A Few Scratches Deeper than the Surface

Four months abroad, four months of experiences, four months living a different culture.  Just enough time to scratch the surface and realize just how much you don't know, haven't realized and haven't experienced.

Most people think of ancient traditions, festivals, samurai and geisha when Japan is brought up.  They're true enough notions, and easy enough to come across to the unsuspecting visitor.

But they're events, aspects of life.  They're things to enjoy and spectate upon.  The geisha above aren't geisha at all, but normal girls who likely paid to be dolled up for a day at Kiyomizu Temple and the surrounding Kyoto area.  The samurai above are very likely a branch of the SCA (wiki) or a similar local group.  The Danjiri festival is a time for communities to come together and showcase their bond on the streets of their town (and get drunk).  Like with Halloween, renaissance faires and parades in American and the Western world, these are side activities of life day-to-day or year-to-year.

Others may immediately think of the oddities that seem to belong to Japan alone.

While working with balloons is hardly crazy or uniquely-Japanese, this particular guy (whom I saw in Hiroshima) was on one of the channel 10 variety shows this week.  The works showcased were human-sized.  Landscapes, fairies, ridable horses.  Art that would receive very little attention outside children's programming and entertainment.

And then we have Colonel Sanders here.  One of my friends sent me a picture of him in a summer yukata, holding a watermelon, and asked if he really looked like that in Japan.  Americans don't think much about the colonel (if they even know who he is), so it's understandable to find Japan weird for dressing him up.

Or the crazy things the Japanese do.  I wish I'd taken a picture of my Okaasan vaccuuming the wall this past weekend.  Or that flesh-colored neck pillow I saw at Hirakatashi station someone had put a thong on.

But that's not unique to Japan.  It's just different.  I'm sure from a Japanese perspective, us foreigners are just as crazy, just as weird, and watch things just as peculiar on television.

My four months here have reaffirmed that much.  Japan is, while foreign, just another group of people struggling to make their way in the world of today.  They have their own fields of expertise and their own passtimes, many of which overlap with those of the West and some of which belong to the Japanese alone.  Japan isn't the magical place for otaku to come and thrive (though if they were to never leave Akihabara, they might be able to delude themselves).  Japan isn't any more extroverted or off-the-wall than America.

 

Japan is a place that yearns for the past and yet can't get enough of the new.  They embrace aspects of other cultures they like (whether or not they completely understand said culture) and leave the rest.  It's been said that Japan has a habit of taking what other countries invent and making them better.  I'd probably have to agree, but that's not to say that Japan doesn't have its own hurdles to overcome.

That sense of normalcy established and much of the mysticality demistified, Japan is a wonderful place if you're a foreigner--to visit.  It keeps its novelty that way, and allows one to more appreciate their home culture.

Ain't Mama Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy

She's the last one to go to bed at night and is always the first one up in the morning.  It seems she never sleeps and yet it's easy to catch her snoring in the massage chair after dinner.

I opted for homestay rather than seminar house to force me to be social and actually speak Japanese.  With Okaasan, I definitely succeeded in the former, but the latter remains unfulfilled.

My Okaasan, Tsurue Shimizu, is 59 years old but she hardly acts it.

She dyes her hair (Otousan helps), which is completely white otherwise.  In three and a half months, I've only just realized this--she keeps on top of the growth.

She's frightening behind the wheel of the family's brand-new Mitsubishi; drives too fast down the narrow residential streets in a vehicle that's entirely too big for Japan.

She isn't phased by much at all.  While I've had the pleasure of living in her home, she's broken a toe and dislocated her shoulder--twice.  None of these instances were emergencies, though, she and Otousan piled in the car and drove out to the hospital in Kobe for treatment.

She has two daughters, Maki (34) and Misa (27), and a grandson Konta (3).  She calls them her treasures, and the way her eyes light up when she's surrounded by family proves how true that is.

She's a trouble-maker and isn't afraid to poke fun at her family.  Otousan was sitting a few feet away on the couch when she told me he had a bad brain.  Despite knowing almost no English, he still scowled at her.  Her body language gave her away--she cringed away from him with an open-mouthed smile in my direction.

She knows how and when to laugh at herself and her mistakes.  We were in one of our impromptu English lessons and I was helping her perfect the pronounciation of "murder."  She couldn't stop laughing when I finally explained my concern over her previous utterance sounding more like "mother" than "murder."

