Self-deprecation and Divinity

I'm not sure what it is about being sick that makes people say and do strange things to me but today has been one of those days.  Remember:  I have an active imagination and pride myself in that.  Making up stories?  Not this time around.  What I write here is the straight-up truth.

I've been drinking hot water with lemon and honey all day.  It burns going down.  I tell myself this is a good thing.  There's no doctor here so I'm self-medicating.  It's all natural so I'm fine with it.  I'll let you know how if it's made any difference tomorrow.  But, I digress.  I stepped into the small kitchenette (five feet by six feet, I kid you not) to boil some water on the two-burner gas stove that I do believe I've seen used at camp sites.  In other words, it's not a stove-stove....if you know what I mean.

Lo and behold, Mrs. K., one of the local women who does the cooking in the evenings is already boiling water.  I ask if she'll fill up my giant mug as I cover my mouth with my arm and croak out the request.  She's shocked at how bad I sound and I say, "I'm fine, I'm fine.  It's just a cold."  Get this.  To this she replies, "I think of you as a god.  You're not supposed to get sick."

Whoa.  This is a problem.  I laugh (always a good way to deflect) and say that I am most definitely not a god, at which point a giant cough comes out from me.  I must say, the timing couldn't have been better.  "Gods don't get sick, right?" I say to her.

If I may switch gears here for a minute.  There's a rule ingrained in everyone who lives in Japan.  If you were born and raised here, this was drilled into you from a very early age.  If you come to Japan as a foreigner and you don't know this rule, you're out.  You make this mistake, you're so, so, so out.  The rule is "never take a compliment" which is defined by making sure anything good said to you is denied through self-deprecation.  What do I mean?  Anyone saying to me, "oh, you're Japanese is so good" is to hear the right response of "oh, no no no no no.  I'm still learning," or "I'm sorry you have to listen to such poor Japanese" or something equivalent.  "You're handsome" is to be met with "no, I'm not" and an explanation of why you're ugly.  I'm not kidding.

So, with this rule of self-deprecation hanging over me (which I don't mind--it's part of life here) now try applying it to "I think of you as a god."  This kicks up the self-deprecation requirement multiple times.  First, I'm clearly not a god.  Second, this is a huge compliment and I have to be careful how I turn down my so-called divinity.  Third, she's concerned about me.  I appreciate that.  I do, however, have to gently but firmly knock down any notion of amazingness (if that's a word) and let her know I'm really just me.  Yes, I appreciate the fact that she appreciates me.  At the end of the day, I want our mutual respect to be enough.  Don't make me into something I'm not, Mrs. K.  I can't handle the pressure.

Laryngitis: Literally and Figuratively

Well, it's happened.  The stress, or perhaps the germs of the twenty-plus others I share a room with every night has caught up with me.  I've lost my voice.  Laryngitis?  Strep throat?  Just a bad cold?  It really doesn't matter.  I'm hoarse and sound like a frog trying to sing.  It's really that bad.

Which then got me thinking of the irony of all this.  I'm an interpreter.  No voice?  I don't work.  It's that simple.  It's on me to recover as quickly as possible and I have no doubt I'll bounce back.  I'm not worried about that.  Take this idea of an interpreter without a voice one step further.  No interpreter (if I were the sole interpreter) means no words.  No words means no communication (unless they revert to miming their words to get the point across).

This concept of "no words" has been something I've struggled with from day one here.  I'm not someone who struggles with not finding the right words.  Words make up my business and have for over twenty years.  I know how to make myself clear.  I know how to get my point across.  Or, so I thought.  Since being here, I have found myself with what I'll call "figurative laryngitis."  I've lost the ability to find the right words.  I have use the same words like "it's intense" or "catastrophic devastation" over and over again.  Perhaps I need to start carrying a thesaurus with me?  I feel stuck not being able to find the right words to properly describe what I'm seeing, feeling or hearing.

So, as I lay around taking all sorts of medication and hoping for a quick recovery, I'm going to spend the day looking for words to describe what I'm going through.  I actually have time today.  I can't speak and so I'm really not much good to anyone.  Add to this, I'm probably a walking Petri dish of germs, contagious and all, so staying away from people would be a good thing today.  This gives me time to reflect, so I will.

Oh.  That walk I said I would be taking today?  I won't be.

The power of people

I have the feeling "power to the people" and possibly even "power of the people" is copyrighted so I'm so I'm going with "the power of people." To be more specific, I'm referring to numbers. To be more specific, I'm talking about the number of volunteers. In the past two days, there has been a huge spike in the number of people who are here working. To be precise, there are 70 people here.

Seventy people can do a lot. During the past two days, there have been five teams working all around Ofunato and Rikuzentakata. The teams range from four to twenty people. The largest team is working on one of the campuses of Rikuzentakata High School where there are multiple buildings that needed to be cleaned out. One of the two gyms with a floor covered in an inch and a half of mud and then debris was almost completely cleaned out today. That's good stuff!

Other teams are cleaning out an old traditional inn, a home with a large antique-style vault (a kura), an apartment complex and individual homes that need mucking and gutting. A lot of work, good work at that, is being done. There is absolutely power in numbers and power in how much a large number of people can do.

Tomorrow I'm going to walk around town and pictures of things I want to share with you. It will be another posting but of a different nature. Key word being "nature."

How's that for a teaser line?

Ravenlox in reverse

I arrived in Iwate last night at 3:00am thanks to the most excellent driving and company of someone whom I respect very highly. I stumble into the base in Ofunato looking forward to sleep albeit on a floor and not in a bed. I go to my corner of the room and see a lump on the floor where my mat, sleeping bag and pillows should be. My "bed" is taken. By someone I don't know. (For the record, if I did know this person I would not have hesitated to wake them up and gently kick them off my 2.5 inch mat. Not wanting my first encounter with this person to be one of "move, please" I decide to wait until the morning to reclaim my space.)

All this to say I felt like Goldilox (except I have black hair which makes me Ravenlox) but in reverse. My new friend and I had a nice chat this morning and I have reclaimed my space to be occupied again as soon as possible as I'm going on very little sleep. Birds start chirping in Ofunato around 4:00am, if anyone is interested. Did I mention I'm not a big fan of nature? Anything that disrupts my sleep, even if it's birds announcing a new day is not something I'm fond of especially at such an early hour. Perhaps I'll feel differently if I'm in my "bed"? Perhaps not.

Did I fail?

I leave Tokyo today to go back up to Iwate.  I was given an extra day here which I spent mostly in the apartment I'm staying in (thanks to dear friends) doing nothing.  This is unusual for me--I never do nothing in Tokyo--but this time there was a reason.  I had one thing I wanted to do before I left Tokyo.  I wanted a meltdown.  Barring that, I would settle for a really good cry.  Neither had come as of yesterday so I stayed indoors and waited.

It didn't come.  I'm not sure what's going on.  I've certainly had teary moments.  I've certainly cried.  I've certainly choked up multiple times.  I have not cried, however, enough to feel like I let any of my pent-up emotions out in any real way. 

I tried my usual tricks.  I have several songs I listen to that always make me cry.  I listened to them, and sure enough, tears.  But then, they fizzled.  (Tears fizzle?)  I stopped crying.  Nothing else came.  I read several other documents I have stored for just such an occasion, of course, which also always make me cry.  More tears.  Which also eventually fizzle.  What's going on?  Where's all that emotion I needed to let out?  Why won't it come out?  Being verbally constipated is one thing.  (I'm having serious difficulty finding the words to describe what I see up in Iwate.  I blog about this in my other blog:  www.whereisgeorgeclooney.com.)  I'm now emotionally constipated, too?

