Life transitions

It's been quite some time since I've posted here, what with working so hard on Surviving in Japan, being pregnant, becoming a columnist for Japan Times, among other things. I have to look back on the past few years and count my blessings - particularly to see how taking that leap of faith to come to Japan was such an integral and necessary part of how I got to be where I am now. Even coming down with labrynthitis propelled me forward onto the path I am currently on. So for that, I'm thankful I was sick for six months, as miserable as it was.

And now I'm looking ahead to August with a bit of apprehension - I have no idea how things will change, concerning all I've worked so hard at the past year and a half. I know I've always been meant to be mommy - there's no doubt in mind. David and I look forward to becoming parents, finally. And we found out our little bundle of joy will be a girl. To be honest, we never envisioned ourselves as parents of a girl - I've always seen us more as parents of boys. I never had brothers either, which may play some role in that. The initial shock that this little darling is indeed female was a bit difficult to swallow (not that we weren't excited - just surprised). But now we move ahead, preparing for her arrival - the arrival of a child. Our child.

Honestly, I've hardly had much of a chance to reflect on having a baby as I've been working so much. But when I stop and think, I realize how blessed this child will be to have parents who love her unconditionally and will always keep her safe, physically and emotionally. It's reassuring for me, especially as an adult child of divorce, to think about this little one and how she will be the generation of my family that won't have to grow up with all this pain and these issues. She won't grow up worrying if someone will ever love her or if she's even worth loving. She won't question whether her dad wants to spend time with her or not. She won't look at every relationship in fear, thinking that they could fall apart without notice, from simply expressing a thought or emotion. This child, and her siblings, whenever they arrive, will grow up radically different.

What a gift for me, as a parent yes, but also as an ACOD who has done the hard work and come this far - for my husband, yes, for God, yes, for me, YES, but also for my children. I did not want my children to experience the same fears and worries and turmoil. Yes, many parents want this to be true for their children. They don't want to repeat their parents' mistakes. But then many often find they are indeed repeating some of those mistakes, unknowingly, and repeating history. It's impossible to completely break away from the cycles unless you've done the hard work for yourself. It's impossible to just decide you'll be different and then be different. You have to decide to be different, and then attack that pain and those issues with vengeance. Those adult children must find healing so they can leave the past behind.

This doesn't mean we won't make mistakes. I know I'll make mistakes. I make mistakes as a wife... but my husband has been patient and understanding enough to allow me those mistakes and never take away love and safety. He lets me put my knowledge and healing into practice. And so I have continued to move forward, even in baby steps at times.

Becoming a parent will be no different in this way, I know. I need to put my knowledge and healing to practice, and I don't think it will be easy at first. (Although I am thankful for my extensive amount of experience working with kids... as this has given me the confidence to know how I generally am with kids, so I worry less about being a parent). But I do know that I am in a healthy place to move forward with that and to deal with these emotions as they come up. Oh, and a highly recommended book for any couple about to become parents: "When Partners Become Parents." Please read this book - it's essential for your emotional and relational health.

With all that said, I'll move forward into this new life transition, hand-in-hand with my husband, my best friend. And I look ahead to the other things in life I'm moving towards, whatever those transpire to be in the next year or two. What a blessing it is to live without such a deep well of pain inside, finally. Sometimes I feel as though I need to be experiencing some kind of pain to really feel alive, but then I feel so foolish for not recognizing that isn't really living. It's part of life, yes, but that is surviving, not living. There's no need for me to hold myself back now, from truly living.

Life of an Expat

I've been rather neglectful of this blog, due to other projects, such as work, my Surviving in Japan blog, photo blog, and other ideas in the works. Time is exciting, albeit full, as I rush endlessly between everything. Full of adrenaline, yes, and enjoying everything, of course, but a lazy Saturday afternoon seems the perfect time to take a short break and write about some recent thoughts.

I am by no means yet experienced at expat life. The end of July marked two years in Japan - my first real experience abroad. I've experienced some of the best times, such as marrying David, and the worst, as I was ill for six long, cold months. Everything pushes me out of my comfort zone on a regular basis, and I find the idea of my self challenged as often. And another concept of expat life has snuck up on me this year, forcing me to think about serious issues that I had not thought to consider before.

My great-grandfather passed away a few weeks ago. My typical take on death is to rejoice the legacy of a beautiful life well-lived, and the hellish journey at an end, only to slip into a place most of us only dream about. Death isn't something I'm well-accustomed to in general, and I feel that words, no matter how well-intentioned, fail to resonate in any meaningful way to those hurting the most. Of course, some may consider any words a reassuring gesture, and so I, along with most others, say them anyway.

Yet with this death, and subsequent funeral I was (obviously) unable to attend, I felt at a loss. I was not in the midst of it all. My life has become so completely separated from any life I had in the States before. Everything in my life carries on in typical fashion, work, deadlines, projects, etc. A moment's pause to say a few words feels almost out of place. My emotions are out of place. I find myself unable to completely conceptualize this event. I'm not traveling with my dad and sister in the car - traversing miles, over mountains and through long stretches of farmland to Eastern Montana for the funeral. I don't see the sad, yet thoughtful faces of my extended family around me, meeting after a long period of separation. Nothing transpires in my mind and I sit here helplessly, wondering, what can I do or say? It feels hardly real to me.

Around all this time, I discovered my mom needed a serious surgery. Of course, in her typical, positive, half-glass full way, she reassured me everything was "no big deal" and that she would be fine. The shock of it left me in a state of incomprehension, and my body seemed to go into self-protection as I found myself fully convinced everything would be fine. As it turned out, it was, though the doctors had been much more "realistic" about it all. Once I knew my mom would be just fine, I went into panic mode. What if something had happened? What if the surgery had gone wrong? What if the results were opposite of what they were? Any number of things could have happened, and do happen to people every day. And I'm here, across the ocean, 4,000 miles away. What could I do?

Along with this is a family wedding in the near future. One that we didn't expect I would be able to attend in the first place. With various difficulties, financial and otherwise, I find myself confused and hurting over feeling as if I cannot be involved in such important events - simply because we live across an ocean.

Am I angry we live in Japan? No, of course not. We are building a life here. This life excites us and reassures us we have a purpose to live. Yet at times the struggles of living far from family transpire into emotional stress. The knowledge that no, we can't just jump on any flight back to the States at a moment's notice. Life has become more complicated in that sense, that we cannot predict it, and we have no control over the events that occur. When things go wrong, we want to be there to help and assist, or say our last goodbyes, hold a baby for the first time or kiss and hug the happy couple as they begin their new life. So how does one acknowledge and accept that they simply cannot do all those things for their loved ones back home? How do expats and their families cope with this life of loss and struggle and community, with such great distances between them?

It seems that anyone who lives abroad for any great length of time must face this issue at some point or another, even if they lack familial attachments or come from an unconventional family. Not only do I deal with the issues that accompany being an adult child of divorce, but now I combine those with the realities of an expat lifestyle. I accept it all as part of my life, even with the difficult emotions that tag along. This is my life - the life of an expat.

enjoying the ride

My husband and I were riding our bikes home from the sento (public bath) last night - essentially becoming more sticky after we'd just cleaned off. My bike typically rolls faster than his due to my road tires, and his mountain tires. So I slow down, wait for him to catch up, until, inevitably, my bikes zooms ahead again (hardly me pedaling it forward).

Later I asked him if he was riding so slow as to avoid becoming sweaty.

"That's one reason," he answered, provoking my curiosity for more information.

"What's the other reason?" My poor husband has to live with someone as endlessly curious as me.

He sat, still focusing on whatever he was doing on the computer. My patience doesn't often last long as I spoke up again:

"just enjoying the nice night?"

"Yep. Just enjoying the ride."

Earlier that day, I had thought the very same thing, as I forced myself to slowly pedal to 7-11 for cash. Even when I set out to have a calm, relaxing joy ride, I still end up pedaling hard, weaving around people, grumbling at the traffic and close-calls. No matter how hard I try, it just happens. So yesterday afternoon, I went from pedaling slowly and smiling and admiring the gorgeous day, to speeding along the roads and sidewalks. Until I realized I was speeding again, and slowed back to my lackadaisical pace.

In fact, the only time I seem to not be able to speed up, is when I'm just going for a walk. But, stick me in a city somewhere, with something to do, I speed up again. Sometimes I just attribute this to my need for speed (I didn't do track and cross country for years for nothing). And other times, I think maybe I'm so determined in the path to where I'm heading - that I forget to slow down and enjoy where I am.

