Coming Back Changed

It's taken a long time for me to get my thoughts together on what I wanted to say to close out this chapter of this blog. Here I am, nearly at the end of summer break, going to start my senior year back at Morningside in about two and a half weeks. I've been in the States for just over two months now, far less than the time I spent abroad, though it feels like it's been so much longer. A wild thought is the fact that it's already been a year (plus one week, to be precise) since my passport was printed.

It's... taken awhile to get used to being back, to say the least.

There's so much less to do in my hometown, for starters. I've taken up cooking a lot more even than I ever have before, as a way to keep myself busy for a couple hours every day. What's more, I've noticed that more and more of the dishes I make are Japanese cooking. I make yakisoba on a weekly basis, and since finding a good recipe for Japanese curry rice, I've been making that pretty often too. (Omurice is still on the need-to-make list, as is okonomiyaki.) I've made milk bread a few times. I've made dorayaki, onigiri, karaage, and egg salad sandwiches. I've found myself drinking a lot of cold unsweetened green tea (my sis, who's awesome at making tea, keeps me in constant supply). Once, I've splurged on getting some Calpico shipped in from an online Asian grocer based on the East Coast, but it's a little too expensive to justify doing too regularly. The few times I've been to Sioux City this summer, I've grabbed a bubble milk tea at Fuji Sushi at the mall. I miss the food in Japan (especially affordable sushi), but I've done my best to find ways to replicate (or at least approximate) Japanese cooking back here in Iowa.

(It requires a lot of turning to Amazon [boo] to find ingredients that nowhere in Iowa carries, even the Asian grocers in Storm Lake, but it's worth the inherent guilt involved.)

Besides cooking, I've been spending my summer writing (big surprise, I'm sure), learning new music for the piano, and playing Minecraft with friends/siblings. I've also been walking a lot, although not quite as much as I usually walked in a day while I was abroad. There's fewer places available to walk to, so it's changed into just wandering around the neighborhood and listening to music until I hit my daily step count, or walking to the grocery store to buy fresh produce to fix for dinner. (I've definitely spent more of my own money on groceries for the whole fam this summer than ever before.)

I've gotten my two youngest sibs (12 and 9) obsessed with Doraemon along with me. We watch the Disney XD dub of the show on YouTube, and 9-year-old brother takes the Doraemon plushie I got for him as a souvenir on 'gadget adventures' from his imagination on a daily basis. He's started actually reading this summer, mainly thanks to his reading my English Japanese Doraemon manga volumes over and over and over again. (The main reason I made dorayaki was for my little Doraemon fanatics, though I've discovered they both prefer Nutella filling to anko). Besides Doraemon, I've also developed an obsession with the My Hero Academia manga (I'm on volume 17; waiting for my brother to finish it so I can continue). (All Might is by far the best character, and Midoriya is definitely second. I refuse to allow my opinion to be altered on this front. Additionally, please let Mineta die.) The ironic thing is I've watched more anime/consumed more manga since getting back to the States than I did the whole time I was abroad (having Crunchyroll/VRV blocked will do that to a person, and I'm not smart enough to figure out VPN).

Every day, I keep up with Duolingo, doing my best to avoid losing all the language skills I picked up while abroad. I'm also looking into investing in some Genki apps so I can continue learning the kanji and maintaining my vocab. I'm looking forward to returning to campus so I can actually practice with any Japanese foreign exchange students we have (in addition to trying to persuade other students to go to Kansai Gaidai, of course).

I've continued singing some of the praise songs I learned Japanese versions of in Japan, especially "Watashi no Nozomi wa" ("My Hope," the Japanese version of "In Christ Alone"). I think about my church family in Hirakata often, and my promise to return one day.

I still fully intend to return one day, as soon as possible.

I think that realization is finally setting in with my family. The littles have been especially clingy this summer (not that I mind), and not just because I'd been gone so long. I think everyone in my family/among my close friends knows that I'm going back. When, I'm not sure yet--maybe for grad school, maybe to get a job after college. But I'm definitely going back.

