 years, I am now horribly out of shape for that sort of heat.) What makes it even worse is buildings are air conditioned to DEATH, which makes the outside air even hotter and because there are now so many high rises on the Tokyo Bay, the sea breeze is blocked, which is also making things worse. It's pretty much hellish there. When you get up north, it's not as bad, but as you go west, it's even worse. So this is a problem.

Even before the earthquake, people in Japan had been talking about ways to stay cool in summer. One of the things that was introduced to business men a few years back was a dress code called, "Cool Biz." Japanese business men still wear suits to work. So the idea here was to encourage businesses to allow their male workers to lighten their layers. An example is like this:

It's basically dress pants, dress shirt, no tie. Also some men wear a jacket with it. The fact that this has to become a category of business wear and a permissible dress code in corporations cracks me up. Did I mention I live in the Northwest where Microsoft/Amazon/Starbucks headquarters are and if men even tuck their shirts in people suspect they have a job interview?

So now this has been promoted as the way to be this summer. Politicians and TV news anchors are wearing Cool Biz to lead the way and so is my brother, god bless him.

Another one that I saw a lot in department stores on my visit home was this traditional men's underpants called "Suteteko" which is a pair of long, cotton boxers. Apparently wearing those under you pants, as opposed to restricting tighty-whities leaves you much cooler and pleasant. And they are now suggesting women also wear them at home.

Mmm....sexy.

Other, less humorous items include bamboo shades, climbing plants, Yukata (our traditional summer cotton kimono)--all things that people used to use to keep cool before technology kicked in. There is something to be said for old ways of doing things because people were smart. And perhaps it's not so terrible for us to figure out that stuff anyway. But I can probably say that because I am not on the un-air-conditioned subway everyday. I wish I could send them 65 degree weather from where I am. Good luck Japan.

=====================================

And an update on the benefit from May. We raised about $3,000. Not $10,000 I wanted, but better than nothing. I think people who came had a good time and perhaps I will make it a personal goal to keep doing things until we reach $10,000. If you are interested in photos, please look on Facebook under "The Sun Always Rises." Thank you so much for those who came and/or donated!

Where My Money Goes

2011-06-11T20:28:00.000-07:00

I eat my money in Japan. I think it's the best way to spend your money, quite frankly. Sure, there is a lot of useless fun crap you can buy and believe you me, I buy those too, but I spend most of my money on food. Here is a food journal of our trip. Please note, some meals were consumed before being photographed due to extreme hunger.

Day One: We were greeted by this greatness on our first night. A HUGE sushi plate (two of these plus more) by a delivery-only sushi joint near my parents house.

Jet lag be damned. We ate until we hurt.

Day Three: Shakey's. That's right. Japan has a chain of Shakey's and it's one of the cheapest lunches you can get. All you can eat Pizza buffet, which inexplicably includes curry and rice, is less than $10/person.

Pile of pizza and pasta. Not photographed:dessert pizza

Day Five: Birthday cake/mousse for my brother who turned 50. Japanese people a coo-coo for melon flavored things--case in point, McDonald's in Japan has melon milk shakes. This was a melon mousse. Very light and yummy.

Yes, those ARE giant grapes on top

Day Nine: Japanese diner food. We went to Lake Nojiri in Nagano prefecture where my folks have a cabin. This is one of their most favorite restaurants that serves great home meals in large quantities.

Pork Ginger Lunch Set

My husband's favorite meal on the trip: Tonkatsu (fried pork cutlet) sandwich

Day Ten: Still in Nagano, in a town called Togakushi, known for a Ninja training ground (for serious) and soba. It is our family ritual to stop at this noodle shop to eat what they make by hand, fresh. It is also our tradition to go to Ninja House where you enter each room that has no doors and try to figure out ways to get in to the next one, much like finding secret passages.

Notice both soba and tempura plates have empty spots.
We came to our senses after having initial rabid bites

Day Eleven: Lake side Italian. Nagano is a farm country therefore their produce is to die for. Tomatoes are particularly amazing. This lake side area also has an international village where, during summer, many foreigners from various countries occupy cabins. I used to love driving through there because no one speaks Japanese and it made me feel like I stepped into America. This restaurant is apparently very popular amongst those who spend time there.

Pizza Margherita

Tomato salad

Day Twelve: Izakaya food. The word "Izakaya" roughly translates to "a bar where you dwell." It is basically a bar that serves countless amounts of small dishes that go well with alcohol beverages. Of course, you can get in even if you are not drinking (meaning families). It is Japanese Tapas. You can eat bigger variety this way. There are Izakaya in the States (Seattle has a couple of good ones) and I recommend them highly.

Grilled clam in a shell

Aji (horse Makerel) sashimi. This fish on a stick was still twitching, it was so fresh.
I had to turn its head away from me while I ate.

Grilled sardines: yes, we like our fish whole. It took until I brought my very first American friend to Japan to realize that is totally freaky by U.S. standards.

More grilled fish--can you tell Japan is an island nation?

Broiled Musubi (rice ball)--lightly brushed with soy sauce then on the grill. It is not to be believed.

This was new to me: Ray fins. Delicious with mayonnaise.

Gyoza grilled correctly with "wings," which is a thin layer of crunchy goodness that connects the dumplings.
Wings are made out of water and flour. The dumplings are underneath.

Studs who grill things.

Oh and let's not forget, they have these, too.

It was about $150 for 7 people (granted only 2 adults drank and 1 out of 7 was our 4 year old daughter), which ain't bad for the amount of food we consumed. What we photographed was about half of the food ordered. I don't drink much but imagine above foods with a nice cold beer. Good stuff.

Day Thirteen: Indian food. I've never had Indian food in Japan. It was REALLY good.

Dead give away that this is in Japan: cabbage salad

Day Fourteen: Ueno Zoo kid's meal. Kids' meals in Japan have a common theme. Always on a divided plate, always with a rice that is scooped in a shape of an ice cream and always with a flag. Not sure why it's a British flag here, but it was. We took our daughter to see the Panda bears that recently arrived from China. They were both asleep. Oh well. At least we got some good lunch.

Standard kid's meal: curry and rice

Day Fifteen: Japanese pasta. My husband and I had a date night and we went to an Italian restaurant. I ordered something you could not have in American Italian joints, which was Simeji mushroom with clams pasta in light soy sauce based broth topped with scallions and shredded nori.

So light and good

Day Sixteen: Sapporo Ramen. My father asked if there was anything we haven't eaten and I blurted out, "Ramen." Sapporo is a city in Hokkaido, the northern most island of Japan. For whatever reason, ramen from that region is famous and this noodle shop fixes ramen in that particular style.

Rather than sitting and ordering, you buy tickets from this machine, which is old-school cafeteria style in Japan. You give them to the waiter while you wait in line to get seated so when you sit down, your food comes to you right away.

Bummer for those who can't read Japanese

Then you get this:

Chashu ramen. Can't explain the goodness.

Then you sprinkle these on top as you wish:

Thin slices of grilled garlic.
My husband ate these by handful which led him to eat an entire box of mints after lunch.

Dude that makes the noodles.

Day two, four, six, seven, eleven, etc: Katsu Curry. My husband's favorite Japanese dish, ever. He had this a lot. Pork Cutlet (fried) with curry on top. What is not to love, I tell ya.

Mmmm...spicy lard...

What we totally neglected to photograph was many of our convenience store lunches, which are delicious and cheap. You would not believe the variety of rice balls and bento boxes that are readily available at local 7-Eleven and other places alike. If you are on a budget, that is the way to go.　Just click here and see for yourself.

And that is the story of our food fest.

Trend of This Year

2011-06-08T17:49:00.000-07:00

It is fun to discover what the current trend in fashion is every time I come home. On this trip, I've noticed a horrifying amount of stirrup leggings which kids are wearing UNDER their shorts, along with some gladiator wedges with zippers up the back, which my 16 year old niece is wearing everywhere she goes, including my parents' cabin in the mountains. But the best and most puzzling goes to two items that apparently protect you from UV rays. This trend seems to be most popular with middle-aged ladies.

First is the Darth Vader visor. It is a sun visor that is so long that it covers your entire face:
I'm not joking. People are wearing these as they ride their bicycles. It stopped us in our tracks the first time we saw it.

Then there are the elbow length gloves:
OK, so these are slightly cooler, but please picture a 60 year old Japanese woman wearing these and the visor while riding her bicycle. Some of them carry a parasol in addition. I've also seen long sleeves with regular gloves with the visor situation. My childhood friend I saw on this trip said, "I'm not sure what they think they're protecting, because while they are preserving their skin, they look like idiots."

Japanese people are very easily swayed by trends and I suppose if "everyone is doing it" the level of shame goes down. Hence stirrup leggings. Which is a different problem all together.

