<3

Just a quick note -- from now on, I'm going to keep my writing simpler, because my host families are going to be reading this too, and I'd like it to be relatively easy to understand/translate. :)



Tonight, I feel the best kind of loneliness. It's the kind of loneliness you feel after you say goodbye to people you truly connected with.

As part of our program in Japan, we gaijin were matched with volunteer Japanese host families. Two host families, two weeks each. For the most part, we've all enjoyed the experiences we've had.

My first host family was a family of four -- mother, father, two boys (4 and 5, respectively). Ruriko-san, the mother, is an opera singer. She's beautiful and friendly and supremely talented. We watched a recording of one of her performances together -- her range is incredible. During the day, she gives singing and piano lessons to kids. She's also a fantastic cook. She made some of the best food I've ever eaten. Nearly every night, we stayed up until late talking. My Japanese is still rough, and even though Ruriko's English was very good, we often ran into spots where we couldn't understand each other -- and that's where the electronic dictionary would come in. She said to me once that my Japanese was getting better every day -- I hope she's right. I really, really want to know this language fluently.

The father, Takeshi-san, is a high school biology teacher. There were a few days we met along the way home and we talked during the commute. He helped me with my kanji homework and he explained several things about Japanese culture.

And their kids are so much fun. Kouta is five and Kousei is four, and they're so cute. Kouta is very calm and rational and I'm always amazed at his age because he acts so much older. Kousei is a little whirlwind. His interests include mischief and talking. When I was with Ruriko's family, I played with them every day. I took so many pictures one day of them playing Kame (turtle) and Sushi (...sushi) with the futon. Kame is fun -- Kouta squeezes into the middle of the folded futon and Kousei climbs on top and Kouta drags the futon around the room using his arms. Turtle ride. They're so, so cute.

They call me Kira-oneechan. Oneechan is Japanese for older sister.

Speaking of pictures, this is my Flickr account: http://www.flickr.com/photos/28850422@N04

It currently has seven hundred and something of the pictures I've taken, but since I last updated, I've taken another four hundred.

I like this country a lot.

My current host family is so much fun. Miwa-san loves traveling, so we're kindred spirits. She has photo albums full of pictures of the places she's been. Two weeks ago, I met her friends Yuko and Etsuko, friends she's had since she was a kid. Together, we've visited Kyoto several times. We went to a place in the mountains where the restaurants are on platforms suspended over a river, and we went to a beautiful shrine nearby, and a famous market. Then with the whole family, I've been to Arima and Kyoto. Tomorrow, Miwa-san and I are going somewhere else, but we haven't decided where.

She's so much fun. Every night, we convene in the dining room and talk about where we've traveled and watch dramas out of the corner of our eyes. I feel very comfortable around her. :)

Her husband Susumu-san teaches me Kansaiben (Kansai dialect). He's really funny and kind. Their kids are two-year-old twins -- Yuusuke and Kousuke. They call me "Kida" and they love chasing after me around the apartment. They're really, really adorable. When I stick my tongue out at Kousuke, he beams and wiggles his tongue back like a dog. It's so cute.

I'm so happy I did home stay.

I've mentioned this already, but I love Japan. I especially love Kansai, and the people who live here. They're so friendly and warm. Every day I feel more and more at home in Kobe. When I move here next year, I want to find work in Kobe. Or Osaka.

I've visited Osaka six or seven times while I've been in Japan. It's remarkably close -- only twenty minutes away, and it's only six hundred and ninety yen (about seven dollars) to get there. When you consider that the shinkansen from here to Tokyo is fourteen thousand yen (one hundred and forty dollars), that's a good price.

Osaka is too amazing for a brief mention. I'll make a longer post later with pictures.

