A Window of Opportunity…?

“I have a question of morality… Is it morally sound to go out my window, and climb this scaffolding, to figure out where this guitar is coming from?”

A minute later, after a chuckled reassurance from my mother, that it was not an issue in terms of morality, I was off the phone and climbing out my bedroom window.  The air was cold and smelled of rain and incense.  Things were still wet in places from the day’s rain, but the scaffolding against my building – I think it was put there in order for the windows all to be replaced, but nothing seems to have happened yet, and it’s been up for a couple or few weeks now – was mostly dry.  I slipped on my sandals as I stepped onto the scaffolding, and began my search for lights.

You see, I have been hearing this guitar playing these past few-ish weeks, and I haven’t been able to figure out from where it is coming.  At first, I wasn’t sure if it actually was someone playing guitar, or just a recording that I was hearing.  Actually, the very first time I heard it, I was already falling asleep, and so couldn’t fully register whether it were real or not.  That is, of course, until I heard it while I was still awake one night.  Then I knew I wasn’t imagining things.  Sort of, anyway.  I still could only hear this guitar late at night and from my bedroom.  Whenever I opened my window to hear better, the noise from cars outside made it almost impossible to discern the source of the sound, let alone hear it.  So, I still felt like I might have been just making up the guitar, because I so wanted to have someone nearby be a guitar player.

Until tonight, that is.  I was on the phone with my mom, and I could hear it at the edge of my living room.  I went into my bedroom, and it was even more audible.  I checked the wound outside the window, and there were few enough cars, with space enough between them, that I could hear the guitar playing… and singing with it!  So, I ditched the phone, grabbed my shoes, and went out.

Have you ever been in the middle of doing something, and suddenly wondered to yourself how you could have been so stupid as to do whatever it was you were currently doing?  I climbed up decently well enough, and I even checked to make sure my legs could reach all the right places to be able to get back down.  But the fact that it is 8 degrees (46 F) outside right now, and this metal scaffolding spent its days being rained upon, had me wondering if I weren’t just being incredibly stupid, climbing up it in my sandals and bare hands.

I discovered two windows with lights on, and quickly figured out from which one the sound was coming.  I had to climb up two levels of scaffolding to reach the actual window, but I managed it.  Of course, once I was pulling myself up to a point where I could just start to see inside the window, I wondered how terribly this could go, should someone inside see me.  Screaming, shouting, and possibly objects being flung at me were certainly possibilities.  Being kicked out of my apartment for being a stalker/total creep was another.  And any chance at explaining myself was unlikely, as I could not have shed almost any light on my situation by using Japanese, and I knew I had a weak argument anyway – it is definitely abnormal to be doing what I was doing.  I mean… come on.  This is the stuff you find in movies.  Stuff the stupid character does, and always gets caught doing.

So, I decided just to peek enough to figure out what kind of room it was.  If it were a bedroom with doors shut, perhaps other people were sleeping.  If it were a living room, sleeping people would be less likely.  And, if it were a layout like my apartment, to where it would be a bedroom, but it had the door open to the living room, then it was quite likely that no one was asleep.  And, if no one was asleep, then I could go upstairs and knock and be all, ‘Hey, let’s be buddies and play and sing music together.’

My concern of getting caught left me only figuring out that it was a different layout from my apartment, but that the room seemed to be a small one.  What looked (based on windows and walls) to be the potential living room had its lights off.  So, I climbed back down and into my bedroom (slipping off my sandals as I slid in the window, of course), and went to start some laundry and take a quick shower, so I could mull things over a bit.

After showering, I could still hear the guitar playing, so I dressed in pj-style clothes and my rain boots, and went upstairs.  It turned out that what I had thought to be two apartments above me was actually only one, and I could hear my washing machine as I stood on their landing.  (Odd that I can hear that, but almost never hear anything else, and neither do I get noise complaints of any kind.)  Unfortunately, because of the sound of the washer, I couldn’t hear the guitar.  At least, I think that’s why I couldn’t hear it anymore.

I was too concerned at just knocking on the door, when I wasn’t certain that the guitar was still being played.  The lights were off just inside the door, so it was certainly possible that the player had actually gone to bed in the past few minutes.  It was already after 11pm, after all.  So, I went back downstairs, and checked to see if I could still hear the guitar.

