Parents Who Snap At Their Kids: What Post-disaster Recovery Looks Like Today

I am in no position to diagnose.  With no training in medicine, psychology, or psychiatry it's not up to me to identify who's suffering from what.  What I can say is this:  I don't need a degree to see and understand there's still pain in post-diaster Tohoku.  Two and a half years after Japan's biggest earthquake triggered giant tsunamis, ambiguity and confusion are still the norm.  Leaving the question of why recovery is slow aside, those of us involved in disaster recovery focus on what we can do here and now.

Kazu is drunk.  The more alcohol he consumes the more honest he becomes.  Tonight he let out his pent-up inner most demons.  His main concern, he states over and over, is the kids.

"They're just too well behaved," he says.  "They don't ask for things, they don't say, 'Daddy can we go to so and so,' because they know what will happen if they do."
My job tonight is to listen and prod.  "What do you mean?"
"Well, it's primarily the adults who are the problem.  We snap at the kids.  We're all tense.  We've got short fuses.  We're tired, I know I'm tired, and when we get this way we take it out on the kids.  It's not right but we do it anyway."  He sips his drink.  How many has he had?  I've lost count.
"So, the kids, because they know we'll get pissy, they don't act out.  They're the ones trying to make sure the parents, that's us, don't have a reason to get angry.  Or, maybe I should say angrier."
We're silent for awhile.  When he speaks again Kazu runs his hand over his buzz-cut hair.  "I did it, too," he says.  "I snapped at Yuuki."
I think of Yuuki, Kazu's son, a boy who has I swear grown at least 20 cm in the two plus years I've known him.  "What happened?" I ask.
"It was dumb.  It's true I was mad.  Yuuki wouldn't stop playing those video games," and Kazu mimics Yuuki's fingers pressing buttons on a remote control device.  "I hate those things," he says.  "I had told Yuuki to go to bed.  He didn't, of course."  Kazu laughs but it's an uncomfortable laugh.  "So I yelled at him.  Normally, I would have said something about taking him up to his room and helping him get to bed, but that night I snapped and told him to get to bed.  We're all like that, us parents.  We're all stressed."

It's neither fair nor accurate to say all parents in Tohoku snap at their kids out of post-disaster anxiety.  Do some?  Yes.  Do many?  Perhaps.  Probably.  The take away tonight from Kazu's alcohol-induced honesty is that he is tired, and that many parents around him are, too.   Why wouldn't he be?  Earlier in the day, another one of my brothers from Tohoku told me how the spirit of gaman, usually a beautiful combination of strength, determination, and perseverance has turned into apathy.  "People are giving up," he tells me.  "Not in the 'I'm suicidal' way, but they're all tired of waiting.  Change and improvement, it's so slow.  It's taking so long.  Too long."  He's now talking to himself more than me, and because I don't have the words to fix what's wrong I stay silent.

In some communities rebuilding has been going on for a good year.  Prefabricated homes and stores and businesses have long since been available.  It's the newly rebuilt homes and stores and businesses that are marking how well reconstruction is going.  In cities like Rikuzentakata where nothing can be rebuilt in what was downtown, the city is far behind its neighbors.  The lack of speed in visible progress turns into disaster-fatigue which then turns into snapping parents.  Or so Kazu says.

Clearly I don't have the solution.  I listen.  I let them vent. I nod my head when they need agreement and shake it in disgust when they need an additional soul to commiserate with them.  I left Kazu wondering just how useful his venting was for him.  I tell myself I listened, and hope that was enough.

On Dental Hygienists and National Healthcarre

No, I don't floss.  Certainly not every day twice.  Pathologically honest that I am, when dental hygienists ask me whether or not I floss I answer with the truth.  I am promptly given a lecture which I ignore.  I'm an adult.  If I don't floss it's on me.  Back off, sweetheart.  I know what I'm doing.

Several months ago my husband announced he was through with our dentist.  "I've never been so insulted in my life," he said.  "We're switching dentists." 
"Okay," I replied.  "I'll leave it up to you."
Soon after, he tells me we now have a new dentist, one who came highly recommended.  "You should go see her while you're here," he suggests on one of my trips home, and I agree.  I make my appointment and head to the office.  Fast forward to the dentist's chair, I lean back, open my mouth and let the hygienist start her inspection.  She pokes, she counts, and she pokes some more.

