It's been a rough 36 hours. I woke up yesterday, stumbled towards my laptop, and started going through my e-mails. Still bleary-eyed, I first saw my mother's. "We're very upset about what happened in Boston."
What? What happened in Boston?
I go to Boston.com and sit in shock.
Quickly returning to my inbox, I see a note from my husband. "I'm fine." I read it again in case my unfocused morning eyes are playing tricks on me. He's safe. I exhale.
The next e-mail is from Alpha Male, my favorite Japanese man in Japan. "You probably already know this, but....." This is his way of showing concern. I'm touched.
I type e-mails to my friends as fast as I can. I call. I'm on the other side of the world and feel completely helpless. The two emotions that I felt yesterday morning, shock and impotence, were only the beginning.
Then came profound disappointment and rage.
When by noon no one up north where I've spent the past two years said peep about Boston, my husband, my friends, and those who have offered assistance to these disaster-stricken communities, well, I simply lost it. I really lost it.
Growing up my mother told me I would show the worst side of myself to those I loved most. This was probably code for "don't mouth back" and "stop being sassy" but it was excellent advice. She's right. Yesterday, to my adopted family here in Tohoku I grew horns.
The message was simple. "That you all haven't asked about Boston is not okay." I ended with, "This is low. You all suck." I was angry, hurt, and did not feel like being kind. I chose to let all my pain out in these words.
In the past 24 hours I've been told the following: "we were busy" and "we didn't know" and "we don't watch/read/listen to the news." None of these are acceptable answers. Here's why.
To the first one I yelled at (I really yelled) I said, "Because you are disaster victims, because you've received so much aid, because you of all people collectively know what it's like to go through something horrible, you need to reciprocate. You don't get to not know. You can't get away with 'not watching the news.' You owe it to the people who have supported you all these years to care. In order to care, you need to know. In order to know, you have to pay attention to what's going on around you. You're a part of the global community now whether you like it or not. You can't get away with not caring about those who have supported you. And, don't give me this 'I'm busy' crap."
I've said the same thing to others. Some get it, others don't. I have no answer to whether it's "don't" or "can't." What's been explained to me when tempers have calmed and our voices can no longer be heard in the apartment below is this: "You would have told us if we needed to know," and "We're used to giant disasters. Sorry, but it didn't look that bad."
Is it my job to teach disaster etiquette? I wasn't prepared for this. I'm completely conflicted.
We show our truest selves to those we love the most--the good and the ugly. I love these people here, and they've hurt me deeply. I can't force upon them disaster etiquette and a more global mentality when they don't have, want, or see the need for it. This is a hard lesson to learn and one I accept only because my attempts don't seem to show results.
So, the past 36 hours have left me spent. I'm heading to Boston next week, and honestly, this can't come soon enough.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Saturday, December 31, 2011
New Year's Eve, Japan-style
We ventured out at 11pm to empty streets. I comment to my son, "I've never seen Tokyo so quiet" and we all ponder this for a few minutes. We have the sidewalk to ourselves. Twenty minutes later, we hit the crowds.
Food stalls line the sidewalk. People are lined up ten deep at the local shrine. We walk by the scents of food--chicken, beef, and pork on skewers, noodles mixed with vegetables, octopus pancakes in small balls, pastries, candy, sweet sake. It's a good thing I ate little during the day. My stomach grumbles.
Hungry and ready to eat, we stop at a chicken stand. We ask for a variety of chicken bits on sticks, and the father-son team behind the grill talk to us in English. Dad puts his hands together and says, "Pray? Japan-style?" and I say, "Yes." He grins. "Thank you."
Ten minutes later, the line in front of the shrine is now over 100 deep and I look at my phone, noting we're ten minutes away from midnight. Another ten minutes and the line is now out in the street, cops and firefighters directing traffic away from the worshipers.
We make our way to another bunch of stalls, this one set up in a park. My son looks at grilled fish on a stick--whole--and says, "I want one." He smiles and I grin back.