I wouldn't have even known about Osaka if it weren't for Kanjani8, a Japanese music group from Kansai. For the past year, I've been totally in love with them. I've seen them in concert four times while I've been here. I could help myself, but I'm too crazy for that. I had so, so much fun at them all! Members of the group saw me and smiled or waved or made grabby hands -- that last one made me into a giggling mess for about three hours -- and I couldn't stop grinning from start to finish. My friends were wonderful and offered me tickets -- otherwise, I wouldn't have had the amazing seats I had or the great company. :D

Interestingly, now I feel the obsession with Kanjani8 dying down. Not going away, that's for sure, but something about seeing them up close made the total idol-worship diminish. In a way, my love for them is stronger now. It's difficult to explain, but for a long time, even their faults somehow seemed better than a normal person's. But now I think of them as people with faults just like mine. I'm less in awe of them now. I guess I let the lens widen a little.

The amazing thing about being in Japan is seeing how much more there is to it. When I was in New York, I visited a Japanese bookstore called Kinokuniya every week. Even when I didn't buy anything, I'd read the books in there and look through the photo books at scenes from Tokyo and the countryside and I'd want so, so badly to be here. And now that I am, I'm astonished by how much Americans don't see.

Japan feels different than I expected. It feels small and personal. Like it's only me and the people I'm close to who live here. It's a difficult thought to communicate. But I smile at people here and they smile back, and when I bow my head slightly to strangers, they do the same back. When I speak Japanese to a native, they say, "Jouzu!" (skillful) and it makes me feel happy to hear the praise from a total stranger. :)

Which brings me to tonight.

Tonight, I met my friend James' host family. There are four kids -- Reio (22), Rui (20), Ramu (18) and Ryo (12). The parents are so, so funny. And Ryo is definitely a natural comedian.

At the farewell party, when I gave my short speech thanking everyone for my experience, I used Kansaiben and made the whole room laugh. Afterwards, when I was wrestling on the floor with Kousei (I'm ten, what can I tell you) James's host mother walked over and started talking to me.

[in Japanese]

AWESOME-SAN: When you spoke Kansaiben, you surprised me!

CIARA: I really love Kansaiben.

We talked about New York and my major for a while, and then her two oldest kids, Reio and Rui, came over next to us and sat on the chairs lined up against the wall. They didn't say anything for a while, just talked to each other, but after a while, James's host mother and I got to talking about names and Reio jumped in to tell me that his and his siblings' names are weird (hen) in Japan.

So I told him that mine is weird in America, too. In Ireland, very popular. But in America, not so much.

James wanted to take his host family out for dinner, and I had already planned on going out to eat with him and our friend Crysta, but Crysta had to go back to the hotel to pack, so I ended up going out with James and his host family.

We laughed a lot tonight. :)

Throughout the evening, James and I proudly admitted to our weirdness. We're not the typical "image" the Japanese have of Americans. I play soccer, and I love almost all Japanese food, and there are other things, but I'm getting sleepy and I'm forgetting a lot.

It's a silly thing to say, I know, but I feel like I was destined to meet these people. It was such a chance encounter -- meeting this family. They're such wonderful people, I was elated to have the opportunity to spend time with them.

Reio is studying Swedish and Ryo is a natural comedian and Rui is studying to be an engineer and Ramu is a sweetheart. All the kids are musically-inclined -- Ryo and Ramu both play the piano and Ryo also plays the cello. Their father is funny and easy to talk to and their mother is outgoing and friendly.

When dinner was finished, I really didn't want to part ways with them. James didn't, either. I could tell they'd developed a strong bond over the two weeks they spent together. James offered to walk me to the train station, so we walked with the family to their car.

We waved as they drove out of the parking lot and around the corner and while they were paused at the stoplight and as they drove down the street out of sight.

Next, I said goodbye to James. We've bonded over several things while we've been here, not the least of which is a common adoration and respect for Japan. We're both determined to come back. He's been a good friend, and one I hope to keep in touch with. He'll probably read this at some point, too. Hey, dude! :D

Earlier, I was really upset about all the people leaving tomorrow and Sunday that I won't have the chance to say goodbye to. I didn't prepare myself to say goodbye, partly because I forgot that they weren't staying as long as I am, so I just assumed they would be here.

