Shinkansen（新幹線）

On the Sanyo shinkansen, making our way from Shimonoseki to Tokyo, we had cleverly escaped the wild typhoon.  Now the skies were calm - governed stoically by the late afternoon sun.  She was sound asleep, her head on my shoulder, her hand in mine. 

Outside the window, a casual parade – dark green valleys and rice fields swaying, cozy sea harbors and fishing boats bouncing, blue roof-tiled houses crawling reluctantly up hillsides to the lonely stone cemeteries perched comfortably, but resentfully, on top. 

We don’t choose the memories that stay with us; they choose us. The sunlight was fading and, as it always does, was reminding me that I am another step closer to death – another breath closer to oblivion.  And yet, I confess, no closer to knowing the world.

Outside the window was her land – her home.  In this place were created her youthful memories of gathering wood for her grandmother’s fire and of dancing round the yagura during the Obon festivals.  Of standing up to a school bully and of a secret puppy hidden in her room.  Of her fondness for natto and her fascination with elephants.  Of her rejection as an aspiring actress and of her father’s ire as she chose college over marriage.

Even knowing this how could I ever know the depth of her if I did not know her land?  How could I possibly ever touch the nostalgia of her heart?  The last light of day played across every contour of her hand.  I sat mesmerized, observing on it, every aging crease of her skin that she had wrongly concluded would repulse me and so shyly hid from me.  Would she ever know that it made no difference to me?  Would she ever really know her charm?  Would she ever understand her allure?

In the midst of my thoughts, briefly she awakened.  At first a bit confused, as though momentarily lost, her eyes at last found their focus on me.  Squeezing my hand she smiled and, reassured, sleepily lowered her head back onto my shoulder.  With soft breath she drifted off again to the gentle rhythm of the speeding train.  And having the words but not the wisdom, still I whispered into her dreaming ears, “Suki da yo, Suki da yo,” as the summer twilight finally covered us.

- Just a peasant

Photo by potiyama

Correct Use（正しい使い方）

As we know, never underestimate a tsunami.  So we got our tsunami warning yesterday.  The campuses were wisely closed and the students were sent home.  Although the threat seemed small it is better to be safe than sorry.  Fortunately, no tsunami ever came.

As it happens, my volunteer organization issued us life jackets for safety when we first arrived.  We were sent a reminder to use them.  Are they serious?  While this is a nice thought, it isn’t realistic.  Not for me at least.  Do they actually believe I can put on a life jacket when, right next door, there is a 10-year old girl who does not have one?  What do they expect me to do?  Let her face a tsunami all by herself?

Don’t they realize that I have to give my life jacket to her?  Don’t they realize that I have a far better chance of surviving without it than she does?  Don’t they realize that, as an adult, my responsibility is to protect any child at all cost?   Don’t they realize that, for me, there would be no other choice? 

So here is the correct use of a life jacket if a tsunami really does come.  Stay calm.  Find nearest child.  Put life jacket on child and secure.  Attach one bottle of drinking water.  Place a bag of hard candy or jelly beans into the child’s pockets.  Tell them to eat only three pieces per day.  Give hug.  Tell them that everything is going to be okay.  Shield them from debris.  Keep their head above water for as long as possible.  Do whatever it takes to buy them time.  Plain and simple.

You understand of course, it’s not always about surviving. Sometimes, it’s just the idea that - no child should die alone.

- Just a peasant

Photo of my useless life jacket

Sweet and Sour （甘酸っぱい）

A few weeks ago I left a comment on a blog somewhere.   As usual I was trying to help encourage someone.  But then there were a couple of replies to my comment that were really condescending.  So I felt stupid for leaving a comment.   For over a week I felt really worthless.  My normal enthusiasm was suddenly diminished.  My humor had abated.  Even the woman at the little Japanese food shack, Moshi Moshi, noticed.  Of course I told her everything was fine.    But it wasn’t.  It was depressing.

But then, someone called and asked for my help.  They wanted my input on a marine research center they are building at a coastal development site.  So I met the mayor of the municipality, the architect, and one of the development council members out at the site.  The photo above was one of many I took of the place to get ideas for planning.  That’s a mangrove area set aside for ecotourism.  They listened intently and liked some of the ideas I had.  I didn’t feel worthless anymore.  I was also asked if I might be available to run some projects at the center.  And my enthusiasm began to bloom again.

I think I’m not going to leave comments anymore at all.  I’m so tired of internet arrogance.  Tired of people carelessly spewing their vacuous, pseudo-intellectual rubbish.  I like helping people who ask for help.  That’s why I volunteered overseas.  Just to help.

But I know I’m at fault too.  I’m too eager to solve problems.  Maybe because it’s one of my strengths - at least according to one of my professors in graduate school.  I should wait to be asked for help.  Otherwise I just expose myself to ridicule.  And I just don’t think I deserve that.

- Just a peasant

Photo out in Kitti