Need vs. Want

I am always amazed when my friends say things like: I need a new bag, or I need new shoes.

Why do you "need" new shoes?

Because I got this new outfit from Vivien Tam that is just so cool, and I need shoes to go with it, oh and a new bag too. (Riiiigght)

I smile and nod, but I'm thinking: dear, you don't "need" new shoes, you "want" new shoes....

I live in a country that generates one-third of net sales for Louis Vuitton. When the Louis Vuitton boutique in Omotesando opened in 2002, some people queued outside for 2days. TWO DAYS!!! Why? Because the LV products sold in Omotesando have a special label inside that says:"Louis Vuitton, Omotesando". Yes, they make good quality luggage, but is it necessary to camp out for days just to get that bag you *think* you "need"?

I live in a country where Shaken (motorvehicle roadworthiness testing, similar to MOT in England), which is performed every 2 years, costs so much that most people opt to buy a new car once every 2 years; I live in a country where 9 year-old children (often an only child) plead with their parents to buy them designer T-shirts that cost 12,000yen (US$117)... (and we are talking about an "average" family here, not the Hilton's of Japan...)

Madness!

"I don't understand anything," she said with decision, determined to preserve her incomprehension intact. "Nothing. Least of all," she continued in another tone "why you don't take soma when you have these dreadful ideas of yours. You'd forget all about them. And instead of feeling miserable, you'd be jolly. So jolly."

-- Lelina in Brave New World, Aldus Huxley

"Purchasing Power" -- yes that illusion is the soma of today's society. We are constantly bombarded with messages telling us that we "need" a new TV, we "need" a new handbag, and we "need" those new shoes. We are bound by a system that we have created -- market economy. It tells us that we do not have enough, and we "need" some more, for this is the only way market economy can sustain itself. Yes, I'll admit that humanity would probably not have developed to the level that we have reached without our economic system, but don't you think it's about time we moved on to the next level of evolution, instead of shopping for *more* bags?

I need air, food, water, shelter, companionship, solitude, my mind, my heart, and most of all inner and outer peace -- the rest, are just nice to haves. They are Wants.

Oh, and no soma for me, thank you. (not today anyway... I don't "need" anything.)

(Post script. Of those that I mentioned as my "needs" there is a price tag on all but three items. Pharmaceutical companies and the public sector are trying really hard, right now, to put a price tag on the two out of three. Imagine our Brave New World, our dystopia, where our clean air comes out of a pressurised canister, and inner peace comes in a little pink pill....

I have a dream that one day parents will teach their children to think for themselves and be able to identify the difference between "need" and "want".

I have a dream that one day the corporate fat cats will realise that there are somethings that they cannot sell or market to us.

I have a dream today.

And I hope one day I can join hands with all those who share my views, and sing from the top of my voice: "Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty (even tho I am not religious), free at last. I DON'T NEED TO WORK ANYMORE!!"

Unfortunately I will wake up from my dream tomoro morning, get into my suit, and become one of the cog wheels that churn our economy. )

Fool on the Hill

Many of my readers may think that Japan is full of weirdos, madness, mayhem, and ridiculous rules and regulations that no one knows why there are there in the first place. While this is true there are also genuine, inspiring people that I have met. Today I will write about one of them: The Fool on The Hill.

I like to go trekking up in the mountains, for Japan is nearly 75% mountains so I have many to chose from. I often go every weekend during the spring, and also in the autumn when it's not too hot. I hike with several groups that I have met online; we all have different backgrounds, jobs, and dreams. Some are chatty and look at the leaves and the nature around them when they hike, but others, like me, are silent hikers often lost in thought, or just meditating, as we take each step. But one thing we all have in common is that we like mountains. And we like to maintain the mountains by taking back any rubbish we find along the way.

One day my trekking partners, S, N and I, were trekking up a very challenging mountain in Okutama, in west Tokyo. We started at an elevation of about 200m and climbed up to 1789m (in 3hrs!!). Because it was a steep climb we were taking it easy, collecting any rubbish we found along the way, and silently taking one step at a time. About 30mins from the top of the mountain from behind us came a strange old man wearing a white t-shirt, a white towel on his head, a jikatabi (footwear which looks like a combination of mittens for your feet, boots, and socks -- all in one --often worn by workmen from the edo period) that merged with his tight traditional monpe trousers, and carrying an old, large canvas rucksack, much like that used by the old imperial army in WWII, walked passed us, and greeted us.

Good for you for keeping the mountains clean. He said, as he greeted us and passed us at a very fast pace.

Wow! Here's a guy -- no Merrell trekking shoes, no Mont Bell Gortex hiking equipment, probably twice our age, looking like a Ninja more than a hiker -- trekking, and passing us on this very steep mountain! All three of us were shocked and surprised to see this lone hiker.

Once we got to the top it was time for lunch. Apart from the three of us there was the lone hiker, who had passed us nearly half an hour ago, eating his lunch. My curious hiking buddies decided to go up and chat to this strange Ninja hiker who looked as if he had just teleported from a different time.

Hi, old man, can we come and join you? Sure. You seem like good people. Anyone who is a mountaineer is a good person. We saw you pass us with that big ol' rucksack, what do you have in there? Oh, only 3 days of supply. I've been camping and walking for 2 days now. My journey will end tomorrow.

There I am struggling with a 7kg back pack, and this man, twice my age, was carrying 3 days worth of food, water, and shelter in an old, canvas backpack! And he looked more like a Ninja than a hiker. This is surreal.

He beckoned us to sit next to him while he told us his story. We found out that this strange Ninja hiker, Yasuda-san, had been trekking for nearly 30 years, and now that he has retired he often takes a journey of self discovery into the mountains. He had done the course that we were on more than 5 times.

He asked us how old we were, and we told him that we were in our early 30s, and that we have been trekking now for a while. (I started fairly early at 17.) Is there a good age to start treking, S asked.

He looked into the distance and replied: There is no "good age" to start trekking. The important thing is to start, and to know when to finish. I have been to these mountains many times, and every time I come the leaves, the trees, even the path is very different. Every time I come here they teach me something different. I'm 62, and I am still learning. There is so much you can learn from coming to the mountains. Today I learned that there are young people like you who respect the mountains. Tomorrow I will learn something different.

We people of the mountains come here, because we want to learn. That is why the mountains call us. We come here to meditate, and to contemplate life. For each step there is a thought, an emotion, which we let go at the start our next step. That is our journey -- it has a beginning and an end. Do not hold onto things, let go, and let the mountains guide you. You are people of the mountains, your senses are sharpened, which is a step forward from the city dwellers who are not called by the mountains. I wish you luck on your journey.

He stood up, and bid us farewell to continue on his way.

My hiking buddies, S and N, thought this man was as mad as his attire, and burst into laughter when he left. I didn't share my opinion with them that day, and I don't think I ever will.

Well on his way, his head in a cloud,

The man of a thousand voices, talking perfectly loud.

But nobody ever hears him,

Or the sound he appears to make.

And he never seems to notice .....

But the fool on the hill,

Sees the sun going down.

And the eyes in his head,

See the world spinning around.

(Fool on the Hill -- The Beatles)

That day I met a true philosopher, not a fool on the hill.

Coming Out

Coming out can mean different things to different people. Most people will associate these words with homosexual people "coming out" about their sexual orientation to their family and friends. Some people may even further associate these words with a cheating partner "coming out" to reveal their affair, or a person "coming out" to their family about having quit their 7million yen-a-year, stable job to pursue their dream to become a restauranteur.

(Or even children "coming out" to their parents about getting Fs in spelling and cursive at school, which I often did!)

Today, dear readers, I am coming out... of my wardrobe.

I'm a shy person. A very shy person.

There.

This is not something that started yesterday or today; it has been ongoing for years. Ever since I was a small child I had difficulties making friends, for the fear of opening my mouth and saying the wrong thing, or be rejected for asking them if the other kids wanted to play. In particular I was shy amongst adults, I suppose it was a natural tendency for me to seek acceptance from my elders; I wanted to be a "good girl".

This shy nature of mine continued right the way to my adulthood; when I first went to college, because I was not living in the dorms like the other students (I was living with my X at the time) , I would go home for lunch rather than face the strangers in the canteen. Most of them had already made "clans" by the first week, because they shared dorms and knew each other. It took me nearly 3 months to make a friend -- and even then it was Freddie who approached me, and introduced me to her circle of friends, not the other way round. (Thank you, Freddie, without you I wouldn't have met Jon, Dominic, Beccy, and Damon, and I don't think the 6 of us would have had such a fun time at college!)

Even in my professional life -- same thing -- people approach me, introduce me to people. I am never the instigator of a conversation. Never (up until recently) have I gone up to a stranger and said: Hi, and started small talk.

