Christmas in Japan is about Christmas Eve. Christmas Day is not a holiday. No one I know is taking the day off tomorrow. This means anything Christmas-related needs to happen today. If I may spin this for a moment, in my defense I couldn't have gotten Santa's letter to this child on Christmas Eve if I tried. Let me back up.
Dozens of Santas visited Tohoku schools prior to Christmas Eve last year in an attempt to bring joy to children who had gone through varying degrees of trauma post March 11th. In theory, this was good. In reality, this confused the kids.
"Which one is real?"
"Why is Santa Japanese?" Pictures of Santa these kids have seen show a foreign-looking grandpa.
"Will Santa still come on Christmas Eve?"
Touche.
School principals made it clear to me "No Santa" this year. In an attempt to be creative while finding a way to continue the Christmas tradition of gifts-to-kids-in-Tohoku, I took Santa's son. It worked. Not accustomed to thinking Santa has a family but still making sense Santa would be generous to come early via his son, the kids ate it up. And, the candy Santa's son brought.
At one preschool, after gifts had been given out and Santa's son and the reindeer (me and another friend) had been serenaded with songs, kids came up to us sly looks on their faces. The three of us were handed home-made Christmas trees--pine cones decorated with glitter, sitting in a bottle cap for a base. We oohed and aahed appropriately. I believe I even giggled a bit.
After the cheering died down, one boy got up standing out in the sea of seated children. He walked over to the podium and pulled out a cardboard Christmas tree. Making his way to Santa's son, the tree passes from boy to man and everyone starts talking at once. The principal shushing us, says, "Daisuke made this just for you," and I swear I'm about to lose it.
Santa's son leans down, pats the boy's head and says, "I'll take this to my dad, Santa. He'll be so glad you made this for him." The boy beams. I blink hard. I will not lose it. I will not lose it. I will not lose it. We left touched, loved, basking in the feeling we did something good on this day. So far so good.
Fast forward a week and I'm back with Santa's son. He hands me a letter. "Can you get this to Daisuke?" I'm stunned. He remembered. I open the card, a pop-up Christmas image inside. On the back Santa wrote,
"Dear Daisuke,
Thank you for the wonderful Christmas tree you gave me. My son gave it to me. It made me very happy. I will never forget you or this gift. Thank you very much. Be a good boy next year, too. Love, Santa Claus."
I look up at Santa's son and am speechless. "I'll get this to Daisuke. I promise." That was Saturday afternoon. I make a mental note to make my way to the post office on Monday (today) to send Santa's letter express so it will get there on Christmas Day. I'm pleased with myself. I can make this happen.
Or not. I wake up on Monday morning and it hits me. The Emperor's birthday was yesterday. A Sunday. That makes this a holiday as well. I run to my laptop. They have to be open. I find my local post office branch and look at their hours. "Not open on holidays." No. No, no, no!
I resolve to make this work. I breathe.
The preschool is closed today. That means I can't reach the principal. No problem. I call a friend in town who is surely to have her number. I make the call, reach my friend, and trying not to sound frantic tell him the situation. Five minutes later, the principal calls and I explain again.
"I can send it overnight, right? If I FedEx it?" Is FedEx open on national holidays? I fight the urge to panic.
"I think so," and I hear her conferring with her husband in the background.
"Or, I can just tell Daisuke Santa's running a bit behind because he was busy."
"No, I don't want that. Santa's supposed to be organized." I skip the "unlike me" part.
"Can you call someone in Daisuke's family and tell him the letter is in the mail?"
I choose my words carefully because it was made very clear to the three of us who received special gifts on that day that Daisuke's gift was extra special.
"He came from Rikuzentakata," the principal tells us later. "He's had it hard. He lost so much in the tsunami."
I don't ask what this means. Did he lose him home? His family? I want him to know Santa's letter will arrive, but I don't know who in his family the principal can contact.
"I can take care of that. I'll call his mother" the principal reassures me. I feel better. At least his mother is around.
"I'll run down to my local Seven Eleven and see what I can do."
It worked. Santa's letter to Daisuke will arrive tomorrow. The 740 yen I spent to make sure this boy gets a thank you card from Santa Claus is the best money I've spent in a long time. I can exhale again, deeply. Merry Christmas, Daisuke.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
Porn on the Train
I first heard about the Mayan calendar, the "December 21st is the last day for humankind" story on a camping trip to New Mexico years ago. Let's just say nature called out. I needed to reconnect. True I was burnt out; tired of airports, hotels, and living out of a suitcase. I camped with a group of women in the hills of New Mexico. This is most unlike me. I don't camp. It was one of those things in hindsight I can't explain. Nature has not called me to reconnect since, and I don't expect I'll commune with it even if it does. I'm simply not a nature girl. But, I digress.
