I quit the waitressing job about a month ago, and am I ever glad I did. There was no lack of characters (truckers, cowboys, strippers) to entertain me, but there are limits to the number of times I can shoulder complaints about hair in the food and undercooked chicken. Seriously. If you can’t honestly recommend the product you sling, can you really feel good about slinging it?

Nope. Something that the tobacco companies probably ought to think about.

My current job is offering me an abundance of learning opportunities, but it’s a major struggle to throttle my gypsy tendencies. I was whining to my Mom about not knowing where my home is, not really liking any one place enough to live there, and she snappishly noted that I don’t really seem to like anywhere much. Duly noted. It’s not that I don’t like places, but it’s the commitment to a place that freaks me out. Oooh, psychology time… I was thinking that a phobia of commitment might be a problem of mine when some smart-ass (the bride’s brother, I think) noted at a wedding I went to this summer that about 50% of the guys in the room were my ex-boyfriends. (It wasn’t true! In that case, anyway.) I mean—hey, you’re only young once, and dating copiously was one of those things I wanted to do while I could. I did it. I’ve done it, I’ve finished it, and it was fun—no regrets, right?

If I have any regrets, it’s that I got so used to tasting all the flavours at the ice-cream-store, that I almost didn’t realize how unhealthy it was. Anyway, I think I’ve found my favorite flavour now, and I’ll stick with him, thank you very much.

Yummmmmm.

Even funnier is how I can call my blog "the habit of happiness", and then look back to my last post... not the most optomistic at that point, I'm afraid.

Things are good now, great, fantastic. I'm riding a wave of employment-induced euphoria; one job at a retaurant dishing out souvlaki and spagetti in equal proportions in a Korean-owned restaurant, and another job learning about the clockwork of a successful small business while I write procedure and systems manuals.

And I'm in love.

What, really, could be better?

Namaste

~e

Funny how one can go from living on top of the world (or at least on the other side of it) to feeling like a jobless bum. The euphoria of being a gypsy has dwindled with my savings, and now I am pondering the advisability of taking the graveyard shift at a self-serve gas bar.

Feeling sorry for myself doesn't seem to help the situation.

Still painting at Tickleberry's. The 30 degree-plus heat in the afternoon turns the paint into bubblegum, hence the current early hour of 6:52 am... just waiting for my painter's whites (well, more like my not-so-white-anymores) to come out of the dryer.

Early starts justify early offs, so I'll be floating down the river channel in Penticton this afternoon... haven't done that in an eon. Another friend suggested going to church this evening-- you got it, another eon since I did that, so why not. Let's Make God Happy.

The dryer stopped. Off I go.

Back on old stomping grounds, and stomping like crazy.

I'm currently residing three doors down from my old childhood home in Kaleden, with my kind and generous neighbors, the Cooks. It's a little strange to look out the window and be confronted with the scenic wallpaper of my youth; blue lake, dark golden-and-green mountains. The air is dry and warm and scented with Russian olive tree blooms, desert dust and sagebrush. I feel very at peace... for now!

What is this... let me count... house number seven! I have stayed in seven different homes since I began my Grand Vagabond Homecoming Tour of BC. The G.V.H. Tour has become enormously easier since Kurosuke (my big black mama of a gypsy wagon) and I have bonded. Yesterday I took the day off from mural painting in Okanagan Falls to learn how my black beastie works. Tom Cook showed me fan belts and the master cylinder and the oil doodly-hoo and the fram-fram whamma-dammer. You can see that my retention is a little iffy when it comes to mechanics... regardless, I am now capable of performing an oil and oil-filter change, AND an air filter change. Yay me.

I may get another mural contract in Penticton, which would allow me to soak up a little more of what I consider a "REAL" summer. Ain't no party like a lakeside party! I mean seriously-- there are lakes and boats and beaches and campfires, and many many golden-brown and happy people. What else could I really want? Hmmm. I'll have to give that some thought... because what I want, I get! Nothing can hold me back!

How cool was that?

The reunion was a blast. There were the initial butterflies as Tamara, Brad and I walked into the restaurant; but a spicy Caesar and a conversation with Mike Shaver later, it was all copacetic. (Mike tutored me before the Math 11 final, securing my grade of 52%, thereby allowing me to pass and eventually get into university. He doesn't remember this.)

There were three main topics during the night:

1) Where are you living and what are you doing? (This one was a little pithy for me, so I usually answered, "I'm a gypsy.")

2) Do you have any kids yet? (Directed at me, this one was met with wild laughter.)

3) Are you on Facebook?

Yes folks, proof positive that I am part of the media generation. My admission that I don't have a website with any of my art on view-- and that I am in fact not in possession of a computer-- was met with tsks of disapproval. Do I have any excuses in this day and age? Not any good ones, I guess.

One of the things I suddenly craved today was a cup of the perfectly roasted, toasted and hot-hot-hot crafted cups of coffee that I could invariably find at any Mr. Donuts in Japan (Or 'Misdo' as they were cutely shortened to). I suppose these random cravings are the backlash of a traveler's life; I have one friend who refuses to eat any Thai food because nothing can measure up to real Thai food, another who hates the smell of flowers because of the instant aching desire he feels to be in Hawaii when he smells them.

I'm getting emails every other day from Japanese friends, innocently asking me when I'll be back, and how long I plan to stay... I can't really answer, so I dodge the question and type merrily about the weather or the wildlife I've seen in BC since my return. I don't doubt that it was time to leave Japan. I do doubt whether I've really 'come home'.

Fehhh. Let's get to the core of this matter.

Jobs, work, careers. That's what's occupying about 50% of the 10% of the part of the brain that I actually use these days. (The other 50% is busy with Misdo coffee, my Speedboarding boyfriend, oatmeal cookies, Facebook, money, oil changes, The Secret, burning the Man, laundry...) I have an interview today. I'm feeling far too cocky about it. Like-- I'm fab-u-lous. Who wouldn't want me working for them? And if they don't want me-- well, that's OK too. I've got this sort of lackadaisical belief in serendipity, and I envision a jillion open doors before me. I trust that eventually, I'm going to walk through the right one. It's just this hanging back, this study of the doors and their myriad possibilities, this sense of homelessness-- that's what's getting to me, if anything is.

I'm not really hurting for cash, nor for a place to lay my head at the end of the day. I've been abundantly blessed with family, friends and support groups (thank you, thank you!) who have opened their doors (and their refrigerators) unto me as I go through this gypsy phase. I'm endlessly grateful that these people are giving me what I really need; time to figure out what it is that I really want. But here's the question for you, dear reader: Do You Know What You Really Want? I know I want to be happy, and luckily, I can be happy no matter what I'm doing, where I am, who I am with. It truly is my great talent, my best habit. But when I try to define beyond that-- What Do I Want-- I'm not sure where to go with it. Am I looking for material things, or ephemera? I mean-- what is there really beyond happiness that I could desire? So now-- is the question before me-- What Do I Want That Will Bring The Greatest Happiness to the Most People?

By gum, I think that's got it.

Back in Aldergrove now, this little Fraser Valley oasis of sunshine. I can see why mom and dad are often at their wits end(s)... Prince Rupert and Port Ed definitely would have the upper hand in a Canada-wide sogginess competition.

Yesterday I insured Kurosuke, my big black beast of a 1981 Oldsmobile Station Wagon. Right now she's a big black poop beast too, as when I left her hear in Aldergrove I unwittingly parked under a nest of baby pigeons. Their target practice has kind of given my car a reverse Dalmatian effect. Charming. Anyway, no point in washing her this morning, as I'm sure I'll be collecting a variety of insect corpses on my drive up the Hope-Princeton highway. I'll hit the Spray-n-Wash when I pull into Penticton.

