June Journal

June 17 (and 18), 2004 Thurs. 12:45PM Eastern

After a significant vacation home, I am now on the plane to Detroit. Again. I am a pro at this now, as I have said before.
I think I have been in Japan for so long now that when I come home I feel like I am visiting a foreign country. For example,

-Why is there so much traffic? Why don’t people just take the train?
-Where are all the vending machines with alcohol in them?
-Why can’t I buy beer on Sunday?
-I can’t have an open beer while walking down the street?
-You mean I have to TIP?!

How easily one forgets.

And then there is the overwhelming bombardment of political and religious rhetoric, which is nonexistent in Japan, and of which my brain is all too willing to accept the absence.

I have just noticed that all the first class passengers get glasses instead of the little plastic cups. And bigger seats and more leg room. I hate them! I hate them so much!

Assuming I do not renew my contract, this will be my last flight to Osaka. Ever. I’m a little sad to be going back; not because I had to leave my family again (although it’s never easy saying goodbye to my cats) but because this may very well be my last few months in Japan. Where did the time go? Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was getting lost on the train and buying nasty Japanese food that I couldn’t decipher? Wasn’t it just last week that I was learning how to use a Japanese toilet and ATM machine? It is a sobering thought to know that the next time I see my family will also mean I will never see my friends, students, apartment, or Christmas Cactus again. My Japanese family, if you will. My Japanese life.

This is it. This is the last flight to Osaka.

June 19, 2004 Sat. 11:20PM, officially on Japan time (again)

I wasn’t sure how it would be, walking into this apartment after being gone almost four weeks. It vaguely reminded me of when I first got here last October, coming home to an empty apartment that smells faintly of soy sauce and cleaning products. The streets smelled like cigarette smoke and fish, but I expected that.

My overseas plane trip was as pleasant as it’s ever been. I’m glad I called the airline ahead of time to plead for a seat with more leg room. They obliged, and because of my diligence I was rewarded with ample stretch space and a front seat to the in-flight movies (which I subsequently slept through). Was slightly embarrassed, though, to wake up somewhere over the Pacific and realize that not only had I been sleeping soundly on the shoulder of the gruff Chinese man next to me, I had also drooled a little on him, too.

I was greeted at the office today with a very warm welcome. Heather almost tackled me when I walked in the door, and Jeremy couldn’t stop smiling. Ah, Hezzer and Jezzer. They make my job so much fun.

Things are already back to normal, I suppose. Meredith is screaming at me about the dishes already, and I’m getting ready to crack open a Chu-hi in an attempt to drown her out. I can’t let myself get too irritated with her, though, because she gave Christmas Cactus a brand new pot while I was gone, and now CC is looking pretty good. It’s obvious that she missed me, though.

We have a new roommate, Simona, whom I met the night before I left to go home. She’s Australian and so much more pleasant than Kate. We were talking tonight, trying to get to know each other, and I asked her what her stance on dishes was. She said, “Uh, I don’t really care. I guess as long as we don’t start getting cockroaches, I’ll be happy.” Good answer.
Then I happened to ask her religious background. She replied, “Well, we’re not devil worshippers or anything, but…” A nice way to begin a discussion.

Score two for Simona. She’s not a devil worshipper, and she’s not Meredith.

June 24, 2004 Thurs. 10PM

Interesting day. Got up early and went to Kobe Kaisei Hospital for the surgical consultation for this nasty tumor business. I found the hospital okay, but I couldn’t help but be reminded of my first month here when everything was so new. It’s scary to be walking around by yourself in a foreign country, especially considering my past penchant for getting lost.
Between my Japanese and the hospital workers’ English, I was able to find the right department. I waited for about three hours (bladder bursting, stomach caterwauling) but finally got to see Dr. Yamamoto, a five-foot-tall elderly Japanese chap who was very kind. I told him of my symptoms and showed him the notes from my previous doctor visits. As he checked off certain items on my chart, he ended each sentence with, “Right, okay.” It was a choppy affirmation, a typical Japanese accent that made me smile.

“So you’re serty years old, right, okay…” (I’m pretty sure he meant thirty.)
“Hai.”
“And you are rivving in Japan on work visa, right, okay…”
“So dess.” (“That’s right.”)
“And you go home to America before and go to doctor many times, right, okay?”
“Hai.” I let him feel my neck, and then he went back to his desk for more note-taking and affirmations.
“I am very ararmed,” he said.
“Sumimasen?” (“Excuse me?”)
“I am very ararmed.”
“You’re what?” I asked in English.
He smiled and wrote down on a piece of paper, “alarmed.”
“Don’t know,” he said. “You have many health probrem. Disturbing to you, I know. We do test. Maybe you come to hospital for week.”
He saw the look of concern on my face, then said, “I feer reary bad for you. Don’t worry… we take good care of you in Japan.” He touched my hand as he said this, but even as he did so I could see through the smile to the pained look in his eyes. It was a worried look. An ararming look.

He took me into the nurse’s area to the scale. “How fat are you?” he asked. I had to chuckle at this question. As I’ve said before, the Japanese aren’t known to mince words. They are very demure with other Japanese; however, with foreigners, they tell it like it is, due mostly to their limited understanding of subtlety in the English language.
I stepped onto the scale. “Whoa,” he said, pointing to the digital evidence, “you are this fat!”
I told him of my unexplained rapid weight gain since coming to Japan, and that that was the main reason for visiting the doctor during my vacation home.

“You mean you come to Japan and get fat?!”
“Hai,” I said.
He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t berieve it! Most people go to America and get fat! But you! You come to Japan and get fat! What crazy world diss is,” he said, chuckling.
Yep. What a crazy world this is. Please stop calling me fat.

Anyway, I had a few more blood tests and then he sent me on my way, with an appointment booked for next week. I really hate to be admitted to the hospital, but now that I’ve got this cool new laptop that I bought at home, maybe it won’t be so bad.
The hospital itself was fascinating. The cab ride there (and back) made me very nervous, as Japanese cabbies drive as if there is a host of angry monsters straight out of their movies chasing us. I felt as if he were sending me to my death, the way he navigated the tiny streets filled with pedestrians at top speed. When we got to the hospital, though, I was instantly relaxed. It was beautiful… the most picturesque place I’ve seen yet in this country. Lots of greenery out front, and several of those trees I call “bubble trees” (similar in form to Bonsai trees, but with the leaves trimmed to form little spheres). If that cabbie had sent me to my death, figuratively speaking, this hospital was surely Heaven.

The nurses looked like characters out of old war movies. Antiquated uniforms with those little nurses’ caps bobby pinned to their hair. Some had on a little head kerchief, like I’ve seen on diner waitresses.

The cabbie on the way back was not very pleasant, and drove even worse than the first one. I felt like I was in some kind of virtual reality video game, only I had no joystick or reset button. A few times I assumed I was going to die, and braced for the crash going around the curves. Fortunately, though, the game ended and I was not sent to my death as was previously supposed. Nor was the Hankyu Rokko train station my idea of Heaven. I wondered, skirting around those sharp curves, why I had never noticed the insanity of these drivers before.

And then it hit me. Every other time I’d been in a Japanese cab, I was pretty drunk. I guess I just always assumed I had the spins.

I was supposed to meet Catherine at Nakamura’s at 7pm, but was in my underwear still fiddling with the laptop when she called me at 7:05. I quickly threw on some clothes and skipped down there. After a couple of delicious Nakamura beers (the coldest in Japan, with the smallest head) she informed me that she is leaving Japan in two weeks. Damn… another friend to say farewell to. How many more times will I have to do this?