Stories · and · Studies · of · Strange · Things

An amazing thing happened to me in Japan. The night that was the second anniversary of my first night in Japan--August 1--I was staying at a temple on the outskirts of Kyoto with a small group. We were lucky to have been chosen for the temple stay, because everyone else was staying at an ordinary ryokan, a Japanese-style inn.

After we arrived and settled in, everyone went off down the hill into town, to the nearest convenience store, to buy drinks and snacks. Contrary to my actions on the trip up to that point--I would normally have been the one leading that group--I chose to remain behind. I wanted the peace and quiet. I needed to reflect. I needed a chance to appreciate the weight of that significant date, August 1.

The temple, Hide-in, was situated, as far as I could tell, southeast of Kyoto station. It was on the side of a mountain (Kyoto is surrounded by mountains on all sides), so the nighttime view down over the city was spectacular. I could see the whole of central Kyoto, from the station in the south-central, to the various temples and castles, to the old Imperial palace in the center of the city, to the lights of Gion away to the north, forever the night-town, below which geisha and maiko would be scurrying around from teahouse to teahouse, amidst the clamor of pachinko and even lesser forms of entertainment. The area immediately below the temple was all residential: there was an enormous cemetery, and hundreds of Japanese-style houses. Flickering television screens were visible in some of the windows, and there was an occasional burst of laughter or cheer from one balcony or another, parties winding down with the night.

It was magical. I saw, in that scene, in every little detail, my life in Japan, that most amazing year of my life, reflected back at me as if through a mirror of time. It affected me then, as it still affects me now, just to think about it. Looking down on all of those people living their lives, in happiness, sadness, whatever other emotions they may have been feeling at that particular moment. Friends drinking, laughing and having fun with each other, celebrating life; lovers enjoying each others' company; students studying, painters painting, thinkers thinking, dreamers dreaming. Which category am I in? For one frozen moment, everything was exactly as it should be, in this tiny corner of a country I love. From where I stood, I felt like I could see the whole country--vast Tokyo, spreading away to the west; cozy Sendai, filling in the valley to the north.

And then it happened. Memories began flooding back to me, in an experience unlike any I've ever had before. I couldn't stop them if I tried. A year full of memories, thousands of them, completely unbidden, pouring over me like rain. I felt naked then, like my whole life, every friend I'd ever met, every cup I'd ever drunk, every laugh I'd ever laughed, was laid bare for -- for who? For God? For the whole world? For me, to look back and remember?

It continued for a full hour. I cried like I've never cried before. They weren't tears of one emotion or another, they were tears of every emotion I'd felt through that great year, a year's worth of tears spilled in an hour. There were tears of happiness, and excitement, and gratitude, at being in Japan. There were tears of fear and loneliness and sadness, at missing my family and friends and home. There were tears of ecstasy, and rapture, and deep pain, all at once. There were tears of hello and tears of goodbye, tears of hope and tears of despair. A whole year of emotions, of memories, poured over me for an hour.

I could open my eyes, I could close them, I could stand up or sit down, it made no difference. Japan was calling to me, reminding me of everything I'd ever experienced there. I remembered things--stories, trips, people I hadn't thought of in a year or more. I remembered little details: the size and shape of a room I stayed in, the line of shadow across a lover's shoulders in the night, words spoken to people I had met once and would never meet again. I remembered things I would never forget: the way I first felt when I arrived in Japan, the places I lived and stayed, my best friends' smiles. Memories not possible anywhere but Japan, an experience only to be had on that one night.

It was the first time I've ever understood the sheer depth of memory. How much is stored inside of each of us. It's really terrifying, letting it loose like that, even once. I was completely defeated by it. I felt completely drained, of tears, of emotions. Nothing else seemed to matter, afterwards. I hardly noticed everyone else returning from their trip into town. I don't think I would've noticed even if they'd spoken to me. What did they mean--what did now mean--in the face of the past?

But no one can live in the past forever. I eventually recovered. I stayed up late that night too, talking, made a new friend. Life continued. I piled thousands more memories, of this past month, on top of all of the others. It's a process that cannot be stopped, a beautiful process. It's life.