Nothing.  At least, I couldn’t quite tell.  But, when my washer stopped a few minutes later, I didn’t hear the guitar anymore.  (Gosh, this guitar thing is a complicated sort of mystery, I swear.)  😛

Now, after having laid out my clothes to dry, all the while thinking over my situation, I decided to wait another few days.  If, by next week (I’m gone all weekend this weekend), I haven’t heard it again, I’ll put a note on their door.  If, however, I do hear the guitar, I’ll go up as soon as I hear it, and knock on their door.  Hopefully, I will be accepted and admitted, and wonderful jointly made music will ensue.  And, hopefully, they (I think two people live upstairs) will be understanding, should they ever happen find out about my scaffolding adventure… or maybe it’s best that they just never find out… yeah…

 

Update: It is 00:18, and I am about to turn off my light to sleep.  The guitar has suddenly returned, and in full force, with male singing.  I’m exhausted, so I’m going to sleep.  Plus, I’m already out of normal clothes and into my Sulley onesie.  Next time.  Next time.

Post-a-day 2017

 

FaceTime

Today (March 5th) is my brother’s birthday.  He lives in Texas.  My dad called me tonight, as a sort of reminder about my brother’s birthday.  This is one thing I love about my dad’s side of the family – we all remind the family whenever it is someone’s birthday.  There are funny bits to this, of course, because it often means that whoever’s birthday it is gets a load of messages and phone calls all at the same time, followed by the thought of, ‘Hmm… I wonder what message just went out to everyone.’  For example, when it is my sister’s husband’s birthday, my sister sends a group text to the family, telling us that it is his birthday.  Within about five minutes, we have all either called or sent a birthday message to him.  There’s no way we all just happen to think of his birthday at the same time, so our ‘cover’ is just plain nonexistent – we were clearly reminded of the birthday.  But, the point is that we all care enough to wish the family member well on his/her birthday.  My dad, I think, is the one who started this sort of tradition we have.

Another aspect of the birthday tradition that my dad created is the song “Birthday” by the Beatles.  Every year, without fail, he finds some way to play the song for us on each of our birthdays.  One year, my eldest sister had an early-morning flight, and so expected to miss the song, since it was always played at home.  However, my dad surprised her with playing the song in the car on the way to the airport (at 6am).  When I was abroad, he would Skype or telephone me, making sure to play the song at the start of the call.

Today, as he was talking to me to remind me about my brother’s birthday, he checked the sound of the song with me, to make sure I could hear it well enough.  He said that he was planning to call my brother right after he got off the phone with me, and I saw that FaceTime had an option to add a call, so we went ahead and called my brother on FaceTime (I did, anyway), by clicking the “add call” button.  However, it ended up not working the way an “add call” button suggests it might work, so I improvised.

Right now, I’m sitting with my laptop on my lap, my phone on the lap of my laptop.  On my phone, I am FaceTime Video-ing with my brother.  On my laptop, I am FaceTime Audio-ing with my dad.  It is the middle of the night for me and the middle of the morning for my brother and dad.  The three of us are talking as though we’re all just hanging out together.  Right now, of course, the two of them are having a bit of their own chatting time, and I am typing.  This points to what is possibly my favorite part of this: I, in Japan, am joining two people on a phone call, who are barely an hour or two apart from one another in Texas.  I’m not even talking right now, but the whole reason they are able to talk to one another is because of me, over here in Japan.  So, it’s kind of like their conversation is taking the long way around… the Really long way.

Or something like that, anyway.  😛

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Elephant

I snuggle at night with a large plush elephant from IKEA.  He’s kind of a temporary substitute for my cat, his trunk usually resting across my neck throughout the night.  My cat, who usually sleeps across my neck (when he is with me, of course), is kind of a temporary substitute for a person, I think.

But I still can’t imagine, no matter how creative I get with ideas, how a person could be as comfy or as cozy as my big stuffed animal or my soft, fluffy cat.  Or be as adaptable as they are.  I feel like I would just tell whoever it is to get off me and to give me space.  Yet these animals are currently acting as sorts of placeholders for said whoever… quite a thought, me thinks. 
Post-a-day 2017

Ooh, ah, ow!

Everything hurts.   Like… really… everywhere that I have muscles hurts.

I’ve been going to my gym most days these past three-ish weeks, and my body hasn’t stopped hurting since that first Angels Training class on a Thursday afternoon.  Mostly, it was only the lower half of my body.  Now that I’ve gone to ballet and barbell workouts, I’ve got the full-body pains going.  So much so, that belly dance class (my first!) was actually quite hard, simply because I could barely control my own muscles.  Ugh.  Just ugh!

