A Road to Somewhere

Thursday, July 16, 2009. 10:20 p.m. EST

2009-07-16T19:19:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm home.

At 4:45 a.m. JST on Wednesday (which was 3:45 p.m. on Tuesday in EST), I locked my door at Maison Iwakuni one last time, pushed my luggage down the stairs because I couldn't carry it, and got into a taxi headed for Kansai International Airport. I eventually nodded off, but I stayed up long enough to watch the 5:00 a.m. sunrise one more time. The sky was brilliantly clear, a fine day for a send-off.

At the airport I returned my rental cell phone, checked-in and had to remove fourteen pounds from my luggage into a cardboard box labeled with my name and final destination, then grabbed my last bamukuchen (small doughnut-shaped butter cake) and ate it at the gate.

I stayed awake for the flight to Narita International in Tokyo. As the plane made a circle out over the ocean, I saw the length of Japan spread out below, from coast to coast at the narrowest part of the island. It was beautiful, breathtaking. Right below us were volcanic plains, a huge stretch of ancient black rock, and then the white lips of the sea kisses its shores. I watched it all fall away under clouds and slipped back into sleep.

I woke up in Tokyo and was on my connector to Chicago in no time. About an hour into the familiar 13-hour flight the stewardesses served lunch. I ate without thinking, ordered a glass of red wine, and promptly fell asleep after consumption.

Five hours later I woke up over the Pacific Ocean. It was completely dark outside the windows. The lights had been shut off in the cabin -- mandatory JALways naptime -- and I could see stars winking at me in the unadulterated night sky. I read the book I had purchased on Shinto religion until I got tired again and fell back into sleep.

I breached consciousness again long enough to watch the little airplane that represented us on the map shining on the huge screen pass over Seattle, Washington. The sky outside suddenly began to lighten from deep cobalt to purple to pink and finally into a dazzling kaleidoscope of orange, red, and a clear bright blue. We flew into America on the morning tide. For the rest of my life, I will never forget those colors, the simple beauty above the clouds.

Again I fell asleep and woke up when we were just an hour and a half out of Chicago. I stayed awake, at the second the plane stopped I whipped out my Blackberry, turned it on for the first time in almost two months, and it immediately exploded. Texts, phonecalls, emails, everything. It buzzed and beeped like crazy, attracting all sorts of unnecessary attention to myself.

I blew through customs after nearly destroying my luggage again (opening and closing an already-stuffed-to-the-brim bag sucks), re-checked it and ran to my next flight, a U.S. Airways flight to Philadelphia. I slept through that ride too. And from Philly to Hartford, my fourth plane in 31 hours, I got completely sick and nearly vomited on the plane.

I ran off the last plane, through the gate, down the hallway at Bradley International Airport, and into the arms of my teary mother waiting for me right outside security. I was nauseous and tired and my entire body ached and my right shoulder was killing me but nothing mattered because my brothers were squeezing me and my Dad was rubbing my head and my mother was crying, "You did it, you did it, you did it!"

I did it.

We collected my bag, fought with the U.S. Airways personnel because my extra box was left in Chicago even though I checked it, then drove home. I took the best shower of my life, changed into more comfortable clothing, showered gifts on my family, ate pasta with homemade tomato sauce that my mother prepared with such love and care for me, shared a bottle of plum sake with my mother, then passed out on the couch in my living room, full and happy and exhausted.

I've been home for 24 hours now, alternatively taking naps and having food thrown at me. Stepping on the scale this morning confirmed what I thought I saw in the mirror: I lost a ton of weight in Japan. Thirteen pounds to be exact. In seven weeks. When I visited Christilynn this morning to give her the gifts I bought her, Mrs. B told me I looked emaciated compared to how I looked when I left. Nervosa and then a diet of lighter foods would do that to you. But I still don't understand -- I ate, I remember having huge pastries and huge bowls of ramen and grilled meat and Japanese McDonalds' french fries. Thirteen pounds?

Since this morning's revelation everyone has been trying to feed me. Mom took me to Panera for lunch and Lauren and Nikki took me to KFC. I ate what I could, and now at the end of the day I'm full and sleepy.

Rain is slapping my windowpane. Even the way the rain falls is different here -- the sound is different. I couldn't tell you what. When I walked down the street to Christi's this morning, I noted the difference in the sounds of nature around me. The wind, the birds. In Japan the cicadas were screaming and ravens were squawking. Here the birds are chirping calmly, bees are buzzing, and it's a bit quieter. The thunder isn't as resounding either. Perhaps Raijin and Fuijin work harder than the gods of storms do here.

I miss Japan. I miss waking up and jumping on my bicycle -- even if it did lead me into the path of a moving vehicle. On that note, my arm is killing me. Now that I don't have to do much with it I've been trying not to use it too much, to let it heal. I tried taking a glass down from a cabinet with my right arm and immediately regretted it. Thank God I still have some of the relaxer patches the doctor gave me in Japan.

I miss my friends, the persistent ringing of the temple gongs, the peacefulness of the shrines. The bamboo trees, the bright flowers, the huge flocks of obnoxious pigeons flying into the path of my bike tires. The Kamo River, the lights and sounds of Sanjo and Shijo. The little room where I had class every day, reading aloud and discussing the craziness of Heian courtiers.

My mother said I seem like a different person coming home. Physically, besides the dramatic loss of body matter, my hair is darker. The black faded to the brown that my hair was before I started dying it crazy colors. She said my eyes look brighter, too. Emotionally, I couldn't tell you where I am. But she said that the way I've been speaking since I came home and the way I've been carrying myself seem very different. Almost more mature, as she put it. Maybe that's true.

Reverse culture shock will take a few days to get over. I'm not used to the brash impatience of the retail and fast-food workers here or hearing all this English. My brain is having a bit of glitch switching over.

As I sit here on my big comfortable bed, sipping some of the umeshu I brought back with me, listening to my brothers argue over a video game and the puppy bark in the next room, I feel so glad to be home. I do miss Japan, and I know it can't be "Sayonara." I will go back. I feel it in my bones.

"I haven't a clue as to how my story will end. But that's all right. When you set out on a journey and night covers the road, you don't conclude the road has vanished. And how else could we discover the stars?”
- Nancy Willard

~Owari~

Wednesday, July 15, 3:03 a.m. JST.

2009-07-14T11:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my last day in Japan.

In the morning I took my last ride along the Kamo River, in all its watery glory. The last time Debbie, Lisa, and I will ever jump on our bikes and pedal and sweat our way to class. I’m going to miss going everywhere with them…

The exam went well, and afterwards all the students and teachers had a farewell party. I went to the bike store with Lisa to sell back my beloved bicycle, but lo and behold they offered me only 100 yen for it (that’s only like $1) and so I said no thank you.

In the afternoon, after class, Lisa came with me to Nishi Hongwanji for one last visit. A service was going on, and we crept in the back of the room and kneeled down just as the monks started beating their drum and chanting to the Buddha. We sat quietly for a while, listening, before Lisa turned to me and said, “You seem ready to tackle anything now. I’m glad to see you so upbeat.”

I said my final thanks and goodbyes to Buddha and left the temple with tears in the corners of my eyes.

I got home with just enough time to shower and dry my hair before Lisa came to help me into my yukata.

Yukata: a Japanese summer kimono. Light and cotton, but still capable of raising one’s body temperature. Extremely hard to walk in, do not even attempt running. Geta are no good for mobility faster than 5 miles per hour. Might I also add that it took us half an hour to outfit me correctly.

The end result:

A big group of us plus Maeguchi-sensei and Fukai-sensei went out to dinner at this upscale shabu-shabu restaurant. I wasn’t going to drink, but an umeshu soda and an Asahi beer weren’t in my future anytime soon after my departure, so I bought one of each and sipped them slowly through the dinner, relishing the taste. We ate and talked and laughed as a group for one last time, and after racking up an impressive bill we headed out to the Gion Matsuri.

The Gion Matsuri is the highlight of Kyoto’s summer festivals. The entire downtown area of Kyoto was closed off for pedestrians in their yukata and junpei. The streets are lined with food stalls, game tables, and on the main streets several uprooted shrine idols. The idols from certain shrines are removed and places here for people to worship and observe. Most are crowned with a dozen young men in junpei playing flutes, bells, and drums. Paper laterns are strung up everywhere and the night is bathed in the mystical glow of tradition and celebration.

Some of the houses in the old kimono merchant district were open for viewing, and we were lucky enough to get to slip into one. The family who owned one house let us traipse through the old wooden structure, viewing valuable family heirlooms like plates and wall hangings, as well as how they way to daily living. In the back of the house was a well filled with slick black rocks with a basin of water set on top of them. Driven deep into the rocks was a hollow bamboo tube. When the water was poured over the rocks, the sound of the water trickling deep into the earth could be heard through the tube.

I honestly did not know what to do with myself. Here I was, walking down the streets of Kyoto, Japan during one of its most famous festivals, wearing traditional Japanese garb. My fan in one hand, a chocolate-covered frozen banana in the other, and my camera tucked in to my obi, I felt happy. Really, truly happy. I’ve been so fortunate to come here, and as my mother and friends seem to keep beating into my head, so brave. I feel like I’ve learned so many things that can’t be expressed on paper, that can only been demonstrated with sight and sound.

The sights, the sounds, the food, the smell, the air, the people – I’m going to miss everything about being here. I’m going to miss my friends, my teachers, my classes, the way of daily living that I adopted here. I’ll miss the convenience store playing a little tune every time someone walked through the door, the ramen shops, the endless amounts of shrines and temples, everything…

I got back from the festival late, after walking all the way back to the dorm from Shijo-Karasuma with Nico and Lisa. My next task was to figure out what to do with my bike – I couldn’t leave it in the dorm, and no one wanted to use it. So I took it out for one last drive, up and down Horikawa dori, and then finally left it leaning against the wall near where the monks of Nishi Hongwanji live. I left the keys in the lock. I felt kind of like I was throwing a puppy in a trash can as I walked away, but it was time, and if I wasn’t going to use the bike I wanted someone good to have it. I hope one of the monks is looking for a vehicle.

I said my goodbyes to everyone in the dorm – Lisa last, and I had said goodbye to Debbie earlier that day when she left the Matsuri – then took my last shower in Japan and prepared to leave. So many hugs and tears, and good memories to go with them. Everyone has been so good to me, so kind and encouraging. I can’t express how much I want to thank them, or how grateful I am to them for helping me survive these 6 weeks. I remember, on May 30, that I didn’t think I was going to make it.

But I did make it. And now it’s time to fly home.

Ja matta, Nihon.

Monday, July 13, 2009. 9:30 p.m. JST.

2009-07-13T05:30:00.000-07:00

To my classmates’ shock and horror I got back on my bike today. My newfound masochism is just too delicious to resist. Thankfully I made it to school and back without any mishaps. Of course my arm still hurts, even though the swelling has gone down a bit, but I still can't do much with it, like wash my hair with two hands in the shower. I look forward to the day when I can do that again. I still can’t squeeze the back break on my bike so I’ve been using the front, which emits an eardrum-rattling “SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” every time I use it.

I made my way over to Nishi Hongwanji again right before it closed. I ditched my shoes at the bottom of the wooden steps and padded into one of the main buildings, back to my spot in front of the altar, the spot where I’ve sat in solemn silence so many times, searching my heart for peace. Debbie is right, it’s impossible not to find comfort and tranquility in these places, to not leave with a clear head. I sat on my knees in the traditional style, very still, staring at the altar. This time the gold doors that typically close off view of the temple’s idol were open. Inside there was a stone statue of the Buddha, all black, his hands raised in prayer and his face frozen in a soft, contemplative smile.

I stared at this idol long enough for several groups of elderly Japanese women to enter the room, sit somewhere beside me, worship, and leave. I could feel their eyes on me, probably wondering what a tired-looking Caucasian girl was doing there in front of the Buddha. The quiet and incense were soothing, and I allowed my thoughts to drift away. My bubbling anxieties melted. I fingered the prayer bead bracelet on my wrist.

These words flickered across my mind: “Do not let your heart be troubled.”

I walked out of the temple a little slower than I had entered it. My arm hurt a little less, and I noticed that my eyes were watery. Tears? But I hadn’t felt like crying while I was inside. Or now, I didn’t feel like crying now either. It was a strange a feeling as I cautiously stepped down from the main building and slipped my silver shoes back on.