Here I am now, back on the other side of the world, experiencing the same thing in mini again, all of the memories of this past month. I feel, as I always do, that if I don't write them down now, they will be gone. But I know now, after that night, that they're not gone, they're just hiding, and they'll come out when the time is right. I still have all of it inside of me, and that should be enough. It should be enough for the rest of my life.

Camus wrote, in L'etranger, I believe, that if a man has but one day out in the world, he could spend the rest of his life locked in a prison cell, and live off the memories of that one day. I think that's true. And I've had a lot more than one day in this world. My memories should be enough, by themselves, to keep me going forever. And yet memories are memories--as soon as they happen, they begin to fade, and they keep fading. We chase after new experiences, the chance to create new memories, constantly. I'm no exception. But I do think this experience has given me the courage to slow down, at least a little.

If I don't, I'll drown in my own memories before I turn 30.

I ran around like an idiot today trying to figure out what to do about getting a new cellphone. It's not as easy as it sounds. The best deal T-mobile could give me on a replacement phone was something ridiculous like $200, and even with a new contract with another provider, after tax and activation fees and everything, it would still cost well over $100. I knew I could get a better deal online, like I did before, but I decided I couldn't wait a week without a phone. It's just really bad timing... with so many errands to run, and classes starting, and business to do. So I signed up with Verizon and got a new phone.

I called T-mobile later and this time they told me that, even though my contract hadn't expired, they could replace my phone at the same rate a new customer would pay and give me a new contract beginning today. In that case, a new account with Verizon is pretty expensive, so I signed up for the contract extension with T-mobile and my new phone is in the mail. This way I don't have to change my number or anything, and while I'd like to try Verizon, its monthly service is more expensive than T-mobile's as well.

So I still have the Verizon phone, but I have two weeks to return it, which I will do when I get the new T-mobile phone. Only I lost everyone's phone numbers :( So please either email me with your phone number (lockehart@livejournal.com) or call me on my temporary number! 510-847-8802

You wouldn't recognize me if you saw me now. For one thing, there's my appearance: it's cold here, much colder than I remembered for August (why is it always the case that when we feel lonely, we also feel physically cold?), and of course I just arrived from Japan, home of steamy hot summers. In short, I have no warm clothing, just one dressy jacket that Noelle and I found at the Gap, that I only wore once over the past month. So I'm wearing that, but I'm also wearing sandals, because, cold or not, this is California, dammit. And I'm wearing the shirt from the Foreign Correspondents' Club of Japan, because it's literally the only clean shirt I have. Necessity breeds abnormality, perhaps?

But it's more than just what I'm wearing. I headed out the door at seven, and I've just been wandering around town since, like a ghost. I've been crying on and off (I'll get to that). I'm happy to be here, very happy, I'm just beginning to feel that now, but I'm still disoriented. I can't figure out why I felt more comfortable in a foreign country than I do here in Berkeley, where I've lived for about 3 years already. (Although Berkeley could be considered a foreign country of its own right...)

I can't imagine what the expression on my face must look like. It's a combination of confusion, frustration, excitement, confidence, and sadness, all rolled up into one. I don't think that I look like the usual me.

I went to Noah's for breakfast: an everything bagel with cream cheese and coffee. I felt a thousand emotions with the first bite, with the first sip of coffee. I miss New York. I miss my dad. I miss the summer, I miss last fall, here I am crying again, this time in public... I really am back in the States, and I really, really, really do miss Japan...

Which leads me to my next point, what I've been pondering since I walked out the door. We humans really are amazing creatures. We can put up with so much, we can get used to almost anything... and yet once we do, we stay that way. We get so stuck in these little ruts we dig for ourselves, we are such creatures of habit. We become like robots, losing our ability to reason or imagine outside of the world we know--not so different, perhaps, from the rest of the animals of this earth. It's so easy for us to follow what I call the "path of least resistance." We resist change with our very souls. And when it hits us, it messes everything up. We become disoriented, confused, can no longer rely on muscle memory to get us through the same routine. As a result, we feel pain... often, the greater the change, the greater the pain.