(To all extroverts reading this, please *teach* me the art of small talk!!)

Anyway, back to my wardrobe. In ancient times before we had the tool of writing, stories were often handed down thru generations by "story tellers" or by the "village wise(wo)man". They stood in front of a crowd, all eyes fixed on them, and wove their tapestry of tales. In Japanese we called these ancient story tellers "kataribe". They were not shy -- in fact they loved coming out in the open to tell their stories to many people, and expanding their imagination.

But do you kow what? Amongst those who were listening to the Kataribes, there were more talented storytellers, but unfortunately their tales were never told, and lost when they left the world. Today we call these silent Kataribes writers, for instead of standing in front of a huge crowd, they convey their rich inner minds thru the tool of writing. They show the world what lies beyond the doors of the wardrobe -- a mystic, magical land, called Narnia.

I, too, am a kataribe, albeit a shy one.

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."

--Dr. Seuss

So, to all of you shy people who live in their wardrobes -- open those doors! Let others see your Narnia!

Tired...(Monday Blues?)

Warning: boring blog due to mental state of the drunken wench, not so good, lah. As they say in Singapore. Lah. Perhaps this state is induced by the absense of ethanol in my bloodstream....

I am usually full of energy even at this time of the day (2am), but today I am very tired. I have been given unchallenging tasks at work, like translating documents, for the past week now, and it is draining my energy.

Fear not, tho, I have loads of ideas to write about: I maintain a blog ideas book with me at all times, and so far I have 20 different topics that I want to write about. Obviously some need more research than others so it will take time before it is published.

However, I am still not convinced that I can write even half of what I have down on my list by the end of this week...

My job is taking too much of my time; perhaps it's time for a different game plan.... Hmmm. Need to give it a thought.

But alas, I do not have enough time. Plus I am exhausted...

For now I will retire to bed, and publish my next blog called Coming Out tomoro... it's still a draft and definately far from complete. (I suppose still have a bit of pride about what I present to my readers!"

Anyway, good night, all.

Detoxing Wench

Invisible Children...

When I first returned to Japan after finishing my degree I realised that I had a bit of a handicap. Although I could speak the language fluently I was illiterate, for all my education had been in English my entire life. As a recent graduate I didn't have enough money to enroll in a language school so I decided to learn Japanese from a group of volunteers in my neighbourhood who taught Japanese to all levels of students.

After a while I got to know all the teachers and we would often go for dinner after our classes ended at 9pm. We would talk about our lives, our dreams, or what happened that day. All the volunteers had their reasons for doing what they did. I remember asking each of them what they did during the day. Everyone had a job, of some sorts, apart from E-chan, who was a housewife and a "militant" volunteer.

So, E-chan, where else do you teach Japanese?

Oh, I only teach Japanese to you guys; I teach the invisible children how to read and write.

The Invisible Children?

Japan's law on citizenship, or naturalisation, states that you are eligible to become a Japanese citizen if one, or both, of your parents are Japanese nationals at the time of your birth. During the 1990s there was a huge influx of women from the Philippines and Thailand who came to work in the "night entertainment industry" -- basically as hostesses and as whores. Many of these women were working hard to send money back home to support their family, but they are just as human as you or me, and they fell in love... with Japanese men.

When two bodies and spirits join as one, the next natural step is to procreate. These women from South East Asia bore children - bundles of love and joy - for the love of the man that promised them a life beyond poverty. A life of love, life, and luxury.

Unfortunately, these women work in the sex industry, and often the men would use that as an excuse to say "how do I know it's mine" and waiver their responsibility for raising another human life. These men refused to sign their names on their child's birth certificate. Results according to the authorities: mother Gaijin, father unknown....

E-chan used to teach writing and maths to the invisible children who were of school age, but had no rights to go to school. Their mothers had overstayed their visas, and the children were not recognised as Japanese nationals. During the weekday she had a class of 7 children who were all born and bread in Japan, spoke very little of their mother's language, and had no basic human rights.

For they were invisible children.

I was really touched by E-chan's story that day. Years later I saw a news report about a 10 year old girl named, Mariko, who had a Japanese father and a Filipino mother. Mariko and her mother were recently deported back to the Philippines because her mother had overstayed her visa. Mariko spoke no Tagalog, she spoke only Japanese, and she had learned basic maths and writing (Japanese) by volunteers teachers -- much like E-chan -- and she just didn't belong in the Philippines.

Imagine going from a "developed country" like Japan to a developing country like the Philippines at 10 years old, just because your dad decided that he didn't want to acknowledge your existence to save public face? She was forced to move from a world with her friends, her language, her culture to one that was foreign, just because her father wouldn't sign on the dotted line.

Please explain this madness to me.

"A person is eligible to become a Japanese National if one, or both the parents, at the time of their birth, is a Japanese National"...

These words have created a huge legal loop hole, one that which, unfortunately, let the Mariko's fall thru and do not allow them to return.

I will never forget Mariko's face as the cameras zoomed into her; her big brown eyes had turned red and were stained with tears. Do you have a message to the people of Japan?

"Otosan, Mariko no koto mukaeni kite kudasai." (Daddy, please come and take me home)

For those 3 minutes as her story was aired on TV, Mariko, for the first time in her life, became visible.

(post script: I do not know how many Mariko's there are in Japan today. There is no way of tracking the "Hafu" children of temporary workers in the sex industry that over stay their visas. But I do know that not many people have taken up their cause. These children live today in "their" world, "their" country with no access to basic rights, such as rights to education, rights to basic healthcare, and rights to be recognised by their fathers that they are the results of two people that fell in love...)

Detox...

Today I am going into detox. Why? Because of my upcoming full medical check-up on Dec 6th. It is sooooo thoro that I will be checking in for an overnight stay (in a 4-5 star hotel, of course, coz I'm not sick. Not physically anyway)

I began to take these 2day medicals the year before I turned 30. I have a family history of diabetes, cancer (my father died from liver cancer, and my mother had lung cancer - even tho she does not smoke. She is still in remission), and heart disease so I thought: hmm... maybe I should look after my health a bit more. Plus I get to use the "points" that I have accumulated on my semi-private healthcare scheme, which I can use on spa visits, discounts on gym visits, thoro medical health checks, and even get discounts on fights and hotels!!! I have 70,000points waiting to be used.

These tests are very thoro. I'm getting everything done from blood tests, fitness, cancer marker tests, allergy tests, all the way to MRI on my brain!! I'm even getting a CT scan of my internal organs to see how much fat there is! Must admit, I'm 5ft4 and weigh 101 pounds (46kgs) so I don't think I have too much to worry, but I would like to know how my health is -- considering that I am a seasoned, drunken wench.

I'm glad that my healthcare scheme provided by my company pays for all of this, but I have one serious problem with this set up: my company receives my test results (directly) before me!

Needless to say I have excluded all gynecological/female related tests .... I will have them done at a private hospital. I don't want HR seeing the results of my smear tests or my mamograph or whether I have clamydia... (which I seriouosly doubt, but nonetheless would not want HR to know)

Bit embarrassing, isn't it?

The reason for the detox? To fool my company into thinking that I am perfectly normal and healthy.

Riiiiiiggght.

Tax Heaven

No. I am not talking about places like the Cayman Islands and Barmuda - those are tax havens, not Tax Heaven.

We all know that we are taxed in one form or another. Everytime I buy a bottle of booze I'm paying tax (SHIT, maybe I need to start to make my own bootleg booze -- oops, it's illegal in this country...), or when I buy reading material, or make money (win money, even!) I am taxed... Even when I die, my children will be taxed on my possessions.... (so far no kids, no possessions, phew. No taxes in that case)

But have you ever wondered where all the tax goes?

Just as UPS offers a parcel tracking service to locate our parcel to the exact geographic location, I want to see where my tax money goes to! I mean, it can't be that hard now, can it? I'm sure the government already has me down as an encrypted number in a centralised, giant server, tracking everything like how much limit I have on my credit card, whether I have had any traffic offenses in the past, whether I am a home owner (need to pay fixed asset taxes, right?), how much I earn, how much I contribute to the pension fund... Hell! If they were smart enough they would probably have implemented electronic voting just to see who I voted for!!! (beware, those who have electronic voting in your country... they know who you are!)

(oh, and I *know* they have all my medical records...)

OK, enough of the paranoia, but my point is that if they can easily track people who *don't* pay taxes, they also know who *does*. Our elected government is obliged to disclose and manage public funds so they can easily say: we spent 3% of the revenue from consumption on overseas development in Angola to remove land mines, or DWR, of the XXX,XXXyen that we taxed on your income this year 2% went to building public housing, 5% to building more highways, while distroying a mountain or two, 40% on building a dam that has an expected lifespan of only 40years, but don't worry, we worked out that we will recoup our capital in 25years (low interest rates) and have an internal rate of return of X%, plus we will make electricity while imposing "minimal impact" on the environment...

