It's mushiatsui! That means 'hot and humid', and I can't think of a better word to describe it... try saying it with a touch of sticky fatigue, "Oh, MOOSHY-AtSOOeee!" Perfect. Now is the season of unending whiny complaints from sweaty gaijin and overworked students, and frankly, I find it a little annoying. Yes, it's hot, yes it's sticky-- but this is freakin' sub-tropical Japan, people! Get over yourselves-- go to the beach and relish the heat, or enjoy the shivery sensation of damp limbs cooling down in an air-conditioned room... whatever you do, don't whine about it!

Yesterday I saw Bani at work for the first time since his return from his 3 weeks in Germany. "Who won?" I asked. He looked a little incredulous as he told me that the World Cup isn't over yet... oh. I stopped paying attention when Japan got knocked out. Anyway, he very kindly offered to help me finish moving to my new place after work. We went in his little black jeep-type-thing to the Boobie Palace and I quickly finished my haphazard packing as he excitedly regailed Joanna and Kat with his World Cup adventures. Nice to speak to girls who actually appreciate the language of soccer, I guess! Red card, yellow card, one card, two card... whatever. I just think: "Run, beautiful men! Oh yes! Run and jump and kick the pretty ball!" It's probably the same way most men feel about figure-skating.

Anyway, now I'm mostly moved in... I have yet to unpack and redistribute the wealth. How have I managed to accumulate so much stuff in such a short period of time? The pack-rack gene in me seems to live on no matter what I do to eradicate it. I shouldn't complain; I have most of what I need. Dan has now left for Australia-- before he went, he bestowed me with boxes of kitchen supplies, including a blender, a food processor, and a takoyaki-making kit. Bubu's family has also given me some of Eri's things from her university days; lovely cream curtains, and a little glass coffee table. I have yet to buy an ironing board and garbage cans... ahhh. So much life goes into the mundane details. The apartment is miniscule (I'm sure I've said this before), and now I'm really appreciating my brief experience with dorm life during my last 4 months of university. It's very similar; the close quarters, the neighbors that bang on the walls at 3 am. At least here I have a washroom and a hot plate!

Canada Day was celebrated in typical Canadian fashion-- somewhat quietly, with dry humor and multicultural flair. Kat, Denise, Alex and I (the 4 Nova Canadians) were accompanied by Alex's boyfriend Tomomi and Joanna at a Denny's-style Izakaya. Various challenges were dealt with: vegetarianism, Denise's wheat and dairy allergy, Alex's shrimp allergy... only Tomomi and I could eat everything (and we did!) We had several pints of beer and laughed over the pre-packaged moist towelettes that are proffered before every meal-- the funniest ones I have seen are labeled 'Shilky Touch', but Alex had seen one called 'My Wet Friend'. The laughter and clever conversation were very uplifting-- Tomomi and I eyed our cute waiters and hosts and argued over which was the most darling. As we left, Kat stopped at the door to have her picture taken with (I thought) the cutest host at the front door. We wound our way through the damp warm streets, brightly lit with red lanterns and rainbow-coloured signs, to an Irish pub. Once you are in one of these themed spaces, you swear you could be in another part of the world; the Pouges were trilling brightly from the speakers, the seats were rich dark red leather, the walls were stone and brick, and the pint of Guiness was perfect. The evening ended rather abruptly-- although Tomomi wanted to carry on to a gay bar, I was ready for bed and Alex had to leave to catch his train.

Kat and I made our way back along the edge of Mt. Bizan; we stopped at one of the temples along the way. It was mysterious in the dark, with the buzz of cicadas all around and the heady cool scent of the mountain gardenias coming down the dusky slopes and encircling us. I showed her how to rinse your hands, how to ring the bell to scare the bad spirits away, and to clap to attract the attention of the gods. I talked about how I felt like Japan had chosen me; and not the other way around. In 1994 my mom had somehow heard about this opportunity through my school district-- write an essay about why I wanted to go to Japan and win a chance to be part of a two-week exchange. To tell the truth, I had never really thought about Japan before, other than it being the ending to 'MADE IN' on most of my childhood toys. Cajoled by my parents, I leafed through an old LIFE book on Japan that someone had picked up at a garage sale, and composed an essay. I felt like such a faker, saying that I was interested in geisha and the culture and changes to Japan after WWII... but someone liked my essay. And so I went. It seems like ever since that first experience, Japan has kept on knocking on the door of my heart, bringing me some of my ricest and most profound experiences-- whether I wanted them or not. I made one of my truest friends at Japanese summer school at UBC in 1995. Thanks to the generosity of my grandparents, I went to Hokkaido when I was 1996 on another brief exchange. There I gave a speech in Japanese to a crowd at a wine festival, mistakenly mixing up the words for 'scary' and 'pretty' when I described the town. I have learned and forgotten and learned and forgotten how to read hiragana and katagana three times-- now I'm learning again. I'm immersed in this culture, and I often feel like I'm only riding the tides of my destiny. I learn, and I watch, I imitate and posture, and yet I always try to remain completely myself, hoping that I can teach as much as I learn. It's sometimes incredible, and sometimes terrifying... but it's good to feel so alive.