"Do you floss?" she asks me.
"Not always."
"You should.  Twice a day."
"I know."
We're not off to a good start.  If this were a first date there wouldn't be a second.  Add to this she's very young and I'm not one who's fond of being told what to do by someone barely older than my son, so I tune her out.
"You have angry gums," she says.  I sit up in the chair. 
"I have what?"
"Angry gums," she replies a bit hesitant.  I don't think she's accustomed to having people sit up to ask in the middle of an exam challenging her diagnosis.  I decide she's new, that she takes her job a bit too seriously, and that she has difficulty picking adjectives.  None are reasons for me to take her seriously.  Before I leave the office she brings out a skull with a mouth full of crooked teeth and shows me how to brush properly.  She also tells me if I don't use a specific toothbrush and a certain mouthwash "you might as well not be brushing."  I come home and tell my husband I don't like the new dentist.

Back in Japan I decide it's time to visit a dentist here.  Since moving to Japan two years ago I have yet to set foot into a doctor or dentist's office.  There are two truths:  I haven't been sick enough, and I don't like going to health care specialists unless it's really necessary.  Both were reasons to avoid the scent of rubbing alcohol that so often fills the halls of hospitals and the offices of all things medical.  Deciding if for no other reason I should find out how good my health insurance is, I ask a friend to recommend a dentist.  Her husband happens to be at the dentist's office "right now" and she calls him.  A few minutes later she receives a call back.
"Here," she says, giving me her cell phone.  "It's the dentist."
I'm a bit surprised by this sudden call and especially that it's the dentist himself on the other end but I say my proper hellos and thank yous and make an appointment for a few months out there on the spot.  While I found out the hard way at my subsequent cleaning Japanese dental hygienists are just as annoying as those in the US, I came away without insults hurled at my gums.  I'll go back.  Oh.  And, the whole thing cost less than 900 yen.

In the US there's been a debate regarding nationalized health care.  This is nothing new, and indeed there have been proponents preaching the benefits of national health care for decades.  The latest mud-hurling seems to based on "If it came from Obama it must be bad" (a sentiment I find very tiresome and completely unoriginal), but alas politics are not always based on reason, and politicians on both sides are not always the brightest of the bunch.

For those who have not had the pleasure of taking part in nationalized health care, here is how it works for me in Japan.  The amount I pay for my health insurance depends upon my income from the year before.  This means in 2012 I didn't pay anything for my insurance as I made nothing in Japan in 2011.  What I pay this year is based on last year's salary, and since my son makes more than me (I'm still essentially a volunteer) I pay very, very little.  For that, I get to pick my doctors and hospitals, I'm not required to get permission to see a specialist, and it cost 900 yen to clean my teeth.

It's not a perfect system.  I do believe, however, that I get extremely good care for the money I pay into health insurance.  (That said, dental hygienists seem to receive the same training, at least in the US and Japan.) There's something very refreshing about having freedom and control over my own medical care.  If I don't like a doctor I'll find another and not have to pay the fee with a kidney.   I know I only have one experience in Japan to stack up against the years of doctor's visits back home, but I am pleased by my trip to the dentist, and I don't think I've ever said that in my life.  So it is. 

In closing, just because someone decided to call it Obamacare doesn't make it bad.  I'm not saying everything this American president does is good, but neither am I saying everything he does bad.  Living in a country where I'm finding out what joy there may be in having more control over my own health care (all without having to worry whether I can indeed afford it), let's just say I might just be a believer yet.

On Women and Bags (It's Not What You Think) and All Things Chinese

Fury and tact.  One I feel, the other I will now attempt to muster up.

My three-hour layover in Beijing was not something I looked forward to.  It's a long story, but let's just say today I was indignant because of the treatment of the airline en route to Beijing by one of China's airlines.  Yes, I am one of those travel snobs.  I've not yet mastered the art of lowering my expectations from airlines where my status is supposed to make travel more pleasurable.  Because it was Air China that said "No" to things most other airlines says "Yes, of course" to flying into China I was already seething.  Cue three hours in Beijing where nothing is open (I landed at 5am) I plunk myself down in a chair ready to vent.  In e-mails, on Facebook, writing, I wanted to air my angst.  Having done so, I wanted a good cup of tea, some food, and to browse the news online.  Of those six items on my list, I got two: e-mail and food.