If we lived in an "ideal" democracy our country will be run like a coorporation where my vote would be "my share" of the country. And as a shareholder of the country I should be able to say: OK, I payed my taxes, I want to know where it was spent, was it for a good cause? Or did you "invest" my money in some none perfoming bonds or more stocks of another dubious country? just as any shareholder of a company can do.

I want to know where my taxes went to! I want the government to write an Annual Report (and an Environment Report!!) just like any large company would!! If multinational companies can do it using tools like Businness Intelligence Warehouse (BIW), why can't governments track our money! They seem to track *US* nicely, don't they...

Must admit, tho, I was very suprised to see this on the way to my Yoga class this morning:

Caption Reads: The Pedestrian Overpath Construction Works Between Meguro and Senzoku Station has Been Funded by Petrol Tax and Road Tax. Tokyu Railways.

So that's where my brother's tax went to! (I neither drive, nor own a car; and no, it's not because of some DUI offence...). His money went to a private railway company to build a pedestrian overpath. Wow! Perhaps If I started up my own company and went to my local government and said: "I want to blogg and sell advertising space to boost our economy. I have an overdraft, and my bank manager won't lend me anymore", they might give me some of the revenue from all that tax on alcohol!!

But where does my consumption tax, income tax, residency tax, taxes-unknown-to-me-but-are taxed-anyway taxes go to?

Perhaps just as when the lone sock disappears from the laundry machine and goes to sock heaven, my taxes go to Tax Heaven....

My government needs more transparency.

(post script: the Japanese government, in 2003, spent 2 trillion yen (US$17billion) of public funds to bail out Resona Bank because of all the "bad debts" or "non performing loans" that was owed to the bank. During our economy's deflatoion/recession which has now lasted 15 years the deferred tax asset values depreciated drastically reducing the capital ratio of many banks to near bankrupsy!! (irony, and play on words here). Mergers to form "Mega Banks" was the one of options they took to try and stay afloat, but Resona is only the tip of the iceberg... We also have many public funds injected into public works like "onsen lands" (hotspring theme park) build in locations that have less than 300 residents, has poor infrastructure, and are too remote for anyone to gain access... most of these operations have shut down, for the maintenance fees far exceeded the repayments on the loans. Many of the buildings stand today -- empty -- because it costs more to pull it down than to maintain it as a "fixed asset" on your books.... Green-Pia is a classic example. But unfortunately I can only find resources in Japanese... sorry. Otherwise I would have linked. DWR)

One hand on the wheel, the other on the joy stick

I have now lived in Japan - on and off - for 7 years, and this place (my country!) never ceases to amaze me. There are so many perverts here that I do not know where to begin!

There are the those called "chikans": the gropers on crowded trains who will rub their enlarged(?) genitals onto any part of your body (or stick their hands down/into your skirt); there are the flashers who will stand really close to you in a lift/elevator and open up to show you their pathetic, saluting member when you are alone; and there are the guyz who will walk up to you in the streets late at night asking you if could watch them masturbate in public... and the list goes on.

Usaully comments like "Sorry, I need to put my glasses on to see that", or "whoa, dude, I think you need to go and seek medical help for *THAT* or else you'll end up pissing razor blades if you don't have it cleared" keeps them at bay. But there are other kinds of perverts in Japan that you cannot make them go away with your words. This is the story of my encounter with one of those perves that I will never forget....

(I really wished that day I had a camera.)

I was on a bus going from Asakusa to Kinshicho, and, in my usual fashion, I was sitting by the window watching the outside world. The bus stopped at a red light and next to this bus pulled up a car, which was obviously a company car, for it had the name and bright yellow logo pasted on the side of the brilliant white, new car. It was a company car of one of the most famous realestate agents in the "new era" (21st Century?) Say no more...

I looked down as the car slowed down for the red light... and there it was, dear readers. I had to look twice to make sure I wasnt having an acid flash back: this man, who was driving his company car, had his monkey out and was spanking it!!! What was he thinking?? I must admit that most people who drive a car would not see him chopping away at his purple helmet, but it is very visible from larger vehicles like buses and trucks that have an elevated view.

I just couldn't believe my eyes. For the next 40 seconds he continued to stoke himself in a slow, deliberate rhythm; as soon as the light turned green he turned left and we continued forward...

If only I had a camera that day!!! I could have had some materials for PrysLess. The caption woul read something like this:

• Price of a new company car: US$52,800
• Price of a new suit to see your client: US$1,900
• Price of getting your pictured taken wanking in your company car with the name of your company splashed all over it (Century 21) : Pryseless!!

Why are there so many pervertes in Tokyo...

Auditory Illusions

Sometimes I like to play with words. I say things that sound like somthing, but I'm actually saying something completely different. For instance:

• eggs'n'curry => exactly
• honey's sweet? ==> honestly?

(you'll have to say them really fast without moving your lips too much -- go on, give it a try!)

The other day I tried one on my boss, G, for a joke.

G: blah, blah, blah.

DWR: Hairy Muff

G: 'scuse me?

DWR: Fair Enough.

G: Oh, I thought you said.... nevermind.

(Yes, G, you did hear me right. Hairy Muff)

david king

That's not his real name. Not many people know his real name, for his occupation is not exactly conventional. But he is the subject of my novel, Ice Boat, one of the three that I am working on (all have been WIP for the past 5 years...).

I first met david thru one of my ex's; they were best buddies and always used to hang out together. At the time david used to fix bikes, do odd mechanical work for the foreign community, and do some modelling work - here and there - but I always used to wonder how he managed to have lots of money, and lots of drugs.

Yes, david is a drug dealer.

Must admit, most people like to keep a certain distance from (their?) dealers, but for some reason - one of strange fate, I suppose - I know david quite well. Why?

1) we share the same birthday
2) he told me many stories of his childhood
3) we used to go clubbing together

and...

4) I saved his life

I was a student in London at the time. david decided to visit us after a "business trip" to Amsterdam before he flew back home, and wanted to go clubbing the day he arrived. I had lectures the following day so I said I would give it a miss -- plus I always feel like shit after a hard night out. david wanted to test the quality of his merchandise; that night he went overboard with the pharmaceuticals from the 'Dam, and discovered their efficacy, or more correctly, potency.

I was phasing in and out of my dreamy state around 6:30am, when my bright eyed ex wakes me up sweating and looking disturbed. DWR, you're studying physiology and pharmacology, right? (wot are you on, you junky! that's what I've been majoring for the past 2 years!) It's david. There's something wrong with him...

I got out of bed mumbling something like "Bloody junkies, getting high on a weekday. Wot are they on? I've got classes this morning, bitch, bitch, bitch..."

When I got to the living room I found david twitching on the floor mumbling: I luuuuvve yuuuuuu

SHIT

My equally junked up ex was panicking by now: a mixture of fear, paranoia, and confusion. Ahhhh, wehavetodosomethingabouthim, shit, makehimstandupandwalkaround, shit, makehimwakeup, shit! talktomebuddytalktomebuddystaywithmebuddy, shit! WE HAVE LOADS OF *HIS* DRUGS IN THIS HOUSE!!!

I don't want this anymore...

Stop.

I let david fall to the ground as my ex wondered around the living room, like the lost tribe of israel, chewing on his nails saying: fuck, fuck, FUCK. I knew then that I was the only person there equipped to save this man.

I opened his eye and saw his dialated pupils. They didnt react to any changes in light... shit. I dialled 999, called for an ambulance, and noted all of david's vital signs that I could. I asked my ex what david had taken, how much, and when. (david had taken somewhere between 5 and 8 XTC tablets, 2 or 3 spoonfulls of GHB, poppers, and maybe more...) I laid david in the recovery position and waited for the ambulance.

They came within 10mins of the call. I explained to the paramedics what had happened, how david was twitching when I found him, and that his dialated pupils not reacting. I then turned to my ex and told him to get into the ambulance with me.

Whyyyyyy?

Listen. You just took what he did -- that could be you in a few hours. Just get in!

david was unconsious for nearly 4 hours. I'm sure he had his stomach pumped, but I will never forget the moment the nurse opened the curtain and said that we can go and see him.

WOW, duuuuude. That was the best trip, ever! Where *were* you, man? Why d'you bring me to hospital. I'm getting the fuck out of here, dude!

david discharged himself less than 8 hours after he lost consiousness on my living room floor....

It's funny how we are born on the same date, and yet we are so different. I wear a suit when I see my clients, and he's usually in his boxer shorts when he sees his. He was lunging into the darkness on the brink of death, and I yanked him him back into the light. Our paths once crossed, but now we are on our separate ways. But I know fate had lead me to this man, for he is the subject of my first book: Ice Boat.