It's December 21st in Tokyo, and while there are several hours left yet in the day, the world has not come crashing down around me. In fact, I had a most wonderful lunch and dinner. Coming away from it feeling tall and useful, happy and loved, I was convinced life is truly good and no way would the world come to an end today. On that note, who's December 21st are we to be looking at anyway? Whose clock officially kicks off this day? Are we to calculate this day using GMT, or on Mayan time? If the latter, December 21st starts around Pacific Standard Time in the US? That actually means December 21st is about 36 hours long for us here in Tokyo. This is too much math for me to contemplate.
I'm heading home on the subway after dinner, yawning because I haven't had enough tea today. I'm looking off into space, not really paying attention to my surroundings. Still happy from my meetings, I let myself dwell in this special moment.
I yawn again, and cover my mouth but a bit too late. Looking to see if anyone noticed I see the man sitting across from me staring. What? You've never seen a woman cover her mouth only half-way through a yawn? Sorry. Bad manners on my part. Our eyes have met. Here, he looks down to the magazine he has open in his lap. He looks up at me again. I look down at the magazine. It's porn. It's actually child pornography, but in anime, Japanese cartoons. The front cover facing me has a barely dressed preteen in an erotic pose. Well now. I look back up at him. He nods. Am I being challenged? I sit still. He nods again, this time to the empty seat next to him. Is he serious? He wants me to sit down next to him? I ponder this. Briefly. He nods again, gesturing down at the seat with his head.
I decide there is this vortex of confusion over the earth today, December 21st and all, and that our planet is trying to decide whether or not to stay alive. In this confusion, I'm thrown in front of a man reading child pornography on the train who evidently wants me to read it with him. I get up and sit down next to him. Be prepared, dear man. Bring it. You have no idea what you're getting into.
Sitting side by side, he looks at me and I look back at him. This is a fight. I can feel it. I'm determined not to lose, although I can't quite pinpoint what exactly "losing" would mean. He starts reading the magazine again. I join in. It's not reading as much as it is looking at the pictures.
Of girls being raped. Of girls giving blow jobs. Of girls. There's nothing about these drawings that would make anyone think these characters are anything but six-year olds. This is child pornography. This is smut. Possession of this child pornography in Japan is legal. He's not breaking any laws. Attempts by foreign governments to shame Japan into proposing legislation that would categorize even anime as child pornography have a). not succeeded, and b). been met with furious opposition from the "artists" who draw these scenes of torture and debauchery. "It's art," they say. Bite me.
We're both quiet. He flips pages and I follow along. The "stories" are short. He starts another and I see this one contains a dog. That's it. That's my limit.
I look at him. "You like this?"
He looks back. "Yeah."
I turn my ahead away from him and look straight ahead. People are watching us. I'm silent for a minute and then say, "Huh."
"You don't like it?"
I turn, then pause, and cock my head to the side. I'm giving him my best "you're-kidding-me" look, hoping he gets it. Straightening back up, I say, "No, I don't."
I'm not done. "I don't get why looking at this is fun. I think it's gross. This," and I point to the dog, "Really?"
"Yeah, the dog is a bit much."
"The dog is a bit much? The rest is okay?"
"Yeah. The rest is okay. It's not real."
Aaah. There it is. It's a cartoon so no one's getting hurt.
"You're foreign so you don't get it. This is okay in Japan," he says and I feel my eyes widening and I'm so close to punching him and I have to force myself to exhale.
"Well," and I take a deep breath because I'm now shaking, "in my country this is illegal." I pause for effect. "This is considered counter-culture, stupid, dirty, and the worst kind of perversion out there. You'd be arrested for reading this in my country."
"Good thing I'm in Japan then," he says.
"Yeah, only in Japan. The rest of the world thinks this is wrong. You guys are way behind the times in what's considered decent," I say and this is my cue. I get up. I've had enough.
I did not punch him. For this I'm proud of myself but only sort of. I got off the train three stations before mine. I needed air. I could feel my heart in my chest, beating furiously. I wasn't expecting to change his mind, lead him to an epiphany where he would see how morally and socially corrupt this whole "it's not real so it's okay" argument is. I equally did not see myself coming away feeling this deflated. I feel gross. My hands feel oily. I want to scrub myself clean.
It was a matter of time before this happened. Today it did, and it some how makes sense that it would on this particular day, but I know this argument will hold no water when I face a similar experience again in future and it's not a day the world is to come to an end. Deal with that then? I guess. It's frightening how wrong that answer is, and yet. And, yet.
It's December 21st in Tokyo, and while there are several hours left yet in the day, the world has not come crashing down around me. In fact, I had a most wonderful lunch and dinner. Coming away from it feeling tall and useful, happy and loved, I was convinced life is truly good and no way would the world come to an end today. On that note, who's December 21st are we to be looking at anyway? Whose clock officially kicks off this day? Are we to calculate this day using GMT, or on Mayan time? If the latter, December 21st starts around Pacific Standard Time in the US? That actually means December 21st is about 36 hours long for us here in Tokyo. This is too much math for me to contemplate.