Even now, with the various opportunities I have and am pursuing, my excitement for the future drives me to work hard in order to reach those goals. I want to get somewhere - I want to be somewhere. It isn't that I'm not happy about where I am now, but I look forward to the path ahead of me. Yet there are times when I stop and seem to wish that time wouldn't pass so quickly. I remind myself that these years are precious and valuable.

I've heard that before. "Enjoy being single! You won't get it back again!" Yet, I hated being single, and was miserable a good amount of the time. Not because I was single persay, but for a variety of reasons that stem to family, transitions, and change. Being married is far better than being single, in my opinion. However, I do acknowledge the necessity of those formative years for my personal growth - and I wouldn't have been ready for marriage without them. Yet, even then, I was speeding forward, as fast as possible, until I would finally find my partner in life.

Even as a child, I longed for the day I would be 16, or 21, or just an adult. I desired freedom - to feel more like a human being and to not be looked down upon. I enjoyed the games and imaginary life that came with being a child, but I don't wish for those days again. And now, I am in the best place I feel I have been in my entire life. Why? Marrying my husband was part of my purpose in life. Everyone has their own opinion about all this, but I KNOW David and I were meant for each other, and evidence to prove that has shown up regularly in my life.

In fact, the good memories of the past were directly related to purpose - the things I did that felt meaningful. When I was utilizing my skills and gifts, and being the person I was made to be, was when I was the most content.

Now, I'm using many of these skills in a variety of ways and feel more full than in situations where I cannot. And I'm watching to see how they grow and transpire, excited for fruit to come forth. I enjoy the little moments, especially with my husband, but I also work in preparation for the future. The goals I want to achieve are bold in my mind, and written on paper. Some things we don't know yet. We don't know exactly what will happen in the future, or why we feel Japan is such a part of it. We don't know when we will have children, although that's another life transition we look forward too.

Nothing is certain but the fact that we are in preparation for those transitions. I don't think there's anything wrong with being future-minded and anticipating the great things to come. Yet, I also know I need to slow down at times and remember, good things are still happening now.

the loss of misunderstanding

Considering I now mostly work at home or Starbucks, aside the few stints of English teaching a month, I get to enjoy all that comes with sitting around at home (working). It's awesome, at least until the businessmen or Jehovah's Witnesses come around. I'm often waiting for something to be delivered, so sometimes I fling the door open, excited for my new box. Until I see the suits. The promotional materials.


No... NOOO.... I think desperately. Where is my box? I don't want to talk to you!

They begin with their standard greeting and then move right to business. When I first arrived in Japan, I never understood them. So I stood there stupidly, saying "I don't understand" over and over until I could shut the door. Now, unfortunately, I can understand more or less the gist of what they are saying. Usually, I won't answer the door if I bother to look through the peephole first, but as I said, I'm often expecting something.

So the other day, this happened again, and I found myself face to face with a man holding out a promotional brochure. He started speaking. I looked at him, ensuring that I had my "I'm so confused" face on. As he babbled, I said "I don't understand Japanese" (in purposely bad Japanese). Sales guy was beside himself, "your Japanese is so good!" (in Japanese).

Crap. That didn't work... but that ALWAYS works...

He went on about some new internet service, after asking if we have internet. I kept playing stupid in Japanese, "I don't know... I don't understand..." To which he seemed to gather his own confirmation, and continued on. I slowly let the door creep closer to the frame, hoping he would get the hint. He kept going.

Finally, after my tenth time saying I didn't understand, with only a few inches of open door now between us, Sales Guy asks:

"When will your husband be home?"

 Me: "I don't understand..."

Sales Guy: "Does he work late?"

Me: "I don't understand..."

Sales Guy: "When does he come home?"

Obviously, my strategy was failing miserably - I couldn't get RID of this guy.

"Uh.... 6?"

Sales Guy nods, "Ok, we'll come back at 6. Thank you so much. Thank you. Sorry to bother you."

And with that I finally shut the door.

Poor David (husband), he got to deal with Sales Guy after coming home that evening. Somehow my fake stupidity didn't work. When did this happen? Is it some kind of rite of passage after two years of living here? Did he somehow know that I understood more than I let on? Oh pushy Sales Guy, were you just desperate enough to fill your quota that you had to pick on some poor-looking, foreign girl who says she doesn't understand over and over?

Need to plan a better strategy for next time.

sick in translation

You'd think that without a full-time job, there's all this time to do everything. Except that there isn't. I have part-time work, on top of that studying Japanese intensely since I decided I might try to shoot for the JLPT N3 this December (yes, lots to study), and then I started a blog in February: Surviving in Japan: (without much Japanese) , for anyone new to Japan or even those living here who might find some unique resources. Oh that's right, you must be thinking, and didn't she say she was working on writing?

What have I gotten myself into.

The work is good, in many ways, perfect for where I'm at and what I'm doing,  and of course, gives us a little extra money. Japanese, well, it's nice to have some extra time to study more intensely. Finally found someone willing to practice speaking with me (in exchange, we'll practice English for her as well), as speaking is what I'm the worst at. I'm basically like an adult two year old who walks around saying the same ten words all the time, just smiling and grinning every time someone else says anything. Seriously, I'm learning this language the natural way, though I'd rather it all catch on more quickly.

What about the blog? I've been tweeting, socializing, networking, designing, programming and doing about everything I can to put myself and the blog out there. I want people to find it. And, hopefully, people will find it useful. So, if any of you know anyone going to Japan, send them the link, and let me know what else is useful to add - I'm beefing it up.

Never before did I understand how much work and time building something like this takes. Can't say I don't enjoy it, because honestly, I love it. It's fun and it incorporates things I love to do - writing, photography and design. A lot of the programming is self-taught, which makes the process take even more time, but I enjoy it nonetheless.

And then there's writing. Oh dear, sweet writing. Writing on this blog, or working on my book. I've discovered Starbucks is the best place to go - my perfect office. Except that Starbucks is a half hour away by train, so whenever I can go, I seem to be most productive. So for now, with all the other stuff, the writing is coming along, albeit rather slowly. Extremely slowly...

No matter. My body mounted a revolt against me last Friday - I have no idea what is wrong now. Sometimes I think I have some alien cells inside of me just mutating as they wish, evilly laughing as they poke around at my intestines, my liver, my bladder, my nose, my lungs, and whatever else they feel like disrupting. This should all seem normal - the extreme-I-can't-move-at-all fatigue, head that feels like it has doubled in weight, and volume, upset stomach, weakness that leaves me shaking just to lift a hand over my head. Yeah, yeah, been there, done that. I may as well dub myself the Queen of Illness and just move along with it.

As this happened over the weekend, and I had a training Monday morning, I frantically e-mailed my supervisor (since it was the weekend) letting him know something had happened and that I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it. Then I call Monday morning where the training was taking place, but no one answers so I leave a message. No one calls back, I wait. Then I decide to call again to make SURE someone had gotten the message and passed it along to my supervisor. The phone rings. A woman answers. "blah blah blah, company, blah blah," is essentially what it sounded like to me since it's Japanese, my head is cloudy and I can't focus at all. I knew she had just said the standard greeting, so I asked if English was ok (in Japanese).

She answers (in Japanese): "Oh yes! It's ok!"

Me (in English): "This is Ashley Thompson, Native Teacher. I have training..."

Lady on Phone (in Japanese): "Ah yes! What is your name? Are you a home teacher?"

Me (in English): "Ashley Thompson. No, not a home teacher, I'm a native teacher."

Lady on Phone (in Japanese): "I see. Where are you from?"


I knew she meant what country, but since this wasn't going the way I had imagined, I just said:

"Shimada."

Lady on Phone (in English): "No, what country."

Finally, she speaks English...

Me: "No, no, I am a native teacher, and I called this morning. I left a message. I am sick. I have training right now. There is training and I am sick."

Lady on Phone (in English): "Oh! Yes, yes! Native Teacher!"

Me (thinking, I want to sleep, why is this conversation so difficult): "Yes, I called this morning. I am sorry to miss the training but I am very sick."

Lady on Phone (English): "Ah yes I understand! I will tell (supervisor). I have your number and will call you with any questions. Take care!"

Me: "Thanks. Bye."

I still don't understand how we managed to have this conversation, but alas. I don't fault her really, she may have been confused about what I meant for all I know, but I didn't have the mental capacity to explain myself in this other language I'm trying to master. It's just my life. My life in Japan.

journey on

Sitting on the shinkansen (bullet train), staring out the window, as Fuji-san comes into view, trees, rivers and buildings blurring by in the foreground. I've witnessed foreigners jump up in excitement enough times, leaning over Japanese folks in the window seats, shoving their cameras against the glass. Strangely enough, Japanese people often do the same, although they are more subtle, and don't crawl into people's laps just to snap a photo - but I'll hear gasps and exclamations as they pull out their camera phones and snap away.