Today is the day I embark on the journey that will lead me to what I consider the first major milestone of true adulthood. My first high school reunion. Of course, I'm primed for the usual 'surprises'-- people fatter, thinner, unrecognizable due to surgery. More hair on the guys faces, and less on top. What I'm not prepared for is the feelings that seeing these people will evoke... will it feel like high school all over again? Will it be melancholy or just ridiculous? Are we all really twenty-eight years old, inside and out? I doubt it. Best to go into this fearlessly, just be myself and have fun. That's the best I can do in any situation, every time and everywhere anyway.

My cousin Christopher prompted me to join Facebook, assuring me that it's safe and easy and fun, blah blah blah. So I joined... all of a sudden I'm in touch with people from elementary school, high school, OUC dorms... random characters of every description can find me and 'poke' me and message me and 'write on my wall'... I'm finding it all a little overwhelming, actually. I'm a neophyte when it comes to the concept of internet communities. I can understand the appeal of keeping in touch when we are all living such widespread lives, but I sometimes think that the internet forces us into clinging to weak connections. There is a natural rhythm to relationships-- sometimes we ought to meet, befriend, and then drift away from one another. We might better appreciate the meaning that a brief encounter imparts.

Then again, I did join. And I do like seeing what everyone is up to. Consider the subject dropped.

I'm still in Prince Rupert-- Port Edward, actually, if I'm being correct about it. Port Ed is the north coast equivalent of Kaleden, BC. Meaning that there is an ancient general store, a miniature post office, an elementary school, a volunteer fire department, and not much else. Houses. Deer.

It has rained every day since my arrival. That, coupled with a bad cold and the fact that our family dog kicked the bucket last summer, means that I've been spending an inordinate amount of time indoors. So I haven't really been enjoying those houses and deer as much as I might like.

Now I'm at the internet cafe in Prince Rupert-- the closest BIG CITY (pop. 15,000?), which is still a good 20 km. away from Port Ed. Mom dropped me off here on her way to her 'Nifty Fifties' walking club.
Mom: "Thirteen times around the gym equals one mile! Want to come, Endrene?"
Me: "Uh. Let me process that information. Hmmm. No, that's ok."

Mom's curious whether I'm considering looking for a job here in Rupert. Uh. Let me process that information. Hmmm. No, that's ok.

Not that this is a bad place. The people are friendly, the seafood is to die for, and the scenery is stunning. But this is a remote place. A remote, wet place. It's hard to get to, too. The ferry that I came up on-- the new ferry-- has been dubbed The Northern Misadventure, and has already been removed from the fleet for refits. A return flight to Vancouver can run anywhere from $500 to $700. And the bus or train can take upwards of 30 hours to get to where I'd want to go.

Gee, seems like I have my nose pretty well turned up.

At any rate, it's good to see my parents. I'm probably going to be in the Okanagan by mid-May, and definitely in time for my 10-year high school reunion. Can you believe that it's that time already? In the meantime, I'm enjoying cruising the province for a suitable community, and I'm checking out my options as far as jobs and further education go... lots of doors wide open. I'll wander the hallways for now.

I was thinking about giving this blog up when I returned from Japan. I think I thought that my life in Canada would somehow lose some of its intensity or magic somehow... you know, become less noteworthy. Less interesting. Well, let me tell you, every life is just as rich and complex as you expect it to be. And as I am always expecting excitement and diversity, that's what I get.

You can count on the Law of Attraction that way.

The bus ride from Courtenay to Port Hardy was beautiful and comfortable-- two seats to myself, a good book, and nine black bear sightings. The best was the mama and the three yearling cubs... they graze on the grass by the side of the highways when they come out of their winter slumber. I guess the roughage gets their digestive tracts-- uhh-- functioning again.

I was 'adopted' by a fast-talking 17-year-old high school drop-out from the Yukon named Amanda as soon as I stepped off the bus at my port of departure. She eyed me up and down quickly while smoking her cigarette and wrapping herself in a giant fuzzy 'Scarface' blanket.

"You alone?"

"Uh... yeah..."

"Good! You wanna hang out with me? You can share my blanket! Do like Scarface? I hate hanging out alone! It's SO-o-o-o boring..."

I was entertained by Amanda's boundless and far-ranging chatter from when we got to the terminal at about 4pm until we finally boarded the ferry at about 7:30pm. We got rolling at 8pm. Only two hours late... Amanda instructed me on everything from where to put my suitcase to the benefits of apprenticing as a car mechanic. Oh, the boundless knowledge of the newly adult! She managed to boss another passenger, a speed-boarding sweetheart named Nathan, into joining us. (Speedboarding is a kind of freakishly dangerous skateboarding, from what I could gather. He had the gimpy knee and broken collar bone to prove it.) He and I hit it off, and ended up chatting for most of the trip, especially when we accompanied Amanda out on the frigid decks of the ferry for her frequent smoke breaks. Sleep was long in coming, as the boat was swarming with exuberant kids, heading back to the tiny coastal village of Bella Bella. We stopped there at 3am, and our ferry (the newest in the fleet, I might add) suffered a power failure. We were immobilized for three hours. The boat was still, and the kids were gone- that's when I slept. At 7am, a kind native woman told me that due to the delay, breakfast was free until 8am- FREE! I roused my travelling partners and headed to the cafeteria. Mmmm! Ferry eggs and soggy toast! Saltysalty bacon! Glad it was free.

Nathan's native mother was born in one of the tiny little coastal communities on the Inside Passage, now mostly abandoned and slowly sinking back into the little bay. What was it called-- Butedale? We stood together and admired it from afar as the ferry slowly passed it by.

Now I'm in Prince Rupert, also known as "The quaint little drinking town with a fishing habit". Don't laugh. It's true.

I've been here for two days, and can see why people stay, and why people leave. It's infinitely beautiful here when the sun shines. The fishing is good, and the people are friendly. The rent is low. But jobs are hard to find, the economy isn't so hot, and you need a fifty-dollar permit to paint your house. Litter is a big problem, as are drugs, and yes, drinking. It's a saltysalty town.

Anyhooo--- I'm at the internet cafe (when am I not) and my aunt just came in to fetch me-- the Shepherd wagon awaits me. Off I go. Until next time...

Namaste (and wish me luck)

endrene

I'm still on Vancouver Island, currently in Courtenay. I've marked a couple more things off of my 'to do in Canada' list.
I've been to Coombs to see the goats that live on the roof of the crazy everything-international-nut-bread-and-doohickey hippie store (but the goats were off the roof at the time; they're waiting for warmer weather).
I've eaten: crabs, prawns, goats' cheese, REAL bread, chocolate with chili spices from Denman Island, and MORE real bread and MORE real cheeses. Did I ever mention how one time in Japan I bought "Blue Cheese" and it turned out to be dyed-blue Camembert? It's a Camembert nation, cheese-wise.

Ryan and Jess and I have been having a blast-- although I suspect I'm having the biggest blast, since I don't have to go to work. Last night we went out on a long rocky finger of sand and driftwood called Goose Spit and had a bonfire. We roasted smokies and marshmallows for s'mores (on almond cookies instead of graham wafers-- I highly recommend this!!) and they even set up a little Easter hunt for me! A week or so late, but who cares! It was absolutely fun, AND it involved chocolate! We watched the sun go down and admired the myriads of blues and purples that hazed across the sky. We moved in a little closer to the fire. I asked them what it was like to be married (my current favorite question for married couples-- the variety of answers is astounding). They were both very enthusiastic. In the end, Ryan managed to sum it up nicely: You may not know when it's the Right Person, but you definitely know when it's the Wrong Person. So don't waste your time with the Wrong Person.
Good advice, I think.

Tomorrow I'll be boarding the ferry bound for Prince Rupert. I sure hope I have enough warm clothes...

Well, today marks my two-week anniversary of being back in Canada.