I get my access code for free Wi-fi by giving some large Chinese organization (government?) my passport number.  I wonder after the fact if that was a good idea (will they now track all of what I read/write/browse?), will they have my passwords?  Am I being paranoid?  Yes, likely to all.  The tea is Lipton (no), the peaches hard, the sandwiches iffy, so I go for bottled water and ... what are these?

Wife cakes.  Cakes made of wife?  Hang on.  The characters actually read "old bag cakes."  Here we go again.
My husband finds it hilarious (because he knows finding humor in this irks me) I struggle not to refer to him in public in Japan as my lord person, the word Japanese women commonly use to refer to their husbands.  I've asked him not to refer to me as his inside-the-house, the typical word for wife in Japanese.  I've shared with him our son is allowed to refer to me as honorable bag, but he's not actually to do so.  Not in my presence.  I make a quick mental note.  At least in Japanese mothers are honorable bags.  In Chinese, evidently, it's not the mother who's an old (but not honorable?) bag, but wife.  When did women become bags?  (Note:  no typo here.  The word is bag and not hag.)

Is it because we carry bags?  We were gatherers when our men were hunters back in the day, and the bags we carried then turned into our purses today?  Surely not.  Are we kangaroos, carrying our young inside our "bags"?  Is this a good thing, being thought of as a vessel, a holder if items, precious and sacred?  Do bags symbolize our wombs?  Am I reading too much into this?

I have the time to contemplate all this because from Beijing's airport I cannot access Facebook.  The links from Washington Post, CNN, and other major news outlets also don't work.  Is the Chinese mega-machine that is airport-government-and more controling what I have access to?  Wanting a good cup of tea but not willing to settle for Lipton, I make my way back to the small food stand and decide the old bag cakes warrant a photo, if for no other reason, my husband will get a kick out of this.  I take out my phone from my bag (my most honorable), open the glass door where the bag-cakes are kept cool, and snap a photo.  "Sorry, please.  No photo," the young woman standing next to the case tells me.  I look around.  This display of food is the only one with a guard.  Why no photo?  Because I'm surely not the only foreigner who thinks food should not be referred to as old, or baglike, or made from parts of a spouse, thus I'm forbidden to take the photo.  Someone like me will surely post it on Facebook once they get to a place where accessing social media is allowed.
"Uh huh," I tell the pretty, young, professional, but clearly intimidated guard-of-all-things-pastry and walk away, thinking "If you really don't want me to have this photo you should be asking me to delete it," or hide those old-bag/wife cakes.  But, that's the Air China flight fury residue talking.

Remembering back to the security line where only non-Chinese were taken aside for a pat-down I decide this is China.  When in China cakes are wife-bags, internet access is limited, the country where one would think I would have access to wonderful tea is clearly not the case, it simply is what it is.

Some day I will ask a Chinese friend, lightheartedly mind you with no judgment attached, what those old-bag-wife cakes are all about, but today I'll post my indignation and resolve to avoid at least all things Air China and leave it at that.

Tsunami Tendenko: Save Yourself, No Matter What

Depending on who you are, depending on where you live the date of September 11 holds a different meaning.  Today marks the 12th memorial of the terrorist attacks in the United States.  Two and a half years ago on this day, the coastline of most of northeast Japan was forever changed.  Regardless of how this day is important to you, and even if it's not, this day allows us to learn.

There's a saying in the Tohoku region of Japan.  The two-word saying is, tsunami tendenko.  These words contain a simple but powerful meaning:  if facing a tsunami save yourself first.

I've heard this from many of my adopted family and friends over the past two and a half years.  People living in Tohoku have grown up with this saying, hearing it from their parents and grandparents.  Evacuation drills stress safety and survival.  For those who live along the coastlines of Japan, that tsunamis follow an earthquake is a given.  The only escape is to get to higher ground.