My silver ballet flats have carried me everywhere – up Fushimi Inari, Kiyomizudera, through Sanjusangendo, Yasakijinja, and into countless courtyards and gardens. I wore them almost every day. Now they are black on the inside and kind of stinky. The outside is scratched and marred and a little torn. I will unfortunately have to toss these shoes in the gomibaco (garbage) when I leave because there is no room in my suitcase, and even if I did want to take them home they would make everything smell and be difficult to clean. I wore them on my birthday, too, and I was wearing them when I got into the car accident. I suppose retiring and burying my pilgrimage shoes in Japan is fitting.

For dinner I went with Lisa and Debbie to the Kyoto Station ramen shops for my last bowl of Kyoto-style ramen. Turkey meat, bamboo shoots, green onions, noodles all steeped in warm, delicious dashi broth. Afterwards we got ice cream, mine green tea and Lisa’s toasted soybean flour, and wandered along the Sky Walk that runs across the top of Kyoto Station. When we came down we got caught in a sun shower, and once the rain stopped the sky looked like white, gray, and blue tie-die, all swirled with color. To the west the sun was setting and the sky was pink and yellow and orange, and at that moment life felt so beautiful and perfect.

The three of us took some silly pictures, I spilled my ice cream down the front of my dress, and we finally made the walk back to the dorm once the air had cooled and the sun had set a little more. The sky visible over Nishi Hongwanji as we rounded the corner onto our street was beautiful. The clouds behind the setting sun were a brilliant white, reflecting the dying sunbeams, and the clouds in front of it were a dark gray, almost black, contrasting sharply with the white and periwinkle behind them. It was beautiful.

I really am going to miss Japan. I’m going to miss Debbie and Lisa, and everyone who made this journey special, who made my survival possible.

I’m so much different from that girl who ran down Horikawadori in tears carrying a shopping bag of toilet paper and shampoo, without any direction or idea how she would survive for the next seven weeks. The girl who stood in a phone booth at five in the morning and cried and cried to her parents in America on the other end of the line. The girl who took that first wobbly ride on her newly-purchased orange bicycle and felt in her heart that first drop of liberation from her sadness.

I couldn’t tell you where or when the pieces fell into place. Maybe after the accident. Maybe before, but I didn’t notice. Maybe little by little, to the point that now, at the end of my stay in Japan, I’m starting to see the ways in which I have changed, or rather, the ways in which I have reverted back to my old self. The girl I used to be before I let the craziness of pain and anger and confusion and worldly bullshit take over my spirit.

I feel free, confident, my heart full and yet still light. This is a new kind of determination, a new strength.

I can feel in it my very bones that things have shifted and clicked into place.

Sunday, July 12, 2009. 11:15p.m. JST.

2009-07-12T07:15:00.000-07:00

I pulled my last fortune from Ishiyamadera. It reads:

"The person who holds this fortune is set in a tough conflict, and although there is much to lose, your prayers for strength have not gone unanswered. You will find joy. [Someone in your life] who is sick will get well. The person you are waiting for will come to you. Difficulties will be overcome. You will emerge from your battle victorious. Reflection, MISTRUST, taking a signifcant other, and a difficult journey will all resolve well."

Four similiar fortunes. I should also mention that the last two fortunes I drew, the one above and a fortune specifically for love, both said that my prayers to the Buddha have not been in vain. After almost seven weeks in temples and shrines, candles and incense, something recognized what I was doing even before I realized it myself.

Hm. I don't believe in coincidence.

Sunday, July 12, 2009. 6:04 p.m. JST.

2009-07-12T02:25:00.000-07:00

My arm hurts like hell. I still can’t lift or do much with it. Last night I kept waking up because I would roll over onto it and the pain would shock me into consciousness. It’s wrapped and has one of the patches the doctor gave me on it right now, but it still feels like my entire arm has fallen asleep. Maybe it is asleep and it’s just sleep-walking or rather sleep-arming its way through my day, typing keys and scratching bug-bites unconsciously.
Saturday I went out shopping with Sarah to get the last of our souvenirs. We spent lots of time in Loft, the beautiful bastard offspring of Walmart and Ikea, only it’s ten billion times better and has everything you ever wanted in your entire life. We walked around Shijo, spent another huge amount of time in the Junkudo book store because we’re both literature fiends, and ended the day at a little coffee shop on Sanjo. We sat near a wall-to-wall window on the second story, watching people bustle across the intersection outside and chatting about college and future plans and writing. It was comforting and I felt very peaceful. Spending time with Sarah is always fun – I’m going to miss her when we all leave on Wednesday…
At night more KCJSers joined us for a yakitori dinner, then we headed out to Kamo River to watch fire spinners, listen to the drums, and watch the water float by. We sat there talking for hours, and again I felt this sense of peace. I had survived a car accident, and I had made it to live in this moment, sitting between Lisa and Sarah on the rocks along the river and watching ducks and the occasionally plastic bag float down the rapids.
I let myself sleep in this morning, then went to meet Lisa at Kyoto Tower to run some errands together. We ate lunch at the McDonalds nearby – Lisa got a fillet of shrimp sandwich and I got a juicy spicy chicken sandwich, both of which looked pretty AND tasted good (Lisa looked very satisfied), and for some bizarre reason I ordered white grape juice that made me feel wonky afterwards. I will miss Lisa so much… She’s was there for those times when I was running around the deep end of the pool, contemplating the flying leap in. She’s helped me a lot and I honestly don’t think I would’ve been able to right my head if it weren’t for her. I cried a little when we parted ways afterwards.
I wasn’t back in my apartment for more than an hour before Debbie rang my doorbell and regaled me with the story of her morning studying by the Kamo. A guy weaving hemp bracelets gave her one and asked her out, and of course the way Debbie tells tales are always amusing so I was cracking up and smiling. We decided to give our patronage one last time to the café down the street, the one we call “Bad Day Café” because we used to go there when we had bad days for a slice of cake and some time to think. We talked over our cake about plans for the rest of the summer, how packing is going (I’ll admit, my suitcase is a little overstuffed…), and our respective relationship issues. Debbie also has been there for me – she was with me in the jitensha lot when I totally broke down at the beginning of the program. We biked home in the rain, got soaked, and then changed and went to eat ramen.
After cake we went to Nishi Hongwanji across the street and sat for a few minutes in one of the big rooms before the altar. When we left, Debbie said, “It’s impossible not to feel calm and collected when you walk out of these temples.” She’s right, too. I’ve found a comfort in temples and shrines here that clears my mind and renews the strength in my heart. I have only one life. This time is the only time I have.
I bought a bracelet of prayer beads. On the biggest bead is a little gold picture that I can't quite make out but what looks like one of the gold symbols hanging near the altars of most temples. The beads are a russet red-brown and fit snugly around my left wrist. I suppose I've totally converted now.
I’ve been reflecting a lot on the accident ever since it happened. I was so close, and something so much worse could have happened to me.
Somewhere in my head I’ve drawn a parallel with myself and Gandalf the Grey’s in The Lord of the Rings. He gets knocked out of the game, only to pick himself up and return stronger and more determined than ever. Unfortunately I didn’t get knocked out quite as epically as Gandalf – for me it was a silver car filled with Japanese businessmen, not a demon on fire with a flaming whip. I guess what I’m trying to draw a parallel to is the white light that totally consumed my vision. “The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass…” he tells Pippin while the two are discussing death during the siege of Gondor.
Silver glass. White and silver lights, from end to end. But then the curtains closed again and I found myself staring at not white light, but gray sky and black pavement. The ring on my finger, the twelve numbers of the clock. It just wasn’t my time.
“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”
I will do everything I can with mine.

Friday, July 10, 2009. 10:52 p.m. JST.

2009-07-10T06:49:00.000-07:00

I haven’t been able to write these past few days.

I was hit by a car.

Halfway through our lunch break I started feeling queasy, that same awful nervous stomach I’ve had for about half my stay here and that I’ve been blaming on all the seafood. I knew there was no way I would be fully functional during the last hour of class for the day, so I told a classmate I wasn’t feeling well and headed home with plans to take a nap and then force-feed myself some ramen (again).

I got on my bike and managed to get down the Kamo to Karasuma. That’s twenty minutes of mindless pedaling. I felt disgusting inside, like something in my chest was going to bubble up and break me open. Heart and soul splattered all over the pavement. I crossed the big Karasuma intersection and moved so that my bike was on the outside of the sidewalk, closer to the road, so that when I passed the side-streets I’d be in the biking lane.

And that’s when I got hit.

I wasn’t even going that fast. The side-street was small – about one car wide – and since there were no street signs or lights I automatically had the pedestrian right-of-way. Japan has that too. But the sad part of this story is this: I saw the little silver car before the driver saw me, and yet it took so long, a second or two, for me to respond and apply pressure to my breaks. It also didn’t help that my breaks are kind of shitty to begin with.

I squeezed the right hand break, the back tire, and I barely slowed. So I tugged down on the left hand break for the front tire with all my might and unfortunately this was in vain because I collided with the car anyway.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. I saw mine, crystal clear. Did I…?

It was like looking through a window at a scene beyond it while simultaneously looking at your own reflection in the pane. I saw the silver car, the face of the man sitting closest to where I hit – the driver on the front right side of the car (Japanese cars are funny like that). I saw his face, panic etched into every inch, and my own face, my own eyes, wide, for a split second before my front tire swerved to the right and knocked into the side of the vehicle. I threw my arms up to protect my face. My right shoulder hit first. And then my cheek was against the warm metal and my vision was painted a shimmering silver. My entire body – from head to hips – slammed into this little silver car and was plastered there for a split second. My breath was knocked out of me and I could almost hear my brain rattle into the front of my skull. I barely had time to register what had happened, then the world was whirling away and I was looking at the cloudy sky. I had desperately tried to remain on my bike, gripping the frame with my knees, and all this did was pull the bike on top of me as I crashed to the pavement, a tangled mess of bicycle, backpack, umbrella, and girl.

Superimposed over all of this was my reflection – my life. The images were crystal clear and yet far-away-looking, like those misty white orbs that show up in photographs sometimes. So many images flew by me, but the ones that stuck, the ones that are haunting my memory even as I type this…

My time was up. My left shoulder, followed closely by my head, then the rest of my body, hit the pavement, my bike crashed on top of me, and for I don’t know how long I lay stunned and my vision was filled with white light, like I was seeing stars only they were all blending together to make one big glinting mass that filled my entire face.

This is really sad but I have no idea how long I was like that. Seconds or minutes, I don’t know. When I came to I was staring directly at the back wheel of the car.

I moved to get up. My body felt like lead, and only then did I remember my bike. I reached for it and found, as I rolled painfully over onto my back, that a middle-aged Japanese man had dragged my orange death machine off of me and propped it against a nearby sidewalk planter with an ugly-looking tree in it. My umbrella and backpack had been loaded back into the basket on the front.

The man held out his hand to help me and with a burst of adrenaline I somehow got to my feet. My hand trembled in his. He asked me if I was alright. The driver of the car had rolled down his window and was frantically asking the man standing with me if I was alright. I looked around and noticed that the gaijin-car collision had attracted a crowd. I was being stared at like I haven’t been stared at here yet. I turned to the driver, told him in Japanese that I would be alright – my head was spinning too fast for me to accept a stranger’s hospitality – and with a quick apology he drove away, running a red light further down the road, I might add.

So that was it. I had been told that pedestrian accidents in Japan typically end like this.

I stumbled to where my bike was and sat down on the planter next to it. The man who had helped me asked me if I was alright, and I told him I just wanted to sit down for a while. He asked if I could get home okay, and I replied that I lived about five blocks away and would be fine. Then he went on his merry way.

I stared at the pavement where I had fallen and cried and cried. My body was shaking, convulsing. I felt cold; I was shivering, and it was boiling hot and humid outside. People were staring at me as they walked by. My entire body ached, my head hurt, I had seen my life flash before my eyes…

Did I almost die?

I didn’t give myself any more time on that sidewalk. I (unwisely) got back on my bike and pedaled as hard as I could back to the dormitory. I dropped my bike in front of the door and went to punch in the door code. I noticed that my hands were scratched and bloody and that I couldn’t raise my right arm. At all.