Fuji-san represents Japan, in all its glory. Even I, homegrown in the Pacific Northwest - home to some of the most majestic mountains in the world - feel a sense of awe when I see it. Mt. Rainier always captures me with its booming voice - a beast of a mountain that presides over everything around. Rainier feels wild and untamed, a mountain boasting its splendor. Mt. Baker is friendly - smiling over Whatcom County, shining on those few sunny days - inviting everyone to come out and play. Its presence is familiar, understandable, and trustworthy. The other volcanic mountains of Washington all have their own characteristics and feelings they provoke. Yet none capture the essence that Fuji-san offers, (likewise, Fuji will never be a beastly mountain like Rainier). Its song is subdued, melancholy, and humble, much like the traditional behavior and culture in Japan. The Japanese consider Fuji-san sacred. So I see Fuji, and I feel Japan - its heart. Those feelings sometimes become something I can't distinguish from what I feel - they are fast becoming ingrained in my understanding of Japan and the world.

History. Culture. Post-modernism. Japan was what it was and now is what it is, as it continues to change - holding onto parts of itself in the process, but allowing other parts to adapt, or being forced to simply because of the pace of this world. Japan is often accused of not keeping up, of not changing or adapting relations, or ways of thought. This is evident. Is it not understandable? When we are hit with change, with circumstances that force or require us to change, we often resist, hoping to hang on to the things that we think we are and define our identity. We don't always want to let go.

My time in Japan is fast approaching two years. My Japanese is improving, as it has suddenly taken hold as never before. My eyes and heart are seeing things even more clearly than those first days - taking in situations and events, looking at them through my Western eyes, but putting them through an Eastern view, a Japanese view, and adjusting, learning. I learn to distinguish, what equals culture and what equals humanity. What does it mean to be Japanese, or American. What does it mean to be human.

I never felt called to go overseas when I was young. There was never a pull or draw for me other than travel or perhaps school. Japan wasn't on my radar. Meeting my husband changed all of that, but coming to Japan changed even more. Meeting precious youth, learning their stories, feeling their pain. Realizing that my heart for children is the same no matter where I am, no matter what these darlings look like or act like - I still love them dearly. Seeing loneliness, heartache, and despair on a daily basis. Hopelessness. Helplessness. The feelings of people, of humans, who just want something meaningful -  want to be loved and appreciated. Want to know they can reveal who they are as humans, without fear of shame or rejection. People who feel the same feelings I have felt, even though we've grown up across an ocean, we connect over those very basic emotions and events that make us human.

I'm not Japanese. I didn't grow up in Japan, like my husband. Japan is part of who he is. Yet, my life here, though short, has influenced me in ways that every other place I've ever lived has. Parts of Japanese society have found their way into my psyche, causing me to look at things much more than simply my own Western lens, one in which I've always known. My most significant life events thus far have happened in Japan - becoming engaged and married. I've met wonderful people and made friends who mean as much to me as anyone in the States. Though I'm a foreigner, and though I often live in a bubble - in between the two - I feel that Japan is now part of me. It's part of who I am. If I ever were to leave, that would stay with me forever. I can't erase the changes. I've allowed myself to be open to Japan, allowing it to speak to me, listening to the voices of people - voices that aren't always audible or said, but voices I hear just the same. This is Japan, and this is my home. Just like Seattle, Bellingham and Montana before it. Places that are part of who I am and who I've become.

Sometimes, it's hard. It's hard to let go of the past - of those relationships that were once so dear. But so many fall away. This stage I'm in, I'm adjusting to Japan. My mind knows it's a place we'll be, at least for a little while. So I'm letting go of before. I'm letting go of the ties that bind me so closely to the U.S. - the ties that won't let me move much farther. The connections will always be there, they will always be a part of me and who I am. I know and realize more and more that being American is such a part of me, but I also realize more and more how I don't really belong, truly, to any one nationality. I know I'm American, but I know my identity is found in much more than that. In Japan I'm a foreigner, and that and being American go hand in hand here. So, a bubble - but to me that's a good place to be. I'm neither here nor there, but I'm in the place I need to be, in the moment I need to be in. Hanging on to the past has me tethered.

Not anymore. 

Cutting ropes is the only way to go forward, to live the life I'm meant to live, to change and become who I'm meant to be. Though I'm slowly becoming part of Japan, I also sense myself slowly becoming less a part of the U.S. I'm not who I was when I got on that plane almost two years ago, in fact, I'm surprised to remember her. Even from a year ago, I am different. Marriage has had a hand in that too. So much of who I am and was has been weeded out, changed, and adjusted - but for the better, or just differently. It wasn't surprising; I already knew it would happen.  I knew, as I strapped in and watched the Seattle skyline shrink and disappear, that I had left myself behind.


*all photos taken with my iPhone

the art of summer, pigeon courtship and riding a mama-chari

So, what's happened in the past month? What is happening in the daily Japanese life of me?

Well, Spring warmed up. A lot. As in, straight to mid/upper 70's (mid 20's in Celsius). David (my husband) and I basked in sunshine over Golden Week, at a BBQ, Wisteria Festival, Shimada Central Park, and the various other places we found ourselves. My translucent-looking skin finally met the sun again, and they reminisced as usual, without the redness. And just before Golden Week, I got a part-time job, teaching English and going to English type events (where they want a native speaker). It's a great opportunity, flexible hours and schedule, and a good way to continue interacting with kids and adults, as I had to quit JET a few months ago.

Then, during Golden Week, another part-time job fell into my lap. This one has to do with a website known as expatwomen.com. This also is a fantastic opportunity, and ironic it just appeared. For anyone trying to market themselves, get on Twitter. Do it.

Though the cherry blossoms are now gone, the wisteria were in full bloom during Golden Week, and we managed to experience them on the last day of the Wisteria Festival in Fujieda.

Their appearance is akin to rain, though flowers, just draping themselves over support structures. People can walk underneath them, and how magical it is.

Wisteria soft cream was also served during the festival, which I tried before (it is rather hard to explain the taste of floral ice cream), but as we went again on the last day of the festival, they were already sold out.

After two quick days between Golden Week and the weekend, David and I hopped on the train straight down to the peninsula in Aichi prefecture, next to Shizuoka. We stayed at a hotel on a cliff in Irago, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The view was gorgeous, and the onsen/spa at the hotel was quite new and modern, with giant windows overlooking the best view, including one large outdoor bath that looks like an infinity pool. Our first night, I sat in the outdoor bath, watching the sunset.

When I was planning this trip, my goal was to find a decent, affordable hotel, with private baths and possibly a beach. (Or mountains, but all those hotels were booked already). Usually, I check a map and make sure there are things like food and a convenience store (conbini) near by. However, when I looked at the map, it seemed as if these things were near enough to the hotel, and David and I could just use the rental bicycles to get to such places.

After our buffet breakfast Saturday morning, we went out to get our rental bikes, otherwise known as mama-chari. I've never ridden a mama-chari before, but at least my bike had a 3-speed gear, though we never did figure out how it worked. It also had a bell, as typical, and since my cross bike doesn't have a bell, I happily began dinging it while trying to stay in a straight line on the bulky granny bike that was so much harder to control. David, ended up with a bike with no gears, an older model, and looked somewhat like a man trying to ride a kid's bike, because of the bike's small size. So, he glared, and I dinged the bell repeatedly and laughed, as we went flying down the hill from the hotel (my mind did not yet realize we would have to come back UP this hill).

We went down the main path and continued on a road, surrounded by farms, wind power generators, and more farms. Lynden, Washington instantly came to mind, as I had not yet seen so many farms in one place in Japan. The smell of manure was much more apparent, and we even rode past a cow barn, something I rarely see here. The bike ride continued for another 25-30 minutes, when David mentioned something about having biked five kilometers. We were both quite tired of constantly pedaling on our mama-chari, moving three times slower than accustomed to on our "real" bikes. So before we got anywhere near "town" as I had hoped we'd get to, for food, we stopped at a conbini for some snacks (and though I had a feeling we should buy some food for lunch, pushed it aside thinking we could surely find food elsewhere). Then, back we went, into the wind and stink of manure, ducking the giant flying bugs, toward the beach.

