Blood Driving

I have given blood three times.  You can still see the spots where each needle hung out in my arm for a while, as it guided the blood from my body and into a nearby sanitary bag.  The spots actually remind me of pock marks.  It’s weird, really – they look unnatural (and, well, they are).

The oddest bit about this, though, is that these marks are still here, after all this time.  The last time I donated blood was a year or two ago.  Before that was about nine and ten years ago.

I have never much liked donating blood.  I realize the value in it, and I still dislike doing it myself.  I’d rather help put on a blood drive, and donate my time and energy that way.  However, the reason I gave blood began in high school.  

Our school was having a drive.  I thought it was awesome, though I didn’t necessarily intend to participate – frankly, I was terrified.  I had the permission form, but I hadn’t yet determined if I were going to get my mom to sign it or not (or was it already signed, but I wasn’t sure if I were going to turn it in?).  One of my best friends appeared in front of me, utterly annoyed on the first day of the drive, and informed me that she couldn’t give blood, because you can’t have spent more than a couple years in England before 1994.  She had been there for about four years before then, and so was therefore removed from any chances of ever giving blood in the US.

At this information, and her distress, I determined my course of action.  I did not want to donate blood, but she did.  She could not, and I could.  Therefore, I would donate for her, on her behalf.

And so I did for several years.  There was once that I couldn’t donate due to low iron in my blood (not enough greens after I had been sick), and then about two years where I was not allowed, because I had been to Kingston, Jamaica, which is apparently a no-go for US blood donation.  By the time those two years were up, though, my friend had discovered that she could donate blood in the U.K., where she was (and still is) living.  She forever would be allowed to donate blood there, and so I no longer had to do it for her.

The last time I gave blood, was out of a sense of duty and support, I suppose.  My school (where I was working) was hosting a drive, and someone specifically asked me to support, so I did.  I even got my teacher shadow to participate, too.  A different time, the school had another drive, but I wasn’t able to donate, because they had closed down before I was free from classes.  I donated once, though, completely of my own accord, and for that I am proud.  (Not in a snobby, snotty sense.  Just proud that I succeeded in doing what I felt was a good thing to do, despite my fear and discomfort in doing it.)

As I write this, I can’t help but to feel that there was one other time during college, at which time I was able to give blood…, but I really don’t remember.  I even have a spot on my arm that looks like it might have been a fourth needle, but I’m not certain.

Anyway, those are my current brain thoughts swirling around right now.

Blessings through a headache

My head hurts.  I think I need food, water, And sleep.

As I thought about just now how my head hurts, I realized that I can express that fact/sentiment in five languages, and without even having to think about it.

My head hurts. (Duh)

Me duele en la cabeza.

J’ai mal à la tête. 

Ich habe Kopfschmerzen.

あたまがいたい。

Rad, huh?  My life is super blessed.  Thank you, God.  Now, I’ll have a bit more water, and then sleep!
Post-a-day 2017

Late-night FaveTime

Chitter chatter, pitter patter

What’s the latest news?

I’ve got the blues, you’ve got new shoes, and Mom is delighted (not) by her latest news.

The cats are cats, packing needs to be done, and there are classes I need to take.

It’s AM here and PM there, and kind of extremely late.

So, I’ll pack my clothes for my European tour, and you can head to sleep, and dream of days that are coming soon, when I’ll be by the pool, and you’ll be there with me, too.
Post-a-day 2017

In my head…

A blank page awaits me, and yet I have nothing to say… Rather, I have so much to say, that I cannot seem to make any of it organize itself out into something sensical.  I know that I have much to say, but all that is coming to mind is a sort of doo-too-doo hoo-hoom, boom ba-doom…di-doh-doo… doo-too-doo hoo-hoom, boom ba-doom… some unidentifiable song that my mind seems to be humming passively.  It almost feels like an obsessive relaxation technique at play, as though my subconscience were taking steps to keep me as near to sanity as possible, when it sees me edging toward a sort of breakdown.  Right now, if I focus on this nothing, this song, I am okay.  I am breathing.  If I were to focus on one of the many somethings that are rolling around in my head, I might just freak out and go a little nuts (in a different way than my typical demeanor displays my general oddness and weirdities).

So, instead of going insane, I hum-drum in my head, unable to find words or any clear thoughts.  I am breathing shallowly somewhat, but I am breathing.  And that, in itself, is something worth appreciating.

