hannah ananas

A traditionally evasive species, dreams tend to leave one always questioning, always wondering – what actually happened last night?  Who was in my dreams?

However, every so often, and maybe only once a year or two, dreams stand clearly and positively in one’s memory.  The next morning no longer feels like waking up from a dream, but simply as though transitioning from one activity to the next.  No matter what today holds, I am unbelievably content, because my dreams were beautifully and perfectly satisfying.  And, even though I know that none of it actually happened, it doesn’t matter – for those dreamy hours, it really was real for me and my brain and all of its chemicals… and that’s somehow enough for the happy balance to remain into the day.

Yeah, last night was not only an amazing and clear dream, but it lasted the entire night, even though I had to get up several times to use the bathroom (because I was dehydrated and kept gulping after water all night).  It was as though what I wished would happen, happened in a dream.  And I think that is because my brain knows that it won’t actually happen, and so it gave me the satisfaction of experiencing it, so that I could enjoy it and go ahead and move past it.  Whatever the case, I am grateful for that beautiful night of dreaming.  🙂

Day 7 of 40

some days, no matter how much good happens to make the day great, you just end up sick

🙂

Day 6 of 40

Within five minutes of my bags being down in my room, my five-year-old host sister was comfortably planted in front of them, rummaging. No, she wasn’t even trying to be sneaky about it – it was as though she simply had no concept of the ‘don’t go through other people’s stuff without permission’ societal rule of conduct. And it somehow had me be completely okay with her doing it. (Maybe I enjoyed her sense of freedom to be herself – in this case curious – and to do as she wished.)

I sat down next to her and the bags, and helped her rifle through… I demonstrated how certain things worked and what others were (she didn’t really like my strong oil blend, but she loved my sunglasses). I helped her count as she went through my money (turns out I had nine bills in my wallet, and 12 cards/other papers).

By the end of our time passing back and forth the contents of my coinpurse (We really ought to match up all foreign language learners with little kids- it is ridiculously helpful. I helped her identify the amounts on the coins, and she told me how to say the counters in Japanese counting.), we had thoroughly connected with one another. There was a real sense of trust and comfort that hadn’t been there before the joint perusal of my backpack and purse.

It had me wonder: What if we did this on a normal basis? What if we went through our bags with our friends and family? How much closer to and authentically loving of one another could we be if we had to share the contents of our purses and backpacks and wallets with one another?

I don’t have an answer, but I’d like to try it out, because that was just wonderful today. And we had an amazing day together afterward (I literally carried her around almost half the day, she wouldn’t let me go.).

Also, side fact: I love that the world handed me a sort of hugs galore this weekend. I have missed love and hugs, and I was given a weekend with three little kids, one of whom sometimes just clings to me like a baby monkey. The happy neuropeptides in me are reaching their formerly standard level this weekend. 🙂

Day 5 of 40

George R. R. Martin really does make me smile, and on a regular basis.

Listening to the audiobook of A Feast of Crows just now, as I rode my bike home, I stood up and bounced with joy after I heard the following bit:

“She still grieves for her father.”

“Outlaws killed him,” sobbed Lady Amorae. [sp?]  “Father had only gone out to
ransom Peter Pimple.  He brought them the gold they asked for.  But they hung
him anyway.”

“Hanged, Amy!  Your father was not a tapestry.”

Grammar and diction – oh, how I do delight in them.  Thank you, George R.R. Martin, for allowing me to find these little joys all throughout your books.  I am daily grateful for them.  😀

Day 21 of 40

Oh, how I ❤ Quinoa

I thought about writing a limerick
To show just how much that I love it.
But finding a rhyme
for quinoa took time,
and so that game ended real quick.

…ly

Can you tell that I was inspired by my lunch? 😛

Day 3 of 40

Okay, so it kind of has nothing to do with the song (If you don’t know it, you must check it out – one of my favorites by the fabulous Enrique Iglesias (though I won’t vouch for the video, I can say the song is great)), but I liked that it reminded me of the song… because it has to do with bells… yeah.  Anyway… on to the story!

Riding one’s bicycle in Japan is definitely an experience, especially when coming from Houston, Texas, as an educated and informed bicycle rider.  People here kind of can’t decide on which side of the road to ride, whether to ride on the street or the sidewalk, and then on which side to pass oncoming bicycles or to overtake someone.  But that’s all manageable for the most part.

However, what IS rather difficult is how people neither speak nor use their bells when on their bicycles (even though they almost all have bells, and they definitely all have voices).  So, if someone is coming up behind you, it is quite possible that you’ll be shocked into knowing it by the sudden (and oftentimes frightening) appearance of a bike zooming past you only a few inches to your side.  Boy are you glad you didn’t decide to readjust your jacket or stretch your arms!  But seriously… it’s actually a thing here.  Totally frightening at times.

That being said, you can somewhat understand how I get such varied responses when I use my bicycle bell. (Yes, when I ring my bell.)  I have had people scowl quite angrily at me and ignore my kind greeting in Japanese as I pass.  I have had others ignore me entirely, and sometimes even stay right in the middle of the biking/walking path, so that I can’t pass.  Most often, though, people just show an expression of extreme shock.  (While this could be misinterpreted for sure, as I am not Japanese in any sense of the identity, I imagine this is because people are not accustomed to hearing a bike bell being rung.)

Now, I have had these responses to varying degrees, and then many more responses – one lady even grabbed her husband to pull him out of the way when he was ignoring my bell.  However, the response at which I experienced probably the most natural delight was just this morning, on my way to school.