Which also scares me a bit because while I don't know how much I have in me that I need to let out (how do I quantify emotions?) I know it's in there, in me.  One of my main goals was to release a lot of this stored-up emotional angst, these emotions I couldn't show openly until I was here in Tokyo.  My friends here would let me do this.  They would let me just sit and cry. 

My concern is I'm going to get back up there not having let this out to my satisfaction and there will be a point where I do lose it.  Crying here was meant to avoid that.  Maybe I'm still running on adrenaline?  Maybe I won't really feel like I completely let go until I'm back down for good?  Any last minute suggestions?  I have a little over four hours until I leave. 

The Kindness of Strangers: Part 2

In my most humble opinion I do believe I have the answer to why there was next to no looting or rioting after the multiple disasters that hit Japan last month.  The answer lies in taxi drivers.  Rather, it lies in what taxi drivers personify.  Let me explain.

I will admit I have a bias.  I have a thing for Japanese taxi drivers.  They're really nice to me and nine times out of ten we end up having phenomenal conversations.  Just last night a driver took me to an address and then stopped the car, killed the meter and asked me if I knew where I was going.  I actually didn't.  I had a sense of which way to go and was confident I could figure it out but I didn't know exactly where the place was.  He pulled over, typed in key landmarks into his GPS and took me to the nearest building I recognized and didn't charge me extra.  As I left the car he told me one last time to call my contact instead of wandering around.  Absolute kindness from a man I will never meet again.  I was just a fare.  Did he even know I wasn't Japanese?  I have no idea.  It was dark and we didn't really look at each other while speaking.

Since arriving in Tokyo I've had three drivers ask me if the temperature in their taxi was to my liking.  I've had three others ask which route they'd like me to take.  I usually leave it up to them at which point they ask whether I'd like to get there faster or pay less.

Their cars are impeccably clean.  The seats are covered with a tight cloth cover which has no wrinkles, tears, stains or marks of any kind.  Sometimes the head rests are covered in what I can only describe as doilies.

The drivers are always polite.  Always kind.  Always well mannered.  This, to me at least, personifies the Japanese sense of service, the importance placed on manners and in general, good social behavior.  Which is why I can understand why there was no looting or rioting, why people walked home for 7-12 hours on the day the earthquake hit Tokyo, and why standing in line for hours to use a pay phone was entirely orderly and normal.  Being kind to strangers isn't entirely a foreign concept here.  Good manners matter.  Being polite is an expectation.  I like this about Japan.

The kindness of strangers

I knew very soon after I started this blog I was reaching many people I knew I would never meet.  At the risk of a showing a bit of bravado, this blog has hit many, many, many countries and multiple times at that.  I'm thrilled with how you're all spreading the word and want to be sure you are all properly thanked and feel the gratitude I have for helping to keep those affected by the tsunami on peoples' radar screens.

Those of you whom I don't know are, for a lack of a better word, strangers.  I'll likely never know who you are.  We won't meet.  We won't go out to lunch.  There have been some, however, and we're still talking about "strangers" here, who have gone above and beyond what normally people do for other strangers (as in me).  Case in point:  I have yet to pay for a meal here in Tokyo.  The only thing I've spent money on is taxis and bottles of milk tea I buy out of vending machines.  Everything else (and I do mean everything) has been paid for by "strangers" who want me to have a relaxing time in Tokyo.

I have multiple homes I can stay at for free and with no strings attached.  People feed me.  People send food home with me.  People drive me around.  People make appointments for me.  People listen.  People cry with me.  People give me something else to think about by inviting me out to a movie.  People wine and dine me.  People give advice.  People ask good questions.  People care.  Of course not all of these "people" are strangers.  Some I've known for years.  Others, however, are friends of friends who have read this blog and make guacamole for me.  (JOY!!!) 

I went to Iwate and started this blog for very specific reasons.  I wanted to provide a first-hand, on-the-ground account of what I'm seeing, feeling, observing and hearing for those of you back home.  It was an easy way to hit all of my family and friends at one time with the same information.  That it has turned into my own little therapy tool where I can write to people I don't know with brutal honesty has been an unexpected and yet most welcome surprise.  That those of you who have read this show me the kind of generosity, kindness, support and friendship you have over the past several days--this, too, is an unexpected and most definitely welcome surprise.  I'm truly humbled and grateful.  Thank you so much.

My "Lord Person"

In Japanese, the proper way for a wife to reference her husband in public is to call him her "lord person."  There's a word for "husband" as well, but this isn't used in the same way.  I've told my husband about this "lord person" bit years ago and of course he loves it.  The proper way for a man to refer to his wife in public, and for those of you who don't speak Japanese you'll just have to take my word for it, the word is "inside-the-house."  I have long ago told my husband I'll refer to him my "lord person" in Japan but under no circumstances does he ever get to call me his "inside-the-house."  We laugh about this all the time.

As I meet and talk with people here in Japan many, almost all in fact, ask how my family feels about me being here.  I give my "lord person" a lot of credit saying he's very supportive, patient and encouraged me to go, giving me only one condition.  I have to come back home.

I spoke with him for an hour this morning (thank you, Vonage!) and he told me to tell everyone who has supported me over the past month that he, too, appreciates the generosity, kindness and acceptance of those who have given me a safe place to be.  Please know being away from my "lord person" is possible only because I have people around me who will go beyond the extra mile to make sure I'm well taken care of, fed, pampered and given a space to laugh and cry.  For this, my "lord person" and I are truly humbled, grateful and in awe.  Thank you.

Believing in the strengh and power of Japan

Not having had access to television for the past three weeks I'm taking in everything I see all around me.  One particular thing that hits me is the series of commercials that air several times an hour on every channel.  These are commercials calling upon the Japanese as a people to keep the faith, stay strong, and support each other.  They're real tear-jerkers.  Professional soccer players who play overseas send encouraging messages.  Celebrities tell the viewers "We Japanese are strong" and "one person's strength to keep going is important, but the collective strength to keep going is more important" and "I will keep supporting Japan" and "I will always believe in Japan" and "we are in this together" and "Japan is a strong country" and "I will always support you" and "let's become one Japan" and "let's work together to give faith and hope to each other" and "it's going to be okay" and "what makes Japan strong is our collective strength" and "we are a team" and "you are not alone" and "if we work together we will get through this" and "show your children you love them" and "believe in the future" and "and this is all followed by "believe in the strength of Japan."

I've never seen anything like this in Japan before.  I find it beautiful.

Going to Tokyo

In 30 minutes I start my trek down to Tokyo for my mandatory mental health break.  I have literally been counting down the hours for the past several days as I've felt more and more this break is incredibly necessary.  To say I'm overwhelmed by what I've seen is an understatement.  To say I need a change of scenery is another understatement.  That both are true is a bit difficult to accept.

In Tokyo I will ride the subways (one of my favorite things to do), eat cheese, sleep in a bed, take a long bath with nice smelling salts, get a massage, hang out with friends and in general soak up concrete, tall buildings and crowds.  To channel Maria Von Trapp, "these are a few of my favorite things."

I will still write.  I still need you.  I still need to be heard.  I still have so, so, so much to say.

