He poured through books like water from a clear glass pitcher. And when he was empty, he waited to be filled again. "I'm just buying my time," he thought. But really it was the elements that had control. Sure, he could set himself under the eave of a rooftop, but even then, it still had to rain.
I talked with a guy from North Korea tonight. Kitachousen. All of Korea is chousen; they consider themselves one-people, one-blood. Through our conversation of 95% Japanese and 5% English, I managed to understand his main convictions and the things he so desperately wanted me to understand. His name was Kim, a 41-year old entrepreneur selling Korean food in Shizuoka. His grandfather had been from South Korea and somehow (I couldn't follow this part) this allowed Kim to be in Japan, though his alien registration card showed him as a North Korean.
Kim constantly apologized for the things he was saying, though he raised little offense. He said that Koreans in North Korea would rather keep their own culture, their pride, and starvation, than to be infiltrated by Americanism and the vices that come with it. He said that it was a difficult decision to make between which was worse: starving in Korea or being shot on the street in L.A.
South Korea had become "America's dog." The people were kept sedated with the "3 Ss:" sex, screen and ___. War was business, and America was only after North Korea so that they could be closer to China's and Russia's door, the likes of which would be a "constant pebble in China's shoe." According to Kim, North Koreans feared an aggressive and hostile China as a result of American presence, more than they feared their empty stomachs. He said that if America went to war, they would win, 100%. But maybe not before North Korea would be able to take a retaliatory pot-shot at either South Korea or Japan.
Kim liked Americans, and he couldn't get enough of shaking my hand and patting me on the back. But he assured me that that didn't mean he liked my government. In his mind, Clinton would have made the best president because she would be the most likely to leave North Korea alone. Kim also liked American style business, this probably being the result of his livelihood. The Japanese tended too much to keep their heads down and despair over the low points of the oscillating business curve. He kept a smile on his face and waited for the upswing. Kim wanted everyone to be friends, for there to be peace among all nations, and even dreamed of visiting America someday, if the government ever allowed him to.
"Hontou Gomennasai, I'm really sorry, Luther," he said as he criticised America again. He loved meeting Americans and telling them all about North Korea. "They don't teach you these things in school."
We traded numbers toward the end of the evening. Kim said he would take me out for yakiniku or Korean-style barbecue. I would pay 20%, he would pay 80 because at 41 "he was my uncle." I told him I really liked ishiyakibibimba, another type of Korean cooking. That awarded me another handshake.
Kim was the first North Korean I have ever met, and I do hope to spend another evening with him. This one had turned into a late night, but one that I wouldn't have traded for any night's worth of perfect sleep.
.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Old Blue Eyes
"You're eyes are blue."
"Yep. Yes, they are."
"That's soo cool!"
I open my eyes wide until I feel the stretch on my eyeballs.
"Do any Japanese people have blue eyes?" I ask.
"No."
"None?"
"No, none."
I wonder what that would be like to not know the possibility of different colored eyes. I know people in America born of the same parents who have different colored eyes.
They ask me why my shirt is so colorful.
"Because I'm American," I say, but that's not the real answer. The real answer is, "Because I'm Luther." That's what people are seeing when they see me. You have to make generalizations about some things though. Otherwise, how could you ever know anything?
The conversation changes to shimoneta - bad Japanese words you're not supposed to say - or more accurately, my kids trying to get me to say a few of those words to the other senseis. I'm one step ahead of them though. I usually don't say anything at all.
This has been a bit damning, though understandable. Recognizing it is the first step to change. I could run through all of the excuses, "They're too busy," or "I'll embarrass myself," or worse "I'll embarrass them." Another oft used line, "I'm the foreigner, they should make the initiative and talk to me." I've found so few people who are willing to initiate conversation, and none who will speak Japanese with me. I imagine their lives rolling on like mine did back in the states, only noticing the foreign born in my peripheries. How lonely and sad life must have been for some of the exchange students at UWEC. I wish I could go back and do it over again. I'd take people to the grocery store, buy them American snacks, teach them jokes and slang, hang out with them on a Friday night. What an important opportunity I missed, all because I could only see to the end of my personal bubble, a bubble I had inflated and marked with delicacy, one to be heavily guarded as if it were important. There were people back there, waiting for me. But somehow I found myself too busy with Mountain Dew cans, sunflower seeds, and games of online backgammon. How many games did I play in those brief years?