It's a simple message.  Why then, did so many people lose their lives in the series of tsunamis that hit the Tohoku coast in 2011?  The answers are many.  Some are painful to divulge, while others are simply tragic.  The concept of when and how to escape begs repeating.  Fair warning:  what sounds easy isn't.  

Multiple foreign groups have visited Rikuzentakata since March 2011.  I've had the opportunity to share stories with many of them.  Part of my job is to relay information on what happened during and after the tsunami.  Another part of my job is to convey a message.  Prepare.  Think.  Have a plan.

Disasters cannot be predicted, whether natural, war, or cause by carelessness and accidents.  Many cannot be avoided.  While not diminishing routine fire and evacuation drills, the most important way to prepare is to not take disasters lightly.

This is where tsunami tendenko comes in.  Those living along the coastline of Japan are taught to run to high ground after an earthquake.  What we learned from the disaster of 2011 is as follows:  stay on high ground, remain calm but run, don't drive to evacuate, and take warnings seriously.

The tsunami hit approximately 30 minutes after the M9.0 earthquake.  Many who had run to higher ground went back to their homes and businesses thinking they had time to get their dog, their bank book, cash, and other items of importance.  The lesson learned?  Don't.

On March 9th, 2011 another large earthquake hit the same region.  A tsunami warning was issued but nothing happened.  Many who were in the towns where the warning came on March 9th stayed put on the 11th.  No tsunami two days ago meant it wasn't going to happen today either.  They paid for their mistake with their lives.

Those who tried to drive to safety ended up in a traffic jam.  Logic dictates cars run faster than people.  The truth behind this doesn't take into consideration people can get to places cars can't, and if people run they can avoid being stuck in traffic.

What does it mean to have a plan?  What does it mean to think through this plan?  Tsunami tendenko teaches people the simple message, everyone for themselves.  On the surface this seems cold and harsh but it warrants a second look.

For many, the idea of escaping to safety, to protect oneself is natural.  Our instinct is to live.  To survive.  For some, it's equally natural to want to help those around them.  Tsunami tendenko offers a simple message:  don't. 

This begs the following question:  Are you willing to die for others?  If so, whom? 

Parents naturally want to protect their children.  Are you prepared to leave everything behind (i.e. keys, cell phone, cash, passport, your backpack filled with emergency food and water) to grab your kids?  If faced with the decision of protecting your spouse over your children whom will you choose?  What about your colleagues?  Your friends?  Will you stay behind to help an injured friend or will you run for your life?

The message is simple.  Think.  Have a plan.  Stick to it.  Live.

My hope is days like September 11th will hold meaning for no one.  None of us want to commemorate disasters, whether caused by terrorists or an earthquake.  That said, none of us can see into our futures.  Life is precious.  Have a plan.

From My Veranda: Corporate Espionage in Japan

Walking back from my bus stop to my apartment, I saw a familiar sight.  The building next to mine is the headquarters of a large food company.  Well known, I would have a hard time finding someone in Japan unfamiliar with their name and products.

To be fair, I've seen this sight before.  Three men in black suits and white shirts are bowing to a black car (today it's a Lexus) pulling out of the company's private parking garage.  The three men in black bow in unison, rise in unison, bow again, rise again, and then stand there until the Lexus turns right and out of sight.  I watch all this and them follow them with my eyes as they walk back indoors to merciful air conditioning.

This scene takes me back to one I experienced as a child.  I'm in the train station with my father.  We're waiting in the lobby for someone to arrive.  We are not alone.  The lobby is a large rectangular room with food kiosks on one side, ticket machines and salespeople on the other.  In front of us is the gate from which people come and go, and behind us are large glass doors leading outside.  In other words, it's a pretty typical Japanese train station.  What's different about this scene today are the men in black lined up in two rows.  They face each other.  The line begins from the turnstyle all the way out the door.  The men in black are yakuza (the Japanese mob).  Some wear dark sunglasses.  Some have tightly permed hair.  Some are bald.  Large, really large, and then more average, they stand silent, facing each other all in black.

Our family is standing near the doors.  Not because we need an escape plan per se, but because it's generally a good idea to give these guys as much space as they feel they need.  Today, we chose to be near the door.

