Demons Within

It's been a month since I left Japan, today, which means that I've been home for a month. I can't necessarily say that anything important has happened since my return to the States, other than returning to school, starting back at my part time job, and reuniting with my friends and family. However, I think it's important that I acknowledge myself, as well as the thoughts running through my head, and right now, I can't help but wonder: What are these demons in my mind?

As many of you know, and probably don't want to admit, returning home to the US was a rather painful experience for me. I can't lie and say that it wasn't, but I understand I should be a bit sensitive when stating how painful it was as well. I am still a fish out of water, despite being on home soil, and it's impossibly difficult to find my rhythm. I am still sleeping at weird hours, trying to figure out how to eat, and fighting whatever is left in my lungs from a year of back-to-back colds. The Japanese class at my University, while more challenging than those at Ritsumeikan in some regards, is not nearly as challenging, and I find myself struggling with my other class, one taught in English regarding the politics, philosophy, and ethics behind many current issues today, despite it being held in my native language. So why am I struggling?

I wonder if this is some sort of automatic defense mechanism to protect me from my own thought process. Naturally, I'm a pessimist, and at times like these, I would be weighing myself down with how absolutely horrible it is to be home. (Perhaps I'm starting to do that . . . ) But this feels different. It's as though I left part of me in Kyoto, and my chest aches. If that's the case, then I can't assume, logically, that I would be functioning correctly with a part of me missing. One of my professors would define this as part of the re-entry process, with or without the reverse culture shock.


Whatever the reason may be, I've found myself sitting up at night thinking about Mibu Dera, a local ramen shop, the heavy dialect of my next door neighbors, and a tranquil breeze while riding a bike downhill. I miss the old ladies who crowd the shopping street near my apartment, and wonder if my older neighbors will still be around by the time I return. The delicious contrast of red-bean paste with bland rice flour, my eccentric culture teachers, and beautiful people. The light seems to filter, as if everything is in the past, despite being in the present. Living through tradition while striving for the future, Japan is a beautiful country.

I'm American, but something strikes me about Japanese culture. When asked, I can't put my finger on it. Perhaps my vocabulary isn't sufficient for the emotion that emerges when imagining the serenity of something so foreign to what I was exposed to as a child, but a part of me needs Japanese culture. I crave the lifestyle not as an addiction, but as a need. I don't think I can reach my full potential here.

Until I can meet with my friends and sit in a dimly lit Izakaya, I  will do my best. Because they're waiting for me, I will succeed.

大切な日本人の友達のおかげで、私の夢を見つかりました。
心の奥から、本当にありがとうございました。

Musings and Hope

After a year of being abroad, I realized some things about myself:

I am not the weak, emotionally-overrun girl I knew in high school. I am moved by the world around me, inspired by the events that occur on a day to day basis. I cry when something makes me insanely happy, and I sob when my chest aches for seemingly no reason whatsoever. Rather than see these as signs of emotional instability, I see them as a cause for joy. I have an innate ability to express myself emotionally. It's painfully easy for me to express how I feel, even if I don't know a concrete adjective to do so.

With that said, I am a body full of opinions. I don't want to break the peace, and would rather keep my nasty thoughts to myself than disrupt the harmony of a group. However, I will not let someone tell me what I think is stupid, irrelevant, or wrong. I have a mind of my own, and I will not let you tell me what to do. Not anymore.

Living in Japan had made me independent. I went to Japan running away from a series of events, many deep, bitter contemplations about myself and others, and I hoped to some superior being that I would be able to land in my dream. Thankfully, someone heard me struggling. I had so much help along the way, so much encouragement, that it makes me cry with joy. I have a feeling some of my friends would tell me that I did all of these things on my own, or that my determination is what got me where I am today, but I'm only human, and I feel that I would not have been able to have such a great experience without my support group, American, Japanese, Italian, German, Norwegian, Filipino, Malaysian, French, Chinese, Singaporean, Thai, Sri Lankan, and Korean. I've had so much encouragement from the world, and met so many wonderful people. I'm so grateful for all of you.

The purpose of this blog entry is simply to analyze the thoughts running through my mind. Today was not a bad day. On the contrary, it was quite a good day considering I drove my car for the first time by myself since my return to the states nearly two weeks ago. However, it is one of the days where I've found my emotions a bit too much to handle. My future academic career, human relationships, financial status, and impending entrance into the job market weigh heavily on my mind today.

