Bags are packed and shipped off to Narita. In about two days, I’ll be on a plane back to America. Back for another friend’s wedding, with presents from Japan. And once again I’ll unpack and unload my belongings and myself onto home soil. It’ll be a short rift in my life here in Japan, and a way to reconnect to things that I’ve neglected, left behind. A chance to figure out what’s important and then what’s next for me. See you all soon.
I look upon my generation with a growing ambivalence. A generation of lost youths, displaced by technology and the controlled world that our parents had given us. A wandering, lustful group of people that dream of the next locale and the next adventure, lost within their hazy minds their true purpose, with dreams of the future lost in the pains of their past.
And I envy the ones that take the leap, that jump into the waters of a new ocean without trepidation, without looking back or without care for their obligations. Sometimes I give sordid looks to the ones that have put their debts in their pockets and in the souls of their unborn children. That somehow those deficits will be repaid by another unwilling donor.
One glorious day all this wandering will come back to haunt us all. As the world and state crumble around us, we will lose the ability to raise ourselves up, and instead flee to the next destination on an itinerary of escape. God help us all :)
I’m not quite back from Singapore and Bali. The pictures aren’t up on Flickr. Luggage stored away, presents given out, but my heart and soul haven’t been unpacked.
I gain a lot from my experiences while traveling and I left behind some trinkets and unnecessary baggage. I received an unexpected present from a new friend, gave an old pair of shoes to a new cousin, bought promised gifts from a lady on the beach, lost a irreplaceable pocket knife, gained unconditional kindness from a people who I knew nothing about before, and lost a great burden that’s been resting on my chest for too long. I gained new insights into old friendships and strengthened bonds on a new lifelong friendship. My old energy flooded back to me and the darkness of the winter seemed to lift.
I left with many great memories and returned with stomach issues. Hey you can’t make eggs without cracking an egg or three.
It always happens to me in the school gym, with every teacher and every student sitting or standing around, while ceremonious rituals occur, students and teachers playing their parts, I start sinking slowly into the abyss. Cold cement walls trap in the cold, and cold cement hearts share no warmth. And I stood this time apart from the frost, a spectator in this lifeless ceremony and I watched the spirit drain out of me again. In front of everyone, surrounded by the young of heart and the heartless is where I felt the loneliest.
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But I’m going to Singapore and Bali tomorrow so Yippee! Sun and beach and tans and hot bodies and good friends. What more could I ask for now? Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year everyone. Be merry and safe this winter and enjoy the little blessings in life, the small tokens of joy that give us sustenance even through the bleakest of times. Amen!
When I heard that I was coming to Wakuya, a relatively small town of around 20,000 people, I knew that I would need some wheels. The countryside is no place for a city-boy foreigner without a set of wheels.
I know how cold it can get in Japan and Miyagi-ken gets a lot of snow. I didn’t want to be biking through the slush of the winter nor did I want the inconvenience of waiting for a bus that came every hour. Plus waiting for the bus would cut into “my hanging out with students after school” time. I don’t know why my JET predecessors never decided to buy a car? Happiness in the inaka is at the end of the road.
With the gracious help of Akashi-san at the Board of Education, I bought little Mubu, A 19?? Daihatsu Move. Its a small, yellow plate K-car which means it has 660cc of displacement in the engine and has to be a certain size (midget). The car is equipped with manual transmission, the first car that I’ve owned a car with stick before , and a set of winter tires.
The car is small on the outside, a midget van shape with a small handle on the back for portability. Its roomy in the inside, with enough space for 4 medium sized adults. The interior was filthy when I bought it, and still is very filthy now. Seems like poor Mubu was just collecting dust for a few years or something before I rescued him.
The shift is a bit tricky because 2nd gear slips sometimes and the Reverse doesn’t engage unless I release the brakes. Oh wells.
