It's four a.m....

BOOM!

I go from REM to out of bed and wide awake in two seconds, flat. It takes me at least twice as long to realize that the sound was not caused by something exploding inside my house, but by thunder. Very near, very loud thunder. An explicative slips from my mouth. I wait.

Silence.

Silence.

And suddenly.

A deluge.

I've never heard rain like this before. It doesn't even sound like individual raindrops falling on my sunroof. It sounds like someone emptied a freaking ocean onto my house. I get up, go to the living room, open my laptop, check the weather report.

It says it's raining.

I go back to my room, turn on the air conditioner, and lie back down in bed, listening to the rain. It goes on for another minute or two, then, suddenly, softens to a light drizzle, and I fall back to sleep.

It's so humid!

I feel like I'm swimming. But that's because I am swimming.

In my own sweat.

Waikiki

After leaving Japan at 9 PM Friday evening and, five hours later, arriving in Honolulu at 8 AM Friday morning, I did exactly what I promised: I checked into my hostel, dropped my bag in the room, changed into my swimsuit, and headed straight for the beach. And--as one might imagine would be inevitable after a long day of work, a long trip to the airport, and an overnight flight--promptly fell asleep in the sun. I have nothing but words of praise for the folks at Banana Boat for creating a sunscreen that somehow miraculously kept me from burning to a crisp while I lay snoozing and fully exposed to the elements (It was a gloriously sunny and clear day here in Waikiki, with a high of 80 degrees, the perfection of it all augmented by a persistent, pleasant breeze.) for a full hour and a half.

Still, after my trip to the beach I was ready for a big bottle of water and a propper nap, so I headed back to the hostel and helped myself to a generous helping of both. A cool draft passing through the windows of the dorm room provided natural air conditioning while I lay back and relaxed on the bed. Despite my heavily jet-lagged condition (or maybe partly because of it), I was euphoric.

And tonight, as I often do when I'm travling by myself and I don't have to feel guilty for even suggesting the idea to fellow travelers, I splurged on a fancy shmancy dinner. Very close to my hostel, they have one of those super cool rotating restaurants on the top floor of a tall building; so, as you enjoy your dinner, you get a full panoramic view of the city. I took the elevator to the eighteenth floor, marched up to the front desk, gave my name, and was promptly seated. In that moment, I felt fully vindicated for the time in Kuala Lumpur when Jennifer, Josiah, and I attempted to have desert in one of these types of places and were laughed out of the joint for not having made a reservation at least two days in advance.

My meal: Tea Smoked Ginger Duck l'Orange. Ever since I first tried it a few years ago in Oxford, I've had this crazy little thing for duck. Which is weird because, in the past three years, I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've actually eaten this animal...yeah, I can...five times, including tonight. It gets even weirder because, as many of you well know, I'm not totally crazy about eating meat. Josiah put it quite eloquently and indeed accurately a few days ago when he called me a "closet vegan." But the duck I had tonight was absolutely sublime: tender, sweet, wonderful. And to top it off, I indulged in an overpriced Mai Tai, a drink that I've always associated with face-lifted old ladies in animal-print bathing suits, lounging on pool chairs. So yummy.

And so my winter vacation kicks off to a perfect start. It took all day, but I think that the sunshine has successfully melted away all the stress of the past few weeks. Insert emoticon here...

:)

I'm All Shook Up

This morning, at about 5:40, my own little prefecture of Tochigi was graced with a 5.1 magnitude earthquake that quite literally shook me right out of bed. As the preliminary tremors nudged me awake, my first thoughts went to the heater on the wall above me. If it fell it would crush my skull. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but as my bed began to shake back and forth, I felt less like a baby being rocked to sleep and more like...a baby being shaken. At this point I was wide awake, so I figured it would be okay to get up forty minutes earlier than usual.

Yesterday morning, I checked the weather forecast before I even started getting ready, hoping for rain so that my exhausted body would have an excuse to ride to school in a taxi. No precipitation predicted. I got ready and dressed for a chilly bike ride as usual. When I left for school, there were dark blue clouds in the morning sky. I thought, "Ooo! How pretty!" Ten minutes later, it started to snow. When I'm ten minutes into my morning commute, it's not worth it to turn around and call a taxi to take me to school. At this point, all I can really do is press forward. So that's what I did, laughing at the absurdity of the situation: a freak December snowfall decides to descend right in the middle of my morning trek to work, ending just a minute before I pull through the school gate.

It's as though the forces of Nature are playing a last-minute "Best of Moka" marathon in my honor. This evening, I will be boarding a plane to Honolulu, and it will be sayonara freezing misery and a warm, welcoming aloha! to sunny happywonderfulness.

I'm sure that after three weeks of traveling in first Hawaii, then Singapore and Indonesia, I'll start to miss little Moka and I'll be ready to come home. But, at the moment, it's hard to imagine. And, as I sit in my own living room with the electric heater blasting, huddled under a blanket and wearing several layers of clothing, including snow pants and a down jacket, I'm not apologizing. I'm ready for this vacation to begin.