I'm glad to say there are things about BC that are shining dazzlingly in my newly widened field of vision; masses of trees in their spring-green glory, expanses of sky and field and rock and ocean, as yet uncluttered and unlittered by human hands, etc, et al. There is also lovely mindless crappy television, and pet fur on my sweaters, and giant barbequed steaks and baked potatoes. There are welcoming family members that have plied me with wine and sparkling conversation and rides on a fishing boat. To get prawns. And crabs. Which we ate and ate and ate!

Sea creatures beware! I will EAT YOU!

Many of my Japanese friends and ex-students have been faithfully emailing me and updating me on the weather and general happenings in Tokushima. Some mornings I wake up, and it is inconceivable to me that I won't be hopping on my bike and coasting to Kitajima. I have a divided sense of 'belonging' now. I think I knew that it would be like this. It's not hard. It's not easy. It's just... meeehhhhh. I miss working. I miss the students. I miss Bubu and Haruko, okonomiyaki and my blue Crispy bike. But there are a million things here that have been made new and fresh from time and space, and I would be a fool to sink into reverie when I could be enjoying life. Right?

Right.

So today I will live the comfy Cobble Hill cowboy home of my cousin Scott and his wife Kelly-Anne (and their currently travelling daughter, Charlotte, whose bed I have been sleeping in-- thanks Charlotte), and go a little further up the coast of Vancouver Island, to Courtenay, BC. I'll reconnect with my old coworker, Jess, and her husband Ryan, and have a look at their fruit trees and drink Ryan's flawless coffee. Then on I go, up up up to Port Hardy BC, then on a twenty-hour ferry ride to Prince Rupert, BC, to see my folks. Then... well, don't ask me.

The adventure continues.

Packing is my kryptonite. Packing is not as much fun as cleaning a cat's litter box, not as much fun as standing in line at Customs for two-and-a-half hours, definitely not as much fun as giving blood-- especially since nobody gives you cookies when you're finished! Therefore, it shouldn't come as any surprise that my grand plan of using my final week in Japan (Days 1-3 Pack, Days 4-7 Enjoy)-- did not go as planned.

My dad has always said that I am a procrastinator. I wish he wouldn't say it, because people have an annoying habit of living up to expectations. However, I am happy to say that it is a habit that I have mostly overcome. Mostly. The thing is, people wouldn't perpetuate a bad habit unless they were receiving some sort of satisfaction from it. A smoker doesn't smoke because she wants to die from lung disease; she smokes because for a little while, it makes her feel good. Short term benefits outweigh long-term difficulties. So I had to ask myself-- why-- why, why, WHY do I procrastinate when it comes to packing? What about it feels good? The answer: Procrastination delays change. Change is scary. And for all of my stay/go lists, my dissertations and considerations, my final decision to go; leaving Tokushima was really, really hard.

Spring had sprung. The grass had riz. The cherry blossoms had burst forth in a riot of pink froth, the jungle birds were singing their early-morning water songs, and even the voices of the yelling garbage men sounded suddenly sweet.

Therefore, up until the day before my last day, I was still in and out of my apartment, sorting, chucking, hefting, cleaning, jamming, wiping, etcetera. Thank god for Bubu, who came to my apartment for two afternoons to stand amid my little chaos and boss me around and light a fire under my ass (a phrase which I taught him and he liked immediately). Thank god for Ryo, who took me and four big boxes to the post office in a taxi, and then helped me for three hours to unpack each box, weigh and itemize each individual book and sock (as per the Japanese Customs Agency's requests), and brush aside my infuriated protests and tears.

Ohhh, but the last days were beautiful, too. I had a goodbye party with my students; I have pictures of Melissa scoffing natto and of me and Yuko arm wrestling. I went to a beautiful park in Takamatsu with a dear friend to see the sakura (cherry blossoms- but only at 20-40% full bloom) and feed the carp. Bubu's family had a yaki niku party for me (sweet, sweet Japanese barbeque), and-- joy of joys-- I attended hanami (cherry blossom viewing).

I arrived at hanami on foot, as I had sold my bicycle a few days previously. I was sweaty and disconcerted; I had just canceled my cell phone contract and was feeling strangely disconnected from my known universe. I traversed the edge of the sakura park, carefully searching the throngs of flushed people for a familiar face. Ryo came rushing up, grinning like a boddhivista. I gratefully took his arm and was led to his big blue tarp, where friendly faces from Ryo's bar welcomed me and offered me a plastic cup full of Asahi beer. I took off my shoes, and settled down on my seat of sky blue, with the clouds of pink above me. I was rather melancholy, as my slow packing efforts had left me with only these last few poignant hours in Tokushima. There was to be no last karaoke song at Ingrid's, no last long bike ride out to Komatsu beach, no last night at the onsen with Miho and Kayo. I caught Ryo staring at me. I looked back, brimming with tears and regret, and he said very quietly, "There is no need."
I started to protest-- there was still so much to do, to see, to experience in Japan, and--- but he cut me off.
"Now, you need to look around you. See the many people, who are enjoying this day, and this happy energy. You need to feel this energy! Tomorrow, you can think about tomorrow, and maybe you can be sad then. But now, there is no need."
I decided to agree with him. To choose to be happy. To be a honey sponge, and soak up these last golden moments, and the communal celebration of the beauty of spring. My lesson, over and over. Choose to be happy. Decide to be happy. Make a habit of happiness.

The hanami party was my last 'to-do' in Tokushima; I left for the airport that very evening. It was perfect. The cherry blossoms were at 100% full bloom and the afternoon crowd was ebulient, listening to sakura songs and eating bento and potato chips and drinking sake. I wandered from Ryo's camp to where Ingrid's gaijin party was going on to say my goodbyes. Ingrid hugged me, refused to say goodbye, said only, "See you again." She got Joe to take a picture of us hugging on her cell phone camera, and promised to send it to me. I said thank you's and hello's, and long-time-no-see-but-I'm-leaving-now's and I got Norm's email address. I told Jon how lucky he was to be dating a hot chick like Chiaki-- and she agreed. I had my photograph taken with Satoshi, and saw pictures of Mike's new baby, Haruki. I felt the intensity of these exchanges with a new gratitude. Eventually I drifted away; there were so many unfamiliar faces. So many people come and go from the little English community of Tokushima in a year.

Back on Ryo's tarp, I accepted another cup of beer and laughed as a sakura petal drifted into one fellow's bottle of Zima. We declared it art and took pictures. The air was warm; we lounged, we laughed. Gently, it began to rain. The crowd began to unhurriedly pack up-- some die-hards put up umbrellas and continued to merry-make. The gaijin brigade didn't budge. I packed up with Ryo's group and left quietly with them, carrying a plastic sack of uneaten sweets and empty beer bottles. I didn't say go over to the gaijin tarp again. After all, Ingrid was right. There's no way it was goodbye. We part only to meet again.

During the peak of my fever, I had the strangest hallucinations. I was in my bed, as the doctor had ordered, and medicated to the gills with a shot of who-knows-what, the controversial drug 'Tamiflu', and three other little white pills of uncertain properties. The chills rolled and waved haphazardly and beautifully over my body; I envisioned their patterns to look like the Northern Lights. I was the Aurora Borealis of Influenza Type A. As I slept, I rolled fitfully; each time I rolled, a second 'me' seemed split off, taking the form of another person in my bed. The other 'me' would be different every time; from another country, and as often as not male rather than female, and usually speaking another language. But I could understand what the multitude of foreign 'me's' were saying. They were all comforting me; telling me it was okay to sleep and rest and recover. The huge-black-Swahili-man-me told me that it was time to drink some water. The fat-Hawaiian-Momma-me told me that it was time to get up and go pee. These fever-me's looked after me all night.