What's funny is seeing the reactions of people I know locally when they realize I'm actually planning on going back one day (gasp! Shocking, I know). Most people just assumed that I'd come back desperately homesick, all Japan'd out, and ready to settle down back home, the travel bug thoroughly worked out of me. Last week we traveled down to Missouri to visit some of me and my teenage brothers' childhood places and share them with the littles, and in the process, we visited my godmother.

"You must be so glad to be home," she said.

"I am," I agreed, "but I can't wait to go back long term."

My dad laughed. "She'd go back tomorrow if she had the chance." (He's not wrong.)

My godmother was dumbfounded, to say the least.

It's still weird getting used to life in the States overall. People are so much more talkative here, and so much less polite on average. The news cycle is exhausting and depressing; it feels like in American news (at least politically), there is no such thing as good news. It makes sense why the current administration is largely viewed as a joke abroad. I've noticed I still bow when thanking people (ask President Reynders; he can attest to this fact). Everything is so... wide. You can't get away from open spaces here (or cornfields, for that matter. I never fully realized until this summer how truly monotonous the Iowa landscape can be). Cars go so much faster here, which you wouldn't think would be something I'd have to readjust to, but it has been.

Don't get me wrong. I still love Iowa, even if I'm more aware of some of the things that I liked better abroad, now. It's still nice, in many ways, to be here again. I enjoy being able to cook daily (instead of never), for one thing. I love being with my family (especially the littles). I enjoy how much more accessible cheese is here (I have string cheese every day, if nothing else). Iowa definitely has its own pros and cons, just like Japan.

Wherever my family is will always be a home for me. That will never change. And nobody how far I go, I'll always find my way back to them on a semi-regular basis.

But Japan is also a home for me now, and that will also never change.

Call me a strange foreigner, a henna gaijin, if you must. But I'm going back, as soon as possible. There are still many more adventures left to experience and write about.

So is this blog dead? I wouldn't say so. It might end up being a chronicle of daily life one day, when I make it back. It might be about the adventures of a harried grad school student, or an elementary English teacher, or a housewife (definitely a long shot, but who knows at this point). It might just be about a tourist who goes back for a week or two every summer until a better opportunity comes along. It might lie dormant for a year, or for twelve. I don't know yet.

But I'm going back. 日本に帰って行きます。

It's just a matter of time.

I Don't Want to Go

Blatant Doctor Ten reference aside, I really don't want to leave this place.

I don't want to leave the Lawson's I go to almost every day, where I occasionally chat with the shop ladies who have steadily warmed up to me as the semester has gone on.

I don't want to leave Kansai Gaidai, where I have learned more Japanese in four months than I learned in the whole seven years previous, where my every classroom is an astounding mix of cultures and backgrounds and native languages, where I can daily experience new perspectives I'd never have the chance to see in the US.

I don't want to leave Hirakatashi, where it's a pretty big city without feeling as crowded as smaller cities I've visited in the US, where I'm just a stone's throw away from both Kyoto and Osaka (and not much farther from Kobe and Nara), where I've found all sorts of awesome little places--shops, bakeries, cake stores, coffee shops, burger joints, a perfect karaoke spot, an eyeglasses store, a hair salon, all sorts of things.

I don't want to leave Japan, where many of my niche interests that aren't all that popular in the states are ever-present all around me, where I can spot other people with similar interests on a daily basis--but where people don't reach into your personal space (mental or physical) in places where you might not want them to (trains, buses, planes, restaurants; on and on the list goes). Nobody in Japan ever says "You're too quiet; you should talk more." Nobody in Japan ever acts like my natural introversion is a problem that needs to be fixed with more social activity or exposure. And when you do find someone to open up to, who's willing to open up to you in return, it feels like so much more valuable and special of an experience, rather than an overly-common occurrence.

I don't want to leave the food here. The snacks my mom has mailed me from home have steadily grown to be too salty; too sweet. I'm sure I'll adjust back again, but I'll miss the cake here, the onigiri, the Calpis Water, the pudding, the sushi, the yakisoba. The ability to eat something sweet without feeling like it's too much after a few bites, the ability to appreciate the fact that a less-salty taste doesn't mean a less-flavorful taste. The presence of fruits and vegetables that taste so much better than any fruits or veggies I've ever had in the States (home-grown included). I'm looking forward to having mac and cheese again, and I'm sure I'll adjust back to the US' cuisine within a couple weeks, but I'll still miss all the amazing flavors I've gotten to enjoy and experience on a daily basis here.

