Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Coffee Love

My adoration for the magical beans more miraculous than those of Jack from the world of fairy tales runs deeper than a mother’s love for her first born. Unless her first born is a terrible child, in which case she may opt for the second-born, if she is lucky enough to have that option.



Drinking coffee, for me, has always been a sensual experience that I hold dear to my heart. The smell alone of coffee grounds, brewing coffee, and a piping hot cup of java extracts treasured memories buried deep in my mental storage bins and brings them to the forefront of my mind. Drinking coffee creates a panoply of emotion and transports me to so many moments in my past. Sipping decaf after dinner at my grandparents’ house, waking up in the wee hours of the morning before college, after mass receptions, volunteer work, conversations at Starbucks with friends and family, travels to different countries, sipping a latte in the Elephant Café in Edinburgh, Scotland… I could go on listing memory after memory for hours. But, I will spare you. If you truly desire to read a list of all of my coffee memories, send me a message and I will compose one for you.

I am at a loss as to how so many people can start their days and just live in general without coffee. The alluring aroma wafting through the air is easily my favorite smell. Even merely imagining the scent in the morning quickly puts me at ease by giving me a very enticing reason to get out of bed.

Because it solves EVERY problem, of course

People have ample opportunities to bond over the beverage born of the little brown bean (unintended alliteration there). The gift of coffee in any form (instant, grounds, iced coffee, or a gift card to a nearby café) is, hands down, the best anyone can give. Meeting for a cup of Joe is the perfect way to catch up with friends, connect with new acquaintances, or kick-start a budding romance (and, if it started over coffee, that’s a love that will likely last a lifetime [there I go with the alliteration again!]). 



Call me a caffeine addict. Call me a java junkie. Call me the coffee queen. Call me whatever other coffee-associated nickname you please. I’d embrace them all. The love of coffee is universal among at least some citizens of every country, and acts as a unifying force throughout the world. I am proud to identify as a coffee lover.


Sunday, October 26, 2014

"Revealing" Is A Matter of Opinion

In the United States, ladies can get away with wearing almost anything, and society just shrugs and doesn't judge too heavily. Or, if they do judge, ladies don't really care and just continue wearing whatever floats their boats. In Costa Rica, conservative dressing was key. If you wore anything but pants and long skirts with shirts that had sleeves and high necklines you were gaped at and thought of as super scandalous. In India, the thought of leaving my home stay in anything that didn't cover my arms and legs never crossed my mind. It was simply not something women did.



Here in Japan, I find their opinions of what is acceptable for women to wear and what isn't very different to anything I have experienced thus far. For example, one day I wore an outfit to school that I would have never thought twice about wearing in the United States. It was a long-sleeved shirt with a v-neck. Simple, and apparently, extremely inappropriate. The second I arrived at school, a teacher gaped at me wide-eyed and she asked me if I had a sweater to cover up. Honestly, the "offensive" shirt looks something like this:


But, the teacher reacted as if I were wearing this:


However, it seems to be all about necklines here. Even if you wear a skirt as short as the one depicted above, you can get away with it, even in school, as long as your neckline is high enough. I mean, necks ARE suggestive, don't get me wrong. 

So, to summarize:
If you go to India, just cover every bit of skin you can, even in the sweltering summer heat.
In Costa Rica, dress like you are going to church at all times unless you want to be considered slutty.
In Japan, go wild with short skirts if you wish, but just make sure that neckline is high enough!
In Europe... wear whatever you want. 


In My Own Defense

Man, people just love attacking me, or at least judging me, in comments lately. It is for this reason that I am considering ending my blogging endeavors on this site entirely. Actually though, many people online and in person have judged me on the following issue: the fact that I do not speak Japanese.

Let me just point out that I speak Spanish fluently, a bit of French and some Portuguese. I have studied Russian as well. So, by no means am I unilingual. I will also point out that prior to arriving in Japan TWO MONTHS AGO I studied no Japanese whatsoever. Already at this point, after studying on my own, I can ask basic questions, understand some answers, count, and read two of the three alphabets. I think that is pretty impressive, and I don't care if I am tooting my own horn.

