Beyond Flowery Nuances

I have been searching for a theme to write a proposal on for my Relation of Life & Fiction in Modern Japanese Literature final paper. The open-endedness that my professor gives is certainly staggering — allowing for a full range of themes to be pulled from the many authors we have or will cover in the course. I knew from the moment I received the assignment that I wanted to either focus on Yoshimoto Banana-sama (Yoshimoto Mahoko) or Mishima Yukio (Hiraoka Kimitaka). They have become my favorite literary authors — gingerly tacked onto my pathetic list that consisted of only Marion Zimmer Bradley and Sylvia Plath, despite having read a variety books in my lifetime thusfar. They are memorable and impressionable to me, in that we seem to share similar viewpoints and themes.

I deemed Mishima to be much too complex for me to work with, and opted on the former. After being touched by her writing and characters in ways that I cannot put into words when I had completed reading N.P., she was surely the more inviting choice. I had opted to research more about her anyway, and this would be the perfect opportunity to take on such an impressionable, refreshing author that reminds me of my own approach/style of writing — the evidence of her rabid popularity in Japan, and growing presence in the U.S. irrelevant in my level of personability I feel towards her writing.

My research led me to an August 2005 interview with Yoshimoto Banana-sama. I immediately pinpointed a theme (Entrapment Between Reality & Fantasy) that has been an internal and external struggle within my questionable manner of perceiving my way of living for many years. My writing reflects such conflictions as well, though I do not believe they are noticed, or if noticed, questioned, unless the reader has some sort of history with me. The more I read her translated responses, the more indelible truths pointed to her being an author that will remain in my repetoire for as long as I am capable of exuding creative prowess with reasonable, though currently unmetered, grace and quality. Her final response is what gives me hope for my future as an aspiring writer, as that belief has been where I have found sound peace in settling into for some time now. I so wanted to shed tears upon reading her conclusive words of encouragement — her life and success serving as concrete proof that such a way is possible to triumph — but, as per usual, I could only give my undying thanks to her in words that will probably never reach her. That was the moment she became a venerable, albeit indirect sempai (one’s senior or one deserving respect in alignment with their life experience) to me; I adopted the respectable suffix -sama to her name.

An Interview with Banana Yoshimoto

I wish to whole-heartedly apologize in indefinite advance if I am simply following in the footsteps of the popular crowd of those in the states who have found affection with you as a writer. I despise being a follower and pursue my individuality with near reckless abandon. Yet, I probably should, since I am not nearly as well-read as one who aspires to inspire and touch the lives of others through writing should. Nevertheless, I do this with considerable ostracism and indifference towards those others. This is of my own sincere deference to you. I will continue to write vicariously with all that I am.

Doomo arigatou gozaimashita, Yoshimoto Banana-sama…

Currently Listening To: Hillsongs – Blessed – “All The Heavens”

Yume o Saiteru e Miteru [Looking Towards Blossoming Dreams]

You were everything to me. Even though you came to me in a dream, you became the one that completed the puzzle of my heart.

You sang a song to me. No…we sang a song to one another. A song that I was never taught, and yet, could find the next note for my vocal chords to ride upon. I believe you knew the song much better than I did, and there is a chance — a flat out truth is more like it — that with your voice synchronizing with my own uncertainties, you enabled me to sound better than what I could hear echoing through my own ears.

You kissed me. Before the dream came to an end, I could feel your lips caressing mine — it was love at first kiss. There could never be such a thing except in a dream. The dream you found your way into. The dream that can only continue as long as I believe that what took place within it came true. The moment I forget your kiss, it is as if it never happened. A fleeting dream that dispersed into the ether of one’s consciousness. I can cling to my dreams, but can I treasure all of them?

In my dreams, you were mine. In my dreams, I was yours. Only then, could my dreams ever be fulfilled…could I ever be satisfied.

*** *** ***

夢を咲いてるへ見てる* [Looking Towards Blossoming Dreams]

*** *** ***

The morning sky opened up with the sound of a sparrow serving as nature’s alarm clock for my sake. I was used to such things. The sun barely shown through the clouds, unable to find a pleasant niche that would come into agreement with the speed of the rolling nimbus clouds and the early warmth that the Earth, cool and damp from the night rain, would be blanketed in. While the heavens played their games, I tested myself with my own as I laid flat on my back waiting for the sun to signal me with its vibrant rays to rise up from beneath the accumulated body heat that had settled into my pale blue sheets.