I've only known two things to trip her up, and they're things that anyone would stumble over.

I came home one night and there was incense burning by the door.  She was sitting at the table, translator in-hand, waiting for me.  She'd spent the day looking after Konta because his parents had spent the day in the hospital.  Maki had had a miscarriage.  She was slower that night, seemed to act her age and show that wear of life.

The second time was when she found out Konta has autism.  He's still young and doesn't exhibit dramatic symptoms, so she still had the hope that it won't be a debilitating case.



Photo taken by Misa

 People stereotype the Japanese housewife as the cornerstone for the home, but it really is true.  Without Okaasan, the house would be in all sorts of disarray.  That she can be that strong and stay so happy is something I admire and strive to nurture in myself one day.

She does appreciate it when someone else makes dinner for once, though!

These Boots Were Made for Walking [Outside]

Though it's become more common in America to take off one's shoes upon entering a home, it's still something of a foreign concept and an offense isn't particularly troublesome.  One of the largest adjustments coming to Japan for many exchange students is definitely that shoes are worn outside and only outside.  They are kept by the door, not in one's room--never in one's room.

And it's not just at home.  Many schools have shoe lockers where students change into slippers while in the school buildings.  Some businesses share this practice as well.  I'm not sure about shrines, as I haven't experienced it at one, but temples as well, if one aims to enter the buildings themselves.

Kiyomizu temple in Kyoto required visitors to remove their shoes if they wanted to enter the main building.  When I visited Asuka temple in Nara, shoes were left by the door.  Most recently, at Enryakuji on Mt. Hiei, I observed the removing and replacing of shoes, almost as natural as breathing.

And the requirement to remove them doesn't seem to hinder the choice of shoe at all.  Women will show up with lace-up or otherwise complicated closure shoes but such doesn't phase them.  They take a seat and remove them to enter, perhaps for less total time than it might take to remove and replace the shoes.

It's fascinating.  Maybe Americans just don't have the patience or appreciation for taking off their shoes in a clean manner to keep their homes, schools, jobs and places of worship clean.

Universal Tourism

As with most other countries in the world, Japan has a lengthy relationship with religion.  Scattered across and hidden within its boundaries are a wealth of shrines, temples, churches, Happy Science buildings and numerous other places of worship.  Some are unknown and forgotten, others are held as a cornerstone of culture and popularity.

These fundamental locations often become tourist traps, both for foreigners and the Japanese alike.

Ise Shrine is the home of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess.  It's possibly the most famous (and least photographed) shrine in Japan.  It's rebuilt every 20 years and brings quite the crowd to the otherwise quiet prefecture that houses it.

When I visited Ise's outer shrine, Geku, there wasn't a foreigner to be found (as it's the inner shrine that holds the claim to fame) but the Japanese filled the role of tourist well enough on their own, posing for pictures as close as they could get to the shrine itself.  Younger visitors popped their peace signs while older visitors posed stoically.  Most of the visitors were older and all of them made an offering and prayed at at least one shrine.

In contrast, Todaiji Temple was a bustling metropolis.  The streets and paths were filled with cars, people and deer, packed almost as tightly as if on the last train out of Tokyo.  Taking a photograph devoid of people or deer was nearly impossible.

The deer wanted fed and most people were happy to sink 150 yen into a packet of special deer wafers to make this happen.  The people wanted to see the daibutsu and were happy to sink 500 yen into the ticket to allow them inside the daibutsuden.  There were stations to burn a stick of incense, wishing wells and a crowd of people at each of them, more following suit than actually having knowledge of the rituals.  It didn't seem that any were there to worship, though I imagine a few of them were present, lost in the sea of faces.

Religion in Japan is a tricky thing.  Asking about it is difficult, as no one really seems to want to talk about theirs (unless it's those Happy Science guys at the station).  I must say, though, it's a huge relief after Christian Americans telling me that I'm going to burn in hell just because I happen to be wearing knee-high, buckle-up black platform boots and a dark purple trenchcoat.

Find Your Obsession

Ethics and methods.

Everyone has their own personal set of each.  Some arise from moral standards, some arise from experience, some arise from goodness knows where.

Drive and dedication.

