Being my harshest critic and operating with exceptional high standards for myself (sometimes ones I can't possibly live up to) I have tried not to beat myself up in asking how useful I was over the past seven weeks. If I didn't make a difference at all, the entire trip was for naught. I can't live with this. In order to let myself believe I didn't waste seven weeks of my life, in my own way and using my own definitions, I let myself believe I did make a difference. I allow myself to believe I was useful.
But, let's get real. How was I useful? For whom? And, how do I know I was actually helpful? Those are questions I can't answer. Perhaps I will never know. Then comes synchronicity. It hits me. I receive a glimpse of the possibility I did actually do something. This came one night as someone read the poem Amenimo makezu, Kazenimo makezu by Miyazawa Kenji. The synchronicity I encountered in Japan, over and over and over again blessed me this night as well. Hearing this poem brought it full circle. Let me explain.
This poem by Miyazawa was found posthumously in a notebook of his. It's beautiful in its simplicity and sincerity. Miyazawa died young at 37. He was one of my favorite poets/writers in my childhood. The poem which I loosely translate "be not defeated by rain nor wind" always makes me cry. I wish I could write like this. When this poem by Miyazawa, some might say what he is most famous for, was read as a going-away gift I learned for the first time he was from Iwate. I lost it. Of course he would be from Iwate. More synchronicity.
I have favorite lines from within the poem. Realizing certain stanzas speak to me more than others, it brought me back to the collection of writings I have selected over the years. I have gathered many of these tidbits into a notebook. In this notebook is the poem Success incorrectly (evidently) attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson. I have favorite lines within Emerson's poem as well. It was this juxtaposition of my favorite parts of two poems written by two men, one from Iwate and the other from Massachusetts (my two adopted homes), both of whom found the words to express their beliefs simply and yet so beautifully--this was how I could define how useful I had been in Japan.
So, with my offerings of profound respect to Miyazawa Kenji and whoever wrote Success and with sincere gratitude, please allow me to borrow from both to create a lyrical offering to myself on how I want to live my life.
Be not defeated neither by rain nor by wind
To laugh often and much
To win the affection of children
If there is a tired mother to the east
I will go there and shoulder her sheaf of rice
If there is someone near death to the south
I will go there and say 'there's no need to be afraid'
If there is a quarrel to the north
I will go and tell them to stop being petty
To know even one life has breathed easier because I have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
This is the person I want to become.
This is my new mantra, a gift I didn't expect to find in going to Japan. This, I can do. This, I hope I have done.
Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
The Tohoku accent
I was warned about the Tohoku accent. "You won't understand them," some said. "It sounds like a foreign language," said others. Bah. It can't be that bad, right? Japanese is Japanese. The cocky linguist in me poo-pooed these warnings.
Then it hits me. The first day in Ofunato as I listened to people in a shelter share their stories I found myself listening and then listening harder. I don't understand a lot of what I'm hearing. Can this be happening? The cocky me, the me that thought I could handle a slightly different accent is humbled from day one. The accent here is that different.
The longer I spent in Ofunato and Rikuzentakata the more I got used to it. I came to the point I could understand what I was hearing. I'm still having to listen and listen hard but I get it. The cockiness returns. I think to myself, "See. It's not that bad."
Then it happened. I am knocked down off my pedestal. In public. In front of others. I made a total fool out of myself.
I'm at a make-shift party. I've been here six weeks and I share with those around me I will be leaving soon.
"I'm going to Tokyo first," I say. "I need some time to myself." They all nod. They all know I'm a city girl and that living without hot water or a bath has been tough for me. Then I get the question that erased all cockiness in me.
"Are you going to Izu?" I pause. Izu? Izu is a peninsula southwest of Tokyo. It's a resort area. Do they think I'm going to Izu to relax? I just said I'm going to Tokyo. I'm confused.
"No, I'm not," I say back. Now it's their turn to look confused. Everyone looks at me. I panic. What did I say? Is it an insult not to go to Izu?
