Personal History (Draft)

1. Dawn: Pre History

2. Middle School: Classical Ancient Times

2.1 Daily Life

2.2 Books

2.3 Friends

2.4 Thoughts

2.5 Reflection and Lessons

3. High School: Middle Ages

3.1 Thoughts

4. University: Renaissance

4.1 Daily Living

4.2 Visit by my Student, Yachan, to my Apartment

4.3 At a Coffee Shop

5. World Travel: Modern Times

5.1 Departure

5.2 Minamata

5.3 Okinawa

5.4 Leaving for the World

5.5 Asian Countries

5.5.1 Nations

5.5.2 India

5.5.3 Rafiek

5.6 Europe

6. Present Times

6.1 Chieko’s Birth

6.2 Teaching

6.3 Teacher’s Strike

6.4 Friendship

6.5 Now What?

6.6 Poet 

7. Future

1. Dawn: Prehistory

Prehistoric times predate my classical ancient period. That was the dawn of my personal history. I remember clearly about my tireless drawing, painting, and writing activities, but the records to show them might have been buried under volcanic ashes somewhere in my own prehistory. 

Although the written records may be gone, my memory of that period is vivid. Two of my sisters, our friend, and I had a campfire in the woods and baked sweet potatoes in the burning ashes. I can still smell the smoldering potatoes. Once a year we had a trip to the beach. The white waves and sounds of the ocean still come back when I close my eyes.

I always had more energy left to keep playing at the end of a game. Athletic meets were held on clear autumn days and white shirts and white pants would scatter across the schoolyard under the blue sky. Ready, get set, go. I ran as fast as I possibly could. My cheeks trembled.

I, along with the neighborhood children, endlessly painted the scenery of a river about one mile away from home. Along the river was our favorite spot. The river disappeared into a point where distant blue mountains merged. The river’s deep blue and the bright blue of the sky mysteriously connected in harmony at the distant horizon.

Now, I would like to dig into my classical ancient times rather than continuing with my prehistoric years for which no written records have been recovered. I would like to trace the classical ancient times for which some records were kept. My mother safeguarded my journals and shipped them to me when I moved to the United States following my travels through Asia and Europe.

I have a cardboard box stuffed with diaries and journals, revealing a detailed history from my ancient through modern times. And I still keep journals to the present day.

I have chosen events from these records that are characteristic of each time period: Ancient, Medieval, Renaissance, Modern, and Present.

My developmental stage around high school corresponds to my medieval times. I cannot give a complete interpretation to this stage of my history. Most of my original records are yet waiting to be reviewed.

I believe that I traced human history by reliving each stage--growing up in Japan.After college I traveled in Asia and in Europe, and settlled in the United States. This original perception of tracing human history came to me clearly and suddenly when I was a sophomore at a Japanese university. This perception was formed while I was still wandering from Medieval Times through the Renaissance and to the early modern period. I remember that I used to recall my childhood as a Classical Ancient Times when I was in my Dark Ages. After my realization I think I continued through the developmental stages until I found my way to the present.

Now I would like to trace the history as it was, as I conceptualize it. When I read my records or when I recollect my childhood, I feel deeply about the ancient human spirit that was within me during my childhood years.

Each developmental stage of the human race corresponds to each developmental stage of my life. In retrospect, I know that I felt that I was going through those stages even though a firm and comprehensive conviction did not yet support my feelings.

Modern Times are still difficult to define thoroughly, especially when it comes to the time frame, and sometimes I wonder exactly when my modernity started.

My departure from my parents and family and the existentialistic realization of myself took place in a slow but steady manner, although a clear realization of reliving human history came to me in an abrupt way, as a Revelation, when I was in college. I was In awe for a few weeks.

2. Middle School: Classical Ancient Times

 (From my early diaries)

I started writing my diary when I was around eight or nine, but to my regret I have misplaced some of the earliest writings.

From now on I will keep my diary and securely store it so that I do not lose it. It will be very meaningful to read when I grow up and it will also be interesting to leave some traces of my life for the future. This is something that only human beings can do.

I am a bookworm now, going to the school library every day to eat some delicious books. There are not enough books to read at home and naturally the school library is the place for me to go. When I find interesting books at the library, I check out as many as five at a time—and that can be every day.

Mrs. Kumata, the librarian, treats me specially and lets me borrow even on days not designated as library days. I wish my school could get more interesting books for our library.

2.1 Daily Lives

My daily life is repetitious day after day, going to school, helping around the house, reading, and doing leisure activities before going to bed. I should do more homework such as reviewing and previewing schoolwork, but time is limited since I spend long hours helping my parents with their chores. My parents are expecting more help out of me around the house.

As a human being I need more leisure time. I listen to the radio for about two hours a day. In the long run this is a big waste of time, but I guess I feel emptiness if I don’t listen to interesting radio programs. As a compromise measure, I integrate some work with the leisure activities. While listening to the radio, I chop carrots to help my big sister cook. Peeling potato skins can be done easily while listening.

2.2 Books

Even if I happened

To lose my friends,

I would not despair;

My true friends,

Who share my sadness

And my happiness,

are the books I read

2.3 Friends

There is a little boy named Toshio in my class. One day he came up to me and said, “You are the girls’ boss in our class.”

“What do you mean by boss?”

“That would be the one who is commanding,” he said. I did not want to waste my time talking to a little boy like this and tried to leave. My friend, Miss Sakiyama, was standing next to me as usual.

“Who is the boys’ boss then?” she immediately questioned Toshio, who was grinning.

A boy named Ichiro, who was with Toshio, answered, “That is he, Toshio, as you all know.”

“Then why don’t you fight and show us who is stronger?” said Miss Sakiyama with a wide grin.

I finally left them, saying, “I’ll go for it not by violence, but instead by scholastic achievements.”

“Don’t be so arrogant,” Mr. Harada’s voice chased me. My conclusion for the day was that boys are not very rational animals.

2.4 Thoughts

Why did I appear to this world? Is this world a mere dream?

I do not know.

Why do I know about a human being called myself more than I do about others?

Why do people know about themselves better than about others?

