2013: I'm Lucky Girl

photo by Nick Lindeke

As the karaoke box says, I really am a lucky girl.  2013 has brought me a lot of things to be thankful for.  Probably first among all of those things has been the unlikely chain of events that led one of my best friends from college back into my life last New Years, who, six months later, got upgraded from best friend to boyfriend.  Coulter has been one of my strongest rocks in the crazy whirlwind I call grad school life both in DC, and especially here in Japan, now that we are in the same country.

photo by Nick Lindeke

While his work has him stationed on a naval base far south of me on Kyushu, being in the same time zone and within range of weekend trips has made all the difference.  It's hard to think back on the last four years when we were out of touch when I consider the blessing he has been to me over this last year.  Coulter really brings out the best in me.

2013 was in the thick of grad school for me.  I am continually thankful that I got to study development at the School of International Service at AU.  It really is a phenomenal program that has crammed more than I thought possible into my head.  It is to the point that, here in Japan, both my peers and professors consider me the resident 'development expert.'  That is incredibly humbling to realize just how much more I would have learned if I had stayed around this year. 

During 2013 I was also formally accepted to the dual-degree master's program with Ritsumeikan here in Kyoto as well as awarded the Boren Fellowship with finances my education here and allows me to take language classes on top of my graduate studies.  Being abroad has had its ups and downs, but it has already offered me so many opportunities for networking and research for my thesis on the Japanese development sector.

I also have a lot to be thankful for in my wonderful network of friends all around the world.  My involvement with the Rebel Legion, an international Star Wars costuming club that supports charity and community events, led me to a wonderful group of friends in Maryland and again here in Japan.

photo by Jason Colflesh

In DC, I was blessed by three lovely housemates and a wonderful group of friends from the DC Intervarsity Graduate Christian Fellowship.  Through that, while I did not have time for choir, I got my music fix from blue grass and hymn music nights.  Those were probably the highlight of each month for me.

This summer, I had the wonderful opportunity to intern with World Vision in DC.  More than just the job experience and place on my resume, I made great connections, got a better picture of the development industry, found a place for my faith in my work and studies, and got to know a wonderful group of interns that I know I will keep in touch with for years to come.  At World Vision, I finally got a feel for what it is I want to do when I grow up: work on donor and institutional coordination in emergency relief.  At least, that is where I want to start.

Here in Japan, I have been blessed by being able to return to the same church community that I attended when I studied abroad near here six years ago.  Though many faces have changes, the huge heart of AICF has remained the same.  

Looking back, I really have had an amazing year.  I have so many things and so many people to be thankful for.  Here is to an even better 2014!

Forgetting to be Homesick

One of my Chinese classmates at language school asked me recently if I ever get homesick.  It took me a while to come up with a good answer, because I can't remember being homesick since college.  In college, a dorm room was just a temporary place to lay my head until I went back to my parents' house during the summer.

Living abroad, as a lifestyle, is a very different mindset.  I had to tell Li-san, that, no, I don't get homesick, because I have a home here.  Right now, Kyoto is where my life is.  Going back to the US after I graduate here will not so much be returning home, as much as it is moving on to the next stage of my life; my next home.  On the other hand, the wonderful thing about being a nomad like I am is that I can return home to Minnesota, Oberlin, Los Angeles, DC, or even Dharmsala.  Returning to Kansai to study this fall felt like coming home too.

That isn't to say that I don't miss certain things about the various homes I left behind.  Especially today, Christmas Eve, I miss the candlelight dinner with my family and singing with the choir at the Christmas Eve services at our church.  I miss the ever-present music at Oberlin.  I miss the smell of spices on the air at dinner time in India and the majesty of the Himalayas.  I miss California avocados and the LA fashion district.  I miss the AU library and the amazing consortium loan service that can get me any book I ask for.

More than places and things, though, I miss people.  It is a double-edged sword that I have amazing friends literally all over the world now.  My friends aren't just in the places I have lived, but like me, have continued their travels around the globe.  Nearly anywhere I go, I'll be able to find someone I know.  But at any given time, the majority of my friends are far away.  Thank goodness for the internet and the international postal services.  I am truly blessed to have the friends that I do that are willing to pick up where we left off when I drop through town or send an email in passing.

The thing with being homesick, is that there's very little you can do about it.  You have to stay where you are and stick it out.  On the other hand, missing friends is something you can do something about.  Granted, we haven't figured out instantaneous teleportation yet, but it is easy today to pick up a phone, write an email, call someone on skype, send them a silly gif on facebook, or even put pen to paper and write them a letter, as I have been known to do.