That’s when I exited shock mode and the gravity of the situation hit me. I was able to punch in the code, fly up the stairs and tear open the door to my apartment before the real pain settled in. My entire body ached like I had… well, been hit by a car. My shoulders hurt – I couldn’t move my arms up to heart level or keep them raised for long. My chest, my stomach, my rib cage, my neck, my back… All was on fire, all hurt. My jeans were frayed in places. Bruises were starting to form on my hip bones and knees – ugly green and purple bruises. My head was throbbing. And this was all the preliminary damage.

I fell down onto the floor of my room and just laid there, my heart thudding in my throat, in my ears, my chest, everywhere. It hurt too much to move. One thought kept running through my head, like some awful morbid ticker…

If I had been going only a little bit faster, would I have stopped in time? If I had been maybe three feet ahead of where I was when the driver noticed me and I pulled the breaks, would I have ended up in front of the car? What if he didn’t stop at all? What if the little silver car or the red truck behind it hadn’t seen me? If one missed me, would the other? If any small detail had been different, would I have walked away?

A new kind of ache wrenched my gut as I lay on the floor. I felt a cold sweat coming and I knew that I was going to pass out. So I let myself pass out.

I woke up the next morning – on my floor – with the same traumatized feeling. I fought with my body, my spinning head, my mother on Skype, trying to clean up and get pants on and get out the door to class. I still couldn’t raise my right arm and getting the pants on was proving the more difficult task. My back felt like someone was driving a knife under my shoulder blades and my head was spinning, my neck cracking with every move I made. I didn’t want to miss class but I didn’t even consider getting back on my bike, so I resigned myself to being late, and asked Jennifer to take the bus with me to the Kaikan. In case I passed out or fell down or starting crying blood, or something. She agreed and when I got to the Kaikan I had made up my mind to tell the directors.

Of course they balked and I started to cry because I was drawing attention to myself and I was still in shock. Shore-san immediately took me to see a doctor.

A whole new round of crazy unfamiliarity began. At the door they made us take off our shoes and put on special slippers to walk around in. Shore-san helped me fill out my paperwork and we watched cartoons on health advice on the flat screen TV in the waiting area. After what felt like forever a very tall gray-haired doctor ushered us into a smaller room and starting poking my back and working my shoulders.

Left shoulder, a little sore. Right shoulder, EXPLOSION OF PAIN. Therefore, x-rays.

First, a very kind young nurse ushered me into an even smaller room with a huge plastic slab and lots of lights and machinery in it. She pointed to the plastic buttons on the front of my shirt and told me that I couldn’t wear the shirt during the x-ray. The shirt that I had labored so hard to get on me that morning was equally labored at to get off with the combined efforts of myself and a nurse that picked up and mirrored my anxiety. Once the shirt was off, she pointed to my undershirt, a black camisole with plastic on its straps, and the metal clips on my bright pink bra, and told me again that they weren’t good for the x-ray. Two minutes later, after working around my shoulder and finally deciding to just pull both shirt and bra down around my waist, I was standing topless in an uncomfortably well-lit room in Kyoto-Japan with a nurse staring at me with such pity on her face.

She mercifully threw a thick cotton robe around me and told me to stand against the huge plastic slab. I did, and she made me turn my head to one side and grip two bars on either side with my hands. Since I couldn’t grip the right one, she placed her hand on my back to support me, and then the entire apparatus began to rotate horizontally and I squeaked far too loudly.

She left the room and I heard the machine whir into life. Something was moving around above me, behind my back, but I couldn’t see it, and the mechanical sound made me think of some torture device in an old James Bond movie. After a few minutes the nurse came back and told me to turn onto my back. I pushed myself and rolled over with the least amount of grace possible, slamming my right shoulder into the side of the apparatus. She patted my shoulder and helped me situate myself in the middle, and then left the room again.

This time I got to see the awful thing with red lights move around above me, but this time the plastic bed I was laying on moved to. It was endless – move, move, stop. Move, move, stop. I stared directly into the square moving around above me like a restless firefly and began to cry again. I felt ridiculous, laying on a moving bed of plastic, half naked, with a huge cotton robe flung about me, getting pictures taken of my bones, in a place thousands of miles away from everything that was familiar.

Again, after a length of time that felt longer than it should have, the nurse came back, helped me onto my stomach again, and pressed her hand into my lower back while the apparatus righted itself, and me. She helped me redress and went back to wait with Shore-san for the x-ray results.

I didn’t break any bones, but the worse damage is to my right shoulder and upper arm. The doctor recommended painkillers and these Japanese-style icy hot pads that have some sort of pepperminty medication on them that helps relax the muscles. He said it’ll be about two weeks before the inflammation goes down completely, and I can move my shoulder like I used to. He told me to rest and not strain myself too much so my back and ribs and everything else that was busted can have a chance to heal without stress.

I’m determined to make it these last few days. I have four full days left, and about 30 hours of travel before I’m safe and sound in my home sweet home in the USA. It’s just amazing that I managed to go this whole time without an accident, and then in the last week fate decides to have one more go at playing chicken with me and my bicycle. At random times a shudder runs down my spine and I remember the feeling of my entire body ricocheting off the car and then sprawling onto the unforgiving pavement.

Something or someone must be watching out for me, because the girl who trips over her own two feet walked away from a collision with a motor vehicle.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009. 12:02 a.m. JST.

2009-07-07T08:01:00.000-07:00

Today my class went to a candy shop and made candy with this nice old man that Drago called "the Japanese Willy Wonka." The candy I made was ugly-looking, but very delicious.

Less than a week and I'll be boarding a plane back to the states. It's a very strange feeling...

Think about where you were at 9:30 a.m. this morning. That is, 9:30 a.m. Eastern Standard Time on Tuesday, July 7.

And then think about me standing on the bank of a river in complete darkness, surrounded by nothing by the sounds of frogs and cicadas and warm, thick air.

Cue Billy Joel's "River of Dreams."

I had been thinking about doing this for a while. Before me was the Kamo River in all it's dark nighttime splendor. There was so little light -- the big buildings were far away, beyond the houses on the river's edge and barely shedding any light pollution on the dark crystalline waters. Only the moon, slightly veiled by the low clouds, sending her pale, shimmering light down to guide me on my journey across the water.

There are two places along the Kamo where stones have been placed in the water to make a sort of stepping-stone bridge. The stones are close enough together to make this bridge and yet far enough apart that you could easily slip and fall into the water.

It was dark. I had a chu-hai in me and was slightly tipsy. I decided that tonight was the night I would finally cross the water and stand on the opposite shore.

I took my first few steps and nearly fell twice.

I stopped a quarter of the way over and thought about why I wanted to do this so badly. Why did I want to walk on the opposite shore so much?

Because it was a place I hadn't stood before. Because maybe I'd find something there that I have never noticed before.

I took a few more steps. The moon hid behind the clouds. Nothing but black water rushing past the stones, swirling over and away and making me slightly dizzy. I kept going.

Halfway through I stopped again and stood quietly, listening to the water rush downstream. I was getting tired -- it was late. The air was muggy and thick and I damp, my hair was plastered to my forehead and cheeks. The soft wind did nothing to cool the flush that rose in my face. I could turn around and go back to my bike, ride home, and go to sleep. I could give up here and do this some other time.

But when?

Seven steps later, each one careful, deliberate, strong, more like leaps than steps, I was standing on the opposite shore on a dirt path. I turned around...

The other sore looks so different from that perspective. The shore I was looking at was the one I rode along every morning, the one I knew by heart and the one whose dips and curves and bridges and cobblestones that I relished gliding over every day. From here I could see the expanse of grass and trees more clearly, the reeds that line the shore and the flowers that speckled the path. It was so beautiful, and so wonderful...

And so I returned to that shore. The one I know. The one I like best.

I was searching for something -- something sacred I lost. Something I never wanted to lose and something that only the hardest, most soul-rending things could take from me.

With all I've experienced here, with all I've done and seen and been through, I've found it, that missing widget that makes Alexa -- Alexa.

Monday, July 6, 2009. 5:36 p.m. JST.

2009-07-06T04:14:00.000-07:00

What do you when you’re anxious and a little sad and have a nervous stomach that won’t go away?
Do something drastic. Get a haircut. In a foreign country.
Around 3:00 today I ended up at a salon called Earth near Kyoto Station. Jennifer went with me. I told the stylist, a very handsome guy by the name of Kito, that I wanted layers and bangs and asked him to match the hair color growing in my roots. The end result:

Let’s see what went on here.
The salon took my belongings and locked them up in a cute little cupboard by the front desk and handed me the key. They then ushered me over to Kito, who GENTLY washed my hair, GENTLY snipped away the dead ends and about three months worth of growth, and GENTLY slashed some pretty outrageous-angled layers into my hair. Then he coated my still-damp tresses with two coats of brown dye that started out the color of my roots. After thirty minutes of sitting still, he led me over to the hair-washing basins, where he put a cheesecloth over my face (presumable to keep the water from splashing my face, but this also hid the fact that I pretty much fell asleep during this process), GENTLY rinsed out the dye, GENTLY massaged my head for about fifteen minutes, GENTLY applied leave-in conditioner, and then probably gently woke me up to lead me back to the salon chair.
Let me just say here that this whole thing cost relatively nothing. They were giving out coupons in front of the store and it only cost about 5000 yen. Something that would cost about $200 in the states.
He blow-dried my head and the first thing my mind said was that I looked like I was Japanese. Or Katy Perry.
It feels nice to not have all that hair on my head. It’s a little more layered and shorter than I would have liked but at least it’s less to tie up and deal with in the morning.
I did this on an impulse, a whim. I felt like I needed to change something physically about myself, to mirror the metamorphoses I feel inside myself.
I haven’t been eating much the past few days. My stomach just keeps tying itself in knots. I also skipped my lunch break today to nap, so when I showed up tired and frazzled at Steve’s door asking to borrow his translation of the Heike tales that are due tomorrow, he decided enough was enough and brought me to this little okonomiyaki place down by Kyoto Station.
It was very small, and they cooked the meal right in front of us. Of course they handed us an English menu right away and we then VERY surprised when we ordered in Japanese. I ate a decent amount of yakisoba and we both got an Asahi beer and toasted to what we hope we be good grades in our classical Japanese class. The three other patrons and the cook and waitresses were eager to talk to us in Japanese – I suppose it’s not every day a foreigner walks in who can speak Japanese fluently. There was even a little gasp from a group in the corner when I asked for the check: “Sumimasen, okanjou okudasai!”
One week. That’s all I’ve got left.
Kaguyahime, is this how you felt?

Sunday, July 5, 2009. 10:38 p.m. JST. (9:38 a.m. EST, USA).

2009-07-05T07:22:00.000-07:00

Hours later, after talking with Lisa and doing hentaigana translation with Jennifer, I’m feeling a little better than earlier. But I still feel sick to my stomach. Maybe it’s the gross ramen I ate…
I’m thinking about everyone back home, their Fourth of July celebrations specifically. Boston fireworks, grilling, drinking, my family, my friends… I hope everyone had fun. Mine was spent walking around Osaka and eating octopus and soymilk ice cream. It was a simple Saturday – I won’t get many more of these as my life nears my senior year in college.
I bought a ring in Osaka yesterday. It was the only one of its kind and I thought it very fitting. It’s a silver band with the roman numerals from 1 to 12 engraved on it. I wear it on my right ring finger like a wedding band – I am married to time, afterall. Always waiting, wishing, bound to my unshakeable faith. Hope, as I have seen, is the star brought on the morning tide… by, of course, Time. My constant lover.
I forgot an integral part of the Kaguyahime story – the end. The people from her original country come for her. The Moon people – yes, she’s from the moon – come to earth, tell her that her punishment is over and that she has made up for her digressions, and that they truly want her to come back with them. She pleads with them to let her stay with the bamboo cutter and his wife, but eventually they throw a feather robe over her shoulders that reminds her of what she has missed, and she again finds happiness and peace when she returns to the moon.
I guess I’m going back to the Moon soon. But my heart has yet to find that peace with leaving, that peace with going and doing and finding and knowing. Who knew I would find such comfort in a child’s fairytale?
From the depths of my piles of papers, flash cards, books, and cables on my desk I found my fortunes from Yasakajinja and Fushimi Inari. Yasaka’s reads (my novice’s translation):

“You will find days of enjoyment once you find the light in your own reflection. Once you make the choice to use your effort, the success will last forever after. Although you have much strength, your desire will be achieved if you truly know
your battlefield.”