Eventually we made it there, tired, but since there wasn't much around, continued on to the ferry terminal, where there were supposedly restaurants. Only a few, and nothing really good stood out, and I commented that all I wanted was some soba. After infiltrating a fancy hotel, and checking out four other restaurants (all seafood of course), we decided the best idea would be to head back to the hotel. So after biking for a couple hours, on our slow bikes, and without food other than chocolate almonds and iced tea, we pedaled back towards the hotel, stopping and pushing our bikes up hill most of the way. Finally, we reached the hill to the hotel, where I thought about collapsing on the ground and crying in hopes that someone would take pity on me and give me a ride up the blasted thing. Well, David was already far ahead of me so I just followed, slowing with each step, contemplating thoughts of shoving my bike over an edge, or falling down, because then someone would probably stop. Nearing the top, sweating, and lightheaded, anger welled inside me. No, rage. I hate this bike. I hate this hill. Why can't they just have an elevator or escalator for bikes? Do people really do this very often? And, where is David?

He had disappeared, already at the top, waiting for me. I shuffled my way there, barely conscious, and collapsed in tears when we got to our room. Lack of food, you know. So we ate at the cafe in the hotel, for the second time. Fried potatoes made it better.

Our hotel was at the top of this hill:

Then, though I never wanted to come up the hill again, we went to the beach that was closer to the hotel. We played in the sand and waves and had a photoshoot. And, spied on a couple walking along the beach, holding hands. When they thought no one was looking, the guy leaned over and kissed the girl, and I commented about how romantic and strange that is, since Japanese don't usually show PDA, except in some cases where they show too much... David just rolled his eyes.

Oh, the beach, how I wished to spend my entire day there, but could not because of our 50-mile (80 km) bike ride.

Well, it felt like 50 miles.

I also taught David how to take portraits. He caught on pretty quick:

Then, after a quick jaunt to the lighthouse, back to the hotel. Though, David pushed my bike up this time, while I balanced it. So chivalrous.

I should note that, during the time between dinner (at the cafe, again...) and when we got back, I observed the pigeons out our window that had been there most of the day. This compelled me to research pigeon mating rituals, since it is spring after all, and one sat with its behind against the wall for the better part of the day, cooing and growling. Although, the noises escalated when the other bird was gone, seemingly trying to get attention. The other one mostly hopped around the ledge, or flew back every time the one making noise grew more upset. Codependent bird. Throughout this ordeal, I once sneaked a glance at them nuzzling each other with their beaks. David, somehow, napped through most of this. If anyone knows the noises pigeons make when they court, please let me know.


I think this one was trying to decide what to do about his/her growling/cooing friend. Or perhaps rethinking his/her decision to commit to said co-dependent bird.

And that, mostly sums up our weekend. Though I've left out the sickening bus rides to and from the hotel to the train station, or the small children that women bring into the onsen and jump around as if in some water park, splashing you in the face when you're just trying to relax.

So now, it's back to real life, and back to being a working girl again.

thai-inspired salmon chowder

Writing. Write, write, write. Study. Study Japanese. The two things I focus on most of the day each day - the two things I need to focus on. So, things like cleaning, organizing, laundry, and gasp, even cooking and gardening get put on hold. Of course I still cook (although not as much as I was during the winter) and try to make sure my new container plants survive, but cleaning has fallen a bit by the wayside. I'm definitely more thankful than ever for a husband who helps out with so much around the house, even though he works all day too.

This makes me feel sorry for Japanese housewives though. Wives with a full-time job are still expected to do the cooking and cleaning for their families. Japanese women are generally surprised that David does so much around the house, whether it's he or I that tells them. Though I like a lot about Japan and the culture, there are some things that don't sit well with me, and the lack of egalitarian marriages is one of them. I'm grateful that I, as a foreigner, am not restricted to such cultural traditions. However, if my spouse was Japanese, chances are that he would expect me to take on the bulk of house maintenance and cooking, even though I'm not Japanese. This isn't always true, but in general, it's how men in Japan are raised, and expectations they are taught.

I'm also grateful that my husband is a good cook, and that he likes (or at least seems to sometimes) chopping up veggies. And willingly cuts up the raw chicken that I don't particularly enjoy touching. Then I often execute the cooking process and ensure the final product is something I'm satisfied with (and usually if I am satisfied with it, David loves it). Sometimes I will do everything and sometimes David does everything, but the majority of the time we both help get dinner finished so we can eat at a reasonable time. Plus, it makes our evening time fun when we do things together.

A couple months ago, when winter was still hugging us tightly and refusing to let go, we decided to make salmon chowder one day. I made it a month or so before that and it turned out well. However, this particular day we were lacking many of the ingredients for regular chowder, such as milk and potatoes. Rather than have David go to the store, I decided to use the coconut milk we had in the cupboard and the sweet potatoes sitting on the table. As I sauteed onions and pulled out ingredients, I let creativity take over. Sweet potatoes and coconut milk, why not go in a Thai direction? I began to add various ingredients that I used for pad thai and curry dishes, mixing, seasoning and tasting as I went. Then it all came together; I knew it was ready, and yummy. Upon the first bite, David almost fell over, claiming he was in food heaven.

I did a quick internet search to see if I could find any similar recipes, but to no avail. Had I really created something unique and new? As one who adores food blogs and cooking recipes from them, I never thought I would come up with something I couldn't find anywhere else. I am happy to cook what others have perfected (while sometimes adapting). Yet, this Thai-inspired salmon chowder came together for me rather nicely, and I had a few chances to improve it before sharing it with you. Oh, and one of the great things about this chowder is that you can make it as spicy as you want it to be, while adjusting seasonings to your particular taste (much like traditional pad thai, with fish sauce, sugar, etc). If you try it, let me know how it turns out!

Thai-inspired Salmon Chowder

Ingredients:

1 tbsp oil (I used peanut oil - I'm sure a neutral oil would work well also)
1 onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, minced (more if small, less if large)
1 large sweet potato (or 2 small/medium ones), chopped into 1 inch or smaller cubes
2 cups chicken stock
1 tsp garam masala
1/2 tsp paprika
2 tsp dried basil
1 tbsp curry powder (I used regular curry powder, but feel free to try red or yellow curry paste, adjusting to your spice preferences)
1 - 1 1/2 tsp fish sauce

1 carrot (I used a fat Japanese carrot, so you may need to use more than one carrot)
1 cup coconut milk
1 1/2 tbsp creamy unsweetened peanut butter (omit sugar if you use sweetened peanut butter)
1 tsp dried or fresh basil
1/2 tbsp curry powder
1/4 - 1/2 tsp dried chopped chilis or chili powder (put in more to add heat)
1 tbsp sugar or maple syrup
1 - 1 1/2 lb salmon fillet, cut into one inch cubes (make sure it's skinless and boneless too)
1 1/2 tbsp lime juice

Heat a pot over medium/low heat and saute onions until translucent. Add garlic and cook until fragrant. Add potatoes and saute briefly, (but don't brown). Mix in chicken stock, garam masala, paprika, basil, curry powder and fish sauce. Cover and let simmer on low heat until potatoes are soft

Mash potatoes (use a potato masher or a fork) (they don't have to be completely mashed, just enough to give the broth a thick consistency). Add carrots and simmer on low heat until fork tender (covered).

Mix in coconut milk, peanut butter, basil, chilis, curry powder until peanut butter dissolves. Taste and adjust to your preference accordingly. Add in salmon and simmer on low (don't boil) 5-7 minutes, until salmon is cooked through. Mix in lime juice. Adjust any last seasonings, garnish with fresh basil if you'd like, and enjoy.

Makes about 4 servings.

untethering

The title of this blog is Untethered, at least for now. When I was trying to make a decision about some kind of unique title, moving away from "Sayonara, Goodbye," untethered was the word that kept coming back to mind. I went through various ideas, scoured the thesaurus, slept on it (for a long time) but nothing else stood out. So I revamped my blog, slapped the title on a picture and called it good. Suddenly now, I'm realizing how prophetic that word is, in a way, according to my life.

These last few months, or maybe five, six months, have been challenging in so many ways. Rewarding and eye-opening in some, but certainly challenging. Though I'm on the mend now and most days I feel, more or less, normal, that significant chunk of time completely isolated me from the world. I find this slightly ironic as we visited Seattle for two weeks in December. That time was mostly good, and seeing so many familiar faces was also good, but at the same time, left me feeling slightly alienated and confused. I walked and talked and interacted with the same demeanor I had over two years ago. At times, I wasn't sure how to act, or I felt confused about the discrepancy in how I thought I used to be with particular people, and how I supposedly am now. I pushed the thoughts aside and simply tried to enjoy the little time we had in the US, but those thoughts and feelings that come with it have slowly magnified themselves over the past few months.