I feel as though lately, my voice has grown stronger, but I am unable to reach the person I so desperately want to speak with. I don't think that person reads this blog, and if they do, I'm a bit surprised. I won't say more than that this matter pains me.

At times like this, I need to remember that I have friends and family who are around me. I have a family around the world. I can do anything I want to.

In retrospect, this means my voice isn't loud enough.

There's no use crying. It only stuffs-up my sinuses, flushes my cheeks, and I look pathetic. But this is the first time I cried since I left Japan.

Watching Narita airport fade in the distance made me choke up on the plane. My friends and I agreed not to cry, but I couldn't hold back one tear. the green grass eventually grew further and further out of reach, fading into checkered rice patties and farms. Blue turned into white, and from there, we sailed through the sky. I couldn't sleep, and I took a Dramamine in hopes of making myself drowsy. The Dramamine then combined with red wine during dinner, and I still fought my eyelids. Sleeping meant the trip would end soon, and I desperately didn't want to go home.

But being back in Texas is familiar, and the view of my backyard is comforting. It's nice to be around my family and animals. For now, I'll do my best until I can go back to the country I came to love.

Mascara tears don't make this blog entry any better. It's time for me to crawl into a bed, motivate myself to study at least a little for my classes tomorrow, and realize that I can't do more than my best.

Mixed Emotions and Returning

This is the first blog I'm writing from the United States.

To sum it up, being back in Texas is strange. I feel numb and as out of place as ever. I can't really fathom the idea that I am back at the place I grew up. Everything looks the same, and the people are how I remember, but I feel like a part of my mind is missing.

As it were when I left Japan, I feel as though a large chunk of my life has been a dream, a nd I'm starting again.

My time in Japan was perfect, despite all the difficulties and challenges. However, I feel as though it were longer than one year, but distant in a moment, as if I had woken from a great dream.

I think my heart is aching, but the emotions won't come to my eyes.

In any case, I am in Texas.

Sai-Sai Sayonara, Bye bye, Wait...See you later

Today is the last time that I will write from Japan. Well, the last time that I will write from my stay in Japan this time. I told myself, "This isn't goodbye, but see you later." Yet, it still feels heavy and surreal.

I am getting excited messages about my going home, but it feels as if I'm waking up from a dream. I remember landing in Japan nearly a year ago, but that memory in itself is hazy. It feels as though I've lived in this country for a majority of my life, and I feel essentially more at place here than I do in the States. I could talk about this in more detail, but while it might be cathartic, it's not the time nor the place.

In a few hours, I will be boarding a plane from Narita, and bound for the States. It feels like I'm going to sleep. My body is light, but my mind and heart are heavy. I'm going from life to a dream, and I'm uncertain of what will happen when I go home.

I want to preserve the memory of the Rurouni Kenshin Move, The L'Arc~en~Ciel concert, nights of karaoke, late-night drinking with friends, and everything I've learned.

From this point forward, I'll do my best.

I'm not going to give up until I make it back to this country.

Until I land in the states, See you later.

Rainbows, Kids, and English Immersion

I'm writing while sitting onthe floor of a hotel somewhere in Japan, listening to "Niji" by L'Arc~en~Ciel, and preparing myself mentally for another set of long days, happy faces, and tears.

English Immersion Camp is a great experience for those involved. I've been volunteering with the Kumon Company for a little while now, and my skills were finally put to the test a little over a week ago. The 6 Day camp began, and I have had the pleasure of working with many people from all over the world. Our journey together is far from over, as we have another four days to go starting tomorrow. Now, we all enjoy some down time, take some time to get back to our healthy selves, and enjoy our time together as human beings.

Working with Kumon on the journey for world peace through children has taught me a lot of things. I need to open my mind to more people, try new things, and listen.

The world is a big place, but we're all linked together as human kind. This means we must learn to love one another, respect one anothers culture, and ultimately, laugh together as we share in each others warmth.

I love the people I have met here with all of my heart.

Gazette and the "Emo"

During my time in Japan, I've realized different aspects of my personality. Other people may call it finding self-identity, or figuring out who you really are, and while this may be true, I think that understanding my personality is different than identifying myself as a person in this world.