"But you're leaving, right?" I'm asked again. I'm confused again.
"Yes, I'm going."
"Are you going to Izu?" Now I'm annoyed. No, I am most definitely not going to Izu. Why do they keep asking this?
Then a young woman sitting across from me bursts out laughing.
"Not, Izu," she says. "Itsu. Not I-zu."
I turn beat red. I get it. The dreaded Tohoku accent I was so sure I understood just turned me into a dufus.
Let me explain. Itsu in Japanese is "when" and Izu is "Izu"--the resort area outside Tokyo. The man asking the question said in Japanese, "Izu ikundesuka?" which translates into "Are you going to Izu?" In the Tohoku dialect, "itsu" (when) sounds like "izu" meaning he was asking when I was leaving and not whether or not I was going to Izu.
I laugh. So does everyone else. I throw away all humility and say "your Tohoku accent is so hard to understand!" which they take as a compliment and laugh with me. No. Not with. I'm being laughed at but this time around the joke is on me. Laugh at me all you will. I deserve that one.
Then it hits me. The first day in Ofunato as I listened to people in a shelter share their stories I found myself listening and then listening harder. I don't understand a lot of what I'm hearing. Can this be happening? The cocky me, the me that thought I could handle a slightly different accent is humbled from day one. The accent here is that different.
The longer I spent in Ofunato and Rikuzentakata the more I got used to it. I came to the point I could understand what I was hearing. I'm still having to listen and listen hard but I get it. The cockiness returns. I think to myself, "See. It's not that bad."
Then it happened. I am knocked down off my pedestal. In public. In front of others. I made a total fool out of myself.
I'm at a make-shift party. I've been here six weeks and I share with those around me I will be leaving soon.
"I'm going to Tokyo first," I say. "I need some time to myself." They all nod. They all know I'm a city girl and that living without hot water or a bath has been tough for me. Then I get the question that erased all cockiness in me.
"Are you going to Izu?" I pause. Izu? Izu is a peninsula southwest of Tokyo. It's a resort area. Do they think I'm going to Izu to relax? I just said I'm going to Tokyo. I'm confused.
"No, I'm not," I say back. Now it's their turn to look confused. Everyone looks at me. I panic. What did I say? Is it an insult not to go to Izu?
"But you're leaving, right?" I'm asked again. I'm confused again.
"Yes, I'm going."
"Are you going to Izu?" Now I'm annoyed. No, I am most definitely not going to Izu. Why do they keep asking this?
Then a young woman sitting across from me bursts out laughing.
"Not, Izu," she says. "Itsu. Not I-zu."
I turn beat red. I get it. The dreaded Tohoku accent I was so sure I understood just turned me into a dufus.
Let me explain. Itsu in Japanese is "when" and Izu is "Izu"--the resort area outside Tokyo. The man asking the question said in Japanese, "Izu ikundesuka?" which translates into "Are you going to Izu?" In the Tohoku dialect, "itsu" (when) sounds like "izu" meaning he was asking when I was leaving and not whether or not I was going to Izu.
I laugh. So does everyone else. I throw away all humility and say "your Tohoku accent is so hard to understand!" which they take as a compliment and laugh with me. No. Not with. I'm being laughed at but this time around the joke is on me. Laugh at me all you will. I deserve that one.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Waiting for Sister
It was a small job. They hadn't gone into their home yet since the tsunami partly out of fear, partly out of dread. They wanted some help in looking through their things--not valuables necessarily. My take on this was they wanted company. They didn't want to be alone when they went back home for the first time.
I stood in the doorway trying to stay out of the way of the younger ones hauling things down the steep and cluttered staircase. I glance at the floor of the genkan (the front entry way) totally covered with muck and gunk except for one pair of shoes. I take a photo just because they seem so out of place. They're polished, clean and placed neatly in the corner as if they're waiting to be worn.