These often stem from those same sources, manifesting in unique ways for each individual.

Each of these are subject to question, doubt and accusation from those who hold different or opposing views.  Each of these draw admiration, awe and inspiration from those who hold similar views.  Interpretation is a funny thing, be it over textual or visual sources.

Annie Leibovitz and James Nachtwey are two world-renown photographers.  Both have molded their lives around their work in very different ways.  Both have two very different subject matters.  But they share the same drive to adequately and stunningly depict their topics.  Both immerse themselves in the lives of their subject matter.  Leibovitz seems to actively participate in the lives she photographs, however, whereas Nachtwey retains a wall that separates him from the lives he photographs.

Having seen the films on each photographer, I must admit that there are aspects of each I cannot meld into my own methods and morals.

From Killers Kill, Dead Men Die

Many of Leibovitz's shots now are staged, arranged down to the smallest freckle on a celebrity's face.  I don't mind editing photos digitally, but that level of setting up a shot takes away authenticity, I think.   Searching Google for her work, there were very few older, black and white pieces from her early days with the Rolling Stone.  Those were the photos I felt something from.  The one I've selected was selected because it reminded me of an evening I had during this past summer.

Kosovo, 1999 - Deportees returned during harvest time.

I feel that Nachtwey is too removed from his subjects.  Watching the film, I couldn't help thinking that he must be dead inside to see such grief right in front of him and doing nothing but photograph it.  He said that he was accepted by the people and that's how he got his shots.  I couldn't help but wonder if he was truly accepted or just  off the radar because of the overwhelming grief the women were experiencing.  Wartime has a different set of rules, a different sense of what's okay and what's not, and that's how he gets away with his shots.  Granted, I assume he's jaded from all he's seen, but something, somewhere, must boil his blood and make him want to do something more visible than photograph.

I realize that the ideas and methods I can gleam from these two.  I need not be afraid to go for the shots I want.  I should get to know those I'm photographing.  I should be involved in the matters at hand to capture the most expressive and emotive photographs possible.  However, with my time in Japan being so limited and the subject matter of the blogs changing each week, I can't seem to wrap my mind around accomplishing this.

Photographs:

Leibovitz, Annie. Photograph from the movie Killers Kill, Dead Men Die.

Nachtwey, James.  Photograph from Kosovo in 1999.

These photographs are the properties of their respective owners.

I take no credit for photographs included in this blog post.

A Little Happy Goes a Long Way

My first introduction to Miho was via a purikura profile picture on Facebook.  It was one of those distorting ones that lightened the hair and enlarged the eyes, so it was difficult to tell what she actually looked like, or what her passions were.

The one thing I've found that holds true is that her whole mouth is always involved in her smile.

Her entire face changes when she's happy, almost to the point that one wouldn't recognize her without that trademark, ear-to-ear grin.  It isn't fake, it isn't forced.  It's full of joy and life and, well, Miho.

It translates to the rest of her countenance, as well.  When her face is alight, her walk is bouncy and easy, with just a hint of a march; swinging her arms high and bending her legs at the knee only slightly.  It feels childish, but it's infectiously compelling.

She speaks French.  She's been to Paris and New York.  She sleeps until mid-morning.  She has a comfortable style.  She's a social butterfly.  She works as a waitress.  She's very patient with non-Japanese-speaking Americans.  She isn't a Pokemon fan but thinks Pichu is adorable.  She's afraid of heights but brave enough to ride a Ferris wheel.

A day spent with Miho is a grand memory.  I hope I have ample opportunity to spend time with her and that she doesn't lose that marvelous quality of happy she's mastered.

For the Children

Every neighborhood has its own personality and charm, telling a great deal about the individuals that live within them.  Mine is a half hour from Hirakatashi-eki by bus and varies from cramped houses to rice fields to ostentatious mansions one would consider large even by American standards.  However, the over-arching theme seemed to be centered around children.

My bus stop is next to a local park, which is mainly sand and gravel, but with a number of climbing structures and see-saws that host both elementary-and-middle-school-aged children, depending on the time of day.  It's across the street from an elementary school, which is full of children eager to learn English--and aren't afraid to trap a couple of foreigners for upwards of an hour with questions and insisting that the two must be dating.

Welcoming and eager, if not more than slightly intimidating.