When overtaking people, I usually give a warning ring while still a ways back, and then a second when I am about to pass.  When I gave my first warning ring to a lady walking with her crossover dog this morning, her response nearly floored me with laughter.  What precisely did she do when I rang?  She looked right at me, and then turned and started running.

Heading down the path in the same direction I was going, it made no sense that she be attempting to escape me or my passing her, as she was going much slower than I was.  Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but feel like I were in some sort of movie, chasing down the bad guy or something – I was simply delighted at the ridiculousness of the situation, my ‘chasing down’ this middle-aged Japanese woman (even though I figured there Must be some reasonable explanation)… It was fabulous.  😀

———–

Turns out she had a totally logical reason for running (of course).  Her dog was a couple yards ahead of her, and she was not holding the leash.  So the lady decided to run to catch up to her dog before my bike and I did. Quite simple explanation, I know, and rather unexciting.  However, it in no way changes the delight I experienced when she looked up at me, and then sprinted in the opposite direction.  That was really great.  ;P

Day 2 of 40

I’ve been thinking about comfort, specifically comfort in culture.  How do we develop it?  How long does it take?  (And why can’t I have it already?)

As I walk the various streets of my new home (Japan) I notice what sights draw my attention: a quaint European-style cafe, Oktoberfest, plaid button-downs… essentially non-Japanese things.  These things give me real comfort whenever I find them, as though they carry a part of me within them.  And they really are, due to my experiences living with these parts of culture, a part of me.  But how did they become so?

I have lived in my current apartment for over two months, now.  I see these European-looking restaurants and cafes, and I long to spend my time inside them… and not out here, not in the Japanese restaurants and cafes.  I found myself wondering one day if I ever would have the same experience with Japanese culture.  Will I be walking down the street in another country, and feel drawn to something I pass from Japanese culture?  Will I speak longingly of the nomihodais (all-you-can-drink) I currently never seek out?  Will I one day feel comfort in Japanese Manga and Anime, and in the sound of people shuffling their feet as they walk?

My greatest fear is that the answer might be, “No.”  Underneath it all, I feel as though I must find connection with this country and culture – there’s no way I could live here for so long (at least a year), and not grow to love parts of it all.  I currently never feel a sense of comfort in the Japanese culture around me, though – restaurants, clubs, pubs are all disturbing (the ones I can afford, anyway), because I can’t stand smoking; food is iffy, because I prefer eating a mostly-raw, vegetarian, gluten-free diet; comics and the likes are of little interest, even though I’ve tried several times throughout the years to enjoy them.  However, I’m beginning think that this is only normal… for me, anyway.

I don’t always have these struggles, but they definitely have happened when I have spent longer periods of time living somewhere new.  When I first moved to Austria, I had all sorts of struggles and disagreements with life around me.  All I wanted to do was go home, it felt like.  And yet, I would move back to Austria in a heartbeat if you offered me a good job there today.  France was similar.  I was sad and miserable and angry at the French for a while, and then eventually totally fell in love with them and their culture and country.

How did this happen?

For Austria, I got myself involved in a group in the community, and developed a true sense of involvement and activity.  In a sense, I felt like I was genuinely part of the world there, part of the culture, thereby developing a part of me that always will be Austrian.  In France, once I accepted that I was not French, and therefore did not have to do exactly as the French do, I began to love the French.  I adventured out in ways I previously had avoided due to cultural differences, and I got to know the culture in a whole new, and might I say filling, way.  And I even ended up making French friends (a truly difficult task for the specific circumstances).

But when did I First experience an excitement for the culture, for the country?  I’m not certain, but I think I recall this accurately.  When I lived in each country, I had a different sister marry.  On both occasions, I flew back home to the US for a brief weekend for that sister’s wedding.  And both times, as I returned back from the US, I felt like I was going home.  Not home in the full sense of family and love and everything (That was what I had just visited in the US.), but home in the sense of, ‘I live here and am comfortable here, and I like being here.’

So, now Japan.  Although I have never disliked or disagreed with a culture in the same ways I dislike and disagree with this one, I think the idea is still the same: dislike for a while, and then love.  Just like the old line, “You don’t know what you’ve got, ’til it’s gone,” perhaps I just need to leave for a bit in order to see the wonders of this place, in order to want to return.  Absence makes the heart grow fonder, we are told, so maybe I just need some absence before I can begin fully to enjoy living here.  (Or maybe I’m just crazy, and that’s that.  But just in case I’m not, and I actually have reason here, let’s continue with this idea…)

One of my stepbrothers – as a matter of fact, Channing Tatum constantly reminds me of this stepbrother, and I grow incredibly excited at the fact that my stepbrother is, in a sense, a real-life version of Channing Tatum from the movies – is getting married next month.  Although I never expected to find a flight I could afford on my uber-reduced salary, I never gave up checking.  And finally, a few days ago, I found a flight for less than half the normal price (still more than I’d pay if I were following a smart budget, but, given my current circumstances and theory with the culture, totally worth it).  I’m still waiting to hear back today for the final ‘okay’ from work, but it’s looking like this trip is going to happen.  In which case, not only can I hardly wait for the fabulous party full of happy people and happy family who love me and whom I love, but I also can hardly wait for that switch to flip, for that change to happen, at which point I finally will like living where I live.

Until then, though, I’m still not convinced that I’m not crazy here – I have to get out in order to want to be here… sounds crazy to me, but it just might work!

…

Come to think of it, I think the same happened when I went to college.  Great for the first little bit, then kind of hated loads of it, and then, after the first trip home (which I awaited with impatience and a sense of necessity to be ‘home’), was excited to be back at it.  Hmm… maybe I’m actually on to something here, instead of just being crazy.

Day 1 of 40