Yet, people STILL say to me all the time: "you need to learn more Japanese," and ask me "why isn't your Japanese better?" or "why don't you study Japanese?" I'm WORKING ON IT, people! I have books, I have Rosetta Stone which I study often, and I always talk to Japanese people to try and improve.

Language learning doesn't happen overnight, I'm sorry to inform all you Captain Judgements out there. If you know of some method to make me magically fluent in Japanese overnight, please tell me about it. Otherwise, get off my back. I'm not taking any more of this crappy criticism. That is all. 

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Shelob

There are a lot of unpleasant things one can wake up to in the morning. You can wake up to find that you're out of coffee. You can wake up to your least favorite form of weather dominating the outside world. Or, in my case this morning, you can wake up to find a golden silk orb spider the size of your palm dangling from your ceiling. Such a pleasant name for such a horrible creature. This experience has taught me that there is a progression of emotions that come with such a grotesque discovery. The first emotion? Sheer, undiluted terror. Panic spread throughout my being, and I honestly thought I was going to cry. After the panic was hopelessness. I felt unable to leave my loft, and honestly considered letting the spider take over my apartment.



Next came a little fleeting moment of bravery. It's just a spider, I decided, I could take him out with a swift whack of my floor duster (like a Swiffer. I don't own a broom big enough to take down the intimidating arachnid). That feeling didn't last long, as I approached my formidable opponent and it began to seem larger and larger. Then I started my scheming, trying to concoct a plan to destroy my enemy via bug spray or throwing a large object. Of course, with the latter, I could miss entirely and cause an angry spider to fall on my head. Not ideal. 

After the brief feeling of bravery, acceptance overcame me. I mean, honestly, the spider wasn't bothering me. This particular variety just hangs out in one place basically all of the time. So, I decided to just deal with having a new roommate. I named her Shelob, and she is a pretty good roommate. She only did creepy spider things once while I was out on a run and immediately stopped when I returned. She is a very stay-in-her-corner kind of gal. We are currently working out rent negotiations. It will be prorated, of course, because I arranged to have her killed in less than an hour. Should've picked a different lair, Shelob, should've picked a different lair.... 


UPDATE: Shelob lived! She is now outside, enjoying the world!

Friday, October 24, 2014

The Little Things Count

At first I thought it was strange how people here keep speaking at me in Japanese and expecting me to understand if they just say the same things over and over. Then I realized that I do the exact same thing in English. The other day, I was showing my pictures from my Kyoto trip to one of the teachers and I noticed that I kept rambling on and on in English and he just stared blankly, but I just continued explaining things because it just felt natural to me. 

WHAT ARE YOU SAYING??

Another thing that Japanese people often do when they are trying to get me to understand is they use gestures that perhaps make sense in their minds, but in reality don't help at all. I do the exact same thing. I was trying to explain that a picture was the view out of a window in my friend's apartment building, and I just did a broad movement with my hand while I said "view" and it probably meant absolutely nothing to the teacher with whom I was speaking. 

This steel-enforced language barrier in place has taught me that every little gesture matters. I can’t speak Japanese or English with some of the teachers, but that doesn't mean we can’t communicate. One teacher said “Merci” to me after I gave him a candy, and I responded “de rien,” and his face instantly lit up when I spoke the proper French response. Now, that is our method of communication. When he speaks a word of French, I respond in kind. It doesn't seem like much of an interaction, but to me it is.


I also learned some very basic Japanese to use with the teachers and students, and that alone has done wonders to bolster our relationships. I ask the kids the simple question “what movies do you like?” and their faces light up like a baseball stadium after dark. I got sick of the awkward silences in the copy room simply because of an inability to speak to coworkers so I learned to ask how they are and how their weekend was. Simple things like that makes them so cheerful, which in turn makes me cheerful.

And, at least in Japan, sometimes all it takes is a nod. 



Thursday, October 23, 2014

Sharing Music

Before I began my first day of work, a seasoned teacher told me not to buy a second-hand guitar here and that if I did, not to tell the kids at school. He said that if they found out, they would pester me incessantly to play for them all of the time. Honestly, that was one of the worst bits of advice I have received. Buying that guitar and sharing with the students that I love to play and sing was one of the best things I have done here so far.