I'm heading home on the subway after dinner, yawning because I haven't had enough tea today. I'm looking off into space, not really paying attention to my surroundings. Still happy from my meetings, I let myself dwell in this special moment.
I yawn again, and cover my mouth but a bit too late. Looking to see if anyone noticed I see the man sitting across from me staring. What? You've never seen a woman cover her mouth only half-way through a yawn? Sorry. Bad manners on my part. Our eyes have met. Here, he looks down to the magazine he has open in his lap. He looks up at me again. I look down at the magazine. It's porn. It's actually child pornography, but in anime, Japanese cartoons. The front cover facing me has a barely dressed preteen in an erotic pose. Well now. I look back up at him. He nods. Am I being challenged? I sit still. He nods again, this time to the empty seat next to him. Is he serious? He wants me to sit down next to him? I ponder this. Briefly. He nods again, gesturing down at the seat with his head.
I decide there is this vortex of confusion over the earth today, December 21st and all, and that our planet is trying to decide whether or not to stay alive. In this confusion, I'm thrown in front of a man reading child pornography on the train who evidently wants me to read it with him. I get up and sit down next to him. Be prepared, dear man. Bring it. You have no idea what you're getting into.
Sitting side by side, he looks at me and I look back at him. This is a fight. I can feel it. I'm determined not to lose, although I can't quite pinpoint what exactly "losing" would mean. He starts reading the magazine again. I join in. It's not reading as much as it is looking at the pictures.
Of girls being raped. Of girls giving blow jobs. Of girls. There's nothing about these drawings that would make anyone think these characters are anything but six-year olds. This is child pornography. This is smut. Possession of this child pornography in Japan is legal. He's not breaking any laws. Attempts by foreign governments to shame Japan into proposing legislation that would categorize even anime as child pornography have a). not succeeded, and b). been met with furious opposition from the "artists" who draw these scenes of torture and debauchery. "It's art," they say. Bite me.
We're both quiet. He flips pages and I follow along. The "stories" are short. He starts another and I see this one contains a dog. That's it. That's my limit.
I look at him. "You like this?"
He looks back. "Yeah."
I turn my ahead away from him and look straight ahead. People are watching us. I'm silent for a minute and then say, "Huh."
"You don't like it?"
I turn, then pause, and cock my head to the side. I'm giving him my best "you're-kidding-me" look, hoping he gets it. Straightening back up, I say, "No, I don't."
I'm not done. "I don't get why looking at this is fun. I think it's gross. This," and I point to the dog, "Really?"
"Yeah, the dog is a bit much."
"The dog is a bit much? The rest is okay?"
"Yeah. The rest is okay. It's not real."
Aaah. There it is. It's a cartoon so no one's getting hurt.
"You're foreign so you don't get it. This is okay in Japan," he says and I feel my eyes widening and I'm so close to punching him and I have to force myself to exhale.
"Well," and I take a deep breath because I'm now shaking, "in my country this is illegal." I pause for effect. "This is considered counter-culture, stupid, dirty, and the worst kind of perversion out there. You'd be arrested for reading this in my country."
"Good thing I'm in Japan then," he says.
"Yeah, only in Japan. The rest of the world thinks this is wrong. You guys are way behind the times in what's considered decent," I say and this is my cue. I get up. I've had enough.
I did not punch him. For this I'm proud of myself but only sort of. I got off the train three stations before mine. I needed air. I could feel my heart in my chest, beating furiously. I wasn't expecting to change his mind, lead him to an epiphany where he would see how morally and socially corrupt this whole "it's not real so it's okay" argument is. I equally did not see myself coming away feeling this deflated. I feel gross. My hands feel oily. I want to scrub myself clean.
It was a matter of time before this happened. Today it did, and it some how makes sense that it would on this particular day, but I know this argument will hold no water when I face a similar experience again in future and it's not a day the world is to come to an end. Deal with that then? I guess. It's frightening how wrong that answer is, and yet. And, yet.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Post-Earthquake Update
The M7.3 earthquake that hit off the coast of northeastern Japan last night has left many in Tohoku shaken. Too close to where "the big one" hit 20 months ago, memories kept right under the surface pop out again like pimples. It's too soon. It's too raw.
I was in Rikuzentakata City Hall when the earthquake hit. There was a bit of a roar, the earth rumbling with a warning, but it wasn't enough of a notice for us to prepare. Our pre-fab building shook. A lot. Items started falling off the shelves. People got up, propping up tall file cabinets, bookshelves and the like.