So I’ve been driving around a bit when I have a free weeked. Headed two hours south to Shiroishi to visit Danny, an Aussie mate. I also drove to Sendai to do some furniture shopping. And the little country mountainy roads are great with a small, light car. No “Tokyo Drifting” yet for me, but I’m slowly getting better at the quick shift. Its fun.
There’s a handle on top, so that you can pick it up and go.
The car came with winter tires. And in Japan everyone has to change their cars tires at the end of November. If you don’t, you won’t be covered by your insurance for winter related accidents. I changed my tires sometime in mid-November. My teachers told me I was early but luckily for me I did ….
“Your city is tha bomb if your city makin pay”.
Just got into work, need a detox, can’t think straight, so I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t be at work today. San Diego was the last stop on my week of family and friends. Drank a few liters of beers, strolled the long narrows of downtown San Diego, got all ‘emo’ and slept in the same bed with a dude. Drove straight to work in Irvine from San Diego in little over an hours time. One night is sometimes enough when you got the rest of your lives. Dave you’re on the “short-list”.
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In less than a week I drove 1500 miles. Drank six cups of milk tea. Ate ridiculous amounts of great food. Slept in the same bed with two dudes on separate nights. From San Jose to Oakland, Oakland to San Francisco and everywhere in between. Its been a year since the first time we were all together in the Bay. The courses of our seperate lives have changed, drifting along during calms or battered by waves, but at least I know we’re on the same boat.
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“Man, San Jose is a real city! You guys got buildings and stuff”.
“Dao means Island in Vietnamese. I thought that was the name of the island my Aunt was from”.
“Hey you read Forgotten Realms and Dragonlance books. You have a Media Center computer, Xbox, and Gamecube. Oh man, I’m in geek heaven”.
“You could just put a handle on it (lcd tv, car, …) and just bring it on the plane with you”.
“Same Same, but Different”.
Drove home late last night surrounded by the fog of the Central Valley. The “Check (Picture of Engine)” light was on the fritz. My companion on the trip was an iPod and an uncooperative bladder. Delays were the norm and the thickening fog that clung to the rows of apricots and other delectable fruit further slowed my progress. There was an accident going South on the 5 and the ensuing fear that swept over home bound drivers added more time to my late home coming. When I reached the Petro stop and pulled into McDonald’s for a Big Mac, a high school marching band had arrived moments before and I was caught in the fast food frenzy.
But I’ll always love the road, that figuratively endless expanse of asphalt and gravel and that has captivated a nation and young man since I took to the wheel at sixteen years of age. There’s a freedom that comes from being alone in an automobile, the captain of my own proverbial ship charting unvisited terrain. Pull over anytime for a pit stop (which I did frequently this trip), speed ahead of urban drivers not use to the de facto laws of the single lane highway, or slow cruise on the right without a care in the world because you don’t really have a place to be.
I’ll never get sick of it, I’ll never feel lonely in the car because to be alone in the car would be tantamount to being alone in my own shoes, that the journey (and the shoes) are meaningless. And so I’ll continue to drive solo until the day my car breaks down or until I can’t drive anymore.
I revisited Vietnam the other day searching for my hometown, homeland. Flying over peaceful, turquoise bays; the rickety fishing ships could be seen, the fisherman most likely sleeping on this beautiful day, a foliage of clouds over head. Going up the coast from the capital, heading north along Highway 1, I passed through Phan Thiet, Cam Ranh and stopped in Nha Trang. I relived an amazing day frolicking in the water, sleeping under the cabana, relaxing tense bodies and worn minds. I remembered those three, the greatest companions anyone could hope for in travel, in life.
I left Nha Trang, belly full of fresh seafood and heart filled with yearning. I traveled up the coast, stopping to dip my toes in the warm waters early in the morning, never early enough to avoid the great crowds of Vietnamese taking a swim before the intolerable sun could burn their bronzed skin. I stopped at roadside cafes, watched the old men playing cards, the university students eating nervously by the trees waiting for the buses to depart back to Saigon, the women cackling, mouths full of gossip and rambutan.