The guilty Catholic in me thinks that I have probably been entirely responsible for getting myself sick by playing the Tokushima playgirl. I hadn't refused a social invitation in weeks, thinking that it wasn't going to be long until I was on the other side of the world. Luckily the flu stopped me in my tracks, whacked me upside my head and locked me in my squirrel's nest for three days. Sans TV. (I'd earlier returned it to Jeff who had kindly let me borrow it for the past how-many-I-dunno months).

I can't say I've regretted the playing-- not too much, anyway. Ume flew down from Saitama on March 3rd. Bubu and I went to the airport to pick her up. On the way to greet her, I expressed my selfish desire for spring to come early this year; I love Hanami more than any other Japanese celebration, and I wanted to see the cherry blossoms in Tokushima park once more before I left. Bubu took this into careful consideration. Then he said, "The cherry blossom's babies were born last summer. Now, they are sleeping. They need the cold wind to wake them up... it has been too warm this year. I do not know when they will be wake up." I was so touched by the poignancy of imagining the cherry blossom's children being 'born' and 'awoken by a cold wind' that I was silent for a few minutes. I can still remember the gusts of warm air on the back of my arm as I stuck it out the car window, and the sparkle of the blue sky on the Yoshinogawa. We picked up Ume, and I sat happily in the back seat as my two favorite Japanese people met and hit it off-- as I suspected they might. I've been lucky to befriend clever, funny people, with acerbic wit. I'd have been surprised if they hadn't gotten along. Bubu told the tale of how 'fat' I'd been when I arrived in Tokushima, and how now that I was half-way decent looking, it was a good time for me to go home and snag a husband. She threw a wry glance over her shoulder at me. "his favorite story," I ascertained.

Bubu dropped us off downtown and I finally got to go on that bargain of a boat cruise around Tokushima island; it was only 100 yen! The day was bright and fantastic and we snapped pictures of ourselves looking foolish and windblown on the deck of the zooming platform craft-- pictures so foolish, that we deleted most of them as soon as they were taken. I've always loved Ume for her ability to see right through me-- we talk straight, and we spend most of the time laughing at the absurdity of our own foibles. It's wonderful. And real. We talked and walked back to my apartment in the dazzling warmth, and I spent the rest of the day sharing her with all of my favorite Japanese friends; eating takoyaki and ice-cream at Bubu's shop and then eating again at Haru's favorite ramen shop, and then soaking our hides with Miho at my beloved Ebisu onsen. We ended the day like girls at a slumber party, giggling in our futons on the floor of my tiny apartment. Not much has changed in our 13 years of friendship. I hope that not much ever will.

Then there was the briefly-mentioned (and in actuality, brief) journey to Kyoto with my dear friend Jenna. I shall ever remember her sweet snores on the long dark bus ride home, after she had covertly downed a can of chu-hi.

Last weekend was Bubu's daughter's wedding; another event to ready-steady-go for. I was agonizing over what to wear, and ended up going in my old standby, my mom's 1970-whatever navy-blue-and-white polka-dot number. I think every person alive has seen me in that dress. I used to want to be buried in it (as it is ever-flattering; or people are too kind to tell me that it isn't)... but after finding a couple of holes in it at the wedding party, I decided it probably ought to be retired soon. From formal events, anyway. Enough about my dress... Eri looked like a whipped-cream-dream cupcake. I have never seen such flounces and swirls of taffeta look so charming and delicious! The wedding was all western-style, which surprised me; we began in a chapel and sang some Christian hymn (in Japanese, of course) and I could barely contain my laughter as some big white American dude came in dressed in robes to play the part of the priest-- he couldn't have looked more ingenuine-- to my eyes, anyway. Apparently this is common practice; a western-style wedding wouldn't be complete without a westerner presiding, now would it? Of course, I was the only other foreigner present, so I had to contain my snorts of amusement and honor the solemnity of the occasion. After the couple kissed and hurried up the aisle under a hail of white rose petals, we returned to a sumptuously decorated banquet hall to begin course after delightful tiny course of perfectly, artfully arranged food; to drink beer and champagne and to listen to toasts by uncles (and one in English by that crazy blond chick... who brought her?) and to catch the bouquet and release pastel balloons into the chilly sky... my general final impression was that a wedding is a wedding. And I love weddings. Ooooh, and didn't I go home with a giant goodie bag? One major difference, that was. I've never been so richly rewarded simply for being a guest. I got some beautiful china, some designer towels, designer cookies, and some dried fish flakes and tea bags. Then again, the average cost of admission for a guest to enter the wedding hall is about 300$ CDN. Another difference...

After the couple went off to their hotel and we all filed out, I went back with Bubu and the members of my table (comprised of Bubu's favorite and most loyal customers-- we were the iro-iro na hito <every kind of person> table) and we drank more sake and ate more sushi and Takeshige jokingly berated me again and again for not falling in love with him when I had the chance. This from a fellow who looks like a smaller Elvis might have if he'd continued to live another few years on his fried-peanut-butter-and-banana-sandwich diet. Cute! And he only admonished me after he told me how unattractive I'd been when I was 'fat'. Bring it on, folks; I've got myself a thick skin, now. The evening ended with Bubu and Haruko predicting that the emptiness of their house probably wouldn't hit them for a few days-- and hey, if I needed somewhere to stay after I moved out of my apartment, and before I moved back to Canada, there was an empty room upstairs...

Oh, and have I mentioned that I've got myself a bit of a stalker? The kindest, sweetest, most worshipful little twenty-three-year-old has fallen sickeningly in love with me. That's half the reason I'm still here, late on a Sunday night, when I work tomorrow... My own fault, I suppose; Dad did label me 'A Fisher of Men'. But how do you get the hook out when it's gone right through their brains?

The fever started on Tuesday evening, but it had been so long since I'd had any kind flu that I didn't recognize it as such. The next day, my joints ached and my ass dragged-- I took myself to Bubu's shop before work to ask what sort of over-the-counter remedy I should consider. Bubu and Haruko swapped concerned looks as I shared my symptoms-- Haruko scootered off to pick up some decongestants and Bubu made me promise to email him when I finished work, if I got worse. I got worse. Bubu came rushing over to my house at 11PM, picked me up, rushed me to his Md's clinic, and even got the good doctor out of his bath at home, and before I knew it I was being prodded with needles and swabs and thermometers. Bubu wondered why I kept on propping myself up on my hospital cot to smile at him. "Why are you so HAPPY? You should be WORRY!" But I figured if my brain was going to combust, at least I'd have had a good friend sitting by.

So, like I said, I ended up holed up in my squirrel's nest, with nary more than an Oprah magazine (and a few Cosmos and National Geographics that Melissa brought by for me)... but mostly-- when I was capable of rational thought-- I pondered over what has become of me recently. I have been pressed and formed by a million gratitudes to so many people around me; I cannot begin to express the wealth of joy and friendship I have absorbed. I only hope that I can pass this spirit on.

Look at her go! look at her go, go, go! Even as type this, I am watching the clock-- a matter of minutes before I propel myself on coffee fumes out of this smoky internet cafe and into my workplace...

I'd like to say that as I prepare to leave Japan, I am filled with peace and quietude. That I spend my free time gazing as the fresh frilly plum blossoms, and breathing deep of the sunny cool ocean winds that whip through Tokushima. Of course, I do do these things... and a thousand other things besides!

In the past little while I have been working and planning, trying to sell my belongings, teaching private lessons, and socializing my little heart out. Dressing up, going out, swapping shifts to meet and greet and drink and eat and merrymake. Generally speaking, I have been exhausting myself, wonderfully and completely.