I know from my own experience that it is easy to get wrapped up in life and forget about the friends I've left behind in the busier moments, but it is so important to me that whenever the thought comes to my mind "I wonder how so-and-so is doing..." that I try to take action on that thought and try to find out.

Friends, never doubt that, even when I am far away, you are still very important to me, and I miss you.  I can't wait to get to see you again.

Agape

I wanted to write a little bit about the little church with a big heart that I attend in Japan.

Back in the US, the church that baptized me as an infant was an average size church that blossomed into something just short of a mega-church by the time I graduated from high school.  It is out of that background, raised in the good hot-dish-loving culture of Lutheran Minnesota, that I first found my way to Agape.

The spring of my junior year at Oberlin College, I studied abroad at Kansai Gaidai University in Hirakata-shi, which sits about half way between Osaka and Kyoto in Japan.  For perspective, that was about 6 years ago.  Oberlin was where I really began to live my life as a Christian, as to be Christian at Oberlin was more counter-culture than Minnesota, so when I saw a flyer on the wall at Kansai Gaidai about Agape International Christian Fellowship, I decided immediately to attend.

Agape does not have its own church building, but it is a church all the same.  Typically, on Sunday mornings, the church meets in a rented room above a train station. Though because of renovations at that train station this fall, we have been meeting in rented rooms of two different libraries.

That's a photo from the farewell gathering of when I studied abroad six years ago.  Now, there are about 15-20 members attending each Sunday.

In the US, you might call this kind of church a house church, and indeed, it prompted me to seek out a house church upon my return to Oberlin, but that term is less relevant when meeting above a train station.  One of the amazing things about such a small church is the way that everyone cares for and supports one another, both practically and in prayer.  You are known and you are loved.  Within the last few months, two members have been hospitalized, and I have been amazed at the intense prayer support at our little church as well as the way the pastor and other members have made sure to visit them and attend to their needs.  It is a church that cares deeply and a church at serves.

A few years back, the church was able to acquire a little cafe building, which we call Agape Cafe, where we eat together and have fellowship after the service and prayer meetings during the week.

Another unique aspect of Agape, coming from Lutheran Minnesota, is that except for the younger generation, the majority of the members of the Church, both Japanese and international, have come to Christianity later in life, the pastor included.  In fact, there are a number of regular members that have been attending for years that would not fully identify as Christian, yet are exploring their spirituality, which Agape welcomes and supports.  Just this fall, two of those members decided to be baptized, which was a great celebration in and of itself.  In bare, rented rooms, it is one of the most welcoming and loving environments I have ever encountered, no matter what a person's background.  Christians only make up about 1% of Japan's population, after all.

After coming to Christ, Pastor attended seminary in Texas then returned to Japan to plant Agape.  Several other members of the church have since gone to Texas to attend the same seminary before returning to Japan as well.  One of the pastor's great gifts is that of language.  Through that comes another of Agape's amazing, unique qualities: it is completely bilingual.  At any given time, about half the congregation is Japanese and about half is foreign, from Kansai Gaidai or otherwise.  So, all of the prayers, sermon, and announcements are sentence-by-sentence Japanese-English bilingual.  When we worship together, led by the pastor on guitar, our lyrics are printed in both Japanese and English, and everyone sings, simultaneously, in whichever language suits them best.  When we start the service with the Apostles' Creed, everyone recites it together in the language they are most comfortable with.  I am fairly certain that the student from Hungary that was with us this last fall recited it in Hungarian along with the English and Japanese in the room.

Although the size of the congregation on any given Sunday is small, I think it is telling that at least once a month, someone who attended Agape in the past and then moved away from Kansai passes through for a visit.  I am one of those who returned.  Even when I was visiting Kansai for a few weeks a couple of years back, I made sure to attend Agape when I was in town, and it seems like that attitude is shared by many others.  I wonder how many people there are all over Japan and the world that would consider Agape their church home in Kansai.  It must be well over 100.  There is something in the welcoming, loving community of Agape that keeps drawing people back.

I know I mentioned it before with the hospital visits, but Agape is also a congregation that serves.  Because the library we have been meeting at for much of this fall is far from the train line, the pastor's wife has been picking me and a few others up from the train station every Sunday morning.  During the winter, members like to go out and give rice balls to homeless people, talk to them, and listen to them.  Last Christmas, they wrapped up socks and gloves and went out looking for homeless people to give them too.  "Oh good, I've found here.  Merry Christmas, please take this present," layering on as many as six pairs of socks to keep them warm.  All this from a little church with a big heart.  Just today, we hosted three little boys whose parents aren't doing well at Agape cafe after the service to give them Christmas presents, hospitality, and Sunday school.  The church reaches out in small ways that could have a great ripple effect.