I don't want to leave the public transport system. Being able to have personal mobility on a level I've never experienced before and might never get to experience again has been nothing short of incredible. A trip to the mall, to the station, to the bookstore, to the restaurant has been only a whim away all semester. Since I have had an unlimited bus pass for the area around Kansai Gaidai, my homestay, and the two nearest train stations, there have been plenty of days I've been able to go to school, go to the bookstore, go to the cake shop, all without spending one extra yen on transportation. And even if I want to go to the mall or something, it's only like $3.50 to take the train to the mall and back, round trip. A round trip to Kyoto or Osaka only sets me back by about $8. I'm free to go anywhere in the area I want, whenever I want. And that's been more beneficial to me than I could ever really describe.

I don't want to leave the person I've been able to become here. I've learned that the emotion I feel so often back home in the States isn't loneliness, but under-stimulation. In the States, since I have no real personal mobility (due to my lack of a car/driver's license), I learned to associate the ability to go places and do things with having friends--so when I don't get a chance to go anywhere beyond school, church, home, in a cycle, I think that what I'm feeling is lonely. I realized, it's not loneliness--it's under-stimulation. It's a need to go places and do things. I don't necessarily have to have someone to go with; I just have to have things to do to break the monotony. And what I've learned during my time here is that being by myself, traveling by myself, experiencing the world by myself, can be every bit as satisfactory as doing the same things with friends (and I've had many opportunities to do that too while I've been here).

But above everything else, I really don't want to leave my church here. Their passion for the faith is so beyond anything I've ever encountered in the States. Their love for each other, their love for God, and their love for all other people (both Christian and not) is so amazing to me. Their love for me and the other foreign students has more than once brought me to the verge of tears.

Today, I did cry, when they placed their hands on me, thanked God for giving me a love for Japan, and asked Him to please bring me back to them. I've been telling them for weeks that I feel at home here; that I feel I belong here; that I hope to come back one day. I told them today that I feel God wouldn't give me such a deep love for Japan for no reason. And they agreed with me. They told me they will continue to pray that God will guide me where He wills, but that if it is His will, He will bring me back to them.

I'll be praying that too.

When I left the US four and a half months ago, I wasn't sure what I was going to find when I came to Japan, whether things would go well or not. In December, I said in a blog post, "I'm going to be a better person for the experience, I know. But it's still hard knowing that the world back home is going to go on without me, and that I'm going to miss a lot of things. I'm definitely so excited to go on this adventure, and like I said, I wouldn't trade it for the world. It just sort of feels like I really am going to have to trade my whole home world so that I can go."

I did have to trade my whole home world, true. I had to miss events back home that in a perfect world, I could have teleported into and joined my family and friends in celebrating. But in return, I got a whole new home world, one that I can't wait to return to as soon as possible, whether for grad school or sometime in the years ahead.

But I'll be back, that much is sure.

Mata ne, Nihon. See you again, my dear Japan.

Some of the things I absolutely love about the Japanese language

As I continue to pick up new Japanese vocab from day to day, despite the fact I'm going home in just over a week and took my Japanese final today (so I'm completely done with the class), there are many times where I realize the literal meaning of words and phrases and it just fills me absolute joy and love for my chosen target language.

There are many examples of this, but I wanted to cover a few here that really stand out to me.

One of the big ones is the word for "future," 未来 (mirai). The kanji show us that this word literally means, "that which has not yet come," which for some reason really makes me happy to think about. I mean, yeah, that's a pretty good basic summary of exactly what the future is, but for some reason it just seems to have such a positive and hopeful feeling to it, in my opinion.

Something else that I find fascinating is the way the concepts of liking and loving friends/family/objects differ from English, too. In Japanese, when you like/love something, it's not actually an act you're carrying out, but a state of being you apply to the direct object. (In other words, it's not a verb, it's an adjective.) When you say you like something, what you're actually saying is "This thing is liked." "This thing is loved." It isn't something that you do. It's a state of being that you apply to that person or thing. They exist in a state of being liked or loved.