Why do people care for themselves more than they do for others?

Why do people want themselves to appear good in front of others who are also just humans?

What kind of thought process or mind is causing this impulse of vanity?

I do not know

What this world is meant to be.

What kind of desires do our thoughts bring about?

When I first became conscious of myself, I was already in middle school. I tried to look back on my past, but could not find anything prominent. I felt somewhat lonesome.

I was born in Japan, a small but precious country. What was I thinking in the past ten years or so? Why did I not look at myself as a human being in all those years?

I think that I am lucky, and feel happy and grateful to my parents who brought me to this world. My parents are kind to me, and I can return their favor later when I grow up. How nice that would be! I wish my happy future would come quickly. There may be many obstacles on the way to the realization of my happy future, but the difficulties to overcome are also something I can enjoy along the way. I will reach my future soon enough with diligence.

2.5 Reflection and Lessons

Sometimes I act without thinking very carefully. After school, the other day I was reading in the library when Mr. Omiya, our science teacher, came up to me and reminded me that it was time to go home. The clock on the wall in the library showed three o’clock.

I saw my friend on my way home and she and I decided to visit our elementary school to talk to the teachers about a class reunion. After talking to Mrs. Hanawa, we decided to visit another friend in Kashakuma to further plan the class reunion.

When it was time to return home, it was pitch dark. I ran like a crazy person on the dark night road and tried to sneak into my house through the back kitchen door. My father spied me at once and scolded me.

“Why are you so late? Your sister just left for the school to look for you,” said my father in his most tense voice. I listened to him quietly and thought that I had not realized how seriously everyone in my family would worry about me if I were gone. Immediately I rushed to the school. When I got there, my sister was talking to Mr. Omiya, who knew when I had left in the afternoon. Mr. Hattori was phoning my parents, and Mrs. Kumata was standing next to him.

I apologized to everyone there for having made them worry about me by my silly action and came back home with my sister as quickly as possible. My parents scolded me again just to make sure that I would not do something like that again. I appreciated their kind hearts, and could not help but feel sad about my action. I promised that I would not do it again.

When I do things without thinking, I should reflect upon myself deeply.

One day I climbed a tree thinking that it would be nice and comfortable to sit and read a book up on a branch. As soon as I opened the book to read up in that tree, I realized how uncomfortable it is to sit on a tree branch. I immediately came down from the tree.

This event made me think. I should act only after thinking thoroughly from different angles. Reality can be harsh compared to just dreaming.

3. High School: Middle Ages

3.1 Thoughts

As I mentioned before, my interpretation of this period of my developmental stages is not well defined yet. Although there remain plenty of journals and records to review, I do not know how to choose the right samples to show the period most accurately. In other words, I am not fully capable of editing my high school days to show a clear image of the time. It is not a clear-cut Dark Age, but rather gray. I know that I often recalled the bright and happy times of my elementary and secondary schools. I become envious of those times and began to call them my Classical Ancient Times or my Golden Age.

I would repeat to myself a saying from my favorite author, one of whose characters said, “I need to suffer, die, but first of all, I should be a human being.”

My personal reminder during this period was “Pursuit of Truth,” the motto I wrote on my hand-made batik wall hanging. I was trying to survive this period of my life with a simple objective in mind.

4. University: Renaissance

My Renaissance

When the snow melted and black soil turned to brown, I entered my university gate.

No more examination hells.

From now on is my Renaissance.

Farewell to rote memorization in preparation for college entrance exams.

I can now pursue truth in the true sense of the meaning.

I can read, think, write, and paint as much as I want.

The university is full of greenery with its spring sparkles. Mr. Harada, who was my middle school sweetheart and went to a different high school, is at the same university. This was a pleasant surprise for both of us.

Nothing will control and restrict me anymore. I can be myself, one human being who cannot be replaced by anyone else. I will decide on my direction by myself and determine my own path. I can choose if I would like to walk, run, or fly. A bird from a cage has been released and I will obtain the freedom of the bird flying into the deep blue sky.

I have finally left the home where I was born and raised, rented an apartment, and started a new life. I will determine things for myself all by myself. My parents will no longer watch my every move. I will let go the bonds of a feudal family. Thus, my college life is full of the spirit of laissez faire. My apartment is small, but it has become my castle from which I extend myself to various gatherings and activities. I attend classes in the daytime and in the evening tutor children, wash dishes, and do some modeling or other part-time jobs to earn a living.

4.1 Daily Living

My friend, Tak, has gone home to Chiba for summer vacation. There is no way to get him back. I go to bed early and am woken up at eleven PM by two students, who have come to see my art exhibit. They say that they are from Nihon University. I chat with them on art and philosophy until about 2:30 AM. They finally leave. When people make such midnight visits, they should bring something meaningful, such as skillful expressions, kind hearts, or anything that makes the hostess feel appreciated. There are not too many relationships that can go without a certain politeness.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, is motivating me to get up from bed in the morning. I keep reading books in bed while the sunbeams pour into my room. My sister, a student at the same university, comes by to have a cup of tea and, I am sure, to listen to some favorite love songs I keep. I say to her that I would like to have a cup of tea too, and she starts making tea for both of us. She listens to the music and leaves my place without staying too long. Now I am sitting at my desk and planning my studies for the week.

A farmer’s wife who usually comes around pushing a cart with various vegetables to sell is in front of my apartment. I go outside and buy some red apples, which look delicious and are urging me to paint them. I try to draw them on a piece of paper but do not feel up to it. I eat one of the crispy and shiny apples. It is as delicious as it looks.

In the evening, my friend Mr. Shioya comes over to see my latest work. He claims that my paintings are great. “Your paintings reveal your true feelings,” he says, as if he has become an instant art critic with deep background and knowledge. I do not really like his comments, although expression of feelings may be the ultimate objective for the art of painting. I know that he does not mean such profundity in his rash statement on the definitions of art.