It’s all really good, of course, because it’s just part of being healthy and getting fit again and all that yada-yada.  That in no way changes the fact that everything hurts, and doing anything  – even existing, let alone walking or going up and down stairs and such – hurts.

And, what am I doing tomorrow?  Going back.  And for an undetermined amount of time, too.  I want to stay until the last class, because Tai Chi is quite fun and relaxing-uplifting, but I think I won’t.  I have a Lindy Hop party/social happening in town tomorrow night, and I want to go to the lesson that is at the start of it, so I have to head out before Tai Chi even starts, if I want to make it on time to the Lindy dance lesson.  I wonder if I’ll even be able to dance.  I might just keel over in pain, and just fall asleep on the side of the dance floor after my first and only dance of the night.

Anyway, I’m actually unable to see clearly or straight right now, I’m so exhausted from this week.  I think I went to bed close to or long past midnight …oh, my… since last Friday.  Ugh.  No wonder I’m so exhausted!  Haha.  Okay, goodnight!!  😀

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

Crushes & the imagination

I’ve got to say: There’s something really fun about having a crush.  

Perhaps it’s the excitement and anticipation of wondering what, if anything, might happen.  Will he end up confessing his undying love for me?  Will he declare that I am the best person he has ever known, and that he cannot imagine life without me?  Will he become my best guy friend for now, or even for the rest of my life?  (Actually had this happen.)  Will he end up being psycho?  (Again, happened.)  Will he even notice I exist?  (Yep.)  Will he completely ignore me, and go date some other, more sexy girl?  (Happened.)  Will he be the best guy I’ve ever known, yet never have a bit of interest in me?  (Yup.)  Is he actually gay?  (This one, too.)  Will he become a priest instead of dating me?  (Really am speaking from experience, here. :P)

But then, perhaps part of it is also imagining life, should something actually come of the crush.  Will we become this amazing couple, traveling the world together with a dog and a cat and a few kiddos?  Will people wish they were we, or wish they had what we have?  Will I get to announce our engagement to all of our family and friends?  Will he turn out to be the man who breaks my heart?  Will we spend weeks at a time visiting beautiful beaches together, living a picture perfect vacation life each time?  Will I be the woman who breaks his heart?  Will we do something fabulous in a big city together, and be super modern and hip with our furnishings and modern art?  Will he turn out to be absolutely vain or utterly boring?  Will we end up on a ranch together, raising kids who ride horses, and swinging into the nearby lake on sunny days?  Will we be dancing, singing superstars (at least among all of our friends)?  Will he end up being super jealous, that we can’t possibly stay together, because I couldn’t possibly give up my friends?  Will I?  Will we move into an old, renovated fire station, and be art and music hipsters who help save the world each day?  The ideas go on and on, to any degree of crazy my imagination feels like going that particular day.

Perhaps it’s nature, perhaps it’s nurture, and perhaps it’s a bit of both, but I have these sorts of thoughts every time I have a crush.  Even for the times where I have no intention, desire, or even opportunity for anything to come of the crush, these sorts of thoughts still rush to mind.  It’s as though I have a sort of mobile-esque photo montage floating around my head, filled with snapshots from all of our potential life paths together.

For the most part, I enjoy the ideas without actually considering them to be a likely forecast of the future.  Sure, they could happen.  However, I find them all quite unlikely.(Though, I do admit that very upsetting scenarios also come to mind at times, and so I am always glad to know that those particular futures are very unlikely.)  I think I just enjoy imagining how crazy and awesome a story it would be to tell everyone if such-and-such happened between whomever and me.  ‘Kids, this is how Daddy and I met.  Can you believe it?’ 😛
On a sort of tangent, this all kind of reminds me of how people say that women have had their weddings planned since they were little girls.  I think we just have fun using our imaginations, and a wedding is just one particular outlet for them.  

I’ve often thought about my own wedding, however I can never decide on any actual details.  As soon as I think I want a certain style of white dress, I suddenly think I want a totally different style of green velveteen, or perhaps floral ochre…  I think I just don’t really care about the results, because it isn’t actually something real happening – for the time being, it’s just a brain exercise…  I love imagining various wedding scenarios for myself, of course.  However, that doesn’t mean that I’m actually planning my own wedding.  You know?  Anyway… just some thoughts.