I Just Want To Throw This Out

2011-05-26T02:32:00.000-07:00

**For those of you who care, I do not have the grand total on the benefit concert just yet but I shall report that when I get it.**

Greetings from Tokyo. I am now at my parents house with my daughter and husband. It's been about a year and a half since our last trip--it's good to be home. I always enjoy coming home with my husband because I get a foreign perspective on my home country. I also feel like a tourist in my own country because there are always some systems that have changed since the last time I was here. I speak the language but I appear clueless--this confuses people when I ask them a seemingly dumb-ass question. But then they see that I have a white dude and a half white kid and they get it.

Anyway, today's entry is about the garbage system in Japan. It's super complicated. I always stand in my parents' kitchen with a piece of garbage in my hand, staring at multiple receptacles. The garbage must divided in to the following categories in Japan: burnable, non-burnable, recyclable, and food waste. What bends your brain is the difference between non-burnable and recyclable. It seems like they should be one and the same, but they are not. And even if you figure out the difference there, there are three different categories of recycling and you have to divide them. Another thing that gets me is "non-burnalbe." It seems to me like anything can be burned down if you do it long enough. So I just stand there, paralyzed because if you divide it wrong and put it out, they just leave it there. That's right. You have to bring back your garbage inside and try it again next time. I don't wish for my senior citizen parents to have to pick through garbage for my mistakes so I just ask them "which kind is this garbage?" every time I throw anything out. Like I'm a 5 year old.

On the flip side, when my parents visit, they ask me how to throw things out. They are constantly amazed that our recycling is pretty broad, therefore, easy. They always say, "these two things both go in there? Are you sure?" because they've been conditioned. It doesn't help that they are both in their 80s and their memory is spotty so they often repeat their questions.

I always feel that I figure this out just as we are leaving and the time in between my visit washes away any knowledge I acquired because my brain has apparently now reached maximum memory. It's hard to be me.

But on we go with our visit. I'm certain there will be few entries while I am here. I hope you stay tuned.

Cherry Blossoms, Mount Fuji, and The Rising Sun

2011-05-15T09:52:00.000-07:00

Since the quake, I have felt that this disaster needed more attention than my own personal donation. With 27,000 dead or missing and 150,000 still displaced, Japan is going to need help for years to come. So my friend (the one who wears chopsticks in her hair) and I decided to organize a benefit concert using our connections and resources in the theatre world. We felt not rushing to organize one would give us some time to put together a decent size event that would have an impact, so we gave ourselves a couple of months. We entitled the concert, The Sun Always Rises which was a saying we found in one of the photos of the aftermath of the tsunami. There was a car that was upside down on a road and someone has spray painted on the side, "the sun always rises." It seemed appropriate.

One of the first things we did was to get a graphic designer to do a poster. I got a friend of mine, a really talented artist who does all of the poster design for his wife's theatre company to donate his service. He got to work and the first draft that he sent was resembling the naval flag of Japan. And this trigger some interesting responses. The overall design was really cool and slick, but the "rising sun" was reminiscent of propaganda posters from WWII. I first thought, I was being too sensitive but then my co producer friend had a much bigger reaction to it, so we asked him to go in a different direction. He was working with the title (understandably) and had no associations with that kind of feeling so had no idea this my perhaps offend the Japanese community. My friend said, "No cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji or rising sun." (This is clearly her "chop stick in hair." I just wanted to take her chopsticks our of her hair while she was saying this but that seemed petty.) He then did a beautiful design that we were all happy with that went with the title, but didn't have anything stereotyping.

In the meantime, several benefit concerts started to pop up around town, which is so great, but EVERY ONE OF THEM had a design with, you guessed it, cherry blossoms. I started forwarding every one of them to my friend as a joke. These are clearly concerts organized by Japanese, or Japanese Americans and it's as if they think that Americans won't understand the association unless we put those things in the design. But at the same time, it's a good short hand for Americans in a sense that they can know from the distance what culture this is coming from or serving. It's a cycle. I'm not certain if it's vicious cycle, but it is one. One of the concerts that we attended (because our daughter's preschool was singing in it), not only had cherry blossoms on the program, but the font was that "Chop Suey" font--the one that is often seen in Asian restaurants, where someone thought it might resemble Asian writing. UGH.

But of course, these observations are far less important than the fact that people are raising money for this cause. It is so great to see communities uniting, across the ocean, to help Japan. The artists we asked all said yes without hesitation even though they don't have any connection to Japan. The theatre venue that offered us the space is so great, they are taking care of all technical needs and ticket sales, as well as giving us the 20% of the bar proceeds to the cause. If we fill the house, we will raise $10,000. I want to fill it. It maybe a long shot, but I want to try. This is probably the most important and personal event I have produced in my career and while it's a lot of work on top of everything else going on, it feels good to put the energy into it.

If you are in Seattle, please come. If you can't come, buy tickets and send someone who can but may not be able to afford it. If you can't do either, consider sending me a check. Make it out to American Red Cross and on the memo line, write "Japan disaster fund." That is where all of our proceeds are going. Tickets are $25. The event is on May 21st at 7pm at ACT Theatre. For more information CLICK HERE. I would be most grateful for your support.

On a similar, yet separate note, we just received our cell phone that we rented to use in Tokyo (to which we are going on May 23rd). I opened the instruction book and the first image on there was the phone and on its screen was cherry blossoms and Mount Fuji. Sigh.

And Sometimes, It's OK

2011-04-03T10:47:00.000-07:00

There was a memorial event in Seattle for Japan the weekend after the quake happened. People gathered by the Kobe Bell--a large Buddhist temple bell that was gifted by the City of Kobe (the sister city to Seattle) after Kobe experienced a large quake that killed 5,000 people in the '90s. There were several government officials, including the Consulate General of Japan who explained the extent of the devastation and calling to people that we must help our friends in Japan. There was a Buddhist monk who gave a prayer, places to send messages to the survivors, and places to donate funds. It was a quiet and moving event--and it was helpful.

I went to this with my Japanese friend and as we stood there, listening, I noticed three mismatched chopsticks in her bag--in a pocket where you might put pens. I stared at them for a second and uttered,

"Chopsticks....FOR. YOUR. HAIR???"

She looked at me in fear and said, "....uh, oh."

I elbowed her and we giggled. And it was all right. It gave us a break from tearing up.

So, there is that.

Earthquake

2011-03-12T22:12:00.000-08:00

When 9-11 happened, I was visiting my family in Tokyo. My husband and I had just returned from having dinner with a friend, and my father who opened the front door said, "Big news! A commercial airliner just hit World Trade Center." And for the next several days my husband and I watched the accounts of horrifying events on TV, across the ocean from where it happened and it felt odd. I wanted to be in the States to share the grief and the sorrow. To us, it wasn't a matter of something happening to a foreign country--obviously because I am married to an American and this was the country that I have lived in for so long. And though people in Japan were shocked and devastated, the feelings were still removed and we felt lost. Less than a week later, we got on a plane (which was an eerie experience on its own) and came back. I felt better to be back and get the news first hand, and without any foreign opinion.

I feel a similar sense of helplessness and grief as I watch the news of the devastating earthquake that hit in Sendai just few days ago. My family, who is in Tokyo were somewhat inconvenienced but unharmed. And while I feel grateful, I can't celebrate. As the story came streaming in, my shock started to wear off and I got overwhelmed with indescribable sadness and I can't seem to stop weeping from the sight of it. Images that are coming through resemble Tokyo or Hiroshima after the bombing.The Prime Minister has announced that this is the biggest devastation the country has suffered since WWII. The entire town of 8,000 people have gone missing along with their land and homes. I heard a story of a man who was holding hands with his wife and kid heading to a hill and lost them to the waves. 300 bodies washing up and officials can't get to them. My home country is broken and all I can do is weep about it and hug my husband and daughter.

The night that the quake happened, I called my mother and got news that everyone in my family was safe. I posted it on Facebook and by the end of the next day, I had about 50 people comment. It was touching to know that people were thinking of me. Then it occurred to me that I must be the only Japanese person many of these friends know. I think you care differently when you have even a remote connection. I was on the phone with my brother and he said that 50 countries have offered their help and the US Navy and South Korean army have already positioned themselves to aid. The catastrophe that doesn't seem to have an end in sight at the moment makes everything seems hopeless, but I know in my heart that Japan will recover. This country has survived a war. My father saw Tokyo burn to the ground and lived through its recovery--you'd never know it now. Maybe the politicians who have shown no leadership and are constantly divided over things that seemed trivial will step up and lead. Japanese people are good people who can work through and endure hardship. We have quiet strength and stoicism. I have to hope and pray that people who lost everything will find peace.

And once again, I am across the ocean from all of it and wonder if it's a blessing or a curse to be bi-cultural.

image from openwalls.com

Just So You Know, I'm Sick

2011-02-04T21:04:00.000-08:00

In Japan, people wear surgical type masks when they have a cold or the flu. People also wear them during allergy season, and as means of protection from said illnesses. It makes sense as we are a very crowded society smashed together on subways. I too, was raised with this culture so I don't notice it when I go home and see people--until I have a foreigner with me. Everyone I brought home have gasped and/or commented on the look. I can see how it would appear creepy to have crowds of people wearing masks.