In high school, although I never knew the real reason behind any of it, I often felt down, depressed, or anxious. It was as if something bad would happen if  I turned the wrong corner, or out of nowhere, this empty void would fill my chest. People often described me as the nice kid, and I was well-liked by my classmates. However, when I began opening up to those around me about the pain I was feeling, everyone, even my own family was surprised. There was no "logical" reason as to why I was depressed. I had a great family, kept myself busy with hobbies and school activities, and was making great grades. But this pain came from somewhere, whether or not my family or friends believed it or not.

Like many other kids who are thrown into the emo, goth, or scene category, I was labeled by my school as emo. I found myself dressing in black clothes, listening to heavy music, and on really bad days, I even wrote poetry. My parents grew more frustrated as I became more withdrawn, more interested in the J-Rock and visual-kei scene in Japan, and it became evident that many people humored my interests rather than try to understand what was going on in my head.

After I entered college, I wondered if I really had gone through a faze. My taste in music, while perhaps not completely changing, altered itself seemingly day-by-day.I found myself listening to happier rhythms, melodies, and lots of Korean pop music. In the back of my head, something told me what I was doing was only making things worse, and that the pain as still there, growing, and waiting. I ignored it and almost stopped listening to both completely during the time I started dating my boyfriend.

At that time, I had no idea who I was, and was trying to find myself through loving another person. This eventually led to arguments, lack of communication, and neither of us succeeding in the relationship, or even getting to know ourselves. A year into this relationship, we were determined to make it work out of our love for one another. We re-evaluated ourselves, our actions, and told each other that we would both work on ourselves and treat each other fairly.

Then I came to Japan.

As soon as I set foot in this country, I felt at home. There was no adjustment period. At least, it didn't feel as though I was going through culture shock. The biggest adjustment was learning how to handle myself and living alone for the first time.

This is when I realized that I should have listened to myself.

I realized that there is this pain inside of me, although I don't know where it comes from. It's not something that I can locate exactly. I can't go to the doctor to have them fix it with drugs I don't need. It's something in my blood, and it numbs my body.

And I realize this through music.

I looked up at the stage as Ruki reached out to the crowd. He talked a bout a flower blooming, and while the tears didn't make their way down my face, I found my eyes watering. I had dreamed of seeing Gazette in concert since I was fourteen. I had heard his voice in my dreams, telling me to keep going rather than stopping where I am in times when I needed support, but got it from few around me.

I've never been so relaxed at a concert, and I never thought I'd find peace through the Gazette.

Part of me is relieved as I tell myself once again that I will never stop listening to this music.

Three, Four

Today was the reception for students who have completed Ritsumeikan University's SKP Program. I still don't feel as though it actually happened.

Rather than be sad during the activities, I felt a weird indifference. I was neither happy nor sad, but numb. The faces I saw in class everyday smiled at me, and I felt my heart sink, but I couldn't feel the emotion. It's as though I were standing in a room and the volume had been set to mute. Floating figures, faces, laughter, warm hugs. Yet I can't believe I was there.

I received my certificate of completion and made my way back to my friends. I won't get to see them as much as I'd like before I leave, and this is what makes the numb turn to ice.

A few days from now, I will have limited access to the internet, mobile devices, and contact with friends. Until then, I will have many things to do, and no time in which to do them. Pack? Eat? Sleep?

My appetite has faded as I start imaging the garbage bags I will carry down the stairs, the money I'll spend on post, and the agony of feeling alone in my apartment.

I don't want pity. I'm not sad. I'm not "lonely", but alone. I'm stuck in my head, figuring out who I am, where I want to go with my life, and what will happen when I return to American soil.

It's almost a month away, and while I'll be greeted by smiling faces, I have a feeling the sense of a mute dream will continue. I want warm embraces, laughter, and relaxation in the company of good friends. I want to drink with some sassy Germans, go shopping with my favorite Norwegian, and laugh with my Japanese best friends.

Where did time go?

"Here," it answers. "I've been here."

It's like high school all over again. Only this time, without the drama of teenage self-discovery. It's pain, and I feel cold . I can't find the source.

I can always come back to this beautiful country. I will keep practicing this beautiful language, I will contact my professors.

So why so numb and heavy?

It's as if Kyoto stopped moving. The street lights glitter in the darkness, and I relish the warm breeze lifting me from my bike. The world is silent, but welcoming.

Maybe I've lost myself, as well as my senses.