More youngsters go up and down the stairs. More stuff gets taken outside into the road for the family to sort through. I continue to stand in the doorway just sort of watching, making sure I'm not needed, fielding calls on the dreaded "white phone." (More on the white phone in another posting.)
There are three women who are from this house. A youngish woman and her teenage daughter and the mother. Three generations of women. I talk to the young woman making sure we're doing what she wants, who suggests we talk to "mother" and together we talk to the matron of the family to get her input.
Mother sees me, bows, thanks me profusely and we exchange gratitude, compliments and general goodwill. Out of the blue she changes the subject. "See these shoes?" she says. I nod. "They belong to my oldest daughter." She chokes up. I get it now. They're missing a family member.
The younger daughter, the one I'd been speaking to earlier says, "Mother said to put these shoes out for sister. We're waiting for her. These shoes are so she'll know to come home."
What do I say to this? Seriously. What do I say to this? I just looked down, fought back tears (and failed) and then when I finally looked back up, nodded to mother.
I stood in the doorway trying to stay out of the way of the younger ones hauling things down the steep and cluttered staircase. I glance at the floor of the genkan (the front entry way) totally covered with muck and gunk except for one pair of shoes. I take a photo just because they seem so out of place. They're polished, clean and placed neatly in the corner as if they're waiting to be worn.
More youngsters go up and down the stairs. More stuff gets taken outside into the road for the family to sort through. I continue to stand in the doorway just sort of watching, making sure I'm not needed, fielding calls on the dreaded "white phone." (More on the white phone in another posting.)
There are three women who are from this house. A youngish woman and her teenage daughter and the mother. Three generations of women. I talk to the young woman making sure we're doing what she wants, who suggests we talk to "mother" and together we talk to the matron of the family to get her input.
Mother sees me, bows, thanks me profusely and we exchange gratitude, compliments and general goodwill. Out of the blue she changes the subject. "See these shoes?" she says. I nod. "They belong to my oldest daughter." She chokes up. I get it now. They're missing a family member.
The younger daughter, the one I'd been speaking to earlier says, "Mother said to put these shoes out for sister. We're waiting for her. These shoes are so she'll know to come home."
What do I say to this? Seriously. What do I say to this? I just looked down, fought back tears (and failed) and then when I finally looked back up, nodded to mother.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
The Tempest, Aftershocks and the House on Stilts
It's really, technically not a tempest, per se. There's no rain or snow. There are however, intense and amazing wind gusts. Continual bands of wind have been blowing all day today. I just wanted to use the word "tempest" because, well, I just did.
I've written about aftershocks and phantom aftershocks, right? Aftershocks we experience daily. Some are big enough to shake whatever we're in, others we barely feel. Phantom aftershocks are a real phenomenon where our body gets so used to shaking we trick our equilibrium into thinking/feeling there's another quake. Evidently it has something to do with our ears--the whole equilibrium thing, that is. So, over the past month I've been experiencing real aftershocks and phantom aftershocks and today, a tempest (minus the rain and snow) with real aftershocks. That, last one, my dear people, is a pretty hefty combination.
Why? Let me be specific. The building we're in, where we eat, sleep and call "base" is built on stilts. Now, the "stilts" are steel beams, of course, but there is no "first floor" and quite literally, we're perched on top of a parking lot. All this to say, when real aftershocks hit, the whole building shakes. It's a sound building (or so I'm told) but good grief--this thing really shakes. Add to this the gales of wind today which shakes the building all the more (and all day). With all this movement today, phantom aftershocks are the last thing I'm thinking about today. It's a pretty strange feeling to have the building in an almost perpetual state of movement either from an aftershock or the wind.
And then there it was. There was an aftershock that we all felt while the wind was whipping through. A double-whammy like that means extra and longer swaying of the house-on-stilts. It's unpleasant. Walking around in the perpetually swaying building makes me feel just the slightest bit weak in the knees. Not the whole I-see-my-husband-and-he-kisses-me weak in the knees bit. I mean walking-on-solid-ground-after-being-out-at-sea-forever weak in the knees. I'll take the former any day. The latter, this particular feeling I can honestly do without.
