Christmas Realizations 2007

We humans are curious things. I don’t think I know of any other creature that consistently and without exception tries to be something it isn’t. Mice are mice and they are happy to be mice. Dogs are dogs and, while they do love human food, they seem very content just being dogs. We humans are different. If there is anything that we humans hate, it is being reminded that we are human. We hate the idea that we are all very temporal beings on this earth for a mere 80 years and then gone. Good-bye. Sayonara. There is no encore in the performance of life. We get a one-time, opening show and that is it. And why should we view ourselves as mere temporary things? Look at all we can do! We can talk to anyone anywhere in the world in a matter of seconds, we can travel the world in hours, and we can reach the moon in mere days. Why shouldn’t we feel proud, elated, god-like, and worthy of immortality? We deserve it all! “Look at us! Look at how we can pack our lives full of… nothing.”

With all of our great accomplishments, what really have we achieved? We can now hurl insults and hatred faster than ever via cyberspace, we can target which cities to bomb more precisely than ever before, and maybe, if we need to, we can learn how to pollute space just as much as we do our formerly green earth.  

We try to forget we are fallen. We try to forget we will not be here forever. And we desperately try to find ways to live on after our decease. We hate the mention of death. Death used to be a common everyday thing. You used to have to kill your food before you ate it and you raised animals with the intention of slaughter. Wakes were held at homes and the loved ones buried in the family plot out back or at the local church around the corner. Now all of our food comes from nameless sources, the death of a pet is equal to that of a family member, wakes are held at funeral homes, and people are buried in remote locations that are almost never seen in day to day life. We have pushed death to the margins of society so that we may live in the illusion of immortality. And we feel powerful to have escaped our deaths.

Reality is harsh. People say life is hard and they are right. Innocence can no longer exist in this world. Instead, it gets forcibly taken away from us like a person losing their virginity at the hands of a rapist. Innocence is no longer something you slowly grow out of and into awareness. More and more it is getting stolen and destroyed from even earlier ages. I would wager that ten year olds have never been exposed to as much violence, hatred, divorce, and abuse as this current generation is.

Where did the meaning in life go? Was it ever there? Christ came to live and to die so that we might have Life, but how does one make that Life meaningful and worth living?

Humans try to get rid of everything that reminds them of what they are. Our lives and accomplishments are fleeting. Innocence is extinct. And Christmas, is just a day like any other day. We make a big deal out of it – we get together, we laugh, we share. But the day ends and people leave, laughter dies, and people revert back to their selfish ways. Like innocence, all seems lost and all the excitement seems for naught. So at the end of the day, what do we have but the knowledge that our Savior was born, a few more material possessions in hand and a stomach full of dinner?

Family is a blessing and friends are equally amazing, but at the end of the day, are they what gives meaning to life? What happens when they are gone?

If we humans truly are temporal beings with immortal souls in need of saving, after the salvation, what is left but a temporal being? What, really, is the point?

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How the gold has lost its luster,
       the fine gold become dull!
       The sacred gems are scattered
       at the head of every street. (Lam 4:1)

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I remember my affliction and my wandering,
       the bitterness and the gall.

I well remember them,
       and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind
       and therefore I have hope:

Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
       for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;
       great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;
       therefore I will wait for him."

The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
       to the one who seeks him; (Lam 3:19-25)

Achmed the Dead Terrorist Carols

THE Baby Panda

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

It Typhooned!

In the words of my beloved Sister, "It's Typhooning!" Well, it did.

Thursday, September 6^th, 2007.
I wake up. My clock blazes in red numbers - 7:38. I moan. I forgot my sleeping medicine the night before and had had a rather un-restful sleep as the result. The rain that had been tattooing my roof all night long continues and out my open window I see tree branches oscillating in the unseen wind. I smile. The typhoon is coming.
A light bulb appears in a thought bubble over my head, visible only to the truly imaginative. "I should take a walk," I think to myself. "Right now, in the heavy pre-typhoon rain." I weigh the pros and cons. Pros: 1. I love the rain. It is my favorite type of weather. 2. Exercise is always good. 3. The force from the light bulb appearing over my head has awakened me so thoroughly that trying to return to sleep would be futile. 4. What is the point in my being alive if I don't seize the day? Cons: 1. I could get wet. 2. I could catch pneumonia (a personal favorite of my body's).  Hmmm... The pros outweigh the cons. And I haven't had a good bout of pneumonia in nearly 10 months; it's time to spice things up. I'm taking a walk.

Fifteen minutes later I step into the foyer looking like a little human Paddington bear. I've thought of everything - contacts so I don't have to mess with raindrops on my glasses, my old windbreaker from Africa (still sandy) zipped and buttoned to the max, and rain boots with my pants tucked inside. Mother points out, "We have a big umbrella. Do you want to take that?" Blasphemy! "No thanks," I reply. "You're going to get wet..." I nearly reply with an intellectual "Doi!" before I recall that "doi" has been out of use for several decades and instead politely thank her for her astute observation.

I step outside. One thought hits my mind (enter another thought bubble) - "Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of moments that take your breath away." Cue said moment. The rain is thundering on the dark black Karuizawa dirt, trees are swaying in the wind and I can hear the river behind the house crashing its course through the trees with no inhibitions. I set out. I step in a puddle and rejoice in the fact that someone somewhere once upon a time thought of rain boots. I walk to the bridge that passes over our river. I break out in a grin so large my ears have to move a few millimeters further apart to make room. Our river is full. Our “normally low-activity, little brook-of-a-river in the winter river” is raging with such force that the upturned dirt has coloured the whole of it brown. I look south as I see the river continue on and as I stare in wonder I am reminded of the Amazon. Low hanging branches of jungle green from neighboring trees brave enough only to skim the surface of the water before bouncing back to their sheltered refuge, the frothy foam on the top evidence of the water moving too quickly to be fully seen, only glanced. I stand there, getting wetter by the second, listening to the thunderous roar of our river. My river. I resist the urge to play Pooh Sticks knowing that whatever twig I subject to the waters below me, it would surely get rather motion sick by the time it got where it was going. As I stand above the incensed brown waters, I realize that I feel astoundingly safe. It would take another day and a half of murderous rain before our little river overflowed and even then there is no way it could reach our cabin #21 on the high ground. So I stare in wonder at the furious river, as frustrated as it is that it has nowhere to go but south, before I turn once again westward on my way to the main shopping street.

I take a back path that shows the drenched nature in all its drippy glory. And, thanks to the porous volcanic soil, is also, astonishingly, rather un-muddy. After splashing in a few more choice puddles, I emerge onto the shopping 銀座 and stroll over to the French bakery. (One of two bakeries on the street, the only two shops guaranteed to be open so early.) I walk in. 「いらっしゃいませ! おはようございます! 」 the grandma of the bakery calls out. 「おはよう! 」 I reply. The following is in my head and out my mouth before I could stop it. 「いい天気で すね? 」 (Insert big 外人 grin). 「そうだね」she replies politely. For the next 30 minutes I sip my ice cocoa and munch on flaky pastries. I find the fact that they have a leak in their roof charming, proof of a time-tested establishment. I watch the rain fall in tempo with its own song; a heavy cha-cha one minute, a soft minuet the next. A 旧軽井沢 map catches my fancy and I let my eyes wonder upon the areas and streets that I know so well. My territory, my stomping grounds (not that I stomp, of course). Shop and street names by now so familiar to me: 旧三笠ホテル(Old Mikasa Hotel), Malaika, St. Paul's Church, Shaw's House, ささらぎ林 (Sasaragi Forest), 旧軽井沢銀座 (Kyu-Karuizawa Ginza). I revel in familiarity. When none is left of my breakfast but slightly chocolaty ice cubes and granulated sugar crumbs, I set out again.

For the next twenty minutes I wander around back forest roads in search of a church I saw on the map. Having never been to said church, I thought I would take a look. Twenty minutes later, no said church. (Of course I was much wetter by this point, having nearly filled my rain boots with water while passing through a very flooded side road. Only my keen old girl scout mind got me through.)Realizing I missed it, I return along the main roads, taking a short detour at my dear friend Achan’s house/store. She, naturally, finds me crazy for being out in pre-typhoon rain, but finds my happy smile too much to resist and she laughs at the immense 外人ness off it all.

Back home, safe again, I shower, enjoying the warm water on my now water saturated body. The rest of the day continues peacefully enough inside the house while outside the storm approaches. Trees look as though they are having boxing matches with one another with all the force that they sway side-to-side with. The clouds darken a bit while the rain continues without respite. I quilt and read, lavishing in the building tension. Father comes home early, just to be on the safe side. Afternoon fades to evening as I fix dinner, and keep up with the weather reports on the television. An uneventful dullness was threatening to ruin my potentially exciting evening when we have an unexpected visitor: dear Achan. She brings the news that everywhere west of 中軽井沢 is blacked out and she is unable to go take her shower at the public bath. (Her store has only a half-bath). She asks if it would be alright if she showered here, since just the other day we invited her to come to us whenever she had need. I usher her in and the room brightens by 30 kilowatts.

For the next three hours, we discuss crafts, family pictures (「あなたの姉はとてもきれいです。」[“Your older sister is so pretty.”] I can hardly agree more), her hometown, what living in America is like and various other bits of enjoyable nothing. She showers about we sit down to decadent Irish Cream coffee (decaf, of course) and hot-out-of-the-oven brownies. I light our fall scented candles and continue talking. The rain pours down and the wind occasionally lets loose a howl or two. Then without warning, the electricity goes and we are plunged into the classic Karuizawa blackness, save but our two candles. My heart leaps with joy. We break out more candles and set up a few flashlights-turned-lanterns. The ambiance is perfect and I feel like I have been blessed with a small piece of heaven. Conversation flows easily and yet the random silences were comforting. The rain continued its downward journey hitting the trees’ green lace as it fell. Inside we are warm, golden light from the burning candles reflected in our eyes as the cinnamon scented and pumpkin bread scented candles fragrance the air like only they can. An unspeakable bond is formed, something that goes deeper than just neighbors in a storm together. At eleven o’clock we listen to mom’s old wireless radio for the weather report. No deaths, over 9,200 homes without power, tress breaking everywhere, heaps of closed roads, typhoon slowing, the eye supposedly going to come closest to us around six in the morning. There is nothing we can do but wait. Worried about her store, Achan finally heads home, but not without us giving her our cell phone numbers, flashlights and batteries and an extra candle. It is just the three of us again in the dark cabin, safe.

As the day comes to a close, I realize what a beautiful day it has been. Everyone I meet always says that I am crazy for liking the rain so much. I can picture my best guy friend in the world right now shaking his head at me with that grin on his face that clearly says, “Valerie, you’ve lost it.” Maybe I have. Who knows. But as I got ready for bed and blew out the candles on the kitchen tables, I realize that I am thankful that I was alive today. I was so happy that I had been there to see it through. Really consciously happy to be alive. I smiled a sad sort of smile; the number of days that I have actually really been thankful to be alive in the past five years can be counted on my fingers. The 気持ち of the day had been fabulous, one-of-a-kind.

As I crawled into my bed and pulled the 布団 over me and nestled down for the night, I closed my eyes and sent a prayer heavenward, thanking God for keeping me safe this day. I fell asleep to the rushing lullaby of the river and the drip-drop of rain, thinking that tomorrow, I might just have to go out and try a round of Pooh Sticks after all.  

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Fear, Love, and Reverse Psychology

Like everybody who is not in love, he thought one chose the person to be loved after endless deliberations and on the basis of particular qualities or advantages.  ~Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past: Cities of the Plain, 1922

If I love you, what business is it of yours?  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights.  If you hear bells, get your ears checked.  ~Erich Segal

The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of.  ~Blaise Pascal, Pensées, 1670

We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.  ~Tom Robbins

Apart from the fact that falling in love and getting married is, in and of itself, terrifying,  not knowing who you will fall in love with is just about enough to make you worry your little heart out.  Now, if I could just imagine myself with some ideal bloke of my dreams, then I would have no problem. I could just imagine the perfect scenario where we meet, hit it off, go on moonlit walks by a river and fall in love.

But none of the women I know seem to have ever fallen for the bloke of their dreams. Actually, it is quite the opposite.

Time after time after time, I hear stories of women who ended up marrying the last man they ever thought they would. “When I first met him I hated him,” “We didn’t get along,” “We were enemies,” “He got on my nerves,” “He liked me, but I couldn’t stand him…” etc etc etc.

And having lived in, quite possibly, the incest capital of the world – CAJ – where everyone seems related to everyone else (and even if they aren’t related, don’t worry, they went to school together) does that mean that I will marry from the CAJ lot as well? Will I marry the guy in my class who I didn’t care for at all? Or the guy with whom I was “just friends” with for years???

I hear stories of girls who make lists: “I don’t want to marry a foreigner,” “I don’t want to marry a missionary,” “I don’t want to marry a pastor…” (Because of course, we girls in our late teens know exactly what we want in a guy for the rest of our lives…) Well when you tell God “I don’t want…” He seems to make you do just what it is that you don’t want to do. 

So then you can go the other way and try to do the reverse psychology thing. “Yes, yes, I want to marry a foreigner…” Only problem is, reverse psychology doesn’t work with God, I have found out.

It frightens me to think that I might already know my husband and that I might have known him for years. It freaks me out beyond words. While I would love to marry someone from Japan, the thought that I might know them now, is just a little too much.

Everyone says you fall for the person you least thought you would. So what becomes of those I have already fallen for?  

We choose those we like; with those we love, we have no say in the matter.  ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

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