My aunt's dream

I didn't get back until 10:45pm last night and went straight to bed.  I'm so exhausted it's officially not funny.  Not that it ever was, I suppose.

I woke up and checked e-mail (the first thing I do everyday) as e-mail contact, Facebook postings and the like are my sole source of intimate emotional support.  I read a note from my aunt saying she dreamt last night that she and my grandmother (her mother) were in the barn on my grandparent's property watching television and saw my CNN interview.  Grandma was laughing and clapping and nodding as she watched me on television.  My grandmother is no longer living so picturing this of course made me cry.  I'm in my sleeping bag, reading e-mail, completely bleary-eyed, half asleep and I'm crying. 

I can't think of a better way to start out the day.

A most unusual (?) request

This is what keeps me going.  We were asked to help out a calligraphy teacher today.  He lives/ed maybe 300 meters from the coast and Port of Ofunato and an entire chunk of his house was taken out by the wave.  The home in front of his was sheared off at the foundation.  There's a little toy ambulance perched on the concrete foundation. 

We were asked to locate one specific item in the calligrapher's house.  It's called a suzuri.  It's a grinding stone used by calligraphers to create their own ink.  I don't know enough about Japanese calligraphy (shodo) to understand the significance of this, but he was quite specific.  This is all he wanted.

The floor was covered with debris and mud.  He had already looked through the house several times and while he found several other suzuris he wanted this one in particular.  We said "yes" with the assumption it would be futile.

An hour an a half later, we found it shoved under a folded over bit of flooring.  The calligrapher cried and we all smiled.  To us this was a "little" thing but to him this was huge.  He said to me "I'm okay losing my home now that I've found this."  What do I say to this?  I asked him to continue his beautiful calligraphy work.

This is what makes being here worthwhile.  Between the toy ambulance someone found and put out for some child to hopefully pick up and a man finding one of his most valued possessions this was a good day.  I want more of these.  I haven't laughed and grinned like this in a long time.  Joy!

CNN interview online

Please go to CNN International and look through the videos to see the interview of All Hands Volunteers (and me) at "Volunteers help tsunami survivors."  Please spread the word!

Nationalism and Nostalgia

Not being much of a morning person, I find it interesting I'm up before 7:00am everyday.  I hope this new phase in my life (getting up early) stops the minute I get home.  I've always believed in and enjoyed sleeping in.  That I can't/don't anymore is an enigma.  Back to my point.....

In the City of Ofunato there are two times a day where the PA system plays music.  This music is heard citywide.  The first song plays at 7:00am.  For some reason, I'm always up before 7:00am and I always hear this music.  You could call it a sort of citywide alarm clock, maybe.  It's not long.  It's the first stanza of Edelweiss. 

Which of course takes me straight to the Sound of Music.  I can actually sing it all the way through.  I picture the Von Trapp family on stage while I'm trying to wake up and then the words hit me and I realize if I now add a tsunami to this, this song takes on a whole new meaning.  Flowers blooming strong (have I mentioned the daffodils?) and blessings for "our homeland."  I should point out the irony of this last "bless my homeland forever" line.  (I'll try to keep this short.)  Since the end of World War II there's been a big deal made about nationalism and in particular when to sing the national anthem here in Japan.  I never sang it while attending any of my Japanese schools, and indeed have only heard it sung at Sumo tournaments.  I know there's been more of a push to sing it and I also know this has been met with resistance.

All this to say, playing a song about beautiful flowers that survive and that asks for blessings upon "our homeland" when a good portion of the town was destroyed is oddly ironic and while beautiful also a bit creepy.

BUT, not as creepy as the 5:00pm song that plays everyday.  I was warned about this my first day here but being tired, it didn't sink in I would be hearing this everyday.  The song is Yesterday by The Beatles.  Sing a few lines to yourself:  "now she's gone, " "how I long for yesterday," "I believe in yesterday," "now I need a place to hide away," etc.  I don't think I need to say much more.

The combination of these two songs we all hear everyday and the fact they take on a whole new meaning after a tsunami--I simply can't explain this.  I can only hope everyone here is so used to hearing them that the words don't register anymore.

Fundraiser in Tokyo

For those of you living in the Tokyo area, here is a fundraiser you can attend tomorrow night to learn more about what's going on up here.

http://hands.org/donate/57-restaurant-event/

It's worth it!

Crisis Management 101: What to do in case of a tsunami

Here's a story for you.  Less than a kilometer from where the tsunami hit (the Port of Ofunato) is a four-story department store.  Across the street from this is a four-story hotel.  When the wave hit everyone in those two buildings ran up to the roof.

Here's the thing.  There was food in the department store.  Everyone on both roofs knew it was going to be awhile until they were going to be rescued.  (They were the next day.  Self Defense Force helicopters picked everyone up in shifts.)  After the waves subsided (there were several large waves that came through the town during the night) people went back into the upper floors of the department store and got all the food they could get.  They brought it back onto the roof.  This is where it gets interesting.  (As if this isn't interesting enough!)  A young guy came up with the idea that they wrap a baseball in a ball of rope and toss it across the street onto the roof of the hotel where others were.  He did.  They slid bags of food across the rope from one roof to the other so both groups of people could eat.

How's that for ingenuity!?

Unexpected insight = Unanticipated outcome

Fair warning:  I'm going to complain.  Before you tune out I want to say something.  Many of you have encouraged me to let it out.  So, I am.  I'm going to do that here, today.  Why today?  This is the part that's interesting.  This is my insight from yesterday.

Tuesday being my day off I went to a local noodle shop for lunch.  I was watching TV and saw some sort of half food-half entertainment show on.  The point the show is trying to make was to get people to laugh, show exotic (and good) food and to have a bunch of celebrities having a good time.  My insight?  There are people in Japan who don't have a home to go back to but are watching shows about celebrities eating the latest Chinese-Italian fusion dish in Tokyo.  There are people in Tokyo making shows about the latest Hello Kitty craze when there are those up further north who have relatives whose bodies have yet to be found.  Life goes on.  Yes, being here is hard.  Yes, I'm pretty much always emotionally and mentally exhausted.  But, this is not my pain.  This is not my tragedy.  I don't have to take on the pain of others especially if there's nothing I or the organization I'm with can do to help.  I'm trying.  God knows I'm trying.  Sometimes how successful I am is simply beyond my control.  Not everyone in Japan is solely focused on relief work as evident by the fact Hello Kitty and fusion restaurants are back on TV.  Certainly the producers of these shows know they are going to be watched by people affected by the tsunami and earthquake.  It's simply not an option to report only on the devastation.  Life goes on.

Back to complaining.  If you know me you know I'm quite capable of complaining about a lot of things.  I prefer to call it "creative observations and responses to such" as complaining implies I'm whining.  I can certainly whine, too, but when I complain, like I'm doing now, I prefer to think I'm voicing something I don't like.  

In an odd way, seeing this show took the edge off my guilt.  Perhaps it was this simple realization that if not all Japanese are going to try to move mountains and "do good" for their neighbors up north maybe it's okay for me to stop feeling guilty about things I can't do anything about.

It's with this in mind that I am going to complain.  I need to let some things out.  These complaints are NOT about the tragedy I see around me everyday but about the fact that it snowed yesterday.  And that it's supposed to snow again today.  I'm complaining about how cold it is at night and how my nose and the one exposed ear is always a bit on the too-cold-to-be-comfortable side.  True, camping princess I am not.  I simply don't do "out-doorsy" things.  Having said that, it would be nice to have two kerosene stoves in this giant room with otherwise no heat, would it not?