Crushes are fun, in part for their potential, and in great part for their role in the imagination-creativity game.  I mean, what if he actually asks me out, and then confesses his love for me while we’re ice skating in the park, followed by our having hot cocoa, going horseback riding, and then dancing together all night to live music?  It could totally happen.  ; )

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

Dance Class #1

Dancing heals the soul.  I swear, it does.  Music brings up the emotions, the experiences of our lives.  And the dancing allows us to express whatever those emotions and experiences bring forth inside us.  When we are joyful, we dance it with ease and are free.  When we are sad, we might resist the dancing altogether – but that is why the dancing heals.  

In order to dance, and to dance properly (read “with the heart”), we have to allow that sadness to be free.  So long as we resist the sadness, we cannot truly dance – our heart is not in it.  As soon as we let go of being in control of the emotions, that sadness, it is as though literal bindings are removed, letting our legs and arms swing about freely to the beat.  Even if we feel that we cannot let go of the sadness, by throwing the heart into the dance, that sadness is expressed and freed.  

I could certainly put this into better words, but I really don’t feel like it right now.  So, I’ll just leave it at this:

If you can dance, and properly, with all your heart, you can express and free any state of emotion in which you currently find yourself.  And I got to do that tonight – it was really hard at first, resisting the dancing because of my emotional state, but then I reached that point of freedom from my fear-laced bindings, and I danced.  And it was wonderful.  : )
Post-a-day 2017

Birthday

Today was/is (depending on where one is in the world right now) my birthday.  Thank you to my mother and to my father for having and making me.

Now, people at school totally forgot about my birthday, and that’s okay.  A friend was even giving me a hard time about details for an upcoming trip while I was in the middle of my birthday lunch at a nice little Nepalese restaurant, and that’s okay, too.  I wasn’t looking too forward to all of that.

I have been working on my mental and physical health lately, and one part of that has been going to my gym more often.  Instead of once or twice or zero times a week, and only for, perhaps, an hour, I have been going more like five to ten hours a week, attending all sorts of fun classes (boxing to ballet, angels training [a misleading name for the crazy-hard workout that comes with it] to yoga [yes, normal yoga]).  The gym is all women, and we all have to have nicknames, so as to create a close-knit space (instead of the formality of Japanese culture and always using last names), so it makes for a really great environment.

That being said, I was really looking forward to getting to my gym today.  Dinner with a friend was something great on the list, too, but the gym had the extra excitement of helping out my physical health while I enjoyed its being my birthday.

I knew that some of the ladies knew that today was my birthday, and so I was excited to be going somewhere where I could feel the love, so to speak, for my birthday.  Just after I walked in the front door, the lady at the desk wished me a tentative English, “Happy Birthday…?”  A huge grin and verbal thanks assured her of the success of her endeavor.

As I was changing for class, I heard some English being practiced in the common area, “How old are you?”  So, I suspected I was about to be asked this question when I got into class a few minutes later.

What I did not expect, however, was to walk into my step class of older Japanese ladies, and for them to break into song, singing me “Happy Birthday”.  And in English!  I actually started tearing up a bit, it was so wonderful.  If I had been hoping for some welcoming love here, I certainly found it, I found myself thinking.  Essentially, it was perfect.

After class, a number of people kept wishing me a happy birthday and talking to me about this and that.  Before the next class began (yoga), I made a point to interrupt the delighted chatter of the older ladies from step class, and to thank them especially for their singing and well-wishes.  And I did it all in Japanese, and successfully.  They were just so wonderful.

And then they all started asking me how to say the name of a bicycle that has a motor attached to it.  Amidst all the Japanese, I declared that I’d have to do some research, because I could only think of electric bicycle and motorized bicycle.  

But that’s not quite the point.  The point is, I suppose, that step class is amazing – you could do yourself quite well by joining one wholeheartedly today.  🙂

Also, all of my thanks to all who played a part in my coming to be.  🙂

Happy Birthday to me.  Watch out, World!  😀
Post-a-day 2017

 

Mardi Gras

Tomorrow is Mardi Gras and my birthday.  This is the second time in my life that the two events have coincided.  It just so happens that people haven’t even heard of Mardi Gras here in Japan, so we can let alone the idea of their celebrating it.  I am throwing an impromptu dinner tomorrow night (decided it this afternoon), and am only certain of two guests (a Canadian and a Japanese friend).  Not my favorite kind of Mardi Gras bash, but it’ll still be nice, I think.  Nonetheless, this will be one of my most simple and uncelebrated birthdays yet.