My way of serving has been through music.  The church that raised me taught me how to sing and Oberlin college sharpened that ability, so I have been asked a few times to provide special music.  The pastor's wife was explaining to me that special music is an opportunity for them to invite non-Christian Japanese friends to come to the service.  While they might not have anything against attending church, they are not particularly interested in it unless something special is happening.

This is the song that I was able to sing this fall.  The pianist is a woman who used to be a music teacher, but lost the ability to play the piano due to mental illness.  However, after being baptized this fall, she was able to play again, which was an amazing thing to be a part of.

I feel so blessed to have Agape as my church home to come back to.  Living abroad is never easy, nor is graduate school, and this little congregation has been the rock in my life since I have returned to Japan.  It is a place of steadiness and love that I can always count on.

Halloween in Japan

I remember the last time I studied in Japan, five years ago, few people knew what Halloween was, and it was always a fun cultural exchange conversation topic along the lines of "do you know about this crazy holiday we have in the US?"

So, when I arrived in Japan at the end of August and I saw Halloween decorations for sale at convenience stores and department stores all over Kansai, I was a bit puzzled.  My neighbor has had cutesy ceramic jack'o'lanterns and a doll dressed up in some kind of costume in her window for almost as long as I've lived in the neighborhood.

Since when did Halloween exist in Japan?

A Japanese friend of mine explained that this was just one part of "Abenomics," the aggressive economic revival strategy of the current Prime Minister Shinzo Abe.  I guess the idea is to create more consumer goods and more demand for those consumer goods, thus stimulating the economy.

Today on campus, I saw a few students dressed up in cheap, though conspicuous costumes: a US army soldier, a wolf, and a Pikachu, plus a girl wearing less conspicuous demon horns.  The other students mostly just seemed amused by it.  I couldn't decide if I was weirded out or if I really wished I had my Princess Leia buns on this side of the world to join in on the fun.

Another friend of mine said she went to Osaka with some friends in search of Halloween parties, of which there were many, in bars, clubs, and then costumed people drifting and congregating in a park.

There was also a Halloween party on campus over lunch where you could pay $10 for all-you-can eat cakes, cookies, and other baked goods for one hour.  I think I saw a bakery advertising Halloween cakes too.  They seem to be sort of on the right track with stuffing yourself full of sugar, but this whole holiday has been decidedly lacking in candy.  There's no trick-or-treating here.

Though, funnily enough, I have not seen a single child in costume today or any time during this season.  Nor have I seen children's costumes for sale.  It seems as if Halloween in Japan is an adult (or young adult?) holiday for dressing up as if you were still a kid and partying.  It's like the only people participating in Halloween are those people that, in the US, would be considered too old for Halloween.  (Though, I'll be honestly, I will still dress up in a costume at any excuse I get, but that's just me...)

I can't say I did anything special to celebrate Halloween myself, other than just puzzle at what the day has come to mean in Japan. This is not America, so I am interested to see how the day will evolve over time, if it isn't just a fad for the year, into a uniquely Japanese take on Halloween.

A Soggy Surprise Matsuri

This Sunday, while I was sitting at home with a cold, I heard one of the loud-speaker cars go by my window announcing that there would be a matsuri (festival, usually related to a temple or a shrine), in Taishogun (my neighborhood).  I looked at a neighborhood map, trying to remember where in my tiny neighborhood, there was any kind of temple to be having a matsuri.  It turns out, Taishogun has a teeny tiny Shinto shrine, Taishogun Hachi Jinja, near the public park.  I walk by it ever day, but forgot about it because the only notable feature is a concrete torii gate.  The actual shrine is sheltered inside a nondescript shed.

Later that afternoon, I was doing some work, and I heard the announcement car go by again, this time saying, "Please get out of the way, the matsuri procession is coming."  Not long after it, I heard the sound of a single taiko drum and chanting.  By the time I had reached a good stopping point in my work, the procession was right outside of my house.  Dressed in traditional shrine and matsuri attire, sometimes with rain ponchos over the top, a small procession made it's noisy way past my house.  All of the shrine relics were equally wrapped in plastic to keep from getting wet.

First came the drum and a procession of priests with a tree in a box.  After that was the women's float, then the men's float, a dragon, priest on a horse, and then a black car with, presumably, someone important in it.

As the priests with their tree and then women came by, I snapped a few photos from my apartment window.  Then in the gap between the women and the men, I threw on my shoes, a jacket, and grabbed an umbrella to watch them pass with some of my neighbors on the street.

Unfortunately, I was not fast enough to get a good photo of the men's float.  I did manage to snap a photo of the priest on a horse, however.  It's not ever day you see a man on a horse in Kyoto.