I would like a meal someday in the near future that consists of something other than rice, bread or noodles.  I feel like a giant ball of starch walking around.

I wish I had brought sunscreen.  I'm getting a tan.  I don't do tanning.  I went looking for sunscreen yesterday but was unwilling to pay 4000 yen a bottle.  I'll find something in Tokyo.

I would like to be around people whom I know.  The people here are good people.  I simply don't know them.  This means I'm always on my best behavior (or at least am trying) and I want to be able to be myself.  It's a different sort of exhausting when I can't truly be me.

I miss my husband.  I miss my son.  I miss talking to my nieces on the phone.  I miss my family.  I miss my friends.  I miss feeling clean.  I miss my washing machine.  I miss bacon.  I miss buying mangoes and making smoothies.  I miss rolling over in bed at night and knowing my husband is there.

The unanticipated outcome from the insight at the noodle shop is that I feel much better about complaining (aka creatively expressing my feelings) and will try to share these with you every now and then.  Next step is to try to find a way to laugh more.  I miss feeling happy.

Okay.  Off to find some breakfast.  Last observation:  I'm quite alright eating the grapefruit I bought yesterday if breakfast this morning is anything that resembles a bread or rice product.  I also have a power bar.  Chocolate for breakfast (chocolate-covered power bar!) is a good thing, right??

These complaints are trivial compared to those who have lived in a shelter for the past month but it's still okay for me to complain.  The food/entertainment show allowed me to realize I'm allowed to say I don't like certain things about my life.  It's also okay to have fun.  That one I haven't figured out yet.  First things first.

Mrs. M.

Several days ago I made the round of evacuation shelters talking to those who have been staying there and offering assistance to any who needed help mucking out their homes and yards.  It didn't take long to hear and realize those in the shelters don't have homes to muck.  Their houses are gone.  It was some of the most gut-wrenchingly difficult work I've done to date.  I won't do it again.  I can't handle it.  There are limits to how much I can continue to put myself through.

We did come across one woman, Mrs. M. who asked for help in taking the clutter out from her home so she could find her valuables.  She lives/lived alone in a two-story home.  This is what it looks like now (from the side). 

This is what the house looks like inside.  I should point out I had her permission to take pictures.
This is what her garden looks like now.

In other words there's a boat where her garden used to be.
This is the scenery across from her home.  Note, she lives about a kilometer in from the ocean. 

Down the street from her home is this.

An enlarged image of the "box" at the end of the street (a house on its side) looks like this.

At the risk of stating the obvious, Mrs. M. won't be moving back into her home.  Where she'll go next is unclear.  These are the stories that hit me in ways words don't do justice.

What you can do for me

I'm awake.  I slept 10 hours.  The only time I rolled over was when my hip hurt from being smushed (sp?) into the floor for hours on end.  I don't even mind waking up at 7:30am so long as I'm rested and everyone else is still sleeping.  I needed this.

Many of you have asked how you can continue to support me and I have a tangible idea of what you can do.  I should say up front, this is for me.  There's no money involved, I'm not asking for donations of relief goods.  This is a straight-up make-Amya-happy thing.

I need information on anything unrelated to what I'm doing here.  More specifically, if you could just write a response to this (and future) posts telling me what you and your family, neighbors, co-workers did today, this would be pure perfection. 

I received two such e-mails within the past 24 hours.  My cousin wrote telling me about her daughters.  Another friend broke down her day, told me the story about how she ended up with a donated and incredibly uncomfortable bed in her sublet, then told me a conversation she had with a total stranger in Trader Joe's.

This is what I need.  I don't want to talk about life here for awhile.  I will do that here in this blog of course, and I will continue to blog but I'm realizing I have nothing to balance it out with.  When I talk with friends from home and my husband, I ask them to talk about anything other than what I'm doing.  I need news from home on anything and everything so long as I can just listen and let it wash over me.  You don't have to make it interesting.  It doesn't have to be amazing.  Write about your cat.  Write about something you read.  Write about the dilemma you had in choosing between Granny Smith apples and Galas.

I need this.  My life here has been so overwhelmingly one-sided with grief and destruction that I feel off-kilter.  Add to this the fact I haven't really been able to let anything out, I'm officially lop-sided.

You've been incredibly generous with your words of support.  I appreciate it.  I really do.  I will continue to graciously accept this but I'll also accept your stories.  I need to know there's some semblance of non-tragic life out there.

My first day off

I've been here a little over two weeks and tomorrow is my first real day off.  We're to have one day off per week but there was too much to do last week and I got half a day off instead.  This might have something to do with my level of exhaustion?  Perhaps.  Just maybe.

I just wrote two paragraphs about what all is wrong in my life but I realized I hate it when people bitch and moan to me so it would be prudent on my part to not do that to you.  Let's just say my several days off which starts on Saturday afternoon cannot possibly come soon enough.  Let's also say in a day or so I will actually start counting down the hours.  I need a break that badly.

Tomorrow.....I'm not sure what I will do but I do know I will want to be alone.  I'm not sure how I'm going to accomplish that as all of us foreigners here stick out and as such I won't get the privacy I need.  In Tokyo I blend into the scenery.  In Tokyo I have safe people I can break down in front of.  Here, I don't blend, and I don't know these people well enough yet to totally lose it in front of them.  (Although several times I've come very close.  My goal this year was to learn patience.  Maybe I am?)

I will do my laundry in a bucket, wash my hair in the sink, take a sponge bath in a smelly bathroom and then go walking in the hopes I will find comfort food only I can manage to find.  Will people leave me alone as I walk?  I hope so.

I am venting, aren't I?  I hope to spare you this in the future.  Let's just say after my first day off tomorrow I plan to be completely renewed and tired only because I've been walking all day.  Sleep first, then a fun day of doing nothing.  I'm counting down the hours.

Migraine...

This will be a challenging day for me as I woke up a migraine.  Please light a candle, pray, dance, sing and send me warm vibes.  It's 8:00am and I've already received three calls.  I'm starting out tired and with a throbbing head. 

This too shall pass, this too shall pass, this too shall pass.

Day five times three

Just letting you know this is my third round of day 5 and so tonight I'm due for a meltdown.  I'm good for four days but my fifth day is somehow filled with difficulties and I can't keep it in well.  I just got back onto base an hour ago and am exhausted so there won't be a post (other than this) tonight.  I'm done for the night.  I need some space and need time to myself.  Today was a day full of multiple difficulties and story after story that broke my heart into pieces.  (Please excuse the cliche.  If I'm allowed to take the easy way out in expressing myself tonight would be it.)  I can't share them without losing it and tonight I have no privacy.

More tomorrow.

Something personal

I'm a bit fried tonight.  I'm not exactly sure why but I'm beat.  Maybe it's the sleeping-on-concrete that's getting to me.  I'm not quite sure.

All this to say, I honestly don't have a story for you tonight from people I've spoken to recently but I do have a story from me.  It's not earth-shattering news or anything except to say I'm giving you a heads up. 

Tomorrow is my two week mark.  I've found I have a pattern in my moods and my tolerance for holding things in.  I have four days where I'm fine and then I follow that with a meltdown day.  Today is day four.  I'm scheduled for a meltdown tomorrow.