We. Are. Mask. Wearing. Robots.
(www.news.janjan.jp)

And what's amazing is that now there are all sorts of different masks for different needs:

Masks for men
(www.livingincairns.com.au)

Masks for women
(www.saihatei.com)

Masks for kids

(blog.qlep.com)

Special allergy blocking masks
(item.rakuten.co.jp)

Masks with a slight curve so it sits better on your face, and...
(www.excite.co.jp)

Masks that have a small metal piece to shape it around your nose so that if you wear glasses, they won't fog up.

(item.rakuten.co.jp)

I suppose it's natural that if you use something often and a lot, people would put effort into improving it and making money from it. I have no idea if this is effective. I don't know if wearing masks has prevented others from getting sick. The amount of people wearing them during flu season is so much, it seems a bit pointless then. Are we trying not to mix up illnesses? Who knows? At least it appears as thoughtful. It's the equivalent of sneezing into your elbow, which I bet doesn't happen in Japan.

I don't see this trend taking off in the States anytime soon.

This is Where He Is Now

2011-01-09T11:37:00.000-08:00

Do you remember Tommy Lee Jones? The actor from The Fugitive who hit so big, he proceeded to be in EVERY film for about 3 years after that? Well, if you are worried about his career now, you can stop. He has been making a mint in Japan doing commercials for Boss canned coffee for years now. Japanese commercials are notoriously nonsensical and most of the time, the product has nothing to do with the content of the commercial.

In this series, Jones is playing a space alien named...Jones and he is put on this earth to research humans by taking on a variety of occupations. When it starts, it always says, "Space Ailen Jones, Earth Research Team." And at the end, he always has something wise to say.

What's funny about this series is that although he is researching the Earth, everything he does is very specific to Japan and is actually a great way to show the culture through various occupations. Here is a compilation of some of the funniest ones. Please to enjoy:

Bonus commercial: This is what Ken Watanabe (of The Last Samurai and Batman Begins) is doing lately. To set it up, he is playing a phone. I guess this is what an Academy Awards nominee does.

2011: The Year of the Rabbit

2011-01-01T00:27:00.000-08:00

In Japan, we celebrate new years on January 1st. Just so you know.

Here is to healthy and uneventful year to you all!

Here is a little something I wrote

2010-12-27T22:29:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine was watching an "Xtra Normal" clip. If you are not familiar, it is a program that lets you write a scene and it will plug the scene into a simple animation. Much of the humor comes from the fact that the voices are kind of monotone. Anyway, the scene my friend was watching was about the Iron Man and how the guy wanted to train for it and the woman was making fun. My friend found it amusing but noticed that the woman in the animation was wearing chopsticks. In her hair. Alarmed, he emailed me and asked if I wanted to write a scene. So I did. Who am I to say no? I'm mostly delighted more people are spotting the chopstick wearing phenomenon. Happy Holidays!

Special thanks to Pete G. for making the video and my husband for the script help. Not sure why it's so damn big.

Did You Get Fat?

2010-11-25T10:08:00.000-08:00

Japanese people are typically thin. We're noted one of the healthiest and longest living nations in the world. So you'd think people would be happy with the way they look, but no, we're just as obsessed with diets and appearances as people in The States. When I was growing up, most of the models in fashion magazines were Westerners because that was thought to be more beautiful. That trend has changed over the years, but many of the popular models are what we call "Halves," which means they are half breed of Westerner and Japanese. If you have ever seen a Japanese "Manga" or Anime, the characters' eyes are large, and hair color often not black. Cosmetic surgeries to make an extra fold in your upper eye lids are popular and even colored contact lenses are a fad amongst young people. If you watch any info-mercial, it's all products that will make you look thinner and younger.

Japanese people are also often thought to be polite. This is generally true, EXCEPT on two occasions. One is in a crowd (like subways) and two is about people's weight. I didn't really notice this second characteristic until I was married. I would bring my husband-- who is not lean, but pretty average US man sized--and my mother would tell him how he looked (which was often that he gained weight) within the first 5 minutes of seeing him. Even if he had lost weight, she would add a comment like, "good! a little more to go, yes?" I was horrified and had to pull her aside to tell her that he was very self conscious and that it was not OK with me for her to comment on his weight that way. She seemed surprised by that fact but respected my wish. But then, on one trip, my politest, sweetest friend said "did you get a little bigger?" to him which almost caused him to punch her in the mouth even though she was pregnant (the most unfortunate thing in this case was that she speaks flawless English, so I couldn't mask or soften the comment through translation). My husband, who had been so open to everything Japanese, gave me a look at this point as if to say, "what's with your people?" After that, I realized when I describe someone to my mother, she often says, "oh, the chubby one?" and I have to pause to think if we're talking about the same person and often when my parents are talking about friends and relatives, they begin by saying whether this person got fat or thin.

Then I started noticing that fat people are great in Japan, as long as they are funny and on TV. And by "fat", they are about average or would be categorized as "slightly overweight" in The States. And most of their jokes are about being fat, and other comedians would also do endless amount of fat jokes in front of them, which seems so mean by American standard.

And yet, Sumo wrestlers are respected and hold a certain high status in our society. They are not to be made fun of, but admired for their size.

Seriously, what is with my people on this?

More Chopsticks in Hair

2010-11-08T20:13:00.000-08:00

I got a Bed Bath & Beyond catalog in the mail and this was what was on the cover:

It is a Cuisinart type contraption that "slices and dices" that is named---Ninja. There are about 11 things wrong with that name alone, but here is what I focused on:

Where do I begin?

1. She is a white lady
2. She is carrying a pair of martial arts weapon (Ninjas carry swords) that have tomatoes on them
3. She is barefoot (a bad idea for Ninjas and chefs)
4. She is wearing--you said it--three chopsticks in her hair

Seriously. It's 2010. Surely you could have at least an Asian male dressed more accurately for this. It's not like you can't get a picture of a ninja on the internet.

image borrowed from: item.rakuten.co.jp

There, was that so hard?

So This Is Halloween

2010-11-01T12:44:00.000-07:00

Last night, I took my 3-1/2 year old daughter trick-or-treating. We have taken her to a local outdoor mall Halloween event in the past two years, but felt that she was old enough to understand and appreciate the door-to-door candy solicitation. So while my husband stayed home to hand out candy, she and I ventured out into the darkness with flashlight in hand.

Halloween does not occur in Japan. Therefore, I have no childhood memory or tradition around this holiday. When I came to the States, I was 15 and attended a boarding school. The school had an event during where each dorm would take turns running to other dorms to obtain as much candy as possible in our pillow cases. We would all stand in the doorways of our rooms and just chuck candy at people who ran past us. They gave us something like 3 minutes to run. In addition, they would have a special dinner in the cafeteria with the costume contest and what have you. It was a good time. By the time I got to college and several years after that, Halloween was just parties with friends in costume. Then by the time I outgrew that, I lived in a house to receive trick-or-treaters, so that is what I did.

As I held my fully costumed daughter's hand and looked around on our street for a good house to visit, it occurred to me that I had actually never done this before. And suddenly I had a slight bit of stress to do it just right for my daughter's first experience. I had to call my husband to make sure that I understood the rules--that houses with jack-o-lantern were the ones to approach, but the ones with front porch lights on with no pumpkins confused me. He advised me that when in doubt, just go with the houses with jack-o-lanterns so that is what we did.

Daughter and I had practiced what she is supposed to say so we went from house to house, knocking on doors or ringing doorbells. My daughter got better at it with each house and seemed very excited in between to find the next house. We ran into several other kids, many in large groups, walking and I felt that I had succeeded in introducing my daughter to this very American tradition that I have come to enjoy so much.

This kicks off the time of year full of things I have learned after age 15 that I love. And while it was odd to run into a "first" in this country after being here for so long I realize those things will come up more as my daughter grows up and experiences parts of life I never did in this country. That is why it is handy to be married to a native.

Et Tu, Child?

2010-10-16T10:09:00.000-07:00

A girl about the age of three approached me, pointed to an Asian boy across the way and said, "that's your kid." I said, "actually, that is not my kid. But that one is." And pointed to my daughter who was at a water fountain. The girl looked back and forth, stared blankly at me as if to say "what are you talking about?" then ran off.

My daughter doesn't look very Japanese, so I'll give her that. But I've actually run into this a lot teaching and being around white kids and they actually think all Asians are related. Especially if there is one Asian adult and a child--to them, it's a no brainier that we should be family.

My tactic has been to sit on my hands so that I don't punch them in the mouth. They don't know. Yet.

Dude, that is NOT my name

2010-10-06T23:01:00.000-07:00

On more than one occasion, people have called me "Kim." This is after I have told them my name. Which is nowhere near Kim. One of them was a college professor in an acting class which only had about 12 people.