I feel this all the more stronger perhaps because I'm laying down trying to recover from this now-a-full-blown-cold-and-flu thing. Whatever the reasons, this has turned into a day like nothing else. Not complaining, mind you. It's just interesting to feel how much a building can sway when it's not on solid ground, when the wind is blowing every which direction and the aftershocks continue to rumble. Note, the choice to use the word "interesting" is reminiscent of how my father used it when I was a child. If someone was "interesting" or something tasted "interesting" it was generally okay to assume this was code for "not all that good." As such, when I say it's "interesting" to be in a building that sways as much as this, you're welcome to assume and interpret this is not my favorite place to be right now. This too shall pass.
I've written about aftershocks and phantom aftershocks, right? Aftershocks we experience daily. Some are big enough to shake whatever we're in, others we barely feel. Phantom aftershocks are a real phenomenon where our body gets so used to shaking we trick our equilibrium into thinking/feeling there's another quake. Evidently it has something to do with our ears--the whole equilibrium thing, that is. So, over the past month I've been experiencing real aftershocks and phantom aftershocks and today, a tempest (minus the rain and snow) with real aftershocks. That, last one, my dear people, is a pretty hefty combination.
Why? Let me be specific. The building we're in, where we eat, sleep and call "base" is built on stilts. Now, the "stilts" are steel beams, of course, but there is no "first floor" and quite literally, we're perched on top of a parking lot. All this to say, when real aftershocks hit, the whole building shakes. It's a sound building (or so I'm told) but good grief--this thing really shakes. Add to this the gales of wind today which shakes the building all the more (and all day). With all this movement today, phantom aftershocks are the last thing I'm thinking about today. It's a pretty strange feeling to have the building in an almost perpetual state of movement either from an aftershock or the wind.
And then there it was. There was an aftershock that we all felt while the wind was whipping through. A double-whammy like that means extra and longer swaying of the house-on-stilts. It's unpleasant. Walking around in the perpetually swaying building makes me feel just the slightest bit weak in the knees. Not the whole I-see-my-husband-and-he-kisses-me weak in the knees bit. I mean walking-on-solid-ground-after-being-out-at-sea-forever weak in the knees. I'll take the former any day. The latter, this particular feeling I can honestly do without.
I feel this all the more stronger perhaps because I'm laying down trying to recover from this now-a-full-blown-cold-and-flu thing. Whatever the reasons, this has turned into a day like nothing else. Not complaining, mind you. It's just interesting to feel how much a building can sway when it's not on solid ground, when the wind is blowing every which direction and the aftershocks continue to rumble. Note, the choice to use the word "interesting" is reminiscent of how my father used it when I was a child. If someone was "interesting" or something tasted "interesting" it was generally okay to assume this was code for "not all that good." As such, when I say it's "interesting" to be in a building that sways as much as this, you're welcome to assume and interpret this is not my favorite place to be right now. This too shall pass.
Before and After
I want to give you a tangible example of something we've done here. Myself included, of course. This is a photo (taken by an All Hands staff member) of a home we cleaned out before we started.
This is after. The same house.
This is a bunch of us outside the home having a strategy meeting.
The owner if this building is the man in red. On a different note, the city has come through with heavy machinery and cleared up all of the piles of rubble in front of the houses on both sides of the street. It's slow-going. They go about 10 meters per day. There's that much to remove.
See the house on the right side of the road three down from us? The tannish/brownish house? This is another house that the group worked on. The son of the family, a man in his 30s was in the house when the first wave hit. He ran upstairs and waited for the water to recede and when it did, he ran down and fled to safety, higher ground to the far right of the photo (out of the picture). Imagine being in your home when the wave hit. The man in red, the owner of the home in this photo did the same thing. He waited out the tsunami on the second floor. What must go through someone's mind when faced with a real-life life or death situation like that? For that, I'll muck out houses and interpret stories that make me cry. Bring it on.