I learned a new definition of the word "ruminating" today. It's a psychology definition. It's classified as an addiction, but most people who have it don't know it. It's closely tied with depression and anxiety. It's a definition I've always lived with, but never known. Knowing - recognizing - is the first step.
The words to a poem I wrote 6 or 7 years ago come back to me:
"...I think so much I think I'll puke..."
Thinking is supposed to be a good thing, but when you think in a circle and wonder why your thinking never brings you anywhere.... desukedo...
I pray my thoughts are a reflection and not a rumination. I will work on this.
"Yep. Yes, they are."
"That's soo cool!"
I open my eyes wide until I feel the stretch on my eyeballs.
"Do any Japanese people have blue eyes?" I ask.
"No."
"None?"
"No, none."
I wonder what that would be like to not know the possibility of different colored eyes. I know people in America born of the same parents who have different colored eyes.
They ask me why my shirt is so colorful.
"Because I'm American," I say, but that's not the real answer. The real answer is, "Because I'm Luther." That's what people are seeing when they see me. You have to make generalizations about some things though. Otherwise, how could you ever know anything?
The conversation changes to shimoneta - bad Japanese words you're not supposed to say - or more accurately, my kids trying to get me to say a few of those words to the other senseis. I'm one step ahead of them though. I usually don't say anything at all.
This has been a bit damning, though understandable. Recognizing it is the first step to change. I could run through all of the excuses, "They're too busy," or "I'll embarrass myself," or worse "I'll embarrass them." Another oft used line, "I'm the foreigner, they should make the initiative and talk to me." I've found so few people who are willing to initiate conversation, and none who will speak Japanese with me. I imagine their lives rolling on like mine did back in the states, only noticing the foreign born in my peripheries. How lonely and sad life must have been for some of the exchange students at UWEC. I wish I could go back and do it over again. I'd take people to the grocery store, buy them American snacks, teach them jokes and slang, hang out with them on a Friday night. What an important opportunity I missed, all because I could only see to the end of my personal bubble, a bubble I had inflated and marked with delicacy, one to be heavily guarded as if it were important. There were people back there, waiting for me. But somehow I found myself too busy with Mountain Dew cans, sunflower seeds, and games of online backgammon. How many games did I play in those brief years?
I learned a new definition of the word "ruminating" today. It's a psychology definition. It's classified as an addiction, but most people who have it don't know it. It's closely tied with depression and anxiety. It's a definition I've always lived with, but never known. Knowing - recognizing - is the first step.
The words to a poem I wrote 6 or 7 years ago come back to me:
"...I think so much I think I'll puke..."
Thinking is supposed to be a good thing, but when you think in a circle and wonder why your thinking never brings you anywhere.... desukedo...
I pray my thoughts are a reflection and not a rumination. I will work on this.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The Destroyer of Sound
The devices of Twenty.
From day-1 he laid himself at their mercies.
Lungs that barely filled.
A perfect crush.
He imagined this was the way it was beneath their curl - full life wholly extinguished in the total grip. No side would be exposed to a tunnel of cool air.
Tired of another state that couldn't make up its mind on a season; the blankets came on, the blankets came off and then on again.
Light peaked on the horizon, ducked out curtly and reappeared through the haze. To the east he could see the shore, but it wasn't answering. Slowly the sounds overhead gave themselves up to the inexorable roaring, their life-blood ebbing. whooosh. He was in their curl.
.........
.
From day-1 he laid himself at their mercies.
Lungs that barely filled.
A perfect crush.
He imagined this was the way it was beneath their curl - full life wholly extinguished in the total grip. No side would be exposed to a tunnel of cool air.
Tired of another state that couldn't make up its mind on a season; the blankets came on, the blankets came off and then on again.
Light peaked on the horizon, ducked out curtly and reappeared through the haze. To the east he could see the shore, but it wasn't answering. Slowly the sounds overhead gave themselves up to the inexorable roaring, their life-blood ebbing. whooosh. He was in their curl.