How early had I awakened to morning before my own alarm had sounded? Though my brain pondered, that was hardly enough incentive to start my day so simply. Tilting my head up to my half-opened window, I could tell that the sun still could not come into agreement with the clouds. A happy medium seemed almost impossible, even after such torrents of rain that fell the other evening. Still, I was determined to see which would win in this game I had invented myself, how ever childish it would seem to the outsider. In a word, humanity.

Would the sun claw its way through the clouds and finally greet my placid countenance, slightly wet from my own bodily reaction to excrete water in the presence of any warmth above twenty-six degrees Celsius — yes, I have done such menial studies on my slightly above-average frame, for it is the only containter of life I will ever have. Or would my cell phone’s alarm, that I had surely beaten to the punch, pierce my ears unnecessarily, mercilessly, until I forced myself to rise up, like a phoenix being sedated by the rapping winds upon its flourescent underbelly and wings ablaze, only to quell the shrill of the mechanized trinket that I had commanded to follow through on without fail. That cell phone could be akin to that of a servant who was too thick-headed to realize that their master had long since awoken, and yet still, in accordance with daily orders, to stir their master awake, causing irritation to the said master due to his or her own conscious-minded preemptive strategy. In my unordinary case, being the best and the worst morning person I knew, it was necessary to have a sound that could probably be as horrid as stabbing oneself into the ear canal with a ten-inch toothpick.

While playing this game, I was the sun’s bustiest and most charismatic cheerleader every morning. Or rather, every time a passing crow or a sparrow taking a rest on my window’s outer ledge, like an impatient salaryman waiting for the morning train, decided to choose me as their audience for their prelude to their daylong choral performance. Only the filtered sunlight could recharge the rest of my battery to full, while my devoted mechanized servant, taking a more direct approach, could only be as useful as regrettably sitting on a porcupine.

Interrupting myself from my thoughts, watchful eyes upturned to nature’s television by way of my window, a gasp escaped from my chapped lips. Cringing at the scent of my own fetid breath, I noticed a crack had appeared through the thickness of the clouds, heading straight for what appeared to be the brightest place in the sky. My minute world of fifty centimeters limited my sense of sight, but the sky and I were like lovers. Minute or vast, I knew it well, giving me unspeakable joy.

“The sun…” I whispered beneath my breath, as if I would quite literally scare away my chances of this opportunity to be fondly embraced by its light. Time was running out. My servant was inevitably drawing closer to me every second, eagerly awaiting its life-affirming task; the confirmation that I still required its diligent services.

“Finally…!” I allowed my voice to rise a bit louder this time.

After much discussion and opposition, the heavens had found that happy medium that would allow me to start my day on the proper foot. I brought my chin closer to my chest, averting my shut eyes, as if about to be bathed in the warm embrace of my lover. My face, still taut from sleep, submitted to the rejuvenating power of the sun, but I could not relax. My cell, anticipating the sun stealing me away, began shouting its beligerent, obnoxious noises into my ears the moment the light fell upon my skin.

My morning game had ended in a draw. Though this caused an upset within my heart, when I concede to the reason why I rose from the comfort of my futon, it was surely the persistence of the “diligent servant” that brought me back to reality, that took me by the neck and lifted me up from the rays of the sun. The blinding greeting from the heavens also lasted for a total of three seconds.

So, to those who in this life who insist on the existence of an absolute truth, the cell phone would be deemed the rightful winner. And that consideration for absolute truth, for this mostly dreary day, would undoubtedly change everything for me. That was what I thought — prior experience serving my memory well — as I silenced my cell and tossed it carelessly upon my futon.

*** *** ***

*I do not know what to make of this myself. Every time I write a fresh piece on awakened whims, I have the seemingly foolish intention of giving more love than I can possibly give. Only time can tell. In any case, it is another piece that served as practice. I would appreciate any commentary from anyone who is willing to give it. I cannot become a cultivated writer by any other means than this. Please do not hesitate to be harsh. Thank you.