Leaving my guitar behind in the United States felt like abandoning my best friend. I knew I wouldn't last long without one, so I quickly ventured to a second hand store and picked up a gently loved guitar. I’d reckon it only spent a few hours in a love hotel (I really hope someone gets that joke).

It’s gotten to the point where losing my voice was a terrible disaster because it meant I couldn't play for the kids. The second I woke up one morning and could barely speak, my thoughts turned to my own devastation and the likely future devastation of my students and the other teachers. The fact that it has persisted for almost a week has made for some painfully empty-feeling lessons. The teachers were crushed that I couldn't play for their classes, too. 



But more than the fact that the guitar has become an integral part of my lessons, it has taught me to be more confident. The first day I ever played for my students, sweat rolled down my face in unattractive gobs and gave me armpit stains appearing as if I’d run a marathon. My nerves reached an unprecedented level. I doubted myself at first, thinking that perhaps my music didn't mean much to the students. However, more and more they approached me and told me how much they appreciated my music. The simplest comments, like “your music makes me happy” or “we love to hear you sing,” transform me from shy and uncertain about my guitar playing to a beaming performer. I no longer sweat like a hog on a spit at a Hawaiian luau (actually, I guess the hog is, hopefully, dead in this scenario so probably beyond the ability to sweat).  So, I no longer sweat like a person standing next to a hog on a spit at a Hawaiian luau. 



I realize that many musicians would love to be in my place. For sixteen classes per week, I get the privilege to play for a cheering audience. They make me feel like a celebrity every single day, and are truly an amazing audience. Apparently, the key to getting some rowdy teens to be attentive is to play music for them.

I AM awesome, you're right!

Furthermore, their constant requests force me to practice and improve my rather limited guitar skills and learn songs I never otherwise would. It also gives me a chance to improve the music taste of Japanese youths by playing songs by The Beatles and other classic rock bands instead of only the Disney pop songs they are used to. Not that there's anything wrong with Let It Go. Until I've played it about fifty times, that is. 

My only worry is that upon my return, my guitar at home (named Nathan) will have developed some serious abandonment issues. But hey, it won’t be anything beyond what some good ol’ anti-depressants can’t fix.

No, guitar dearest, I love you!

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

All a Matter of Perspective

Having lived most of my life in a place where rain is not often in the forecast (except in rare, apocalyptic amounts), I have had to make some adjustments while living in Japan. I used to morph into Grumpy Cat when I woke up to a dark, cloudy, rainy day that would make a perfect backdrop for an anti-depressant commercial. This morning, I opened the door and saw a deluge of rain, but decided to accept it and be okay with it. “Alright, rain,” I said (because I am weird and talk to forms of precipitation sometimes), “you are here today. There’s nothing I can do to change that, so I am going to embrace your presence.” The rain gave me a symbolic thumbs-up in response, cheering me on. The rain and I have a pretty solid relationship, and I want to keep it as such.

Just embrace it!

So, equipped with my new attitude of acceptance, I got dressed in my rain boots and walked to work with a cheerful bounce in my gait. I probably looked like an idiot, but I couldn’t have cared any less. Many Japanese people, and people all over the world, see the rain as an excuse to skip the gym. In my opinion, it is the perfect reason to go to the gym. What’s better than hitting the elliptical machine and then rewarding yourself with a nice dip in the outdoor hot tub afterwards? Relaxing in a steamy spa in the rain is one of the best experiences.

These guys know what's up


I have also accepted that I am just not good at umbrellas, proved by the fact that even when I use one, I manage to arrive at my destination sopping wet. There are some days when I wish I were blessed with the super power to generate a rain-repelling force field around me. But, there are much worse things than getting a little wet (or, completely drenched in my case) in the rain. So, the rain and I have decided not just to reconcile our differences, but to embrace a beautiful friendship, because it’s all a matter of how you look at things in life. The rain can make you a Grumpy Cat, or a Happy Cat. It’s up to you.

Your choice.


Monday, October 20, 2014

Otters, Pandas and Bears, Oh My!

