April Journal

Apr. 5, 2004 Mon. 9:30PM

Well, it looks like I will be going home in May instead of June. Ed approved my premature vacation today, so I will be attending the Rush concert instead of the family reunion. It seems like forever since I’ve been home, yet it seems like yesterday. I am starting to get that itch again… the “ants in the pants” kind of feeling that I had before Christmas. Marking the X’s on the calendar seems so trivial, like going five miles an hour on the Interstate when there’s a beer and a barbecue sandwich waiting for you at the finish line.

Pam left today for Thailand. She’ll probably have a great time, but I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t get the shits. Everyone I’ve ever known who went to Thailand had relentless diarrhea for days. (Ha! That’ll fix her for pressing the bilingual button on the remote when Billy Boyd was on the Oscars…)

Apr. 7, 2004 Wed. 12:40AM

Who says romance is dead?

Funny work story… sometimes I have my students write short letters in class to judge their grammar and written skills. Katsunori, the one who bought me a three-prong plug adapter for Boogerhead Jennifer’s piece of crap computer, wrote a sweet letter in class tonight. I always make the students read their letters, and when it was his turn, he read:

Dear Susan,

You are good teacher. I would like to know if you
go with me to Kyoto for weekend. We will eat dinner. I will
show you Kyoto. We will be fun. I ask you today.

Love,
Katsunori

I’m scanning my store of memories for a more romantic suggestion, but I do believe this ranks high on the list. Of course, we’re not allowed to date students, and even if we were, I don’t think I could bring myself to date Katsunori. I’m fairly certain that the formidable muppet Ernie from Sesame Street was created in the likeness of Katsunori alone. Aside from the uncanny physical similarities, they both wear the same striped shirt every day. Even their breathy giggles sound alike.

Apr. 11, 2004 Sun. 11:30PM

Two of our regular students, Yoshiko and Yoshirou (a.k.a. “The Royal Couple”) came in today, as they usually do each Saturday and Sunday. They’ve been dating for a couple of years now, and they make an adorable couple. The same height, the same Japanese style, the same cheeky smiles and laughs. Yoshiko has big, round ears that stick straight out, and Yoshirou has pointy, gel-sticky hair that faintly resembles a toilet brush. They usually take lessons separately, probably so they can talk about each other candidly. They always speak very fondly of the other, but as Yoshirou admits to being a fan of gossip, sometimes we teachers become privy to sensitive information. (For example, today I learned that it drives Yoshiko nuts when Yoshirou looks at other women, and last week Yoshirou admitted to feeling sexually inadequate. Seriously, they tell us these things.)
I had some free time between classes, and I saw Yoshirou loitering in the lobby. He said he was waiting for Yoshiko to get out of the bathroom so they could go on a date. I thought it appropriate to teach him the old song, “Yoshiko and Yoshirou, sittin’ in a tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”

He thought about this for a moment, then said, “Kissing? In a tree? I do not kiss her in a tree! Is this an American custom?”
“Uh, I’m not sure exactly.”
“I do not think Yoshiko would like kissing in a tree. She usually just likes kissing in the bedroom.” He smiled in his mischievous manner, the one that says he knows more English than he lets on.

Upon hearing this comment, I thought it appropriate to teach him the overused expression, “TMI.” (Too Much Information.)

Apr. 20, 2004 Tues. 10PM

Pam knocked on my door at 8am this morning, the time I would normally be getting ready for work. (I made sure to call in sick 24 hours in advance.) It was time to say farewell. I didn’t want to get up, because I knew it would be a heart-wrenching goodbye, but my bladder insisted on being emptied. After my mandatory morning bathroom visit, I gave her a big hug and wished her well. “Good luck with your book,” she said. “I know it’ll be fabulous.”

“I can’t believe you’re finally leaving,” I said.
“You’ll be out of here before you know it. Don’t wish it away too fast.”
How did she know I was becoming impatient?

I went back to bed immediately, because I knew if I stayed up I would just stare at Pam’s empty room and ask myself rhetorical questions. While lying in bed, I couldn’t help but remember when Kate left. I welcomed the solitude back then, but I was also struck by the permanence of it. It didn’t matter so much when Kate left, because we hadn’t become very close friends. But Pam and I shared a bond, and it was more than just a common nationality. It was a connection, a meeting of souls that occurred at just the right time in the space-time continuum. In other words, we were buds.

I’m sure I will see Pam again, but we will never share the Japanese experience together again. We’ll never go to Nakamura’s again. She’ll never press the bilingual button on important TV programming again. We’ll never share a Chu-hi on the balcony again. And that makes me very sad.