With this past and the progression winding it's way, chanting, through the neighborhood, I followed my neighbors to the park and the little shrine where the procession would stop.

When I got there, the two-man dragon had just arrived, and it went around biting little kids gently on the head.  Their parents would then politely thank the dragon, so I suspect it was some kind of blessing.

Finally, the men's float arrived.  They put it on some kind of elevated cart to rest their shoulders, but then after a rest, painstakingly carried it under the shrine's sheltered area.  This was amid lots of chanting and cheers from on-lookers, as now they heavy wooden shrine couldn't be carried on the men's shoulders, instead they had to carry it with their arms, so it wouldn't hit the roof of the shelter.  Safely under the overhang, everyone cheered.

I asked one of the other people there, and they said that the procession had come from another bigger temple farther away and was going someplace else, but this is where it would rest, I assume, for a lunch break.  I admit I still don't know what the matsuri was celebrating, but it seems like a really fun way to get out and celebrate your neighborhood, even in the rain.

Kyoto Tea Party

This week I received an unexpected email from my previous host mother from when I studied abroad at Kansai Gaidai, asking if I was in Japan yet and if I had time this Sunday for a ‘tea party.’ 

My host mother (hereafter Okaasan) is very much into various Japanese traditional and non-traditional arts.  She regularly attends tea ceremonies, wears kimono, does flower arranging, and the two of us bonded over our love of sewing and other fabric crafts.  We even both entered a basket decorating contest at the local craft store when I was here last.  She beat me pretty handily. 

In any case, Okaasan had two tickets two a tea ceremony event at the Heian Jingu Shrine in Kyoto this Sunday, but because of other commitments could not make it.  Instead, she offered to mail the tickets to me so I could take a friend and go.  I had always wanted to try a tea ceremony with my host mother when I was here last, so although this would not be with her, I jumped at the opportunity.  The tickets arrived in the mail the next day with a detailed explanation of what to do and what not to do at a tea ceremony from Okaasan, plus a pair of little bamboo sticks and some rice paper napkins to eat tea ceremony sweets with.

I invited one of my grad school classmates to come with me, but she backed out at the last minute, so I went to the event by myself.  My kimono is still in the US, waiting for my family to visit in November and bring it with them, and a cotton yukata is too informal for such an event, so I put on my nicest cotton dress and headed to the shrine.

The Heian Jingu is a huge temple in eastern Kyoto, the history of which I am unfortunately rusty on, but it is a pretty spectacular compound and a major tourist trap.  What I didn’t realize is that it also has some expansive, gorgeous gardens.  The tea ceremony event had representatives from six different schools of tea ceremony.  Each of the six groups had set up in one of several pavilions on the temple compound.  Not only were these rooms usually closed to the public, but the two ceremonies I went to were in a part of the gardens that were usually completely off-limits to the public.

I arrived at the temple gates and found the welcome desk for the tea ceremony event, and showed them my ticket.  They gave me a little red ribbon to pin to my purse so that I would be allowed into the restricted parts of the temple.  They asked me which of the six schools I wanted to go to, and having no clue at the difference between them, I asked the two women for a recommendation.  They both enthusiastically pointed to the first school on the list and told me how to get there.

I found the first school’s pavilion in the restricted garden, overlooking a serene pond garden.  I was told that there was only room left in the last party of the day, in two hours, but if I took a number, I could come back then.  Riding on the firm recommendation of the two women up front, I agreed.  Seeing another pavilion just across the path, I walked over and asked them when the next open ceremony was and they said, “Right now, go on it!”  I was given one of the last three spots.

Before I could step up the stairs into the building, I had to remove my shoes.  But, instead of walking them over to the shoe rack myself, it was sort of valet shoes.  Two men by the door told me to step out of my shoes onto the wooden platform, then they took my shoes for me and gave me a number to claim then when I returned.  Now that is fancy shoe service.  It makes me wish I had been wearing fancier shoes than my beat-up walking flats.

Inside was a large tatami mat room (traditional woven mat flooring) with long, narrow felt mats around the outside for guests to kneel on.  You are expected to sit on your knees for the entire 45 minute ceremony.  There were probably 30-40 guests partaking in the ceremony.  No sooner had I gotten inside then the ceremony started.  A pleasant elderly woman in the center of the room had a full set of tea-making instruments bowed to the room and we all bowed back.  She began the process of making tea that seemed to be part ceremony, part art, and part practical tea-making.  As she was preparing the tea, several other women came around with platters of sweets.  This is what Okaasan’s rice paper and bamboo stick was for. 