Who turned off the warm?

It's the fourth of November and suddenly we're in the throes of winter. There was ice on the roof and on the ground this morning. Still, I mounted my bicycle and made my late start to work, with fleece-lined gloves and wool socks that, despite their earnest efforts, could not keep my fingers and toes from going numb by the time I reached school.

Naturally, the school nurse has made an announcement that the best way to guard against swine flu contagion is to make sure every corner of the building is well ventilated. So, despite the bitingly frigid air, every window in every classroom and hallway must be open at all times. Of course, the school nurse issues such an edict while she gets to spend most of her day moving cosily between her office and a warm spot behind her desk in the teachers' room. But I'm not one who deserves to complain. These days it seems, with my classes being canceled left and right, I spend the overwhelming amount of my time at work in the teachers' room, shuffling nervously through the drawers of my desk as I rack my brain for something to do. Such is the life of a foreign English teacher in Japan.

I'd love to write more, but my fingers are so numb from the cold that it took me, like, ten minutes just to write this sentence. Good night, everyone. And sleep warmly.

It's just June, I guess.

Tonight I sat out on my porch for an hour and a half watching the rain.

June has been a long and difficult month. It is a month of no public holidays. The weeks rush by, but the weekends go past so quickly it seems like they never even happened. The weather, nearly every day, is overcast and humid. I started taking Japanese classes on the eighteenth but I my heart hasn’t really been in it. It doesn’t help that I began writing a novel on the fifteenth and it currently takes up nearly every minute of my spare time. But my heart hasn’t really been in writing, either.

The truth is, I miss my friends and family like crazy. Lately, it seems like the absence of these loved ones from my life is a real and physical emptiness in my own body. I wonder: What the hell was I thinking, moving to Japan to teach English? Am I really going to stay here for another year? How? Why?

But, I swear, there’s something about the rain here in Japan that’s different from any rain I’ve ever seen before. It’s like I can feel it under my skin, even when I’m not actually out in it. And the lighting as the sun sank, invisibly, behind the horizon but turned the whole cloudy sky a pale orange in doing so: my heart almost couldn’t take it. I would have sat out there longer except that, around seven thirty when it got dark enough that I couldn’t see the rain anymore anyway, I figured I had better eat something before it got too late and affected my sleep pattern.

Elementary school tomorrow. And a field trip to Tokyo with my second-year students on Tuesday. And then it will be July. Just a little bit longer. God give me the strength.

How like a winter...

As I stand in the bathroom tonight, ready to leap into a scalding-hot shower, I first gaze down, astonished, at the mountain of clothing that has just come off of my body: a pair of sweater-knit tights, track pants, wool socks, leg warmers, heat-reflective tank top, long-sleeved shirt, sweater, fleece jacket. And what is more astounding than the towering heap itself is the realization that, even with all these things on, I still felt cold! In my own house! With the heaters on! I shake my head confoundedly before slipping into the steaming shower.

Yes, it’s still winter in Japan. My bike-ride to work in the morning still requires all the above-mentioned articles of clothing, plus the addition of a heavy topcoat, gloves, scarf, earmuffs, hat, and warm boots. And despite the brief lapse into slightly more spring-like weather that we were graced with this last weekend, I still found myself cursing life itself as I plopped down at my desk in the teachers’ room this morning and furiously attempted to rub life back into my sorely frosted fingers.

But, otherwise, life is good. Which is weird, because life has also been exceptionally difficult lately. I haven’t taken the time to update the readers of this blog on any of the major events of the last few weeks. And, even though I could sit here and type out a half-hearted and tactfully censored version of my February in Japan so far, I’m going to put it off just a little bit longer, until I feel I can more adequately reflect on what all these events have meant for me and my life and my future life in Japan. What I will say is that, when the representatives from the Board of Education came to my school last Tuesday to meet with me, my principal, and Ms. Shimowada, my English teacher, I felt no hesitation in informing them of my intention to renew my contract for a second year. Yes, living in Japan is difficult. However, gently and persistently, God reminds me of the incredible beauty that can still be found in this country and these people. More on this later. I promise. Until then, thank you for your readership, your prayers, and the little comments you occasionally leave. They mean so much to me.

Hajimete: "Frostbite"

Well, maybe. After all the time that I spent today agonizing over the Wikipedia article on frostbite, I still feel pretty ignorant as to exactly what qualifies as frostbite and at what point it becomes seriously threatening. And let me abate the fears of my parents, who are undoubtedly my most devoted readers, by saying right off the bat that everything turned out okay in the end and that as I'm typing these words I have full feeling in all of my extremities and, as far as I can presume, nothing's going to have to get amputated any time soon.

However.