I sat. It's all so unreal. That famous line from cop shows "It happened so fast" is real in ways I don't want it to be. There's also a sense this is happening around me. It's as if I'm not really a part of this. Japan is not my country. I feel oddly disconnected. I'm not technically a Rikuzentakata City Hall employee. They've already been through this with disastrous consequences. Having lost one quarter of their employees and another 100 or so in contract workers, they know the drill. Literally.
And, I do mean it literally. Once the shaking subsided everyone went into action. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
There are lessons to be learned here. Immediate lessons we need to drive home. Not just for those of us here in Tohoku, but for every kind of disaster.
I reflect upon the following:
1). I've always thought I had an escape plan. To be fair, I did. Having said that, I never made myself go through a "drill" of any sort. Behind the apartment I stay in is a hill, and I can see where I would go to escape, but I've never practiced. I don't know how long it takes. This is not okay. Considering we are to be prepared for aftershocks for awhile, I will do this today.
2). With time we all become more complacent. While I can argue how normal this is and many would agree, this is dangerous. My cell phones are often only half-charged. It wouldn't hurt if I could find (and then carry) a small solar-powered flashlight. It's simply not smart to assume anything. It's hard to always be vigilant. It's harder to be caught off guard and thus completely screwed.
3). People care. My phone rang frequently with people checking up on me. "Where are you?" and "Are you okay?" were welcome questions, especially considering my family were fast asleep in the US. It's okay to hang onto these lifelines. It's further okay to...
4). Ask for help. The apartment I stay in when I'm in Tohoku is too near the ocean for my comfort at times like this. I called friends who live in town, a good distance from the coast and asked to spend the night there.
5). Follow the leader. There are people who have to be calm in situations like this, and they're resources. Use them. Trust them.
In Rikuzentakata City Hall, there were those who went straight into battle-mode. Others clung to each other. At first glance, it looked as if they were hugging. It's not a hug when you don't or can't let go.
I'm concerned about post-earthquake trauma. Sirens, a good source of information because they always follow with an announcement are actually ominous and eerie. Necessary but they're not tools that induce calm.
I'm okay. I will be okay. I have people I can rely upon and I will spend the rest of the afternoon preparing while trying not to obsess or feel stress.
Prepare yourselves, people. It's the right thing to do.
I was in Rikuzentakata City Hall when the earthquake hit. There was a bit of a roar, the earth rumbling with a warning, but it wasn't enough of a notice for us to prepare. Our pre-fab building shook. A lot. Items started falling off the shelves. People got up, propping up tall file cabinets, bookshelves and the like.
I sat. It's all so unreal. That famous line from cop shows "It happened so fast" is real in ways I don't want it to be. There's also a sense this is happening around me. It's as if I'm not really a part of this. Japan is not my country. I feel oddly disconnected. I'm not technically a Rikuzentakata City Hall employee. They've already been through this with disastrous consequences. Having lost one quarter of their employees and another 100 or so in contract workers, they know the drill. Literally.
And, I do mean it literally. Once the shaking subsided everyone went into action. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
There are lessons to be learned here. Immediate lessons we need to drive home. Not just for those of us here in Tohoku, but for every kind of disaster.
I reflect upon the following:
1). I've always thought I had an escape plan. To be fair, I did. Having said that, I never made myself go through a "drill" of any sort. Behind the apartment I stay in is a hill, and I can see where I would go to escape, but I've never practiced. I don't know how long it takes. This is not okay. Considering we are to be prepared for aftershocks for awhile, I will do this today.
2). With time we all become more complacent. While I can argue how normal this is and many would agree, this is dangerous. My cell phones are often only half-charged. It wouldn't hurt if I could find (and then carry) a small solar-powered flashlight. It's simply not smart to assume anything. It's hard to always be vigilant. It's harder to be caught off guard and thus completely screwed.
3). People care. My phone rang frequently with people checking up on me. "Where are you?" and "Are you okay?" were welcome questions, especially considering my family were fast asleep in the US. It's okay to hang onto these lifelines. It's further okay to...
4). Ask for help. The apartment I stay in when I'm in Tohoku is too near the ocean for my comfort at times like this. I called friends who live in town, a good distance from the coast and asked to spend the night there.
5). Follow the leader. There are people who have to be calm in situations like this, and they're resources. Use them. Trust them.
In Rikuzentakata City Hall, there were those who went straight into battle-mode. Others clung to each other. At first glance, it looked as if they were hugging. It's not a hug when you don't or can't let go.
I'm concerned about post-earthquake trauma. Sirens, a good source of information because they always follow with an announcement are actually ominous and eerie. Necessary but they're not tools that induce calm.
I'm okay. I will be okay. I have people I can rely upon and I will spend the rest of the afternoon preparing while trying not to obsess or feel stress.
Prepare yourselves, people. It's the right thing to do.
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