As my illness isolated me physically, the distance from the US, as well as circumstances in Japan, also created emotional isolation. Who did I talk to? David and the internet were my main links to anything outside of our apartment. We tried to go to church every now and then, although when we did we could never stay long enough to socialize with anyone or do much afterward. All the plans and invites from other ALTs in the area were postponed and subsequently forgotten, my RSVP always: "when I'm better..." As such, I felt the world around me had kept moving, while my world held the shutters closed and only allowed me to peer out every now and then to see what was going on, and left me wondering if I could ever get out again.

As of now, I still often feel as if I'm peering out the window. I see the social interactions happen around me (Facebook is like a window to everything social), and feel a pain as to how hopeless it is for me to even try to enter into those groups. I've always been the person that has difficulty in social interactions, particularly groups. I force it out, bending and twisting who I am to conform to some kind of person that I know will be accepted by others. I feel as if I'm shunning myself - condemning myself back behind that window while this alter-ego of mine tries to engage, make connections and friends. When it's all said and done, it wasn't really me at that table, smiling, laughing, talking. It was just the me that works in society - that works in circumstances so as not to make others uncomfortable or create social awkwardness.

Then I see all that is keenly familiar to me in the US. My friends, family, people I know so well and spent significant amounts of time with. Though some of these relationships still run strong, and have stood the test of time and change (and how thankful I am for those relationships!), others have simply dissipated across the world, both literally and figuratively. Some that I've known for most of my life, seem so strange to me now, not in any bad way, but like we hardly know each other. I feel like a completely different person from when I was twenty, fifteen, ten. So much so that these encounters bring with them a sense of confusion. Old traits and habits and demeanor haunt me and escape from within, though they don't show up in my current daily life. I feel foreign - who is this person that is waving my hand and moving my lips?

I want to relate to those I've known so long - those that have been part of significant moments in my life. Some of them still work quite well. They work despite change and developing identity and 4,000 miles of distance. They work despite differences or similarities in religion or beliefs or values. Those people that I met in random moments, and instantly clicked with, have been some of the best kind of friends. Even if a considerable amount of time goes between talking to those kind of people, I still know that I can always consider them a close friend. And yet other relationships, it hurts me to say, seem to have become more and more distant over the years of change and physical distance. They are almost a burden - a forced interaction that just doesn't seem to work. Or those relationships that I considered so close, that aren't in the first two categories I've mentioned, that don't seem to work simply because I am no longer a part of their daily life, and they are no longer a part of mine.

Sometimes thoughts pervade my mind in attempts to convince me that people in the aforementioned relationships simply don't care. Yet, I know everyone cares, in their own way. I know that life has just continued to take its course, and carried people with it. This is normal. Life carried me to Japan. And I'm living in Japan, with my best friend (who also happens to be my husband), and carving out a life here, for whatever is ahead of us on this road. To everyone who has not lived in a foreign country for at least a year, this is probably a difficult concept, although not as difficult if you think of it as moving to a new city, or state, or something like that. Those of you who are and have lived in a foreign country, you already know. You lose the community you left behind. Though, you may still have some of those cherished connections, you inevitably lose some (or a lot) too.

Though I hardly considered the US my main "home" to begin with, since I've felt disconnected plenty of times, it has started to feel less and less like a home base in really any sense. So if anyone asked me why I might want to go back, I would probably say (aside family), for Whole Foods or competent doctors. The US is awesome in a lot of ways, and Seattle and Washington are so dear to my heart and always will be. Japan has become so much more to me though, and my increasing knowledge of the country, language, and its people just fill my heart with so much love, angst and peace that it feels like it's the place to be, for me. Though I'm still in social limbo, and though I've yet to really integrate myself more and more into the community (foreign and Japanese), I realize that in the end, it is still a good place. It is the right place. Sometimes some things are frustrating, or difficult, or annoying, and yes, I certainly don't fit in here simply because I'm a foreigner. Foreigners are like me, and the US, and Western culture, since I am one too. The way I act around those I am more familiar with is how I'm accustomed to acting in those situations. Yet, around Japanese people, there aren't all those preconceptions. Oh, of course there are preconceptions and misunderstandings about foreigners, but oddly enough, in a society based on conformity, I don't feel like I have to be a certain way with those I meet. There is something strangely refreshing about knowing that this person you are talking to just wants to know who you are, and what you are like, as a foreigner. One of those few circumstances where I can exercise the "be who you are" mantra that is preached constantly in Western culture (especially in the States).

So this brings me back to my title. Normally, I love to engage people and make them laugh in what I write. I love to make light of my problems or issues or mishaps in order to make others smile or just give them a small break from the seriousness of life. I love doing this. Yet, I realized today, as I pondered my lack of sense of community, that I'd forgotten about this whole idea of being "untethered." Why allow myself to be tied down to one subject, to one way of acting around other people? Why does it matter? Why do I say I don't care what people think but yet sometimes still act like I do? Why don't I just allow my friendships and relationships to just develop naturally (as I've come to believe they should) instead of forcing relationships with those I just don't necessarily click with? Note: I'm not saying I don't want to meet a variety of people or talk to people, since I love hearing people's stories. I'm just saying I don't think I should feel like I need to be everyone's best friend.

It's a serious topic, I know. Please don't think I'm mentally depressed or on the verge of joining a cult or anything like that. I'm doing about as fine as someone in my situation could be. Not great, but good in the sense that I know I'm growing, and learning something about myself and the people around me, and just about life. So, in that sense, I'm thankful for process.

of fish and sulfur and random arrests

Expat Women Blog Directory


A weekend. Away from my apartment. A chance to finally be outside, to ride trains and buses and apparently, a ropeway. To try new things, see new places, visit with an old friend, relax a bit, make a fool of myself and laugh at things that are just so "Japan."

Yes, a weekend trip to Hakone (Kanagawa Prefecture) planned for the first weekend of April, with a friend I clicked with right away after arriving in Japan, and who I hardly get to see, as she lives rather far from me. So we planned. Wrote excited facebook messages back and forth. Exclaimed our perpetual ruts and need to get out into the world and laugh again. If it sounds over-dramatic, well, it probably is.

The weekend started off with my first long train ride since going to the U.S. in December. It lasted about an hour and a half, all of which I unfortunately had to stand. This was a Saturday morning, and when I saw the train before mine leave the station empty, I was happy that I would find a seat on my train. However, this was not the case, as the train was completely packed, and not one person got up from any of the seats the entire way. Not even at the big cities that most people get off at. No - I stood. And stood. And stood some more. Sometimes I sighed loudly when no one got off at the stops. Where were all these people going? I will never know. I was at the second to last stop on the train line when I got off... so my only assumption is that they were ALL going to Tokyo - the slow way.

Met up with my friend, bought a travel pass, and hopped on the bus for a fifty minute ride up into the mountains. And for some reason, the roads are ridiculously windy. No, the stereotypical kind of windy that you see in cartoons. Where the car tips at the edge. That's sometimes what the bus felt like. As someone recovering from motion sickness, I had to resist the urge to hurl. At least I had brought a pack of saltines, and quickly downed them, hoping that would help out my stomach.

If you are waiting to hear me say that I actually threw up, well, sorry, but I didn't. I survived, and we got off the bus in Moto-Hakone, exclaiming over the slight dip in temperature from where we had been just an hour ago.

After a soba lunch and some sweet potato ice cream, we hopped back on a bus to Yunessan, a water park. There are two parts to the park, an onsen (where you strip down to your birthday suit) and a public bath/pool area. They've got all kinds of baths, waterslides, pools, etc. Our eyes got big as we entered the giant building, giggling excitedly and then tried to navigate our way to the entrance. My friend noted the way the building was laid out, that every floor below the entrance was essentially a "tourist trap." Since, you have to pass through the shops and whatnot to get to the entrance. (Well, then she bought some socks.)

Our afternoon was spent lazing away in various baths, including coffee, wine, sake and green tea baths. Not to be outdone by beverages, a charcoal bath also persuaded us to try it, and a walking bath (you just walk through hot water over awkwardly bumpy rocks that really just hurt your feet). Kids were everywhere, screaming and splashing everyone around them. For some reason the parents take them to all the baths instead of just leaving them in the pool areas with the "spa guards."

Aside all the dead skin flakes in the baths, they were quite nice and relaxing. I suspect the green tea and wine baths were really just color-dyed, although one brave kid actually dipped his hands in and drank some of the "wine" water. He didn't really react, although he didn't try it again.

We also were wondering if the wine had gotten to one couple, who looked all too absorbed in each other and putting on such a PDA show that I almost felt like we weren't in Japan for a moment. And of course, the entire time they were doing this, two blond girls across the bath were snickering and staring at them. (Would you bet that one of those girls was me?)

