A Silly Story About Handwriting

I used to have recurring dreams.  Not the exact same dream, but the theme was identical.  I dreamt about tornadoes.  Always in the den in the home of my late grandparents, in my dreams I would look out across the fields of corn and watch tornadoes dance towards me.  Some were pastel pink, blue, and mint green.  Once I stood in one looking up at the wind around me.  Never scared, I loved these dreams.  I was in awe (I still am) of their power and grace.  These tornadoes did not destroy.

A suggestion I analyze my dreams led me to a bookstore where I combed through dream dictionaries trying to find meaning.  All the books offered the same explanation:  trauma in my life, crises, extreme emotions, impending disasters.

Please.  Dreaming about tornadoes was a gift.  I felt no tension, upcoming temper tantrum, or doom and gloom on the horizon.  Quite the contrary.  I loved waking up after seeing tornadoes in my sleep.  I felt calm.  Happy.  In my dreams, tornadoes were good.

Which is why I stopped reading silly dream dictionaries.  I didn't agree.  They were wrong.  My dreams.  My rules.

Reading somewhere recently that handwriting filled with loops indicated sociopathic tendencies, I was reminded of these dream dictionaries.  Allow me to share a story.

Because banks in Japan are generally rigid with rules I don't always understand, I opened an account with a branch of a US-based bank.  Here my signature was enough to open an account whereas Japanese banks require a registered stamp.  I have one of these stamps but I don't always know where it is, making it more of a challenge to go to the counter and beg for mercy to access my account without the proper proof of who I am.  (The stamp proves I'm me.  Not my ID.  Don't ask.)

I recently went back to the branch office of this US-based bank to change my address.  I showed proof of who I am and signed on the dotted line.  I handed the paper back to the teller who looks at it, then at the computer screen, then back to me.

"Your signatures don't match," he says.
"What signatures?" I ask because this doesn't make sense.
"Your signature here," and he points to where I just signed, "and here," now pointing to the computer screen.
I'm tempted to ask, "So?  You know it's me," but I don't.  Here's why.

I am one of these people whose signature changes with my mood.  Some days my writing is illegible.  Other days I have big loops for the "y" in my name.  Still other days the "a" and "m" are angular.  Today it's a combination of the above.  The point is, the my signature today does not look like the one I offered when I opened the account.  My mood today?  Okay.  I'm in a hurry.  I'm hungry.  Not cranky.  Generally good.  This leads to a slightly illegible, loopy "y" and pointy "a" and "m".  So then, what was my mood when I opened the account?  How the hell am I supposed to remember this?

Evidently, this hand-writing-changing-with-moods thing is not all that common.  All around me are people whose signature has remained the same for years:  my parents, husband, son.  I'm baffled by this.  They're baffled by me.

I think through all this as I contemplate what to say to the man in front of me.  I finally decide on what seems to me the simplest answer.

"May I see my original signature?"
"Ah, sorry.  No."
I laughed.
I did.
He didn't.
Fine.

"Okay.  Let me try again."  I take a piece of paper from the small tablet in front of me and sign it not all that differently.
"Here.  Try this."
He takes the sheet, looks at it, glances up at the screen, and handing it back to me, says, "Sorry.  No."

You've got to be kidding me.
"Okay.  Fine."
I completely change my signature to the one I use when I'm annoyed and hand that to him.
"Closer," he says.
I am not amused.
"What's different?" I ask.  "And, why can't I see my signature on your screen?  You've seen my photo ID.  You know I am who I say I am."
"Yes, I'm sorry.  But, we need your signatures to match."
Of course.

I sit back.  Here is the first time my changing-by-my-moods handwriting has gotten me in trouble.  Don't other people have this problem?  Why doesn't my husband's handwriting ever change?  And, what about this "loopy handwriting indicates sociopathic tendencies" article I just read?  Am I weird?  I really don't remember how I signed my name over a year ago, much less the mood I was in on that day.  I'm actually stumped.

I lean in to the counter.
"Look," I say.  "I don't remember how I signed my name a year ago.  I don't know what to do."
The man in front of me sighs, exasperated by this foreign woman whose handwriting doesn't match.
"Try again," he says, handing me another slip of paper.  I am close to yanking it out of his hand but don't.  I slowly sign my three names, a deliberate attempt to let my handwriting express my complete and utter annoyance.  He doesn't get it, of course.