.........
.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Night-time walking
Sometimes I go for a walk.
Last night, I was in the walking mood. It's a mood kind of like the mean reds...you know, like the blues except for you're not getting fat and it's not raining. You're just sad, that's all. (And if you get that reference, I will kiss you.) So I grabbed my pack of Camel Lights, and my wallet, intending to buy a Mountain Dew at a vending machine down the road.
I don't smoke much, in fact I do very rarely. More often than not I just put the cig behind my ear. It's for show mostly. To look cool. However, last night I smoked four.
I set the tone immediately, my legs striking pavement cleanly and methodically. It was a bereaved walk. I walked on the left, tensely waiting the passing of each car as it came over my right shoulder. Everyone drives well over the speed limit here.
I made it to the mini oasis where my green slice of America awaited me. But somehow when I went to push the button my body betrayed me. I was convinced last second of the power of 50 lemons worth of Vitamin C packed into one can: CC Lemon. I had been feeling a bit under the weather and Vitamin C is at the very least a placebo for the trickle in my throat. I stood there next to the vending machine like a good Japanese boy sipping my soft-drink. It gave me time to hide in the shadows from the on-coming cars and to further investigate the selection. There was Pepsi-Cola in limited edition cans...that almost took 120 of my yen. There were family sized bottles of sweetened sports drinks for only 200 yen. And then I saw it: "American Coffee." The beige colored can was star-studded with an etching of a giant Cadillac and a voluptuous American woman lounging on the hood, one shoulder up, accentuating the hollow of her collar-bone. I had to have this. I put in my 120 yen, pressed the button, and picked up the can. It was an "American Coffee" but it had a different picture on the side by the same artist. So I tried a second time. This time a second separate design dropped down the chute. So calmly I tried again. We all know that the third time's the charm, but I was fully prepared for a 12-set design, and was going to keep popping hyaku-en coins until I got what I wanted. Anyway, it's not like I don't drink coffee.
As luck had it, the third try was the charm. I slid the other 2 cans down each front pocket and kept the prize in my coat, my pack of cigs opposite balancing her out. And that's how I walked through the rest of the mean reds; my thighs warmed by coffee, my baby linking fingers with mine.
.
Last night, I was in the walking mood. It's a mood kind of like the mean reds...you know, like the blues except for you're not getting fat and it's not raining. You're just sad, that's all. (And if you get that reference, I will kiss you.) So I grabbed my pack of Camel Lights, and my wallet, intending to buy a Mountain Dew at a vending machine down the road.
I don't smoke much, in fact I do very rarely. More often than not I just put the cig behind my ear. It's for show mostly. To look cool. However, last night I smoked four.
I set the tone immediately, my legs striking pavement cleanly and methodically. It was a bereaved walk. I walked on the left, tensely waiting the passing of each car as it came over my right shoulder. Everyone drives well over the speed limit here.
I made it to the mini oasis where my green slice of America awaited me. But somehow when I went to push the button my body betrayed me. I was convinced last second of the power of 50 lemons worth of Vitamin C packed into one can: CC Lemon. I had been feeling a bit under the weather and Vitamin C is at the very least a placebo for the trickle in my throat. I stood there next to the vending machine like a good Japanese boy sipping my soft-drink. It gave me time to hide in the shadows from the on-coming cars and to further investigate the selection. There was Pepsi-Cola in limited edition cans...that almost took 120 of my yen. There were family sized bottles of sweetened sports drinks for only 200 yen. And then I saw it: "American Coffee." The beige colored can was star-studded with an etching of a giant Cadillac and a voluptuous American woman lounging on the hood, one shoulder up, accentuating the hollow of her collar-bone. I had to have this. I put in my 120 yen, pressed the button, and picked up the can. It was an "American Coffee" but it had a different picture on the side by the same artist. So I tried a second time. This time a second separate design dropped down the chute. So calmly I tried again. We all know that the third time's the charm, but I was fully prepared for a 12-set design, and was going to keep popping hyaku-en coins until I got what I wanted. Anyway, it's not like I don't drink coffee.