I cannot remember when I last spoke to, or saw david, but the cold, northern winds carry his voice to me. I know he is alive and well somewhere.

Somewhere.

(david, if I ever finsh the book, I will send you a signed copy: To Uncle G)

She's Alive!!!

Good news, everyone! I got a call from my IT support desk telling me that my HDD has regained consiousness!! They managed to retrieve ALL the important files and transplanted her consiousness into a new body!

(It's amazing what modern science can achieve today!!)

Now she is back with me...

I promise to get rid of those heavy, work files, keep you junk free, and I promise to always keep an eye out just in case you feel fragmented again.

Today is indeed a joyous day for me!!

(I am no longer mourning...)

Fringe Benefits?! (part2)

Disclaimer: sorry for anyone who read my previous blog and never got to the story that I linked to... damned those guyz at the daily yomiuri! Anyway, here's the story:

The Bank of Japan has disciplined five employees at the Maebashi branch office for swapping 11 old banknotes for 11 newly designed banknotes with sought-after serial numbers, such as "E888888M.

The new 1,000 yen, 5,000 yen and 10,000 yen bills went into circulation on Nov. 1. It was the first time the bills had been redesigned in 20 years.

The five bank clerks--a man and four women in their 20s to 30s--work in the bill issuing section and swapped the banknotes when their supervisor was absent.

The switch was noticed by an outsider who changed old banknotes for new ones at the branch office on Nov. 12 and notified the office, which initiated an internal investigation.

The five bank clerks told the investigation they took the new bills because they wanted souvenirs of the new issuance to show off to their families.

Two were suspended from work for a week, two had their salaries reduced and the fifth was given a warning.

In addition, four managers were reprimanded for not supervising the five clerks properly. Kazuo Fukuda, the manager of the branch office, and the deputy manager had their salaries cut by 10 percent for three months and two months, respectively.

According to the investigation, the clerks entered an area in the branch office into which it is forbidden to bring bills on several occasions from Nov. 5 to 15 and swapped five 10,000 yen, two 5,000 yen and four 1,000 yen notes.

Two of the five clerks kept the bills at their houses.

All 11 banknotes were retrieved

The clerks' misdeeds violated the code of conduct for Bank of Japan employees that urges them to make it a principle to act fairly.

Eizo Kobayashi, executive director of the central bank, said at a press conference Wednesday: "They fell into easy temptation and conducted an inappropriate act. As they replaced the new banknotes with others, we haven't suffer any economic damage."

Therefore, the central bank intends not to report the case to police.

Bank of Japan Gov. Toshihiko Fukui, in a written statement issued the same day, said that he deeply regretted the case and would like to apologize to the public.

The central bank has begun an investigation to see if similar cases of note-swapping have occurred at the banknote issuing bureau and over branch offices. It intends to reexamine the current operating system to prevent such a recurrence.

Stupid, aren't they? And Y didn't the Bank of Japan report this to the police? Can someone explain this picture to me?

Fringe Benefits?!

What were they on?

This story cracked me up when I heard it on the news today. This is the ultimate "let's take the piss out out of how far we can get away with fringe benefits" by employees. (and yes, I, too, have enough office supplies, instant coffee, tea, et. al -- even toilet paper!!! to run a nice little corner shop in my twilight years... aren't fringe benefits great!)

They don't pay me enuf, as far as I am concerned. I look at my income in three tiers: salary, perfomance based bonus, options/fringe benefits... (*grin*)

But honestly. Is it really that important to have a new note with a consecutive, or a unique serial number?? ITS A PIECE OF PAPER, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! And it's going to take the crime syndicates only 2 weeks the to come up with a better fake with the same serial number....

Advice. If you are going to commit a crime: 1) don't get caught 2) if you do, do so in style...

Dress Code

My company’s HR department recently issued a notice on “dress code” at the office, which is so cryptic that even I could not decypher it. See if you can work it out:

【Proper Attire】
While employees are encouraged to place importance on personal taste, employees’ attire should be appropriate to our professional business environment. Generally, following clothing and items should not be worn at workplace during normal workdays:

Jeans
Slippers
Beach sandals/Mules
Sneakers
Tank tops and halter-neck tops
T-shirts (*acceptable for women with wearing/carrying a jacket) (totally sexist!)
Sweatshirt / sweat trousers
Shorts
Revealing clothes
Wearing shirt over trousers

【Proper Appearance】
The pride of a professional begins with good appearance. As a business person, proper appearance is important in making a positive impression on clients and co-workers. Fresh and neat appearance, an orderly work environment, and a quality work product deliver clients a positive attitude and professionalism of you. It is expected that all employees shall think highly of appearance standards as appropriate.

*Employees who are not well attired or improperly groomed may be sent back home when observed in workplace. In case that violation of this policy is repeated, the person may be subject to disciplinary actions.

Confusing, isnt it? I decided to go up to my expat boss, G, and asked him to give it to me straight: what do they mean proper appearance? To which he replied, well... we are talking about “business casuals”.

Ok... Please expand on the definition of “Business Casuals”. What constitues “Business Casuals”. He paused for a moment and responded: you know, the sort of clothes you would wear, say, to a country club, for example.

Right... 1) I live in the city. 2) I don’t get paid enough to have a country club membership.

And that got me thinking: considering that I grew up in a rural English boarding school, surely I knew what people wore to country clubs!

Readers, this is what I wore to work today.

GOLF (Gentleman Only Ladies Forbidden)

Morning G, how are you today? My boss, G, had a huge grin on his face as I walk to my desk.

DWR, you look like you are off to play a round of golf!

Of course, G, that’s what people do in country clubs, don’t they? Play golf, drink G&Ts, play bridge. So yes. Today I am in business casuals.

He started to chuckle: You know what? You really are a good management consultant. I like the way you think. You think out of the box.

Why thank you, G. Thank you.

My boss couldn’t stop laughing when he returned to his office. (He's used to my sense of humour)

Give me sensible words, and I shall act accordingly.

Encounters...

I used to drown my pain with my work. I'm a shy person by nature, and I find it very difficult to meet people.

Plus I'm fussy.

1) I am not into oriental men (and I live in Japan?!)
2) I don't like jealous, possesive men
3) I don't like gaijin (foreign) men who think they are god's gift to women just, because Japanese women dote on them (we call them Charisma man, after the comic)
4) I don't like stupid men -- especially the reeeeeaaaalllly dumb ones. (e.g the man who chatted me up with:"Why are you so beautiful?" ummm.. that's a question you should be asking my mum and dad?!)
5) I hate people with poor oral hygiene. I CANNOT bear the thought of kissing someone with bad teeth....

and the list goes on.

But I sat down and said: Oi, stop all this nonesense! There are many genuine people out there. Yes if you hang around bars with your "bottom girlz" you are only going to attract scum de la scum. You need to change your strategy.

Which I did.

Blogging has opened up a new world where I not only observe people, but actually go up to talk to them and ask them questions about their lives. I get to go up to a complete stranger, explain to them that I have an idea that I want to write about, and could I take a picture of them. Everyone so far has obliged.

(I'm getting a bit more daring these days; more out of my comfort zone.)

Anyway, back to encounters. On sunday while I was writing the draft for one of my blogs in Starbucks, I noticed a gaijin guy sitting on his own looking sad and frustrated. I watched him from the corner of my eye for a while thinking: shall I go up to him and ask if I could join him, or not....

I didnt have the courage and left Starbucks after I finished writing. But the moment I stepped out of that coffee shop, my inner voice, Nutts, said to me: if you don't turn back and ask him if could do with a chat, you will regret it for the rest of your life!

So I did. I went straight back into Starbucks to chat with this mysterious stranger.

For the first time in my life (31years!) I walked up to a stranger and asked him if he could do with some company. Now, he could have said, sorry, I'm really not in the mood for a chat (which the old "me" would have done), but instead he said, please sit down... My name is DWR, what's yours? And the conversation continued for the next hour or so....

We talked about everything, and nothing. (it turned out that he is part American and part Japanese -- a "Hafu"* half cast * just like me!!)

I gave him my business card and my mobile number. He lives near me, so we said "maybe we can have some coffee, or some drinks some other day" and left it at that.

One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree.

Which road do I take? she asked.

Where do you want to go? was his response.

I don't know, Alice answered.

Then, said the cat, it doesn't matter.

(Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

It didn't matter which road I took, so long as it was not the road I came from.

(post script: one of the things I noticed is that unlike in my innocent youth, I'm not looking at my phone each day, waiting for him to call. If it was meant to be, it will happen, otherwise I still have my journey to find my soulmate! Isn't that exciting!!!)