I've felt it coming on all day.  I've fought back tears multiple times and have been okay not breaking down in public.  I'm not sure I can do that tomorrow.  My heads up is essentially to say I probably won't be writing much tomorrow--I'll need another night where I walk around and cry--or I'll unload onto all of you in a way I can't predict quite yet.

I do have a story.  It's one of those moments I had to hold back and not breakdown.  There are three women from the community we've spoken to over the past several days who have offered to help with the cooking.  We will have 20 people staying in one of the new bases (which I'll move into tomorrow) and we need someone to help cook dinner.  This is meant to be a paid part-time position but these women said they would be willing to volunteer their time.  Their exact words were "we're volunteering so you can volunteer."  Hold back sob, hold back sob, hold back sob.

Then one of the women asks how we're going to bathe.  We say we aren't sure yet (buckets, probably?) as there's no shower facility in the building or hot water.  One of the women says she could offer her bath for us five nights a week.  I almost lose it.  Dirty, smelly volunteers, many of whom are foreign, walking in and out of a stranger's home five nights a week (in shifts, of course)?  This is quite an offer.  People are good.  I'm reminded of that everyday.

"Good things come to those who wait"....unless your house has been washed away by a tsunami?

Good news, bad news.

Good news first.  I was interviewed by CNN today.  I am relieved, strengthened and comforted to know there are news sources (giant ones at that) who still want to cover Japan and that will share with the world what's going on here.  At the risk of repeating myself, the disaster in Japan is far more than the nuclear issue.  I'm thrilled.  I'm grateful.  I'm optimistic.  I haven't felt this good in a long time.

Bad news.  People here don't share this optimism.  I spoke to someone today who says everyone he knows lost someone close to them.  It may have been a friend, a relative or a close family member.  I'm enjoying my small, yet not insignificant success.  Am I doing this at their expense?  I'm trying not to.

I spoke to a man today who said he's lost 12 pounds in a month.  I know plenty of people (myself included) who would be thrilled with this kind of weight loss.  I would argue we would all agree losing weight like this isn't how we would choose to do so.

So, my good news is good news for me.  I was given today the Japanese saying "good things come to those who wait" and I can only wonder how that applies to the Japanese.  I hope, hopefully, please, please, please, this applies to those here, too.  I'm willing to start small.  I'm willing to start by making the lives of those whom I connect with everyday just the slightest bit easier.  My hope is this kind of exposure will keep people remembering.  Japan has many years of recovery ahead.  Don't let this get pushed to the pages in the back of your local newspaper.  Keep spreading the word.  We all need all the help we can get. 

Oh, and don't forget to watch CNN.  Not for me, but because they're willing to keep the light focused on Japan in the most meaningful way possible.

"We were saved by..."

Here's a quick story for you.  The man's yard we were mucking yesterday told us a story.  The houses around him were damaged by over 6 feet of water coming inside of the buildings.  Water tore through the first floors, bringing in debris and sucking out whatever was inside.  This man said his house was spared.  The inside of his house had no water damage.  The water never came into the house.  He said "our windows held." 

Windows?  Two panes of glass?  These waves moved giant boats onto shore.  It knocked down concrete.  Two panes of glass spared his home?  Clearly I'm surprised.  He then goes onto to say "we were saved by our alter."

The alter in any Japanese home is probably the most important piece of "furniture" they own.  Some contain ancestral ashes, while others mark a spot for daily prayer.  The point is, this man believes his house was spared because of this alter.  Who am I to argue?!  It makes no sense that his windows held the water out.  If it makes sense to him that the alter saved his home, go for it.

Stories like this make this experience all the more bizarre.  I'm happy for him, but the randomness of how and why things happen is something I simply can't get my head around.

Not feeling guilty

I wrote yesterday about daffodils and how they anger me.  I see more today.  Of course.  It's spring.  More flora will bloom in the next several weeks.  I realize it would behoove me to find a way to enjoy nature's beauty and not be constantly angered by the inequality of how it behaves.  I realize this.

It hit me this morning as we were mucking out a man's yard.  Half of his trees were blooming and the other half were dead.  He pointed out his rose bushes and said, "if they soak in salt water long enough evidently they die."  Neither of us knew that.  It's not common knowledge now, is it--except it's not rocket science and once I realize roses aren't meant to be underwater, much less salt water it all seems pretty obvious.  He was lamenting the loss of his bushes and trees when he pointed out his daffodils and tulips.  I now hate tulips as well.  I just do.

My phone rang and it was "the official" (again) and so I walked across the street to get away from the yard to take the call.  My dislike for nature is something to behold.  Again, I'm not proud of it, but I claim it.  Who goes around saying "I don't like nature"?  Right?

I pace as I talk on the phone saying "hai" (yes) a lot.  I thank him for all he's done, say things that he'll like, ask him yet one more favor.  I keep pacing.  Then I look down.  I see them.  More daffodils.  These are daffodils that will clearly not survive.  There are no flowers.  The stalks are yellowing.  These must have been affected by the salt water in a way I can't explain.

If you're a nature lover and you don't like seeing things die then you should probably stop reading here.  I'm not proud of what I did but neither do I feel guilty.  Here it is:  I stomped on them.  If felt good.  It's my one small act of rebellion against beauty that destroys.  It did appease my anger even if it was just for a bit.  I doubt I'll need to do it again.  If I do, I probably won't tell you about it.  There's certainly enough else going on here that I can write about.  I needed to say this to you once:  I am not a nature fan.  I appreciate the beauty but not this time around.  It did too much damage for me to love spring flowers.

More irrational anger

This won't make sense either.  Nor should it be confused with "anger at God" because in my mind at least, there's a very clear differentiation between God and Mother Nature.  I'm angry at the latter.

It's spring here in Iwate.  Plum trees are blooming.  Daffodils are in full bloom with a bright, mustard yellow.  It's windy.  We wear jackets but could probably do without them if necessary.  It's really beautiful.  Until, that is, I get down towards the Port of Ofunato and drive through Rikuzentakata.  Nature, the power of giant waves wiped out city blocks, multiple square kilometers and (in my most patronizing voice possible) "made a real mess of things."  How it is then this same power of nature can make flowers bloom and in general "make things pretty"?  I don't get it.  I know it's not for me to understand, but it does make me angry.  On the one hand we have devastation caused by giant waves.  On the other hand, we have daffodils.  This randomness of nature, or what to looks to me to be so random, is a slap in the face (for me, at least).

As a child, I was taught to clean up my room and pick up after myself.  I just want to say the same thing to Mother Nature:  "You made this mess, now you clean it up.  Daffodils don't cut it."

Like I said, this doesn't make any sense.  I get that.  I figured if I let it out here I might be able to avoid stomping on daffodils.

Night off

I'm sorry.  I can't write tonight.  I'm emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted.  I need a good cry but will take sleep instead. 

More tomorrow.

What I actually do

It's been pointed out I should actually write about what I'm doing here.  My job is two-fold:  I'm interpreting for everyone and anyone and I'm doing whatever work the team is doing.  The latter is what I'll write about today.

The short version is, we mucked out a house.  Here's why.  We found out today (in this neighborhood, at least) the tsunami came in and then receded within a matter of twenty minutes.  The water came at least 12 feet into the first floor which means it brought in material caught in the wave, and then sucked out said same material as well as all sorts of familial possessions.  This is why the streets look like this.