And Fushmi Inari’s fortune:

“Time time is almost up for you to pay (as in pay a due or punishment) with winter cloudsand whirlwinds, leaving to reveal the place where stars shine forever without change.The disposition of Providence is to bless your heart with prosperity, but only after youhave proven your strength.”

Both fortunes mention light (hikari) and strength and effort explicitly. Compare this to my previous fortune from Sanjusangendo, which told me that I would be happy after what it called a “delay.” My time to prove my strength? The Sanjusangendo fortune also uses the kanji hikari. Light. When I return, will it be dark? Or will I find myself bathed in the moon’s light?
Ah, well, the moon will be in its last quarter phase. So a little I guess.
My mother is Skyped me while making poached eggs. I haven’t had a decent egg or cup of coffee since I left. I so miss American breakfasts – although melon pan will do.

Sunday, July 5, 2009. 1:27 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:17:00.004-07:00

I missed all Fourth of July celebrations this year. Ah.
Yesterday was spent in Osaka with Debbie and Lisa. We went to the huge aquarium, saw a whale shark and tons of deep sea fish, ate a lot of street food, and rode the giant ferris wheel. I freaked out a little bit at first and squealed every time Debbie got up and rocked the cart, but it was fun.
I would absolutely write more here but I have a tone of hentaigana to translate and my fingers are shaking as I type. I’m nervous. I couldn’t give the exact, specific, well-thought-out reason why, but my body is reacting to something that’s swimming through my thoughts.
I have 10 days left here. What will I do?

Friday, July 3, 2009. 5:16 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:17:00.003-07:00

TGIK! Thank God it’s kinyoubi (Friday)!
Class today was uneventful. I have to memorize all the hentaigana ever for a quiz on Monday, but other than that my weekend should be generally free.
This afternoon I decided to finally pay a visit to Nishi Hongwanji, the temple that I’m staying across the street from and whose name I constantly misspell and mispronounce. Nishi Hongwanji is the “mother temple” and headquarters for Shin Buddhists all over the world. Not many people were there, probably because it was cloudy and a late Friday afternoon, so I ditched my shoes at the wooden steps and enjoyed quietly padding about the building without the distraction of other people or gaijin tourists.
That is until I walked into one of the main buildings and totally disrupted a mass.
The monk kept talking, but the Japanese people who were sitting and listening quietly looked up at me from their places kneeling on the floor and stared at me like I was, well, a gaijin. Being Caucasian here sucks sometimes. I quickly gave my apologies in Japanese and bowed as I ran out. I booked it as quickly and as quietly as I could to the next building, where the security guard told me nicely in English, “This one empty. Camera O.K.,” pointing to the camera I was still clutching.
In this building there were only a few people sitting randomly around the room, heads bowed or eyes trained on the Buddhist relics behind the alter. I sat down directly in the front, right in front of the railing that separated the worshippers from the relics. It was so peaceful, so quiet. Again the incense went to my head and I sat in silent contemplation, having what I like to think of as my own heart-to-heart with the Buddha.
A woman carrying a chubby, pink-faced baby came and sat next to me. She sat the baby on her lap so he could see the relics, then bowed her face in prayer. The baby looked at me, blew a spit bubble, flailed a little and showed me the sweetest little smile completely devoid of teeth.
I left quietly so as not to attract any attention to myself, but as soon as I picked up my backpack and turned around I hear the whispers of “Gaijin!” as I slipped out the doors, as well as a few comments on my red hair.
Tonight is another night wining and dining and probably karaoke-ing in Kyoto. I’m so going to miss all-you-can-eat restaurants…

Thursday, July 2, 2009. 10:43 p.m.

2009-07-05T04:17:00.001-07:00

Oh my God, it’s July.
Last night the entire class went to Osaka to see Newhard-sensei lecture at Kansai University. After the professors held a reception for us and our sensei – lots of beer, sake, wine, and sushi. We ate and drank and chatted with these professors for a few hours. One got really tipsy, pulled out a Nou theater mask and fan, put it in and did a little routine for us that had us falling out of our seats with laughter.
Today was pretty uneventful – class, walking around Shijo and Sanjo with Debbie, and then homework all night. We planned a lot of things for us to do in our final two weeks, so I’ll definitely have more interesting things to write about.
Note: McDonalds milkshakes taste so much better in Japan.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009. 10:53 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:16:00.003-07:00

I’m exhausted. I’ve barely finished my homework, but we do it all again in class anyway and I am too tired to keep going. It’s like this every night – I push myself until I can’t push anymore and then I go to sleep, wake up tired, and do it all over again.
It poured rain today, so I attempted biking while holding an umbrella. I don’t know how Japanese people do it – some of them have these little stands on the front of their bikes that hold the umbrella for them – but they whizzed by me all morning. Once we were along the Kamo River I gave up and let myself get soaked. My left hand hurt from gripping the handle of my umbrella and my legs were dirty and banged up from attempting to stop my bike with my feet, since I couldn’t really use the breaks properly. I stumbled into my class completely drenched and way too tired to even look at hentaigana. I’ll have to work on this umbrella-biking art.
For lunch I had curry and after picking up two more cookbooks at the bookstore – one with bad Engrish for myself and one on Japanese baked goods for my mother, which I will have to translate for her – I had a mochi waffle and ramen for dinner. The mochi waffle was basically mochi covering put in a waffle iron, and then sandwiched between two of them were yummy things. Mine had fried banana and chocolate. But since the maffle (mochi-waffle) was basically nothing, and Debbie, Lisa, and I were still hungry afterwards, we got some ramen. Since after dinner I’ve been sitting at my desk plodding through hentaigana and waka and renga and I am so tired I don’t even know what to do with myself.
At one point today I couldn’t stop dwelling on the future – and like Kamo no Chomei once said, “One who constantly worries about what is ahead will never enjoy what is before his own eyes. So I took my bike out into the rain and pedaled until I was tired and soaked to the skin. It felt good. I did incur a lot of stares from the Japanese people around me, one for being a gaijin and two for being totally sopping wet, but I didn’t care. The combination of the warm air and the cool rain felt good, and by the time I returned to the dorm I had just enough time to clean up and meet Debbie and Lisa for our maffle adventure.
I think I’m going to start writing poetry in waka and renga. They’re like little grammatical puzzles. And puzzles are good for my tired and yet overworking brain.

Monday, June 29, 2009. 7:22 p.m.

2009-07-05T04:16:00.001-07:00

I stayed home from class today. There was no way in hell I was going to sit through four hours of class with the queasy stomach I woke up with this morning. I slept it off until around noon, then got up and translated waka poetry until I realized I was hungry enough to try and eat something. I biked out in the rain, bought an eggplant, fried it with an onion and ate it. I’m satisfied with it because there were my vitamins for the day and stayed down.
Jennifer came by and brought me a chocolate coronet and a melon pan from my favorite bakery in the Kyoto Station Isetan. She told me to get better because apparently our class is going on a field trip on Wednesday to Osaka to see our sensei give a lecture at Kansai University. Woo!
I’m going to head to bed early tonight, since I haven’t been doing that in a timely manner as of late. It’s absolutely pouring rain outside, and I suspect it will be for a while. That will lull me to sleep.
Tomorrow begins my final two weeks in Japan. Oh…

Sunday, June 28, 2009. 7:21 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:15:00.002-07:00

Today I bought socks and a book, did a ton of poetry translations for homework, and then rewarded myself with a big bowl of turkey ramen (that’s right, TURKEY MEAT AND RAMEN) loaded with garlic and scallions and a glass of plum wine.
I’m noticing a lot of things in common with my adventures and the story of Kaguyahime, or Taketori monogatari, The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. An old bamboo cutter goes into the forest and finds a bamboo stalk with light emanating from it. Inside he finds a baby no bigger than his thumb whom he and his wife name Kaguyahime, “Princess of the Shining Bamboo.” They raise Kaguyahime, and twenty-years later they learn that she is one of the people of the Moon, and that she has been sent to Earth as punishment for something she had done.
I don’t think it would be called punishment, but I feel almost as though I’ve been exiled from all that is familiar and comfortable to a place where I must forage alone, make my own connections and take care of myself. Being in Japan in no way feels like a punishment, but I can sympathize with Kaguyahime’s being in an entirely different world, forging connections, and then having to give them up and go home to where she must inevitably face what is left of her old life.
Kaguyahime… I wonder if she ate too many Japanese sweets too.

Saturday, June 27, 2009. 10:06 p.m

2009-07-05T04:15:00.001-07:00

Biking along the Kamo River, the lights of the restaurants and bathhouses playing off the water, the clusters of people gathered along its banks, the music, the warm and hazy air, the sounds, the light, the moon high above shrouded in whispy summer clouds…
It makes me wonder what I’ll feel beside the Charles River, the dark expanse of water separating two shores that scream with light and the frantic business of people, going from one destination to another. I wonder, when I return back to that land of seemingly endless winter and academic, where I must move consistently, where I don’t find myself marveling at natural existence the way I do here… I wonder… what will I feel?
I don’t know what I’m returning to, or how I will return. The way I think about things, the way I construct myself each morning, carefully throwing everything together for another day of class and biking and delicious food and friends and whatever else gets thrown my way… A different smile crosses my face as I walk into class, a different kind of feeling settles over me when I go to sleep at night. I can’t blame the food, or the air, or the people, or anything. I don’t know what it is but looking at what I’ve purchased since I’ve been here, what I’ve eaten, what I’ve done, I wonder who this person is that has experienced these things.
I don’t think Alexa would have behaved like this before, had things been different. Had she not had a completely blank canvas when her feet touched Japanese soil.

Saturday, June 27, 2009. 5:23 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:14:00.002-07:00

Oh horror of horrors, Japan does not sell feminine shaving gel! This does not bode well for our dark-haired Caucasian heroine.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and again I suddenly realize that time is slipping through my fingers like water – I can’t seem to hold on to it, much less get things down into my journal in a timely manner. Where has my June gone?
Thursday afternoon I wandered around the Sanjo and Kyoto Station areas with Debbie, then ate at the Japanese equivalent of Denny’s – a placed called Royal Family Host – with Debbie, Lisa, and Steve after getting lost trying to meet friends for sushi.
Friday afternoon the seven Classical Japanese students and our teacher, Newhard-sensei, went to Mt. Hino to see where Kamo no Chomei wrote his infamous Houjouki – the Diary of the Hermit. Quick history lesson: Kamo no Chomei got so fed up with society that he left Kyoto and fled into the mountains where he built a little hut for himself. He remained there for the rest of his life. His Houjouki details a series of natural disasters that strike the capital and talks about his life on his own, how it gives him time to reflect and realize the transience of all things.
We got to Hino and began our slow climb – through an outside exercise center. At the far end of the complex the road suddenly stopped and we were left with a small trail, poorly hacked and snaking upwards into the mountain forest. A signpost flagged it as the way to the site of Kamo no Chomei’s home, so we all took several big gulps of water and began the slow, arduous climb.
At times we were almost completely diagonal, or climbed vertical patches studded with enough stones and gnarled tree trunks that we could climb up. After what felt like forever we reached a spot with a wooden board telling us that the site was just above, on top of a huge rocky outcropping. Newhard-sensei stayed behind while the rest of us climbed up to see what was there…
...And we found an engraved rock telling us that Kamo no Chomei’s hut was once here.
It was so ironic it was fun, but sensei seemed a little disappointed. The experience of climbing Mt. Hino and seeing all the foliage and little blue-tailed lizards and butterflies was amazing. Kamo no Chomei sure picked a good place to become a recluse.
At night Debbie, Andrew, Alex, and I met with some Japanese students we met at the Kaikan. We went out for drinks and tapas – I got a martini appropriately named after the heroine of the literature we are currently reading, Kaguyahime – and afterwards straggled away to do purikura (photobooths that scream in Japanese at you and take a hundred photos in fifteen minutes, then let you decorate them with clipart, basically), and of course karaoke. We sang many a Michael Jackson song in honor of our fallen idol. I do have to say though – listening to my friend Toshi sing “Beat It” in his thick Japanese accent was extremely amusing.
This morning I ran some errands, bought a carton of iced coffee and some dorayaki (basically fat little mini pancakes filled with sweet azuki beans) for breakfast for the next week, and then rode down to Sanjo to meet Yukio for lunch. We ended up spending most of the time wandering through a four-floor book shop, where I bought a modern Japanese translation of the Kaguyahime tales, and a Japanese bento cookbook. Afterwards we went to a sushi bar where everything comes out on a conveyer belt and costs $100 for two nice pieces of sushi.
Right now I’m sitting in my cool apartment, resting up a bit before I jump back on my bike and meet Sarah down by Shijo for tabehodai cake for dinner. That’s right all-you-can-eat cake, for dinner. Debbie is meeting up with us later and I think Toshi and Alex may be too.
The light of the sunset streaming through my window is so comforting. I feel my heart beat a little harder at this – it’s so beautiful, and makes me feel so happy to be here right now.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009. 9:51 p.m.