If Dorothy had decided to venture to the Ueno Zoo instead of Oz, she would have encountered very different creatures. I'm not sure what it is about zoos in other countries, but so far my experience has shown that animals abroad are much livelier. Yesterday, the inhabitants of Tokyo's famous zoo were as active as those in captivity can get given their space constraints. The most exciting thing was the activity of the animals that zoo-goers pay to see like tigers, polar bears, gorillas and pandas. I have been to the San Diego zoo more times than I can count and have never seen a giant panda as close up as I did in Ueno.


I think I'm invading this panda's personal bubble
Not only were the gorillas monkeying around (there's a little primate humor for you), but they had an adorable little whippersnapper of a baby with them. The otters, which often sleep in American zoos or hide better than Waldo, snaked around playfully like furry little eels through the water. I have seen polar bears all over the world, in places like San Diego, Colorado and Madrid. Yet, I have never seen one bounding back and forth, jumping, and diving as I did in Tokyo. All of the beautiful creatures were truly a sight to behold, and made me realize with how many beings we share this Earth. Sorry, I hope you all had your Lactase ready, that got a bit cheesy without warning. My favorite was the snowy owl. It pivoted its head sharply a few times a minute and once stared directly at me with a piercing gaze through yellow eyes. I felt like it was looking right into my soul. Maybe it was Hedwig and had magical powers and actually did stare into my soul.



One of my favorite exhibits was the one featuring Japanese birds. One of the reasons I liked it was its complete emptiness of the building. I suppose most of the visitors figure they have seen enough Japanese birds just by living in Japan. Yet it was so peaceful watching the graceful beings amid no sounds save the echo of my footsteps. If I were a zoo animal, I would definitely be a Japanese bird because I wouldn't have to deal with annoying people glaring at me and being loud at all hours.

I think that visitors who don't speak Japanese should get a discount at the Ueno Zoo, since almost all of the signs are in Japanese only, thus meaning they miss out on the information about the animals. Okay, okay, I concede it is only $5 to get in which is really nothing, especially in comparison to other zoos. At least the names of the animals were translated, some rather comically. One was called a “Dhole,” and I could just read it as a D-Hole, which just sounds wrong. It looked like a kind of fox. I guess maybe foxes can be D-Holes.



The only downside, as is often a downside in theme parks, zoos, and other attractions, was the mass amount of people. This particular outing redefined what it meant for a place to be crowded. I eventually lost count of how many times someone ran into me with her stroller, or a child stepped on my feet. Not a single person said “excuse me” or “I’m sorry.”

However, for every inconsiderate person on this Earth there exists at least one considerate one. The language barrier in Japan has discouraged me to the point where I rarely ask for help or for directions anymore. Even when I ask a question in Japanese, I can’t understand the answer, so the point of asking is moot. Upon arrival in Ueno, however, the zoo had already been open for hours and I didn’t want to waste time wandering around lost beyond reason. So, after realizing the map was of little assistance, I asked the two women standing beside me which way the zoo was. A look of determination came over their faces and they said “please, we go together.” I felt bad, because one had a suitcase and wore sky-high heels and the other carried a tiny baby. But they insisted. So, we walked across the station to the information booth and they found out where to go. Then, they walked me all the way out to where signs pointed the way to the zoo, chatting with me animatedly the whole time. After such a short time with them, it surprised me when I felt sad upon going our separate ways. When you are in a foreign country, you tend to latch onto any human interaction rather quickly.


Saturday, October 18, 2014

I Tend to Joke in my Posts

I am sorry that my post about being sick offended others. It was a joke.
In summary, I was sick last week, but I'm feeling better. Yay!!

I embrace the fact that I am able to poke fun at myself and my own culture. Americans do a lot of really ridiculous things. I used to feel able to make jokes that were clearly that: jokes, without worrying about offending others. The things that I say are opinions, and opinions only. I do not make statements claiming they are 100% true or that I KNOW MORE than others.

Like the below are opinions:
1) Some Japanese people go to the hospital too often.
2) Some Americans put off going to the doctor for WAY TOO LONG.

Consider this a public service announcement. If you read my blog, you will encounter sarcasm and humor, because that is just a part of my personality, and it comes out in my writing. 