Now I'm a little clearer-headed. I've written this out and I'm coming back to level ground. I'm glad I've made so many new friends.

At one point during dinner, James's host mother said to us something to the effect of, "You're very bright people -- wherever you go, you'll be influential."

I hope she's right. What I love more than anything is making someone smile or laugh.

And now it's officially shower/bed time. My eyelids are really heavy.

<3 Until next time, my pretties!

Okonomiyaki

I've been intimidated by updating this blog because I've fallen so far behind in reporting what I'm doing that if I try to include everything now, I'll be at it for hours! So instead, I'll start from today and relate back to what I've already done in future entries. Start in medias res.

Today was low-key. My host mother Ruriko made us breakfast (onigiri, scrambled eggs and apple-flavored yoghurt), I walked with my host father and brothers (four-year-old Kousei and five-year-old Kouta) to the bus stop, took a thirty-minute ride to the station and then a twenty-minute ride to Kobe. I was in my Japanese class from nine thirty until twelve, and then my friend and I discovered the most amazingly amazing sushi place in Sannomiya station (only in Japan would I trust a restaurant in a train station). We ate, talked about our weekends (I saw my favorite group in concert twice and she went to Universal Studios in Osaka with her host family), then walked back to the school for kanji class. Then I walked to the train station, met one of my classmates on the platform and got to know her better (she's from Germany, but her mother is Japanese, so she's staying with her grandfather while she lives here and studies the language).

Up until then, it was a calm, happy day. Then I arrived home and I played with my host brothers until it was time for dinner. My host mother usually cooks breakfast and dinner and they're always incredible, but last night she asked if I would be interested in having okonomiyaki, a signature dish of the Kansai region that's rumored to be almost impossibly delicious. My host mother told me that the woman who lives next door just opened an okonomiyaki restaurant, and my host mother had told her we would stop by for dinner.

Before we left, Kousei found one of the uchiwa (a large round fan that Japanese vendors sell at concerts -- usually featuring a picture of a member of the group) I'd bought at the concert. I have four -- one that I made myself and three that I bought representing my three favorite members of the group: Shibutani Subaru, Murakami Shingo and Yokoyama You. Subaru's my favorite, so of course Kousei likes to play with his uchiwa best.

The concerts were incredible. Kanjani8 (関ジャニ∞) has been my favorite group for about a year. I'll explain the Japanese music industry in a later post, but suffice it to say for now that the Japanese have way higher expectations of their artists than America does. One member of Kanjani8 is in two groups, appears in dramas (Japanese TV shows, most of which are usually only ten or so episodes with no additional seasons), variety shows and sometimes radio programs. Every week. They live in a fascinating world.

And they're fantastically hot.

I did mention that, right?

Oh, but back to food. Ruriko drove us down to the restaurant and this sweet, grinning woman prepared okonomiyaki for us. It was unreal it was so good. Okonomiyaki is basically a batter of flour, egg and water with cabbage, pork or shrimp or something else, udon or soba and topped with pure amazing. I can't put my love into words.

I have a video of her making it, but it's a bit too big for blogger to support. So, instead, pictures!

It's going to be so difficult to leave such a wonderful country! But I'm so happy to be here, I rarely think about when I'll have to leave!

AN EPIC JOURNEY - June 27-28th

A note on the title of my blog -- asobijikan is Japanese for "playtime/recess." Name chosen for obvious reasons. ;)

I've been in Japan for two days now and I'm STILL all giggly and gleeful over everything. Tonight I went with a friend to see Hana Yori Dango FINAL, a fantastic movie based on the series of the same name (minus the FINAL). Before the movie, we ate at a small restaurant and I had my first Japanese meal in Japan (I'm not counting the plane sushi or the hotel breakfast). Ready for this? I had soba (buckwheat noodles) and unaju (grilled eel over rice). Now that I've lost half of you, I give you the entry I wrote on the plane about the first day of my epic journey!