As luck had it, the third try was the charm. I slid the other 2 cans down each front pocket and kept the prize in my coat, my pack of cigs opposite balancing her out. And that's how I walked through the rest of the mean reds; my thighs warmed by coffee, my baby linking fingers with mine.
.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Freedom
It's incredible the level of sovereignty I have when staring over a blank page. The world is open to me, and I can take myself anywhere.
Sometimes I sit here, though, and nothing happens. I feel like I want to write, but that anything I put down won't adequately describe my feelings and experiences. So I pack it up.
Other times I sit down and just find myself too tired to type.
I worry a little bit that I'm becoming complacent. That I'm beginning to take things for granted. Then I argue with myself and say that I'm just trying to have a normal life and the fact that I'm not writing about every little thing proves I'm settling in.
But where's the joy in that? I think that if I stop writing I'll become dull.
I biked up into the hills again today. This time by gentsuki. These blue hills are so achingly beautiful. My feelings are often overwhelming as I ride though this land. It makes me want to sit down on the ground and weep. My heart pines for things not yet known as I ride.
I want someone to share this all with. Someone to sit next to and drink in the weight of this heady beauty with. Someone who gets it, silently, and communicates it with one touch of the eyes.
.
Sometimes I sit here, though, and nothing happens. I feel like I want to write, but that anything I put down won't adequately describe my feelings and experiences. So I pack it up.
Other times I sit down and just find myself too tired to type.
I worry a little bit that I'm becoming complacent. That I'm beginning to take things for granted. Then I argue with myself and say that I'm just trying to have a normal life and the fact that I'm not writing about every little thing proves I'm settling in.
But where's the joy in that? I think that if I stop writing I'll become dull.
I biked up into the hills again today. This time by gentsuki. These blue hills are so achingly beautiful. My feelings are often overwhelming as I ride though this land. It makes me want to sit down on the ground and weep. My heart pines for things not yet known as I ride.
I want someone to share this all with. Someone to sit next to and drink in the weight of this heady beauty with. Someone who gets it, silently, and communicates it with one touch of the eyes.
.
Monday, May 26, 2008
I was right. One year in Japan isn't enough. I made up my mind to stay for a second year the second day I was in Japan. I knew that, for good or for bad or for worse, and no matter how I would be feeling come re-contracting time, I needed to stay for at least 2 years. Now I have been here almost 10 months, and things are just starting to pick up.
I had probably my best day yet in Japan today. Again, like my worst day, it's not because of any particular things that happened throughout the day, but because of my mindset. I feel more comfortable in my skin. I have begun to figure out how to relax. I'm getting into a routine. I'm choosing to be more responsible and getting things done.
God's showing me more of the next steps to becoming a diplomat. This is very exciting and very humbling since I have been asking for guidance in this as I fully trust His leading and timing.
It's an exciting time!
I had probably my best day yet in Japan today. Again, like my worst day, it's not because of any particular things that happened throughout the day, but because of my mindset. I feel more comfortable in my skin. I have begun to figure out how to relax. I'm getting into a routine. I'm choosing to be more responsible and getting things done.
God's showing me more of the next steps to becoming a diplomat. This is very exciting and very humbling since I have been asking for guidance in this as I fully trust His leading and timing.
It's an exciting time!
Monday, May 19, 2008
I don't know if I ever got to the point in that last post published a few minutes ago, but basically I'm just saying that I'm happy and have some direction and am encouraged and know that things are going to turn out, whatever they may be.
Also, the time is now 12:23 am which means it's the 19th of May which means it's been exactly 1 year since my graduation from college. I really can't believe that. I can picture my graduation party being yesterday. I'm seeing it again - it's like life's been on pause back in the states while I've been here. I know that's not true, I know a whole nother year has passed at UWEC, but I can't picture it.
I'm 24 years old.
.
Also, the time is now 12:23 am which means it's the 19th of May which means it's been exactly 1 year since my graduation from college. I really can't believe that. I can picture my graduation party being yesterday. I'm seeing it again - it's like life's been on pause back in the states while I've been here. I know that's not true, I know a whole nother year has passed at UWEC, but I can't picture it.
I'm 24 years old.
.
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