Yet, change is good for us. Change keeps us alive, keeps our minds alive, wakes us up and spurs us to action. I do my best thinking, and as a result, my best writing, immediately after going through traumatic change in my life (like right now). I would even venture that that's one thing which sets us apart from other animals--how often does a squirrel up and travel 6,000 miles from the place it knows? Not all "change" consists of travel, of course, but people without change in their lives often become dull, close-minded.

And so here I am, 24 hours later and 6,000 miles away, without a single person I've seen for the past three months. I suppose three months isn't so long, considering the fact that I have a year left here... I spent a year in Japan... four years since I finished high school... still, jesus, a year is a long time. Such a long time. I can't believe I have a year left here (almost). What will I be like in a year? How different will things be then? Will there come a time in my life when a year ceases to be a long time? I have hardly any detailed memories from more than a year ago...

And so we humans rush ever on, headlong and ignorantly, and only stop when we're forced to. Goodness knows how long I could've kept running, if I were still in Japan. And how incredibly different things are now, all of a sudden. No rail pass which will take me all over the country in a matter of hours. No mobile phone full of friends I haven't seen in a year, no long list of beautiful women waiting to show me around. No excuse of being the confused foreigner. No unlimited tolerance for alcohol, lack of sleep, movement. No more irresponsibility--for now. I have a life to live, a college career to finish, a place to be, and a purpose, again. This changes everything.

As I expected, it's all hitting me now. Breakfast reminded me of Dad--how much I love him, how much I miss him, and how terribly much it hurts me to be here, when he's there. He is my hero. He's the biggest single thing missing from my life in California. My dad taught me what it means to love another person. My keitai, formerly all-powerful, now lifeless and limp, in a world not its own (gives new meaning to "kengai"), reminds me of the life I led in Japan, the life I could still lead there. Arriving back in chilly California reminds me of the last time I arrived here, after spending the best two weeks ever with Fumi and her family in Japan. I miss Fumi, more than I thought possible. I miss Noelle, and the adventure we found together in Europe this summer. I miss all of my friends, on four continents. I miss all of my new friends, in Japan and around the USA. Why is it that all good things must come to an end? If I had all the money in the world, I would build a big city, and bring all of my friends, all of the people I've ever loved, together at last. I've always thought that I could do that once, for one day, and that that day would be my wedding day, if it ever comes.

How much longer can I go on like this, indiscriminately making friends, and subsequently leaving them, everywhere I go? Can I realistically go somewhere new entirely, after this year, and start all over again--again? That's just one of the questions I have to answer for myself in the next eight or so months.

I've changed. Again. This is another turning point, I just know it. This next year in Berkeley will be different than ever year up to now. I am a different person, in some way. Sure, lots will be similar, but below the surface, I suspect things are already different. I just don't know how, not yet.

On the walk here, I passed a church, with a big sign out front saying "Welcome Students!" I remembered how lost I felt when I first arrived here in Berkeley, four years ago, thousands of miles away from everyone and everything I knew. I remembered how hard those first two weeks were, how I cried myself to sleep almost every night. I remembered how I felt the first time I attended church here, and the pastor shook my hand, and said, "Welcome, you're not alone anymore," and how I cried. I went for a few weeks, and then I stopped, when I didn't feel alone anymore, when I had friends to take the place of God and all of the smiling faces at church. I guess that's what church is for... it's times like these when I think of God, rarely. As I passed by this morning, I thought of attending again, this weekend, and then decided against it. "I have better things to do," I said to myself.

I started writing this entry at a computer console downstairs in the student center, the only building open before 8am. After a few minutes, it logged me out, saying my time had expired. Since I had brought my laptop, I decided to find a place to sit and just use the wireless network instead (thank goodness for omnipresent wireless). So I took the elevator to the top of this building, just to see what was there, to see if I could find a quiet place to sit and write.