In contrast, the emotion of deep love (both romantic or just deep devotion) is actually a verb that literally means "to do love" in the same sense you "do homework" or "do" any other action. It's an action that you're consciously doing--and sure enough, the verb tense you use when you tell someone you love them is the present participle-equivalent tense. You don't say "I do love you" (in the sense of only doing it on occasion) or "I will love you," you say "I am doing love of you." "I am in a state of actively performing the act of loving you." That, to me, is also incredibly beautiful.

Something that also enchants me is how often you find words that have equivalent or nearly-equivalent meanings to their English counterparts despite having been in the language since basically forever. Obviously, since humans use language to communicate and there are standard human-experience things that need to be communicated regardless of where or when you are, this is going to happen, but it's still interesting to me whenever I notice places where it does happen. There's a word for "but," a word for "however," a particle that works sort of like saying "even though" in the middle of sentence. You could argue that only one would really be needed, but they're all there. And I find that really cool.

Another one of the aspects of the Japanese language/cultural thought that I've noticed and absolutely adore with all my heart is the names of the different bullet train services. The slowest bullet train service is the Kodama, which means "spirit(s)." Since, typically, live spirits can only move at the speed of the bodies carrying them (and dead spirits that are still around in legends and such are usually tethered to just one place), this makes sense. The second slowest is the Sakura, or "cherry blossom(s)." Cherry blossoms really don't move that quickly when they fall from trees, so this also makes sense.

But the kicker, for me, at least, is with the two fastest services. The second fastest bullet train service is the Hikari, which means "light." We all know that theoretically, light is the absolute fastest thing in the universe. So what could possibly move faster than light? What goes so quickly that it's relegated light to second place?

The answer is, to me at least, shockingly beautiful. The fastest bullet train service is the Nozomi--"Hope." In the Japanese estimation, Hope is the only thing that travels even faster than light. And if that isn't one of the most beautiful thoughts you've heard all day, then I don't know what to tell you.

So yeah. Words are beautiful and amazing and intricate and incredible and I love and treasure and adore them more than I could ever find ways to honestly express in any language, though Japanese comes close.

単語が愛しています。Tango ga aishiteimasu. I am actively performing the act of loving words.

Man, I really wish I didn't have to leave.

A Few Instances of Culture Shock

When I first arrived in Japan, I mentioned in one of my early blog posts that I hadn't really encountered any major culture shock yet. While that still pretty much holds true, I have encountered a few varieties of minor culture shock, which I thought I might as well chronicle here. There's probably more even than what I list here; these are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head right this second.

1: Kids are pretty much free range here.

I've probably mentioned this somewhere in a previous blog post, but you see little kindergarteners all alone on the train all the time here. You see little kids in groups of two or three wandering around town together after school gets out. You see little kids taking the bus alone. While I know the community does a good job of taking care of the kiddos as a whole and bad stuff practically never happens here, whenever I see a tiny human walking around all alone, it's a real battle not to go over and ask them where their parents are and if they're okay. I know then I'd be the creepy one, though, so I don't, but it's not easy.

2: Junior high school and high school students have way too much pressure put on them.

The older of my two homestay sisters (I'm pretty sure she's somewhere in between the last year of junior high and the second year of high school; not positive where, though) never, ever has any free time, it feels like. She has school every day Monday through Saturday, and oftentimes doesn't get home till after I've gone to bed due to clubs and daily cram school, too. Plus, whenever she finally gets home, she still has homework to do (and almost all day Sunday, her one day off, is spent doing homework). She seems to be really brave about it and doesn't seem to mind too much (she's practically always smiling whenever I see her and seems passionate about her studies, at least), and I know that once she hits college, her life will be a heckuva lot easier, but I'm still a little frustrated on her behalf in the meantime. At least she doesn't have a baito (part-time job) to worry about or a bunch of household chores to do like some kids around her age, but then again, many kids her age go to the five-day public schools instead of a six-day private school. Her younger sister, who's in grade six now (the last year of elementary school), only has class five days a week (since she's not in junior high yet) and doesn't go to cram school. While she does have soroban and piano lessons every week, at least she's usually home by the time we eat dinner on weeknights. They both say they love school (Aya-chan's (the younger sister's) spring break was a lot longer than Rimi-chan's, and by the time break was over, Aya-chan was complaining that she wanted to go to school again), but it's still a little frustrating to me to see kiddos younger than both of my high-school-aged brothers in one case and younger than my little sister in the other having to constantly put their nose to the grind so hard. I'm proud of them both, Rimi-chan especially, but I really wish the poor things had more time to relax. It's currently Golden Week, and even though neither of them have school, poor Rimi-chan still has a daily school club she has to get up early for every morning. The whole thing is just a tiny bit ridiculous, I feel like.