After we had our fill of skin-flake baths, the next logical stop was to have our dead skin taken care of. Japan (and many other countries) have what some call "doctor fish" - little fish that eat the dead skin off your feet. It was our first time doing this, and I was absolutely ecstatic over the fact that fish would want to just eat away my dead skin. They do all the work! As we dipped our feet in the fish pool, the fishes swarmed around my feet and went nuts. Felt like little electric jolts, but it wasn't painful or anything, tickled mostly. When they told us it was time to stop, the fish didn't seem to want to let go... They seemed to love my feet more than anyone else's in the pool. Though some may think it sounds disgusting, I was happy - at least they took good care of my feet. They were so nice and smooth afterward.

Next was the onsen, to clean off the rest of the dead skin flakes and relax in actual clean water. After drying, was fresh fruit juice, churros, and relaxing. Then, decided we should head to the hotel, which took us twice as long as it should have, as we exited the back of the giant building, walked in a complete circle and ended up in the front of the same building (laughing, at the fact we had just walked around the building). Walked to the wrong hotel and then headed back to our starting point to take a shuttle (that we didn't know about beforehand) from the water park to our hotel. All this while still not having eaten dinner, and concerned we would miss dinner time and have to eat convenience store food. Though, all ended well, as a yakitori restaurant was open until 9:30. The sakura (cherry blossom) ice cream I had for dessert was amazing (and sadly I don't have a picture of it to share with you).

Sunday was filled with tourists as we took the "tourist" loop from where we were back to where we started the day before. A cable car from Gora to Sounzan. The ropeway from Sounzan to Owakudani to Togendai. A pirate ship (ferry) from Togendai across Lake Ashinoko back to Hakone-machi. Normally, the views are spectacular and Mt. Fuji can be seen up close and personal, however, the entire day Sunday was cloud-covered, thus leaving me to sigh heavily over missing a perfect chance to capture Fuji-san. The clouds and haze still provided an interesting backdrop though, mysterious and intriguing all at the same time.

The cable car, at Sounzan (the top of the mountain).

The Hakone Ropeway - longest ropeway in the world.

Ropeway in action:

Going over the infamous "sulfur pit" to Owakudani.

In Owakudani, they boil eggs in the sulfur hot springs, turning them black. The legend goes that eating these eggs adds seven years to your life. In any case, I'm sure they make people cheerful, as the egg is so happy and cheerful itself:

Where they boil eggs:

Down to the lake to meet our pirate ship.

The pirate ship:

By this time, we had been standing in lines for awhile, surrounded by overly-exuberant Japanese people, loud, ignorant foreigners and screaming children, and really both just wanted to go home and sleep. Our patience had dwindled, our excitement lost. Even the crisp, freezing cold mountain air was making us cranky. We probably sounded like two old women, walking around and grumbling loudly about the crazy Japanese people who always cut us off or stop in the middle the walkway and cause a traffic jam, and the foreigners who just get in the way and never shut up. Even I, someone who loves children, felt like throwing them overboard or grabbing their arm and scaring them into silence. We were unhappy, tired, and cranky, we knew it, we were being impatient, and we didn't care.

So would I recommend taking the typical tourist loop in Hakone? No. I would say, do everything the tourists won't typically do. Unless you really want to ride the ropeway. I must admit, that part was pretty interesting. The cable car definitely wasn't, however. Perhaps you may want to try a sulfur-cooked egg. I passed, as eggs just aren't my thing. I honestly don't know what intrigues people to walk through sulfur gas-filled stench to see a bunch of orange rock and sulfur hot springs, but I suppose it was interesting in its own pungent way. I was happy to bring home a new Kitty-chan mug from Owakudani to add to my collection.

After all of this, and a sickening bus ride back down the mountain, and 45 minutes on the train whilst having to pee, I hopped off at a random station to use the restroom and get a quick snack. I see a police car pull over a car on the road just outside the train tracks. The police inquire the man, then practically drag him out of the car and put him in the back of the squad car. The two women and children hustle out, worried looks on their faces, watching. Eventually, when the police don't get out of their car, the women and children take off walking down the street. I tried to non-nonchalantly walk down the platform in order to get a better view without tipping off the policemen I was prying, while greedily stuffing Pocky in my mouth, but when I wasn't looking, the pulled-over car had disappeared, and the man was gone from the back seat. Perhaps they let him go? The next time I glanced over the police car was gone too. I have no idea what happened exactly, if they were just speeding and the man didn't comply with the cops or something, but then again, I haven't really sat and watched Japanese police pull speeding cars over. Maybe it's standard procedure. (I doubt it). Random, yes.

Now that this post is longer than my weekend, I should probably end it. The other funny stories shall come next time. If you can wait that long.

kitchen mishaps, triumphs and summer dreams

Am I in Washington? It sure feels like it. This incessant rain that allows only irregular sun breaks, and even with those sun breaks we still get cold and wind gusts. The cherry blossoms should say otherwise - that it should be warm and sunny and spring-like, but, it isn't. Perhaps I'm hoping for too much, considering it is only March, albeit the end of March. I've had enough of winter though. The cold, the dark, the unusual rain, being sick and inside... Instead I dream of exotic beach vacations and summer skirts and sandals, reminding myself that one day soon I'll be able to walk in the warm sunshine, soaking up as much as possible before the next winter. (Don't let that picture to the left fool you, that was one sunny day out of many rainy ones...)

Then I remember, the awful sunburns I got last summer despite using 65SPF sunscreen, the ones that still mark certain parts of my skin. Or the incessant humidity that leaves one with bladder infections, frizzed out hair and an oily face. Or, the mosquitoes - the blasted bugs that infiltrate my living space and steal my blood late at night, consequently leading to sleepless nights. Oh yes, and the shrieking bugs that resemble giant beetles that enjoy serenading the world at an ungodly hour of the morning since Japan does not believe in daylight savings time, also causing sleepless nights. Curse you, cicadas. I digress.

Now that I think about it, maybe summer isn't as dreamy as I thought... Perhaps I'll be wishing for winter again come August. For now though, I anticipate the warmer months.

Today was another one of those rainy days. Rain that blows sideways and upside down and every which way possible. It is such that, even though I was thoroughly bundled from head to toe, even outfitted with waterproof shoe covers that come up to my shins, and a raincoat that just allows my eyes to peek out, I still get wet. So, upon returning home from errands in the erratic rain, I decided today was definitely a curry day.

So around 5, I get the onions chopped and sauteing on the stove, whilst I mince garlic and ginger and gather the rest of my ingredients from around the kitchen. I'll take a brief tangent here to say that the past week I have begun spring cleaning, which includes organizing and trying to get our apartment more in order. Things are coming together slowly but surely, and maybe one day soon after I get more done and we can actually make some more purchases, I'll be able to share pictures of our place.

Back to curry. The onions are caramelizing and so I throw in the ginger and garlic, and then follow with water, stock, a bay leaf and star anise. That simmers nicely as the flavors amalgamate. About an hour later I get the still-somewhat-frozen chicken in the pot as David returns soaking wet from playing with children. Since the chicken was so cold, I turned the stove up and put the lid back on to get everything heated quickly without allowing bacteria or anything to form. Well, as I got caught up in talking with David per usual end-of-the-day conversations, I completely forgot I had left the burner on high, and sat down to read some food blogs while I "waited" for the chicken to "slowly" cook.

Maybe 20 or so minutes later I heard a sound like perhaps the water was boiling over, and rushed to the stove, where, in dismay, I realized I had left the stove on high, and when I nearly burned my hand taking off the lid, felt my stomach drop at the sight of the scorched pot, a pile of chicken in the middle... and the broth completely evaporated. What else could I do? I started crying, then burned my hand (on accident). It is silly isn't it, since it's not like we can't make curry still, and David comforted me and told me it was ok. I felt utterly stupid for forgetting about the stove, and just stupid that though I started dinner about two hours earlier, I'd have to start over again. So I did, and David thoughtfully cleaned out the pot for me. Although, from there on out, I kept dropping things and having issues all around, which eventually led me to collapse on the floor in laughter. It was all too ridiculous, how could I not laugh?

The curry turned out fine as usual, though slightly different than if it had been cooked much longer. Nonetheless, still delicious.

Although, despite the curry issues, the granola I got in the oven to slowly bake turned out beautiful. I threw some together a few days ago and made some more since David and I already downed most of my first batch. I hoped it would be a cheaper (and tastier) way to do breakfast, instead of buying bags of pre-made granola. The first batch included wonderfully roasted walnuts with oats, cinnamon, cloves and cardamom, mixed up with maple syrup and baked at a low temperature for 50 minutes. The second batch included almonds instead of walnuts. Thankfully, I recently found a retailer here who sells bulk spices, herbs, dried nuts and fruits, so I ordered some nuts and seeds to bulk up our granola a bit for next time.