The elevator door opened, and I found myself looking into a tiny chapel, which I didn't even know existed. I don't know what else to call it. There's no altar or cross, of course, this is a public school and it's nondenominational, but there are rows of chairs set up, like pews, and there's a big stained glass window behind the pulpit (or what would be a pulpit, if it were a Christian church). In place of an altar, there's a simple folding card table (public school church), a single chair, and a potted plant. The room has chairs for maybe 60 people, but I am alone, and aside from the occasional sound of the elevator servicing other floors, it is utterly silent. Hard to believe I'm sitting in a building only feet away from Telegraph Ave.

This is the best possible place for me, this morning. Seems even if I haven't talked to him recently, God hasn't lost his sense of humor. kamisama ga ijiwaru

I actually slept for most of the nine-hour flight from Tokyo yesterday. I made it here, and took a one-hour nap on the touch. That was at 3pm. It's now 6am and I just woke up. Five or six hours of sleep on the airplane, plus 16 hours more. I feel like I could keep sleeping if I wanted to. That's how bloody sleep-deprived I am after this month.

I feel great, except for a painfully empty stomach (thank goodness for Arinell's yesterday--when I was most lost, and confused, and frustrated, I stopped in for a couple of slices and to clear my head). I'm not sure what time Noah's opens, but I figure it must be soon. I think I'll walk up there, have some bagels and coffee. 6am is a good time to wake up, to start my new schedule here in California. Then I have lots to do today. I have nothing here but dirty laundry, my stuff is still all stored with two friends. I have to buy a new cell phone. I have to finish my speech for this afternoon's scholarship reception. I have to start getting ready for class and all.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be here, it's just such a harsh contrast from the past few months, it's really hitting me. I miss Japan so badly it feels unbearable--for now. I miss New York too, and Europe as well, for that matter. Just give me a few days.

I had an uneventful trip from Japan and arrived in Berkeley a little while ago. I somehow managed to lose my USA cell phone in Japan, though, which made getting the keys to my new apartment here fun. But I was able to move in, although all of my stuff is still at my friend's house, and I have nothing but a suitcase full of dirty laundry. And no washing machine, either. The next few days are going to be interesting.

The last time I arrived in California from Japan, back in January, I flopped down on bed and slept, and cried, and slept, and cried, alternatively. I don't even have a bed here, something I neglected to consider, so I'll be sleeping on the couch for the next few nights. And I've already cried. And there are more tears coming, I can feel them. I'm not sure what for, exactly... out of loneliness, mostly, because moving always makes me lonely, I'm always leaving so many people behind. And so much fun, a whole life, a whole world, in Japan. I miss my family too. I know that I'll be okay in a few days... I always am... I can and will deal with this, as I've dealt with much worse before.

I'd ask you to call me, but I don't have a phone :'(

I guess this will be the typical "goodbye Japan" post. Or, as the title says, "see ya later, Japan." After an incredible month in Japan, an even more incredible week in Tokyo, I had an even more incredible 24 hours in Sendai, that I will never forget. I saw six friends, which is about half of all of the people I wanted to see in Sendai, but I think it's pretty good, all things considered. In the past couple of days, there have been tearful goodbyes (see you laters) at train stations, meetings of only five minutes because it's all we have and it's better than nothing, promises of coming to visit (maybe they'll be kept this time?), and on my part, a hell of a lot more emotions than I ever thought possible out of me, now. Leave it to Japan to wake me up, to bring me back to life. I'm leaving for the airport in two hours and I don't feel much of anything yet... if the typhoon's not too serious, I may even be able to leave on time... and then it will hit me, I'm sure. Somehow, I'm supposed to be in Berkeley tomorrow (today), moving into a new apartment alone, at a scholarship reception in San Francisco tomorrow, and in class on Monday. The only place I want to be is here, now. My life here is the exact opposite of my life in the states.

The only night Andy and I had together was last night, but it's a tradition, I always spend my last night in Japan with him. And it's been the oddest visit with Andy ever: no Coldplay or Hirai Ken, no Yorkshire tea, and not too much beer. We just went for a walk, spilled our hearts out to each other, something I desperately, desperately needed after this past month. I wonder when and where I'll be able to do that again...