In my elementary school English class, we used text books such as Dick and Jane. In one of them, there was a picture of an Asian girl and her name was Kim. Jet black hair with a very harsh bob, slanty eyes, the whole deal. Sometimes, it was an Asian boy and HIS name was Kim. I used to think "is that what we look like?" Perhaps this is where it's coming from. I have known some Kims in my life, and they all have been white--or Asians with the LAST NAME of Kim. I am not saying that there are no Asian women with the first name of Kim, but when people have called me Kim, I couldn't help but to feel "Oriental." I felt like what they were seeing was that picture from that book. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

On a different note, my legal first name is Mina. I don't go by this name (my parents gave me a nick name that I go by), but when a telemarketer call, they ask for Mina. Except they can't pronounce it right. They say, "Myna." OK. How do you pronounce T-i-n-a, or better yet G-i-n-a? Seriously people. Stop panicking. Just say it like it's spelled.

Epilogue: my husband is white. Very white. And on more than one occasion, people have called him "Patrick." That is not his name. And these were white people saying it. I guess he just looks like a Patrick, whatever that means. Racial assumptions are color blind. Awwww.

English in Japan

2010-09-02T10:21:00.000-07:00

People often ask if I spoke any English when I came here. I spoke some. But very little American idioms or slang. People in Japan begin studying English at 7th grade. If you go to a private school like I did, you start at 1st grade. My mother teaches English. My father used to conduct business in English so they are both fluent. My mother in particular was really interested in us learning to speak English so my parents have arranged to have American college students living with us as we were growing up. So I suspect that my ears were more trained than the average Japanese kid. But as far as learning the language--I really didn't have the command.

English in Japan is taught very academically. There are actually very little conversation in classes. Just lectures on how to apply the grammar and construct sentences. I once got an incorrect on a quiz because I answered, "this is a pen" to a question "what is this?" The correct answer in this case was "it is a pen" because that is what the text book said. My mom, who believes in teaching through conversations, actually went and said something to the teacher on this one.

Because of this method, people in Japan can't really speak English, but can comprehend it if it's written. And Japanese people really like things written in English because it looks cool. I am certain that many of you are now familiar with Engrish.com. I think this site started as just posting things from Japan, but now it has branched out to things from other countries. One of my husband's hobbies when we go to Japan is to grab things or take photos of funny signs in English. Here are some of our favorites:

A clothing store--clearly.

Store that sells fun socks

I don't even remember what this was

Not what you think

And finally....

To which I uttered, "YOU store my ducks."

But then this is a flip side I get to enjoy. The random Japanese words people in this country wear on their shirts and, in many cases, skin. I knew a guy who had a Japanese character on his arm. The character looked like this:　実, which means "meat of a fruit." I asked why he had that on his arm, or more importantly, what he thought he meant, he looked horrified and said, "truth..?" Now the word "truth" looks like this:真実. You see, his tatoo artist omitted a character. I would seriously like to be a proof reader for tattoo parlors. And I found this delightful site.

Roughly translated, here is the order of what the shirts say--and it gets progressively worse:
1. I am Japanese
2. Pay up, you jerk
3. Big Dick (yes, that is what it says)
4. Hemorrhoid
5. I am a freak
6. Low self-esteem

Then shirts are repeated.

I suppose it's just universal.

This is what I'm talking about

2010-08-16T11:55:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine sent me this photo via cell phone--it's a page from Kate Gosselin's book and the caption reads:"Maddie did her hair up in chopsticks and was proud to celebrate her Asian heritage."

This taught me three things:
1) I have a friend who gets what I'm saying and who might now understand what I see. Blog mission accomplished.
2) Children are being TAUGHT that sticking chopsticks in their heads is Asian, even if their grandparents are real Asian (as opposed to fake Asian, referred to as "Banana"--yellow on the outside, white on the inside. Terrible, I know).
3) There are probably more Kate Gosselins in this country than I care to admit and they must be stopped. One. At. A. Time.

I thank you for your continuous support.

Spoiled Brats Nation

2010-08-05T15:45:00.000-07:00

Japan is a service oriented country. We say, "the customer is God," which is about 10 notches higher than "the customer is always right." For example, in the height of the economy, if you drive into a gas station in Tokyo, approximately 5 uniformed attendants ran to your car as they all shouted "welcome" at you. One would knock on the door (yes, I said knock) and when you opened it, he would kneel down by your side so that his head was not higher than yours. You tell him to fill it up, at which point he'd ask for your ash tray (assuming you smoke) so he could clean it. He would pump the gas while four others would wash your windows and mirrors, and ask if you have any garbage and throw that out. The first attendant would return with your ashtray which now contains these tiny scented balls. You'd pay, then as you leave, one attendant would get into the street and stop traffic for you to get out, as all of them take their hats off and bow as you are driving away.

I have taken numerous foreign guests to Isetan Department Store at 10am sharp when the store opens. This store has a grand entrance, and as the big clock strikes ten, young, beautiful, uniformed ladies with hats and gloves will put their hands on the door ceremoniously, and swing the doors open. As you walk in, for the first five minutes or so, every sales person on every floor stand by their station and bow to you and say "good morning" as you walk by. It's like you are a friggin' royalty. If you shop in a department store while it's raining out, they will cover your paper bag with a clear plastic bag so it won't get wet.

Trains and subways, which are vital part of Tokyo life, come every 2-5 minutes, depending on the time of day. If they are late, they apologize profusely. Oh, and by the way, cab doors open and close automatically so you don't have to do it. I had a friend from the States who tried to close it and got into a wrestling match with the door and panicked the driver.

Interestingly, waiters are more attentive in the states because they make tips. We don't tip in Japan, so while they are very polite, they don't come back to your table and check on you like they do here. You have to flag them if you need something.

If you grew up with this kind of service everywhere you turned, please imagine the horror of arriving to the United States with this unrealistic standard. My brother once described United Airlines as "the airline where bear-like women chuck bread at you" and I couldn't fight him. If you are used this:

You'd think that too. Every time I fly United, I can't stop laughing because this phrase goes through my head. I am now accustomed to US culture and know that if you go to a gas station, you're lucky to find a squeegee that works. It is not appreciated, but just assumed that trains and planes will run late. When you call any customer service, you have to gear up for a big fight. We are alarmed and delighted here when people accommodate you. But coming from Japan, people are appalled. OR, they seem really spoiled.

Please imagine Japanese people standing by a cab waiting for the door to open. I wouldn't blame Americans for thinking those people were crazy.

But here is the flip side to the nation of crappy service. People are self sufficient in the States. Most people will try to fix things themselves to save money. Stores like Home Depot don't really exist in Japan, at least none of that size. When I tell my friends we painted our own walls, they seem impressed. I don't bother to tell them most people do much more. I just happen to have a husband who supports the Japanese philosophy and picks up the phone when something breaks. And I'm fine with that.

Last fall when we went to Tokyo, I left my purse (that contained my passport and wallet) on the plane. Panicked, we ran to a United agent and she ran around on our behalf to track it down. When she successfully retrieved it, she came running and apologized for taking so long. Yes, she apologized to us for helping us. I felt home.

Happiest Place on Earth--to nap

2010-07-11T15:33:00.000-07:00

We have a Disneyland in Tokyo. When I say this, people often say, "Is it like the one here?" To which, I am compelled to say, "Yes-except that Mickey Mouse has slanty eyes." But I don't. Because, that's right, I am a nice Japanese girl.

Between LA and Tokyo, I have been to Disneyland about ten times. To answer the above question seriously, yes, it looks exactly like the one in the states but the workers are Japanese UNLESS they are playing specific characters. Then they are imported. But they all have been trained in that Disney fashion so they are super smiley and bubbly in the same way--which is nice and creepy at the same time. There are some differences in rides--you can actually take a tour inside Cinderella's castle, but no Matterhorn in Tokyo, and things like that.

But the biggest difference is in what the visitors think are most important. Japanese people are coo-coo for the parade. The sight you would NEVER see in the States' Disneyland is the dads, who have been dragged there, are all napping on picnic blankets HOURS before the parade to secure the best spot for their families.

Let me give you the back story for you to understand what is happening here. The dads (as we call, "salary men") in Japan are exhausted. They kill themselves for their company, working crazy long days to afford the best education for their kids, commuting long ways every day. All they want to do on their day off is to sleep. But they can't because they have the obligations to the families to entertain them. So they take them to Disneyland. But then they are too tired to walk around so they happily take this job of "securing the spot" for the parade because there, they are left alone and can nap. So what you get is the odd sight of homeless-like behavior of grown men just sleeping on blankets with newspapers over their faces, but they are dressed too well. And it's on Disneyland's Main Street. Some of them spend the entire morning just napping, which is the most expensive nap you can ever have, but if that's what it takes, that is what they do.