JUNE 27-28th, 2008 -- IKIMASU!

I am a pack mule, standing with the other pack mules waiting to receive my boarding pass. The power of the boarding pass is legendary – once in hand, it's said to transform you from a dumb, panicky animal into a calm, rational human being.

Until then, until I have tangible proof that this trip will happen, I am nothing more than a pack mule.

I shift my weight back and forth from one foot to the other. It's my oh-God-oh-God-what-did-I-forget-to-do-what-did-I-forget-to-read-what-did-I-forget-to-get-oh-God-oh-God-oh-God dance. As I numbly adjust one of the straps on my shoulders, I see the pack mule behind me in line wince with sympathy. I imagine her reaction if I told her I can't feel the weight of the bags I carry. I'm just that nervous. I can't feel my fingers or my toes or the exhaustion of staying up with my roommates well after two in the morning ringing through my body.

I can't even feel my heart beating, but I think that's normal.

Then I hear, "Next," and a spike of adrenaline forces my complete attention on the check-in counter.

An obedient pack mule, I approach the woman at the far end without hesitation.

She is stern-looking and tired, hunched over the last passenger's enormous rolling bag as she fastens a boarding tag around its handle. Without a hint of inflection in her voice, she asks me, "Where are you going?"

The rush of adrenaline soars even higher. "Tokyo," I say, and finally, it feels real.

She takes my passport and skims the first laminated page. I wait silently, my love for hearing myself speak smothered by my terror that somehow something is going to go wrong and prevent this entire trip – one that's taken months to organize – from happening. Then her eyebrows draw together and dread climbs into my throat.

"They spelled your name wrong on the ticket," she says.

I nearly collapse with relief. "No," I say with a slightly hysterical giggle, "it's the passport. My name is Ciara, not Clara."

All she says is, "Huh," but she might as well say, "I hope you have cash for a taxi home."

Struggling to keep calm, I ask, "Is that bad?"

Her fingernails clack dully on the keyboard. "I have to change the name on your ticket, because it has to match the name on your passport. So you may have to give up your seat. Depends how full the flight is."

I say, "Oh." I'm thinking, Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

As she plays with my future, I don't think of just how horrible this could get – missing this flight, missing the next flight, not getting to go at all. Forever remembering June 27th as a cautionary tale to keep all of your official documents up to date and accurate.

Instead, I think of how I'll fix it if it goes wrong. I'll ask for a seat on the next flight. I'll get a ticket for Clara, the secret identity my government has given me.

Then she says, "It's fine this time. I got you back in your same seat. But in the future – "

My heart gradually sinks back into my chest.

She explains how I'll go about fixing my passport later and I nod rapidly to everything she says.

When she hands me my boarding pass, I bounce on my heels for a tiny victory dance. I give her one of my saddle bags to check and just like that, I'm a human being with a single messenger bag.

"Thank you," I tell her emphatically. "Thank you so much."

She smiles, slight and tired, and says, "You know, my daughter's middle name is Ciara, but we pronounce it See-air-ah."

For once in my life, I stifle the urge to elaborate on the origins of my name and the "right" way to pronounce it.

I must be getting wise in my advanced age of twenty-one.

Next, I go to the security line. Because I'm only wearing sandals, a nylon shell jacket and sweatpants rolled up to the knees, it's painless. I made sure before I left my dorm room this morning that my bag contained only my laptop, my Lonely Planet guidebook, my Japanese dictionary, my cell phone, my wallet and my iPod. Still, I suspect it's only luck that gets me through so quickly. The tiny blonde woman in the line next door is randomly selected for a wand test.

I'm still jittery from my scare at the check-in counter. Fortunately, I have a place to go relax. Thanks to more than twenty years of faithful flying with Continental, my parents' frequent flyer miles got me into first class, and by extension, the Presidential Lounge. After checking that my gate isn't at the end of the terminal, I walk through automatic sliding wooden doors into the lobby of the Lounge. I give my ticket to the woman behind the counter and she looks it over.