3: Outside of Hirakatashi, the rare times you see a fellow foreigner, aside from clueless tourists, of course, everyone just kind of... instinctually nods at each other like "yup. You're not from here, either. Sup?"

I've discovered online this is actually referred to as the "Gaijin Nod" by some people. I've only had this result in an actual conversation once; yesterday, actually. I was on the train to Nipponbashi in Osaka (not to be confused with Nihonbashi in Tokyo; they're both written the same in Japanese/kanji but pronounced differently) to watch a bunraku (puppet theatre) play, and I glance up to see that right across from me is a guy who's sticking out like a sore thumb almost as much as I am, aside from the fact that his entire outfit isn't decked out in bright pink.

What can I say; it's a happy color.

We do the Gaijin Nod and smile a bit, and I go back to staring at the floor and waiting for my stop (there's not much outside scenery when you're actually in the subway), but glance up again to see he's walked across the car to talk to me.

"Which country are you from?" he asks in a heavy accent with a bright smile.

"Amerika," I answer out of habit, and then correct myself, "The United States."

He grins even bigger. "Ah, I'm from Liberia."

We had a nice chat about our experiences in Japan while waiting for our stop (we both ended up getting off at Nipponbashi). The second he learned my name was Elizabeth after asking, he excitedly asked if I'm Christian, and told me happily that he is too. When I asked his name, what I heard was Momo, but I'm sure I'm probably spelling it wrong. He told me that he got his masters' here in Japan and that now he's looking for work, but the fact that while his spoken Japanese is fluent, he can't write it, is making it pretty difficult. When I told him I can write all the kana and a couple hundred kanji (I can read around a hundred-ish and can understand almost four hundred thanks to heavy self-study this semester), he said that I must be very smart, which made me laugh a bit. We parted ways at the station and didn't exchange contact information or anything, but it was still a nice conversation. It just really stuck out to me because you almost never are approached by strangers here, which I hadn't fully processed until yesterday.

4: Amerika is actually not the official Japanese name for the US.

I learned this by accident the other day while flipping through my homestay's daily newspaper (yeah, those are still going extremely strong here; it's one of the "readingest" countries in the world). The official name is actually Beikoku, which means...

Drumroll please...

Rice Country.

Yeah, it made no sense to me at first, either. Turns out that back in the prewar days, America/the US (which was officially then pronounced "Amerika") was written as four kanji (the Chinese-sourced pictographs) that could be read in such a way that sounded like Amerika. One of those kanji was the kanji for rice, which can also be read as "bei." So, they yoinked the one kanji out of the classic name once they started writing "Amerika" in katakana (the syllabic system used mainly for foreign loan words and names), added the kanji for "country," and bam, you have Beikoku.

So I'm technically Beikokujin (Rice Country-ese, literally Rice Country Person). Which made me laugh a bit.

5: Getting eyeglasses is about a billion-point-five times easier here.

I learned this by accident today.

Since my homestay isn't allowed to feed me lunch on weekdays, even over breaks, as part of the homestay agreement with the school, I ended up in downtown Hirakata (since I can get there for free using my bus pass) to grab lunch at the station Lotteria (a Japanese burger joint) and wander around the stores there (there's a massive book shop I like to spend time in, even though the English section is very small and I'm not fluent enough to really read any of the native material, sadly). One of the shops I stepped into after seeing something cute in the window was an eyeglasses place. I was looking at some of the frames (which were all priced really affordably) when a shopkeeper stepped up to me.

"Which ones do you like?" he asked (in Japanese, of course).