In Love With the Idea of Being In Love

Many of the blogs that I randomly come across are dedicated to the "L" word. I even noticed on the blog dashboard that Breakup Babe has signed a deal on her first book. (Well done, BB, way to go! Not only have you risen from the ashes, you get to make a profit out of the arsehole that made you miserable!! Congrats!) I often wonder about how people view love, for there are various forms of love: the love for your parent, the love for your children, the love for yourself, and also (the most often written about) the love for your partner.

I have a good male friend, A, who I often dine with, and we always end up discussing the same topic: the affairs of the heart.

DWR, I need to get myself a Japanese girlfriend.

Why?

Coz I could do with the companionship, and she can teach me Japanese at the same time. I'm not looking for anything serious yet. I'm not really ready to settle down, I mean, I travel a lot, and all my relationships always end because it becomes a long distance relationship...
(he sounds to me like a "career minded" woman in her late 20's. Wait till you hit the big Three-O phase, then you'll be changing your tune to a more militant one!!)

Excuses, excuses.

Well, A, if companionship is what you need why don't you just hang around with your friends, if you need to get laid, go and have a wank, or go to a bar and pick up a woman, or in the worst case seek professional help (but make sure you respect her body, and also yours!!). And if you need to learn Japanese, why not enroll in a language school? All this would be cheaper than maintaining a Japanese woman -- they are high maintenance, you know?

Yeah, but you know.... I want to be in love....

Aha! Now he's got the honesty hat on!

He is in love with the idea of being in love, but for some reason (it's usually a nasty break-up, old baggage from the "one that got away", or scarring from bitter experiences) he's afraid of being in love. That's the only logical explanation that makes sense to me: why would someone intelligent like him look for someone desparately to fill his time and empty heart, and to block out that which he wishes most for and is afraid to welcome into his life: love.

He cannot stop thinking about it, and in the year and a bit that I have known him, he has moved from one dead-end relationship to another.

Do you know people like that? I do. I know far too many of them...

Many of my female friends are "sexually liberal" women in their 30s. Think Samantha from Sex and the City -- that's them. And just like my female friends, my dining buddy flutters from one lover to the next, just like butterflies in a summer meadow. But when you sit down with them -- one on one -- after a bottle of Chardonay the truth comes out.

I want to be in love.

And the stories of bad breakups and abusive relationships start to pour...
(We all want to love and to be loved; that I think is universal.)

I sometimes wonder why they do this to themselves. Smile on the outside, and cry on the inside. It doesn't make you tough; it only makes you bitter. I am fully supportive of my "sexually liberal" friends, but only if they are happy with their freedom... and they are not.

I'm a hardcore singleton. I have been single now for nearly 2 years (2 years in December, in fact). I think my last date was sometime in July this year..... When I first broke up I was also scared and afraid to enter the dating circles for the fear of being hurt once more. But once the healing process got to a point where I was OK about meeting new people I chose a different path to most of my friends. I said to myself -- why would I want to find someone to fill an empty space in my heart? It's fine when they are there, but if they leave, it will feel empty again, for it was never full in the first place.

I'm going to fill my own heart, and share it with that special person.

My dinner buddy, A, asked me the other day: So, DWR, what kind of men are you looking for?

The answer is simple: a friend, a lover, a teacher, and a student. Someone to share a complete heart, not someone who will complete it for me.

Yes, dear readers, I am also in love with the idea of being in love...

Which brings me to my next blog called Encounters.

Street Yoga

I started to take up yoga in May this year on a mission to improve flexibility and fitness: a form of cross training to counterbalance my stamina building and muscle building exercise routine (marathon training, trekking, swimming, trail running, free climbing, etc.) But in yoga I discovered something more than flexibility. I found my own thoughts and fears. Jung called it introspection: exploring my yin and yang, my id and my ego; the forces within you that are also in conflict at the same time.

In the beginning I would get frustrated if I couldn't get into a pose, or I could not balance, or even be able to do simple things such as take a lunge. I remember looking around at the other students to see how I was doing compared to them: "Good, I seem to be able to do this pose better than them" or, "Shit, why can s/he do this and not me?". And although I continued to improve and work hard at my yoga, it continued to be one of conflict -- love and hate, pride and envy.

Until I met the Street Yogis.

Every evening when I exit the toll gates of Musashikosugi Station, I encounter a group of youth engaging in free style dance practice that can only be described as a fusion of break dancing, yoga, and raw energy. The Street Yogis get together, stretch, move to the music as they please (almost in a trance), but most of all they are disgruntled youth that are united, and the way that they express their fear, anger, love, and loneliness is to practice this strange type of free style yoga on the cold floors of the station entrance.

No mats, no expensive nike wear, just their bodies and pure soul.... They are united, and flow as one.

Perhaps I need to learn a lesson in life, one which I have forgotten through cynicism and age... These Street Yogis taught me to be at peace with myself, to reach enlightenment, and to move to the next level in my yoga practice....

Sometimes the answers that you seek are so simple.

the emperor's position, street yoga style

(post script: after meeting the street yogis, I met Dan and Ken who are my current mysore style teachers of Ashtanga yoga. Without the street yogis, I would not have met Dan and Ken. Thank you, street yogis, for guiding me to where I am today.)

Mourning...

Today I am in mourning, for my hard drive decided to commit suicide today by drowning itself in my coffee... I told it "no, you can't die! you have so much going for you! yes, I have filled you with junk, and there are all those really heavy files from work, but it's not all that bad! You have some of my wonderful photos, my three novels that I have been writing for the past 5 years (and only still on page 3; but with a complete storyboard...), and you have all those other nice byts and peices that make you who you are."

"I never meant to abuse you by putting junk in there. They are mere electrons, they mean nothing, honest, and you have all the knowledge that I do not have in my head...."

But no. My hard drive committed suicide this morning at 10:35am. I rushed immediately to IT support, and is now sitting in ICU, wet, unconsious.... The IT staff did not know if she could make it, but they are drying her and waiting to see if she will gain consciousness again... They were not hopefull.

Why? My dear hard drive, why did you have to go and pour COFFEE on yourself... Life wasn't that bad, was it? I should have listened to you more, it was ALL MY FAULT!!!

(tears)

yes, indeed, it was all my fault...

Sanity?! What sanity? Norm? What is the norm?!

Disclaimer: I have to appologise in advance to anyone reading this blog. It's a bit more angry and negative than my usual postings, but I just needed to get it off my chest. ..but it's quite funny and ironic in some parts.

Tonight I was running late for my dinner appointment with my friends. Seeing as I was the one organising the get-together, I was frantically leaving messages on people's voice mails as I travelled on the Toyoko line. "P, sorry I'm going to be a bit late, talk to you later." "V, I'm running late, meet me at Soho's . I've made reservations for seven at 8pm under my name"... etc.

Just as I got to only 4 out of 7 calls I needed to make, a middle aged man sitting next to me on the train started to reprimand me for using the phone on the train. "It's against the rules!! See, it says so on the posters. You have no manners. Shut up, you are inferior." he said.

Ok... You wanna fight this one out, my friend? Be my guest... I am used to bigots like you. Sock it to me! Gaaarn, make my day!!!

I turned towards him, and with a calm smile on my face said: Excuse me, don't you think that U are the one who is going against "manners" and "etiquette" by demanding that I should not leave four, 20second messagages discreetly on my friends's answering machine? I was speaking into my hand to try and keep it quiet as much as possible. I think that --U--owe me an appology for your rudeness. (smile)

By this time the guy was furious and pointing to the various stickers on the carriage saying:"please refrain from using your mobile phone"...

Yeah. Yeah. But if you notice, sir, it says "Please refrain", not you will be fined if you speak for 80 seconds in total. I do not have to follow big brother's messages, I am free to do what I want. I did it discreetly so as to not offend people, so I don't know Y U R griefing me. Oh, and by the way, did you know that U and I have been discussing my phone habits LOUDLY now for nearly double that time? (I pointed out to him.) You have begun this nonesense that is disturbing the other passangers. The other passangers by now were acting as if we didnt exist.

(cool! I'm invisible now!! I can do and say what I like!!)

His face was contorted and the only words that came from him were:"you're mad. fucking mad. I'm going to take a photo of you to take away your civil liberty.... have you banned from taking this line."

(right, you want to talk civil liberties, my friend, now we are in round two)

Fine, I said. (*grinning*) Take a picture of me. But do you know that under Japanese law that I can sue you for emotional damage that you have caused me for humiliating me in public? All I was doing was calling my friends and leaving brief messages, and now you make a mockery of me in public AND want to take photographic proof of my humility? I'll sue you under a civil court for emotional damages. Plus I have all rights to my images, either still or in motion. I will also bring this up in my case in court, for you are breaking copywrite laws that states that unless I give you permission to take my image, you have no right to view it, distribute it, or make a profit of my image. *I* own the royalties to my images.