The open spot I had seated myself in was in the middle of the room, so I figured it was a safe place to follow Okaasan’s instructions of, “Watch the other people and do what they do.”  However, the tray of sweets for our section started with me.  The woman put it down in front of me, bowed, and left.  Glancing to my right and left, I couldn’t see any cues to follow, so I took the chopsticks, took one of the peach-shaped sweets, put it on my rice paper then returned the chopsticks to the bowl.  I looked at the woman to my left with an embarrassed shrug, and she looked a bit confused before she slid the platter to herself and continued.  As I watched everyone else, I realized that I was supposed to first bow to the woman after me, as an apology for going first, take my snack, then wipe off the ends of the chopsticks with the top right corner of my rice paper before putting them back on the platter, writing facing up.  As the only foreigner in the room, she seemed to forgive me for that, especially since I explained that it was my first time.

Sweets on our rice papers in front of us, we were not to eat them just yet.  Meanwhile, the woman in the middle of the room finished making five cups of tea, which were given to the first five people to her left.  The women who had given us our sweets came out with trays of tea cups and handed each out.  After bowing once when given our cup and again when she emptied her tray to our whole section, then we could drink the tea, followed my mandatory admiring of the ceramic tea cups. 

Unlike the tea ceremony I had tried in college, this was leaf green tea and not powdered matcha.  Though, still bitter, the sweet is meant to cleans the palate before tea round two.  The sweet was some kind of mochi with red bean paste in the middle.  After that came the second round of tea, and then the woman in the center tidied up her tea station, left the room, and bowed to us all, for us to bow back.

After nearly 45 minutes of sitting on my knees I did pretty well to stand up straight, retrieve my shoes and stagger over to the nearest bench to wait out my legs coming out being completely numb.  After I got over that painful process, I still had an hour before my second ceremony (the ticket was good for two ceremonies).  I crossed the street from the temple to have lunch at the touristy temple café with overpriced foods (I was intrigued by the curry and cheese Heian hot dog, but they were all out).

On my way back in, an older woman noticed me following her towards the tea gardens and asked me if I was going back for more tea, noting that she had seen me at the other ceremony.  I suppose I am hard to miss.  Coincidentally, she also had a ticket for the same ceremony, still in 45 minutes.  I wound up spending the rest of my time sitting with her, Ota-san, in the gardens and chatting.  Ota-san is an unmarried, retired middle school teacher and gymnastics coach in her 70s that really loves tea ceremony, Kyoto, and other traditional Japanese arts.  When I said that I really love Japanese gardens, she said that her favorite was at a temple near her home, then gave me her phone number so I could let her know if I ever came to see it and was in her neighborhood.  I seem to have a knack for making friends with women a few generations ahead of me, and I really do love it.  I think I will have to take her up on it sometime later.

The second pavilion was even more beautiful than the first.  It was right on the water, and they left the sliding doors open to a view of the pond and gardens.  On the opposite wall were gold leafed paintings of trees and an stunningly decorated alter with incense.  When we sat down, Ota-san lent me a piece of kimono fabric to put over my knees, as she seemed to be concerned that my skirt was a bit too short when I was sitting down.

The second ceremony was very much like the first, with one major difference: this school of tea ceremony is practiced entirely by men.  A young man began to make tea in the center of the room while a woman narrated what he was doing and about the history of the school.  Meanwhile other men came out with trays of the sweets again.  I will admit I was a bit disappointed when the sweets were passed out on individual saucers, as I was totally ready with the chopsticks and rice paper procedures after messing that up the first time.  The saucers, the sweet, and the cups all had yin-yang symbols incorporated into them, which must have been the symbol of the school.  The tea was then passed out, and each cup only had about three drops of tea in it, but it was really flavorful.  After tea was snacks, a second round of tea, and then a third round that was warm water in the now tea-flavored cups.  I have to agree with Ota-san, being served by men in kimono and hakama, who held the trays steady and high in front of their chests, practically marching in a theatrical Noh style was pretty striking.  I never thought a tea party could be manly and handsome, but this definitely was.

While I am pretty good at sitting seiza on my knees for a white person, this one pushed the limits of it.  When it came time to go, I could hardly stand.  I did quite a bit of stumbling trying to get myself righted and hand trouble standing in one place as I painfully got feeling back to my legs.  I don’t know how everyone else did it, just standing up and walking away like it was nothing.  A man had come over when I first sat down to ask me if my legs would be alright and if I needed a sitting cushion (at least I think that was what he asked), but I was a bit prideful and refused.  When we were done and I was teetering to my feet, he was back and asking to make sure I was okay, and asking what I thought of the ceremony, if I had ever done that before, and how long I was in Kyoto for.  It was really sweet of him, and he said that their school would be back in Tokyo next March for Golden Week, if I wanted to come again.

It was a bit of a rushed day, and my knees still ache, but they will recover, and I had a great time.  Now, I would love to be able to do that with Okaasan sometime.