This is after. The same house.
This is a bunch of us outside the home having a strategy meeting.
The owner if this building is the man in red. On a different note, the city has come through with heavy machinery and cleared up all of the piles of rubble in front of the houses on both sides of the street. It's slow-going. They go about 10 meters per day. There's that much to remove.
See the house on the right side of the road three down from us? The tannish/brownish house? This is another house that the group worked on. The son of the family, a man in his 30s was in the house when the first wave hit. He ran upstairs and waited for the water to recede and when it did, he ran down and fled to safety, higher ground to the far right of the photo (out of the picture). Imagine being in your home when the wave hit. The man in red, the owner of the home in this photo did the same thing. He waited out the tsunami on the second floor. What must go through someone's mind when faced with a real-life life or death situation like that? For that, I'll muck out houses and interpret stories that make me cry. Bring it on.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
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.
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.
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?
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?
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, April 25, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
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.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Fly United!
I'm not allowed to get specific on what United Airlines has done for me to get me to Japan but let's just say I am incredibly touched by their generosity and support. I got to a United Airlines representative through five friends. That means, get this, a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of mine made this happen. Today. It's Sunday today, you know. She got this done on her day off. When she told me what she had done I cried on the phone, and I hate crying in front of strangers.
All this to say, for your next trip please consider flying United Airlines. There are good people out there and many of them work at United.
Thank you again, United. You rock. I'm grateful in ways you can hardly imagine. Shout out to United!!
All this to say, for your next trip please consider flying United Airlines. There are good people out there and many of them work at United.
Thank you again, United. You rock. I'm grateful in ways you can hardly imagine. Shout out to United!!
Friends of friends
You'll all learn as you read my postings that I really think adding a bit of spice to stories is a great way to keep life interesting. It also keeps the attention of those to whom I'm telling the story. In other words, I have a tendency to exaggerate. Sometimes. Just a bit.
What I'm about to share with you contains no exaggeration, embellishing, modifying or spicing up. This is the real deal. I have a healthy imagination and use it often but this one would be difficult for me to make up.
Let me back up just a bit. Before the earthquake and tsunami hit Japan earlier this month, I had two business trips planned. One was to Dubai and another was to Tokyo. Once I decided to make myself available to go to Japan and got put on multiple standby lists I called both clients and canceled these trips.
Now, I knew when I bought the tickets these were non-refundable tickets. I knew if I had to cancel the flights for any reason, I had to eat a $250 (per ticket) change fee. The tickets were both on United Airlines. I decided to call United and beg for mercy. If I'm going to Japan for two months and giving up salary, family, friends and make up then United can eat several thousand dollars. This was my argument. I would say it nicely, of course.
I put out a mass e-mail to anyone who might have contacts at United. I knew after the first call to United they were sympathetic and supportive but "sorry, we can't change our policy" was what I would continue to hear. I needed to talk to someone who would actually take on my situation personally. I needed friends to hit up their friends for a contact at United.
This is where it gets interesting. I get a call on my cell phone from a number I don't recognize and take it because, well, after I've told people I'm going to Japan I've been getting calls from all over the place. I take the call and hear this "Hi!" and proceed to "meet" Amy from Washington who's best friend works at United. Of course she does. We end the call with "I'll put you in touch with her!" We exchange e-mails and next thing you know Lili from United is on board. I'm still a bit confused as to who Amy is and how she found me but I let it go. These kinds of things have been happening the last several days and I'm just trying to be grateful for the support I'm getting and not necessarily ask delving questions as to who they are.
I'm sharing this story with Miki saying I'm so totally impressed and touched and truly humbled by the support people are showing me and she stops me and says,
"Amy is Jo's friend." I pause for a minute and say
"Okay, sweetheart. This means nothing to me."