Pictures: Seminar House 1

The following pictures are basically a look into what the first floor of my Seminar House looks like, as well as a bit of the area directly around it. Only 15 pictures in this series, and didn’t take nearly as long as the other entries took to prepare; they were all horizonal shots. I see these things nearly every day [I leave the SH], so not so interesting to me. Perhaps moreso to whomever reads. I actually feel a bit sick at the moment, but maybe that’s just because I’ve been lying on my stomach at my laptop for the past half hour right after waking up. Or maybe it was that humongous vanilla ice cream bar Mike gave me for…nurishment(?) last night while laughing wildly, reliving my tv-induced childhood via YouTube with the people in Seminar House 2 that I should have been attached by the hip to. Amy also lives there. ‘Twas glorious! What sucks is that no guests are allowed in any SH after 10PM, and in Japan, rules are strictly enforced. Aside from that factor, writing may not occur this weekend, especially with a 300+ page novel I must read before Wednesday and a proposal for a 10+ page final paper due the same day for the same Jpn Lit. class.

Can you feel the love? If so, give me some.

Anyway, my camera work has improved so I think these pics can be enjoyed.

The door to my room – the first one on the first floor. Super convenient, but gets the most noise pollution at night time. You may have seen my Japanese-style room before in such plugged links as the one just made 2 seconds ago.

This is what I see after taking a left and a few steps. The room to the distant left is the public lounge where one of the 2 televisions are. The other is in the kitchen.

Shoe shelves. Around the inside, you either wear slippers that you paid for, flip-flops that you shower with, or socks that are suseptible to various splashed liquids that some people are too lazy to clean up. Don’t even get me started on how some people leave the tables after eating…I usually take the safe route and wear my flip-flops whenever I go in the kitchen nowadays.

This is the angle that you see as soon as you remove your shoes and enter the Seminar House. This house is actually the oldest, but the most traditional-looking. Visit the others and you would see a big difference.

This is what is to the left after you enter. The window is where the SH Okaa-san (Mother) & Otoo-san (Father) live and attend to any guests that need to sign in to visit.

After taking a few steps outside the SH to your left, this park area can be seen directly across the street.

This is where residents keep their bikes. This is to the right when you exit the SH.

While facing the park, if you looked to your right, this is what you would see.

This is more of the house that you would see.

SH 1 is on something of a side-street. So you are essentially walking into a fairly busy street every time you exit the place. If you were to take a left after reaching the side-street corner, this is a portion of what you would see.

A little more of what can be seen…

This is what’s to your right at the end of the SH side-street. Getting that motorbiker was unintentional but it’s still cool.

SH 1 Entrance

What payphones in Japan look like.

The other half of the lounge I never shot.

And since I’m so nice, here’s an amusing extra.

This is a sign on the side of a road that pedestrians can see while walking back from Makino into Hirakata. The three kanji on the pole say “Hirakata-shi” (Hirakata City). Manga and cute animations are popular outlets for everyday expressions and explanations of many kinds in Japan. This is just one example I have seen.

Through Gaijin Eyes #2

Decided to write another installment of what was once called “Osaka: Through Gaijin Eyes.” Having accumulated more interesting quirks about Osaka & Japan, I realized that much of this list was becoming more universal facts that apply everywhere in Japan more than just Osaka. So, I took out the “Osaka” part. Duh.

Perhaps you will join me in my enlightenment to more of Japanese norms…

Sparrows and crows are numerous around Osaka. Not to mention that bats fly like super low to the ground as well. I really don’t think many people from where I come from have seen a crow like really close. They are everywhere — perching, squaking, making small overcasts as they blot out the sunlight for a moment. And then I realized that the anime Air Gear takes place in Osaka, based on Ikki and Sora’s dialect — Sora moreso. Ikki, known as “Karasu” (crow), and Simca’s (The Sparrow) seems ever more fitting once you know how common they are in Osaka.

I have come to find out that Japanese guys are very shy, especially when they have dealings with females. Many of them do not have girlfriends, but would like to have one. This could possibly be the reason why there are so many females who want to date, but less than 50% are doing so. As said by the classmate who discovered this phenomenon: “Unlike males in US culture, the Japanese males don’t know how to work for what they want; this being a cultural issue, not so much a personal issue.” This being said in my Cross-Cultural Psych class, and my professor agreeing, I take this as reliable second-hand information.

Japanese hospitals are way cheaper than in the states. This is because of the following example given by an aquaintance of mine that appears pretty accurate according to their experience:

Jpn School Nurse: Ah. How can I help you?
Gaikokujin: Um…I think I have sprained my ankle.
Nurse: Oh. That is troublesome isn’t it?
Gaikokujin: Yes, it is. Can you please help me?
Nurse: My apologies, but we cannot treat you here. You must go to the hospital.
Gaikokujin: *blinks* The hospital? I do not think it is that bad.
Nurse: Yes. You must go to the hospital.