Then it happens.  Clearly the honored and exalted guest, either this faction's bigwig or his boss or his boss has arrived.  Entering in a dark gray and black Japanese kimono, grandpa-boss has large earlobes.  That's what I noticed first.  One by one, the men bend at their waist, each hollering the I'm-a-guy calling of, "Ooooos" as heads bow in domino-fashion.  Perfectly synced, they were precise and exact.  The combination "Ooooos" and bow was indeed so perfect, that this was being undertaken in public for all to see by bad boys to the bone, let's just say it was comical.

My father saw the beginnings of a grin on my face and gave me the "Absolutely not now" look and I froze.  Nothing is funny about the deepest forms of respect the yakuza can give their masters.  No.  This was not funny.  I was not going to laugh, smile, grin, smirk, or snicker.

I bring up this domino-bowing story only because the three men in black today reminded me of this long ago event.  That's not my story today.

I've now lived in this apartment in Tokyo for over 18 months.  During this time I've realized a key factor about my neighbors--the food giant.  My floor looks straight into what I've decided is their product development department.  From my window or small veranda, I can see directly into their offices.  They never close the blinds.  I've seen them taste test new products, and I've seen them compare their brands with their competitor's.  All I need is an ordinary pair of binoculars and I would be able to read their computer screens and actually see next year's item currently under development.

This is supposed to be a secret, this new product.  What's the point of a new item on the market if a competing company gets wind of it and puts out their brand first?  Enter in the question I've harbored for 18 months.  Why don't they close their blinds?  Why don't they take more care to be secret about their research?  Mine is not the only apartment facing their floor where the next hit item will be born.  Any one of us could take their research and offer it up to the highest bidder.

Clearly I've read too many spy novels and fancy myself the modern-day Mata Hari.  Obviously I'm not going to steal their secrets and make money off of their sloppiness.  But, the point is, I could.

This lack of concern on the part of this food company is not the only reason I say the Japanese are lax when it comes to protecting their product, ideas, or name.  Just the other night I was invited out to dinner with friends who own a large food company of their own.  As the president consumed more liquor, he became more insistent towards the chef/owner of the establishment that he copyright the name of his store before expanding into other Asian countries.
"They'll steal your name," the president says, "and then the fact you're famous here in Tokyo is moot.  Everyone will associate the other company with your food.  Since you can't control how good their food is, and it can't possibly be as good as yours, you and your restaurant look bad.  Got to do this now," the president continues, "to protect yourself.  You know how they are about stealing names to make consumers assume they're the real deal when they're only copycats."

I won't mention which countries the president was referring to.  While pirating is evidently not seen as a moral issue for these countries, it's the fact the chef/owner never thought of this that is proof yet again how many Japanese are oblivious to the fact their products might be of interest to others.

The moral of the story is this:  close your curtains if you're doing something you don't want others to see, and be smart about branding yourselves if you want to control your name.  That said, I'm not implying all Japanese are lax about protecting their identity, new product, name, or corporate secrets.  Just saying.

"Did you know there's a company called Honda making motorcycles in *****?" the president asks us all.  "Not the real Honda, but another Honda."  I counter with a "No way.  Honda, the real one wouldn't stand for that," but the president shakes his head.  "You're wrong.  You'd be amazed."  I am.  And then I remember the people across the street from me.  With no concern over those of us who can see into their offices, perhaps it's no wonder there are two Hondas making the same product.

Food for thought.

The Whole Miley Cyrus Thing

Among the list of things that never happen to me: waking up to Sean Connery in a butler's uniform holding a tray of hot tea and freshly baked bread, or getting an invitation for tea with Queen Elizabeth, I should include going to bed at 1:45am and waking at 5:25am.  When the last part includes "of my own accord" it's even more of a rarity which is why this day should be remembered and recalled as one of the great and strange days of my life.  Why am I awake?  I'm not someone who voluntarily submits to four hours of sleep.  My body has never told my brain, "You've had four hours.  That's enough.  Rise and shine."  I decide I will blame Miley Cyrus.