A vingette: I went to Kyoto a couple of days ago to get kitted up like a maiko with my friend Jenna... one of those touristy things that I've always wanted to try. The experience of being made-up and dressed was fantastically swift and organized. I had my eyes closed as I was painted white and drawn upon in red and black, and when I opened them... who is that?? My kimono was royal blue with brassy gold pine trees embroidered on the long hem and sleeves. My wig was heavy and ornate. The photographer posed and prodded me into a variety of coy postitions; I wobbled on my geta and twirled an umbrella and I cocked my head this way and that and smiled a cheeky little Mona Lisa smile. I looked... like a freaky cross-dresser. In fact, when I showed the photos to my Japanese friend, he said, "oh, otoko mae (good-looking guy). You would make a better samurai than maiko-san."

I try.

Last week my bike was stolen. At least I thought it was.

On my way to work on Sunday, I got a flat just as I got over the first big bridge. Boooo. I huffed and puffed and struggled my way to work, parked, and made it to class with just moments to spare. I took the bus home that night. The next day, I related my woeful tale to Jeff, who kindly offered to toss me and my bike in the back of his micro-mini van and drive me home, if I would just push my bike over to his house after work. Sounded good. So, after work, I went out to retrieve my injured Crispy only to discover- GASP- it was gone! I puzzled over this. Who steals a locked bike in Japan? Who steals a locked bike with a flat tire?

Nobody, stupid. After a week of riding Jeff's wife's teeny little peach bicycle, I remembered that I had parked my bike on the other side of the mall. It had a flat tire, so going the extra 200 metres was just too much trouble... Mystery solved. Now I just have to return the cobbler-mobile, and remember to bring running shoes for the long push home tomorrow night. Sigh.

The other night when I was at Bubu's house for kimchee nabe he commented on my 'new bicycle'. So related my long and ridiculous tale to him and his family, to which he replied; "En-Chan. Sometimes you are a good teacher. Sometimes you are a happy spirit. And most of the time, you are a foolish person. Baka, desu yo ne!"

NOVA raided after complaints over missing tuition fees

The Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry and the Tokyo Metropolitan Government have conducted on-the-spot inspections at major English-language school NOVA, it was learned Friday, after ex-students complained that they hadn't had their tuition fees returned after canceling their contracts.

Among the allegations NOVA faces is a violation of the Special Business Transaction Law. If NOVA is found guilty, it could receive an official order to improve its business practices or have its business activities suspended.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Government is also reportedly investigating the language school on suspicion of violating a consumer affairs ordinance.

The Special Business Transaction Law regulates processes such as the "cooling-off system," which enables consumers to cancel contracts unconditionally if they do so within a fixed period after signing.

Sources close to the investigation said that NOVA reduces the amount returned to students when they request that their contracts be cancelled partway through their courses, and fail to inform students about the necessary procedures when canceling contracts.
A public relations official from the firm admitted that the company had been inspected on Wednesday.

"We were asked to present data on the salaries and employment of foreign teachers and provide explanations, but as a company we are operating in accordance with the law. We're not aware of any hard facts relating to the claimed violation of the Special Business Transaction Law," the official said.

This is not the first time the eikaiwa giant has been pulled up for dishonest business practices. A court ruled against NOVA in a lawsuit filed by a student seeking the return of 700,000 yen in lesson fees in May 2003, and the National Consumer Affairs Center of Japan said that it has received 7,750 complaints and inquiries about the compant since 1996.

NOVA was founded in 1981. The company, which has opened many schools close to train stations and offers classes for people at home over its IP videophone system, gained popularity with its television commercials and grew rapidly. It operates a system under which students pay for lesson fees in advance. Information on the company's Web site said that, as of September 2005, it had about 480,000 students, ranking it the largest in the industry.

(Mainichi)

February 16, 2007

I feel a little flushed with satisfaction that my appointed leaving-time draws near. At the beginning of February, the company was in the news when a few teachers in the Tokyo area were caught with drugs... hugely damaging for the company's reputation, especially since drug possession is taken so seriously here.

But really, bad press aside, it has been a fairly decent company to work for. Lord knows, not perfect, but I think that anytime one goes to work in another country, one must expect that the boundaries of one's comfort zone will be crossed. Multitudes of times. But I've enjoyed teaching the students, and my paycheque has always been deposited to my account on time. Those two major plusses more than make up for all the little slights that assault me on a daily basis. Oh, listen to me! Passive-aggressive nonesense! It really is time to go!

On a lighter note...

I was tired of those forwarded quizzes that always ask foolish questions like "what colour socks are you wearing right now," and "do you like chocolate or vanilla better"... I mean, who cares? Yet I myself always feel compelled to respond and send them on. So this time I decided to go one better and make my own smarty-pants quiz. Here are the questions and some of the replies I liked.

1) Who do you consider to be the most dangerous living person in the world?

"i consider myself to be that person. not because i'm soooo volatile or reckless or malicious but no-one has a greater effect on our lives than us. yes, there are people like president bush who wage war on abstract words like terror which lead to massive casualties etc in different countries but the greatest danger i've been in was the result of my choices. we all make choices all the time that may or may not put us in dangerous situations. i know, this is deeper than you expected an answer to be so i'll even it out by saying vern troyer(played 'mini-me' in austin powers movie) is the most dangerous b'cuz ya just don't know what the little guys are harboring."
- S. Collins

2) Why do you think it appeals to people to respond to these quizzes?

"They like to talk about themselves."
- B. Pera

"Either boredom or a profound vaccuousness of character. Boredom is my excuse."
- C. Williams

"...actually, i find responding to this to be very unappealing."　
－S. Collins

3) What do you think is the best means to effect change?

"Live your life with principles and always share your ideas and passions with other people you meet."
-K. Frisque

4) If you could time-travel to any location and period in history, where would you go?

"Feudal Japan"
- C. Williams

"2000BC when Assyrians were the powerful race of people."
- B. Pera (Obviously an Assyrian, no?)

"I'd go back to Greece in the 6th or 5th century BCE because I'm a total nut when it comes to the Hellenic Age, supposedly the Golden Age of Man. I'd love to catch a Euripedes play, chat with hoplites and dig on columns. It's bizarre, I know. "
-C. Frosini

5) What is the worst advice that you have ever received?

"sure go ahead .. join the marines"
-J. Nimmons

"It's ok to lick cold metal"
-K. Frisque

6) What book/movie/album would you most recommend to a friend who was "looking for answers"?

"Hulk Hogan's 'Hogan Knows Best' because of his sweet mustache and his daughter that looks like a man but is still strangly hot..."
- S. Shepherd

7) What could potentially be different about your life in ten years?

"Screw your rules. I'm responding via video. And i'm re-writing the questions too.
7) What could potentially be different about your life if you were in a Nintendo?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soXDWL1TNF4&eurl "
- S. Maxwell

8) What would you most like to change about yourself?

"i'd like to see life as it is without filtering it through what society/ family/ friends/ tv/ books have impressed upon me to believe/ feel about life and i'd like to live from that place of clarity. bigger pectorals wouldn't hurt either. "
-S. Collins

9)Who has had the most significant influence in your life (positive or negative)? Is this person aware of their role in your life?

"My mother. I'm not sure if she is aware of it or not. I hope she is. I'll make sure to tell her tomorrow."
- C. Williams

10) One quote you would like to pass on:

"Pax et Bonum"
- B. Isoner

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." (Margaret Mead)
- K. Frisque

I will miss:

The little orange flowers that bloom in October and smell like candy.

Myriads of meat on a stick.

The creepy jungle smell of Tokushima Park.

Japanese college guys dressed up like crackhead peacocks.

My student, Taichi's, unusual and infectious gasping laughter.

Being proud of myself for being able to communicate something simple in a restaurant like, "I want two of those."

Green tea flavoured EVERYTHING. Ice cream. Cake. Cookies. Donuts. Even green tea flavoured green tea.

Bubu's curious and (often apt) insights.

The celebrity-like status I have among the six-to-eight-year-olds at our school.

My co-workers, my friends.