Just to expand on this dad thing, my older brother who lives in Tokyo and has three daughters once mumbled "it's really hard work being a dad, you know." He didn't mean the regular dad stuff that you might think of. There is also this event in every school that happens in the fall called "Undokai,"which translates to something like School Olympic, where every class competes in some athletic events and the family attends and it's a big to do. But this is also another place where dads are sent at as early as 5am to secure the best spot on the field to watch. Then during it, there is usually a relay race or sort by dads and if you don't take part, you will shame your kids, so no matter how sleep deprived, you do it. According to my brother, most dads are horribly out of shape and don't own any good running shoes. So during these races, you see dads not making the corners well, face planting, glasses flying off and not winning, which shames their kids anyway.

If you ever visit Tokyo, you will see these men on the subway, sleeping deeply. If you get on the subway late at night, you'll see these men drunk off of their butts and sleeping. Please don't disturb them.

Japanese Manners: Things that will make Japanese people gasp, or look at you funny

2010-06-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

Today's post is all about things that I have encountered numerous times in this country that I feel are important to point out. Some have to do with manners, some have to do with cultural misconceptions, but I am here to say, please don't do (or assume) the following:

The top three things you are not supposed to do with chopsticks (aside from wearing them in your hair, OBVIOUSLY):

Stick them straight up in your food (particularly rice) and leave them there
This is related to the Buddhist tradition in which we offer food to the dead, so it's thought to be very bad luck to do at a table. It's the most common mistake made by foreigners. I've intercepted this move many times.

Passing food from chopsticks to chopsticks
Also related to the funereal tradition. In the old days, family members of the deceased picked up the bones after cremation and passed them from one person to the next with chopsticks into a box. Not good to do at a table.

Using chopsticks as drum sticks Don't do it. I know they look like drum sticks. It's like the urge of the Westerners to crack the chopsticks and hit all the dishes. It's just rude and embarrassing. This is just common sense-not related to any religious thing.

There are many other things you are not supposed to do such as; grabbing your chopsticks in your fist, touching one food (your own) then another, point at someone with them, stir up your food with them looking for something good, etc. But these are less known even amongst native Japanese.

Here are some of the other manners around Japanese people you might find useful:

Don't ever bow to a Japanese person with your hands together. If you do that to me, I will punch you in the neck.　On the inside, of course, because I'm a nice Japanese girl. We bow with hands gently folded in front of us and deeper and longer you bow, the more respect you show (or the lower your rank is compared to the person you are bowing to).

People is some of the other South Asian countries (such as Thailand) bow with their hands together, but the only time we put our hands together is when we pray, and occasionally, when we are profusely apologizing (but I think that's only done between friends and never in polite company).

Geishas are not prostitutes. They are traditional entertainers whose job is to make your private parties enjoyable by carrying conversation in their beautiful Kyoto dialect, dance traditional Japanese dances, play instruments, and pour your drink. There are many books out there about the life of Geisha that will tell you the complex life style of a Geisha girl, but the bottom line is that they don't take your money in exchange for sexual favors.

Sumo wrestlers are not for comic relief. I realize this is a very hard concept to swallow and frankly I don't blame people for thinking so, but Sumo Wrestling is one of the oldest traditions in Japan and is regarded as a royal sport--as in our Emperor attends it, like the royalty in England attending Wimbledon. They symbolize strength and power ( I believe Japan had their best Sumo Wrestler open the Nagano Winter Olympics) and are very well respected, especially if you hold a high rank. They are not the same as Pro Wrestlers in the States.

The gong is not a Japanese instrument. It's just not. You may not care, but I do.

And no, we don't all know each other. I've had, on more than one occasion, people ask if I knew so-and-so from Tokyo. Seriously. And I don't mean by children. I have friends who say that jokingly, and I play along (having a good time doing so), but I found myself speechless when this happened. I didn't know where to start. So I just used to say, "no, no I don't."

Soon, I will write a post about misconceptions of America in Japan.

chopstick images from : http://contest2007.thinkquest.jp/tqj2007/90212/p010302.htm
bowing image from:http://www.sushi-guide-morita.de/images/morita_website_sushi_etikette_verbeugen_02.gif

For the Good of the Team

2010-05-30T17:36:00.000-07:00

Japan is a nation that prides itself on discipline. It is understood that if you want to be good at something, you put in decades of practice and even once you get good at it, you shouldn't be happy with yourself and you keep working on it (I think Akira Kurosawa said he felt like he was just getting the hang of things when he got his lifetime achievement Oscar). We don't believe in instant gratification.We don't complain, because if we do, we are big babies and we bring shame to our families. There are no such things as short cuts. As an example, people who do the traditional Japanese puppetry called Bunraku, have to spend at least 20 years to become the master.

Bunraku puppets are operated by three people--the master puppeteer manipulates the head and the right hand (and voices the puppet), the next rank puppeteer works the left hand, and the apprentice works the legs.

You spend 10 years at your position before you move up. 10 years. Everyday. Just on legs. But that amounts to an exquisite art form where the puppets move as if they were alive, even though the three puppeteers are in full view of the audience. Total discipline, teamwork and a lifetime commitment. That is the Japanese way. And it seems like no matter what you get into, you always start by being the person who has to clean up. That's just a side note.

Along with that, Japanese people respect seniority. Whether in social or professional setting, if you are in a company of someone older than you, you address them in "Keigo" which is a polite form of speech. Even if you hold higher position than this person, you still address them in that language out of respect for their life experience.

This whole concept was introduced me when I was in 7th grade. I went to a posh K through 12 private school in Tokyo. Once you entered middle school, you were in the big leagues. You choose your after school "club" activities and you invest the next 6 years of your life (which felt like the equivalent of 20 adult years) into this club. At this particular school, there were three top clubs that were known to be hard core: Volleyball Team, Basketball Team, and Drama Club. These three were known to have the scariest, meanest upper classmen but they also had the most respect from the entire student body because they were good. I signed up for the Drama Club.

The season (?) at the Drama Club consisted of three events: one-acts called "Practice Plays" where 9th graders direct the 6th, 7th, and 8th graders in 4 different plays. Typically we had two co-directors per piece and they divided the rest of the kids evenly. We had a couple of months of rehearsals and then we performed with no costumes or set, and mainly to the 11th graders who held the highest position in the club (12th graders don't participate in club activities in Japan because they are all preparing for the college entrance exam and therefore shouldn't have any fun). The main purpose of the "Practice Plays" were to see the next generation directors and actors. Once a piece was performed, the cast and the directors get up in front of everyone and get critiqued, which was so scary.

The other two events were public. A fall play which was to take place during our school festival (a big to-do in Japan where every club holds an event, sells things, sells food, and raises money). And a spring play. The plays were selected by vote, and the 11th graders who were appointed to direct the piece conducted casting sessions. At the end, we wrote down our preferences on a small piece of paper and they sorted it out. Now, here is where the politics came in. If you were a 7th grader, it was understood that you didn't get cast. So you don't even ask. You can start to ask for a role at the end of 8th grade. Maybe. So,if you were a 7th grader, you pick a crew position you want to do and you put that down. The entire production was built by teams. You had your cast, set and props, costumes, and lighting. Each team had an 11th grade leader and the number of students per grade were evenly divided into those teams. It was amazing. We had upward of about 50 kids spanning across 5 different grade levels building a show with only occasional supervision from the faculty.

But this was the backstage drama. If you were on the bottom of the totem pole, you were pretty much nothing. 8th graders kept tabs on 7th graders and if you were considered to be "out of line," you were disciplined--and by that, I mean you were bullied. If you were walking down the hallway during school time and encounter any upper classmen of your club, you stop, you wait for them to pass, and you bow and greet them in a military-like fashion. You keep your head low and you don't make eye contact because that's considered rude. If you don't do this right, you get surrounded. If you speak up too much during production meetings as a lower classman, you get surrounded. If you stand out in anyway, you get surrounded. I got surrounded one time because the glasses I was wearing was "too stylish," whatever that meant. And if you get surrounded, you just stand there, bite you lips, apologize and move on (did I mention there is a very high suicide rate among kids in Japan?).

But then the pay off was that when you became an upper classman, you got to act like a big shot. Our class decided to take it easy on the 7th graders a bit, which made us all feel better. I got to have some really juicy roles and learned A LOT about what it takes to mount a play and how to direct them, even. Sort of. I experienced what it's like to move up a ladder, shut your mouth and observe, how to follow direction as well as be a leader all before I was 15. There are three of us out of that group who work in theater professionally. That doesn't seem like a lot, but I think that's more than many of the grade levels around us, so that's saying something.

This is not to say people in the States lack in discipline. I work with youth doing theater and I know a lot of kids with a great deal of commitment. And I know that sports in this country is also really hard core. But there is something uniform about the Japanese people and their discipline. It must be the way we are schooled--or something.

If my daughter says she wants to get into theater, I will have her sweep the stage for 10 years first. That is all I'm saying.

Playing the Japanese

2010-05-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

For those who don't really know, I work in theater. I have turned into producer/director in the past several years but once upon a time, I actually made my living acting. After getting out of college with the degree in performing arts, I quickly learned that opportunities are different for those who are labeled as "actors of color" (I would be the yellow one, I suppose). Not exactly less, but just different. This was in the 90's and mixed race cast on traditional shows were still new. So I worked a lot with a couple of theater companies that liked doing that sort of thing.