Mr. Shioya is reading some of my latest writings when twofriends from my philosophy study group come over. “Are we supposed to meet today?” I say without thinking about the effect my statement might have on them. “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” I say to prevent an embarrassment, and notice from the corner of my eye that Mr. Shioya is taking notes while reading my writing. “I will pass on your note to your girlfriend if you so wish.” I offer my help with a bit of sarcasm, and see Mr. Shioya leaving quickly with a grin on his face.

My study group meets for only thirty minutes or so and the members leave. I want to get out of my room to get fresh air and to shop for dinner. The cool evening breeze refreshes my mind and thoughts. After shopping I come back to my apartment and make a hot cup of tea for myself. The hot tea is something I learned from Tak. I listen to the music and enjoy the fresh evening air from the window, reading some essays by Margaret Mead, drinking the cup of tea.

I hear someone knocking on the door. “Come on in,” I say, and that someone is my friend Tetsu.

“Do you have a copy of The Outsider?”

“Wait a minute.” I say to him quietly. “Would you like to sit down first, my friend, before conveying your urgent business to me?” He is the kind of friend to whom I can speak my mind without prior examination and reservation. Sometimes my statements may sound rather harsh to him, but he takes them well.

“I have a copy of The Outsider in English. Someone borrowed my copy of the Japanese version, but I cannot recall whom. I know that someone did borrow it though.” Suddenly I remember who it was as I watch the rolling eyes of my dear friend.

Tetsu waits at my apartment. I run to the borrower’s house and retrieve the book.

When I come back to my apartment, I read aloud to my friend the last part of the story, where the main character of the book curses and is overjoyed at the same time.

Tetsu quietly listens to me. I remember that the movie, The Outsider, is coming to a nearby theater. 

“Are you going to read this book in preparation for viewing the movie?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think there are three types of humans and the main character of the book is a typical one of the three types.”

“Of course, yes, he is one in principle,” I assure him.

“Are you in agreement with the categorization of the three types?”

“I do not care if the types are three or four,” I answer in a definitive tone.

We slip into a debate on categories and finally my friend seems to realize how silly the debate is, smiles at me, and leaves my apartment after listening to his favorite song, “You don’t understand my feelings.” He is nodding and mumbling, “Good, good.”

“When you are done with the book, let me know if you liked the story or not, will you?” I throw my fair demand onto his back.

He looks at me and says, “Yes, and I will further discuss about the three types of human beings with you.” The front door is closed with a loud thud, leaving only one kind of human being behind the door.

I thought I would keep my diary while Tak is gone. Even if it ends up with only the dates of the days he is gone, that would be some record of his absence. I have stapled together three pages of paper wishing for him to return before the pages are filled.

The three pages are definitely not enough. One of the members of my writer’s group gave the paper to me. I remember him saying that the paper was smooth to write on, especially with a pencil. Try it. I will add just a few more pages and try to learn how to wait.

I cannot think of the world without you. You have become a certain existence for me. Forgive me when I notice even the slightest move you make. When you try to pull your long bangs up nervously, you look at me. That is the time when I get puzzled as to who is really looking. You or me?

Luther’s writings and Hoffman’s Don Juan are the ones I am reading now. I wonder how different these two people are, Luther and Don Juan! In the final analysis, they are quite similar in their enthusiasm in the pursuit of ultimate truth. “You are a human being, and you, too.” These are the people one might approach, pat them on the shoulder, and soon chat heart to heart.

A radio program from Moscow was on and an announcer reminded listeners saying, “Everyone, good night. Please rest well,” in the middle of the silent night. Can everyone really rest well?

4.2 Yachan’s Visit

I woke up in the morning with a bit of bitterness in my mind. I wrote an acceptance letter to Mr. Wakayama for a modeling job. I will not know where he is going to send me until I get there. 

Today my home tutoring student, Yachan, will come and visit me. This will be her first visit, so I hope she can make it and find her way out to my apartment. She promised me that she would write a review of The Star Prince and present it to me today. I wonder if she has managed to do that assignment. 

“I love The Little Prince, and I cannot stop thinking about him even when I am lying down to sleep,” she says to me. I wonder what happened to this project of hers. She is a precocious middle school student, living with her cousins for some reason, apart from her parents. Her parents are far away in Gunma.

She is a well-rounded student and can handle any hardship that comes along the way. With that courage and commitment, she still confesses to me that she feels helpless and alone. I read in the children’s room and wait for her to return from school. She comes back tired and pretends to collide with me to get my hug.

Now I am waiting for her in my apartment, reading Sartre’s The Methodology, and thinking that learning might be waiting. I am waiting and learning. Those who are patient enough to wait can accomplish learning. Art runs around. Art does not wait patiently. Humans need both—accumulating learned knowledge and heart fulfilling art to live with.

Yachan knocks on my door and enters my apartment. I need to have her settle down and feel at home first. Yesterday she had an autumn athletic meet at school. That must have been harsh, competitive, and sweaty under the hot sun. 

“The weather was great, wasn’t it?” I try to make things appear positive.

“The ground was wet and muddy, though.”

“You must be hungry, right? I will make you chow mien. Would you like to finish up your review of the story meanwhile?” I go to the kitchen in my small apartment and see her writing with a serious look on her face.

“Here you are, your favorite dish—though I put in some small pieces of carrot, which I know you do not care for.”

“Sensei (Miss Teacher), you told me that you do not like cooking, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did but I know what is required by a growing person like you. I can be my normal artist self and creative even when I stand in the kitchen, Yachan.” She finishes the steaming hot chow-mein with vegetables at once. I serve a cup of tea and she sips it; she still wants to keep writing her review, to finish it to her satisfaction.

I decide to write my thoughts on The Little Prince while waiting for Yachan to finish her assignment: “The Little Prince is someone who may be around you all the time. He knows what you think. He is transparent. He sees through humans’ minds and is still alone, and he enjoys that solitude. He is as light as air and can penetrate anything and watches what humans do all the time. The Prince is not a child but not a grown-up either. He is pure like a child, but he can endure absolute solitude unlike a child. The only sad part of this story is the fact that Saint Exupery, the author and pilot, perished and disappeared into a dark sky while he was flying his plane.” His image overlaps with the Prince and I can see the image in the dark star-lit sky.