I've had a rough several days.  Nothing earth-shattering but grating, difficult, angst-inducing crap has kept me hitting the phones (I have several) and attempting to put out fires.  I'm tired.  My usual work routine of reviewing various news outlets and the like has most definitely informed me something happened on television in the US and that Miley Cyrus was involved.  That said, I had too much to do to read any of the articles or comment on the multitude of Facebook posts that discussed what she did and what she wore.  This means until this morning I had no idea what people were talking about.  Nor did I care.

But, when I wake up at ungodly hours where, on any other day sleep fairies are holding my hand through dreams of pure bliss, clearly there is a reason.  Today I allowed myself to get caught up on this whole Miley Cyrus thing.

Another reason I've not bothered to stay informed about what others can't stop talking about is this:  Miley Cyrus is not news in Japan.  I've heard nothing about what evidently happened at this award ceremony/show from my Japanese or foreign friends here.  Perhaps none of my friends in Japan know Ms. Cyrus.  Perhaps none of my friends in Japan like her.  Perhaps what goes for music awards shows in the US are so (insert favorite adjective here) it's too easy to ignore them in Japan.  "Oh, that's America," a commentator might say, and then that would be that, pretty much killing the story right there.  It's easy to ignore what doesn't get coverage, assuming if it doesn't warrant mention then it must not matter.

But, (again) because I am awake and I shouldn't be I take this as a sign to fill my hours before my eyelids get heavy I decide to watch and read.  "Stay informed," I tell myself.  "It's better to know and not need this information than to not know and look stupid."  Or so my logic goes at 6:15am.

So, I did.  I read the articles (there are many) and watched the videos (how many cameras were there?) and even looked into who the guy was that was singing (really terrible suit).  Here's what I take away from why-is-this-news event.  Granted, I'm sitting here across the Pacific going on four hours of sleep, but even so, I offer my observations in the following way.  First, the consensus seems to be outrage over what she did.  Okay.  It was over the top, but so are Madonna and Lady Gaga.  I'm not sure Ms. Cyrus should get higher (or lower) marks for what she did when it's already been done before.  This begs the question, "Why is this news?"  Second, why is no one talking about this guy?  His terrible suit aside, no one seems to see the part on the video where he's grinding her as much as she is him.  Why are we crying "Bad girl" but not "Bad boy"?  Which takes me to his song.  I can't hear what he's saying (the man mumbles) so I googled this video/song and aside from getting the gist there are again scantily-clad women walking back and forth on the screen I still couldn't understand what he was saying.  So, I googled the lyrics to his song.  If you haven't, you should.  Perhaps the outrage needs to be over what he's suggesting he'll do in his song and not what some young woman was wearing or how she was dancing.

None of this explains why there's been neither interest nor coverage in Japan over Miley Cyrus, Robin Thicke, their collaboration on stage, his song, her dance, his role in her dance, etc., etc., etc.  Maybe in Japan, this just isn't newsworthy.  Maybe producers know no one will care.  I've certainly not heard Robin Thicke's song (honestly, read the lyrics) played on television, or in department stores, or heard his name mentioned here in Japan at all this summer (the song is evidently quite a hit in the US?), so maybe this man is also not worthy of mention?  Maybe what goes for outrageous behavior by foreign "artists" is such a norm in Japan that clogging the airwaves with this performance/scene isn't necessary.  Then again, maybe no one in Japan knows who Miley Cyrus is.  Maybe no one cares.

All this on four hours of sleep.  For whatever it's worth.

On Death and Selective Visual Intake

One of my colleagues in Rikuzentakata City Hall came up to me yesterday saying he has something to tell me.  Ichiro has the ability to know when to be serious and when to cut loose.  Because I like all of my colleagues in my office, I can’t say, “Ichiro is one of my favorite people in city hall.”  That said, I enjoy his company immensely.  With each trip up north (even when we have spats of disagreement and hard feelings linger for a few hours or days) I’m reminded how lucky I am to have intelligent, interesting, hardworking people around me.  I like my co-workers.

Ichiro and I are alone in the crowded kitchenette.  I sense his news is not positive but I can’t imagine what it might be.