"Amy is my Frontierville neighbor. From Facebook. Jo's my friend. Amy's Jo's friend. Lili, the one helping you, is Amy's friend. I don't know Lili and the only reason I know Amy is through Frontierville. We both needed neighbors and so we connected. Jo must have contacted Amy after she saw my Facebook posting about you needing a contact at United."
Okay. I'm not a woman of few words. I like to talk. This means I'm very seldom at a loss for words. When Miki tells me a friend of a friend from a Facebook game got in touch with me to put me in touch with yet another friend to help me--it takes awhile to sink in. People are good. (Not everyone, of course. I'll have a posting on one such person later.)
This is the kind of thing that's been happening for the past 72 hours. People from all over are calling, writing, and sending things. I'll write more about the list of things I've gotten and am getting sent to me. I swear. I can't make this up.
What I'm about to share with you contains no exaggeration, embellishing, modifying or spicing up. This is the real deal. I have a healthy imagination and use it often but this one would be difficult for me to make up.
Let me back up just a bit. Before the earthquake and tsunami hit Japan earlier this month, I had two business trips planned. One was to Dubai and another was to Tokyo. Once I decided to make myself available to go to Japan and got put on multiple standby lists I called both clients and canceled these trips.
Now, I knew when I bought the tickets these were non-refundable tickets. I knew if I had to cancel the flights for any reason, I had to eat a $250 (per ticket) change fee. The tickets were both on United Airlines. I decided to call United and beg for mercy. If I'm going to Japan for two months and giving up salary, family, friends and make up then United can eat several thousand dollars. This was my argument. I would say it nicely, of course.
I put out a mass e-mail to anyone who might have contacts at United. I knew after the first call to United they were sympathetic and supportive but "sorry, we can't change our policy" was what I would continue to hear. I needed to talk to someone who would actually take on my situation personally. I needed friends to hit up their friends for a contact at United.
This is where it gets interesting. I get a call on my cell phone from a number I don't recognize and take it because, well, after I've told people I'm going to Japan I've been getting calls from all over the place. I take the call and hear this "Hi!" and proceed to "meet" Amy from Washington who's best friend works at United. Of course she does. We end the call with "I'll put you in touch with her!" We exchange e-mails and next thing you know Lili from United is on board. I'm still a bit confused as to who Amy is and how she found me but I let it go. These kinds of things have been happening the last several days and I'm just trying to be grateful for the support I'm getting and not necessarily ask delving questions as to who they are.
I'm sharing this story with Miki saying I'm so totally impressed and touched and truly humbled by the support people are showing me and she stops me and says,
"Amy is Jo's friend." I pause for a minute and say
"Okay, sweetheart. This means nothing to me."
"Amy is my Frontierville neighbor. From Facebook. Jo's my friend. Amy's Jo's friend. Lili, the one helping you, is Amy's friend. I don't know Lili and the only reason I know Amy is through Frontierville. We both needed neighbors and so we connected. Jo must have contacted Amy after she saw my Facebook posting about you needing a contact at United."
Okay. I'm not a woman of few words. I like to talk. This means I'm very seldom at a loss for words. When Miki tells me a friend of a friend from a Facebook game got in touch with me to put me in touch with yet another friend to help me--it takes awhile to sink in. People are good. (Not everyone, of course. I'll have a posting on one such person later.)
This is the kind of thing that's been happening for the past 72 hours. People from all over are calling, writing, and sending things. I'll write more about the list of things I've gotten and am getting sent to me. I swear. I can't make this up.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
All Hands Volunteers
Let me make myself very clear: I am NOT bad-mouthing large relief organizations. Some are corrupt, I'm sure. I'm not talking about those. I'm talking about the big-name groups that have a presence. My attempt in talking about All Hands Volunteers (http://hands.org/) is to say small is beautiful. All Hands is not a huge organization with a large overhead. This means more of the money goes straight to the actual relief work, and quicker. I like this. This makes sense to me. Sometimes it's necessary to have organizations that can pull together a large-scale effort and mobilize people quickly. Other times it's important to have small organizations that just pick up and go and get themselves on the ground right away without going through the politics and red tape. All Hands is the latter.