I pointed out a pair. "These are cute, aren't they?"

"Oh, yes, very cute."

He had me try them on, and I ended up trying on several pairs. I was thinking to myself, I can't get a pair; I don't know my prescription by heart, or how to properly communicate it in Japanese, and it might take too long for the new pair to arrive so I might be gone by then.

Turns out your average random, tiny Japanese eyeglasses corner store:

A: Has a little machine that they stick your current glasses in, it scans them for like ten seconds, and boom, they have your exact prescription.

B: Can have a new pair of glasses ready for you to pick up in an hour.

C: All this for about $45 for the cheapest (but still really high quality) frames.

$45 for a brand new pair of frames with prescription lenses and a case.

So yeah, I'm currently sitting here in my room wearing a brand new pair of really cute glasses I didn't originally intend to get today, but I'm not complaining. They're adorable, a style I see girls my age around here wearing a lot (in the decently rare cases that you actually see a girl around my age wearing glasses).

Also, when I told the female shopkeeper who rang me up that in the US it takes around three weeks to get a new pair of eyeglasses, she was totally floored. "That's so long!" she exclaimed emphatically in shock more than once.

As I told my friends, I guess Japan is just truly magical in many ways.

One thing I know for sure: I really, really don't want to leave.

And Now We Come to the Part of the Show Where Liz Rants About Food

First: I'm sorry for the few weeks of absence and the lack of Facebook photo updates. As I explained to a friend back home yesterday, the longer I'm over here, the less "new" stuff I see that I haven't shown you guys yet. I'll hopefully do a photo dump of my trips to Miyajima and Tokyo/Yamanashi from spring break at some point, and I have a lot of pictures of cherry blossoms to post now (we're now just at the very end of the peak cherry blossom season). The lack of blog posts is just mostly due to general business now that I'm about halfway through the third quarter of my semester here. But here I am, and as the title probably indicates, this is going to be quite a long post.

Alright. This is going to be a bit different from any of my previous posts, as I'm going to be rating several different kinds of food I've tried during my time here in Japan. And yes, by the end, you're probably going to be very hungry.

You have been fairly warned.

The listing is arbitrary and the order in the list doesn't indicate how much I like/dislike a particular food. (Read: I'm basically ranting about foods as they come to mind.)

1: Tonkatsu

Tonkatsu is pretty similar to the Iowa dish known as (Pork) Tenderloin. It's tender pork meat dipped in a thick, crunchy breading, deep fried, and covered in a soy-based sauce. It's amazing. Best served with shredded cabbage and white rice, in my opinion (but that's partially because practically everything goes really well with shredded cabbage and white rice). In Yamanashi Prefecture, sister state to Iowa, the tonkatsu is known nationally to be especially famous/good--all because their hogs are descended from the Iowan hogs shipped over during the great Iowa Hog Lift of the 1950s. So yes, America, Iowa really does have the best pork, and we've shared it with Japan, too. Be jealous.

Tonkatsu gets a 10/10 from me. Crunchy, flavorful, reminds me of home.

2: Okonomiyaki

Okonomiyaki is sort of like a potato pancake, but not exactly. It's basically potatoes mixed with eggs and shredded cabbage, cooked as a pancake, oftentimes with several slices of bacon covering one side. It's eaten as hot as you can stand it (as a lot of Japanese food tends to be), with tonkatsu sauce and Japanese mayonnaise (aka Kewpie Mayo) drizzled all over the top. It's incredibly filling--two big ones and you'll feel stuffed. It's so good, though, that you'll crave it constantly. At home, it's often cooked on a little plug-in grill thing.

12/10. I love okonomiyaki. I'd eat it every day if I could.

3: Takoyaki

Takoyaki is often translated as "grilled octopus balls," but I swear it isn't what that makes it sound like. ~yaki actually means a food that is grilled/fried, and tako just means octopus. These things are basically like hushpuppies with a bit of octopus meat (usually from the tentacles) in the center. They're cooked on a special grill with little round molds used to help form the food. Like okonomiyaki, they're served drizzled with Japanese mayo and tonkatsu sauce. These, too, are also super filling. A big serving is around 8 takoyakis, and once you eat that many, again, you'll be stuffed. The octopus meat has a bit of a weird texture to it at first, but takoyaki is super flavorful and really delicious. It's not my absolute favorite food here, but I'd happily eat it once a week or so.