By this time he's just lost it and is ranting about how I am crazy, fucking crazy. So I said, fine. Why don't you and I have a civilised conversation, coz I refuse to appologise to anyone -- especially you -- for using the phone.

So, what's your name by the way. I'm the drunken wench. I pulled out my left hand to make a handshake - he refused to take it. In some ways I'm glad he didn't coz I don't know where it's been....

By this time we were completely invisible to everyone on the train apart from one couple, an elderly Japanese gentleman and his petite, young philipino wife. The man stood up, came up to me, towered over me and told me to keep my voice down. Of course, thank you for being courteous. I will keep my voice down. Oh, is that your lovely wife? Where is she from? Philipines? Oh, that's nice, I hope you protect her from all this racial prejudice and keep her away from people who will judge her for being herself... Oh, you make a lovely couple (cough, cough... I bet she's a mail-order bride. I will write about those poor relationships in another blog, but for now we shall continue...)

He was not amused; I was!!

By this time my nemesis decided to go the the full round:"Without manners and etiquette, our society would degenerate to anarchy!!! It's people like you that disrupt our harmounious society!"

Check mate! He just cornered himself!!!!!

I took a moment, looked at him straight in his eyes and said:" What do you mean 'maintain our society from degeneration and anarchy'? We live in a world where 13year-olds sell their soiled underwear to old men like you, where legal age of sexual concent for a woman is 13, where travel agencies organise "sex tours" to places like Thailand so that men can have sex with 10 year olds, where comics classified as child pornography in any "normal" country is sold in 7/11s, where anyone caught taking exctacy (MDMA), acid (LSD), Shabu (methamphetamines) or any kind or recreational drugs are incacerated into a mental institution. Do you call the treatment of foreign residents like criminals, by fingerprinting them and making them carry their "gaijijin card" at all times, a civilised society? Have you read the papers recently, my friend? Or do you read at all? There was a 7 year old who was abducted, murdered, and dumped in a ditch. Her killer took a photo of her with her own mobile phone; one of those mobile phones with a camera attached -- just like yours -- and sent it to her mother before they found her body. There is nothing stable or harmonious about our society as far as I can see? And you are telling me that it's my duty to protect it?

Hello? Is there anyone in your cranium? If not, maybe I can just leave a message on your voice mail....

Japan has the biggest market of child pornography, only followed by Belgium. The Japanese government did not pass a law banning child prostitution and distribution of child pornography until 1999. Comics that graphically depict sexual acts with prepubescent women can be bought in any convinient store -- none of them are in plastic bags so anyone, even an innocent child, can view those disturbing images and be emotionally scarred...

“But I don't want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can't help that,” said the Cat.
“We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.”
“How do you know I'm mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat. “or you wouldn't have come here.”

–Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Sorry dude, you and I live in a fucked up society. Don't even BOTHER to try and say that it isn't, coz I'll chew you up and spit you out!!

Actually, I kinda feel sorry for people like him who just can't think beyond "Big Brother's" propaganda. They just don't get it, do they...

"Maintaining a harmonious society"... Its all bollocks, if you ask me!

Bollocks indeed.

there.

2moro I shall blog about more important things in life.

Omoni

Omoni means "Mother" in Korean. Omoni is also what I call the proprietor of a Korean BBQ restaurant in my old neighbourhood.

I would often eat at Omoni's place, for my kitchen (if you can call it that) was located in the corridor between my living room/bedroom and the front door. It had one electrical ring, and was furnished with a fridge the size of one of those cooler boxes that you find in cheap hotels. When you have an impractical kitchen like that, you just don't want to cook.

When I first walked into Omoni's place her well built daughter greeted me with a smile and placed a glass of water on my table. She returned to the kitchen where I overheard her speak to her brother: you had better grades in English than me, how do you say "Irashaimase" (Welcome) in English?

This put a little smile on my face, for I am fluent in Japanese. So I spoke up: Excuse me, may I have some Shojyu, on the rocks, please. Oh, and the menu too. (I'm always true to my drunken urges). Then I heard the biggest, booming laughter I had ever heard, which came from another well built, albeit somewhat older, lady wearing a Chogori and a Chima (Korean traditional dress). She just stood there laughing, and laughing -- her laughter was so contageous that after a while the entire restaurant (I think there were about 5 or 6 of us) were laughing our heads off!

This was the first time I set eyes on Omoni.

Omoni appologised for her daughter's misunderstanding. She said that they didn't have too many "Gaijin" (foreigners) come to her establishment.

Then she paused.

Funny, she said. I just said that we don't have too many foreigners come to the restaurant, but we, too, are "Gaijin" here!... and she burst into her soprano laughter again. But this time there was something sad about her laughter...

The Japanese occupation of the Korean Peninsula lasted from 1910 to 1945; much like Hitler built the autobahns, the Japanese Imperial Army built roads and infrastructure, and by the time the Pacific war was over Korea was the second biggest economy in Asia after Japan... but at such a cost...

Japan stripped the Korean people of their culture and their hounour. (they were forced to speak Japanese, convert to the Shinto religion, amongst others.) By 1937 the war mobilisation effort had lead to a shortage of factory labours and workers in Japan so they brought Korean and Chinese workers (by this time, Japan occupied Manchuria too) to support Japan's economy. Over one million Koreans were brought over, forced to work as unskilled, cheap, labourers, and treated like second class citizens -- even less -- for they were called names like "Chong" and "Kimuchi" by the colonial rulers and treated much like the african americans were treated before the civil rights movement.

By 1939, Korean nationals were "encouraged" to change their names -pseudonims- to ones that "sounded" more Japanese. Kim's became Kaneko's, Li's became Yamada's... But the end of the Pacific war in 1945 still did not mean that these new Kaneko's and Yamada's could immediately go home to their country: 1) Japan itself was under allied occupation. 2) Japan was defeated AND broke at the end of the war. 3) Koreans, already treated as 2nd class citizens, were even poorer to get themselves home. 4) Allied forces put more resources into bringing war criminals to justice, and keeping the Soviets at bay. Returning 2.5 million broke, hungry Koreans back home was slightly lower on their priority list (although they managed to get nearly 2 million repatriated by 1950) 5)Their own country, Korea, was divided into two zones, the north occupied by the victorious Soviets, and the south by the equally victorious Americans.... by 1948 the Korean peninsular was divided into two states, and the Korean war broke out in 1950 when the stalinist North decided to invade the South....

That is what the text books will tell you. But they do not tell the lives, the stories of those who were left behind on foreign soil... a very poor, defeated, and bitter foreign soil. In 1959, the Great Father (aka. the Mad Hatter) of North Korea, Kim Il Sung's government began a huge program to welcome all Koreans living in Japan; altho' most of them came from what is now South Korea, Comrade Kim sang(?) Arirang, encouraged Koreans to "return" to a land of hopes and dreams, a land where every Korean is treated equally and with honour, a land where food is abundant, a land where each man can make something of himself, and be proud."Our own country. Our own paradise"... which was a lot more than what Japan was offering at the time. By 1967, 100,000 Koreans went to North Korea rather than face the discrimination and institutionalised racism in Japan. But others remained... I guess they didn't want to get out of the frying pan and dive head first into an inferno...

Anyway, enough about modern Japanese/Korean history. Until 1987, to be eligible to become a Japanese citizen your father had to be a Japanese national at the time of your birth. So of course, if both your parents are Koreans, you are screwed. And if both your parents are from what is today North Korea, you are even more screwed. Those that are originally from the South are "technically" South Koreans, and have full rights to travel the world on a South Korean Passport. The others... well, I'm not sure if they opted to ask for a North Korean Passport -- if ever such a thing exists, considering that any movement within that stalinist state is closely monitored. Travel abroad on a North Korean passport? I don't think so...

Or there is the option of "naturalisation" -- which means stripping themselves of their Korean names and aquiring a "Japanese" name like Suzuki Taro, proving to the authorities that you are a "good citizen", and exibit more Japanese-ness than the Japanese themselves. Oh, and finally denounce your roots, and forget they even had their rich, Korean heritage. Your history and culture are Japan now. Congratulations, you are an honourable race now. (Japan does not allow dual citizenship for anyone over 22).

Sounds familiar? Yeah, that's what we did to the Koreans during the 35years of occupation...

South Koreans nationals even tho are born in Japan are given 3 to 5 year visas, and every once in a while have to return to South Korea to renue their visas; until recently (apparently) there was a special desk at Seoul airport specially dedicated to put entry and exit stamps on passports of those who flew in from Japan, only to take the next flight back (which would often be on the same plane!!)

Although they still face discrimination and institutionalised racism, the Koreans are proud of their heritage. Many send their children to Korean schools, keep their Korean names, and teach them about their history and culture. Omoni, her sibblings, and both her Children attended Korean Schools.

That night Omoni sat with me drinking Shojyu talking about many things. I told her how I became naturalised in 1987, but I had to adopt my mother's maiden name and drop my first name, for they were not "Japanese" names. I told her that I lost my name, and that's why I am always known only by my nickname. We had a chuckle when I told her that the name on my birth certificate is different from my "registered domicile" name which appears on my passport!!With a wide grin, she said: We are both Gaijin in this country. We are the same. I am your Omoni. You call me O-m-o-ni.

What does "Omoni" mean, I asked.

She took a deep breath and replied: It means "mother" in Korean.

I was touched by her openness. I think that it takes a big heart to accept someone into your life like that. It's a shame that my government cannot welcome people like Omoni as an honoured member of our state. A state that I wish to for me and Omoni to be proud of.

I never got to learn all the lyrics to the Arigang that Omoni sang that night...

Killing Time

"Time is the most valuable thing one can spend." - Theophrastus (ca. 300 B.C.)

Theophrastus , how true your statement is. Time, indeed, is the most valuable thing one can spend. Today in our society (unfortunately) time has become a cheap commodity in some sense. We sell our time to our companies, or to our clients, for a certain value --> our wages.

How much do you sell your time for? My company sells my time for over $300/hour... what do you think?

I realised today that my time is far more precious and valuable than the sum that I receive in my bank account at the end of each month. I wish instead for my time to be filled with meaningful things, things that I enjoy, things that make me smile and be me. (with a shot or two, here and there - hehe). That is why I am always touched by people who give me some of their time for free.

Just like those who pass by my blog and write a nice comment on what I had written. Thank you strangers, or may I call friends, for giving me your time for free...

But.

Today, unfortunately, I did something sad -- I did not give my time for free. I "killed" time. I killed my personal time by getting annoyed at the taxi driver who just wouldnt shut up when I took that cab home late at night. I couldn't be bothered to smile at the lady serving coffee in the morning, or to say thank you. I pushed onto the train in the morning in front of a stranger, just so that I could get that seat.... I wasted valuable moments today: I could have had a conversation with the cabbie and found out something interesting about his life, I could have had a quick chat with the lady serving me coffee, I could have offered my seat to the person who was standing next to me on the platform, in exchange for a simple, warm smile....

But no.

I killed my time. And -- worse still -- I pawned the rest of it at a heavily discounted rate to my company (I am definitely in the red today) . My only saving grace was the 2.5hrs spent doing yoga and having a light dinner with my fellow yoga students and my teacher, Dan, from DKYoga. Dan and his business partner, Ken, are both, interesting individuals.

Today I took the time to find out that Dan is a vegetarian, which I had suspected from the first time that we all had dinner with the "crew" at a lebanese restaurant after our yoga class. I noticed that when Dan ordered, he emphasised the word "vegetables" at least three times. As a former vegetarian, you KNOW that someone is a vegetarian, especially in Tokyo, because they can't hide their enthusiasm about finding a "true" vegetarian restaurant. (Japanese restaurants put fish stock or "minute pieces" of dead flesh in every dish to "enhance" the flavour. Readers, did you know that some places fry vegetable tempura in 50% sesame oil, and 50% lard? Yuck!!)

Anyway.

I will write about Dan and Ken another day.... they are one of the more interesting people that I have met in tokyo -- or anywhere around the world. You don't meet people like that everyday. And I respect them not because they are my yoga teachers, but because of their very human side that they share with you. They always are happy to give you their time for free...

Tomorrow I will spend every nanosecond with care, and with a bit more sensitivity and mindfulness.

I'll be honest today: deep down inside, I want to write for a living... but am afraid to make that leap of faith. Maybe I should really think about making that transition from a suit with a blank face and a price tag to the real me, just as Dan and Ken did when they chose to become Yoga teachers....

Intreviews and observations about Dan and Ken to continue.....

Strange Coincidence

Sometimes it's good to take yourself away from blogging and remember that there is a world outside. Lives are being lived: mothers kissing their babies, lovers sharing a cake at Starbucks, old people taking an afternoon stroll in the park....

Today as I was about to save one of my blog drafts the server crashed. I surfed the web to do some research for my next ramblings while I waited for the server to come back, but it was still down after 30mins.

Oh well. Nevermind. Perhaps I should take a walk. See the world, feel it's energy then write about it. Maybe some idea will pop into my head. I don't want my writings to be too internal, for I will never find any of the answers to what I seek.

I left the internet cafe and took a stroll in the neighbourhood. After a while I noticed a group of people walking in pairs: one person was wearing a blindfold while holding onto the left elbow of the other walking with a white stick. I passed nearly 10 pairs walking this way. The one with the stick was discribing the road to their blindfolded partner: slight pot hole in the road, 5 steps ahead, left; end of wall on the right, stick's length; turn right... and so the "sighted" partner would discribe in great detail the streets that I walked, unaware, every day. (I never noticed that slight pot hole in the road until today!!)

As the procession passed there was a lone woman helping one of the slower pairs in the group. After they had passed I asked her what these people were doing. Was it some social experiment to experience what it's like to be blind?

She told me that they were "trainee" helpers who were training to work with visually impared people, some of whom also have other disabilities. They take it in turns to wear the blindfold so that they can improve their guiding skills. These trainee helpers learn to sharpen their sense of sight -- just as the visually impaired sharpen their sense of sound, smell, and touch to compensate for the absence of vision.

"Learn how to die, and you learn how to live." -- Morrie Schwartz, in tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom

Only by experiencing the loss of vision can we truely appreciate our gift of sight.

Today I realised the importance of "seeing" things. Whether it's seeing the inner voice of an aching heart, or a small pot hole on a familar road....

Sometimes it's good to not blog, and to see the world, for it is the source one's inspirations, thoughts, and lessons in life.

helping each other to "not see"

Inner Voices

I have an inner voice. Her name is Nutts, not because she is crazy, but it's short for Natalia, just as I am known by my nickname by my friends. Nutts is the collective voice of all my imaginary friends that I had as a child. As with Christopher Robin, Poo, Piglet, and his friends, I, too, had a wonderful world full of Rascal, KunKun, and many more. Most of them sat with me at the dinner table while I had a conversation with them.

(Of course my parents would often tell me to stop talking, and eat my food!)

As I grew from childhood into adolescence, I started to talk to my inner voice through my diary. This is when Nutts first got her name. By the time I was 15, I had gone thru several versions of Nutts... all of which got lost somewhere along the line.

By my late teens, the writing stopped only to be replaced by the person in the mirror -- Nutts. I often still converse with Nutts (in private of course). We discuss world issues, social injustices that we see, things that we observe and feel. We often have arguments and disagreements, we speak our opinions very clearly, but in the end we always agree on one thing...

We know jack shit! We are still trying to understand god's thoughts...

There are two sentences inscribed upon the Delphic oracle ..: "Know thyself," and "Nothing too much;" and upon these all other precepts depend.—Plutarch, 1st-century Greek biographer and essayist

I love my inner voice, for she helps me to keep it together in this crazy world...

The Language of the Soul...

When I finished my project assignment in Honkong mid-March this year, I decided to take two weeks off and travel around China. As soon as I got off the train at Loh Wu station in Shenzen, I knew that I was in a completely different world from that which I had known for the past 8 months.

No one understood English. No one understood my poor Mandarin. Not even the slightest bit.

Nonetheless with a copy of the lonely planet in one hand, a pen and paper in the other, and my wallet safely tucked away under my thick layer of clothing, I managed to get myself to the airport to take a flight to Shanghai. I had friends living there, so I knew that I will be able to manage somehow...

I spent a day in Shanghai (that was more than enough) and I decided to go on a journey that I had dreamt about after reading The Rape of Nanking by Iris Chan. I wanted to go to Nanjing to see the city that was destroyed by my people over 60 years ago. I wanted to walk on the soil and apologise for the atrocities, go to the war memorial museum to see for myself all the horrors that happened in those 6 weeks, I wanted to face everything and say to the city:"I apologise for my ancestors, I apologise on behalf of our children, because of what we have done to you, Nanjing, I'm sorry. I will never forget, as long as I live."

I managed to get a ticket at Shanghai station -- I wrote on a piece of paper the chinese characters for Nanjing, one person, one way, and that seemed to work. Once on the train I did not know where my seat was so I sat in any ol' place when one guy came to me and gestured that I have the wrong seat, and that my seat was further down the carriage. It happened that I actually didnt have a reserved seat and eventually got kicked off the seat that the man lead me to... The man had been watching me, the silly foreigner, being moved from seat to seat only to end up standing in the corridor of the carriage.

Train journeys in China are interesting. People play mah jyong in the corridors while vendors come and sell their wares: anything from flashing ballpoint pens to bottles of vinegar and some form of distilled alcohol. The corridor is a dynamic community of people walking, talking, and selling things -- a bazaar of sorts is all I can describe.