The sourdough starter was also put to good use this past weekend as I made pizza dough out of it, which we used to make BBQ chicken and Thai chicken pizzas.

All in all, more good food despite my curry mishap. And the week is only half over.

Challenging #17

Oh Spring, have you sprung? The buds I captured on camera just weeks ago are now blooming along our street - a mix of purple and white with soft petals. Though the temperature took a brief dip, the weather warmed up this weekend and allowed the sun to show its face. Since we are tired of being inside, David and I decided to go for a hike on Saturday. I spent the week looking up places to hike on the internet, and found a mess of them in Fujieda (the city next to ours on the east side). My natural inclination when choosing hikes is to find the longest and most strenuous, the ones I actually consider challenging. None of those walk-around-the-park types. However, David convinced me that I needed to take it easy since I am so out of shape from sitting around since last Fall. He was right, I knew, even though I still wanted to choose the 14k (8.6 miles) that traverses 5 mountains or something.

So instead, I looked at #16, 17, 20 and 10. They were all under 5k (3.1 miles) and appeared to be large loops that took under 3 hours to complete. I figured they'd be super easy, even for me, the out of shape one. David looked at them, gave his consent and I decided upon #17, a 3.5k course. This colorful, childish/cutesy looking map indicated some exciting stuff, waterfalls, a bridge, a "cat" rock, and even a tunnel. Whoa, tunnel? It all sounded very "Alice in Wonderland" or some such thing.

We set off Saturday morning armed with enough snacks to sustain us for a 6k hike rather than our short one. Though the sun was peeking out here and there, the wind decided it would rather be its beastly self instead of its happy, carefree, light breezy self. Though, at times I was thankful for the wind during our hike.

The bus dropped us off on the side of the freeway. We walked back a bit as I had to go to the bathroom (go figure). Then set forth, only to meet a slight incline on a cutesy path. "Hills already?" I asked, through deep breaths. David says nothing in reply, but rather is admiring the scenery. He says something only when I keep stopping to take pictures, saying the hike will take us double the time with me stopping all the time.

The park came up first, and we wandered through it, checking out the man-made waterfalls. Wandered towards the woods and walked for a bit when we realized we missed our turn somewhere behind us. When we found our turn, and started up this rock embankment, I almost cursed our decision to turn around. This path was straight up the mountain. So we climbed, me stopping every few seconds to take pictures (and get my breath, I was dying). David disappeared out of my sight eventually, as he kept going. Though, the higher we climbed, the more came into view, and I remembered why I love the hikes that go up a mountain and back down. Those make me feel like I got somewhere, that I accomplished something, and that for a brief moment in time, I could survey the world around me and feel a sense of peace. I had missed climbing mountains.

We climbed higher, and passed the cat rock. It looked nothing like a cat. We have no idea why it is called cat rock. Looking out off the left of our trail, tea fields appeared on the sides of mountain peaks. The tea farmers must be brave souls, or billy goats.

Not long after, we reached the top. The elderly folks' hiking clubs were stopped for lunch, taking up space all over the summit. I tried to angle in between them to get a good view for a picture, but alas, they blocked all the good spots, and ironically, none were facing the view, they were all turned in towards the woods (or in the woods).

Now, by this time I was quite tired, though invigorated over the fact we had just climbed a mountain without intent. Nonetheless, our trail was beckoning, and thus we continued down the mountain. (Rather, trying to keep from falling down the mountain. Have the Japanese ever heard of switchbacks? (Please know I'm exaggerating there.))  We passed a woman wearing UGG boots, dragging a small child up the mountain. Our subsequent comments included something like "crazy," "why those shoes?" and "I'd never take a child on something like this."

The next bit was quite boring and not even worth writing about. Part of it involved concrete and the freeway and a giant overpass.

Soon enough, we were almost to the tunnel. We walked along the Old Tokaido road through what seemed to be a ghost town, and reached - The Meiji Tunnel!

A bit of info: The Old Tokaido Road was part of the original route (in the Edo period) connecting Kyoto and Edo (modern day Tokyo). This route was (and still is) the most traveled route in Japan.

After walking through the tunnel, our hike was essentially over, as the freeway was just in view. So, after another bathroom break, and some soft cream, we met the bus to head home. A fantastic hike, I mused. Though, later that night and the next day, my body revolted against me for putting it through so much trauma and stress. It was only then, that David pointed out the course was an advanced course. Or maybe he mentioned it when we were hiking. In any case, I didn't even bother to notice the kanji written above the title, the ones that clearly state (in small lettering) "advanced course" (in Japanese).


Of course. You see, I really can't get away from the most strenuous and difficult hikes, even if they are short. They find their way to me.

Spring is the Season of Change

Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam, Saipan... as of late, suddenly beach vacations are pervading my thoughts and inspiring me to spend hours looking up hotels, flight information, and the best beaches in Southeast Asia. The idea of summer, vacations, beach trips and just going outside has expired my patience with winter. This and the fact that spring is slowly nudging its way in, with temps in the 60's last week, and budding cherry blossoms. Well, warm temps and more rain than usual... Can't say the rain is what I want, but the few warm, sunny days were a blessing. Now that March has arrived, I suppose the weather must make way for spring?
Spring is important to me more than ever this year, as it symbolizes the fact I am finally starting to feel like a human being again. David and I went for a nice walk along the Oi River (Big River) a week ago. I also wanted donuts from Mister Donut, which is near the river. The bike ride there miraculously felt normal, even the part where we were riding along a main road that is more like a highway, as the shoulder suddenly disappears and I am almost hit by the back end of a "semi" (who am I kidding, can they really be called semis here? They're tiny.).  Or, as we walked our bikes down a concrete embankment to the river, my bike felt heavy and I was using all my weight to hold it back from rolling down, yelling, "it's so heavy! AHH! Oh, it almost fell! AHH! Oh, I almost fell! Why is this so heavy? OW! I hurt my leg!"

David rolls his eyes and says "of course you did."

Me: "Why was that so hard? Why is it so heavy??"

David: "Did you use the brakes?"

I start laughing hysterically, how stupid of me not to use my brakes. I've used them plenty of times before walking my bike down a hill... So, perhaps my head isn't quite back to normal yet. Or it's just been that long since I've done anything aside sit at home and make food.

The next day, I was beside myself with excitement to go watch David's basketball tourney in the next city over. I mapped out the route, taking the train and bus. I'm going outside! I'm going out into the world! This is the happiest day of my life! Weee!!! Er, yes, well it sounded something like that.

All went well and I made it to the school, where the tourney was, in one piece. After watching David's first game (they won!), and freezing in the gym while it was so warm and sunny outside, I ran downstairs to use the bathroom. As I walked towards it, and almost into it, I realized it was a boy's bathroom. Alas! I have to go so bad! A man saw me and starting explaining something about the bathroom being outside and gave me directions, except that I was in shock about this whole ordeal that I didn't understand most of what he said. So, I went outside and walked around the building. No girl's bathroom.

Back upstairs to the gym and asked David about the bathroom. He said he didn't think it was in the building. Of course. So I go back downstairs and outside. I walked around the school, checking different buildings to see if they are locked or not. I found some old abandoned building that looked like the baseball team used it as a locker room or something. No one was there, so I walked in, down the creaky hallway and found a bathroom. Hooray! Finally I can go! 

No, it was too soon, as I noticed the urinals on the right side. I glanced over my shoulder. No boys around. I'm sure it's fine. Not like I haven't done this before. However, none of the stalls had toilet paper. UGH! Why!? I have to go!

So, walked back outside and did another loop. Walked back into the gym building and see my husband coming down the stairs. Phew, he can help me! I told David that I could not find the stupid bathroom anywhere. He, though was about to start his game and I believe was going to use the bathroom himself, ran back upstairs (what chivalry!) and asked where the ladies bathroom was. While he was gone, I was sort or staring off and around the building, as I do when I have nothing to do. A white and black sign caught my attention. It had the kanji for "women's bathroom" on it. Right in front of me, about five feet away, was a map for how to get there. How had I missed this map before? Then David appears and I laughed, pointing at the sign. "ha hahahaha! There's a map!" I said.

David smiled and then proceeded to point out the bathroom to me with a brief explanation. I head outside, once again, in search of my destination. It's been about 25 minutes now of me searching for the bathroom.

The women's bathroom is located in some "grounds building" between the baseball fields. At the time, the baseball team was playing in both fields. I walked along a dusty, dirt path, walking towards the first building, the one in which David said the bathroom was located. I passed a vending machine, but saw no bathroom, just a wall. No doors. Didn't he say the bathroom was here? 