9/10. Not as good as some other foods, but still delicious.

4: Natto

I wanted to like natto. I really did. I was so excited when my homestay dad said he was going to let me try a little. But I was barely able to finish the bite, which is fairly standard among foreigners (and even many Japanese). Natto is a divisive subject even among the Japanese. One camp can't understand why other people don't like it. The other camp still demands to know why it was ever even created in the first place. While I'm okay with letting people enjoy things, I can't really see how anyone could like natto.

Natto is fermented soybeans, often served with mustard to add flavor. In my opinion, it tastes like how I'd imagine battery acid would taste. It makes your mouth feel weird, and has a sharp zing to it, and not in a good way. I don't like it at all, unfortunately. I don't really plan on ever trying it again.

0/10. I'm sorry, natto. I went in expecting to like you. I just can't.

5: Oden

Oden is a one-pot dish made of fish cakes, a bunch of different things I'm fairly sure are made out of eggs, hardboiled eggs, vegetables, eggs stuffed with mochi, and probably some other stuff--I'm not sure--all boiled in a light fish broth. It's basically the Japanese winter comfort food. I'm not a huge fan of it, because in comparison to other Japanese foods, it comes off as a bit flavorless (just in my opinion). Who knows; maybe one day I'll have it again and like it better that time. I don't hate it, for sure. I just don't like it as much as other Japanese foods.

6/10: It's definitely a warming food, and it smells pretty good. Just not as flavorful as other things I've tried.

6: Yakisoba

Yakisoba is fried noodles (similar to Chinese lo mein) cooked with a soy/ginger-based sauce, cabbage, carrots, and peppers, and often served with aonori (powdered seaweed) or shredded ginger sprinkled on top. This stuff is, in my humble opinion, the holy grail of Japanese cooking. It's even better than okonomiyaki, and that's saying something. I wouldn't just eat this every day; I'd eat it every meal. Maybe it's just the carb addict in me loving the pasta, but this stuff is just absolutely superb. It's flavorful, filling, warming, and just all-around a perfect food. I adore it so much. My homestay mom has figured this out and loves offhandedly mentioning to another member of the family that we'll have yakisoba for dinner just so she can watch me light up like Christmas with an excited question of "Yakisoba??"

20/10. All hail yakisoba. Try it and never be the same.

7: Calpis (Calpico in US markets, nowhere in Iowa though as far as I know T-T)

Alright. If yakisoba is the holy grail of Japanese food, this stuff is the holy grail of Japanese drinks. There are tons of varieties, so I wanted to post a picture that reflected that, but wasn't really able to find one online. The stuff pictured above is called Calpis Water. It's basically a sweet yogurt-water. Yes, I know that sounds awful to American tastes, and I was really hesitant to try it. Actually, the only reason I did was I accidentally bought a yogurt soda (yogurt with carbonated water, basically) because the can looked cool, and loved it. Honestly, if it wasn't so high in sugar, I would chug Calpis Water several times a day. It's one of the smoothest beverages I've ever had, is perfectly sweet without being too sweet, and is so so so good cold. I'd love to try it as a slushie, though I haven't seen that anywhere yet. Apparently a couple years back, McDonald's Japan had Calpis shakes, which I also wish I could have been here to try.

Similar to natto, Calpis can be quite divisive. I haven't met a single non-Japanese yet who actually likes it. When one of my South Korean classmates discovered I like the stuff, which he had just decided to try, he tried to get me to accept his still-mostly-full bottle. If it hadn't been flu season, I probably would have accepted, but oh well. I also haven't met any Japanese yet who don't like it, so go figure. We'll just keep happily enjoying our nectar of the gods while the foreigners around us shrug and make faces.