Back to "real life" now. What a shame. What did I gain from this trip? First of all, new friends, a bunch of them (my list is getting unmanagably long). A shitload of knowledge, about things from war, to economics, politics, and culture. A bunch of self-confidence--I've been told this from a number of people in a number of different places in the past month, which I think is interesting, because I wouldn't believe it otherwise. Some experience learned the hard way, from some mistakes I hope--I hope--I will never repeat again. And some direction in life, if I'm lucky. I have a slightly better idea of what my life in Japan will be like if when I live here again. In a word, it's paradise.

I'm going to be busy over the next few months, the next year, I know I will, I always am at school. But nothing could compare to this past month. I'm down to an average of four hours of sleep per night, and I'm actually used to it. Six is extravagant, and one or two is not strange. I wonder how and if that will change back at Berkeley. But the things I gained this month, for a few measly hours of sleep, have already changed my life, and I will remember them forever. If only I can write them down... :)

I guess that's all there is to say for now. I've become pretty good at accepting change. I still don't feel much about the end of JASC, I don't even feel much about leaving Japan. I suppose it will hit me later, like it always does.

My life is now officially complete and I can die a happy man. I had dinner last night with two living legends, Donald Richie and Dr. Edward Seidensticker. I sat next to Richie and across the table from Seidensticker. It was like a dream come true. When we walked into the restaurant and I saw Richie sitting there, my heart started beating... I couldn't care less about popular celebrities, but academic and cultural celebrities do it to me. These two guys are not only the most important Americans in Japan, and the most knowledgeable, they are also the two most famous people I've ever really met, as far as I'm concerned.

I have so many stories from the last few days, I don't even know where to begin, but I don't really have time to tell any of them, as always. Tokyo was grand. I'm in Sendai now, first time in seven months, and I just saw Fumi, first time in three months. Lots of strange feelings. But my life has been pretty much heaven for the past few days. No wonder I love it here and don't want to go home.

The conference is now over. I left the center this morning, said goodbye to a few friends. I don't feel much of anything yet. I didn't cry or anything, I don't even feel like I'm going to. I didn't feel any particular attachment to the people or the conference... and I decided, rightfully I think, not to do it again next year... but I did make some good friends, and I learned a whole bunch. I have lots of memories, most of them good, but I made some pretty big mistakes too...

After dinner with the guests of honor, and a trip to Andy's pub again for some of the best Guinness in Tokyo (where we took turns singing songs and had a blast), Mr. Rutledge took us to this cozy, dark, jazzy bar south of Shibuya, where we sat up late trying to convince one of our guys, Ben, to take a crazy trip to Hokkaido to chase after a girl he met and fell in love with. I decided I want to live in Japan again, as soon as possible. I just don't know when or how that will be.

I'm going to enjoy my last two nights here...

It's late and I should be asleep but I just need to write.

Last night was, aside from my joint birthday party with Andy here last year, my craziest night out in Tokyo. I had planned to meet Andy and a few other friends--Wakako, Yumi, Mike, etc.--as well as bring some of my new JASC friends, maybe 4 people, in Shinjuku for drinks. We met at the usual spot, outside the east exit, and before I knew it there were 25 people there. I had been expecting less than 10. I had just casually invited a few friends, but I guess word just spread through the group like wildfire. It all worked out... amazingly enough, we all fit in the same izakaya in Shinjuku, and everyone got along. Of course the two groups didn't exactly blend perfectly, not in the beginning anyway, and I was totally stuck in the middle, between old friends and new ones, which was really awkward but kinda fun at the same time--especially once we started eating and drinking. At least some people met each other and were able to talk to each other and exchange info, and of course Andy was a big hit... anyway I just feel like the crowd, and the night, really capture the craziness of my life here. After the first izakaya, most people went home, and a small group of us ended up drinking at Dubliners, an Irish pub we frequent there, until it closed, chatting with strangers and having a great time... it was an amazing night... we came back here to the Olympic Center and sat outside and chatted with a larger group for a while... and I was only minorly hungover this morning. I wasn't even late for anything.