Aside from theater, there are variety of film work for actors that general public would never see. You got your traditional Hollywood films, TV shows, TV commercials--local and national. But then you got what we call in the business, "industrials," which is training films to be used within companies. They are not at all artful and often full of technical terms that are difficult to memorize, but they pay really well. I know actors who do mostly these gigs. And here is what I discovered in doing these. Generally speaking, theater world is less racist than on-camera world. For example, I have played a number of roles on stage that is not traditionally Asian. However, for these on-camera gigs, I got called in if they needed someone to play the Japanese. And often a Japanese who didn't speak English well, or spoke English with a thick accent, or a tourist. Some gigs didn't care if you were actually Japanese (given by the fact that there were other Asians called who were Chinese, Korean, and even Filipinos--I say "even" because in my Asian opinion, Filipinos and other South Asian people don't look Japanese), and some did. I did them all.

I once did a local PBS spot about learning English as a second language and played a Japanese woman who spoke very little English. They wanted an accent. As I have moved here at 15, I have an accent but it's slight--or so I have been told. I actually worked my butt off to not have an accent so that I can be taken seriously. Ironically though, for my profession, people wanted a thick accent for comedic affect. So now I can do a various degrees of Japanese accent. ANYWAY, for this gig, I was going in with this big fat accent and they had a dialect expert on the set. An older white gentleman who was on headset to make sure all of the "ethnic"actors brought in had authentic accents. I'm not sure why, but I got nervous. What if my accent isn't good enough? Will they fire me??? But thankfully, when I got done saying my lines, the lad just looked at the director and said, "yeah, that's pretty much spot on."

My most surreal moment of playing the Japanese, I must say, was in The Spanish Prisoner. This film was directed by David Mamet and was shooting in Boston where I lived. There was a call for a Japanese actress to play a US Marshall who could also look like a high school girl (if you watch the movie, you know why). My agent called me in and I read for the part and apparently it was down to me and this other woman who ended up getting the part. I was too tall--that's another thing. I've been told I'm too tall for an Asian. Like I'm faking it. But Mr. Mamet wanted to throw me a bone and had me play a Japanese tour guide. A step up from playing a tourist, I suppose. My agent kept saying, "he has written this part in specially for YOU" and yet, in the script that was given to me, there were no lines written. He just wanted me to speak Japanese in the background of the scene. So I played the tour guide behind Campbell Scott and Rebecca Pidgion for two days (of which I was mostly shot from behind after I spent 2 hours in make up) and at the end of the second day, Mr. Mamet walked over to me, introduced himself, and asked if he could record me speaking Japanese for the scene. What am I going to say, I'm too busy? So I stood in the corner of Logan Airport waiting room (where the scene was being filmed) with David Mamet and the sound guy with the big microphone and translated what he wanted me to say on the fly. He thanked me for being in his movie and commented on what a beautiful language Japanese was. As strange as that experience was, I have to hand it to Mr. Mamet for his commitment to hire actual Japanese people to play his Japanese extras. He sent his people searching for authentic Japanese through the consulate and faculty of language schools. I met some interesting, non-actors on that set as well as getting to sit very near Steve Martin--I like to say I had lunch with him. Had I gotten that US Marshall part, I would have shot him in the scene but alas, that was not to be. But I still get a check in the mail now and then. I think my last one was all of 87 cents. No joke. I want to tell SAG to please stop it.

It's odd playing a stereotype. You are doing what you fight against every day in your personal life and making money off of it. When I went to a cattle call for Miss Saigon on Broadway before it opened, there were protesters. People were saying that Asian women were so often portrayed as hookers and this show was not helping. I was interviewed by NPR while I was in line. I said, "while that is very true, this show is also giving opportunities to so many Asian actors who would otherwise never have a chance to be on Broadway."

These days as I sit in my house watching TV, I naturally pay attention if a Japanese character is actually being played by a Japanese actor. It has gotten a lot better in the last 10 years, but still, there are so many times when they are played by an Asian actors who obviously doesn't speak the language and are just killing it. I just look at my husband and say, "why didn't they just call me? I'm right here."

Just Keep Driving

2010-04-17T11:29:00.001-07:00

Not too many people realize this, but in Japan, we drive on the left side of the road. This is something to do with the British influence on our culture--we have a mesh of European influence that also seems to surprise people when they find out. As for example, we have many many bakeries with French style breads. So many and successful that one of them opened a franchise in Paris.

Anyway, we drive on the left. So naturally, we walk on the left, look for the traffic first on the right before crossing the road, etc. When this is ingrained in you, it's hard to correct. Even after 25 plus years, I have a hard time. When I come face to face with another pedestrian, I avoid left. They avoid right. We do the dance. I do it EVERY TIME. I tell myself "go right, go right" but my body just goes left. Then the person I am approaching senses the weird tension and focus on my face and they just stop because they don't know if I am going to attack them, which complicates the matter even more. Then we do the dance and I just run away shouting "so sorry!!!" I'm a total SPAZ.

Much like any other Metropolitan cities in the US, Seattle has a Chinatown. Officially, it's "International District-Chinatown" that used to be Japan Town back in the days until the WWII internment camps wiped out the neighborhood. Now, it is a collage of all Asian cultures and it's a great place to eat. However, the traffic is a MESS because--I hate to say it--but Asians can't drive or walk. Seriously, I don't know why they don't just put traffic lights at every corner because 4 way stops are just a circus. Asians, no matter where they come from, just step out into traffic whenever, blow through stop signs, and park randomly. They (I'm saying "they" like I'm not one of them) go 35 miles an hour on the on ramp of the highway and go 50 miles an hour in the fast lane. Every time my husband and I pass a bad Asian driver, we scream in unison, "you are not helping the cause!!!" I don't know it's because there is a longer history of us walking than driving or it's driving on the other side of the road thing, but I have to say, this stereotype is 90% accurate. For Japanese people, I can attest that pedestrians win. Even in a crazy city like Tokyo, people on foot will stop traffic to get across the street--and they win, because there are so many of them. The key is to act like, "I don't see you, so you won't hit me."

My mother is 82. She is very active, independent and always comes to visit with an international license when visiting so that she and my father can go about their days without relying on me or my husband, which is lovely--and frightening. Once, she went out shopping and when she returned, she couldn't parallel park in front of our house. She came into the house asked if I could park the car for her because she couldn't quite get the angle right. I go outside to find her rental car almost perpendicular to the parking spot, the back wheel on the curb, with the trunk open. The trunk was open because after she gave up, she figured at least she could unload her goods. This is also the same woman who scratched her car ALL THE WAY AROUND without getting out of her parking spot at her own house in Tokyo because she couldn't get the "angle right" to back out and kept turning in a small space, THE WRONG WAY. My father was laughing so hard when he was telling me this on the phone I had to ask him to tell it twice to fully understand what he was saying.

I also spent 13 years in Boston. I realize every big city on the east coast prides itself on having the worst drivers in the country, but Bostonians are seriously intense. They are aggressive, mean, and honk the horn if you even THINK of making the wrong move. If they encounter a bunch of Asians crossing randomly, they will just hit them and then scream out the window for being a "f*cking re-tahd" with the middle finger strongly pointing upward. It would not be pretty.

As for my driving, I try to be good. I don't have a single moving violation to date and my husband, who is an excellent and critical driver seems to think I'm alright. It's my personal quest to reverse the stereotype but as ponder my DNA and Boston driving experience, I'm not sure how successful I will remain as I get older. I'm seriously considering making a bumper sticker that says, "I'm Asian. Please forgive."

Hollywood Short Hand for "Exotic"

2010-04-06T10:04:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned before that people here (in the US) ask me about Japan like I know everything. The same thing happens in Japan when I go home--I somehow become the spokes person for the US pop culture. One friend of mine once said, "Have you ever noticed that characters on American movies and TV often eat out of Chinese food container with chopsticks? Why do you think that is?"

REALLY??

Turns out it's true. Ever since she told me this, I can't help but to look for it and if you are watching a drama, you will inevitably run into a scene where (often white) people are poking around Chinese containers with chopsticks. This must be the Hollywood code for "we're urban and stylish and we eat with foreign cutleries." But this is also not too exotic since, as my father-in-law put it, no matter how rural, you will find a Chinese food restaurant in this country, which is a totally separate blog about Chinese immigrants. Everyone loves Pizza too--but Chinese food must look better on film.

This looks odd to a Japanese person because most of these actors seem to be struggling with chopsticks. "Why don't they just eat things with forks?" I think is where my friend was headed. And I didn't really have a good answer for her.