2009-07-05T04:14:00.001-07:00

It occurs to me now that I never know what date it is because I don’t keep track anymore. I knew it was Wednesday, but not that it was the 24th of June. Huh. Where is my summer going?
This morning, after the arduous yet scenic bike ride to class, I found the bruises on my legs. Three angry purple dots like fingerprints on my left shin, one huge blotch all over my right ankle that’s starting to fades to green along the edges. They’re probably from the constant banging into curbs in the effort to get out of the way of cars, pushing my pedals into position with the tops of my feet, bumping into tables and chairs around the Kaikan, e.t.c e.t.c. I had no idea I was really this clumsy.
And then there are the ones on my hip that time I fell off my bike… yeah. Way to go, me.
My class went out to lunch with Maeguchi-sensei, the summer program director. I ate too much – tuna and yellowtail sashimi, miso soup with tofu, vegetable and shrimp tempura, pickled vegetables, fish custard (no idea what it was called actually but it was like tapioca pudding with fish in it and it was DELICIOUS), and the usual huge-ass bowl of rice. Here in Japan some places make you buy lunch sets – you order what main meat you want and then they give you all the accoutrements – the miso, the rice, the fish custard or whatever the heck it is. I always eat too much but then again I’m not eating anything very heavy at all.
After class Jennifer, Lisa, Debbie, and I went down to Sanjo and… I bought my summer kimono.
It’s a yukata. The base fabric color is blue, with blue and pink flowers all over it. My obi (belt) is pink with butterflies stitched into it, and my geta (the shoes) are brown with another flower pattern on the straps. I’m so excited. All that’s left to get are some obnoxious ornaments for my hair and I’m all set! Instant Halloween costume for the rest of my life. I’ll find some formal function to wear it to. Or wear it out on a date or something – that’d be a hoot.
I haven’t taken any pictures of myself in the whole thing yet… I should get on that.
On another note, I’m eating more bread here than I expected too. If I don’t quit it I’ll look like a melon pan soon.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009. 10:57 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:13:00.004-07:00

I keep forgetting to write here daily. Boo me.
Yesterday was just one of those days where no matter what I couldn’t wake up. I skipped lunch and instead took a nap on one of the couches in the common area at Kyodai Kaikan (our classroom building). I heard later that my classmates were cooing over my fetal-positioned form. Thankfully someone woke me up so I could get back to class on time.
After class Debbie, Jennifer, and I went to Honeybee, the cute restaurant where we get Belgian waffles covered in fruit and cream and goodness. I then spent the rest of the night curled up on my windowpane – the glass and screen panels slide back and I can sit on the little metal balcony-thing where my air conditioner sits – studying.
There’s something about the air here, no matter how thick and muggy and sticky it is, that makes me want to just sit and breath it. I’ll stop on my bike at intersections and just focus on the smell and the feel as it fills my lungs. I’ll sit in my window and watch the clouds roll by over the mountains and watch for stars to peep through. I’ve never had a feeling quite like this in America. I don’t know why it’s so different here – maybe it’s more of the “this-place-is-ancient” feeling I wrote about earlier in my stay. The sky is different – well, probably because I’m in a different hemisphere altogether – but the alignment of the stars, the way the earth feels under my feet, the flora, everything… It just makes me feel differently.
Today was also one of those days where I couldn’t quite wake up. Steve, Jennifer, Debbie, Kris, and I got curry for lunch at a restaurant chain called CoCo Ichibana Curry. It was delicious – I got “level 3” curry and burned my face off. It was amazing.
After class Jennifer, Steve, and I went shopping in Sanjo. Uniqlo, random outlet stores, and then another Honeybee for some parfait and waffle deliciousness. I’ve been studying since, and I made miso soup with soba noodles and some kind of Japanese water greens (I have no idea what it is but it’s crunchy and green and yummy). It’s so tired… then again I’m always tired here, I’m working so hard.

Sunday, June 21, 2009. 5:16 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:13:00.003-07:00

The late afternoon sun is streaming through my window and I don’t feel like doing my homework. I want to go out and buy a book to read, but I don’t know what kind. They’re all in Japanese anyway, and most of the ones that have been recommended to me are love stories… And since I’m definitely not in the mood for a stupid love story I don’t think I’ll buy a book today.
Friday evening we got all-you-can-eat shabu-shabu and followed up with drinks at a bar called Den En. I went home early because I was exhausted.
Saturday morning we got up and went to Fushimi Inari Taisha, the main shrine to Inari in Japan. It’s built into a mountain, also named Inari, and contains somewhere around 40,000 matsuji, or mini-shrines, all over the mountain.
We climbed the most epic set of stairs I’ve ever climbed – stone staircase after stone staircase lined with orange and black torii snaked up the mountain, sometimes relatively flat and easy, sometimes so steep and long we had to stop and catch our breath several times.
I can’t do this experience any justice with words. The journey up and down was long and arduous, I got grossly sweaty, and my legs felt like jelly afterwards.
Nighttime was drinks and karaoke, the typical Japanese young-adult Saturday evening.
I spent most of today at a flea market at Toji Temple. I bought a set of hand-carved wooden chopsticks to bring back to the states, and ate dokiyaki – basically a small fat pancake filled with sweet stuff. Mine han custard in the middle but you can typically get it with chocolate cream or sweet azuki beans.
As of tomorrow morning my time in Japan in halfway up. 23 of 46 days I have survived. I’m not sure how, but I have. It’s not getting harder, but it’s not getting any easier either.
Again, I wonder who I will be when I come home.

Saturday June 20, 2009. 11:08 a.m JST.

2009-07-05T04:13:00.001-07:00

My mother once told me that life is what you make of it. Mine is turning into chu-hai and melon pan.

Thursday, June 18, 2009. 8:56 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:12:00.002-07:00

This evening it poured.
Thunder, lightning – the gray sky shook, cars parked on the sides of the street outside because the rain was too heavy to see though. A crack in my window caused water to leak in, pool on the floor, and sink through the ceiling of Debbie’s room below mine. She ran upstairs to ask me to go look at her ceiling, because water was dripping on her computer and she thought she was going crazy. I owned up that it was probably from my window, and I stuffed a washcloth in the crack to catch the rain.
Because the hallways in our apartment building are open to the outside, as are most apartment hallways here, everything got soaked. The doors, the floors, anything left in the hallway – the rain and wind were so bad that I couldn’t get to the room where the refrigerator is to get to my lemon soda. I was so pissed. When Debbie and I were running between our rooms, we got drenched. I was probably out in the open for a grand total of thirty seconds, and I still had to change my clothes when I got back to my room.
Once the thunder and rain passed and the clouds cleared, though, the sky was beautiful – pink and purple with gold on the horizon where the sun was slowly sinking. My window commands the view of a wonderful expanse of sky. I sat on my bed staring out for a while before getting to the homework that Steve left in my door mailbox earlier while I was out getting groceries.
I can’t decide whether I’m eating a lot here or just enough. Japanese food is filling in large quantities, and I’m used to eating so little that I feel fat and gross when I attempt to finish seconds or a big bowl of something. Rice and miso and noodles only go so far, and I try to keep a lot of vegetables on hand to cook or in my food when I eat out. Fruit here is expensive and I mostly get it in the form of strawberry cream cake. Of course that doesn’t count.
I find myself specialty shopping a lot more here. Rather than go to one grocery store, Japanese people tend to eat at or buy food from stores that specialize in one thing, like produce or fish or pastries. I shop that way here because the quality of everything is better than if I just grabbed whatever a grocery store had. The food is a lot more satisfying, too.
A bunch of people went out drinking tonight, and since I stayed home today to rest I thought it best I not ruin things by going out too. I boiled some gyoza and made some noodles and now I’m settled and full in my apartment that reeks of ponzu sauce. Yum.

Sunday, June 14, 2009. 4:39 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:11:00.002-07:00

Yesterday morning, after waking up with quite a hangover from the nikuhodai and yomihodai adventures (that is, all-you-can-eat meat and all-you-can-drink, well, anything you want), Debbie, Lisa and I jumped on our bikes and did some long-overdue temple-hopping.
Sanjusangendo literally translates as “Hall with Thirty-three Spaces Between the Columns.” Thirty-three – that is the number of statues of guardian deities that stand along the floor of the temple at the feet of… well, I’m getting there.
We had to remove our shoes before walking into the main hall of the temple. Before we left, Andrea, another girl in our program, told us that according to legend, of the one-thousand statues of the Buddha in the temple, you should be able to see your face in one of them. I’m not sure where this legend came from, but I went in to the temple with an open mind about the whole affair anyway. We walked down a small wooden hallway and turned a corner…
Nothing could have prepared me for the site before me. The sweet incense burning in my nose, the utter silence and stillness of the place, even of the visitors who were gathered along the hallway with us…
Before me stood one-thousand life-sized statues of the Buddha, lined up in perfect order in several tiered rows, their gold lacquer glistening faintly in the dim light of the temple. They looked like soldiers, still and silent, but ready to spring into action at any moment. I couldn’t comprehend the sheer number of them, all of them frozen in silent eternal prayer. Before them, on the ground level, were the stone statues of twenty-nine guardian deities. At either end of the temple, bookending the Thousand Armed Kannon and the rest of the guardians, were statues of Raijin and Fujin, the gods of wind and thunder.
I definitely got a little wonky from the incense, there’s no doubt about that. I felt like I was floating down the hallway – it was so dim and silent and I could feel the ancientness of the place settle around me and seep into my bones. Me, little me, so new to this world, was standing in a structure that was built by the hands of people who lived over 800 years ago. I could feel this energy reverberating off the wood and stone, permeating the air and weaving through the thousands of statues before me. I was about a quarter of the way down the massive hallway when I was overcome with an intense feeling to stop where I was.
I stood, rooted to the spot, my eyes drifted up to the fourth row of the Kannon in front of me, and then stopped. In the face of the Buddha I was now staring at, I faintly recognized my own.
A word about these Buddhas, before I start to sound like a wackjob: each stature is carved from Japanese cypress and each differs slightly in girth and facial shape. The differences are extremely subtle – only after staring at them for a while did I start to pick up on the small differences in the lineup of Kannon. Suddenly recognizing the nose and chin structure that I saw in the mirror every day nearly made my heart stop.
Along the hallway there were small stations where worshippers could light a candle and place it on a peg as an offering to the Buddha. Directly in line with the statue in which I saw myself, I lit a candle and stood for a while watching the smoke from the newly-blazing wick drift up and disappear into the darkness near the ceiling.
In the exact middle of the temple is the 1001st statue of Buddha – the Thousand Armed Kannon, a three-meter high statue of the Buddha in his infamous cross-legged position. Surrounding him are the remaining four statues of the guardian deities – four Kings of the holy realm.
It took about an hour to walk through the entire hall, gazing on the silent Kannon and reading the plaques in front of the statues. We spent another hour walking across the temple grounds and exploring. As we traipsed down the path around the south side of the temple, I was again overcome with the sudden urge to stop walking. I halted and turned around – behind me was a walkway, hidden from view by some thickly foliage-laden trees. I followed the path, Debbie and Lisa on my heels, and found a tiny shrine dedicated to the Inari, the deity of fertility, the harvest, and prosperity. I am already familiar with Inari – Inari and his messengers take the form of foxes, or kitsune, mostly white ones.
I entered the little shrine, put some coins into the offering box, asked Inari for some help in straightening out my life, and rang the bell so he would hear my prayer. It was a little difficult to leave the tiny shrine – I just wanted to stand there, staring at the fox statues that stood on either side of the altar.
Every temple has a small wooden box where one can draw a piece of paper with their fortune on it. If the fortune is bad, the receiver can tie it to one of several clothesline-looking wooden structures outside of the temple and pray for the bad luck to go away. On our way out of Sanjusangendo, I stopped and drew a fortune for myself. Seeing at how things aren’t exactly going perfectly for me right now, I expected something like, “Sucks to be you!” Below is my fortune, translated and transcribed exactly how it is on the paper:

“You are MOST FORTUNATE.
Health: Try to eat well and get more sleep.
Work: Business is agreeable.
Money: Give something in return for what you receive – it will lead to good luck.
Exams: Agreeable.
Love: Going well!
Journey: You will do well.
Finding Your Soul Mate: There may be a small delay, but he is on his way.
Building a home: Spring and summer are agreeable, but do not build in fall or winter.
Things that are lost: They will be found soon.”