My life is a blessing, no matter how much I may be terrified of what it may hold next.  🙂

Post-a-day 2017

Normal or normal?

I guess that whatever we are accustomed to having around us, ends up being what feels like “normal” to us.  Like how my life never seems to feel very exciting or special – it has become my experience of “normal”, and therefore can’t seem exceedingly exciting or abnormal to me.  

I regularly feel as though everyone can speak loads of languages, and so I’m nothing but average (or even below average) in that field.  But who are my acquaintances?  Well, we tend to end up spending time with people who, in some way or other, are quite similar to ourselves, do we not?  It is no wonder, then, that I have so many friends who are bi- and multilingual, and who have not only visited but lived in at least one country other than their own.  This isn’t to say, of course, that all of my friends meet this criteria.  Certainly not.  I just happen to have a lot of friends who do.

So, when I have a night like tonight, where my friends and I sound to an on-listener like we can’t seem to pick a language, as we constantly switch around between English (our one common language), French, and Japanese, I all too easily forget that this is not normal in the world.  Sure, it is normal for me and for my life, but that doesn’t mean that everyone does it regularly.  It doesn’t even mean that half the world could do it regularly, even if they wanted to do so.

Or perhaps they could.  I think, nonetheless, that I severely underappreciate my language abilities, by subconsciously expecting that the people who most closely surround me are an average sample of the whole.  What is normal for one person simply is what is around that person in life.  And two people with closely aligned lives might find the same things as one another to be normal.  So, of course the people who are out doing the same things I live to do, tend to see the world in a similar way to how I see it, and hold a subconscious standard of “normal” that is similar to my own.  That’s why our paths cross in the first place – we’re all into* this particular kind of awesome.

Filing a room with awesome people doesn’t mean that they aren’t all still awesome, just because the standard in the room is about equal.  It just means that you have an extra-awesome room that is full of a ton of awesome people.

I guess what I am aiming to say here is that, despite my feeling below-average and utterly “normal” and boring at times, I realize now that I am not viewing things outside of my nearest surroundings (so to speak), and that I realize that I am, in fact, awesome.  And I’m proud and happy about that.

Peace, y’all. ❤
Post-a-day 2017

Killer Khan

Tonight, I met a sweet old man named Ozawa Masashi (Masashi Ozawa in the American style of names).  He is a monstrous 195cm (6’5″), with an incredibly sweet and open demeanor, and he owns a restaurant in Tokyo, where we ended up tonight after dancing.  As I commented on how massively huge this restaurant owner was compared to the average Japanese person, I was informed that he was, in fact, a retired wrestler.  Sure enough, photos inside the restaurant tell a black and white story of this man’s wrestling adventures Stateside in the 80s, with matches against André the Giant and the likes.  Killer Khan is the name, and wrestling was his sport.

We ate his food (delicious), tasted the hard-to-get sake (fabulous), and enjoyed his happy talk about just about anything (including the facts that his son is about 208cm and looks like him, his daughter is a martial arts champion in the US, and that he himself spent a year in Dallas about 22 years ago).  He even showed us photos.

We watched a small bit of one of his matches, and it was amazing to see this man in action, back in his days of wrestling.  He was even more of a monster in terms of size, and the other guy in the ring paled in comparison.  Frankly, Killer Khan was the epitome of ‘scary wrestler man’.

And now, here he his, across the world from his wife and kids, running a restaurant in downtown Tokyo.  I am 100% not a wrestling fan, however, I am definitely a fan of Ozawa Masashi, this happy, massive, sweet old man, who likely hunches from habit with such low Japanese doorways, and who just so happened to be part of a lethal show 30-ish years ago.


Post-a-day 2017 

when you stop and smell the flowers

Tonight, I’m just not feelin’ it…, though I’ll write anyway, and just make it quick.
Walking home, I stopped to smell these flowers (despite the fact that it was near one AM already, and I was exhausted [still am, too]) I was passing.  I read this thing on the inside of, I believe, a Dove chocolate wrapper, and it said, “Take time to smell the flowers.”  Somehow, it translated to, ‘Take time to stop and smell the flowers,’ and has stuck with me as such ever since then.  I make particular notice whenever I see flowers and feel as though I don’t have the time to stop, and I re-evaluate how I am living my life each time I see flowers and am reminded of this line (almost every time they look pretty).