"What are you going for?" she asks.

"Studying abroad," I say, smiling, and the blissful rush returns. "For a month and a half."

She smiles and says, "That's fantastic. You're going to have the time of your life."

"I hope so," I reply, even though I'm convinced she's right. Almost bouncing, I enter the Lounge itself.

As expected, it's big and broad, but otherwise unremarkable. Though compared to the flat seats by the gate, it's definitely a level up. I call my parents and relay the story of my near-death experience while I toast a bagel.

"Do you have an adapter for the plane?" my dad asks.

Traveling is in my blood. I've been traveling with my parents everywhere since I was a baby. And while I think I've gotten the hang of traveling alone from navigating New York City's subway system and taking the train to and from visiting my sister in Virginia, this is a whole new experience. I've never traveled alone internationally before, and the novelty of it is exciting. Still, it's questions like this that prove that I can still learn from my parents.

I would say that even if they weren't reading this.

(Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!)

I go to Brookstones in search of a converter adapter thingie. The truth is, even after ten years of using converters and adapters, I have no idea what the difference between them is.

So when the man at Brookstones says, "We have a universal converter, but it won't work with Apples," I'm stupefied.

"Do you know any other store in the airport that sells converters?" I ask.

He shrugs.

My quest just got complicated.

Ten minutes later, with forty minutes left until boarding for my flight begins, I'm walking in front of a video game store, just about ready to buy four books and hoping I don't breeze through them before the fourteen-hour flight is over. I'm thinking of the six boxes of books I packed and put into storage just yesterday. I'm about fifteen seconds from literally kicking myself when I think,

Video games need consoles. Consoles need converters.

I veer left into the store.

Turns out there's a difference between adapters and converters. The adapter is what I need, and the cashier knows which one will work. She explains the difference, but I won't remember it -- I spend the majority of the explanation daydreaming about having fourteen hours to work on my play.

Entertainment assured, I stop by a touristy shop to pick up gifts for the two host families I'll be staying with. I don't know what to get. Most of the New York souvenirs are hokey to me, like the I HEART NY T-shirts, but I'm sure the Japanese feel the same about novelty chopsticks. I don't want to carry anything breakable or risk buying T-shirts that won't fit, and I'm resigning myself to buying the tiny artsy glass mugs molded in the shape of the island of Manhattan when I see my third option – baseballs with I HEART NY on them. Baseball – the sport fawned over by both Japanese and Americans.

Aim and a score.

On my way back to the gate, my friend Karen calls to wish me luck and send me off. I'm practically bouncing in my seat once I find one, and the man next to me is very pointedly not looking at me.

While we speak, I start to think more and more about the trip ahead. I'm still worried something awful will happen to prevent it from happening at all – something will happen with my passport, or the flight will be canceled, or someone will sneak TNT into my bag and get me arrested the moment I go through customs.

Then the flight is called for boarding and I, half-dazed with excitement, hang up with Karen and approach with my ticket.

As expected, my seat is fantastic. It's big and cushy and there's more leg space than I have leg to fill it with. I sit down and send out fifteen more text messages and call another five members of my family.

The conversation with my brother is the most fun.

"Hey," he says after he picks up, "aren't you supposed to be on a plane to Japan right now?"

I grin. "I AM on a plane to Japan right now."

"Holy shit!"

"Yeah!"

The quiet, dignified Japanese businessman in the seat next to me glances over and looks away without a readable expression. I can tell he's amused anyway.

When I finish calling and texting everyone I've ever met, I start to look for the outlet in my seat. There isn't one. Only a headphone jack, a TV in one arm rest, a fold-out table in the other, some buttons to change the seat's angle and this oddly-shaped hole.

When I ask the flight attendant what's up, she explains, "The plane we were supposed to be using was hit by lightning this morning. It's back in the hangar now. We had to replace it. That's why we're a little behind taking off. Usually, you could just plug in, but for these you need a special car adapter."