Chinese was not what I expected to hear every morning

Having started my Japanese classes at the Kyoto International Academy (KIA) only three days after my arrival, I am into my third week of language classes, where I oscillate between feeling completely overwhelmed, just right, or just plain annoyed.

One reason for confusion is that I joined the class for the last 3 weeks of a 3-month semester.  So, there is a lot I have missed.  However, as far as the primary text-book and grammar are concerned, I am in the right place.  Even our listening text book is just about at the right place for me.  There are just a few things that I am no as firm on as I should be (I learned them in my once-a-week night class this year, so I recognize them but can't functionally use them well yet). 

The classes, held for four periods five mornings a week, very much are structured to teach to the books, which in turn very much teach to the government proficiency exams. This means that there is a lot of reading and memorization, but not as much conversation practice as I would like.  I guess I will just be getting that in my every-day life instead.

The second bit of frustration comes from the fact that my class, and the whole school, is catered to the Chinese majority there.  In my class, there is myself, a Russian girl, and 15 Chinese students (one is Chinese-Vietnamese, I think).  Because of this, while most of the grammar and topical text books are catered to the N2 exam level (working towards business-level Japanese and right where I should be), our kanji (Chinese character) texts are all aimed at the N1 exam level, which is full fluency, because the kanji come easily to the Chinese students.  Still a bit rusty from 4 years away from regular Japanese classes, my kanji is a bit behind where I should be, but there is no way I can keep up with a room full of Chinese students.  However, my speaking, grammar, and fluency is already near the top of the class.  Given the amount of reading we do in class, though, I spend a lot of time floundering.  While frustrating, I am learning to come to terms with the fact that I can only work as hard as I am able to at my level.

There are, of course, final exams next Tuesday and Wednesday for the quarter that I only participated in three weeks of.  Thankfully, I have been reassured by the office staff and my teachers that they all know where I'm coming from and I can go on to the next level of Advanced 2 no matter how poorly I do.  Thank goodness they are understanding and that my visa is tied to Ritsumeikan and not KIA.

My classmates are all younger, aiming to pass the government exams and get into college in Japan.  They study for the tests and seem to do well on them, but have little interest in participating in fun topical discussions that our teachers occasionally bring up, as it is not material that will be on a test.  What makes me really cringe, as a former language teacher myself, is all of the rampant cheating on homework that goes on, but even more than that, how much they are all constantly talking to each other in Chinese--to an extent that sometimes I have a hard time hearing the teacher--during class.  I can't stand how disrespectful they are all being.  I also was not prepared for daily Chinese immersion every time I go to school.  Needless to say, I have not made any friends from language school yet, as they are not very interested in chatting with anyone in a language other than Chinese.

Despite all of my complaints, I am learning a lot as I struggle to keep up, and I know I will get a lot out of a year of this.  I just wish the classes were better run with more respectful students.

I am now in the midst of orientation for graduate school, so I am very much looking forward to digging into the classes I am really here for starting next week.

House Hunting

The first week of my being in Japan was largely consumed with house hunting after each morning's Japanese class.  The whole thing was a lengthy learning process in which I didn't really know what I was doing, yet somehow wound up with a very nice little apartment not far from either of my schools.

To start, people generally don't share rooms our houses with housemates, even as students, in Japan.  Similarly, landlords do not market their rooms/houses themselves.  Everything is done through reality offices.  So, hearing advice to this extent, I identified a reality agency near Ritsumeikan that was recommended by the AU study abroad office.  I hunted through their web site for places that looked good, jotted down the names and numbers, and then took my list into the reality agency only three days after landing in Japan.

In hind sight, I fully understand that flicker of a look that said, "oh great, a foreigner," that I saw on my reality agent's face.  That said, Imatomi-san was exceedingly patient and helpful with me for the next week.  Intending just to set up a time to visit houses later, Imatomi-san took me to the top three choices on my list, and I decided right then and there which place I wanted.  The idea was to move in ASAP, but a few things slowed it down.

First, one needs a garunteer, and that person must be in Japan.  I did not find out until much too late that Ritsumeikan University has an office that could have done that for me, so I was floundering a bit.  A friend from church who is about my mother's age volunteered to help me with apartment things, but as soon as I give her contact info and Chinese name, although she has been living in Japan for almost as long as I have been alive, they would not take her as a garunteer.  So I quickly asked the pastor of my church here if he would put his name down for me, assuring him that my Boren Fellowship meant that I would never have to default on payments.

The next crisis was that all of my initial payments needed to be made in cash.  While my little apartment is about $300 per month (after DC, that is such a relief!), the initial deposits, key money, and down-payments amounted to more than five times that amount.  As one could guess, that is more than my overseas daily withdrawal limit would allow even over the course of a few days.