Tonight, we had a reception at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs here in Tokyo, where we met an ambassador, a pretty serious affair. The food was absolutely out of this world, like it has been at all of these events, and the place was full of important people, JASC alumni and rich sponsors and government officials. I totally schmoozed, people kept coming to me and introducing me to people, and before I knew it, I was talking to a guy who runs the language school I studied at here two summers ago. He's opening a new language school here in Tokyo this winter, which is a big, exciting deal, with support from even the imperial family. He's friends with both Seidensticker, the most famous Japanese scholar and translator of our time, and Donald Ritchie, the most famous author of Japan studies, whose works I've been reading and falling in love with for the past year. He took a group of us out to a second dinner and drinks afterwards, and--get this--he invited me and another guy to dinner at the Tokyo Foreign Correspondents Society tomorrow night, where he's going to invite Donald Ritchie. I really can't believe it... I don't know whether he'll actually show up or not... but I've dreamed of meeting this guy forever...

The other big thing is the JASC election. I'm really nayanderu right now, up in the air about the next year of my life and whether or not I should do this thing. Sigh.

Someone's waiting to talk to me, I need to go now...

Don't know where on earth to begin. It's been a crazy several days in Tokyo, like I expected, only better than I expected. This is the first chance I've had to use the Internet in a few days--which is my own fault, because we've had plenty of free time here, augmented by the meetings I've been skipping. But I've been busy catching up with friends, and spending time with new ones. So far I've seen Andy, Waka-chan, Maki, and Tomomi, and tonight, we're all of us going out tonight on a big nomikai for old time's sake. Most of my old Tokyo friends, plus a handful of new ones, it should be amazing! We're supposed to be meeting in five minutes already...

So I guess this will have to be brief.

The conference is going well. I'm still learning a lot. The Chinese delegates arrived two days ago, we spent two serious days in meetings and stuff, and they left this afternoon. They're really great people and I'm glad they had the chance to join us :) But unfortunately I didn't have the chance to get to know any of them, more than casually...

Elections for next year's leaders for JASC are coming up in a few days and I have to decide whether or not to run. Several people have asked me to do it, and I'm fairly sure that, if I run, I will be elected. I may even be chair next year. But I don't know if it's worth my time. In any case I have to decide soon... this will be a big deal for the next year if I decide to do it...

Catching up with old friends has been absolutely amazing, much better than I ever expected. We haven't had enough time together, of course, but something about this trip to Japan--maybe because of the conference--makes everything different.. in a good way... a much more realistic way...

There was a gigantic earthquake yesterday in Sendai, which "got lucky" and escaped major damage. It was really scary down here in Tokyo--we were on the fourth floor in a meeting and the building was swaying around for a full minute, the longest earthquake I've ever felt--so I can hardly imagine what it was like up in Sendai, almost 350 miles north of here. I was worried about friends all day... I sat glued to the TV news reports during lunch... everyone's okay but they said it was crazy, things falling over everywhere, that sort of thing. It's the same size as the earthquake that killed 5000+ in Kobe ten years ago. I miss Sendai... and seeing it in the news, watching it on TV, is a strange feeling. I almost cried yesterday when I found out where the earthquake had happened.

I had the best spicy, cold tan-tan-men Chinese noodles for dinner today. They were amazing!!! I love the food here, it makes me so happy... I never want to leave... :(

We visited Yasukuni Shrine, the really controversial place which honors, among millions of war dead, several war criminals from WWII, in the morning for the 60th anniversary of the end of the war two days ago. It was strange, and educational, and fascinating... seeing both sides of things. People were there from all over Japan, and tensions were really high. We missed the Emperor, unfortunately!

We're in the final few days here, and things are changing, the group dynamic is changing, and the way I feel around everyone here is changing too. There's just so much I want to do, so many places to go and people to talk to... this is Tokyo, I'm 22 years old, I'm surrounded by people who can show me new things and teach me things... and yet, amidst all the chaos, I feel more and more like I just want to relax... I don't really know when or how I can though... I have some real choices to make...

Time to run to the meeting. I feel a little better, at least, getting this much out, but there's so much more...