When I arrived at school this morning, I didn't give a lot of thought to the numbness in my feet. It's cold here in Japan and, as of late, it's quite common for my fingers and toes to get a bit chilled on my morning bike ride to work. But when, an hour-and-a-half later, I still had no feeling in my left big toe, I began to wonder if I should feel alarmed. Mostly, I just felt stupid for not having warmer shoes. Like I said above, I know nothing about frostbite; born and raised in San Diego, California, I remember thinking it was a rare and special occasion if I could see my breath while outside (nowadays it's a rare occasion if I can't see my breath while I'm inside). My ignorance, coupled with my embarrassment at not having upgraded earlier to more adequate footwear, prevented me from mentioning anything to anyone. I just told myself that if I still couldn't feel my toe by lunch time, then I would really start to worry.

I might as well come forward with the already obvious: this is not a very interesting story. By the beginning of third period, my feet were entirely back to normal. And yet, through this experience, I was struck once again by just how starkly different my life in Japan is from anything and everything I've ever known before coming here. As I sat on the floor in the teachers' locker room, poking my toe with my finger and marveling at the way my finger could feel my toe but my toe could not feel my finger, it was another one of those hajimete moments. And, despite my then-fear of ensuing amputation, I couldn't help but feel slightly amused.

And Mom and Dad, rest easy: on my way home from work, I stopped at the store and bought a new pair of boots. They are very warm and should keep my toes nice and toasty on future morning commutes.

Hajimete

When it rains in the morning, I have the option of taking a taxi to school on the Board of Education's tab.

Yesterday morning when I left my house, it was not raining. There were ominous clouds in the sky; but, no rain, no taxi. So I hopped on my bike and took off, already running a bit late for my visit to Yamazaki Minami Elementary School.

I wasn't more than two minutes from home when I started to feel the gentle patter of light precipitation on my cheeks and forehead (the only parts of me that were exposed, since the rest of me was securely bundled up against the biting cold). I considered just turning around right then and calling taxi from home; but, for some reason, I'm really stubborn when it comes to riding my bike and I don't like to take a taxi unless it's absolutely necessary (i.e. typhoon), so I just pressed on.

I was cycling like mad in the hopes of making it to school on time (I'd managed to get out the door about fifteen minutes later than I should have), so although my fingers and toes were numb with cold, my torso was sweating profusely. I panted heavily as icy droplets of rain continued to strike my face.

I was about half-way to school when looked down at my arms and realized, with great shock and amazement, "It's not rain, it's snow!" I was riding my bike in the snow! Wet snowflakes had accumulated on the arms of my jacket. They were sparse and very melty, yet unmistakable as snow nonetheless. I became aware of the fact that I was laughing, loudly and delightedly and probably much to the wonder and discomfort of the high school students who passed me going the opposite way on their bikes. At this precise moment, the word that sprung to mind was: hajimete, "for the first time." It was my first time riding a bike in the snow, and I doubt it will be the last.

In other news, on Tuesday I returned from my winter vacation to South Asia. Having spent two weeks surrounded by people from countries in which strangers are friendly and nearly everyone speaks English makes returning to life in Moka especially difficult. But as I look back fondly on my time spent in Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia, I feel my experiences have left me feeling refreshed and determined to face my job again with renewed energy and optimism.

For more on my travels to Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Kuala Lumpur, and Bali, please see my Picasa web page.

autumn arriving

Today the weather was beyond perfect. The sun was out, but the air was mild. It was a day where I could sit outside in jeans, a t-shirt, and sandals and be perfectly comfortable. So that's what I did. For pretty much the whole day. Sublime.


This supremely relaxing Saturday differed significantly from last Saturday, when I made my first visit to Japan's capital, Tokyo. Tokyo is quite possibly the most bizarre place I have ever been in my life. Walking down the street in the neighborhoods of Shibuya, Shinjuku, and Harajuku, I realize that my small effort to dress nice for the day has fallen flat on it's face. Amid the throngs of young, beautiful people dressed up to the nines in the hight of modern Tokyo fashion, I fit in--at best--with the many haggard-looking tourists scattered throughout the crowds. In Moka, I'm "kawaii" and "kakkoii;" little children and old people stare at me and my European genetics make me constantly something of a novelty. In Tokyo, I'm just another under-dressed white tourist; nobody takes the slightest interest in my presence and waiters in restaurants speak English to me.

If a visitor's only impression of Japan were Tokyo, it would be easy to jump to the conclusion that Japan is a nation of young people; hardly anyone looks like he's under thirty-five. But the truth is, Japan is the world's oldest country, you just have to get outside the big city to notice it. Here in Moka, there's hardly anyone my age. On the bus, everyone's over sixty. At my school, several classrooms go nearly completely unused because, for the past few decades, the student population has done nothing but decline.

All-in-all, this translates into a very peaceful existence for me. I can spend long hours reading at home or crocheting on my front porch because, in the whole town, there really isn't anything else to do. Sometimes this makes me feel antsy; but, for the most part, I enjoy these quiescent weekends.

And tomorrow night: Radiohead.