Yachan leaves my apartment, complaining that her review is not completed, but looking happy about the fact that she has made it all the way to my apartment and has explored how I am living. The purpose of her visit might have been just to explore. 

After Yachan leaves I take a walk, strolling around the campus, and meeting one of the study group members who is also wandering through the campus.

“What are you reading?” he demands.

“Jaspers and Margaret Mead, and things like that.”

He does not notice that I am holding a book by Marx under my arm. Why can’t I completely become one with Karl Marx, when I am struggling to survive economically? 

I have dinner after a short walk. Now I am looking up at the clock on the wall so I do not miss the time when I am supposed to talk to Yachan by phone to listen to her summary and review of the book.

I walk to the telephone booth in the rain, which has started in the evening. “Sensei, I changed my story to ‘The Rakko’s Tears’ from The Little Prince, which I thought was too difficult for me to handle. If it’s OK with you, I will read it to you now.”

“Of course, Yachan, please proceed.”

“The Rakko’s Tears” is one of those fairy tales of friendship between humans and animals. From Yachan’s review it is clear that depiction of the cute Rakko is vivid and the scenes are colorful in the original story. The summary of the story would reveal what the reader feels about the story, in other words, it reveals the reader’s impressions. But in the end can you add what the story's about for those who haven't read IT??” 

“The summary is OK, right?”

“Yeah, definitely, except for the climax where Pilala and Rakko reestablish their trust. That was somehow weak. So, can you elaborate that point?”

“Thank you, I will do that.”

“Please make sure you complete this, OK?”

“Good bye.” Again into the rain I go, seeing a couple go into the booth as soon as I have left.

Again the night falls over me.

I am listening to music and thinking about you.

You are an abstract symbol of lovers. So you are not my lover. You exist only within me. In other words, you are me—nothing but myself.

Sometimes it becomes strange to me, and I wonder who you really are. You help me make moves but you are still just my illusion, which will never be destroyed. 

4.3 At a Coffee Shop

It is bright and refreshing this morning. I am reading Jaspers and looking out the window at the sky. Today is the day I am supposed to go to the Hanamura Restaurant for bookkeeping chores.

At Hanamura, the owner greets me with a big smile. I spend about three hours there. On my way to my home-tutoring job, I stop by Ari, a coffee shop, where I read and sip a cup of coffee. 

I talk to an old man who is sitting next to me. He claims he is eighty-six. He looks to be around sixty or so. He says that he does arts and crafts and that he expects an award from the prefecture soon.

“Look at my hands,” he says, showing his hands proudly.

“The intensity of your artistic living will show itself naturally and make your hands shine, won’t it?”

“That is really true, dear.”

“You are an artist to the tips of your fingers, aren’t you?” I say while observing his glistening hands.

“If you would like to do more modeling jobs, I have a lot of contacts for you,” he says. He adds that he knows a lot of big name artists.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

He steps out of the coffee shop. Afternoon sun floods through the window with its sharp rays, while I am still finishing my coffee and a book. I will read for a while here with the sun beaming at me and go later to my home-tutoring job. When I stop to pay at the cashier, she says that he has paid for me. I thank the cashier and the old man and head for Yachan’s house.

Michiyo, Yachan’s cousin, and a first-grader in elementary school, is playing in the children’s room. A housekeeper brings a cup of tea with some refreshments. While sipping the hot tea, I read “The Mermaid” by Andersen to Michiyo. I will not characterize the story as sadistic but look at it as a story of a beautiful being—the mermaid. Andersen might have aimed to glorify humans and nature, but with a bit of sarcasm as well. The mermaid, who is superior to anyone when it comes to the size of her desire and kind heart, disappears into the ocean waves in the end.

“Michiyo, you are a good writer, aren’t you? Would you like to summarize the story for me?”

“What is ‘summarize’?”

“Summarize means to tell someone in your own words about the story. Imagine you’re telling someone who has never read the story about it in as precise language as possible.”

“I will try,” Michiyo closes her eyes under her long lashes and grips her pencil in her small hand.

5 World Travel: Modern times to Present

5.1 Departure

No one came to see us off. Mark and I alone left Japan gradually. It was a gradual process because we did not take off from an airport. We took trains to Kyushu and then a boat to Okinawa. It was, therefore, a gradual process, getting prepared to leave Japan.

Starting from Tokyo, we cross from the north to the south of Japan vertically until we get to Okinawa. From Okinawa we will travel to Taiwan, Hong Kong, Thailand, Laos, Nepal, India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, Turkey, and then to Europe. From Europe we will go to the U.S.A. The only thing that we do not know is how long our savings will last, but other than that, we are all set.

A departure now, to the whole world. I happen to have been born in a country called Japan. Thanks to all the people who looked after me from my birth to the point when I strongly realized that I was retracing human history. Farewell to my mother and father, to Mrs. Hanawa, my first-grade teacher, and to Mrs. Kumata, my favorite librarian. Good-bye to Harada-kun, my friend from the University, to Mr. Honda, my high school history teacher, and to Mr. Umemoto, my mentor philosopher. I bid farewell to my sisters, my brother Katsuichi, and really to everyone—to all Japanese people on the islands of Japan.

Mark and I met during the anti-Vietnam war era around 1970. He was an exchange student from the U.S. We happened to attend a meeting together to talk about our involvement in Vietnam.

5.2 Minamata

We viewed the dark blue Sea of Japan lying beyond the Itoi River, passed through Kyoto and Iwakuni, and arrived in Kyushu. We had some people who we wanted to see before leaving Japan for Okinawa. They were Mr. Kawamoto, his family, and friends—people who received all the ills and wastes from the development of the Japanese economy after WW II. They suffered from the mercury pollution disease, Minamata Disease. They have had a bloody fight against huge corporations, and with central and local government bodies, which sided with the corporations. The Kawamotos were betting their lives on the hope that the truth would come out in the end.

At the end of the summer, Minamata is dusty and discolored. We visit Mr. Kawamoto’s home finally. Mr. Kawamoto does not even ask my name but greets me with hot tea and sweets. Taking a seat on the front porch and watching fading flowers in the front yard, I listen to his story intently, trying to remember every word he speaks. He says he is wondering in which direction he should go next, since he and the other plaintiffs, mercury-poison victims, won at the trial level. He cannot stand that the monetary compensation, the only logic that the corporation knows, appears to have solved the problems it created. I am not certain if I am prepared to share his feelings of dissatisfaction. But at least I hope and pray that his wishes will come true, and that the truth would come out in the end.

That night, we stay at Tomi, where Mr. Kawamoto’s office is, and meet another guest, a movie producer staying overnight.

5.3 Okinawa

We leave Kagoshima on the Okinawa-maru. Okinawa was returned to Japan, and should be part of Japan now, but after leaving Kagoshima and being surrounded by the sea of turquoise blue, my feeling of departure from Japan already becomes real. I think I did all I could do in that country. There are no regrets. This time, I will say my good-byes to all Japanese who are living in those small apartments. I say my good-bye to my sisters, all women of Japan, who are bound by invisible chains, traditions, and manners. I wish you well, and hope something really good will happen in the future. 

Looking at the horizon and not minding the occasional splashes from high waves, I see Mark coming next to me. He murmurs, “Okinawa is a beautiful place with which you can easily fall in love and which makes you feel like visiting it again. The people are nice, and I will definitely come back even after I have settled in the USA.”

“Is that so?” I accept his statement with a few words. Mark’s admiration of Okinawa and his expression of his wish to return must have been attempts to console me, who, he thought, might be sentimental when leaving Japan. I do not, by any means, need consolation, and if anything, a strong farewell to Japan is what I need. I have a long, rough voyage ahead of me, and I want to confront the infinite world of my own free will. 

We arrive at the Port of Naha, Okinawa. Okinawa is on its own, not a part of the USA, nor Japan. People are friendly, and look pleasant. Why are they so? I want to find out. We are going to stay here for only a couple of days, but I already feel like re-visiting in the near future, as Mark suggested.

5.4 Leaving for the World

The USS Colorado, a cargo vessel, is the ship we board from Okinawa to Taiwan. Bill, who we met in Okinawa, will come along with us to Taiwan. Bill was counseling GIs who were conscientious objectors to the Vietnam War. His work included not only counseling but also helping them rehabilitate and return to society. Sometimes he had to assist deserters, but his reasoning and articulation skills were helpful in accomplishing his job without too much emotional involvement. He did his tasks matter-of-factly, on the basis of his strong belief that the Vietnam War was not right at all. He had experience in the Civil Rights Movement, and this was a big asset. Now he has completed his assignments and is ready to return to the USA after his replacement has arrived in Iwakuni, Japan.

Bill joins us on our world trip. As a Japanese proverb says, “Three people make a perfect god of wisdom.” The three of us organize our division of labor: Bill will be our planning specialist, Mark will be the executor of plans, and I will handle outreach and public relations with locals. I will interpret for the local people wherever we go. For the first step of implementation of our plan, Bill buys a map, and I buy multilingual dictionaries. The simple act of preparation for the trip draws us closer and our pure excitement for world travel gives us a strong foothold to move on. We are really gone now.

5.5 Asian Countries

Taiwan, Hong Kong, Laos, Bangkok, Chiang Mai—our desire is to see it all.

We three started the trip by boarding a boat, and subsequently traveled by airplane, bus, and even crossed a plain or two on foot where no transportation was available. 

There are many Taiwanese among the older generation who understand Japanese quite well. I felt one person staring at me on a bus from Kiln to Taipei, and wondered if it might have been just my imagination.

In Hong Kong it is strange to see the older generation wearing traditional Chinese clothing while seeing downtown high-rises shoot into the blue sky. Some areas in Hong Kong look like rat’s nests in a jungle of tall buildings.

Laos, on the contrary, presented an idyllic countryside. A rickshaw driver, who we met in a Vientiane market, told us that he would like to take us to someplace good. Bill and I decided to go, while Mark decided not to. He must have hesitated to ride on a rickshaw with two other passengers driven by a small driver. Rickshaws normally allow two passengers.

We rode along the Mekong River. The driver was pedalling at ease as if he was on a bicycle ride along the river alone. “Where do you think we are going?” Bill kept asking me. I told him in a calm voice that we should let the driver handle that issue, although I was somewhat anxious to know where we were heading.

We rode along the river for about one hour to a small village. There the driver came to a stop in front of a cottage. He was all smiles with the completion of the task. He invited us into the cottage, where we saw young men sitting in a circle. Someone was playing the guitar and some guys were smoking ganja. This driver may have thought that he could sell us marijuana.

Bill and I joined the group along with the driver. I feared that they would charge us an enormous amount of money after our participation and asked, “How much?” I wanted to be certain of their intent. The driver said, “Non, non.”

There was no intension on their part to sell ganja, but it was customary for them to include us foreigners in their gathering. Bill and I chatted with them and enjoyed their company for a while. The driver gave us a ride to the hotel in Vientiane. We tried to show our gratitude by offering to pay at least the fare for the trip, but he would not accept the offer at all, saying, “Non, non.” The cautious attitude we had at the beginning turned into pride of accomplishment and adventurous relaxation by the time when we returned to our nest.

Mark and I became ill in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It might have been some sort of food poisoning, but I recovered soon enough to help Mark get well. I kept hearing the rattle of rickshaws constantly in my dreams during my illness. As soon as I became well, I assisted Mark with my shoulder to go to the bathroom. Here is a poem inspired by my nightmare during the illness:

5.5.1 Nations

We did not see white lines of demarcation

Between the countries we crossed

At the end of a long line

Passports were shown to prove

That we belonged to some nation

Between the countries we crossed

Peoples were about the same

There was no clear demarcation line

We could see people and hear laughter

Of the neighboring people

Whom wars were waged against

5.5.2 Nepal

We fly from Bangkok to Nepal. Bill should already be there, to get together with his girlfriend who is flying directly to Katmandu from Tokyo. I hope they made it safely.

Our experience in Nepal was special. People were living along with cows and monkeys in a peaceful manner. They were poor, but seemed to be happy. Time and space have different meanings in Nepal with endless expansions. The two to three thousand years of human history easily would disappear into ancient times in view of old temples and the high mountains that separate this area from the rest of the world. Looking up to Mt. Everest made me feel that my vision would expand into eternity. 

Nepalese are living within their history. Everything seems to move slowly, at a cow’s pace. The pre-revolution era in China might have been this way: there, swift changes were absolutely needed, but here, one can afford to forget about it. Maybe tomorrow will be the day for changes. Nepal was certainly one of the peaks of our trip in Asia. 

Nepal leaves a very distinct impression on you. The people are at one with nature and religion, which isolates them from the rest of the world.

5.5.3 India

Mark and I finally put a period to our month-long stay in Nepal and depart for India. The bus ride to Lucknow in India is about ten hours long. We stopped at a village festival on our way and watched villagers sing and dance to the beat of drums. At an agricultural training center, some of the passengers picked up some local radishes. The radishes in India were large compared to the skinny ones we saw in Nepal.

Indians were fighters in comparison to the Nepalese. There were many non-travelers inside the train stations in India—people who needed a roof over their heads. At first we thought that they were socializing and waiting for trains to arrive from someplace, but the situation was more serious. They were living at the stations, where people of a higher class could share their food, money, and belongings.

As soon as the bus arrived at our destination in India, the locals, who had been waiting for our arrival, grabbed our luggage. We worried, what are they trying to do?

We found out soon enough that the rickshaw drivers were tying to get jobs taking tourists to hotels. They might be receiving some commission from the hotels, we thought. This was our introduction to India on our first day.

We took a train from Lucknow to New Delhi. After the deep-cut valleys and high mountains of Nepal we had the fresh experience of riding on the plains of India by train.

A co-passenger on the train was a man from Kashmere who strongly recommended that we visit his homeland. He said that he was doing business in Katmandu and that Cashmere was the only place worth visiting in India. He added that it would be snowing in Cashmere.

The man from Cashmere offered his sleeper to me, which I accepted with appreciation. I was sleeping as tight as a bug in a rug when I noticed that a conductor was trying to wake me up. My eyes were wide open in front of him at the same eye level as his, but he apparently had a habit of not talking to women, and asked Mark to tell me to get down. The sleeper definitely did not belong to me officially.

The existence of women in India was obviously somewhat ignored. The holy cow’s silence is recommended for women, while men are exchanging shouting matches.

We saw grandeur in Agra: the Taj Mahal. Indians did this kind of construction in 1652 and Indians now do business all over Asia and the world. Despite its strong business presence throughout Asia, which we observed, the poverty in India still prevails.

Flies buzzed around in a restaurant, and the owner of the restaurant locked a cupboard to safe-keep eggs in it from hungry workers.

We got a lodge near the Taj Mahal in order to explore the palace for a few days. Even if a lot of flies were buzzing and the city was quite dirty, as long as people were living, it was worth visiting with them. We wanted to know what people were feeling and seeking in their lives.

5.5.4 Rafiek

Rafiek was a rickshaw driver near the Taj Mahal and one of the typical hustlers who ran tourist businesses in the cities of Asian countries such as Laos, Thailand, and Nepal. They were friendly hustlers and perhaps the term ‘hustler’ is not the most appropriate name. Rafiek said that friendship is more important than money. Definitely so, but money is still important, he would make sure. Friendship is important as long as it brings in something tangible for him.

He told us that he would pick us up on Sunday morning. He came along with his friend as he had promised. He said no money was needed on Sunday, and that he would take us all around the city, Taj Mahal and all.

Mark and I enjoyed the Sunday drive on the rickshaw. After the day’s trip, Rafiek asked me if I could send him a transistor radio upon returning to Japan. He handed over a piece of paper with his address on it. I told him I would try to do it but did not know when. A real hustler would not believe in a verbal promise by a stranger.

5.6 Europe

6. Present Times

6.1 Chieko’s birth

Chieko, our daughter, was born three years after we arrived in the USA. Mark and I got married and saved money in San Francisco by living in an apartment. We saved enough money to buy a house in Oakland and moved into the new place in preparation for the baby’s arrival.

I took a maternity leave starting about three weeks before my due date, but it was pleasantly hectic because Chieko somehow decided to come out of the womb two weeks earlier than we expected. She broke her water bag in order to swim out of the water, while I was driving back from San Francisco after visiting some old friends whom I had not seen for a long time due to my busy work and pregnancy. 

Mark was not yet home from work. What shall I do? It would not be so easy to drive back to San Francisco and to General Hospital soaking wet from my waist down. Why don’t I call Bill first, so that he can help me, or at least so he can let people know of the baby’s arrival? This could be big news in town. He could pass on the message to our common friends. Bill would be a suitable person to ask for a ride, but he was living in the City.

I walked down the street to our neighbor Kathy’s house. Kathy might be able to help me. I climbed her front stairs slowly and knocked on the door expecting her helping hands. Kathy’s five-year-old daughter opened the door for me, and her mother came behind from the kitchen, holding her newborn baby boy. I explained the matter swiftly, but heard the little girl say in a serious voice that I should call a plumber if my water broke. Kathy and I laughed, and she said, “There will be a long time before you really start your labor after the water bag bursts. I wish I could accompany you to the hospital, but I have two children here myself.”

My mother used to say that we couldn’t rely on mothers with crying babies. I climbed down the stairs one step at a time and went across the street to Kimo’s house. He was all smiles and accepted my request at once. Kimo’s sports car did not have cushions in the passenger seat and it felt extremely bumpy. I told myself that it was still much better than driving myself to the hospital.

Chieko came in the middle of the night. By then Mark had rushed to the hospital with his favorite camera. She was a breach baby and pitifully bloody. She had a fierce fight at the beginning of her life to come out of my womb. About ten professionals were looking after the birth, including my friend doctor Ken. Chieko was destined to be a fighter from birth. I knew the professionals were performing the job with a good teamwork, and I could concentrate on pushing Chieko out of me.