So, enter phone complications.  Almost immediately upon arriving in Japan, I attempted to go get a phone, and was told that there was no way they could sell me a phone plan without me having an address.  Meanwhile, the reality agency really wanted me to have a phone number in order to get an apartment.  I managed to talk them into letting me use my Chinese friends' phone number as my emergency contact address, because it was clear the phone company wasn't going to budge.

They did send me back one more time once I had decided on a house address, but the bank still wouldn't give me a phone, as it was not registered to me on the back of my foreigner ID card, nor did I have a student ID card yet (and no, that acceptance letter was not a sufficient replacement).

That did mean I had no easy way to contact my bank.  Thank goodness for skype calls.  That problem fixed, I had the cash, so I was ready to finish signing everything for my apartment.  However, when the reality agency asked to see my bank passbook to prove that I had sufficient money still in there, we discovered that American banks don't have passbooks, and that I needed a Japanese bank account in order to sign for the apartment.

At this point I cracked.  I found my way to the international student support center at Ritsumeikan and laid out all of my questions and confusions.  I discovered that, in order to get a bank account, I needed a national insurance card, which I would need to register my residence for.  So, off to the Kyoto Kita-ku ward office I went to register my residence and get national insurance.  That took a few hours, but once I was done, I hurried back to the post office bank (the most ubiquitous bank in Japan is the post office) near to school and arrived all of 5 minutes before it closed, to open a bank account.  I deposited a bunch of money, logged it on my passbook, then took that to the reality agency, who seemed finally pleased with me.

However, that was not all fast enough.  I had to check out of my hostel on Friday morning and was leaving town for the weekend.  I would not be able to move in until Monday.  My language school was good enough to store two of my big bags for the weekend while I took the other two with me.

Monday came, I rolled off the night bus in the early morning, went to class, and as soon as class was over, I hauled two of my big bags to the reality office.  The confused look on Imatomi-san's face told me immediately that I was supposed to have gone straight to my apartment that day myself, but I will blame the language barrier on that one.  Fortunately, the office had a car, and he drove me there to meet my landlord, who turned out to be a landlady, much to my surprise.  From there, I dropped off my bags and walked the 1.5 miles back to school to grab my last two bags and back.

Japanese rooms are measured by tatami mat size, and mine is a 6-mat one-room apartment.  That is, it's about as small as they come and still have their own bathroom and 'kitchen.'  I say 'kitchen' because it is really a sink and a single electric burner (which is smarter than me; it only turns on when a non-empty stainless steel pan is on it.  I had to ask my landlady to help me figure out how to use it today.  While my frying pan makes it mad, thank goodness I got a sauce pan and a tea pot with stainless steel bottoms) with a couple of cabinets.  I will have to get myself some more storage and a fridge.

The bathroom is as big as some showers and is all one seamless plastic room with a shower-like door on the outside.  There is just one tap, which can be turned from the sink into the tub or triggered to spout out through the shower instead.

As to the rest of the room, it has two large windows, being a corner room, wood floors, a shoe cabinet at the door, and two lovely closets.  It was the storage in this place that really made me fall in love with it.

(Sarah models my futon for me)

However, when I first moved in, all I had was a sleeping bag on a bare floor and three suitcases.  For better or for worse, my friend Sarah arrived for her visit the very next day after I moved in.  Our first job was to find bedding and other housing supplies so we weren't both sleeping on the bare floor.  Luckily for us, the department store near my house had  a sale on futon mattresses, so we got both layers and walked them back to the apartment.  On the way, we stumbled across a tiny neighborhood used furniture store, where we ran back out to get my a little desk and chair for a very reasonable price.  The owner even put them in the back of her mini van and drove us the two blocks back to my apartment.  I will be going back there for more furniture and appliances later this month, I foresee.  The kitchen was mostly furnished by a dollar store.  Japanese 100 yen stores have very nice things.

Mid-week, I realized another battle I had to struggle through as a foreigner.  I did not know how to throw out my trash.  Japan is very particular about sorting trash for burning, recycling, etc, and the lengthy explanation sheet my landlady gave me was a bit hard to read.  So, today, I finally had the courage to go down to her office and ask someone to show me how to throw things away.  There is one bin for plastic bottles, cans, and glass, one bin for other plastics, and one bin for other burnable garbage (which must be put in a special yellow bag that I need to go find from a local convenience store... I felt pretty stupid throwing my food trash on the curb last Friday with the other yellow bags in my 7-11 bag).

