[NB: For continuity's sake, I've arranged these in chronological sequence from earliest to latest]
The Day That Never Was
March 19th, 2011
Here I sit on the plane, pouring my thoughts into my little spiral notebook. It is a strange sort of time-travel. I left Hong Kong at 10pm, and I will reach San Francisco at 7pm the same day. In my three-hour leap backward, I will experience twelve hours of sitting. A day with no place on the calendar.
I am so exhausted in this moment, and the thing I’ve been grasping at for nearly two years just got yanked out from under me. My whole brain tells me I should be sad, angry, frustrated at least. Maybe hopes and delusions of a hasty return have numbed me to the truth of my situation. Or maybe being so close to so immense a tragedy has temporarily inured me to my chronic self-pity. The fact of the matter is that I feel so damn lucky right now that I just can’t taste anything outside of gratitude.
Why I left, or: What the Hell Am I Doing on this Plane?
March 19th, 2011
Months ago, my first study abroad orientation described a jolt of sudden panic that often hits a person as she expatriates for the first time. A voice in her head shouts, “I have made a terrible mistake!” and a dizzying current of doubt runs inexhaustible through her mind. I had my moment in Narita (see my January entry), but it didn’t last long. But now, as I sit on a twelve-hour flight from Hong Kong to San Francisco, an inconsolable dread is beginning to pool in my gut. And then there is that busy little man who always runs around my brain, sporting elbow patches and tweed, desperately and meticulously straightening things out so that they remain rational and empirical; and he begins to build a painstaking house out of a pinochle deck, to pacify my screaming premonition that I have somehow trapped myself.
I scrawl his narrative in my little spiral jotter, a letter to the universe, addressed to whomever judges me here and now:
As soon as I had left the Kanto area and its near-constant aftershocks, I felt safe. I have complete confidence in the dedicated team working to contain the dysfunctional nuclear reactors and I fully believe the problem will be resolved safely by hanami. However, I understand that the situation with the Fukushima reactors is somewhat unpredictable. And if nothing else, the past week has taught me that the unforeseeable can and does occur.
I was offered a free ticket out, and decided the most responsible thing I could do is remove myself for a week or two--until I could know that I wouldn’t be a burden on Japan. I love this country, and have seen so much kindness since I arrived in January. But right now Japan faces one of the darkest challenges in its history, unmatched since World War II. If greater tragedies occur with the nuclear reactors, rescue teams and rations need to serve the people of Japan, not a hapless American student who had ample opportunities to leave, and risked no loss in doing so.
Of course no nation has a monopoly on kindness and courage, but the past two months have placed me in awe of the collective spirit of the Japanese populace. I made my decision largely because of the respect and gratitude I feel toward my new friends and neighbors.
A Love Haight Relationship
March 20th, 2011
Alright, it’s a horrible pun. And I’m not even in the Haight right now--I’m about 20 minutes’ walk from 18th and Castro. However, I saw that phrase on an advert this morning, and it just fit. I am glad to be ‘home,’ I guess. But some things may never be the same. I suddenly feel like I’m surrounded by homeless people and I wonder why everyone’s clothing looks so dirty and tattered. I already resent feeling like I can’t safely walk wherever I want to, resent that I have to get in a car and know where I’m driving if I want to go somewhere. There are little things too. I feel almost lazy speaking English all the time. And I already miss the cadences of Japanese conversation. But the most visceral shock was my first look at a dollar bill. The pattern felt so familiar but the shape was all wrong--so thin and long, oddly petite. And it’s exactly the same size as a twenty-- what’s up with that?
My reader will have to forgive me for the sudden, inexplicable change in setting. I feel as disoriented as you do, in some ways. “It’s like science fiction,” my uncle Dave murmured, as we walked past a cafe he’s frequented for the last thirty years. “One moment you’re there, the next, here. And you’ve traveled through time.” It’s true. I got on a plane in Hong Kong at 10 pm, and reached SFO at 7:30 the same evening. I had only spent about twelve hours traveling back in time. I was beyond bedraggled; indeed, I had hugged my roommate goodbye more than 26 hours before Dave picked me up from the airport. I haven’t been that exhausted in a long time. But as I trudged through customs, a distinct thought popped into my head: I’d gladly do another 26 hours right now if I could just go back to Tokyo.
And yet, I am so lucky to be here. My parents graciously invited me to stay with them, but I had to take up my uncle’s offer. “Consider it a decompression chamber,” he said. Exhausted, confused, and fraying around the edges, I knew it was exactly what I needed. Ever since I was a little kid, Dave has been one of my favorite people in the world. He's been in some really tough spots himself, and dedicates a lot of his time to helping others through that kind of thing. It might be presumptuous for me to say this, but I get the sense that he's a kind of informal social worker among his friends and acquaintances. I dearly love all my family and friends, but as I sat on that plane I knew Dave's apartment was the best place for me on the planet. Only there could I regain my sanity without straining my relationships. Relationship-repair is not something I want to deal with this week.
