Gomenasai, Okurete Shimattan

After an afternoon of kanji in the 5th floor lounge of HPAC, I felt ready for my lesson.  Or at least more so than I would have felt if our conductor of the week had not surprisingly given us the afternoon free.  And on the way to my lesson on my bike, as I waited for the train crossing, and several red lights, and some awkward pedestrian encounters, I was looking forward to at least being able to use the grammar from two lessons ago to gracefully apologize for being late.  However, late those I was, three minutes was hardly worthy of forced Japanese.

But when I arrived,  I found a very different Fukunari-sensei.  It took several minutes for her to answer the door.  The light was not yet on in her lesson room and she took several minutes to prepare the tea and treats that usually seem to be waiting for me in the kitchen, only in need of her two hands to carry them to my seat.  She was the one who apologized to me, saying that she had only just arrived, that she had had to take her husband to the hospital in Osaka by car.  I tried to indicate that another time would be fine, we didn't have to do the lesson now, and tried to ask her if everything was ok.  She said it wasn't serious, and didn't seem worried apart of from the frenzy of the start of the lesson.  I played the part that I've become accustomed to in Japan, that of a child for whom the world cannot be explained.  I focused on my kanji and the content of the lesson, and when she was called away to answer the phone, I enjoyed my tea and the way its sediment swirled in its cup.  She has no obligation to explain to me.  As a grown child I can sit in my non-understanding and trust that she can take what life is calling upon her to carry.  As an outsider, I have little other choice.  I hope that the burden really is as light as she makes it seem.

Bunka no Hi

While I was at the shodo concert a few days ago, I had no idea that it also happened to be a holiday in Japan:  Culture Day.  A day to celebrate peace and freedom and promote culture.  Glad I happened to see some Japanese calligraphy.  What if I had been watching Breaking Bad all day instead?  

The Japanese holidays are little treasures, and there are a lot of them.  Things that are important to the country, reminders throughout the year of things that may get brushed aside in the day-to-day.  It's made me a little more interested in what public holidays can say about a country, about what they deem to be important enough to warrant time from work, and perhaps reflection.  The Japanese seem a little holiday happy in comparison to the Americans, but I'm happy to enjoy it by proxy.  For comparison:   Japanese Holidays and American Holidays.  

Morning Muffy

This morning I was thinking about my grandmother and so I called her.  It was so good to hear her voice.  She asked me all the right questions in a very loving way, so interested in how I was doing, so caring.  There have been times when she has taken care of me and times when she has needed caring.  Sometimes an hour, sometimes a day, sometimes weeks, or periods of years.  Family is so important.  This group of people that is always with you, in all periods of life, cheering for you, loving you.  It was so good to hear her voice.

Shodo Concert

A year ago my friend Christy told me she was looking into taking shodo, the way of artistic writing.  She found a teacher and paved the way for several HPAC members to join her.  As I've started to learn kanji, the written characters which carry so much meaning in their symbols, I've become more interested in their form, the energy with which they are written, the way they fall on the page.  I've become curious about the art of writing them and am going to try my first class next week.

The class is having an exhibit now in the same space where I take my Japanese lessons.  I was able to meet the teacher yesterday when I had my lesson with Kaneko-san and attended a concert and open event for the exhibit today.  It is always a pleasure to hear my friends play and to see something in which they have invested their time.  An opening of selves.

Christy, Rena, and Sergey

in the gallery

Sensei in the background in a white kimono

the whole class with Sensei and HPAC members

the audience all helped put away their own chairs

Bernice and her work

Christy and the joy of shodo

Sergey with his girlfriend and his composition

Rena!

Christy and Sensei with her work

Otherness

Yesterday, on the way home from our tour, a friend of mine relayed to me some information about the cello.  At least twice on the tour, our section leader had organized Japanese member only cello section gatherings.  I've been given some reasons for why this happened and additional information, but because I don't have a first-hand account of it, I'll leave it at that.  Regardless, it highlighted a reality:  that there is a division between Japanese members and foreigners.  It seems there is an exclusion that sometimes naturally settles when language and culture are not mutually native.  This is my first time being a minority somewhere and Japan is extremely non-diverse.  There is the in-crowd, and then there are the others.  It's a funny feeling sometimes and because the majority of people that I meet and that I play with are very friendly, I forget that these human tendencies can exist.  But within a population, of course they do.  There can be fear of being physically close to someone who is different, a fear of not being understood, and a fear of not understanding.  These are uncomfortable things and it is natural for someone to want to protect themselves from them and to avoid them as much as possible.  But they can also hurtful.

It is something to remember.  As diverse and accepting and open as we can be, otherness still exists.  It comes whenever we label:  old, young, sick, healthy, educated, ignorant, gay, straight, Democrat, Republican, us, them.  There are labels we use to simplify the world and in the course of language, perhaps they are unavoidable.  But it is a reminder of compassion for what we are not and what we don't understand, to be aware of how little we know, to replace avoidance with welcome, and fear with observance.

I am thankful that this is the only clear case of this I've experienced.  There are other shades of it that permeate life here, but I think it is only natural and for the most part it is benign.  In a way, this otherness of which I can't help but be more aware, may be part of what brought Kaneko-san to volunteer at the Takarazuka International Friendship Association.  It may be part of the reason people are so enthusiastic to speak with me, to practice their English, to get to know someone who isn't Japanese.

The world is separate from us, but perhaps only to the extent to which we make it so.  It hurts to be excluded, to be mistrusted.  And what to do about it but to extend an offering and open a trust as able?  No matter how cold someone seems, my bow is almost always returned.

I saw Kaneko-san this morning.  It was wonderful to laugh with him again.

Home Again, Home Again

This morning was the last time waking up in an unfamiliar room, the last rushed hotel breakfast to an 8am bus, the last trip through Japanese countryside, the last sound check, last Brahms 4, first and last taste of Katsuo–a specialty fish of Kouchi, the town where we had our lasts–and the first and last experience on a Japanese bus home to Akuradanchi.  It was a great tour.  And now it is time to rest for two days, in whatever way so moves me.  Rearing up to start a new round of finalities.

After Reading the Testimony of a Mother Who Never Closed the Door

Group of school children pass by the Genbuku Dome Building in Hiroshima.