I pass the stalls selling cartoon masks. "I wanted these when I was a kid!" Then there are the candy stalls. "These, too!"
At each stall, I peer in to see who's behind the stove, grill, counter. I look at my husband and say, "Here's another way Japan has changed. These stalls used to be run by the yakuza guys. These people aren't."
They're around, of course. The chimpira, yakuza wannabes (guys lower down on the totem pole) stick out by their outfits and tightly permed hair. That they don't mind being seen in public wearing outfits their mothers would cringe at is a tell-tale sign of who they are. They swagger. Really. It's a sight to see.
Sumo wrestlers, very large men in traditional yukata walk through the crowds and people part to let them pass. People stare and then look away, a mixture of awe, respect, and just a bit of fear, as we all pretend to look and yet not look.
We eat ourselves silly, pay way too much for street food, and are happy and content as we make our way back to our apartment. The streets are now buzzing with people. Gone is the quiet from before. Taxis weave in and out. We can hardly walk through the crowds on the sidewalks going this way and that. A most perfect way to spend New Year's Eve in Tokyo. May this be the beginning of many more.
Food stalls line the sidewalk. People are lined up ten deep at the local shrine. We walk by the scents of food--chicken, beef, and pork on skewers, noodles mixed with vegetables, octopus pancakes in small balls, pastries, candy, sweet sake. It's a good thing I ate little during the day. My stomach grumbles.
Hungry and ready to eat, we stop at a chicken stand. We ask for a variety of chicken bits on sticks, and the father-son team behind the grill talk to us in English. Dad puts his hands together and says, "Pray? Japan-style?" and I say, "Yes." He grins. "Thank you."
Ten minutes later, the line in front of the shrine is now over 100 deep and I look at my phone, noting we're ten minutes away from midnight. Another ten minutes and the line is now out in the street, cops and firefighters directing traffic away from the worshipers.
We make our way to another bunch of stalls, this one set up in a park. My son looks at grilled fish on a stick--whole--and says, "I want one." He smiles and I grin back.
I pass the stalls selling cartoon masks. "I wanted these when I was a kid!" Then there are the candy stalls. "These, too!"
At each stall, I peer in to see who's behind the stove, grill, counter. I look at my husband and say, "Here's another way Japan has changed. These stalls used to be run by the yakuza guys. These people aren't."
They're around, of course. The chimpira, yakuza wannabes (guys lower down on the totem pole) stick out by their outfits and tightly permed hair. That they don't mind being seen in public wearing outfits their mothers would cringe at is a tell-tale sign of who they are. They swagger. Really. It's a sight to see.
Sumo wrestlers, very large men in traditional yukata walk through the crowds and people part to let them pass. People stare and then look away, a mixture of awe, respect, and just a bit of fear, as we all pretend to look and yet not look.
We eat ourselves silly, pay way too much for street food, and are happy and content as we make our way back to our apartment. The streets are now buzzing with people. Gone is the quiet from before. Taxis weave in and out. We can hardly walk through the crowds on the sidewalks going this way and that. A most perfect way to spend New Year's Eve in Tokyo. May this be the beginning of many more.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Ofunato Stories: Part 2
Today I'm grateful. While I'm alone on Christmas Eve, staying in a hotel destroyed by the tsunami back in March, this newly rebuilt and refurbished building is a reminder of birth and rebirth. It's like Christmas meets Easter all in one season.
Today I'm grateful. I'm grateful to be alive. I'm grateful for my family who arrives in Japan in two days. I'm grateful for my new adopted brothers here in Ofunato who have taken good care of me and shown me incredible generosity. I'm grateful for those here who are trying hard to move on with their lives, as each day brings a mixture of hope and frustration. I'm grateful for those who stayed behind to continue with the rebuilding of Tohoku through sheer devotion to the prospects and plans for economic recovery.