Anyway, back to my language of the soul. The man who had watched me being moved from seat to seat noticed that at the first stop the lady sitting next to him was getting off. Chinese people are not shy and there were many people standing in the corridor ready to pounce on that empty seat... but no. That man guarded the empty seat, and gestured me to come and sit there -- he felt bad that I had been lost without a seat all that time.

I took his offer and sat next to him.

As soon as I sat down he started speaking to me in Mandarin(?) so I did my usual "get by in China" routine and took out a pen and paper, and asked him to write what he was trying to say.
Where are you from? Japan. Mother Japanese. Father foreign. He smiled at me and offered me the distilled alcohol that he was drinking. "SheShe"("Thank you"the only mandarin that I knew) and exchanged smiles.

Where. You. Go? - I wrote on my paper. Tsintao. Tsingtao? alcohol Tsingtao? yes. I like Tsingtao beer (laughter). Where. you. go.?　Nanjing. I sorry. Japanese bad things war. I apologise to people of china. I go Nanjin. Pray.

He had tears in his eyes. He offered me another drink and for the next 3 1/2 hours we had a conversation on a piece of paper. There was no need for spoken words. We talked about him visiting his family in Tsingtao, about the great vinegar that they make in Chinkiang (which is between Shanghai and Nanjing) , the beauty of Nanjing city, and how he was honoured to meet a Japanese person on a pilgrimage of reparation, and that his people have forgiven what had happened during the war because of people like me. We were nearly running out of paper when the man called out to the carriage asking if someone had paper. They did.

A circle grew after people realised that the two of us, drinking distilled alcohol, were having a conversation on paper -- many were fascinated by this odd looking foreigner who wrote chinese characters, was claiming to be Japanese, and was on a pilgrimage to Nanjing to pray for the lost souls and apologise for what we did to the Chinese people during the war.... I will never forget those wonderful hours spent on that train to Nanjing

When it was time for me to leave, the man who invited me to sit next to him gave me a small bottle containing tea, and wished me well on my journey. Luckily one of the women witnessing our conversations helped me to find a taxi to take me to where I wanted to (at a lower price than what was on the lonely planet!!) and spent an entire afternoon at the war memorial museum in Nanjing.

I will not describe what I saw in the museum, but all I can say is that I had tears in my eyes, and those around me, as soon as they found out that I was Japanese welcomed me and said:"We forgive you" in the universal language of the soul...

The tower of Babel may have come down, and we speak different languages on the surface, but as humans I believe that we still speak a universal language of the soul.

Thank you, good people, for helping me along my pilgrimage... I will never forget your kindness.

Great Wall at Simatai... so peaceful, so empty...

Iris Chan, please rest in peace, your work has moved the hearts of millions. I will never forget your work.

Mystic Bob

I am one of those very indecisive people. Give me a choice of one, and I still cannot decide to go for it or not. One of the reasons that I am indecisive is because I do not wish to regret my choices, so I chose carefully.

One of my mentors, as a joke, introduced me to Mystic Bob. I took this smoking oracle with a pinch of salt, but BOY is he always right... Sometimes I would ask Bob a question like "would things work out well with XXX?" or "does YYY fancy me?" or "will I get laid this month?" (yes I am THAT single). Bob will always give me his foresight -- which I always eventually I find out to be true... (yes, even at my age, I ask Bob matters of the heart...)

Go Bob Go!! Even tho you look like a quack, for some reason you get it right.... the only problem I have with you? You deal with only yes/no questions...

I need a better oracle or a stronger faith in my abililties make the right judgment... which do you think its easier to achieve??

You can't depend on your judgment when your imagination is out of focus. John F. Kennedy

I think I will work on the latter...

Cabbage, I hate that stuff...

'Cabbage' byRoger McGough.

John Wayne died of it
People are terrified of it
cancer

I hate that stuff

Groucho was laid low with it
One in five of us will go with it
heart attack
I hate that stuff

Monroe's life turned sour on it
Hancock spent his last half hour on it
sleeping pills
I hate that stuff

Mama Cass choked on it
Blankets get soaked in it
vomit
I hate that stuff

Hendrix died from it
Chemists stay open late for it
Heroin
I hate that stuff

Women learn to live with it
No one can live without it
blood
I hate that stuff

Hospitals are packed with it
Saw my mother racked with it
pain
I hate that stuff

Few like to face the truth of it
We're living proof of it
death
I hate that stuff

Schoolboys are forcefed with it
Cattle are served dead with it
cabbage
I hate that stuff

This was one of my favourite poems as an adolescent. I remember writing it down preciously in my diary, Nutts, discribing how this was one of those poems that encompassed the poets feeling of anger in so many things, but ends with him finding inner peace. I remember feeling the anger leave the poet in his last words "cabbage, I hate that stuff". This poem was one of the first writings that taught me about letting go. There are many others -- too long to list.

Nearly 15 years on, I have lost Nutts (I cannot remember which version of Nutts I wrote this poem in (^_^) and unfortunately I cannot remember the entire poem. I've looked online so many times, but can find only a partial version of it. I was going to ask if anyone knew the full poem to send it to me, but I won't...

You see the answer is right there in the last verse: cabbage, I hate that stuff.

Let go. It doesn't matter if you can't find it. You've looked hard enough; just let it go...

Can U C the Beauty of a Telegraph Pole?

telegraph pole

As promised in yesterday's blog caged children I will write today about the beauty I see in telegraph poles.

I have always thought that having telegraph poles in an earthquake prone area like Japan is absurd. Imagine having your life-line -- electricity and telecomunications wires -- attached to a reinforced concrete pole that is 1 foot in diametre. Not only do they stick up and obstruct some of our narrow foot paths (ironic name for a pedestrian walkway, for some are no wider than the foot-wide poles themselves), they also create a web of live elecrtical cables and telecommunication lines above our heads emitting electromagnetic waves that induces semi-zombie states in some inhabitants, quaintly discribed as apathy. (I'm almost convinced)

When I speak to my friends they all agree -- "telegraph poles are not only an eyesore, they are dangerous, and should be buried underground where no one can see them." "In most normal countries people will not tolerate seeing ugly things like that in the city." "It ruins the view" "Sanfransisco has earthquakes, and their cables are underground"...

Hang on. I've heards similar words before: they are aimed at the homless sleeping outside the Metropolitan Government Offices in Shinjuku, they are aimed at severly mentally challenged people on public transport (they shouldn't be here, Y don't they take one of those special buses?). They are also aimed at old people who are suffering from senile dimentia and are losing their faculties.... and where do they go?

Old people's homes. Hidden from our sites, buried from our thoughts; no longer an eyesore, not ruining the beauty of our physical world...

I took this picture the day that I realised that telegraph poles are beautiful. They stand tall with pride, they carry electicity and telephone lines to our home, they create obstacles so that we can go around them to go forward -- like obstacles in life that help us grow, not one of them is the same (some have fuse boxes, others routers, some have street lamps, others none), their wires shoot off in different angles, and have different colours... just like humans - young and old - there is not one telegraph pole alike.

I often wondered when the Japanese government was going to start a huge publicly-funded project to bury the telegraph poles in one of their vain efforts to boost the economy (they seem to be so good at initiating redundant public works like building the "longest slide in the world"?).

I hope they never take the telegraph poles from the streets of Tokyo.

Ouch!

ouch!

One of my favourite cartoons by my old school friend Geoff.
Always puts a smile on my face.

Caged Children

I am always amazed to see little children - no older than 6 or 7 - taking the commuter trains during rush hour in Tokyo. These children, wearing square rucksacks/school bags called "randoseru", are crammed into the train alongside adults who sometimes show annoyance for being trapped in a carriage with a child's backpack
protruding into their knees.

preparing for the future...
Children must have it worse, for they are enclosed from all sides, left, right, and above; at 6 years old I dont think I was any taller than 1m10.... Imagine spending 15 even 20minutes feeling everyone closing in on you. I'm surprised more children don't suffer from panic attacks caused by claustophobia. (actually, I have only seen adults have panic attacks on trains)

As these children grow older they will be caged not just by the towering adults that ride the commuter train. They will be caged in crammer schools to ensure good grades. They will be caged in societies expectations to be a responsible, Japanese citizen, they will, worst of all, make their own cages that will limit all their potential to live life. To pursue their dreams, to not fear heights, to believe in everything, and to find joy and freshness in everything that they encounter.

These boys are obviously fast learners: I wonder what they want to be when they grow older, only to ask them in 15 years time what they do. I wanted to be a migratory bird when I was young... now I am a blank face in a suit, one of the towering figures closing in on children on the morning train.

Tomorrow I think I will blog about the moment I found beauty in a telegraph pole...