As stated, Calpis Water (and by extension, Calpis Soda and the other-flavored varieties, like Orange Calpis, etc), is pretty high in sugar, so it's got a fairly-high calorie count. Luckily for me, there exists a zero-calorie version known as Karada Calpis (Body Calpis). This version isn't quite as sweet, and is heavier on the dairy flavor (because it has a higher dose of the dairy-enzyme-stuff that makes Calpis, well, Calpis, mixed in). It's considered a health drink because studies have shown that drinking one every day for 12 weeks tends to correlate to a measurable amount of body fat loss. I'm not complaining that's one of the side effects; I'm mainly just glad I can drink Calpis every day without feeling guilty at all. I still have the normal version around once a week, though; Karada is good, but the original is even better.

Karada Calpis: 8/10. A lovely, refreshing, delicious beverage.
Calpis Water: 12/10. If it wasn't so relatively high-cal I'd drink it all the time.

Eguchi (Egg Cheeseburger):

This is a McDonald's Japan exclusive, which you can get as a medium meal for ¥500. I usually only go to McDonald's once every other week or so, but this is usually what I get. It's a hard-boiled egg patty on a cheeseburger, which is a delicious combo I can't believe the US has never considered. I wish this was available in the States. It's definitely my favorite McDonald's food here.

That said, the fries at the Mickey D's here put the ones back home to shame. They have a sort of almost meaty flavor to them that surprised me the first couple of times, but now I love it. According to my mom, she seems to think this is because Japanese McDonald's still uses beef tallow to fry their fries, which the US stopped doing a couple decades ago. I'm not certain one way or another if that's the case (Google research has been inconclusive), but they're amazing, that's for sure.

Eguchi gets 9/10. Fries get 9/10 too.

Karaage:

From what I understand, karaage (similar to the word Oosaka, the double A is sort of two syllables slurred together) is a blanket term that refers to several different kinds of fried foods. It can also be understood to just mean deep fried chunks of chicken, which are pictured above. There are also korokke (croquettes; fried potato patty things), poteto (french fries), fried fish, and cheese bite things (I'm not sure of their Japanese names), among other varieties.

Whenever my homestay mom fixes karaage for dinner, I can't help but be a bit excited. Sure, it's not as healthy as other Japanese foods, but when paired with cabbage and rice, I don't feel quite so bad. It's so good by itself, but also good with tonkatsu sauce, or teriyaki sauce and Japanese mayo. You can't go wrong with deep fried foods, after all.

10/10. Equally amazing as tonkatsu.

Miso soup:

Miso soup (miso shiru here) is as ubiquitous in the Japanese diet as rice and cabbage. I don't think I've gone a whole day without eating it at least once in all the time since I arrived at my homestay. At its most basic, miso soup is just a broth made from hot water and miso (a soybean product). It's commonly served with seaweed, tofu, green onions, little spongy things I'm not sure what are but are really good, and/or shiitake mushrooms, in basically any combination of the above. I can't even define a specific standard combination, because you really see all kinds at all times.

This stuff is super low-calorie, high-protein (because soybeans), and oh-so-savory. I'm going to miss it as much as Calpis when I go home. It's eaten hot, and you can feel it warming you up right down to your toes from the first sip. Like most Japanese foods, it's eaten with just chopsticks--you sip from your bowl to get the broth. Like many other Japanese foods, it encourages you to use both hands to eat (as is polite; if you have one hand in your lap it's generally assumed you aren't particularly enjoying the food, as I was kindly and very gently informed by my church family here the first time I ate lunch with them after church).

10/10. I'm going to miss miso so much. So filling, so warming, so healthy, so good.

Anko:

Anko is, put simply, just a slightly-sweet red bean paste. It's essentially the most basic Japanese dessert, sometimes eaten as a soup with mochi, sometimes eaten as a filling for mochi, sometimes eaten as a filling in pastries. At first, I wasn't too enthusiastic about it. It didn't really seem like a dessert-y food to me. It's not very sweet, and it was weird for me to think of beans as a sweet/dessert, I guess.

Then I discovered anpan, and my perception totally changed (at least when it comes to anpan; I'm still not a huge fan of anko in general). Anpan is basically a donut, dusted with powdered sugar, and filled with anko. And the stuff is pretty darn good. I can see why the most-recognized character in Japan (Anpanman; last I heard Hello Kitty is in second and Pikachu is in third) is just a superhero with a head made of anpan. