Author: kamys

Day 11 of 30-Day Writing Challenge

Photo by Joshua Clay on Unsplash

I have a younger brother who became estranged several years ago.  It’s easier to list up all the nasty things about him, maybe because the more recent experiences tend to dominate one’s memory.  But here I will force myself to dig in my memory pool to look for the fun part about him.

It was my brother, not my mother, who called me on a Tuesday morning that my father was dying.   My father had been admitted to hospital a week before, at that time the doctor indicated six months.  A week later the number was cut down to one week. 

I called my office that I would take time off that whole week.  On Wednesday I took off to Japan.  I crossed the date line got to Kansai Airport on Thursday evening, went straight to the hospital. 

My brother was on the bedside.  My father was sitting on his bed, with lots of pillows around his upper body.  “H.” “Hey”… Usually he would say “hey”, with raising his left hand.  But this time he only nodded.  Maybe it was too painful for him to use his arm.  He looked weak, but his smile on his face was not. 

Then I went to see my father’s doctor.  He showed me the X-ray of my father’s chest.  How would I know what’s wrong!  The doctor explained to me the lung was damaged pretty bad.  “Why was not his cancer found earlier?” But it was too late to regret. 

My brother and I went home together.  We agreed that I would find a place for his funeral, do whatever I could do until Saturday, but come Sunday my brother would take over everything   until the completion of the funeral.  I would have to go back to Seattle.  He understood.

The next day my brother and I went back to hospital.  My father gave me the similar smile, without raising his left hand.   My brother and I did all the talking.  My father would either nod or smile.  Sometimes He wanted to change his body position, to mitigate his pain here and there.   All day long my brother’s and my laughter filled the room. 

What were we talking about, exactly?  It is strange but I can’t remember a thing.  All I can remember vividly is giggling and laughter of my brother and me.  What happened years later between my brother and me must have caused to erase the fun side of our time spent together.  Is it how a human’s memory works?  I don’t know. 

Will I ever have another chance to laugh together with my brother?   I should never say never, but I’m pessimistic.

Day 10 of 30-Day Writing Challenge

Photo by Vonecia Carswell on Unsplash

I don’t have a best friend.  Do you? 

What is the definition of a good friend? 

Somebody whom you talk to most often?  Somebody who doesn’t mind receiving your call in the middle of the night when you have an agonizing issue?  Somebody who wakes up at 4am to take you to the airport?  Somebody who hands you 100 dollars when you are broke and doesn’t expect you to pay back?   Somebody you are comfortable with talking about your sex life? 

Do you really think a single person can handle all these your needs?  Let’s flip the side.  If a single person count on you for doing all those things for them, would you be fine with that? 

We do encounter these needs, probably more often than we wish.  Some of the needs can be met by our spouse/partner.  In such a case, s/he is our friend.  Some of the issues we prefer not depend on your spouse/partner, because the issue is between us and our spouse/partner.  We need someone else to go to.  

The reality is, depending upon the needs that come up, we consciously or subconsciously look through our database in our memory and pick someone who can best fulfill the needs.  Of course we don’t choose someone we have just met at the party last week.  We select from those we know long and well enough.  We assess the probability of that person saying yes to our request.  Based on the calculated probability, we contact or not contact that person. 

For this purpose, I think we are better off if the database holds decent number of contact names.  If we have only person in the database, chances are we will lose that versy person from the database soon.   We don’t need to nor should we have hundreds of people in this database, but we should have at least handful, not one.  And if we are ready to be approached by one of these handful for such issues, these handful are more likely our good friends.  Or vise versa.

I don’t think it’s a good idea banking on one person for all the issues or needs that may come up.  I think everybody is better off having several good friends but no single best friend. 

Day 9 of 30-Day Writing Challenge

Photo by Stan B on Unsplash

The sky is refreshing blue.  From my window I can see the bright morning sunlight reflecting on the neighbor’s roof and cedar sidings. 

My husband just left for work.  Oh, he forgot to bring down his wallet!   Don’t worry, you have already your shoes on.  I can go upstairs and get it for you. Is it a little chilly outside?  Which jacket do you want?  You prefer the black one in the closet in the back room?  I can go get it for you.  Just a moment. 

This small conversation that happened right before I sat down and started writing this morning, this little snippet of my day, doesn’t necessarily make me happy.   Instead of seeing him off with a smile, I could have reacted…

What?  You forgot to bring down your wallet?  How silly of you!  What?  You want me to go upstairs just because you don’t want to take off your shoes?  Why didn’t you wear slip-ons instead?  Chilly outside?  What do you expect? it’s already October.   Take this jacket hanging on the wall in the hallway.  A wrong color? Are you blind?  This one goes well just fine.  Why do I have to get the one stored in the back room?  Why do you want me to work for you?  I’m already late for the morning writing session!

Depending on my mood, I could react such a nasty way.  The same incident could be my curse to start another day of grudging. 

It’s not what happens to me that can make me happy or unhappy.  Happiness is a choice I make when responding to any external situation.  External situations are not tagged as happy or unhappy.  What I make out of it is what matters.  Happiness is what I consciously choose as my state of being each moment. 

Am I happy?  Will I be happy today?  I plan so, because I am capable of choosing to be happy. 

Day 8 of 30-Day Writing Challenge

Photo by Ozgu Ozden on Unsplash

I got to the restaurant a little early. 

I had never been there, and I wanted to make sure I would have enough time to find a parking space and to walk there.   

The person I was meeting with texted me she was running a little late, so I had a slack of time.  As anyone would do lately, I took out my cellphone and was going to read one of the news, so I thought.

The restaurant was almost empty, with only two other parties.  The volume of the music was just about right, not to bother my reading.   The melody sounded familiar.  I went back to reading. 

The next song was another familiar melody, an old song.  I kept on reading.  The next song…

Wait! They are all hit songs between the summer of 1978 and 1979.

I know 100% sure, because that was my senior year in high school! The only year I spent in a small town called Grove City, PA, as an exchange student from Japan. 

I used to dance to the music.  With whom? With this classmate and that classmate.  Where? In the school auditorium and at the cafeteria What was I wearing? Oh, that check flannel shirt the white overalls!  Yes, that Dairy Queen store! Mr. Naples! Miss Stuck! Oh my!  My mind was filled with everything Grove City.

Through the window I saw the person I was meeting approaching hurried at the entrance door.  I turned to the waiter and asked her, “Which radio station are you playing?”  She said, “I don’t know if it’s a radio station.  I know the owner choses the music.” 

I didn’t confirm it, but I bet the owner is the same age as me. 

The power of music.

Day 7 of 30-Day Writing Challenge

Photo by NASA on Unsplash

The latest movie I watched has become my favorite.

David Attenborough: A Life on Our Planet

In the beginning of this movie, Sir David Attenborough says this documentary is his witness statement.  A witness statement of a crime that we human beings have committed.

In case you don’t know about him, here is an excerpt from his page on Wikipedia:

“Sir David Frederick Attenborough (/ˈætənbərə/; born 8 May 1926) is an English broadcaster, biologist, natural historian and author. He is best known for writing and presenting, in conjunction with the BBC Natural History Unit, the nine natural history documentary series forming the Life collection, a comprehensive survey of animal and plant life on Earth.

On his broadcasting and passion for nature, NPR stated he “roamed the globe and shared his discoveries and enthusiasms with his patented semi-whisper way of narrating”. He is widely considered a national treasure in the UK, although he himself does not like the term.

Wikipedia

I have to confess that it is only recent, maybe within a year or so since I learned about his work and career. 

My attempt to write about Japanese traditional culture led me more and more interested in its sustainable lifestyle. The lifestyle my ancestors used to have for centuries before the wave of Industrial Revolution swept Japan.  Words such as “nature” or “living in harmony” became keywords I would more often type together with “Japan” or “Japanese traditional culture.”

Ever evolving AI technology must have figured out that I should be connected to Sir Attenborough’s work.  Short movies or snippets of his BBC Natural History documentaries started popping up on my computer screen.  For this encounter I have to thank AI.

The only TV at home is usually occupied by my husband.  My husband ‘s favorite program has less than 0.5% in common with mine, so whenever he watches TV I put on my earphones and place my eyes on my laptop.  Only when my husband is away, out of boredom and a little sense of freedom I pick up the TV remote and push the mic button and say “Netflix.” 

On such a night when I was browsing the documentary section, this movie came up. I clicked play and started watching it.

From the beginning till about a couple of minutes before the ending, the story made me almost cry, filled with despair.  But at the age of 94, Sir Attenborough must have made this movie because he still has hope that we human beings can change the course.  The last scene when crowd of people somewhere in Japan enjoying Hanami (viewing of cherry blossoms) had me. 

His final message in this movie was that we human beings are not apart from but are a part of nature.  If he depicts his message with this scene, it’s worth my continuing to write about it.  To remind us to live in harmony with nature.   And there are so many examples in Japan’s traditional culture that we can make use of in our current lifestyle. 

Day 6 of 30-Day Writing Challenge

Photo by Santi Vedrí on Unsplash

I consider myself a very independent person.  I owe it to my mother.

“Mom, does a chicken fly?” Looking at her back I asked her. I was sitting at the chabudai (low dining table) doing my homework assignment.  Our kitchen and our dining/ living room was so tiny that my mother could hear me easily while cooking dinner. 

The question was the only one I struggled to answer in my homework assignment.  I was in the first grade. 

“Of course it does!” was her answer.   So I filled the paper with “Yes” onto my homework sheet.

The next day I submitted my sheet.  When I received it back from my teacher, it had a big red “X” on that answer.  “X” meant the answer was wrong.  All the other answers had familiar red circles, meaning my answers were correct.