I was pleased. Most fortunate!
After leaving Sanjusangendo we met up with Frank and made out way to Hokuji Shrine. Nothing was going on and the main area was closed, so we took a few pictures and left.
From there we biked all the way up the east border of Kyoto to Kiyomizudera, the Temple of the Pure Water. The story goes that a monk had a dream in which the Buddha came to him and told him to look for a spring at the foot of the mountains to the east of the capital. The monk walked out to Higashiyama (Mt. Higashi, which literally means East Mountain) and found the spring around which Kiyomizu was built.
To get to the temple, we parked out bikes at the bottom of the street that lead up to the temple and walked. The steep, narrow street was lined with souvenier shops and places to eat. The four of us ate our way through a Kyoto-style mocha shop and got soft-serve ice cream: Debbie and I got green tea and cherry blossom swirled, and Lisa got black sesame seed, which was an off-putting gray color but absolutely delicious.
Once we got to the top of the street, we climbed up the steep temple steps to the main building. We had to remove our shoes again and wandered barefoot over the ancient wooden floorboards, staring past the altar to the statues of Buddha and his guardians enshrined behind it. Throughout the entire temple, not one nail has been used to hold it together – it has remained untouched and unrenovated since its construction in 1633. Here I lit an incense stick and placed it next to the altar.
We passed a small shrine filled with little Buddha icons wearing red knit bibs and caps. Frank told me these kinds of shrines were for women who miscarried or gave birth to stillborn papers. I lit another incense stick here and said a little prayer to these tiny and adorable-looking statues.
After a half-hour of trekking along the mountain, enjoying the view of Kyoto spread out before us and the beautiful foliage of the mountainside, we reached the spring. Worshipers go up a set of stone steps and take a long pole with a tin can attached to the end of it. Using this can-on-a-pole, then lean out from the front of the main shrine and catch the water that flows down over its roof in small streams. The person then takes the cup and drinks the water of Kiyomizu.
Debbie, Lisa, Frank and I did this. I drank my water slowly – it was clear, cool, refreshing. I drank a huge cup-full and got some strange looks from the Japanese people around us. I let it run down my chin and splashed a little on my cheeks – like the air here, the water felt especially ancient too, almost knowing. I love how sensitive I am to these things – it made the experience all the more wonderful.
After drinking the water we visited the part of the shrine where the mysterious Love Stone is kept. If one can walk from this one rock to the Love Stone with their eyes closed and be able to touch it, then whatever romance they have going on at that moment will go well. Or so they say. I did not try this because there was a middle-school there on field trip and a bunch of Japanese schoolgirls were all gaggling around the stone and taking pictures. I didn’t want to get in the way so I just watched and laughed.
After Kiyomizu we biked home, cleaned up (it’s so humid here and all that biking made me sweat like nothing else), got dinner a small ramen shop run by a little old woman who cooked everything herself in front of us, and then retired for the evening. Or so I thought I was going to.
Debbie and I decided we wanted to go cake hunting. Now, these dessert adventures happen quite often with us – the boredom, the need for sweets, the jumping on our bikes and riding away into the sunset on the quest for the perfect cake, or waffle, or crepe, or whatever we want at the moment. But last night after locking up and darting in to the staircase I ran into Steve, who was coming to look for me. He wanted to know if I wanted to go out and walk along the Kamo River.
We grabbed Debbie and the three of us went down to Sanjo-dori for a drink in an English-themed bar (that reeked of irony). Debbie left after she finished her drink and Steve and I went for a walk along the river. There was a live band playing – we sat and listened to them for a while before heading downriver and settling on a spot along the bank to sit.
The wildlife here is so loud. Ducks were quacking, bullfrogs were croaking, no, roaring, and cicadas or crickets or whatever bug it is out here that hums like that were, well, humming. I need to indentify all these creatures – their music is beautiful.
We headed back towards the bridge that lead back up to the street level so we could leave, and then suddenly this short gaijin (I use gaijin here because we use it so much in speech now – anyone who isn’t Japanese is gaijin, and if you’re white, then you’re supa-gaijin) girl ran up to us and asked us where we were from. We told her and explained we were studying Japanese at Kyoto University, and she introduced herself as Judy, a graduate student studying urban planning at Doshisha University. She was so bubbly and nice we stayed and talked with her for a while after her friends caught up with her. It’s like this a lot with foreigners here – if one white person sees another, it’s like a bond that nothing can deny. I’ve been approached a lot in this manner.
We biked home around midnight and I promptly crashed. I was way too tired to write this up last night, or do anything else.
This morning I did my pastry shopping for the week – I buy bread and melon pan to eat for breakfast – and since then have been doing homework.
Nothing interesting today, but this week holds the promise of more temples and shrines, something that I am getting very much into. Not sure how much more incense I can take, though. I suppose we will see.

Friday, June 12, 2009. 5:09 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:11:00.001-07:00

I just made a quick trip to the grocery store to get more of the little, bitter green peppers that I love so much. Upon my return I decided to write down a few things pertaining to my gaijin status here, “gaijin” meaning “Caucasian foreigner” and sometimes carrying a negative connotation.
Everyone in Japan, men and women, carry three things at all times: an umbrella, a handkerchief, and a paper fan, on sensu. Rain or shine, women are using umbrellas, sometimes riding their bikes with them fully opened. There is an intense desire here to keep the sun off oneself, and I feel somewhat self-conscious as I fly down the sidewalk, hair streaming behind me, reveling in the warmth of the sun on my slowly-tanning gaijin skin. As for the handkerchiefs, bathrooms here don’t stock paper towels and sometimes don’t even have toilet paper, making it necessary for someone to carry something around with them that will help them dry their hands or, err, whatever. I’ve made it a point to avoid the bathrooms that don’t stock toilet paper. The fans come in handy as the Land of the Rising Sun slowly heats up to 30 degrees Celsius… which is around 90 Fahrenheit.
I have already purchased a small fan, a red handkerchief with white stars, and a clear plastic umbrella studded with pink polka-dots. All necessary.
A few more words about my bike: most foreigners here are seen walking around with huge packs on their backs – tourists, no doubt. But a gaijin on a bike just screams “I AM STUDYING HERE, I AM AN INTERNATIONAL STUDENT,” in which case people know you know how to speak Japanese and therefore want to talk to you. I’ve had people come up to me and attempt conversations in both English and Japanese. They tell me random things about their lives, and I like this – some of the things are funny and I laugh, or smile, but when I smile they smile back. This is my small attempt to show the Japanese that Americans aren’t the capitalistic, materialistic, unhappy people the rest of the world seems to feel we are becoming. On my way back from the grocery store, one of the attendants helped me fix the broken kickstand on my bike. Then with an accent-heavy, “Thank you, have a nice day!” he waved as I rode away. Things like this are very heartwarming.
People stare at me a lot. I mean, A LOT. Red flag number one is, well, the bright red hair. Some people here dye their hair red, but it’s a duller, more subdued tone that blends with their original black or dark brown. My hair is naturally shiny, so a girl with brilliant auburn hair flying by on a bicycle turns quite a few heads. Second flag is how pale I am. I’m starting to tan a bit from the biking, but I’m still incredibly pale and freckly. And then the third red flag is, of course, the way I dress… which I am trying to rectify.
Protocol is skirts and leggings, pants and leggings, and a variety of different styles of tops. My dress has become a bit more modest here (so long American Apparel deep-v neck t-shirts), but I’ve also started the somewhat obnoxious shorts-plus-leggings mode of dress. The one day I’ve worn just shorts here didn’t go too well for me. They’re not short shorts, just nice black dress shorts I bought from Express. But the expanse of bare leg that I was showing attracted many a stare of disbelief, or maybe envy, from Japanese girls, and many unwanted looks from Japanese men. While bending over to fix my jammed bike lock, some lucky Japanese teenage got a load of gaijin knee-backs and ran his bicycle bell and whistled as he past me. Mortified, I sulked back to where Steve was waiting for me and relayed the story. I was promptly advised to start wearing leggings or jeans. That’s another thing – people where jeans here, even in the hot weather. And all the girls wear heels, which is where my pink pumps will come in handy.
More than my appearance, what really surprises people, store attendants especially, is when they speak to me in English and I answer in Japanese. While I was shopping for a gift for my mother, I noticed a store attendant eyeing me, waiting to spring the moment I had a question but looking at me with a sort of reserve – I bet she didn’t know too much English. So, as I am perusing a shelf (I won’t say of what – that’ll spoil everything!), I casually say to myself, but loud enough for her to hear: “Zenbu wa kireinaaa! Dore ga…?” (Translated: “They are all pretty! Which one (to buy)...?”) The attendant was beside me in an instant, offering recommendations and taking them one by one off the shelf for me to handle. She seemed to appreciate doing the transaction in her native language, and must’ve been impressed because before thanking her again and leaving the store, she said to me: “Okyakusan no nihongo ga jyouzu desu ne!” (Translation: “Your Japanese is very good!” “Okyakusan” is what guests and patrons of stores and restaurants are called.) People are very kind to you here if you are a foreign student.
Another disarming move is when I am handed an English menu at a restaurant and I continue to look at the Japanese menu anyway, and then order from it. Take that.
The sun is setting and dinner is at 7:30 and I’m pretty hungry. All you can eat meat restaurant! Woo!

Friday, June 12, 2009. 3:54 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:10:00.004-07:00

There is a demonstration going on in front of the temple across the street. It’s for people who don’t light foreigners in Japan.
I’m not sure of the group’s name, but Steve and I have been sitting in my room for the past hour listening to them rant about how foreign-born people shouldn’t be given rights and how Koreans are terrible people. I was going to go for a bike ride but I think I’ll wait until they leave.
You see a lot of these things around Japan, mostly for the political parties – vans driving down the street, loudspeakers blaring the party’s doctrine, people waving flags and screaming into megaphones, and all that jazz. It’s pretty intense. But these people have stopped right outside of Nishihonji Temple (that’s the name of the temple I live across from) and are waving around the flag Japan used during the war.
Scary.
Earlier today we bought pastries from a little Japanese pastry shop, walked out onto the rock bridges in the middle of the Kamo River, and ate them while a bunch of little Japanese girls ran around us in the water. It’s beautiful out there, breathtaking. It’s hard to feel lonely or anxious or worry about anything when you’re surrounded by the most ancient, perennial things. The earth, the stones, shrubs, trees, the ancestors of the birds circling overhead, the fish swimming around my toes – all of that was there in the beginning, years and years before me. It really sheds a light on the impermanence of other things, of me, even. I won’t be around forever, but I have to make good use of the time I am around. I’m glad I’m seeing these things, feeling the water and the wind and watching the clouds roll across the sky and retreat of the mountains on the outskirts of Kyoto.
I skipped out on karaoke because I wasn’t feeling too well, or in the mood for singing. The demonstration people are all gone down – maybe I’ll take my precious bike out for a ride before meeting up with everyone for dinner later.