These are the kinds of piles we see along both sides of the street.  This is half of a pile of what we pulled out of this house.  This pile contains household items, clothing, furniture, photo albums, dead fish (washed up from 500 yards away), food, dishes, windows, broken glass, wood, carpets, etc.  We're doing this again tomorrow at a different house.

We had 14 people working in this house today.  Over half were Japanese volunteers who just showed up and worked like mad.  The owner watched us take things in and out of his house and asked to do two things:  find his "stamp" (the stamp used to "sign" his official papers) and the urn containing his father's ashes.  We found the urn but not the stamp.

I smell like fish.  I'm also filthy.  I'm also torn by what all threw away.  They threw away thousands of dollars worth of dishes, personal photo albums, personal trinkets and more.  I've been told over and over it's important for those who are cleaning out their houses to make a clean break from the past and that's why everything, even items that could be washed and bleached and reused are all being tossed.  I realize everyday I don't understand their pain.  The scale of the devastation and the fact it goes on for miles and miles and from town to town means cleaning out this one house today is a small albeit very important drop in the bucket towards recovery.  We need help, people.  Please do what you can.  Sponsor a volunteer, donate to All Hands Volunteers (to feed me, if nothing else!) or find a way to get here yourselves.  If you're ready to get to dose of reality that will change you forever, this is an experience very worthy of investing in.  My two cents, of course.

The official

Our group has been working with various city and prefectural government officials in order to go through the proper channels and get things done Japanese style.  One such official, a city council member, has become my adopted father.  We finish each other's sentences.  It's beautiful and creepy at the same time.  We need something?  I call him.  I ask politely, of course.  I was raised with manners.  He always comes through, at which point I thank him profusely, as is only proper.  He moves mountains for us.  His house is unlivable as well.  I haven't asked him where's he's staying, mostly because if he is in a shelter, I don't want to embarrass him.

We were at a distribution center today doing some work there and ended up eating lunch with the volunteers who were there.  He's in charge of the conversation (of course) as everyone defers to him.  He's a big shot but isn't obnoxious about it.  I like this about him.  He tells me the names of those who are sitting around the table and when we get to a young man of maybe 20, the official says, "this man lost his mother."  We all go silent.  I offer condolences.  The young man looks down for a minute, then looks up and at me, smiles and says, "I'm alright."  It's at this point I do not break down.  Thank you very much.  I'm giving myself tomorrow night to go take a long walk and cry myself silly.  I'm holding everything in until then.  I'm turning phones off and will make myself unavailable for an hour or so.

I think about this official a lot.  His phone rings every 10 minutes.  I kid you not.  He's always rushing from City Hall to one shelter to another.  Everyone knows him.  People call out when we're walking around, he bows and smiles and it's genuine.  People like him and I like that.

He hasn't shaved in days.  He says he's lost weight and says that's the only good thing that's come out of this.  (We all have lost weight.  It's a good thing I brought a belt!)

Tomorrow we go muck out a house.  I'm going to bed and am hoping for no aftershocks tonight.  It's been a shaky day all day today.  This is supposed to go on for months but I'm not going to think about this tonight.  My sleeping bag and mat are calling.

Rikuzentakata, again

We needed to go meet with a city hall official in Rikuzentakata today.  We went to City Hall, or rather, the temporary City Hall which is essentially four long trailers made into offices.  The original City Hall is damaged beyond repair.

As we were driving back towards our current base in Ofunato, we drove through what remains of Rikuzentakata.  Again.  I looked out the window to my left and sat it:  Kenritsu Rikuzentakata Byoin.  The main hospital in Rikuzentakata.  It's a four-story structure, white on the outside, rectangular.  It looks like a typical hospital.  There's nothing special about this hospital except that all the windows on the first three floors are blown out.  This is the hospital where the doctors, nurses and able-bodied people ran up to the roof to escape the tsunami.  They had to leave behind those who couldn't escape in order to save themselves.  They heard those die as they fled up to the fourth floor and onto the roof. 

I can only imagine what they must have seen from the roof.  It couldn't have been that far to the rising water below.  Fear and guilt are two potent emotions to combine.  Seeing the building I had read and heard so much about brought it back all over again.  This sucks.

There are two other apartment buildings that I look at every time we go to Rikuzentakata.  These two five-story apartment buildings stand one in front of the other, the first one being closer to the ocean. All of the windows on both buildings are blown out for first four floors.  I can see through the first building to the second one behind.  This means the wave was four stories high and powerful enough to blow through windows, a hall way, another apartment on the other side of the hall way, then go into another building and wreak the same damage all over again.

It's a quiet hell.  There's no fire, burning bodies, pain, blood, screaming and devil-like creatures as I've seen in artwork in museums and books.  This is an entirely different kind of hell.  It's quiet.  There's no one around.  It's mountains of rubble everywhere I look.  Pile after pile of cars, splintered wood, and everything you can imagine inside.

Then as I we're driving, I see it.  Someone put a statue of a Buddha on the side of the road.  This came from someone's home.  Artifacts dot the roadside here and there and I'm at a loss for words all over again.

"I have a responsibility to start over"

The campground I will be moving to shortly also operates as a shelter for 120 people.  One of those staying at the shelter is a city council member.  He was instrumental in pulling strings to get us to the right people to get permission to use the campground as one of our bases.  There's a photo of Hirota Bay hanging in the main hall of one of the campground buildings.  Hirota Bay is where Rikuzentakata is located.  It's this bay that the tsunami came into and then onto Rikuzentakata.  I will find a way to take a photo from a hill so you can get a sense of the extent of the damage in Rikuzentakata.

Hirota Bay is known in Japan for its oysters.  Other areas are known for producing mass quantities of oysters but Hirota Bay provides the gourmet brand sold only in high-end restaurants and hotels in Tokyo.  The entire oyster crop was destroyed.  The city council member who I've now become friends with is also a fisherman, or rather an oyster-man.  He lost everything.  He said it will take him five years to get his first oyster harvest back.

He runs this family business with his three sons.  While all of his family members survived, he lost all of his houses and had to run up the mountain towards the campground to get to higher ground.  He, too, watched the tsunami destroy his homes, Hirota Bay, his oysters and livelihood.  I asked what the local oyster growers were going to do here on out as all of them lost their crop.  He said half would take their allotted payment from the government and retire.  "Not me," he said.  "I have a responsibility to start over.  This is a family business.  I need to have something to pass onto my sons.  They are still young.  If I can live five more years and get them their first harvest after the tsunami I've done my part."

What does one say to this?  I might worry about where my next job is coming from but I have a spouse who has a steady job.  Both of us are employable.  We can move.  The people here don't have that kind of flexibility.  Houses are gone.  Family members are dead or missing.  Livelihoods shot.  Listening to their stories tests my ability to say the right thing at the right time.  So far I have yet to stick my foot in my mouth.  I am careful to dance delicately around the subject of death and destruction as so many have lost so much.  It's not a casual question.  Offering regrets, comfort and words of kindness only go so far.  This is far more complex than I ever imagined.

Everywhere I look....

This is what I see everyday.  Note the boat.  This is over half a mile inland.  It just breaks my heart.  I didn't let anyone see me take this photo.  I meant what I said when I wrote I won't capitalize on their pain.

"We're lucky"

How we define luck has taken on a whole new meaning for me.  I spoke with a man today who had lost his home and his only child in the tsunami.  His son, 36, was engaged to be married in October.  The man said, "at least we found his body."  He went onto to describe how lucky his family was to have a body to cremate and put to rest when there were so many (over 1,000 in Rikuzentakata alone) who are still missing.