The adventure continues.  I am still waiting on orientation next week so I can get my student ID, so I can get a phone, have access to the school computer labs, and get an internet connection of my own here.  For now, I am using a very limited free wifi hotspot.

There are still a number of things I still do not understand and still need to do for my house, but this is at least a start.

Starting again in a new place

Well, it's been a while.  Five days ago I landed at the Kansai International Airport and have been finding my feet for my new life in Kyoto ever since (with a few leaps and stumbles here and there).

What am I doing here and how did I get here in the first place?

I am currently mid-way through an international dual masters degree program with American University: School of International Service and Ritsumeikan University: Graduate School of International Relations, studying international development and global cooperation, respectively.  I finished my year at American University, and now I am in Kyoto, about to start my Ritsumeikan year.  After that is done, I'll need to return to DC to wrap up my SRP (substantial research paper) at AU, but I will have two masters degrees when I am done with all this.  My semester with Ritsumeikan starts during the last week of September, but I am here early, getting my feet on the ground and starting language classes.

Of course, being a full-time graduate student and a half-time language student sounds a bit like a silly idea, but I am full of silly ideas like this.  This is also a part of my Boren Fellowship, so while silly, it is financed, and it means that I do get to improve my language skills while I am here.

Followers of this blog from when I was in India may already have noticed that I have re-branded the blog as "Where is your village?" after a conversation I had with a little boy when I was living in India.  He followed me down the road one day as I was returning home from work and he was leaving school.  He caught up with me and wanted to ask where I was from, but asked, instead, "Where is your village?" which really took me aback, as I did not really have a good answer for him.  Even since returning from India, finding my own place in the world, wherever I happen to be, has been a very conscious journey for me.  Now, in Japan, it is even more at the fore-front of my mind.

Consider this the re-launch of my travel blog.  I will have thoughts on apartment hunting, phone buying, rainy weather, and a class full of Chinese students soon.

You can't take the American out of the American

It's funny how, traveling around the world, I found myself being such an apologetic American. 

"I'm sorry for how rude other Americans you have met are." 
"I'm sorry for all of the American policies you don't agree with." 
"I'm sorry that I'm huge and clumsy and clueless and just getting in the way."

It's easy to get that way as you are trying to make a good impression.  It's easy to wish, "If only I could be less American, then maybe I would fit in better."  It took some time after coming back from Asia for me to really come to terms with the fact, that I am glad to have been born in America, for all that's worth, and that being American is a huge part of my identity, for all of the Asian-isms that I have absorbed.  It is even a part of me that I am proud of and don't want to let go of.

For an example, I am proud to be an American feminist, from a long line of feminist women.  The support structure I have had growing up as I tried to prove that powerful, intelligent women have just as much to contribute to society as men, through their own, unique feminine perspective, is unlike anywhere else.  Every country has their own dynamics, and my feminist, tree-hugging upbringing has made me into the confident, supported individual I am today.

I have seen many people enter a country and try to become just like the people who were born and raised there; Americans trying to act like Chinese people while they lived in China, and so on.  I don't want to look down on that, as I have tried to do that myself, but always fell short, because, let's face it, I'm not actually Asian. 

Learning Japanese, a big part of picking up the language is learning the appropriate idiomatic phrases and levels of formality so that you do not offend the person you are speaking to.  It's both a linguistic and cultural study.  Your learn to be self-abasing, indirect, and hopeful rather than confident.  Through my years of Japanese study, I have gotten very good at this, as those are just the phrases you use.  I wouldn't even think of saying things with certainty.  And, honestly, I am not sure how.

At work the other day, I had to show around a visiting professor from Ritsumeikan University, where I plan to pursue my dual-degree next fall.  (Just look at all that certainty in my English!)  I am currently in the middle of the application process, but I was told that in the past, the application is just a formality and everyone who applies gets in. 

As I was showing Dr. Kimijima to his meeting, he remembered who I was and asked about my plans to go to Ritsumeikan.  (We were speaking in English here because my formal Japanese has gotten rusty, so I figured it would be less offensive to speak in English rather than in less formal Japanese.)  I confidentially replied that I was looking forward to go in the fall.  He was very taken aback, asking if it was already decided that I was in, or if I knew I was the top candidate.  It then hit me that although we were speaking English, he was still expecting conversation to be indirect, Japanese-style, and I was every bit the confident American that I had been raised to be, without the Japanese language to filter that out.  Too late to salvage the conversation, I had to admit, that no, I wasn't accepted to yet, but that I was very hopeful I would be.  Still, it made me sound rude.  (The appropriate Japanese here translates to something like "It would be good if I could be accepted, but..." or even "I plan to go, but...")

Language can help filter some of your identity, but you could no more easily take the American out of me than you could take the Japanese out of Dr. Kimijima.