It's $125.

I opt for sleeping.

I still get to use my laptop for a few hours. I spend it writing my play and this entry, pausing every so often when the flight attendant brings fresh fruit or sushi or tea.

As a first timer in first class, let me review the service in a word: damn.

I sleep sporadically, an hour here or there, but I'm too excited and nervous to get real consistent rest. At one point, the flight attendant comes by and asks me, "Are you traveling alone?"

She's been calling me "sweetie" and "doll" and telling me to eat more and generally acting like a close aunt.

I tell her, "Yep. I'm taking a Japanese class in Kobe."

"Wow. Really? That's incredible. Good for you!"

I grin. It's not that incredible. Anything is easy to learn when you have passion for it.

Every time I try to sleep, I find myself opening my eyes to check the flight's progress on the overhead screen. The hours get smaller and smaller until there's an hour and a half left and I can look out my window and actually see Japan.

The first thing I notice and marvel at are the rice fields. Perfectly symmetrical squares lining a smooth, mirror-bright river. Along the riverbank are old-styled Japanese houses. It's just like the pictures I've seen, only twelve times cooler because I'm seeing it first hand.

When the plane lands, I hold my breath and release it slowly. I'm still nervous – what if immigration finds something ELSE wrong with my passport? The world is getting more and more paranoid these days – having the wrong name on your passport could get you lynched somewhere, I'll bet.

The flight attendant grips my arm affectionately as I leave the plane. She smiles. "Enjoy yourself. It really is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Make incredible memories. I wish you so much luck."

I promise her I will, half speaking to myself.

The line for immigration takes about twenty minutes. They fingerprint me, take my picture and thoroughly scare the hell out of me.

Then I grab my bag from baggage claim, exchange my temporary form for an authentic JR Pass (a huge money-saver on the JR train lines – one fee you pay outside the country that gives you free access to the JR trains), and get a ticket for the limousine bus to my hotel.

I've barely missed the bus, so I have to wait another forty minutes for the next one. But I don't mind – this is my first opportunity to people watch in Japan. And the first time I see Japan's famed punctuality for myself.

The arrival times for each bus come up on a digital screen, along with where each bus is heading. The buses arrive on time every single time. Once, it's 9:39 and there's no bus in sight to pick up the 9:40 crowd and I start to wonder if the drivers have to go through boot camp training again if they miss the arrival time. It just seems that important. But along with 9:40 comes the bus. It's a little disappointing. I'd hoped for lightning bolts and gale winds to mark the occasion.

At 9:45, I board my bus. Every window seat is taken, and the bus starts moving while I'm standing in the back, so returning to the front is no longer an easy option. I look to my left and watch a ridiculously attractive guy lift his bag off the empty seat next to him. I think of an hour or however long this ride will be spent sitting next to someone that gorgeous and decide to save some work for my blunt side that will try to sneak in staring and sit in the empty seat behind him next to a grouchy woman who doesn't want me to sit there.

The bus stops at Shinjuku Station, the Washington Hotel and my hotel. At Shinjuku Station, almost every head I see is topped with black. The only blonds I see did not come from nature. I play a game with myself for a while – a spinoff of Where's Waldo called Find the Gaijin.

I find two. I'm not sure if I won or lost.

I arrive at my hotel at five o'clock. I've officially lost track of how long I've been awake. And yet, I'm not tired. My room turns out to be on the thirtieth floor, a total stroke of luck.

I look out the window and see, for the first time, for myself, the city I've seen in pictures and movies and art.

Just to sum it all up for myself – the flight, the anxiety, the whole trip to come – I say, "Sugoi."

Awesome.

FIRST POST

Welcome to Ciara's account of her epic journey in Kobe, Japan.

A journey that doesn't start until June 27th.

Basically, my motivation behind making this post is for the following message:

BOOYAH!!!!!!!!!!

〜きらきら〜
キラ