I'm grateful for family and friends from near and far who have continued to offer help in the form of concern, time, support (emotional, financial, and spiritual), laughter, harsh words, and love.
I'm grateful for my husband who has let me go with the understanding I will come back. I'm grateful for my son who questions what his mother is doing but not enough to complain.
I'm grateful for the kids who squealed with delight as a city council member dressed up as a reindeer entered their classrooms ringing bells, announcing the arrival of presents.
I'm grateful for grown men who can dress up as reindeer for the kids in their town. I'm grateful for men who take a day off from work to help deliver gifts of candy.
Yes, I miss my family. Yes, it's hard sitting in a hotel room once destroyed by a giant wave. Tonight, gratitude outweighs any sentiment of loneliness or grief. For that, too, I'm grateful.
Today I'm grateful. I'm grateful to be alive. I'm grateful for my family who arrives in Japan in two days. I'm grateful for my new adopted brothers here in Ofunato who have taken good care of me and shown me incredible generosity. I'm grateful for those here who are trying hard to move on with their lives, as each day brings a mixture of hope and frustration. I'm grateful for those who stayed behind to continue with the rebuilding of Tohoku through sheer devotion to the prospects and plans for economic recovery.
I'm grateful for family and friends from near and far who have continued to offer help in the form of concern, time, support (emotional, financial, and spiritual), laughter, harsh words, and love.
I'm grateful for my husband who has let me go with the understanding I will come back. I'm grateful for my son who questions what his mother is doing but not enough to complain.
I'm grateful for the kids who squealed with delight as a city council member dressed up as a reindeer entered their classrooms ringing bells, announcing the arrival of presents.
I'm grateful for grown men who can dress up as reindeer for the kids in their town. I'm grateful for men who take a day off from work to help deliver gifts of candy.
Yes, I miss my family. Yes, it's hard sitting in a hotel room once destroyed by a giant wave. Tonight, gratitude outweighs any sentiment of loneliness or grief. For that, too, I'm grateful.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
A little bit of everything
Holiday season that it is, I've been thinking a lot about who would be sitting around my dining room table on any given major winter holiday. My family is made up of, simply put, incredibly diverse perspectives. If everyone on both sides of my family were to sit around the table (and let's not focus here on the fact this will never happen) the list would include the following: Buddhists, agnostics, Muslims, evangelical Christians, atheists, pagans, seriously literal "What Would Jesus Do" Christians, die-hard "I-need-to-stock-pile-guns-to-protect-myself-from-the-government" militia-style Republicans, completely polar opposite "ohmygod, I can't believe I'm related to you" Democrats, gay and straight, with money and not so much, African-Americans, Chinese, Egyptian, Ivorian, Creole, Lakota, mixed race children, Ph.Ds and my grandmother who didn't finish high school, farmers and those with a load of frequent-flier miles, artists and stick-figure drawers, musicians and tone deaf. The list of comparisons goes on.
We don't all get along. Some of us rarely speak. Others simply won't and don't. We are related by blood and marriage. We don't choose each other. Therein lies a significant point. Except for our spouses, we don't choose each other.
Filling my life with those whose opinions are similar to mine--this is fun. We banter, push each other, laugh, and finish each other's sentences. Those with divergent opinions I see less of, and the more adamant we are in our differences the less we see of each other. I like having choices. I like choosing people I like and who like me back and spending time with them. I like having them in my life. I tell myself this is normal. It is, right? Why wouldn't I want to have like-minded people whom I like all around me? (Keyword for this paragraph: like.)
Because--and this is where Japan comes in--that's how I define my heaven. More specifically, and let me go on record first and say I don't technically believe in heaven the way it's referenced in the Bible, my heaven is the Yamanote-line.
This is the Yamanote-line.
It's a major train line running around Tokyo, never-ending, and possibly never beginning. Fine. It must start somewhere every morning and end somewhere every night but that's really not the point I'm trying to make.