Thursday, June 11, 2009. 6:57 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:10:00.003-07:00

I’ve decided that my summer is more like Spirited Away than Totoro. It’s not as carefree as I had hoped, but it’s so much more magical and so much fun.
Every morning and every afternoon I bike along the Kamo River. I don’t quite understand the river – it looks both deep and shallow in parts, and sudden spills in torrents over ridges and whirls around a rocky shore covered in those big white birds I’ve yet to identify – I think they’re herons or cranes. It’s almost surreal to me, seeing the sunlight reflect off its ancient waters – the same and yet not the same as they were hundreds of years ago.
These past two days have been full of food and friends. Steve and I discovered a small hole-in-the-wall family-run restaurant near class called Hi-lite. It’s cheap and delicious – I’ve never had miso soup with such rich flavor or had someone fill my teacup so many times. Tonight I’m making ramen with green peppers instead of grabbing food out because I bought a pair of Japanese jeans today. The Japanese have EVERYTHING -- the jeans were too long, so they tailored them for me, right there, in the store, for free. I was so excited.
I am so sleepy. But I have to study now. Wah.

Tuesday, June 09, 2009. 7:57 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:10:00.001-07:00

Lisa, Debbie, and I got dinner at a small hole-in-the-wall café at Kyoto Station called Honeybee. Their specialty: Belgian waffles loaded with stuff.
I had a Belgian waffle loaded with brownie chunks, bananas, maple syrup and toasted walnuts. Best dinner ever. I love Japan.
Afterwards we walked around the shops under Kyoto Station and I bought something I told myself I’d never buy, something that’s set my mind in a totally different direction, and has inspired something like inner strength: a pair of strappy, bright pink pumps. They’re a size 50 cm, but they were the first Japanese shoe I’ve tried on that fits me. I’m so excited – now I have shoes to match the unnatural amount of pink that’s crept its way into my wardrobe.
I wonder… Who will I be when I come home?

Tuesday, June 09, 2009. 5:24 p.m. JST

2009-07-05T04:09:00.004-07:00

No one on the other side of the world is awake yet. It feels weird for me to be doing homework and getting ready to forage for dinner while the people in my life back home have yet to open their eyes.
These past two days have been a little unkind to me. I sleep uneasily and during the day feel very tired. I suspect this is jet lag wearing off. I suppose it also doesn’t help that I attempted to drive up a sidewalk yesterday and ended up tipping completely over with my bike on top of me. The people here are so kind – some nice little old man ran over to make sure I was alright.
I made dinner in the apartment yesterday – ramen with green peppers. They taste a little like green bell peppers, but they’re a bit bitter. It wasn’t anything big, but it filled me up.
Speaking of food, today for lunch I had a bowl of gyudon – beef and onions over rice. I loaded mine up with ginger and green onions and ate the whole damn thing, soppy rice at the bottle and all.
I’m so tired. I don’t want to read any more classical Japanese!

Sunday, June 7, 2009. 8:09 p.m.

2009-07-05T04:09:00.003-07:00

Last night I found myself at an English-themed bar down by Sanjo square, eating French fries and drinking spicy ginger-flavored Smirnoff Ice. Who knew.
This morning was a little rough. I got up at six with the goddamn gongs and floated in and out of sleep for the next six hours, intermittently calling my parents on Skype. I don’t know if it’s a pre-real-life crisis or I’m I cannot grasp that I’m actually in Japan after wanting to travel here for 10 years, but the past week has been sometimes amazing and sometimes really crappy. I’ve been having my moments here.
This afternoon I spent some much-needed time on my classical Japanese translation skills in a coffee shop down at Kyoto Station. A word on Japanese coffee drinks – they are SUGARY. Café au lait is like drinking sugared milk and a regular coffee with the sugar syrup they put in it is like drinking straight cane sugar with a hint of coffee. Considering the only places to really get coffee are the vending machines that dispense little hot and cold cans of the stuff, I’m not really complaining, just making an observation. But I’m slowly weaning myself off my caffeine dependency while I’m here – not by choice, of course.
I studied for most of the afternoon and then got dinner with Debbie at one of the little ramen shops on the ninth floor of Kyoto Station. I had toroniku ramen – which is ramen covered with green onion, bamboo shoots, and thinly sliced pieces of turkey. The broth was warm and comforting and I ate the whole damn bowl in under ten minutes. For dessert I had a tofu donut covered in brown sugar. Now I am full and happy and in my dorm room doing some vocabulary practice.
I still feel a little weird. It’s not culture shock, and I don’t know if it’s homesickness – but this is something I’ve always wanted to do, something important to me. I won’t give this up for anything. Besides, I’ve got so much more shopping to do.

Saturday, June 6, 2009. 3:43 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:09:00.001-07:00

So yesterday after class I was still feeling like the world around me was in pieces that I couldn’t fit together anymore. Steve noticed this and offered to bike back to the dorm with me via the Kamo River. Instead of driving on the flagstone walkway at street level, though, we headed down a ramp and onto a dirt and cement path that ran right along the river’s edge. We rode through a homeless settlement and saw a homeless man putting a lock on his wood-and-tarp house. It was amusing, but still very sad.
Steve was telling me that Japan, despite being amazingly clean and having one of the best welfare systems, still had homeless people. They lived in settlements under bridges and in parks, and when there are major festivals in these areas they are cleared out and forced to move. Japanese homeless people still look a lot cleaner and tidier than American homeless people, though.
At night I went to my first izakaya – that is, tapas bar. For about $30 per person we ordered a ton of food to share and lots of sake and beer. We ate so much – white fish soup, tuna sashimi, yakitori, fried onigiri, obachan croquette (a slab of deep-fried mashed potatoes), boiled tofu (which tastes a LOT better than the tofu in the states – it’s buttery and flavorful even on its own), beef and potato stew, crab legs… I don’t remember what else, but the six of us – Nico, Debbie, Lisa, Linda, Frank, and I – spent the evening laughing and talking and drinking like old friends. We filled our stomachs and then filled our eyes with the wonder that was the red light district of downtown Kyoto.
Kyoto’s red light district consists of a cross-crossing of many criss-crossing small streets along the river. We passed ryokans (hotels), noodle bars, and at least two “fetish houses,” men in starched collared shirts and ties walking nonchalantly in and out like it was nothing. We stopped to look at one, but the Japanese girls dressed in pink nurses’ outfits near the doorway were a little deterring for the girls. We walked for an hour or so, they took a cab back to the dorm because we were all quite full and sleepy.
The gongs woke me up again this morning, but I went back to sleep until around 9:30. I woke up determined not to stay in my dorm and to practice as much Japanese as I could. I grabbed Debbie and we headed out to Kyoto Tower for a light breakfast and some shopping.
Such a good idea. Navigating the labyrinths of the Porta and the Cube (the underground shopping district that spills a little into the upper floors of Kyoto Station) was good speaking practice for Debbie and I. We successfully got through the shops, bought some souvenirs for our family, and had a light lunch in a little dim sum bar under Kyoto Tower.
Lunching next to us was an older Japanese woman with her husband. When we tried to flag down the waitress and failed, the woman called her for us. Her name is Tazuko – after talking with us for a while, she gave us her phone number and told us we could call her at any time and she’d show us around Kyoto. She told us she went to school in the states, at Harvard, and was extremely excited when I told her I too went to school in Boston. Tazuko-san is more proof of how kind people are here to international students – even the shop clerks paid extra attention to us in helping us make our selections.
On our way back to the street level, a group of older Japanese men stopped us and said, “Hi! Hi! How are you?” We answered in English, and they seemed pleased. This has only happened a handful of times so far, Japanese people stopping us and trying out their English. It’s really very sweet.
I’m off to discuss dinner plans – Japanese people eat out A LOT, and I understand why. Food is cheap but always fresh – everything has an immediate expiration date so when people cook they have to go shopping every day. It’s also cheaper to buy a small meal out than a ton of groceries and have them go bad.
I’m starting to get in the swing of things here. My stomach is adjusting to the food, my body is adjusting to the sleep schedule and the 4:45 a.m. sunrise, and I’m adjusting to the group of people around me.

Friday, June 05, 2009. 8:46 a.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:08:00.003-07:00

This morning it poured. I was feeling reckless and a little sad, so I took my bike out early and headed towards Kyodai Kaikan.
I ended up being almost an hour early for class, but the warm rain felt good on my shivering skin. It was good to feel something, anything, besides letting myself think. Reflecting on what I’ve left back home and what I will return to is something I can’t do right now. My back hurts from my backpack – I’m glad it hurt, because it was something for me to focus on while I rode.
The Kamo River looks beautiful in the rain. It slid quickly over rocks and through river growth, around ambitious fishermen and under bridge after bridge in torrent after torrent. I’m glad I made the trek in the rain, despite being sufficiently damp when I got here.
I bought a can of coffee from a vending machine thinking it was cold, but when I grabbed it out of the bottom of the machine it burned my hand. Hot can vending machines? Japan has EVERYTHING.
Teacher is here – time to study my classical nihongo.

Thursday, June 4, 2009. 6:30 p.m.

2009-07-05T04:08:00.001-07:00

I finally found the one downside to my bike. My butt has never hurt this bad. EVER.
I went with Debbie to help her pick out a bike after fighting with an ATM for the millionth time – Bank of America sucks and won’t let me withdraw the rest of the money I need to pay Wada-san for rent. Afterwards we rode from Kyodai Kaikan at Kyoto University, where our classes are held, to Kyoto Station. We went to the underground food market and gawked at all the deliciousness we saw there – immaculate white cakes inlaid with glistening strawberries, mountains of gormet noodle and meat dishes, an entire supermarket laden with the freshest meats and fish and jew-toned vegetables and fruits, and sweets counters upon bakeries upon noodle restaurants boasting the best gyoza and ramen and okonomiyaki…
Debbie and I settled on a tempura shop – she bought green beans and I bought onion and carrots – and then made out way to Anderson’s bakery, where I bought my weight in melon pan and Japanese pastries to tide me over for breakfast for the next week. The woman working gave me a sample of a salmon and cheese tart, quite possibly the most delicious fish-and-cheese combination I’ve ever had the pleasure to taste. Maybe the only fish-and-cheese combination I’ve ever tasted.
I wanted to get okonomiyaki for dinner – and still do – but we decided to grab some instant ramen and a couple of bottles of Smirnoff Ice from the convenience store and eat at the apartment while we study. I’ll admit, I’m a little tipsy while I’m writing this.
Classical Japanese is proving to be quite the journey. Think starting the process of learning Japanese all over again, from scratch. Throw out all the rules and adopt new ones that make absolutely no sense and that even the teacher can’t tell you why they’re meant to work that way. It’s slightly frustrating, but so long as I persevere I’ll be okay. Also, studying keeps me out of the shops.
I find that I’ve been eating a lot now. Japanese food is just that good – so warm and nourishing. To a certain degree it’s comforting too – warm chicken in teriyaki or a steaming bowl of ramen with a boiled egg and scallions scattered over the top is just what I want at the end of a long day of biking and walking and studying. And the only fried food I’ve eaten is tempura – even the teriyaki burger I got at the neighborhood Mos Burger today was cooked like something my dad took straight off the grill, no grease or chewiness or dripping fat, coated in sweet teriyaki sauce and crisp lettuce, and put it on a little bun along with exactly nine French fries (some Japanese portions are super small, I typically order these). I can see why the Japanese eat this food – it’s good for the palate, the body, AND the soul. It’s good to have my appetite back.
At some point next week I think we’re going shrine hopping. That’ll be amusing.
I’m starting to get tired already… I suppose that’s what I get for getting up at 6 a.m. every morning with the monks. Damn monks.