The last time my birthday coincided with Mardi Gras, I was in ninth grade, and we had arranged with a friend of my mom’s to go stay at his place on one of the main parade roads in New Orleans for Mardi Gras.  Unfortunately, that was 2006, and Hurricane Katrina cancelled those plans for us.  

We instead grabbed my childhood best friend, and went down to Galveston for some all-you-can-eat pancakes and a good ole parade.  It was nothing like New Orleans would have been, but it was still wonderful, and it started a tradition.  Almost every year since (we must exclude the year I was studying in France), my mom and I have gone to Gaveston for Mardi Gras.

Which makes it totally weird that there is literally nothing around here for any Mardi Gras merriment… happy birthday to me?  (There’s got to something good for me to get out of all of this.) 😛
Post-a-day 2017

Pork Buns and Handkerchiefs

Today, at the train station, my brother and I were looking for a place to sit down and eat our lunch.  We found a single spot on this rounded bench, and went for it.  I originally attempted sitting on my bag, but was uncertain as to its ability to withstand the weight, so ended up sitting on the bench (at my brother’s insistence), with my brother squatting in front of me.  We were chitchatting about the food as he opened up the bags (it was some dumplings and pork buns from this famous local bun shop, 551), and the old lady next to me readjusted her belongings a bit, and scooted to her left enough of army brother to sit down next to me.

He thanked her in a fabulous Japanese fashion (so proud!), and took the seat.  As he had the box of buns in his hands, when he opened it up, he offered one of them to the lady.  After some coercing, she finally accepted a half, and even one of the shrimp dumplings, as well (she seemed to perk up a bit when she saw the dumplings, and had no hesitation in the offer of one of those).

She and my brother continued a bit of chitchat about the fact that the buns were from the famous shop, as well as why each of them was there (This was all in Japanese, of course, so I understood the bulk, but couldn’t quite jump into the conversation due to the Japanese and the fact that we were on a rounded bench, so I couldn’t quite see the lady, unless I leaned way forward.).  Eventually, after she learned that I was his younger sister, I heard the same comment I always seem to get here in Japan: that I am “cute”.  While it is not exactly something we love to be called back in the US, it is actually a quite nice compliment here in Japan.

Then, as my brother explained about my living in Japan, she asked me how I liked it.  I gave a half smile and wobbled my head a bit, but couldn’t bring myself to spit out any words – I truly had no idea how to answer, and I could feel something uncomfortable rising inside me already.  Fortunately, my brother, perhaps sensing my hesitation-slash-unwillingness-to-answer, took over answering the question for me.

His answer, however, surprised me – he was quite open and honest with the woman.  I, just in thinking about it all was already starting to tear up, but I felt a small sense of relaxation and relief as I listened to my brother share with the lady how I was not having too easy or good a time (and that that was part of why I had come down to visit him for the weekend).  I had finished eating what I was going to eat, so I excused myself, saying it would be good to jump in the line for the bathroom before I had to go get on my train.

Once I reached the bathroom line, I couldn’t help it, the feeling was so overpowering: tears started pouring down my burning eyes, as I gasped quietly for air.  I couldn’t quite understand what was happening with me.  I had noticed that I was a bit borderline already earlier in the day (borderline tears, that is), but I hadn’t known why, nor had I expected something like this to send me into such a state as I was now.

I used the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and went back out to my brother, who was standing ready by my bag.  I broke right back into tears when he asked if I was alright, and he just held me in a big brother hug for a bit, soothing me, before gently telling me that I had about 8 minutes before my train, so we’d do well to head toward the gate now.

He was holding a marigold handkerchief in a little clear plastic bag, and he proffered it to me, explaining that it was dyed with actual marigold, and the old lady and her sister (the one whose son is a pianist, and whose concert the old lady was coming to see) had wanted me to have it.  They said that they wanted me to enjoy my time in Japan, and that they hoped things improved for me.  They had wanted to talk to me, too, but had had to leave, so they left the well-wishes and the handkerchief with my brother to pass on to me.