“My mother lied to me!  I will never ask my mother to help me my homework!”

Ever since then, I had never asked my mother for her help to do my homework.  My father seldom came home before my bedtime.  Naturally I made a habit of doing my homework all by myself.  If I made a mistake, I made it.  I could swallow that bitter fact.  But I couldn’t bear the humiliation of getting a big X for the answer I didn’t even answer. 

My mother and I still laugh at each other remembering that insident.  My mother praises me for not having depended upon her for my study ever since.  That made her life a lot easier.  She had so many other things to do including taking care of my father’s several employees who were living near our apartment.

Years later, at a class reunion of my high school, one of my classmates told me that he was still teaching math to his high school son.    Out of love?  Out of his own pride?  For whatever the reason may be, it was beyond my comprehension.   Till today I still thank my mother for giving me a wrong answer at such an early age. 

Day 5 of 30-Day Writing Challenge

Photo Credit: U.S. Army

My father was 7 years old when World War II ended. 

His parents were farmers living in a village just outskirts of Tokushima City in Shikoku Island, Japan.  Unlike some hundreds of thousands of Japanese homes in 66 cities bombed by allies, their family home on the farmland was not burned down.

My father was the fourth oldest of the eight children in the family.  The eldest brother was five years older than him, the youngest was soon to be born. His father was not drafted. I don’t know the statistics, but his family might have been one of the lucky minorities back then.

My father told me the following story only once.

“Soon after the war was over, a group of American soldiers came stationed in our village.  It became my chore to visit their camp once in a while. 

My chore was to get their human waste from their outhouse.  We would later use it as fertilizer in our farm.

Their waste was so fertile that I used to wonder what they were eating.”

One of the overly used video footages on TV in Japan depicting right after the war, was a scene of bunch of Japanese children running after the GI’s Geep, shouting “give me chocolates.”  The GIs on the Geep would throw out candies, and the children would frantically chase the small packages and pick them up fallen on the street.    

I never asked my father if he ever chased GIs for chocolates like that video footage.

Somehow I want to believe that his pride would never have allowed him to put that chocolate in his mouth.

Day 4 of 30 Day Writing Challenge

Photo by Ibrahim Uzun on Unsplash

Istanbul!

For someone like me who grew up in an island nation, entering another country, seeing another culture and hearing another language would occur only after long hours of flight or voyage.  The concept of a national border that can be crossed by walking was simply foreign. 

No wonder my biggest fascination after moving to Seattle was to visit Vancouver, BC.  Not so much as to see the city, although it is a beautiful place, but to drive across the national border to enter a different country was the primary attraction to me.  I wanted to examine myself how I would feel the exact moment when crossing the border. 

Even after having crossed the US/Canadian boarder many times and having visited several countries in Europe in one trip, this fascination hasn’t faded in me.

And the biggest fascination I have yet to experience… Byzantium, Constantinople, and Istanbul… The same place that has changed its name in the course of its long history.  The city where the two major civilization, the West and the East, have always collided. 

How narrow is Bosporus Strait?  What does it feel like when entering from one civilization to the other?  How had the people always perceived the people living on the other side? 

Until I get lost meandering in this city, my fascination continues. 

Day 2 of 30 Day Writing Challenge

Photo by Bruce Tang on Unsplash

What makes me happy?  Lately I’m finding happiness in writing.  I look forward to the time in the morning when I sit in front of a computer and start typing.  What else? Eating my favorite cake?  Touching the petal of a beautiful flower? Smelling its sweet fragrance?

What happens if my computer is not in front of me?  My favorite cake not on the plate? No more flowers blooming?  Does it mean I can’t feel happiness anymore?

Not quite.  If I sit still and close my eyes, I can recall the soft color of the cake, the crunchiness of the first bite, that sensation of the cream melting in my mouth.  They are all memories stored somewhere, and by recalling these memories I have the same sweet experience that makes me feel happy.  Not a physical piece of cake, but the memory I associate with the experience when I ate the cake, makes me happy. 

My room is chilly now so I’m running a space heater.  The noise it generates is big.  Can this noise make me feel irritated? Possible.  But once I close my eyes, recalling my memory about the favorite cake, my vivid sweet experience fills my mind.  I almost forget that the noise the space heater is generating. 

A piece of cake and a space heater are both something that exist around me.  Oh, and my husband!  They all generate something that cause my sensations (see, hear, touch, smell and taste.)  I store in my memory those sensations together with my sweet experience, or with nasty experience.  The voice of my husband when he yells at me definitely gives me nasty experience, but his voice when he says thank you or he loves me gives me sweet experience. 

Remember, it’s not the cake, but the memory I associate with is what it counts.  And I am capable of selecting which memory to recall in order to make myself happy.  Not the noise of a space heater, not the voice of my husband yelling at me.  I am in charge of making myself happy or not. 

So what makes me happy?  Myself.  Nothing else.  I’m not at the mercy of something else to make me happy.   Isn’t it quite liberating?