Thursday, June 4, 2009. 8:02 a.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:07:00.000-07:00

Stupid freaking monks!!!
Again this morning they wake me up with their gongs and chanting and Shinto hoopla. I went to bed around eleven last night, but I’m starting to get used to waking up with the temple gongs. At least this gives me a few hours in the morning to get ready, forage for breakfast, and study.
Yesterday I had my first canned coffee. It tasted like a Starbucks espresso doubleshot, only MUCH sweeter. Lisa and I had bought them from vending machines on the way to class – the bus ride nearly put us to sleep. Luckily today I don’t need the bus, because I have my bicycle!
A bit about my bike – I bought it for 7,000 yen (about $70) and it came with a lock, new tires, a bell, and a basket on the front. The shop clerk said I could sell it back when I leave, but I’m already trying to finagle a way to get it back to the states with me. I love it so much. It’s bright orange and shiny and wonderful and I love it. It rides like a dream… I want to keep it so badly.
Last night Lisa and I made stir fry with udon noodles, and when we cracked the egg into the pan it was bloody. I suppose that’s what you get when you buy organic in Japan. All during dinner we were on the lookout for the potential chicken fetus in our food.
Things are definitely getting easier. Despite the crazy gongs I woke up this morning and smiled – I’m in Japan!!! I’ve wanted to be here since I was seven years old and watching Sailor Moon on a daily basis. I definitely feel like I’m in anime here – maybe Yu Yu Hakusho, seeing as there is an abundance of A-type men in our group and lots of interesting characters running about. Does that make me Botan?
I’m starting to feel a lot better about things. Life is too short for me not to be happy. I think I’m headed in the right direction. Now off to class!
…Wait a second. From my window I just watched a monk exit the temple, jump on a shiny silver moped, and drive away. Only in Japan.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009. 5:25 p.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:06:00.002-07:00

Before Dana went to England, Grandma Genevieve told her: “Life is what you make it.”
So as I was walking back from my first day of classes, I made a decision that has changed me. Maybe just for the week, but possibly for the rest of my life.
I bought a Japanese bicycle.
A bunch of us at KCJS had been talking about buying bikes, saying how it would be easier to get around with one. As we passed the bike shop, my friend Lisa and I decided to try them out. It took one turn around the street, nearly running over some businessmen, for me to make up my mind. I bought the bike, and Lisa bought hers, and we rode down along the Kamo River to Kyoto Station to meet up with our other friends.
The air smells so different here. It’s ancient; the Japanese hold on to their culture and their background so tightly that even the air is permeated with that pride, that sense of something permanent, something that has always belonged. As I rode down the stone sidewalk I let overhanging leaves slap me in the face, their sweet scent lingering in my nose as I rode on. Three pigeons flew up and attacked me as I rode through them and I yelped, prompting Lisa to stop short in front of me and causing both of us to nearly run over a bunch of school girls who were too engrossed in their cell phones to see us coming.
But riding along the river, me and my mike as one single entity, the world flying by, the perfect blue sky and the sweet-smelling air, the feel of the ancient earth under me, the sound of cars and people and birds and water and that celestial hum of the world as it goes on turning… I felt that I was whole, without emotional scars, without baggage, without pieces missing. Life is what you make of it, and at that moment I knew I was going to make it everything I wanted to be. My mother said to find my destiny, and today I took a step in what I feel in the right direction. I lifted my face into the wind and felt for the first time a laugh, a real laugh, bubble up from somewhere around my heart and escape into the sounds around me.
I will be okay.
We met Frank and Debbie at Kyoto Station and bought some melon pan and melon soda. Melon pan is easily 1000 calories by itself, but it’s the best sugary sugar-coated bread treat EVER. It was my first one on Japanese soil, and it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. I relished it, ignoring that voice in my head that yelled at me for eating something so calorie-laden, and then spent too much money at Uniglow.
I was sad to get off my bike and get to studying... which is what I have to do now. Classical Japanese is nothing short of a cluster, it’s got an algebra-like formula and since I hate math I’m already nervous. But my teacher is sweet, and I’m slowly getting the hang of continually speaking Japanese, so I may be anxious but I’m not worried.
The sky is gray now – it’s definitely going to rain. My friend Debbie is coming up later and we’re going to pool our resources and make dinner. It’s so wonderful to have an appetite back.
I need to backtrack: yesterday was orientation, I met all my classmates, and we went and had dinner at a ramen bar. We tried to get into a beer garden, but they’re so expensive. Something along the lines of $30 for all you can drink/eat, but everything else is so cheap here that 3000 yen ($30) looks way too expensive.
Last night before bed Steve, Nico, and I bought Sapporo beer from the convenience store (they sell liquor at the CONVENIENCE STORE) and drank outside the apartment. The sky was clear, beautiful, and a couple of rogue monks were shuffling around the temple across the way. And for the first time, despite all the crazy things that happened to me right before I got here, and all the trouble I had getting here, I felt that I was meant to be here, and that I’m finally starting to understand how I tick and who I am.
I am comfortable. But I still miss my puppy.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009. 7:42 a.m. JST (6:42 p.m. EST)

2009-07-05T04:06:00.001-07:00

I was too tired to write yesterday.
Yesterday morning I walked around Kyoto Station looking for a LAN cord before giving up, buying a phone card, calling my mom, and begging my parents to let me go home. I couldn’t take it. I was lonely, sad, scared, and couldn’t sleep without dreaming that I was still happy at home amidst all the familiarity I’ve known for a year and a half. I just couldn’t take it. I curled up in a phone booth and cried on the phone with my mother for a good half hour before retreating to my dorm, still in tears. She told me to stick it out, one day at a time, and to try to make it through orientation before making any decisions to come home.
I called the shuttle service at the airport and made arrangements to go back and get my luggage, and a tentative reservation back to my dorm. I was unsure that I’d be spending another night in Japan, I was so upset. While I was on the phone in the alley between my dorm and the next building, an old man came out to peer at me through his window. When I got off the phone, he called to me, and handed me three bananas, telling me that I’d feel better if I ate. It was very heart warming, and every time I see him we wave to each other.
When I got back to the dorm, there was a boy standing in front of it with his luggage, locked out. He introduced himself as Steve, I helped him get settled, and he lent me a shirt so I wouldn’t feel gross in the shirt I’d been wearing for three days (which was way too big, I had to tuck it into my skinny jeans to make it look like I had any semblance of a figure at all), and we bought LAN cables and went grocery shopping together. He’s been to Japan before, and he led me to a river that runs through Kyoto, somewhat overgrown with grass and lots of white cranes. We ate our lunch on the walk beside it.
At four-thirty I got a private shuttle to take me the two-hour ride back to the airport, the same shuttle I took from the airport to my dorm. I got my bag, a scone and some Mt. Fuji bottled water, and settled down near the shuttle counter for a nap before my ride back to Kyoto.
I’ve had too much time to reflect. I woke up this morning to more pain; it was like a knife gouging a huge hole in my chest. I hope and pray that when I come home I can talk, and fix, and laugh again.

Monday, June 1, 2009. 3:46 a.m. JST (Sunday, May 31, 2009. 2:46 p.m. EST).

2009-07-05T04:05:00.004-07:00

Stupid jetlag. I’m awake but not awake enough.
I got into my dorm at 10:00 – that is, after I got off at Osaka, discovered my luggage had been left in Chicago and I have to go back to airport tomorrow night to pick it up, which is another 2 hour drive from downtown Kyoto, where I am right now… I missed my shuttle reservation and had to take a late one, then when I got to my dorm no one was here to check me in so I basically broke in using the instructions Wada-san left for me outside. I ran to the convenience store, bought shampoo and toilet paper, ran into a guy named Nico who is also in the KCJS program, took a shower, cried a little from exasperation, and went to bed. My internet isn’t working either as well, because I need a LAN cord. I have to walk out to Kyoto Station in the morning and purchase one.
I’m alone and scared.

Sunday, May 31, 2009. 3:55 p.m. JST (2:55 a.m. EST)

2009-07-05T04:05:00.003-07:00

Time passes very slowly when you’re in agony.
I don’t remember the last few hours of the flight.
I’m on the ground at Narita International Airport in Tokyo right now. It’s big, bright. People are very helpful. I’m getting ready to board my connector flight to Osaka, and from there take a shuttle service to my dormitory in Kyoto. All I want is to get into my apartment, find some food, and crash on the bed or futon or whatever they have in there for me. Guhh.

Saturday/Sunday, May 30/31, 2009. 7:25 p.m. EST, 8:25 a.m. JST.

2009-07-05T04:05:00.001-07:00

So I’m trapped between days now. I’m not sure if it’s Saturday or Sunday where I am right now, but the little screen built into the back of the seat in front of me tells me we just passed over Alaska and we’re about 45 minutes away from the International Date Line. This feels so weird.
The staff set up a mandatory naptime – they had us shut all the windows and they turned off all the lights. Pretty much everyone went to sleep. I slept for a good two hours before my legs started to cramp up. I got up and walked around a bit, splashed some cold water on my face in the bathroom, got some water. I’m very tempted to buy some plum sake from the drink cart – but I’m afraid that it’ll just rile me up rather than relax me. I’ll search for something yummy to drink once I’m on Japanese soil.
It’s still bright outside, which means that we never flew back into nighttime. It’s just been one long perpetual day for me – 15 hours as of right now, to be exact.
There are a bunch of small Japanese children on the plan. One keeps making growling noises and shouting. He’s about four rows forward and one over from me. I can see him when he stands up in his seat and jumps around, much to the displeasure of his mother. He’s adorable. I want one.
Forgive my sappiness – I told myself no more tears once I got on my first flight, but it’s hard when you’re alone in a situation in which you’ve always had someone with you – not just physically, but emotionally as well.
I still have five and a half hours left of flight. I have to get off this plane. My butt hurts so bad.

?, May ?, 2009. ?:??.

2009-07-05T04:03:00.000-07:00

I have no idea where we are right now.
My watch says 4:26 p.m. EST, but I’m fairly certain that right now we’re probably somewhere over Canada and it’s not 4:26 p.m. It’s mind-numbing – we’re flying backwards in time, back towards morning, and yet somehow we’re passing through night and are scheduled to land at 2:25 p.m. Japan Standard Time. I left Chicago at 11:25 CST. Weird.
I drifted in and out of sleep for an hour or so before the amazingly well put-together JALways stewardesses began their rounds. They served us lunch – seafood curry with salad and some sort of gelatin-caramel-cake thing. I didn’t eat much since it was first I’ve eaten all day, and by all day I mean since May 29, 2009 at 8:30 p.m. EST… so the first thing I’ve eaten in 20 hours. Not including the coffee I tried to drink this morning that threw my stomach into a tizzy. Mom almost made Dad drive back home, she was so worried about my nerves.
Japan Airlines is so much better than everything else I’ve flown. It’s comfortable, the safety video is extremely entertaining – it’s all CGI and it had the CGI people demonstrate the evacuation of a plane… Think lots of little CGI people jumping down the exit slides and running away from the plane, hands flailing in the air. The plane itself is HUGE. I’m in seat 59H – I’m in the aisle and each row has eight seats –four in the middle and two on either side. Did I mention it was comfortable? I’ll currently curled up in my seat, a warm blanket on my lap and a pillow at my lower back. I can’t figure out how to recline my seat, though, and I’m a little nervous to ask a stewardess. They’re so pretty and perky and intimidating.
They attached a camera to the nose of the plane and I got to watch our take-off on the big television screens they have on the plane. It’s glorious, and breathtaking.
I just spent God knows how long filling out customs and immigration and health forms. I suspect this isn’t the end of the paperwork either.
I hated the Chicago airport. It was confusing and I almost missed my flight – getting from Terminal 1 to Terminal 5 was unnecessarily difficult. I felt like I was in a labyrinth, and as I stomped down the underground moving walkway between the A and B gates for the third time I though how much calmer I’d be if I talked to someone who was used to doing this. I picked up my Blackberry to call someone, anyone, but then I remembered I wanted to figure this out I my own.
I miss my puppy.

Saturday, May 30, 2009. 7:40 a.m. EST

2009-07-05T03:56:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting at Gate 23 in Bradley Airport, awaiting the moment when I will quietly escape.

I jumped out of bed too fast this morning – I can feel it in my bones as they settle into this uncomfortable leather seat, wanting to sleep and yet so fearful of missing my flight. Or is it that incessant throbbing in my chest that’s keeping my eyes open?

Forty-five minutes ago, Dad had to pull off the highway into a shady McDonald’s because I got sick. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. My stomach is empty – I haven’t really eaten in a few days. I’m about to go somewhere strange, somewhere totally new. It’s like starting over, and it will be hard, but I have to summon the strength to make it to comfortable place again.

My mom cried a lot when I went through security. My family stood at the exit and waved and waved.

Everything is annoying me. The crinkling of people’s chip bags, sniffling, the low whispering of the couple sitting in front of me… The sunlight on my computer screen is making my vision blurry, or are my eyes just blurry with the sleep I never had? I wish my mom or my dad or Jake or Ray were here with me, or Dana, she’d know just what to say to calm me down, make me stop shaking – they’d make this all okay.