Mark held the baby for the first time after taking pictures. Even after a nurse wiped the blood off of her, her skin was still red. Mark was enormously impressed by the fact that the baby was real and he was holding her. He said that women’s labor must be much harder than any human labor he could think of. This statement was unusual because his self-respect normally prevented him from uttering any praises of someone else. This was the starting point of the journey for Mark to praise others, who often happened to be his daughter or her mother.

I knew what I needed was not praise but a long and sound sleep. I just wanted to sleep straight for many days and nights, away from work, socializing, and pregnancy. I needed to regain myself—to be alone and to be full of energy again.

With my strong desire to rest fulfilled, I fell in love with Chieko, who was demanding to be breast-fed and who was full of life and energy. My heart was filled with happiness to watch her, and the three-day stay in the hospital went swiftly.

Mark was busy with shopping, washing, and taking care of the mother and baby, who had made an early decision to step out into the world. Mark had taken a two-week paternity leave from work and took full responsibility of house keeping. I had a nurse friend who came over to check on me and the recovery was quick and comfortable.

6.2 Teaching

I decided to go to graduate school while I worked as a paraprofessional at school. The school district paid the tuition for my master’s degree and with that degree in hand, I became a teacher for the district after obtaining a California teaching certificate. The process took a good three years, because Chieko was born in the middle of graduate school. It is my habit to take a detour and end up taking much more time than expected when I do even routine things. I remember a time in my childhood when I was in elementary school: it took a couple of hours to get home when I, along with some of my friends, took an adventure detour into the woods. Fortunately my parents were too busy to get involved in my whereabouts, and I think the world was much safer back then.

My MA degree is in Multi-cultural Education. It sounds familiar but it is a challenging subject. Certain cultures exist in comparison to the others, but the term ‘multi-culture’ suggests some kind of melting pot theory and is confusing. The study in this area of discipline has a long way to go. This may lead to a study of human brains or psychology in culture formation. During human evolution, humans go through different stages or kinds of cultures, but one human being is going through this process of acquisition in his or her single lifetime. How does this acquisition and assimilation take place in the name of education? And how do human brains and related physical systems respond to this cultural assimilation?

My bilingual multicultural education was based on my theory and experiences. As a teacher, it was a challenging experience to be able to teach in a newly established bilingual program using my own educational theory. Bilingual education has not been fully established in either theory or curriculum. It takes courage to teach children without an established curriculum, although it takes more courage and trust in teachers for parents to decide to send their own children to a start-up program like this.

My third grade class consisted of three main racial groups, White, Black, and Asian. Third graders are at a stage when a leap of scholastic acquisition takes place after the initial efforts to become accustomed to school and social life outside of their families. Their foundation for basic writing and reading has been built and they show a good leap in the quality and quantity of learning around this time. This means some children will be left behind if they are not ready and do not seize the momentum.

I had morning classes in English and afternoon classes in Japanese. Subjects such as English, Math, Social Studies, and Science were taught in the morning, and Japanese, Music, Art and PE in the afternoon.

The children became accustomed to using only English in the morning and only Japanese in the afternoon. It was smooth in the morning without the necessity to use or think in Japanese, but in the afternoon the children would tend to become silent. They enjoyed drawing and painting silently, and singing was naturally done in Japanese. Japanese. Children’s songs are contagious and the children loved them. Those children who were not exposed to Japanese at home gradually learned how to use and think in Japanese. The children appreciated the morning time when they could express themselves freely in their native language.

The most important aspect of bilingual education is not to mix two languages, but to use them at different times and occasions so that language acquisition can occur independently for each target language. Children expect and demand a familiar language to be used and would never be bilingual if mixed. It was a successful method to divide a day into two different language sessions, making a long day more endurable and, as a result, the children had energy to learn all day. They acquired a difficult new language, Japanese, while they used it in basic human behaviors such as movements, music, and painting.

The problem was that we did not have established guidelines throughout the grade levels for the district on how and what to teach the children. The district, which did not have any idea about bilingual education, seemed to be using the program just to obtain additional funding available from the federal government. The premature baby named “bilingual-bicultural education” seemed to have been destined to die young. The bottom line is that in a country like the United States, where the international language, English, is spoken, the need and drive for a second language is apparently very weak if one does not think about the advantages of acquisition of another culture and language from different perspectives rather than just functional purposes.

At the elementary school where I was teaching, there were more serious issues than educational theory, method, and curriculum. Discipline was the foremost issue at school. This problem was not only at our school but also spread across the nation, especially in the large metropolitan school districts. Often it was said that more than half of the students were from dysfunctional families. Those children who bring family problems with them are in a fighting mode at school. They fight over any small issue that could be handled by discussion, but they have not been trained to do so. They are not taught by their parents basic things such as love for your neighbor, or to be considerate of others.

Public schools are having to handle family issues, the discrepancies between the rich and the poor, scholastic achievements, and so on. Some American schools are becoming just like prisons, where some children bring guns to school and consequently metal detectors are being installed at school gates. Is it possible to create educational environments to pursue creativity in such prison-like settings?

6.3 Teacher Strike

San Francisco teachers decided to strike and almost all of the 4,000 teachers supported the strike by vote or by not showing up to work. Unlike strikes in some countries, strikes in the U.S. go on indefinitely, without a fixed schedule.

There was no surprise that the strike would happen, because 1,200 district teachers had received pink slips. The surprise came afterward, when the strike continued so long.

I did not intend to join a picket line, because my seniority was one of the shortest in the district and there was no possibility of being rehired by the district. There was no chance of getting my job back unless I crossed the picket line and went to work. The superintendent was hiring part timers who were willing to work during the strike. I did not want to do that.

I drove around my school and saw the schoolyard. There were several students playing in the yard. Would I have another chance to be in the classroom waiting for children to rush in after the bell? In those days, I was satisfied with the job--smiling and full of energy and love for the students. I was stunned by the creativity of the children and ignited by their creativity myself. I dreamed about educational projects, planned them, and implemented them in the classroom.

The strike finally ended after two months. One day, all of a sudden, the union president decided that there was no chance to win. The teachers who were called back started to teach again. A seniority of eight years seemed to be the demarcation for preservation of jobs.