Friday, October 17, 2014

Gaijin Moments

While in Kyoto last weekend, I had the most Gaijin moments in any given period of time that I ever had. It all began with my journey from my apartment to my friend’s apartment in Kyoto. I had the journey all planned out in my mind. I knew exactly which bullet train I needed to take to get to Kyoto and when it was scheduled to leave. So, I arrived at the station in Tokyo with just enough time to buy my bullet train ticket, board the train, and bolt off to Kyoto by 7:20. I got to the front of the line and the salesman called me forth. To my horror, he didn’t speak a word of English.



Lately, I have started using a tactic when this happens that may actually be more detrimental than beneficial to getting the things I want to happen to happen. I kind of act like I understand with two phrases: “daijoubu des” and “hai,” or “that’s okay” and “yes.” So I began my enquiry with “skinkansen Kyoto” which he responded to with a slew of questions. Eventually I tried to say I didn’t understand, which led to him spewing out the SAME questions in Japanese but a tad slower. I blinked my eyes at him with a confused expression and he just did the exact same thing again. I finally sighed and went with my default response of “daijoubu des.” He handed me a ticket, didn’t tell me which track it left from or at what time. The ticket itself had no specific time written on it, as they normally do. It also turned out he gave me a ticket with a non-reserved seat. Great. I felt like a confused failure and headed over in the general direction of the bullet train tracks like a dog with its tail between its legs and asked an agent there which track. He angrily mumbled “18” handed me the ticket and pointed. Well, at least I was sort of getting somewhere.



When I got to platform 18, I encountered more problems. I got on the train and asked a passenger “kore…Kyoto?” meaning “this…Kyoto?” and pointed at the train. He was actually kind and smiled and said “no, no, next!” I thanked him and got off the train. The sign, however, said that the train I was on was going to Kyoto, so I asked a police officer. He said “yes, this. Car one, two, three.” So I walked up to car 3, and noticed a huge line outside of the door. I assumed they were waiting for the next train and began to step towards the door. A security guard blew his whistle at me aggressively, so I bolted backwards. A minute later, the train left. Well, I sure hoped at that point that the next train was correct. I was so irritated with conflicting information that I wanted to leap through a wall and hope for the Hogwarts Express.


Thankfully, the next train actually was mine, or even if it wasn’t, I still ended up in Kyoto. No one checked my ticket so who knows? I wanted to relax on the bullet train ride and listen to music and read, but the woman next to me was Japanese so of course she was working and furiously typing on her laptop the entire 2 hours and 45 minutes. I don’t think they know how to take breaks from work here.



My next “Gaijin moment” occurred on the following day. My list of “must-see things” in Kyoto basically only included the place where Scarlett Johanssen went in Lost In Translation. So, that was my first destination and it was lovely, but my actual experience lacked the emotional soundtrack playing in the background like hers did. Whatever, it was still nice.

Next, I decided to go to Kinkakuji, the famous Golden Temple, because it is arguably the most famous tourist spot in Kyoto. I knew the general direction of the temple, so just started biking and figured I would know when I came across it. So, eventually I biked past a huge temple with many student groups and tourists, so I figured it must be Kinkakuji. I walked around, took pictures, and even asked people to take photos of me in front of it. Then, suddenly, I was struck with the thought that this temple only had a little bit of gold on it, so it probably wasn't the golden temple. It didn't say anything in English, which made me even more skeptical, since this was allegedly the most famous tourist spot. Crap. I decided to keep biking, and eventually came across a sign indicating that Kinkakuji was still far ahead. Great.

Finally I found it, and this time I was positive because the temple was…well, golden. Also it cost like $5.00 to get in. If it isn’t free, you know it must be a big tourist attraction. So, I made it there with only minimal obstacles.


The language barrier became a little easier to deal with on my last day. I successfully got a ticket back to Tokyo with a reserved seat thanks to my friend’s ability to understand Japanese. Also, I ordered coffee at a Starbucks and the employee said that my Japanese was “really good.” That’s pretty sad actually, but I will definitely take the compliment. Go me and my sad amount of Japanese! I’m not even embarrassed about my “foreigner moments” anymore. Bring them on, they make for entertaining stories.

Blue Lawn Chair

Apparently, I care about lawn chairs. I’ve always known that I typically give inanimate objects personalities and feelings. The “As-is” sect...