So, tonight was no exception.  I stopped and smelled these flowers, flowers I had yet to notice during he daytime.  And, would you believe it?  They smelled like popcorn.  Buttery popcorn, though only lightly buttered, came in through my nostrils at every flower.  They might even have been a sort of roses.  White, popcorn roses.  It was spectacular, and I don’t even particularly like the smell of buttery popcorn.

Post-a-day 2017

Uh-oh, Ramen

I feel a little bit like I was part of the film “Legally Blonde” tonight.  Remember how Elle said that a sorority sister of hers threw up on a guy on their first date, and they ended up engaged/married?  (It was something very similar to that, anyway.)  Well, tonight, meeting up with a guy for the first time (outside of just seeing one another at work, and Maybe exchanging a word or two), something in that same category went down.  In a sense, anyway… you can judge for yourself, if you think it really is in the same category of events.

We met up to go look at these really cool buildings, with artwork all on the sides of them, done by this one particular artist.  As we were finishing up, we decided to go get some food together.  We settled on ramen, as it is kind of the go-to food in Japan, and I’m usually okay eating it.  However, for whatever reason, this ramen decided to disagree with me more than usual.  Much more than usual, in fact.

As I explained that my typical US diet  was one that included veggies, fruits, seeds, and nuts almost exclusively, and no meat, fish, or grains, my new acquaintance started apologizing to me.  ‘No, no… it’s okay.  Really.  I’m used to it.’

Except that it kept getting worse as we walked around the neighborhood, headed for the riverbank.  When we reached the riverbank, I had to lie down on the ground, my stomach was is such a miserable state.  After another minute or two, I suddenly changed my mind on the offer of a bathroom, and said that I needed one asap.  Hurry, please! I thought, as I focused on breathing deeply, he continuously asked me if I was alright, and little pebbles (from my lying on the ground) shoved their ways lower and lower down my pant legs.

We finally made it to the grocery store.  I told him to shop a while, we both chuckled, and I practically ran to the bathrooms.  I tell you, I almost cried while in there, so bad was the pain in my stomach.  I have no idea what was in that ramen, but it was one of the worst things I’ve had to eat since living here (in terms of effects on my body).

And, of course, I had to have this happen while spending time with this new guy.  Good thing I’m not too big on looking good and first impressions being amazing or anything.  This was just plain ridiculous.  However, he had an amazing attitude about the whole thing.  And that’s how it reminded me of Legally Blonde.  Rather than push us apart, it felt as though my mini illness actually brought us together – we made it through the hardship together, you know?
Anyway, that’s that.  And it might have even been a date (according to my Japanese girlfriends).  😛
Post-a-day 2017

my kind of friends

I miss having friends like myself.  Life is just so much more exciting when they’re around.

Tonight, I found out that a friend was on his way home on the train.  I knew his route, so far as trains were concerned, and his final station was a small one, with only one exit.  So, even though we have plans to meet tomorrow evening, I thought I’d surprise him tonight.  I got two different types of tea (green and milk), cold from the store, and headed to his station.  Based on where he was when he had last mentioned to me that he was on his way home, I would be just in time to meet him, and I might possibly beat him by a good ten minutes to his station.

I was already on the first train he could have taken home, and he didn’t seem to be on that one.  So, once I arrived to his station, I checked out the exit options – yes, there is only one – and then found a place to settle down and read on the platform.

Almost an hour later, I am on my way home, still carrying both teas.  He didn’t show.  I don’t know what happened, and I likely won’t ever know, because we don’t entirely speak the same language.  And I think I really don’t mind so much that he didn’t show.  It’s more just that the whole thing made me miss my especially close friends, the ones who would have known that I was waiting at the station for them, simply because I had asked where they were beforehand.

The thing is, I don’t do well with packing.  I’m not sure what is in the way of it for me, but I almost always seem to resist packing.  I so desperately want to get myself packed up, and like right now, right now.  But I’ve been unsuccessful in doing that for the past three-ish weeks already.

The worst part of it this time is that it is stressing me out extremely, and I still can’t seem to get over whatever it is, and just pack.  So instead, I get to be stressed and to think of all hear things I miss and of all the things that drive me nuts here.

That’s all I have to say about that right now.
Post-a-day 2017