“XXX-san,” he starts, and immediately I don’t follow.  I shake my head to show I don’t know who he’s talking about.  Ichiro switches to the man’s last name.  “XXX-san,” and I nod, “he went into the hospital awhile back, and,” Ichiro pauses, “and he passed away.”

I’m often amazed at how our minds can process extreme volumes of information in a split second.  Here was one of those moments.  I’m struck by two facts immediately.  There are thirteen of us in the executive section of city hall.  I did some quick mental math and determined I’m the third oldest.  Of the thirteen, three are referred by title (mayor, deputy mayor, director), two are referred to by their last names, and the remaining eight, myself included are called by our first names.  I take back what I said about rigid hierarchy in Tohoku.  At the very least, in our department within city hall here, that rule doesn’t apply.  We are friendly, genuinely caring of one another, and aren’t all that concerned about who’s what age.  Nowhere else in Tohoku have I seen such casual use of first names.  The man who passed away was a manager, which usually means he would receive the courtesy of being called just “manager.”  Instead they referred to this man by his first name.  I didn’t, which is why when Ichiro first used the man’s first name I didn’t recognize whom he was referring to.  Add to this, it's been awhile since I've seen him.

This second fact hits me hard.  As I listen to Ichiro explain in more detail, it dawns on me I’ve not seen this man at his desk on my past several trips to city hall.  I just assumed he was on a business trip, had already left for the day, or there was some other reason for his absence.  It never occurred to me and I never asked whether he might be unwell.

What we choose to see, whether we choose to see what happens in our daily lives and routines isn’t evident until we’re forced to stop and look.  I noticed this yesterday on a different matter but kept my thoughts to myself. 

Yesterday I accompanied a visitor through a tour of Rikuzentakata, explaining what was where, what happened, why the remaining buildings are significant.  At one of the buildings I stopped at, after I gave him some space to take in the symbols of what occurred over two years ago, I directed his attention to the remnants of household items buried in the sand-dirt mixture of what used to be a home.

“Look,” I say and point.  “Here are pieces of a bowl.  Here’s a cooking pot.  Here’s a sweater, and here a t-shirt.”  He looks down and I know he’s shocked and bothered by the realization I’m sharing with him.  These were homes.  People lived here.  People died here.  Then I see it.  A tube of wasabi lies between tall weeds.  I point it out to him.  That tube has been here for almost 30 months, unmoved.  Next to it is a crumpled up brassiere. 

I was just here last week, at this exact same spot.  I was here several times.  How did I miss these?  The slippers, pot, and shards I remember.  The t-shirt and sweater I could tell myself I saw and believe it if I had to.  The wasabi?  No.  The bra?  There’s no way these were there last week.

I glaze.  Some parts of post-disaster life register everyday activities and images, while other items I “see” but don’t.  I had two separate camera crews with me here last week and must have spent an hour between the two crews walking through these tall weeds and talking.  Making a point to show them as much detail as possible, I can’t honestly believe I walked right past these items.  Did they not register?  Did I not see them?  Was I glazing?  Did I choose not to see?

Back in city hall, after my meeting with the mayor, I walk past my late colleague’s desk and notice a tall bouquet of flowers, a white lily prominently standing out from among the rest.  I didn’t see these before.  They’ve surely been here all day.  All day I’ve been here in this office walking past his desk this way and that, and it’s only after I’m informed of his death that I see the memorial flowers.

Lilies are not my favorite flower.  They stink and they remind me of when I laid a similar bouquet into my brother’s coffin.  Let me rephrase.  I hate lilies.  All the more reason why I would have, should have noticed this collection of flowers on his desk.

Routine and patterns;  when everything around me becomes familiar I don’t notice the details.  It’s one thing not to stop and smell the roses because “I’m too busy.”  If I don’t even notice roses are there I have a whole other problem.

I blame fatigue, and then defend myself by saying this is a defense mechanism I use to protect myself.  If I acknowledge every piece of pain-inducing item present in this disaster zone there’s no limit to the mental and emotional exhaustion I would experience.  I have to block things out.  Right?

Or do I?

I have to wonder how many “roses” I’ve walked past without even noticing their presence. It takes a death of a colleague for me to admit there’s a lot I’ve closed my eyes to in Tohoku.  I’m not quite sure what to do with that.