Doubt and the Other World

It's getting closer and closer to the time I have to leave this marvelous country, and with that said, I'm still not sure how to react. I do not say this out of sadness, bitterness, or resentment, but with honesty.

I was thinking about life back home, and realized that my trip in Japan has been hard, but enjoyable all the way through. When I think of back home, I see a lot of sticky situations, with my family's finances, school, relationships, etc. This can bring about good or bad, but I guess that's why they call it "home" for a reason.

After a Bati-Holic concert last night, my friend asked me why I didn't want to return home. She thought it was a bit strange that I wasn't excited. I told her that for some reason, I feel more at place in Japan. It's as if the world is still and things happen in the moment they're supposed to. Even when I'm rushed, it feels as though time goes by at exactly the speed it needs to. At home it feels like I'm always running straight ahead, jumping over the hurdles, and dodging the things thrown in from the present.

Here, I'm living in one moment. Difficulties, triumphs, everything is happening now.

Counting Crows

Today was a rather ordinary day for me. Well, it was up until I parked my bike to go to Wagashi (Japanese confectionery) class.

The story I'm about to write is rather emotional, and I've felt restless ever since this happened. I'm not sure how well I can write, as it's close to two in the morning, I'm very tired, and the thoughts are jumbled like wadded tissues between my ears.

It was a little after 4 p.m., and I walked my bike up to a local shrine gate. On the ground before me, I saw a crow, spread out on the ground as if someone had smashed it with a bat, and I inhaled sharply. It looked like a fluff of feathers, and the bugs were already taking over the poor, lifeless body.

An old woman sat in the shade, and watched my reaction to this bird. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her grin as I jumped when the bird moved. My stomach churned and I remember, for the first time in my life, wanting a gun.

The woman hobbled to me and started speaking in a dialect too heavy for me to understand. I told her that I felt so bad for the bird, and that it was in pain. The bird kept flapping its wings, unable to gain flight due to the broken lower half of its body. In the near distance, its friends cawed for their lost comrade.

To ensure that I understood her, or perhaps to make me feel better (although, if that's the case, I don't understand her methods), the woman poked her cane into the ground in front of the bird. It opened its beak, and instead of a caw, I could hear the screaming of its broken body as it tried to fly away from the woman.

Suddenly I heard the voice of my dad and boyfriend simultaneously. Then my mother. All of them telling me something along the lines of: Sometimes you have to hurt something to save it.

The image of that bird struggling to breathe still makes me shake. I felt so helpless. I wanted so badly the knowledge of how to kill a creature in one blow. I thought, "How can I use my bike, that rock, anything, to get this bird to stop suffering?" The old woman, on the other hand, was perhaps amused that a foreigner was getting so emotional over a common crow.

Suddenly, as if to protect their dying friend, two large crows began to swoop towards the old woman. I told her that I would run to the police station, and ask if there was anything they could do to help the bird.

I arrived at the station a few moments later and struggled to remember my Japanese. I kept saying things that translate roughly int, "I want it to be killed," and "It looks so pathetic, painful," and what hurt me the worst, "bird friends are telling us it is bad to be near the broken bird." Still feeling helpless, and feeling like minutes are hours as the woman finally understands how important this is to me.

Within a few minutes, the woman's apathetic stare turned into one of pity as I began to cry. In the beginning, I was told that there was nothing they could do. It wasn't a pet. It was a common crow. She told me to go to a different department, her words, I didn't understand. Suddenly, a male policeman came over and told me that the zoo had informed them they would see what they could do to help the bird.

After this came another eternity of waiting, my broken conversations with random police officers, and finally, the journey over to the shrine. While the old woman had told me she would wait, she and the crow's friends, had disappeared. The crow was lifeless on the ground.

I could hear the policeman mutter under their breath, questioning whether the bird was alive when I saw the flies on its back jump.

The bird was breathing.

They told me that from there, they would transport the bird to the zoo, although they said, unfortunately, the bird would probably die before getting there. I was crying. I was so glad they listened to me even though it felt like such a small thing. Whether the bird lived or died, I felt as though it were being relieved of torture.

After the police left, I stared at the shrine gate. I began to wonder if that old woman were ever there at all. What if she were some form of a god?

The whole scene felt very spiritual to me. I don't know much about the Christian religion, much less the different sects of Buddhism or Shinto-Buddhism. However, I thought I had heard of a similar situation in some story from long ago.