Now in America, going to the hospital for a sprained ankle is pretty ridiculous, especially since usually the nearest hospital is usually a bit of a drive. Not in Osaka. KGU has one right across the street from the campus. Now imagine all the injuries that sports players get and how frequently a hospital would be necessary to tend to their wounds. No one in Japan would want to step foot out of their house if hospital costs were US-standard.

Convenience is Japan’s middle name. To name a few:

+ Most doors open automatically…and actually open fast enough to not slam your face into it. Either that, or they require a gentle push of a button to activate. The US hasn’t caught on to the concept of doors that part when they open, rather than doors that open like hinged doors, just automatically.

+ Using the bathroom is a cinch. Everything in public restrooms are automatic. Toilets even have a heating option. No lie. They even have instructions on the inner lid.

+ You can buy a keitai in your local convenience store. I’m serious. You can buy a keitai in the KGU conveni for crying out loud! If you live in Japan and do not own a keitai, at any age, you FAIL at life. Why? Because PC e-mail is not enough to stay in touch with those around you. Also, why chat online when you have a killer keitai plan? Without a cell phone, you are essentially estranged. No joke. Note that I am saying this as probably one of 2 gaijin who haven’t invested in a keitai. The other is Tama.

Making the customer feel like a “god” is normal. This is usually executed by having the high-pitched, voice of a female greeting you and/or serving you using honorific japanese when you enter a store. Chances are, she has manipulated her voice for your pleasure. I personally find this to be degrading for them and wish they wouldn’t waste their energy doing so. However, men want to feel catered to and relax at every moment, since the majority of them hate their jobs anyway. And if there isn’t a female who can greet you or thank you, an automated greeting/goodbye is done (e.g. an ATM/exiting a bank). You will probably only hear a male’s voice doing this when you walk into a large restaurant. Everywhere else is a female voice. Gotta love masculine-geared cultures, ne?

You are not expected to thank the person who is serving you. It is their obligation to thank you, the customer. Until now, never in my life have I felt weird about telling someone thank you after they have given me my change for a purchase. It just doesn’t happen, and they don’t expect it to happen. You’re “god” after all.

For the guys: NEVER smile at a Japanese female that you have not met on a name to name basis. This is seen as flirtatious, sexual intent and will be taken as “they want me.” Unless they have been westernized to some extent, or have had exposure to westerners in the past, you could very well be seen as a chikan (molester) and will be avoided from then on. I was surprised to find that many in my CCPsych class didn’t know of this.

It is considered rude to be openly physical with one another in public (e.g. kissing, hugging, etc.). Holding hands is okay though.

According to Kyohei, for girls to hold hands with one another is common in Japan. Obviously, it’s not initially considered sexual or femme. I found this to be particularly worthwhile information when I inquired of two japanese girls holding hands as we were on campus one day.

Drinking while walking is considered tactless, especially beer. You should stand by the vending machine where you bought it and drink it there, or wait until you aren’t walking. This was difficult for many of us foreigners to get used to.

For co-workers to go out for a social get-together is common in Japan. If you are invited by your boss, you do NOT say no. That is considered very rude. Getting drunk with them, including your boss, is also a-okay.

The Japanese LOVE ankeeto (questionnaires). It is common for at least a handful of students to be going around, asking either other Japanese students or foreigners to take their survey for a class at least once every two weeks or so. Speaking of surveys, I forgot to fill out the one the university REALLY wanted foreigners to fill out…Ah well. Now I’m stuck doing my own ankeeto. Unfortunately, I strongly dislike going up to complete strangers and asking them to fill it out. Not to mention feeling slightly hypocritical. I make exceptions when they arise, however, which has allowed me to get a grand total of 4 filled out since yesterday.

If a Japanese friend wants to hang out with you, but downplays that they have some assignment or exam to study for, they are giving you a hint that that day is not a good day. This happened with Kyohei & I, and he appreciated my kindness for my flexibility to reschedule.

Yakyuu (baseball) is seriously hyped up on Japanese television. This is done in such a way that if you don’t watch, you feel guilty. In Osaka, if you don’t worship the Hanshin Tigers, you have just sinned against your fellow man.

Why must the Kyu-Kyu (99 yen) conveni have its own theme song? And why must the girl working at the Kyu-Kyu in the early afternoon be so cu-cu-cute…? ;_;

Currently Listening To: Susan Bell – Initial D Non-Stop MegaMix – “My Only Star”