Mais Japon, Je t'aime!
March 20th, 2011
This evening something happened. For the first time, I realized that I might have to stay here in America, for weeks or maybe more. I realized that I had been blinded by a kind of stubborn denial. I wonder if I would have gotten on that plane if I had known… I wonder if I really care about the people of Japan enough to stay away.
All day I found myself thinking of things in Japan, as though my head and heart are still there. I felt Japan oozing out the seams, as though I couldn’t contain it within myself. It hit me hard today, the reality of being in America: not only am I no longer surrounded by Japan, the people around me have no interest in Japan or Japanese culture. Three days ago I was living with people who had traveled thousands of miles just to seek it out. So here I sit in San Francisco, patching up my own containment vessel, trying to hold in the fallout.
When I explained it to my mom, I put it like this: you know that feeling you get when you've been traveling for a day or two and you're all grubby and gross and before you hug everyone you know, you just want to take a shower and put on some nice clothes? It's like that, but with emotional hygiene. Before I have to reconnect with dozens of important people, before I have to answer all their questions and explain my situation over and again, I need to regain a sense of equilibrium. I still don't understand all the things I am feeling, and I want to say it is self-absorbed and needless drama, but I guess I just have a lot to process, and it'll take time.
Mais Japon, Je t'aime!
March 20th, 2011
This evening something happened. For the first time, I realized that I might have to stay here in America, for weeks or maybe more. I realized that I had been blinded by a kind of stubborn denial. I wonder if I would have gotten on that plane if I had known… I wonder if I really care about the people of Japan enough to stay away.
All day I found myself thinking of things in Japan, as though my head and heart are still there. I felt Japan oozing out the seams, as though I couldn’t contain it within myself. It hit me hard today, the reality of being in America: not only am I no longer surrounded by Japan, the people around me have no interest in Japan or Japanese culture. Three days ago I was living with people who had traveled thousands of miles just to seek it out. So here I sit in San Francisco, patching up my own containment vessel, trying to hold in the fallout.
I feel just like I did when I got dumped a month ago. Part of me wants to take my mind off it, explore new things, avoid the ‘J’ word. I feel like I need to get up and move, keep busy. I miss Japan, I want Japan, and thinking about Japan seems to make it sting more. I’m in that horrible state of equivocation… Is it really over? Do I need to pick up and move on? Should I fight for what I want, or will I just make a fool of myself?
I can only view my repatriation pains with the same chuckling self-deprecation I employed in describing last month’s boy drama. It really feels like a breakup, times 100. And therefore, it involves all the same torrential and unwarranted self-pity. Don’t forget the impotent anger, the perseveration, the shouldawouldacoulda. It’s all I ever think about. It’s absolutely exhausting, pretending I’m cheerful and engaged in whatever polite conversation occupies my time.
Report from the Decompression Chamber: An Itch Beneath the Skin
March 21st, 2011
I knew repatriation would be difficult, but Christ, it’s only been a day and I’m already experiencing culture shock and home-sickness. The word ‘home’ has some serious emotional heft to it, so I don’t really feel I can apply it to Japan. At least, Japan is not Home with a capital H. But it had become a home for me…
I never experienced anything like this when I came to Japan. I never felt like I was suddenly surrounded by something ‘other,’ cut off from things I know and like. I remember my friend Alicia in high school, who spent most of her Deerfield years studying abroad in China. Whenever she could be there, she went. And when she got back to Massachusetts, she often seemed a little bit different. There was a sort of distance about her. You could tell she wasn’t at home here anymore. She didn’t talk about China all the time but you could tell she was thinking about it--that her brain was often just somewhere else.
I had no idea I had become so attached to Japan, but I guess I have. The whole time I was there, I thought, “This is wonderful and amazing! But of course I wouldn't want to live like this forever. It wouldn’t be good if it were forever.” And yet it hurts so much to let it go. I felt the same way about him… Would it hurt less if I had been expecting it, preparing for it, letting go a little at a time? Or is this just how it is, how it was always going to be, how it has to be…? A roughly ripped band-aid, a lingering sting.
What Were Once Vices Are Now Habits... But They See Me Through
March 22nd, 2011
Watching a lot of TV. I watched more TV on the airplane from Hong Kong to SF than I did the entire time I was in Japan! There are worse ways to narcotize oneself, but I’m still disappointed.
At the very least, Justified kind of quells the heartache of losing Deadwood. Of course, a comparison would border on sacrilege, but I must say that Timothy Olyphant's new role, Raylan Givens, is kind of like a transformed version of Bullock--another wonderful exploration of the relationship between masculinity, anger and 'justice.' But of course, everyone watches Deadwood for Ian McShane's iconic Al Swearangen, and somehow I don't think his part in the latest Pirates movie will do anything to ease the pain. Still, if it's your cuppa, give Justified a try.