On a slightly different note but on the same topic, I have noticed that American film and television series don't really put any emphasis on food. As you can see, I've written a lot about food on this blog in a five posts I've put up. This is not because I have some sort of food obsession. Well, OK, may I do. But what I mean is that I come from a culture that REALLY enjoys eating. We are proud of our food. We put a lot of energy into making things taste good all the time and in every place. We love to get together over good foods, love to take trips just to eat things from a certain region, and in most news related or variety show, you see food segments and separately, there are numerous cooking shows (as evidenced by Iron Chef, which ran on a major network for 8 years to very high rating). And we don't separate those out to something like a Food Network Channel. This is all regular, prime time TV. And not just Japanese food. We love ANY food. In Tokyo, you can eat just about anything. My husband who has been to Japan seven times with me said that he has never had a bad meal in Japan. Sure, he's had to eat some weird crap labeled "delicacy" but even then, he could tell that it was prepared well. I would like you to note that this is coming from a man who used to not touch mustard as a child--not even the container.

Anyway, with all this interest in food, it's natural that this culture would seep into the fictional life style. In Japanese television drama or film, you will find scenes that involves eating. Guaranteed. And actors don't just poke around. They EAT. I mean they eat a lot. There was a legendary Japanese novelist and teleplay writer named Kuniko Mukoda and her scripts were almost always about family affairs. She captured complicated nature of family dynamics that often took place in '40s and '50s and she would have these great family dining scenes in which intricate dialogue and pauses would take place while they ate. I went through a phase of watching many of Ms. Mukoda's work, and I once read that she was known for having a menu in the script, like "a left over curry for breakfast." Like rice balls, curry is also thought to be the Japanese soul food. That specificity and familiarity made the scene even better both for actors and the viewers.

I find these cultural portrayal of food interesting. I feel like Americans have love and hate relationship with their food. Things come in huge quantities and while there are so many choices, the flip side is the constant reminder to be thinner--"here, eat all this stuff, but stay at 100lbs." My father once innocently said, "Why don't they eat less so they don't have to work out as much? They look so unhappy." He was saying this as we walked pass a gym where you could see people on treadmill. I told him it wasn't that simple--but it was to him.

So look next time. See if you can spot the Chinese container on TV. And after you do that, go rent "Tampopo."

What to Speak

2010-03-30T22:41:00.000-07:00

As I have lived in the US for over 25 years, I now dress like I'm from here. And because of this, wait staff at Japanese restaurants and other Japanese retailers often begin conversations with me in English. OK, so maybe it's because sometimes I am with my very white husband and not-very-Japanese-looking daughter. At any rate, I am a stickler for wanting to speak Japanese to a Japanese person unless we are in the company of non-Japanese speakers, so that has become a mission.

Here is the game I play: if they greet me in English, I answer in Japanese. This then will turn the rest of the conversation in Japanese. However, sometimes, they don't hear my response or think that I spoke English ( I will later blog about what people hear when they expect a specific language out of a person, no matter what) and continue to speak to me in English. If I have my daughter with me, I then will use her by speaking to her in Japanese very clearly. If two or three of these attempts fail, I just give up and act like I'm from here.

The hidden trick to the game: to know FOR SURE that they are indeed, Japanese. There are a lot of Koreans and Chinese folks who work in Japanese restaurants, and sometimes--yes, even for us--it gets confusing. Often, they have distinct enough accents that I can tell, but sometimes they speak a couple of Japanese phrases well enough that it throws me for a loop. I order items from the menu pronouncing the name of the dish precisely to see their reaction and if that does nothing, I once again give up and just stick to English. It gets all weird though if I realize half way through the conversation that s/he is Japanese.

The thing that is the oddest is at a Japanese book store. Now, I know FOR A FACT that they are all Japanese there--they kind of have to be to have the knowledge of the books and be able to look things up. Even then, sometimes I would go there, buy Japanese books or magazine, and they still speak to me in English. "Really? Why would you chose to speak to me in Japanese if I'm obviously going to read all of this?" I want to say. But instead, I answer them in Japanese.

This all sounds like a lot of work, but it actually isn't. It's all part of my routine and pretty effortless--AND makes me laugh a little. I suppose this stems from me trying to hold onto my nationality, and the words of my mother when I was leaving home which was, "don't forget where you come from. Don't lose the Japanese part of you." I was confused by this remark and was somewhat irritated that she would say that when all I wanted was to immerse myself in all things American, but as these things go, that stuck with me. I have made concerted efforts to try to hold onto my native tongue by reading and hearing it (through video and pod casts) even during periods of times when I didn't get to speak it for months at a time. I didn't want to be labeled when I visited and speak like a "returnee," (a term for someone who went abroad and returned) which is to jumble both languages and speak awkwardly. As I wanted to be totally fluent in English, I also wanted to remain fluent in Japanese, which is harder to do than you might think. So I force total strangers to join in my personal quest. Because sometimes, that's what it takes.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

2010-03-27T16:15:00.000-07:00

Japanese people are coo coo for thank you gifts. If you go to a wedding in Japan, you get more than a small match book with names of the couple and date of the wedding (not that there is anything wrong with that). You get a gift. I mean, a substantial gift that would require them to put in a shopping bag. Some of them even give you a catalog from which you can choose an item. Even if you go to a funeral, you get a gift--like a handkerchief (note: people in Japan carry handkerchiefs so this is something everyone uses). It's a joke that we can all continue to give each other gifts until we died.

I recently sent a care package to one of my closest friends in Tokyo who is caring for her dying mother. I've known Kayo since birth and though we never attended the same school, we have been good friends and we've kept track of each other. She is one of the first people I call when I get home and we make sure to see each other. Unfortunately, she is facing what most of us in our age fear and dread which is having to take care of our parents, seeing them fade away while working and raising our kids. Kayo holds an executive position at SONY, has a daughter who is 5, and is commuting to her mother's hospital to see her and talk to the doctor and drops in on her helpless father who feels victimized by all this. She has a husband who is highly capable, as well as a father in law who is very involved with her daughter, but because her older brother lives far from Tokyo, she is burdened with most of the decision making and responsibilities. My mother who has visited Kayo and her mother told me that Kayo was nearing a breaking point from stress, which broke my heart.

This is when the distance becomes frustrating. If I were there, I would go visit her mother, maybe take her daughter to play with my daughter, or do any other number of things to help. But I can't. So I decided to send her a package--American style. Care packages in Japan, though is common from mothers to their children when they move away, is not done all that often between friends, which is strange in a culture that LOVES to give gifts. The term "Care Package" doesn't even exist in the Japanese language as far as I know. I went and got her some spa items that she can use at home in a Japanese bathroom that is good for stress. I bought a cute outfit for her daughter, a nice coffee from Seattle's reputable coffee shop that is not Starbucks (because that exists in Japan), and a pashmina for her mother to use in the hospital. I wanted her to know that I was thinking of her and her mom. I didn't know if they would like any of this, but I felt like I wanted to do something.

This morning, about four weeks after I sent the package, I received a small package from Kayo. In it was a thank you letter from her and a separate card from her mother. She said that she was so deeply touched by the package and everyone loved their gifts. But this is what was amazing. Under the letters, there was a cute little blouse rapped delicately. This colorful cotton blouse flares out at the bottom, has cute puffed sleeves and has three little buttons, one of which is decorated with a tiny knit flower. I knew this was for my daughter and as I looked closely, I noticed that there was no label in it. It was handmade. I looked back to the letter and it said, sure enough, that she made this for my daughter. She said that she has been wanting to sew but hasn't had the time or the mindset and making this cleared the cobweb in her head. This was her thank you gift to me.

I almost cried. Then I felt kind of stupid for buying her kid an outfit from Old Navy.

I was blown away and humbled by her capacity to be this thoughtful in the midst of such hardship. I don't even know how she found the time or the energy and there she was, thanking ME for taking the time in my busy schedule to put a package together. And she did this in less than three weeks--I have yet to finish a quilt I started 4 years ago. I was so grateful for our friendship that started in our parents generation that is now carrying down to our children despite the distance. And I was reminded of the culture that puts as much thoughts in thanking someone as giving. Kayo could have just sent me a card or an email--but no, she went out of her way and gave a piece of her heart to me and my kid.

I don't imagine giving that blouse away even after my daughter outgrows it.

Home is where the food is

2010-03-24T22:50:00.000-07:00

There is a movie called, Spirited Away by a brilliant Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki. It is one of my most favorite films in which the protagonist, Chihiro--an ordinary 10 year old girl-- is suddenly faced with a curse that turns her parents into pigs, and thrown into a world so strange so rapidly that all she can do is to try to survive without understanding what is happening. Then, about 20 minutes into the film, she is led by her guardian Haku to a safe place, for the first time. He hands her a rice ball to eat. Chihiro takes it, starts eating, and begins to sob uncontrollably.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I moved here when I was 15. I went to a boarding school in California, thousands of miles away from home. I spoke very little English, but having been raised by parents who were very international, bilingual, and survived World War II, I think I must have had the personality (or the stupidity) to just jump in. But during the first year here, I gained probably about 10lbs. I basically put on the "Freshman 10" in my sophomore year of high school. I was pretty skinny prior to that and being a dancer and all, I was used to that particular frame of mine, so this was a bit of a shock, especially to my mother who didn't see me for a whole year. "Well, you look...healthy," she said when we reunited.