The moon over Tokushima park glowed eerily orange; too dark to be reflected in the greasy nameless river that flowed quietly before us. Jenna and I had met up after work in downtown Tokushima. At a loss for what to do, we bought a couple of cans of Chu-hi and seated ourselves on a chilly park bench. Between us and the river ran an unremarkable path leading to the jungley dark mound of earth that Tokushima castle graced centuries ago. We drank and spoke quietly through the smoke of our breath and her Marlboro's. We surveyed the scene carefully; this wasted riverside, all paved and lawned and lovely with only the backs of factories turned to it. Natural beauty is seldom utilized in the cities; or if it is, it is sculptured and sequestered until it has become something else altogether.

Both of us are leaving soon; she is filled with anticipation and eagerness to get home to Scotland. I, on the other hand, am uncertain once again. As ready as I am for the next challenge, my next spurt in personal growth-- I am afraid of leaving this land of depth and magic, ridiculousness and futurism; this land of complete and unashamed dichotomies.

In Will Ferguson's Book, "Hokkaido Highway Blues" he speaks of the love-hate relationship that most expatriates have with Japan. Not one day love, the next day hate, but a little bit of love and awe and a little bit of antagonism and disgust in almost every daily situation. For me, the love has always been a little stronger than the hate-- it's been more like a love-mildannoyance relationship. Leaving is hard. I haven't told Bubu and his family yet that I don't plan to use the 'return' part of my ticket. They have become my family, and I'm not ready for the long goodbye.

Japan is the beautiful permanent growth in my heart; my blood will never flow clear of crushed fallen cherry blossoms and umeboshi juice. I imagine I'll be one of those annoying Japanophiles when I get home... 'in Japan, they do it like this. In Japan, they always do it that way. In Japan...' I suppose the best thing to do will be to travel a little more, to burnish off the edges of my own Canadian/Japanese dichotomy. But there is some resounding note that will always reverberate within me, and mark me as a lover of this culture and its people.

Even if they do think I'm fat.

"Hemorrhoids are popular in Japan." a friend assured me. I'm pretty sure he meant "common," but where would I be without the hilarity of English confusion? I would laugh a whole lot less, I assure you. It's been an interesting week; bright, clean, green, windy, cold, and full of ebb and flow, big moons, clear skies, and all of the wonderment and freshness that comes from awakening from a long dream.

Tokushima never really turned brown; I was noticing that today as I zipped through the streets on my faithful blue Crispy. The palm trees still rattled their olive fronds; the tropical trees shone emerald and crisp in the cold air. All winter, something was blooming in every garden. Already bulbs are pushing up and through; I pass sweet Narcissus on my way to work, and was shocked to see a tree bursting with pink blossoms that I remember seeing a year ago. With the decision to leave Japan, I feel like the bottle of my heart has been uncorked; I am breathing again, seeing again. I'm peeking over garden walls and taking detours to watch kids practice baseball in their immaculate white uniforms. I'm rediscovering of the fantastic weirdness's that had seemed to become so routine to me.

For example-- the pigeons; I've meant to write about them a million times, but I never seem to get around to it. Tokushima has the laziest pigeons I have ever seen. They sleep laying down on the sidewalks, and in the flowerbeds in the parks, and the seem to hate to fly. They remind me of the California quail back home, who run like mad on their wee little legs across the road in front of your car, freaking you out as they launch into flight at only the last possible second. The Tokushima pigeons are similar, but lazier. I don't know how many have casually sidestepped my bike as I was bearing down on them in the park, like it was no big deal to have a massive rolling metal thing coming right at them. You have to be posing a real physical threat to them to get them airborne.

Another thing; Setsubun. I missed it last year, being fresh and uncertain and without Japanese friends to explain the right way to throw beans. One doesn't want to throw beans the wrong way and mismanage the flow of good vibes that you are meant to be directing into your house. Setsubun is on the evening of February 3rd, and marks the last night of the old Japanese year. I decided to include Kat and Joanna and Melissa in this exercise in Japanese tradition. I bought my package of peanuts (should've been soybeans, but I was shopping late and had to settle for the next-best thing) and my paper devil's mask and headed over to Bubu's for instructions. He was pleased that I was going to be participating, and sternly reminded me that we were to shout "Oni wa soto!"(get out, demons!) while we threw the beans out the front door, and "Fuku wa uchi!"(come in, good luck!) while throwing beans in to the house. Made sense to me. I knew that someone could represent the bad things that you want to be rid of by wearing the devil mask, and you could throw beans (or, in our case, nuts) at them, too. I thought this was a great idea, especially since my cousin has recently contracted some kind of nasty cancer. She's always had a marvelous sense of humour, so what could be better than chucking nuts at her 'cancer'? We weren't sure what the procedure for that was though, so we doubled them up by having Melissa stand outside the door holding the mask to her face as we hurled nuts at her and shouted "Oni wa soto! Oni wa soto! Oni wa soto!" over and over. She was a bit of a boring demon though, standing with her arms crossed and complaining that the nuts were getting too close to her face. So I switched with her. I danced around with such an abundance of demonish glee as I dodged the nuts that we were all soon laughing too much to speak the magic words. Time to chuck the nuts back in the house; "Fuku wa uchi! Fuku wa uchi! Fuku wa uchi!" Then we settled down to part two; eating the same number of nuts as there are years in your life. Luckily we were all in even numbers (24, 26 and 28) as peanuts come jacketed in pairs. We settled down to unshelling and munching. "Mmmm. I like monkey nuts," Joanna said, apparently the British word for peanuts. Which got us laughing again.

I talked about Setsubun a little more with my language exchange partner, Kenji last night. He had a compass attached to his cell phone. I wondered why when I recalled that Bubu had said something about eating an uncut maki-zushi roll while facing North East (this year's lucky direction).
"That's right," confirmed Kenji. "And you can't say anything, you must eat it quietly, until you are finished. I don't know why."
"I do!" I offered. "Bubu told me. It's to bring good luck." Kenji narrowed his samurai eyes at me.
"But I don't know why it brings good luck. Many young Japanese... they don't know why we have traditions anymore. 'Why' is the most important thing."
I really admire Kenji. He really makes an effort to speak with clarity and good humour; the result is a brutally honest exchange that never offends. He's also got such a perfectly cut face that I itch to sketch him every time I see him. He's kind of like my mirror; a reflection, similar but opposite. Me: Female, Canadian, age 28, has lived in Japan for one year, creative, craves the next adventure. He: Male, Japanese, age 27 & a 1/2, lived in London for one year, creative, craves the improvement and deepening of his lifestyle. There's a saying that I came across years ago and have never forgotten, although the source escapes me. Something to the effect of: There are two ways to live. You can live Wide and Shallow, or you can live Narrow and Deep. I admire Kenji because he's just starting to get the hang of Narrow and Deep, which is something I think I aspire to. There are wild parts of me that balk at the thought of anything that hints at "settling down," but I also know that there are riches in being grounded that are beyond my imagining. He made the choice to come back to his hometown, to be near his family, to carve out a life for himself of meaningful pursuits and solid dedication. That's very cool. For me, a little scary, but not without its allure.

If you're interested in the wild world of my fellow female art-making friends, please have a look at the following blogs: http://www.artgoddessmyth.blogspot.com/ or http://www.violette.ca/blog.html or http://jessicatitley.blogspot.com/ ... Just doing my part to raise awareness!

I discovered from a student the other day that Tokushima means something like 'Integrity Island'. Hmmm. I'll have to consider that one seriously.