Michael, a black teacher with whom I became acquainted during the strike, had seven-years experience with the district. According to Michael, most of the black teachers in the district were newly hired and there were not many black teachers. They were like a rare and endangered species, but they would be terminated easily in the striking environment. Michael said on the phone that he had been promised a substitute teaching job for sure, but he would rather find himself a good non-teaching job.

Why do we have to support public schools? This seems to be a fundamental question and I do not know if I fully support public schools anymore. People who are qualified to teach and needed by children are fired because of the strong union. The union seems to decide on the seniority of teachers who should lose their jobs. Aging teachers may be great but young teachers may be more appropriate for certain groups of children. Who can decide such delicate selection for children? The union is deciding the way that schools should be managed through its own teacher management. I hope Michael gets a teaching job at a private school so that he can keep teaching children.

6.4 Friends

My friends, I do not know why,

But I forget the age difference between you and me

When I am with you.

I have come a long way in my life,

While you just started.

We are walking hand in hand in stride.

Your questions are sometimes serious,

And you have some little secrets from me.

I just know that there are some important things for you to learn

While I walk along with you in stride,

Giving my thoughts on education.

What can be taught to you?

Is there anything left without teaching?

People and the world sometimes make serious mistakes.

Is there anything that I forgot to teach you?

This is a poem that I wrote and read to my class a short while before the strike. I felt like I was being forced to leave my own children when I lost the job.

6.5 Now what?

During college, my life was busy with working many part-time jobs. This lifestyle started when I was only seventeen. So I have worked for a long period of time. It is important to work, but too much work and no play makes a person dull. I was trying to justify my new stage of life, having a growing girl and a husband who was a law student, and I was collecting unemployment checks. I needed to breathe deeply here and send fresh blood to my tired brain. Of course one can run and think at the same time, but sometimes we need to cease our routine activities to focus on ourselves.

Chieko is two and Mark is in school. I have been supporting the family of three. I can take any job, but teaching is my preference. “We can make it, if we do not spend much money,” Mark says simply and clearly, although I can tell how worried he is. I should think as Mark has said, and try not to be too materialistic for a while. I may need to lighten up and try not to be materialistic and too protective of the family for a while.

6.6 The Poet

The poet won’t take up her pen anymore.

In the early part of summer, looking at the deep greenery, she is waiting for the sunrise.

She can hear people shouting, crying, laughing, and debating in the woods.

How much burden can a modern person take on her or his shoulders?

The poet has forgotten to write poems and has sighed deeply.

Nuclear weapons, the gap between the South and the North, the shortage of food supplies in some parts of the world, the uncertain future of the fuel supply, and educational issues even in the well-industrialized countries. All these issues are survival issues for the human race on earth, but political leaders of the dominating nations are deciding on these issues.

People are desperate to eat, clothe, and house themselves and have no time or energy to design a long-term plan for the future. Even if people do have some plans, they will be just their dreams, which may most likely not come true.

“You, poor poet, as you well know, a human’s life is not so long. If you work hard, however, you will be successful and everyone being successful makes the whole human race a success,” the low voice continues with a tone of confidence. “You should not think about the burdens of our modern times which is beyond your thinking capacity,” the voice commands.

The poet is pretending to be listening. The point the voice is making was already understood by the poet long ago. The problem here is that the poet is above the secular way of thinking and that the poet is easily annoyed by this type of commands.

“You are annoying. Please go away. How can we survive with all the burdens on our shoulders?” The poet tries to ask again her crucial question after brushing the voice away in vain.

“Do not torture yourself by asking silly questions. Most of your questions are tricky rhetoric. Reality and history are made by objective conditions and masses of people who are blindly moved by the conditions. The spirit that you think you have as a poet is something like a small stone on the side of the road, which will be kicked and broken, and eventually weather to sand. There won’t be any chance of prevailing in history, unfortunately,” the voice persists.

“The spirit of the poet is not a weathering rock or an abstract idea. The fact that I re-lived the history of the human race is an existence itself and in that sense it may be just like a stone. It exists. There may be a weathering phenomenon attached, and that will be all right in the sense that it is reality and existence. I dream of a world of real human beings living artistically, intelligently, and happily. In this world, each human being is an embodiment of the human race, and the human race is refracted in each human being. What a utopia? Individual humans are perpetual activities of the human race and when an individual thinks about him or herself, he or she is thinking of the human race as a whole.” The poet is dreaming back and forth between reality and dreams, but her voice is calm and resounding.

“An attractive life is where an individual is independent and lives a rich and happy life. If you are talking about the empty slogan of an individual of the human race, people will treat you as a mad woman. Take my advice to heart, and stop dreaming. Get back to reality,” the voice says, gently but dogmatically.

“What is independence for humans? Is it to become rich and be able to get whatever he or she wants? This argument makes sense to some extent. To some extent, we need to be rich—to be comfortable, with material satisfaction. When one is poor, one tends always to pursue material things. So, the soul of that person will be poor as well. The hardest part is that a person who has become wealthy does not necessarily mean he or she is a happy person with a rich spirit. The two, being rich and being happy, are two completely different questions,” the poet insists.

“We have religions to feed poor souls. There are many religions in the world, dividing people, pitting people against each other. Isn’t it a good competition? Do you have some complaints regarding this?”

“I desire the human race to be one, where religions are products of history.”

“If you keep thinking that way, you will end up with insanity and death. Religion will not save you from misery. You do not have bad brains, they may be above average, and not too bad a figure, I would say it would be a waste to fall into a pit of thinking too much and too negatively,” the voice warns with kindness.

“Please leave me alone. I think I know what I am doing. I wonder who has a disease—you or me. This cannot be answered easily or quickly because it takes some time to confirm. I have complete confidence as a human being at the bottom of my heart, which luckily feeds the necessary nutrients to my soul. Please do not worry about me at all.”

The early sun of the early summer gradually throws its rays to the green leaves. The poet takes a deep breath. She thanks the shining sun for giving her another day of living.

7. Future