How's that for a reality check?

"You don't get to cry"

Evidently I'm human.  Evidently I can't go a whole week shutting out my emotions and being strictly professional.  Evidently, all this comes at a price.

If I may digress (already?) just for a moment.  The volunteers here are going to be split into two groups.  One will work in Ofunato and the other in Rikuzentakata.  At the risk of repeating myself, Rikuzentakata essentially doesn't exist anymore.  Ofunato still has vibrant business and residential districts that remain.  Both are port cities and Ofunato's port was destroyed. 

The teams will do different things in the towns.  As Rikuzentakata has so much more need the scale of the assignments will be larger.  The middle school and high school have been shut down there.  One of our proposals is to get into the high school to clean out the entire first floor so kids can go back to school.  Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

So, we were at our new "base camp" (a campground) in Rikuzentakata yesterday talking things over with the city council member (whose house was destroyed so is now living at the campground which is also operating as a shelter) and the manager of the campground.  At the end of our discussion, the camp manager said he wanted to show us something.  We drove up to a perch, a lookout of sorts and got out.  He asked us a climb up a small hill to another overlook.  From here, we could see across the bay into Rikuzentakata.  Let me explain.  The campground is on a peninsula between Ofunato and Rikuzentakata.  Ofunato is north of Rikuzentakata and is a larger town.  The peninsula was cut off and made into an island when the tsunami hit Rikuzentakata but the Self Defense Forces built roads and a make-shift bridge to connect the peninsula (now an island) back onto the mainland.  It's from the highest point of this peninsula/island that we looked back across the bay into Rikuzentakata.

The manager said, "I stood here and watched the tsunami hit."  Just like that I felt the tears coming.  I did my "control, control" pep talk in my head but when he said, "when the water that was receding from the bay collided with the incoming tsunami, it created this wall of water that looked 50m high and I saw that crash into the town" I lost it.  I turned around and had to walk away.  I gave myself a few minutes to regain my composure and came back to repeat what he said.

As we're driving down the hill back down into the campground, the manager says, "I have a something to tell you."  The team leader asks what it is and the manager says, "you don't get to cry."  He then went onto to explain the people there don't have "room" to deal with their emotions and for us (he meant me, of course) to lose it is not okay.  Touche.  Note to self:  go back to "control, control" and this time make it stick.  I'm not exactly sure how that's going to work but I've been given a specific task, at least in front of those at this shelter.  No tears.  They watched a wave the size of a building wash out their town in six minutes.  They're still missing over 1,000 people and a tenth of their population is either dead or missing.  For their pain, I get to control my emotions.  My to do list just got longer.

Shaken, Stirred, and Safe

Hello Friends, this is Miki.  Amya asked me to post today.  Yesterday another big quake hit the region.  She is safe, but didn't have power, cell, or water till recently (7:30a.m. Central US).  She is still without internet.  When it returns, she says she has some long posts for us.  To quote her:  "Today was a day for gut-wrenching stories.  I started crying while interpreting and had to excuse myself."  Wow, my heart and prayers are with her!

Please take the time to check the right side of this page for links to donate and to her other blog.  Also, please click on the right to follow this blog.  At the bottom of this page are ways to share this blog.  Please help us share the word about the humanitarian effort in Tohoku!
Cheers,  M

Volunteers galore

We went to a shelter today to make a spaghetti meal for those who live there.  We made sure to get strawberries and ice cream (what little ice cream we could find in the stores).  It was beautiful standing inside the kitchen and watching people scarf down pasta, salad and a dessert.  Slicing ten pounds of onions was a pain but it was well worth it.  Side note here......I was hoping the onions would make me cry and then I could bawl my eyes out and blame it on the onions......nothing.  I think this is the absolute first time in my life I've sliced into an onion without shedding a tear.  It's not a "Japanese onion" thing either as two nights ago I managed to get a good cry in when slicing the same type of onion bought at the same store.  Go figure.

There are families in this shelter with kids.  I've seen young women volunteering here for the past several days (all volunteers have a duct tape sticker on their arm) and I saw them today and yesterday running around with the children.  People are pitching in all over.  High school students whose schools were damaged do whatever they can.  A young Japanese man who was living in Canada came back here (he's from here) the day after the earthquake and also volunteers with City Hall as well as All Hands.  There's just no hesitation whatsoever.  People are helping.  Everywhere.  That we can cook a meal for them every now and then is a no brainer.  That I didn't cry at all after cutting up 10 pounds of onions?  Serious "brainer".......sorry.  Couldn't resist.  I have to make these little jokes here and there.  There's not a lot of laughter around these days, for obvious reasons.

Photographs of your donations (will not be posted)

I want to mention two things very quickly.  First, there will be very few photographs in this blog.  I'm finding it incredibly difficult to take photos of the destruction both from a personal perspective as well as a perception perspective.  Our teams stick out here as we are the only foreigners in the area.  I don't want to come across as voyeuristic.  I don't want to capture their grief and pain.  Any pictures I will take will be quick, in private and/or with permission.  I don't want you to be disappointed.  This is just one of those lines I won't cross.

Second, I ask you to take my word your donations were distributed and with great appreciation.  I haven't written about this because I'm simply emotionally drained.  I didn't take photos of their gratitude.  I didn't capture it in any way except within me.  Some day in the future I may write about this in more detail.  In the interim, please know they're out there.  They're being used with much gratitude.

The number of those who are still living in shelters relying on donations is still astounding.  In Rikuzentakata alone, there are around 15,000.  They are spread out in over 70 shelters throughout what remains of the city.  The mayor of Rikuzentakata still hasn't buried his wife (her body hasn't been recovered) and as we see him walking around the make-shift municipal buildings going from meeting to meeting we all wonder to ourselves who is taking care of his two school-aged children who now have to share their elementary school with middle schoolers and high schoolers in town whose schools were damaged by the tsunami. 

This is the pain I don't want to and won't capture on film.  I hope you understand. 

Earthquake........I'm getting sick of them.  Funny how I'm not scared.  I'm just bothered by them.  I welcome my sleeping bag and sleeping mat.  I need sleep.

Resolve

Everyday I see someone or something that impresses me all over again.  The resolve of the Japanese to return to some sense of normalcy is phenomenal.  Everyone is trying.  While many are still obviously in a state of shock it amazes me to see the effort people are putting into making life as normal as possible.

I saw today a boy of about five carrying his sister, maybe three years old, on his back, piggy-back style.  He walked past me on a sidewalk and called out a hearty "good morning" and I said "good morning" back and added "you're a strong boy, aren't you?"  He smiled and kept walking.  I had to turn away.  I had to control my tears.

To see children being strong, not just physically but emotionally, breaks my heart while moving me to try harder.  The simple "if they can do it, so can I" rings truer now, more than ever in my life.

What would make a boy so young take charge in helping his sister like this?  I hope the image I've just described is something you can imagine and keep with you.  I know it will stay with me forever.

The power of the wave

I want you to see this.  This boat was huge.  It left me speechless all over again.

Irrational anger

I realize what I'm about to say is completely irrational but I'm finding myself more and more angered by this "phenomenon" I'm seeing so I'm going to just put it out there.

We drove around today from 9:00 to 4:30 to visually document the devastation in nearby towns.  We probably hit nine or ten altogether.  The degree of destruction largely depended upon how high the elevation was (how soon the elevation rose from sea level upwards) and how densely populated the areas were.