Recently there was yet another Farewell/Welcome Party celebrating the ever-more familiar shift in staff at our two branches. We had the most wonderful meal in recent memory at Doma-Doma; vegetarian nabe (with a meat option for the omnivores) , a variety of little fried fishes and exciting Japanese vegetable chips (mmm... crisp-fried lotus root), pizza, chicken, daikon salad, potatoes drizzled with anchovy paste and garlic chips, etcetera, etcetera. And of course, lots and lots of beer and nihon-shu (sake). I sat next to my wee favorited friend and across from her knob of an English boyfriend. I poured her drinks and listened to her self-absorbed boyfriend drone on about himself and his extensive knowledge of Japan (gathered over the course of what-- 5 or 6 months?). I also tried to make conversation with our newest addition, 'New' Neil who weirdly enough was slated to be the room-mate of 'Old' Neil (who is not old... he's just got seniority). I think we've got to start calling them by their last names. Anyway, the party went on and my good intentions to have an early night were gone with my second pint. I went around to the Japanese staff ladies, assuring them that if they couldn't find husbands (their collective worst nightmare) that they could come to Canada and I'd sort them out.

The night ended in shambles; my little friend's prat of a boyfriend dumped her shortly after they left the party, assuring her that it was 'she' who had to figure out what to do when 'she' went home, and not a 'them' or 'they' situation. She rejoined us in tears and with a fierce determination to get numbingly drunk. I went on with her and the rest of the staff to Ingrid's for whiskey and tequila and horrible renditions of Red-Hot Chili Peppers songs. I hugged most of my co-workers argued with Martin when he called me a 'jobbie' for poking him with the karaoke-song-selector-stylus. (We arm-wrestled to solve the dispute. He won.) Tomomi got predictably floppy and hammered and fell asleep in consecutive laps-- first Neil's then Chris', then Kat's. We decided to move on. Outside. Down the spiral staircase. Into the narrow street, lit with signs for the Soap-Land shops and the red night-district lanterns. Somehow I found myself rough-housing brother-and-sister-style with NewNeil (who started that? I just met him for the first time that night) when I realized that my little friend had been left behind. My crowd filtered away as I worked my way back up the stairs to retrieve her. The following scene lasted approximately three hours: Enlist a kind New Zealander to get her down the stairs. Retrieve her shoes, her bag. Retrieve her as she tries to get back up the stairs. Accidentally drop her head-first onto the pavement. Worry that I've killed her. Wake her up. Ascertain that she doesn't have a concussion. Enlist further help from the New Zealander to struggle her into a taxi. Use limited Japanese vocabulary to navigate to her house. Drag her out of the taxi. Catch her as she tries to run away. Get her up the stairs, hand her off to her none-too-impressed room-mate. Start walking through the still blue night, through narrow streets and past emptied rice paddies. Stop to stare up at Orion's belt and ponder a little, before continuing to my apartment. Realize that I don't think I'm cut out for many more nights like it.

I've been phoning home a lot more recently, feeling things out and passing updates along to my mom and dad and my Aldergrove family. There are a variety of reasons compounding and compelling this weary traveller to wend her way home. To mention a few: My grandmother's 80th birthday, my high school reunion, my grandparents 60th wedding anniversary, and (breaking news) my friend-since-forever Corrin's wedding. I'll be her maid of honor besides!

The Tokushima adventure met its natural end when my original contract concluded, but I fought against it tooth and nail. What?! Leave Japan? Now? Just when things are getting good? Now that I have the postcard indicating my acceptance into another year of life in the Japanese working world in my sweaty little hands, I feel... meh. I don't feel sad, or disappointed, or anything really. I am certain that I could ferret out new challenges; for example, fervently study the Japanese language, or tea ceremony, or kendo... but the pursuits strike me as rather hollow at this point. I feel satisfied, satiated. Why stuff myself on one experience when there are so many more to be had?

What scares me a little is not knowing what's next. And I don't mean that I am afraid that there won't be anything for me to do; I foresee a myriad of doors flung open for me, and I am rejoicing in the boundless opportunities. What I want to discern is what opportunities will best suit my needs and goals at this time, which pursuits will help me to grow into a better, fuller, more rounded human being. (And I'm not talking about getting a gig at Roger's Chocolates!)

I phoned my little friend the next day to check up on, make sure she was doing okay. I was surprised to hear her sounding genuinely... chipper.
"I'm going home in April!" she announced. "I'm so excited! When I was at home, I hated everything there; I think I needed to get away from it all to realize how much it all meant to me." My sentiments exactly. I'm ready to approach the things and people once familiar and taken-for-granted with fresh enthusiasm.

So I bought a plane ticket today.

I received some sort of 'tag' from my fabulous friend, the Divine Lady K, and now am expected to list six strange things about myself, then 'tag' six other bloggers. While I do write a blog, I am hopelessly out of touch with any sort of Internet community, so I will write the six weird things but I won't go about tagging others. (Mostly because I don't know how). Let's see...

1) My parents don't even know this: When I was in high school I had a strange paranoia about dying from spontaneous human combustion. I think I read about it in some paranormal book in the library, then I couldn't stop thinking about it. I remember sitting in my Business Ed class, and my feet were sweating, and I was thinking, "oh, how embarrassing, I'm going to combust in front of Mike Sutch," who at the time was beyond cool. Every time my feet got hot, I thought I was going to go up in flames. Which is doubly ridiculous, because if you've seen the pictures of combustion victims, usually the only thing remaining is their feet.

2) I can hand write backwards. I took a stab at writing my journals this way until I realized I was focusing too hard on writing backwards to remember to say anything interesting.

3) My eyes change colour. They are usually blue, but sometimes they are grey or green, or some mix of all three. It says they are hazel on my drivers license, which they absolutely are not and have never been.

4) My hands are about the same size, but my right thumb is significantly bigger than my left thumb. I assume this is because I sucked it until I was 11 years old. I only stopped because I had some torture device put in by the orthodontist at the time to cure my cross-bite, and my thumb didn't fit anymore. I don't think my cross-bite was much improved, but I was saved from having an enormous wrinkly right thumb and buck-teeth.

5) My knee-caps sweat when I get nervous.

6) I really, genuinely like natto. And lots of other Japanese foods that most foreigners won't touch. I hope that I just didn't talk myself into liking natto so that I could show off... but the health benefits are great, and they have a nice stinky tang to them. My Japanese 'father', Bubu, makes a killer cheese-natto okonomiyaki.

I'll have some more news in a couple of days... in the meantime, know that I am coping well, and am back to a 'happy place' (I never mope for long) and I will be looking into buying some plane tickets pretty soon. Like, tomorrow.

Namaste,

endrene

I have an enormous crush on Shokupanman, a flying superhero bread-man, although to be honest, Anpan (sweet bean buns) are the tastiest. So, it's no wonder that Anapnman is the most popular of these bizarre anime characters.

http://www.netgeist.com/Anpan-land/AnpanFAQ.htm

Now I'm off to the stone-artist's shop to purchase myself my final and long-coveted birthday present with the money that mom and dad sent me... a one-foot high granite Shokupanman sculpture, destined to be my greatest and most apt memento of my life in Japan. Apt because he is carved in stone like so manymanymany of the buddhas and oni and guardians of the shrines that I have observed and been observed by. And because he is a flying bread-man superhero. He doesn't make sense! He is Japan! He is cute nonsensical ridiculousness, guardian of his secret headquarters deep inside Toaster Mountain, captured in his tasty heroic pose forever!

The last ham I ate was in the cafeteria at OUC's north campus, one winter night. I liked ham before that, but that night it occurred to me that ham tastes like people probably taste. Salty and pink and fatty. This disturbing thought didn't spur me to forgo bacon or pork chops however, so perhaps I ought to give ham another try.

Either that or obey may conscience and become a vegan...

...nahhhhhh.

My unhappiness here spurred an onslaught of generosity and helpful suggestions and offerings of hope and support that I will be forever grateful for. I have no doubt that it's normal to feel lost and drifting when one has been living as an over sized square peg in a round hole for well over a year.