I was glad I called in sick today. It was a mental health day that I desperately needed. I spent most of the day soaking up the sun on my balcony, thinking about the eventual day when I will see this balcony view for the last time, like Pam did today.
The only time I left my apartment today was when I went to the store. My mood improved only slightly to see that they now carry Chu-hi’s for thirty yen less than at the Lovely. I wish Pam were here to share the savings with me. Guess I’ll just have to drink her share.

Apr. 21, 2004 Wed. 10:10PM

One gift Pam gave me was the recipe for her special omelet, which I am not at liberty to divulge even in a journal. I made one of those omelets tonight, the kind we used to make together while listening to each other’s CD’s. It was sad, cracking the eggs all by myself in silence. Having been born without a cooking gene, it is a true feat when I crack an egg without getting pieces of shell in the bowl (let alone the fact that I am bothering to crack an egg in the first place). I did well tonight. No pieces of shell graced the bowl, and even my yolks all stayed intact during the journey from the spoon to the trash can (I’m watching my cholesterol). Too bad Pam’s not here to see it. She would’ve been proud. My omelet was pretty good, although not as good as hers. I don’t suppose they ever could be.

Christmas Cactus and I have resumed our pre-Pam relationship, as she was somewhat neglected while Pam was here. Now that it’s getting warmer, she’s looking pretty good, although now that we have no cable, she’s a lot quieter these days.

Apr. 22, 2004 Thurs. 11:40PM

I passed a vending machine tonight with Bikkle in it on the way home. Bikkle is a peach cream soda. It was Pam’s favorite Japanese drink. I don’t like them that much, but I decided to get one, as a toast to Pam. As I drank it, I thought of all the things Pam and I talked about and did together. Here’s to the bilingual button, grapefruit Chu-hi’s, Nakamura’s, and the two months that our paths crossed.

Apr. 23, 2004 Fri. 12:30AM

Had to say farewell to another student today, one of my favorites, Takashi the seaman. He is leaving Monday to go back to work on his ship for nine months, so that means that I will never see him again. Even if I renewed my contract, the chances of my being in Amagasaki upon his return are slim because of the agency’s propensity to transfer its teachers. I shook his hand, told him good luck, and watched him walk down the steps and into the world.

Later in the day, I was teaching Isamu (the quirky postman) and Yoshikazu, a high level guy I don’t see much because he always comes in on Fridays, my usual day off. I enjoy both of them; Isamu, because he is such a comical little man, and Yoshikazu because he likes to talk about Stephen Hawking and other intelligent subject matter. We were talking about religion tonight, and they told me a common Japanese expression: “The country of eight million gods.” They said this expression probably began as a Buddhist saying but is now known more as just a typical Japanese expression. “Do Buddhists really believe there are eight million gods?” I asked.

They both looked at each other. Yoshikazu said, “I think it’s just a number.”
“But why eight million?” I asked.
“I dunno!” replied Isamu with an air of defense. “Why does Baskin-Robbins have thirty-one flavors? Why not thirty-two?” He got me on that one. Note to self: Never argue logic with a Japanese postman.

Eight million gods. Seems a little excessive to me, but Isamu and Yoshikazu swear that there’s one for everything: The god of health, the god of business, the god of travel, even a god of alcohol. (I told them I’d prayed to the porcelain altar several times in my life, but they just looked at me blankly.) This got me to thinking. Maybe there are gods for lesser things, too. Maybe there’s a god for seeing Takashi safely on his journeys. Maybe there’s a god to help me earn my black belt before I leave Japan (might need two gods for that). Maybe there’s a god for Pam’s broken heart. Maybe there’s even a god to help Isamu with his fashion sense. I think surely there must be. And whoever that god is, he has a terrific sense of humor.

Apr. 24, 2004 Sat. 11:15PM

For the past two nights, the train has been so crowded leaving work that I have had to stand up all the way until Sannomiya. Last night it was so crowded they actually had to physically push people inside so the doors would close. Baseball season has started, and the Hanshin Tigers’ baseball stadium is in Koshien, the stop just before Amagasaki on my way to work. It’s a madhouse on the days they play. The train occupants form a motley amalgamation of yellow and black, with here and there a plastic baseball bat or pennant gracing the precious free air space. Tonight was okay because I got a seat fairly soon, but last night was awful. I was stuck standing up beside Shannon, also on his way home, whom I could swear was grabbing my butt and pretending it was someone else the entire time. The only way I can amuse myself during those situations (it’s too tight in there to read) is to blur my eyes and pretend I’m riding a giant bumble bee into the night.