At the risk of stating the obvious, this was a huge wave.  Boats were pushed hundreds of feet inland.  Houses were pushed off their foundations and some tossed onto their sides.  Cars were on top of roofs.  Throughout all this, I saw two things that stayed in place in houses.  I saw this consistently.  All over the place.  I'm warning you. This will make no sense.  Evidently, curtains and blinds are able to withstand a wave that pushes items through houses, blows out windows, and sends trees into said open windows (with curtains still in place and in tact).

This angers me.  Curtains are supposed to be flimsy.  Curtains weigh nothing.  Curtain rods are not meant to be strong household items.  Curtains are about decorating.  Not sustaining.  They're not supposed to outlast and outwit a tsunami.

I don't understand why curtains and blinds survive when houses, heavy machinery and people don't.  I suppose my anger at these curtains may come from the idea that I feel mocked by their survival.  I'm not saying this is rational.  I'm just being honest.

What Went Wrong

The towns all up and down the coast of Iwate are in varying degrees of ruin.  The tsunami hit all of them. There was notice, of course.  Once the earthquake hit a tsunami warning was issued and people had about 20 minutes to run/drive to higher ground.  Why then was there still so much loss of life?  It's simple.  Not everyone had access to a car.  It's hard to run carrying small children.  If you're elderly, it's a challenge to get up and about, much less outrun a wave. 

The population in the towns near here all average about 60.  The younger generation has moved away, mostly into larger cities and mostly for work.  Why didn't these towns have an evacuation plan?  They did.  All of them.  All of the towns on the eastern coastline (at least in Iwate Prefecture) depended upon each other for rescue, support, assistance and relief.  In hindsight, if a giant tsunami hits a COAST and not just a town or two then any good evacuation plan ends up being useless.  Immediate rescue efforts using fire and police equipment from other towns is not an option any more when each town has to fight to find their own people.  A side note, by the way.  When driving through Rikuzentakata yesterday to see the damage first hand, we drove past a police and fire station.  The police station was gutted.  The fire station was also severely damaged. 

One of the topics of discussion yesterday among the relief organization members was whether or not and how to expand the disaster relief to the other towns that were also wiped out.  The two main towns around here with the most damage (Rikuzentakata and Ohfunato) are their current focal points.  This is not to say the other towns don't need help. 

If anyone wants to volunteer there's no shortage or work to do!

Stories from Day One in Ohfunato

I spent the day interpreting for a team of All Hands Volunteers staff members who were talking to people in one of the many shelters here in Ohfunato.  The idea is to get a first-hand account of how damaged their homes are and what (if anything) the incoming team of volunteers can do to help these people.  Here are some stories I heard.  Quick side note:  put yourself in my shoes as I hear these stories and have to find a way to repeat them without getting choked up.  I could do it today but I also know I’m running on pure adrenaline.

Family A:  The black wall of water poured over the river bank.  We were standing in our kitchen during the earthquake and saw the water coming towards us.  We ran outside into our neighbor’s back yard.  My 82-year old father climbed up a tree while my mother and I climbed up a big rock.  The water stopped several feet away from us.  We just bought our house 6 months ago and don’t have the money to do the necessary repairs.  We aren’t taking out the insulation from underneath all of the floor boards because we can’t afford to replace them.  We’ll just wait for the floors to rot out before we replace them.

Family B:  The water came into the house and covered the entire first floor with about four feet of water and mud.  Once the wave receded, it left an inch of mud on everything.

Mr. C:  I’m 86 years old.  I have 14 more years before I live to be one hundred and I’m going to do it.  Look!  (He gets up and shows us how spry he is.)  The water came into the house.  It was black.  It came up to my chin.  My arm was caught in the bed so I was floating in the water for two hours while I was kicking and flailing.  If the water had risen another 20 cm I would have died.  I didn’t though.  That’s how I know I’m meant to live to be 100.

Family D:  We felt the earthquake and ran out of the house and down the street.  People started yelling there was a tsunami coming.  I can’t run very well because I’m 84, you know.  I turned around and this huge black wave was coming towards us and it had all this junk in it.  I ran up the stairs of this restaurant at the side of the road and watched the water roar down the street.  Once the water receded, I went to the shelter and have been here ever since.

This is day one.  I’m here until the end of May.  I’m overwhelmed, amazed at the will to live, the desire to return to a normal life all while knowing if they walk 2km down to the harbor the devastation is still there.  It’s a surreal place to be.  I wish you could see it.

Off to bed in three hours as I’ve been up almost 40 hours.  Exhausted and yet invigorated.

Devastation first hand

If you know me you know I am not a woman of few words.  If you know me well you know I like to talk.  I have opinions and am not shy about sharing them.  This is important why?  I'm glad you asked.  I took the bus up north and was met by the leader of the volunteer group at the train station/bus stop.  He drove us through Rikuzentakata to get to Ohfunato where the base is. 

I am officially at a loss for words.  I first started seeing the debris up the river 9 miles away from the coast along the riverbeds.  The closer we got into town, the more we saw. 

I've never seen anything like this.  The whole downtown area near the ocean was flattened.  There were gouge marks on the side of one of the few remaining buildings where the water carried the debris 20+ feet high. 

Cars, buses, trucks, large equipment and such were tossed around, upside down, dented and destroyed.  Few buildings remain standing and those that are were hollowed out by the water.  I could see right through them through the curtains that some how stayed behind and were flapping in the wind.  Teddy bears, twisted metal beams, roof tiles, trees, telephone poles, clothing, bicycles and stop lights, you name it, it was strewn all over. 

I have nothing to compare it to other than a quiet hell. 

Then there were the crews.  Men were out shoveling dirt off the side walks that had been cleared by earlier cleaning crews.  The sidewalks had then been swept.  Except for the destroyed buildings on both sides of the street you'd never known just a day ago massive amounts of junk cluttered those same sidewalks.

Things that were washed out from inside buildings had already been sorted.  Appliances were in one area, books in another, wooden beams somewhere else, tatami mats stacked up neatly and placed on the sidewalks.  There is so much order here.  Seeing the devastation is one thing, seeing the patience and care by which this clean up process has already begun is yet another experience altogether.

I guess I'm find words after all.  I will keep sharing my thoughts, observations and feelings. 

A different kind of culture shock

In many ways, Tokyo is home.  This is where I am most comfortable.  Here, I am happy.  I know the rules.  The city recharges my battery.  I love the crowds, trains, and the constant buzz the city offers.  I walked around today and did last minute errands with my colleague as we prepare to head north tonight to Ohfunato.  We will be riding the overnight bus for 10 hours.  The scenery tomorrow will be entirely different than what I see today.  I have no way to prepare to this other than to conjure up the photos I've seen from someone's camera lens.

Seeing the destruction in Ohfunato first-hand will be an entirely different kind of culture shock.  This is a Japan I've never seen.  This is pain, en masse, as I've never experienced it.  Even the disaster relief workers who are there now, those who have seen devastation all over the world are shocked at what they have encountered.  Knowing this, it reinforces the fact I simply can't prepare for what I will see tomorrow.

My Grandmother loved the Serenity Prayer.  This is what I take with me.  Some days I need courage over wisdom, other days I need serenity over courage and at yet other days wisdom over serenity.  For the next two months I will need all three at all times.  Knowing this, I'm humbled all over again.