And then I was home, a small fishing town nestled into the Lang Mai Bay. Located in central Vietnam, the accent a little different; more Southern with a little country twang. I visited the memorial to Nguyen Hue, one of Vietnams most celebrated heroes. I crossed sandy paths and rocky beaches to visit the leper hospital, climbed red clay hills to see the empty carcasses of Cham towers, raced through crowded streets, a Dream under my seat and a sinister grin on my face; the grin of man who lives for the excitement and spectacle of destruction. And then I saw my family, and the tears flowed again, the same tears that flowed when I left Quy Nhon almost a year ago. The tears of joy and grief, the tears that have represented the life of a country that has always fought with teeth bared for survival, the same tears that flavor the intricate flavors of the country’s food. Aunts, uncles, cousins all came to greet me and we embraced. And then I was gone.
Google Earth. A daydream. And too much independence at work.
(That should be my commericial, for Google… are you listening?)
Whenever I take a lot of pictures on a trip, I never seem to have a lot to write about. Something about pictures being worth more than books on eBay or something to that effect. Maybe just laziness. Well this time I’ll try my best with both mediums.
Went up to the Bay for the Memorial Weekend, something of a belated birthday celebration and an annual traditon. It was a chance for me to hang out with good friends and do some damage shopping. We stayed in the Marina, a beautiful piece of San Francisco, surrounded by beautiful weather for the entire weekend.
The view from the rooftops.
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China Town:
I heard how after the Great Earthquake, China Town San Francisco was rebuilt from the perverse imaginations of the white architects hired. They gathered all the imageries of the Orient and created a community to suit their needs: to romanticize, to commericialize, and to alienate. China Town, like so many other ethnic enclaves, was created for tourism and to control and isolate a group of people. With its buildings that look more like brothels then a Chinese village, it was mockery of a people that worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and cooked so much damn good food.
And that’s why I love China Town. It is so sacred as a foundation of traditon and unity yet so ridiculous for its colorful aesthetics and its pandering to tourism. Its like the fake accents that we use when joking around with each other, everyone laughs but it kinda stings underneath ( like hot green oil when your mom applies it too fast with the penny). Where else can you find Hong-Kong milk tea and the saltiest fried chicken wings? Where else can you find a sword shop around every corner? Where else can you find old Chinese men playing cards in a park, the young hoodlum watching from a bench waiting for their time to sit at the pigeon-shit lacquered table, chipped and worn from the joys and tragedies of this American Life? Everytime I walk through those gates I am reminded of the power of a community and the arrogance of the ruling class.
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Its not a trip up to the Bay without some kind of drunken debauchery.
Graduation party at someone’s house, I barely knew her.
Doing dumb poses in every picture and dancing like a maniac.
The last thing to happen before we left: So it’s cake time. Cake is then used as a weapon on my face. Cake in the palm of my hand, and then cake smothered her face, pushing her head against the cabinet. I didn’t know what to do, I was holding her drunken head up with the power of cake as an adhesive. I wasn’t sure if she was unconscious or suffocating, only that my flight mechanism was taking over my civility. I looked right, there were dudes that I hadn’t even met yet, looked to my left, still more people I didn’t know. So I just ran, didn’t even look back. Like a jerk at a birthday party (I’m running out of similes) I ran out to the car, thought about seeing if she was okay, and then was reminded that she wouldn’t even know what happened. I love birthday celebrations. When did cake become the weapon of choice at birthday parties?
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She cried, she laughed. She endured and survived. She made it through, but I wanted to believe that a surprise midnight milk tea run and good times helped ease everything down. So we didn’t meet in the right city, but at least I was right on time. Here’s to good times ahead and memories that will always be treasured.
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My love of the San Francisco is back in full force. I’m gonna live there one day, perfect the reverse-gravity machine to outsmart the hills, and overtake China Town and make it Pho Town. But seriously, watch out SF, I’m coming to get you one day.