So, I kept walking, thinking it must be the next building. Suddenly, to my right, a boy stops, takes off his hat, bows and says "konnichiwa." (hello) I reply in kind, embarrassed over the fact I'm searching for a bathroom amidst all these teenage boys. As I continued walking, a building in front of me looked very similar to a bathroom. That must be it! The closer I got, however, I saw urinals inside. My desperate line of thinking led me to believe that perhaps it was just turned into a women's bathroom from a men's. Now that I think about it, that really doesn't make sense, especially since it was quite open and there wasn't a lot of privacy.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to pee. I wanted to escape the line of vision of the teenage boys watching me peer into their bathroom. I turned back, thinking I needed to look at that stupid map again, and also thinking I was missing David's game. As I walked back, suddenly, boy after boy on either side of me stopped, turned, took off their hats, bowing and saying "konnichiwa." One boy yelled, "hello!" I replied to all them, thinking, AHH! I'm being ambushed! I just need to pee for crying out loud! Stop looking at me! Wait, maybe I can ask them where the bathroom is? 

I'm sure you were hoping I would ask a bunch of teenage boys where the women's bathroom was. No, sorry, can't give you that satisfaction. However, as I walked faster to escape the chorus of konnichiwa-ing going on, the vending machine came into view. Almost instantly, my eyes dart to the universal symbol for "woman," in red, on a small door, almost behind the vending machine. I almost did a dance, or exclaimed my relief. I could finally pee!!!

Yes, that weekend was full of excitement, and nothing out of the ordinary for my so-called "normal" life.

On that note, a final confession. Due to the length of time it is taking me to get over this, and all that we've put my school through, who have bent over backwards to accommodate me and this illness, we decided, after meeting with my school, that it would best if I quit and let someone new come in April. We had to make this decision a couple weeks ago, so they could have time to get a new person for the start of the new school year. Though, I'm sure I'll be fine by April (hopefully), due to the fact that I still have bad days sometimes, I felt it would be too much of a risk for them, and ultimately unfair that the students have not had an ALT for months now. David and I think it was the best decision for all the concerned parties, and so, as of now, I am no longer teaching at Shimada High School. In the meantime, as I recover to 100%, I'll be working on writing, blogging and web stuff, and we'll see what kind of work opportunities come up after that.

Spring symbolizes the new, coming to life, and transformation. In Japan, much of the culture revolves around the Springtime changes, such as a new school year starting in April. So, this year, Spring represents a lot more than in many seasons past. We'll see what kind of change will come in the near (and far) future. For now, I'll enjoy Spring's beginning.

My Dough Kids and Children of the World

Though this isn't a food blog, I've been moved to write about my recent experiences baking and cooking. Particularly, the truffles I made for myself for Valentine's Day and the sourdough starter I've been working on. I attempted to revive a pre-made starter I bought from a natural foods store here, and yet that failed quite miserably. You see, these starters seem to be rather fickle, and from what I've read online, sourdough starters seem to have their cult following. People argue fervently over the best method to begin one, sounding something like the digs hurled between ardent Mac and PC users. Some say you need to start with pineapple juice or grapes, other argue this is ridiculous. Some say you need to keep it at a warm temperature, while others retort that people have been making sourdough starters for centuries without temperature control. Some swear by starting with sterilized utensils and containers, and yet others refute that this is unecessary. Don't use metal bowls; don't use metal spoons; metal spoons are ok; five days is long enough; No, seven days is required; feeding every 8 hours is best; No, every 12; No, every 24; use 1-1 ratio flour-water; No, equal grams ratio; Use only spring water!; Filtered tap is OK.

With all this mish-mash I was puzzled how to start my starters, after the failure of the first attempt. So, I sort of compiled the various ideas and threw some whole wheat flour and water in my rice cooker. I figured at least, this would keep it warm, though it's a metal interior. That attempt died quickly, as the rice cooker baked the starter (it was on "keep warm"!!!). So, I added more and this time alternated turning on and off the rice cooker to gently heat the starter, opening the lid often to check on it. I soon named him Bubbly, as the bubbles appearing were a brilliant sign. After a couple days of successful survival, I took some of Bubbly and put it in a jar to create Bubbly Jr, and popped Jr in the oven.

In any case, it is now day 6 and both Bubbly and Bubbly Jr are still alive and kicking. I've just been feeding them every 12 hours, making sure they have air, and keeping them somewhat warm in the oven now. I didn't need pineapple or grapes, and used bottled water, and so far so good. I'm waiting for them to double in size today to see if they are up to snuff yet for some sourdough English muffins...

And now, apparently, they are like children. I talk to them often and say things like "time for dinner" and "time for bed" as David looks at me confused, thinking I am speaking to him. I've become one of the crazed sourdough starter-obsessed people I read about on the internet... They even have NAMES. Alas.

On a less entertaining note, lately, I've become wrapped up in reading real-life, rather horrific yet illuminating stories of world events. The current one, I felt I should share with you, and as heart-wrenching as it is, I haven't been able to put it down. Nothing to Envy by Barbara Demick. This journalist interviewed several Koreans who defected from the North. The book chronicles their lives and experiences in the years since World War II (with some brief history of how North and South Korea became divided in the first place and how North Korea's dictators came to power). Though I've yet to finish, I would strongly recommend reading this book.

Another few books that have moved me (and David) recently: Dreams and Shadows, a brief historical and present day overview of various countries in the Middle East and where they may be heading in the future; Columbine, a look into the events leading up to, during and following the Columbine High School massacre; and Iran Awakening, a memoir written by Nobel Peace Prize winner Shirin Ebadi pertaining to the Islamic Revolution in Iran, events surrounding, and consequences.

Each of these books offer unique perspectives and though some may be limited to certain people's viewpoints, they at least provide deeper insight into cultures less understood by many (such as the Middle East and North Korea). Reading books like these reminds me just how important education is. Especially in the West, we lack a certain amount of education about cultures that aren't directly related to the development of the West. I never learned about the history of China in elementary, middle or high school, for example, and China is one of the ancient cultures. Though World War II is taught multiple times through one's basic education, the events pertaining to Southeast Asia (Japan, China, Korea, etc) aren't mentioned unless related to the US (such as Pearl Harbor or the nuclear bombings).

My point is that we gain a better understanding of situations and cultures when we can look at the entire picture, the all-encompassing context. I realize this can be difficult to teach to youth in history, but unless students seek it out in higher education, many go without ever knowing. For example, after I took a Southeast Asian history class at WSU while finishing my degree, I realized the events pertaining to World War II were more complex than simply Western conflict and Germany and Japan joining forces. Earlier on when I did Running Start in high school, I remember debating and discussing with classmates over the nuclear bombings in Japan. We discussed the pros and cons, how horrific we thought it was that any country would use a nuclear bomb on another, but also that Japan wouldn't have likely surrendered otherwise. Now, after I've learned more about Japan's attempt to take over Southeast Asia, the war crimes in China and Korea, it illuminates the situation more in its entirety, and as such, can sway people's thoughts towards events one way or another.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to paint Japan as horrible, and anyone who already knows this history will understand. Many countries in the world have done horrible things, to each other and to their own people. No one is exempt from wearing that kind of shame. And yet, countries and their cultures all have their good points too. Granted, it's hard to see that in a place like North Korea, what good really comes out of the country? Hard for the people to preserve their own culture when their daily lives revolve around survival. Yes, other countries also experience this as well... and so it makes me more inspired that those countries attempting to survive can yet find joy in it. Or love.

I'm also reminded of the call to action, to care for our planet, for people. So I ask that you all remember and remind others to advocate for our planet, and to advocate for those who don't have voices. One of the softest spots I have is for youth. There are many who are in need, physical need as well as emotional need. We all are aware of the countries and places where the children are starving, diseased and often orphaned. Sometimes there isn't a whole lot we can do about that, but remember there are children around you every day who need someone in their life. They may have their physical needs met, but so many have deep emotional needs as well. As I mentioned this to David yesterday, I stated that it is easy to remember the images we see on TV and donate money, or to adopt a foreign child, or anything else to help children in need. This is incredibly important, and yet, I finished, there are children who are dying from emotional neediness. No matter how you look at it, people are in need everywhere.

Now that I've been on the soapbox, I should just reiterate that I'm not trying to preach to anyone or be negative in any way. I simply felt it strongly in my heart this morning to write my advocacy. I applaud those who do the best they can to help others, not only children, but adults as well - or to make a difference in the world somehow. Thank you for that. You never know how much you may help someone you reach out to, even just a friendly hello - cliched though that is, people ultimately just need to know they matter to someone - anyone.