I wondered if I had been tested. had the woman been waiting all day, like the crow, for some person to take the time to help them, despite the inevitable death? Did the crows leave because they were chased away, or was it some sort of sign that time was running out?

I walked through the shrine gate and continued to cry. Pigeons cooed for mates at my feet and I remembered screaming with my boyfriend over our baby bird, the formula getting cold, and him ultimately saying, "If you don't feed it, it'll die!"

I suddenly understood his way of thinking, and dragged my feet to class.

I don't know what happened to the bird, and I have a feeling the police would tell me not to worry if I went back. In any case, wherever the bird is now, I hope that he is out of the tremendous pain he must have felt earlier.

I hope that no one goes without a friend in their last moment.

Time is Running Out

Today is the day one of my best friends from my home university, Mary, returns home to the states. I am so glad that both of us were able to be in Japan at the same time, even though she studied in Tokyo, and I came to call Kyoto "home." We didn't get to see each other very often due to the distance, but it was very refreshing to have a friend go through the same experience, in completely different ways, through different people, at the same time. I hope Mary makes it home safely, without any glitches through the airport and airwaves, and it's weird thinking that one of our journeys has come to an end, and a new chapter of life will begin upon landing on US soil.

Mary's departure has made me realize that my own journey in Japan will be ending in less than two months, and as much as I dislike the thought, I have to remind myself to be positive in my remaining time abroad.

Speaking of staying positive, I received a package from Captain Cornelius, one of my friends in Germany. I had no idea that he would be sending me something, and when I received a notice from the post about a missed package, I was more than surprised. However, it came at a time when everyone I knew was telling me that they were happy to be returning home, or my friends and family from the states were telling me they couldn't wait to get home. I felt as though I were the only person dreading the return, and tried to make myself think more optimistically.

Cornelius sent me a box full of chocolates and gummies from the Deutschland, but it was his letter that brought tears to my eyes. I feel like a drama queen when I type this, but I was really comforted by his letter. He told me to make the most of my time there and that I shouldn't worry about leaving even though he knows I'm upset about it. He's one of my loyal readers, I should say. (Although, that sounds weird since I don't update this blog on a normal basis, and I feel as though I have let the readers I have had down in the process of laziness.)

This letter resonated with me because I remembered how upset Cornelius was before his departure to Germany. Although he was, like many people I know, a bit happy to return home, and he felt that his trip to Japan had been satisfactory. But I felt that what I was feeling was the closest to what he was feeling months ago, even though it isn't striking the nail on the head exactly. In any case, because of this, I took his letter to heart. Yeah, it really sucks that I'll be returning home, but on the bright side, I'll be able to see people I haven't seen in almost a year, eat food that I love (Hello, burritos and salsa!), and more importantly, I'll have a better understanding of myself when I return.

Before I left for Japan, I had a general idea of what I wanted to do, where I wanted to end up in the future, and who I wanted to be around for the rest of my life. Now that I've been abroad, I understand that I want, more than anything, to end up in Japan in my future. I want to teach English, not because it is the "Global Language" or anything like that. I want to give those learning English a positive experience. I want to talk about the things they enjoy, or help them learn English regarding the field of their career. While I love my friends and family, I don't feel as though I belong in the states, at least, not for all of my life. I want to travel, live in different places, and get a job in which I don't have to worry about myself financially.



As of now, I guess I can feel a bit relieved. The situation is a bit troubling, but despite working out things with my home university through contract, it seems as though they have dropped me as a student because I "haven't been in school for a year". It's annoying, and I feel betrayed by my school, which adds to the resentment and unhappy feelings I have held toward my university for the majority of my time there. Although I am very happy and grateful for their approval for me to study abroad, as well as the partnership, I must say I think some things about university policy should be changed, especially when the school knows the student is studying abroad.

In any case, because of my "lack of attendance", so to speak, I will not be given financial aid for my Fall 2012 school term in the states. This means that I will not be able to go to school, as like many families in the US, my parents cannot afford for me to continue my education in this economy. I have a year left of school, but my parents lack of savings, my lack of job when I return home and drained bank account won't permit me to go back to school. I am communicating with my parents, my home university, and academic advisers about this problem, but depending on the result of our conversation, I may or may not be going to school in the Fall.

A plus of this is, if I cannot return to school immediately in the fall, I will be able to stay for another week or two in the country that I love.