I found out about All Hands through the Japan Society of Boston. I told my friends there I was willing to volunteer and to pass my name along to anyone contacting them. Within a few hours e-mails were flying back and forth between me and the Executive Director of All Hands.
May I just go on record and say I have the utmost respect for the people who work at and volunteer for All Hands. I hope to able to share stories about them, with them and let you know what we're all doing in Japan.
The Executive Director is en route back from Japan as I write this. I plan to meet with him early next week to get up to speed and to share whatever he has to say. Stay tuned.
I found out about All Hands through the Japan Society of Boston. I told my friends there I was willing to volunteer and to pass my name along to anyone contacting them. Within a few hours e-mails were flying back and forth between me and the Executive Director of All Hands.
May I just go on record and say I have the utmost respect for the people who work at and volunteer for All Hands. I hope to able to share stories about them, with them and let you know what we're all doing in Japan.
The Executive Director is en route back from Japan as I write this. I plan to meet with him early next week to get up to speed and to share whatever he has to say. Stay tuned.
How this all began
When the earthquake struck off the coast of Sendai on March 11th, it brought down much of the towns up and down the eastern coast of Honshu. Then the waves came, washing away people, buildings, cars, houses and more. We've seen the video clips. They're horrific.
Then came the news about the damaged Fukushima Nuclear Plant. All hell broke loose with the world worrying about impending doom. I'm not trying to make light of how serious a nuclear meltdown can be. Not at all. I'm simply trying to outline facts. For now, at least.
I started making and getting calls several days after the 11th asking if I could/would be willing to go to Japan to help with the relief efforts. I'll write more about this particular process later. Fast forward two weeks after the 11th and I have word I am leaving for Japan on the 31st for two months. I'm going. This is real.
I will be working with a Boston-based relief organization called All Hands Volunteers (www.hands.org). I will be in Rikuzentakata and Ohfunato, two towns essentially wiped out by the tsunami. I'm going with the realization I don't really know what I'm getting into but that I can contribute to at least some relief.
This blog will be an ongoing journal of my time in Japan as well as the days leading up to my departure. I already have a lot to say and assume I will have much to report once I'm there. I promise to be honest. I promise to not capitalize on the pain of those I see. I promise I will not mince words. I promise I will try to remain objective. I promise to be grateful as often as I can.
Consider this your cordial invitation to spend the next two months with me as I go through something I cannot possibly prepare for and experience seeing devastation first hand. My goal is to show you what's really going on in Japan. In return, I ask for two things: spread the word and help any way you can. I have thoughts on both which I will share in subsequent postings.
Then came the news about the damaged Fukushima Nuclear Plant. All hell broke loose with the world worrying about impending doom. I'm not trying to make light of how serious a nuclear meltdown can be. Not at all. I'm simply trying to outline facts. For now, at least.
I started making and getting calls several days after the 11th asking if I could/would be willing to go to Japan to help with the relief efforts. I'll write more about this particular process later. Fast forward two weeks after the 11th and I have word I am leaving for Japan on the 31st for two months. I'm going. This is real.
I will be working with a Boston-based relief organization called All Hands Volunteers (www.hands.org). I will be in Rikuzentakata and Ohfunato, two towns essentially wiped out by the tsunami. I'm going with the realization I don't really know what I'm getting into but that I can contribute to at least some relief.
This blog will be an ongoing journal of my time in Japan as well as the days leading up to my departure. I already have a lot to say and assume I will have much to report once I'm there. I promise to be honest. I promise to not capitalize on the pain of those I see. I promise I will not mince words. I promise I will try to remain objective. I promise to be grateful as often as I can.
Consider this your cordial invitation to spend the next two months with me as I go through something I cannot possibly prepare for and experience seeing devastation first hand. My goal is to show you what's really going on in Japan. In return, I ask for two things: spread the word and help any way you can. I have thoughts on both which I will share in subsequent postings.
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