My heaven is me on the Yamanote-line. Forever. All my favorite people hop on and off, we eat food, we never get fat, we talk, laugh, dance, sing, tell really stupid jokes (I'm finally able to remember the punchlines of every single joke in my version of heaven), and this goes on forever. Those whom I choose for friends, family, companions, ride with me on the train. Some get off every now and then and let others on. Simply put, I'm surrounded by people I love and chose forever. I'm totally serious about this.
I could argue I can save making sure I'm surrounded by like-minded people until I ride the Yamanote-line forever. I want different ways of thinking in my life, now, right? So then, just as easily I could argue I should make sure I'm challenged by those I'm really not sure I like and do that now so I'll appreciate the presence of my favorite people later on. Not being much of a fan of delayed gratification, this is hard for me. Admitting I don't often sit around the dining room table with my relatives whom I'm just really not all that fond of evidently means I don't want different ways of thinking that much. Hmmm.
Back to why this matters now. As I hunt for apartments in Tokyo, I find myself deliberately avoiding the Yamanote-line. This is ridiculous, I know. I'm almost telling myself if I ride the Yamanote-line too often now I won't appreciate as much later. This is total crap, obviously, but I still find myself looking at the lines that branch out and away from the green circle and avoiding the areas on the line itself. It's like heaven is right there but I'm not supposed to touch it for awhile.
A little bit of everything tonight. Life and death, likes and dislikes, friend and foe, and some how knowing it relates back to Japan. Random musings for the day.
We don't all get along. Some of us rarely speak. Others simply won't and don't. We are related by blood and marriage. We don't choose each other. Therein lies a significant point. Except for our spouses, we don't choose each other.
Filling my life with those whose opinions are similar to mine--this is fun. We banter, push each other, laugh, and finish each other's sentences. Those with divergent opinions I see less of, and the more adamant we are in our differences the less we see of each other. I like having choices. I like choosing people I like and who like me back and spending time with them. I like having them in my life. I tell myself this is normal. It is, right? Why wouldn't I want to have like-minded people whom I like all around me? (Keyword for this paragraph: like.)
Because--and this is where Japan comes in--that's how I define my heaven. More specifically, and let me go on record first and say I don't technically believe in heaven the way it's referenced in the Bible, my heaven is the Yamanote-line.
This is the Yamanote-line.
It's a major train line running around Tokyo, never-ending, and possibly never beginning. Fine. It must start somewhere every morning and end somewhere every night but that's really not the point I'm trying to make.
My heaven is me on the Yamanote-line. Forever. All my favorite people hop on and off, we eat food, we never get fat, we talk, laugh, dance, sing, tell really stupid jokes (I'm finally able to remember the punchlines of every single joke in my version of heaven), and this goes on forever. Those whom I choose for friends, family, companions, ride with me on the train. Some get off every now and then and let others on. Simply put, I'm surrounded by people I love and chose forever. I'm totally serious about this.
I could argue I can save making sure I'm surrounded by like-minded people until I ride the Yamanote-line forever. I want different ways of thinking in my life, now, right? So then, just as easily I could argue I should make sure I'm challenged by those I'm really not sure I like and do that now so I'll appreciate the presence of my favorite people later on. Not being much of a fan of delayed gratification, this is hard for me. Admitting I don't often sit around the dining room table with my relatives whom I'm just really not all that fond of evidently means I don't want different ways of thinking that much. Hmmm.
Back to why this matters now. As I hunt for apartments in Tokyo, I find myself deliberately avoiding the Yamanote-line. This is ridiculous, I know. I'm almost telling myself if I ride the Yamanote-line too often now I won't appreciate as much later. This is total crap, obviously, but I still find myself looking at the lines that branch out and away from the green circle and avoiding the areas on the line itself. It's like heaven is right there but I'm not supposed to touch it for awhile.
A little bit of everything tonight. Life and death, likes and dislikes, friend and foe, and some how knowing it relates back to Japan. Random musings for the day.
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