In retrospect, this was a classic case of using food for comfort. Hmmm, let's see-I leave home, go to a new country that doesn't understand my language, meet a whole new set of people, get a room mate, eat in a cafeteria three times a day, and oh, sit in series of classes in which I would have to look up every other word, in order to even follow the question being asked, let alone answer any of them. No stress, not big deal. I was hungry all the time. And I tried and ate everything. And we snacked a lot in the dorm. And my exercise was cut down by about 80% coming from maneuvering around Tokyo every day to living on campus where everything was in spitting distance.

I missed my food. I missed having Japanese rice, my mom's cooking or anything that resembled Japanese food. My uncle would come by on some weekends and take me out to Japanese restaurant which was such a big treat. There were also a dorm staff who had a rice cooker and she would treat some of us to rice now and then. But that was it. I had no access to the things that provided me comfort everyday that I didn't even realize.

I totally get why Chihiro sobs in that scene. A rice ball, which is an equivalent of PB&J connects every Japanese person to their childhood when their moms made these for them. If someone handed me a rice ball after my first week in the US, I too, would have sobbed.

When I was a sophomore in college, I moved into an apartment. I then started cooking for myself. I got a rice cooker and with what I could afford at the regular super market, I started piecing together how my mother cooked. My mother is a spectacular cook. I enjoyed watching her cook, and because of that, always wanted to learn how. I started helping my mother when I was about 10 and she gave me responsibilities around the kitchen. I used to pretend I had a cooking show of my own. So with that, I relied on my memory of how things tasted, and I started cooking every day. Then my weight came off. It may also have had something to do with the schedule of a college student which included about 20 hours a week of rehearsals that included dancing as I was a theater major and living once again in a city. Regardless, the food gave me comfort in the right way and gave me back the body I recognized. I could still only afford to have sushi when my parents came to visit, but I was less desperate for my home because I could create that good, healthy feeling myself now.

I was starting to flirt heavily with my husband when I introduced him the book, Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto. During the course of the story, it talks about many great dishes but there is one in particular called, "Kastu-don" that is described in detailed. It's breaded, deep fried chicken breast marinated with eggs and broth, over a hot bed of rice. It's Japanese soul food. I was nervous about having him read this because he didn't know much about Japan or Japanese food and I loved this book. My heart was going to be broken if he didn't like it. But he read it in about two days and told me that he really wanted to eat this. So I took him. We were living in Boston at the time and on the Cambridge side, there was a row of small restaurants in a basement of a building where they served foods like this in a most authentic fashion. I watched him eat every bite of it and when it was all gone, he told me that it was one of the best things he has ever eaten. I can't describe the relief I felt at that moment--this man that I was pretty certain I was going to marry just accepted my culture by eating it.

It's been over twenty years since I first started cooking for myself and I still cook almost everyday. It helps me to keep connected to my home, and now with a daughter, it connects her to it too. She seems to enjoy her rice balls, especially when it takes the form of Hello Kitty.

photo from http://www.imageshare.web

That's not sushi

2010-03-20T10:44:00.000-07:00

It is amazing to see how the perception of sushi in the States have changed since I first arrived in the US in '83. Case in point:The Breakfast Club. Molly Ringwald opens up her lunch and everyone is grossed out. I remember feeling a little bid sad about it when I saw the film. I was a junior in high school, my second year here, and feeling self conscious of my foreignness. Like any teen-ager, I was trying really hard to fit in and learn to speak like a native--I actually worked my ass off so that later in life I can turn a phrase like, "ass off" effortlessly.

Anyway, I felt like I came from a place where our food was only understood by wealthy jet setters. But if you recall, the 80's was where the Japanese culture was making its way into the pop culture of the US. Business men bowing and camera flashing tourists became a staple of comedy films, "Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto" was in the top chart, and while vaguely offended, I thought "well, at least people know who we are." Many of my friends were interested in trying sushi but still the notion of raw fish grossed them out a lot.

Fast forward to 2010, and living in Seattle especially, sushi has become everyday stuff, which is delightful. But here is the stuff. There is now a pile of sushi places that are just terrible. And by "terrible," I mean not at all authentic. I mean you won't find these "tempura roll" type of crap in a sushi shop in Tokyo. I mean people from Japan would frown upon them. I get snotty when my white friends suggest a sushi place and say, "it's really good." I have a series of questions like:

1. Is the chef Japanese?
2.Is the clientele Japanese (fastest way to see if an ethnic restaurant is authentic is to look at the clientele)?
3.How do they cut the fish?
4. How does the rice taste?

I ask these questions with much passion and slight bit of anger that by this point, most of my friends are sorry they said anything at all.

Sushi is a cuisine. Like anything traditional in Japan, to become a sushi chef is a LIFETIME commitment. Most people start young, like 18 or younger, and for the first several years, you sweep and wash dishes. You don't even get to look at the fish, let alone touch the knife for quite some time. There is an artistry in making sushi, from how perfectly you prepare the rice, how fresh the fish is, and the balance between the cut of the fish with the rice-long cut of fish over a small amount of rice is considered perfection. And yes, the whole point of sushi is to eat the fish raw, and no, you should never eat sushi that are cheap. So sushi making is not like flipping a burger. It's done with a lot of training, and with national pride. We take it seriously (OK so flipping burger may also cause some national pride and seriousness, but you know what I mean).

A side note: the kind of sushi that are served in America is also what we call "Edo mae zushi" which is only served in the Tokyo area. If you go to different parts of Japan, sushi is prepared very differently. Also a side note: conveyor belt sushi is indeed very authentic. Apparently there are more conveyor belt sushi shops than a regular shop in Japan. Last side note: we don't have any restaurants that combine sushi with other stuff, like teriyaki chicken. Sushi places just serve sushi, noodle places just serve noodles, and same for the tempura shops. Every place sticks to its expertise.

Back to my point. When my husband and I go to a sushi restaurant, we sit at the counter (OK, so this is not so true lately with the toddler, but if were alone, this is what we do). The right way to have it is to chat with the chef and order one fish at a time. You don't order from the menu, you ask them what's good that day and make your choice from there. It's even more decedent if you start with some sashimi, as you drink your beer, then launch into the sushi. You then later have soup, if you wish, possibly with some shell fish in it. Chefs get excited when we do this, because Americans (unless they are really savvy) don't do this--I think that they don't know to do it. I have been told by sushi chefs that I order like a pro and it's a joy to serve a costumer like me, which makes us both feel like hot shots. And naturally, it makes us snottier. It is somewhat evident that the chefs' souls are dying a little bit to make this massive sized rolls with five things crammed in them and I am happy to make them happy--because their happiness bring me good stuff to eat AND you often get bonus items, just for being Japanese.

But here is the flip side. I have an uncle who lives in Oakland. In fact, he is my only relative in the US. He's lived in the States since the 50's and has obviously observed these things much longer than I. He once told me that the measure of a successful Japanese restaurants in the US is how packed they are with Americans. Because they are eating the foods that is foreign to them and enjoying themselves and coming back. He says it is easy to go after the natives, but a really good business men would figure out ways to get people in who didn't know these foods existed. So really, who cares if its REALLY authentic? It's giving chefs the opportunity to work abroad, get to know the Americans, and hence the cultural exchange is being made.

I see his point. Who cares?! But I do. A little. Well, maybe a lot. But then how many kinds of ethnic foods am I eating and loving without really knowing how authentic they are? See? It's hard to be me.

Photo credit: thirdnori.exblog.jp, edomaezushi-nikaku.com

Introduction

2010-03-19T16:30:00.000-07:00

It makes total sense. You have long hair that you just want to twirl it up and stick something in it to hold. Chopsticks seem totally like the most obvious answer. Totally. But my friend in Tokyo asked me once, "Why do Americans put chopsticks in their hair?" Then it occurred to me that we eat with those. And yes, that would seem weird. Since then, my eyes would obsessively catch women with chopsticks in their hair like it's my personal mission.

I have a friend who is from Japan and has lived here almost as long as I have and she uses chopsticks in her hair. "You're not helping the cause!!!!" I yelled.

I am a person of two cultures, to both of which I feel close. Some might think that I must have become completely Americanized by now, and though that is true in many sense, people don't realize that you become the "expert" of your home country when you live in a foreign land. People ask you like you know EVERYTHING. So in that sense, I have become more aware of my nationality by living away from it for all these years.

I am married to a guy so white he calls himself "pink." I like him because he had no prior interest to anything from Japan--including women. He picked me because of me, for what its worth, and not because of where I come from. He has since become very versed in Japanese culture and seems to understand my joy and struggle. We now have a kid.

This blog is about my thoughts and observations of the two cultures. Nothing heavy. Mostly stupid. If you find it interesting and entertaining, I am happy.