Naturally, there were even more tears at this point, but with a slightly different edge to them.  : )

As we hurried off toward my train, I expressed how my visit to my brother and his girlfriend was so wonderful, that, now that it was at an end, it was difficult for me to think about going back to my life, my town.  I had gotten a taste of so much of what I had been missing these past seven-ish months, and I didn’t want to go back.  Not that I had any intention of not going back – there was just a taste of dislike for what awaited me.  I had finally started to be accustomed with my circumstances, it was hard being reminded of what had been wanting from my life.  I know that I’ll be okay, and that I likely will very much enjoy these next few months – it’s just never so easy to go back to plain white bread when you’ve had all your favorites available to you.  (That sort of idea, anyway)

Yeah… that’s all I have to say about that.  : )

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

 

“Chocolate”

Okay, here’s an anecdote from the wonderful dinner we had tonight (despite the fact that there were people smoking off and on in the restaurant).

My brother, his girlfriend, and I all had dinner with my brother’s private student tonight.  He’s this older Japanese guy, perhaps in his fifties, who is quite fun and silly, and who loves his family and my brother.  At one point in the night, we ended up on the subject of the pronunciation of English words in the Japanese style (Katakana English, as we like to call it), and specifically the struggle for Japanese people to say the word “chocolate” like a native English speaker.

My brother’s student was determined to pronounce chocolate like a native, and so we kept having to say it ourselves, and then analyze and critique the student’s pronunciation.  Most of the time, there was some special vowel added to the middle of the word, because Japanese doesn’t have consonants side-by-side (only “ts”, “ch”, and guttural stops written as a double consonant [e.g. “tt”, “kk”, etc.]).  So, instead of the native’s “choc-lette”, it tended to come out as “cho-koe-lay-toe” or “cho-ku-ray-toe” (They also don’t have R’s or L’s in Japanese.).

Back and forth, back and forth we went, my saying “chocolate,” followed by my brother’s student saying “chocolate,” the two pronunciations forever being different from one another.  But the student and my brother’s girlfriend, being Japanese speakers and non-native English speakers, couldn’t quite hear the differences.  Whereas my brother and I heard the difference every time, resulting in a good amount of laughter and face-making (You know how you make a face when something isn’t quite right?  That.).

The student even called over two of the waitresses at one point, explaining the situation to them, and asking them to listen to me and him saying each of our versions.  ‘Did the pronunciations sound the same to them?’ he wanted to know.  Yes, they did.  However, when I then said both versions myself, they heard a difference.  So, having lost that bit of the battle, he had them try to pronounce chocolate like native English speakers.  No, they couldn’t quite get it right, that middle “cl/kl” sound being the constant culprit in the matter.  This, of course, created and even greater flow of laughter in our corner of the restaurant.

There is a Japanese comedian who goes around to places (I’ve only seen and heard of ones in the US, but he might go elsewhere, too), asking for different things, but using Japanese English and odd translations.  For example, he walked around New York asking for a “boat-plane” or “sky mamma”.  He was, naturally, looking for a naval aircraft carrier.  The Japanese characters individually mean “sky”空 and “mother”母, and it is, of course, a sort of boat with airplanes.  The whole purpose of his show, of course, is to be silly in interacting with the Americans who have no idea what he is asking.  Having talked about this show earlier in the night, I eventually wondered what might happen if this guy were to try ordering the Japanese version of “chocolate” in, say, a coffee shop or restaurant.

My brother and I did our darndest in listening, but we couldn’t hear the words as people who didn’t know what was being said.  That is, we understand and are accustomed to Japanese English, and so couldn’t figure out how it would sound to people who don’t understand Japanese English.  So, we decided to send a voice message to my mom, recorded by my brother’s private student.

“White chocolate, dark chocolate, bitter chocolate…. please!”

(rather, “Waiito chocorayto, dahku chocorayto, beetah chocorayto… pureezu!”)

Naturally, my mother had no idea, no matter how she tried, what on Earth was being said.  Then, when we went for some other variations, – that is, his attempts at pronouncing it as a Native English speaker – she thought he might have been saying something about a certain kind of energy used in Reiki.

As one can ascertain from that, his “native” pronunciation has some room for improvement.  He declared that his homework was to practice only pronouncing “chocolate” all week.  He even has a voice memo of me saying, “Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate,” on his phone for reference.  We’ll see if he ever manages that native-sounding “choc-lette”.

Now, for anyone concerned about the fact that, ‘Well, chocolate does have an O in the middle,’ recall that that is not the point.  They are not saying the word differently out of righteousness for the fact that the O is there and therefore must be pronounced, but out of the fact that the “cl/kl” sound is just somewhat impossible for Japanese folks.  It makes for some pretty funny-sounding words in English, if you ask me.  😛

 

Post-a-day 2017