My brother was right. It's probably silly to imagine that the grass is any greener in Canada, especially from what I hear about the weather this year-- there isn't any grass to be seen! But it's not necessarily that I feel that life would be any easier or any more interesting in Canada. I'm craving a sense of fitting in. Being special is fine, for a while, but it gets old. And I just haven't gotten used to some things, like being reprimanded by those closest to me for eating too much, and constantly being told that I should diet. I suppose if I came home again, it might not be a forever-thing. I'm still not 100% sure what I want to do for work, or how I'm going to go about it, although living and working here has certainly given me a sense of perspective that I never had before.

In many ways, Carol hit the nail on the head by suggesting that I may have accomplished what I set out to accomplish by coming here. My original motivations were to see whether or not I was cut out for teaching, and to experience the Japanese culture in a more intimate way than my short home stays 13 years ago allowed. I've stayed long enough now to have completed a full cycle; already in the grocery stores I'm recognizing things that greeted me a year ago, when they were new and confusing; the packets of soybeans that are to be tossed out your door for Setsubun (February 3rd) and oni (devil) masks that the children wear to frighten the bad demons away, the racks and racks of chocolate-making kits for girls to use to impress their boyfriends on Valentine's Day. The commercials on TV have gently shifted from the warm cup-o-soup in snowy Hokkaido type, to the slow approach of the bursting cherry-blossom spring type. I feel like I've completed a circle. And could it possibly be any better the second time through? I'm reminded of a camping trip I went on with my friends from the OUC student union during my 3rd year in university. It was the Easter long-weekend, and it was absolutely magical, everything about it. The warmth and comfort we felt from each other's friendships, the brightness of the stars, the music that came so beautifully from some guy's guitar and heart. It was so wonderful, we decided to do it again the next year, after our graduations had commenced. But everything had changed. The relationships had shifted and divided; different people were included, others didn't return. The weather was cold. There was a nasty undercurrent of discontent and fear as we all faced our uncertain futures. I can't try to recreate the newness and amazement I felt a year ago. I could certainly go on trying new things and seeing new places in Japan, but I would do it with a kind of confidence that takes the sparkle off of an adventure. Not that I regret a moment of gaining this confidence and ease of living, but I do recognize it as a marker of sorts.

Thank so much to Shona and Ash for your suggestions and observations. Having lived here yourselves, you know that it isn't always a bed of tsubaki, and that the best way to keep going is to keep going, seeing, trying, experiencing. In fact, I've booked a day trip to Dogo Onsen for this coming Friday, as that was one of the MUST DO things I still hadn't done. My coworker Melissa and I are discussing getting tickets for the next Sumo Basho (tournament) in Osaka in March. I'm not giving up, and I'm not stopping until the moment I leave, that's for certain. I did consider transferring to another school or working for another company for a change of pace, but I do like the sense of home and family I've found in Tokushima; Bubu's family in particular has been a rock-solid foundation for me, and there's been nothing better for my homesickness than going into Bubu's shop for a pep-talk. "Hmmm," he observed last week, "homesick makes you like strange! You forget how to live in Japan!" He does his best to lift me up, suggest what to do and where to go, and of course gives me the usual unwelcome advice about diet and exercise. I have re-applied for my visa, but foolishly only applied for the one-year extension; at the time, I didn't consider that getting the three-year visa would open things up for me should I decide to return in the near future. But for now, the one extra year feels like more than enough.

Oh yes, I do have gypsy-toes, Lady K, and like I said before, there is no way to be absolutely sure that where I land next will be where I stay. But that's true for anyone. I won't be leaving here right away; as Bubu said to me, the most important part of anything is the ending. He actually used some Japanese analogy about ducks in a pond swimming and swimming and making the pond mucky, and the pond becoming clear when the ducks leave... I kind of get it. But-- am I the ducks? Or the pond? Or the force which draws the ducks away from the pond so that the pond can become clear? Or do I only become clear once the 'ducks' leave my 'pond'? Anyway, to wrap things up gracefully and well, I'll need a little bit of time. The cheapest flights are early March (too soon); the next cheapest are in early June, so those will be the ones I'm looking at. A nicer time to travel anyway, as I'd like to make a few international pit-stops on my journey home. And sure, Jess and Ryan, I'll look in to making my final plane land in Victoria. But I don't like ham.

What can I say that hasn't been said? I miss the sense of fitting in, of belonging and being that comes with knowing your home, and your home knowing you. I miss my mom, my dad, my brother, my grandparents, and the friends that have become family to me over the years; I know who you are now, because you have been the ones whose hearts have been closest to me while I have been all these miles away. There's something to be said for distance in terms of sorting the rice from the chaff. Or the wax from the dross. Or whatever you will.

The final words come from a very recent email from my good and talented friend, Tyson Reilly.

"...the experiences and memories will be carried in your heart, and I know will be expressed through your unbelievable talents. This is what you need to take with you, and leave the stress and longing behind. Go with what your heart says, and you can make no mistake. Life is about moving on, especially when you are not happy. Do not settle, do not sell yourself short because YOU DESERVE THE BEST!! The best of life, the best of love, the best of happiness. I know very well how hard it can be to leave some place like that, I take it as a bungee jump: close my eyes and let myself go. Yeah, the rushing wind and earth growing below me is scary as hell, but I will only kiss the river and walk into a new world, perhaps test waters I haven't tested yet. But I like looking forward to new experiences, and always wonder what is in store for me. Discovery is the excitement of life... in a nutshell, I know you miss home, and I have a feeling home misses you. I know I do."


Namaste

Endrene

Reasons to Go

* I don't feel respected by my company
* I'm dreaming about being home every other night
* I want to be a grown-up, which means advancing myself and challenging myself
*The things I crave are not available to me here; namely a broader sense of community (apart from the small community of teachers and assorted English-speaking pirates of Tokushima)
*I want to have more and better access to natural spaces
*I miss my family and friends
*I'd like to live in a bigger apartment
*I'd like to engage in more in-depth conversations than allowed by current language barriers
*Campfires
*I'd like to start a family at some point; I can't imagine subjecting my future children to the Japanese school system (not that I can say a great amount of nice things in favour of the Canadian school system)
*I'd like to stop feeling enormous on a daily basis, because I'M NOT ENORMOUS
*Because... I feel like it's time to go


Reasons to Stay

*Japanese food, Japanese food, Japanese food, OH! Japanese food!
*Japanese young men (my new gold standard for gorgeousness)
*My students
*There's still SO MUCH I haven't seen or done or tasted or experienced; Sumo, the Sapporo Snow Festival, Dogo Onsen, Hiroshima...
*Japanese influence on my art practices and daily manners
*Onsens
*I haven't learned enough Japanese to be satisfied with my progress... then again, I haven't exactly tossed my entire being into the pursuit of language acquisition


Wow. I'm surprised by the weakness of my Reasons to Stay list. Especially since I know very well that I can get most of the ingredients I need for my favorite Japanese foods at the T&T supermarkets in the greater Vancouver area. And that there are a lot of good-looking Asian dudes in the greater Vancouver area too... And I just reviewed my Reasons to Go list, and I think the last statement says it best, and most succinctly. Why talk your heart into something that it already knows is wrong?

Any recommendations as to where to find the cheapest flights online?

Hope I haven't given the impression that I'm not going to write about my life in Japan anymore. However, a series of unpleasantries has made me less than enthusiastic for my present situation. So while I sort myself out, I hereby submit the following results from www.quizgalaxy.com (thanks for the link, Lady K) for your amusement, and as kind of 'Under Construction, Your Patience is Appreciated' sign.

What will my epitath say? Endrene, Gone Underground for Good

How will I be defined in the dictionary? Endrene (noun): an immortal

Who should paint my portrait? Pablo Picasso (which is weird, because I really don't like him. Besides, he's dead.)

How psychic am I? 73% (???)

Oooookayyy. Think I've had enough fun-time. Time for Relax-time. More Youtube. Maybe the Muppet Show. I'll write again when I've got some semblance of a life again.