I slide it across the table and sit back again, crossing my arms across my chest in defiance.  This is a challenge.  He takes a pen out of his drawer and circles two names from the first sheet and one from the second.
"This combination," he says.  "Copy these two from this paper and this one from the other."

Not feeling cooperative anymore, I take out my phone and snap photos of the two sheets with circled names.  I now have a record of how I must sign my name at this bank.  How I wish they would just let me use my stamp.

Signing again, looking at each circle and copying carefully I am done.  I pass.  Joy.

Annoyed with the bank, I leave with the thought it's that article that really nags at me.  There is no way loopy handwriting means I'm a sociopath.  I refuse to believe this article which surely was written by the same person who wrote that dream dictionary.  Careful what you read, people.  It might just ruin your mood, and we all know where that leads.

Signed,

Amya

"What the world can learn from Japan" and the not-so-nice truth no one's reporting

I don't know where this list came from.  I don't know who the author is.  Seen on multiple postings on Facebook as well as LinkedIn, I was touched by it's beauty and simplicity.  Sometimes brevity really is the best method by which to convey important messages.

This list, the words written describing Japanese thinking and behavior post-March 11 is now being challenged.  Not by many, mind you.  I am one of the few that will call foul.  Before I share stories of cruel and stupid behavior by some Japanese, I want you to read this list.

1. THE CALM :
Not a single visual of chest-beating or wild grief. Sorrow itself
has been elevated.
2. THE DIGNITY :
Disciplined queues for water and groceries. Not a rough
word or a crude gesture.
3. THE ABILITY :
The incredible architects, for instance. Buildings swayed but
didn’t fall.
4. THE GRACE :
People bought only what they needed for the present, so
everybody could get something.
5. THE ORDER :
No looting in shops. No honking and no overtaking on the
roads. Just understanding.
6. THE SACRIFICE :
Fifty workers stayed back to pump sea water in the N-
reactors. How will they ever be repaid?
7. THE TENDERNESS :
Restaurants cut prices. An unguarded ATM is left alone. The
strong cared for the weak.
8. THE TRAINING :
The old and the children, everyone knew exactly what to do.
And they did just that.
9. THE MEDIA :
They showed magnificent restraint in the bulletins. No silly
reporters. Only calm reportage.
10. THE CONSCIENCE :
When the power went off in a store, people put things back
on the shelves and left quietly. That's Japan.

I am all for giving credit where credit is due.  I am all for telling stories, painful as they may be to write or read.  When I hear stories about how some Japanese walked along the coastline right after the tsunami, gathering up cash (not belonging to them) washed up onto shore, ripping off gold necklaces and chains from around the necks of the deceased, cutting off fingers from the corpses and taking the rings home to sell I cry foul.  My blood is now officially boiling.

These stories are from a Self Defense Force employee who "worked" alongside these thieves, who at first assumed they were private citizens helping to collect bodies and body parts.  I put "worked" in quotes, because this employee was working collecting the dead.  The thieves?  I suppose a thief's "work" is stealing, so there you have it.  Two groups of people "working" alongside one another.  One to be commended, the other, well, let's just say it's a good thing I wasn't there.  I am not at all sure I would have been able to control my anger.

Back to the list.  The resolve shown by this person to not beat the shit out of those who stole, now that's resolve.  Dignity, Order, Grace, Tenderness.  I've seen them all personified by those I came across.  I am witness to the greatest acts of kindness by those in Japan beaten down by what happened in March.  Clearly, however, just as any other society has rats and sociopaths, Japan has its share of people who defy reasonable social norms and behavior commonly accepted as decent.

My rage at the scum of Japan who defiled the dead, who thought only of themselves in a time of national and humanitarian crisis, it frightens me.  I pray I never come across them in person.

Don't tell me you had your reasons.  Whatever they were, there's no justification for what you did.  You embarrass me.  This is one of the few times in my life I actually wish someone harm.  You deserve it.  Fuck you, people.  Seriously.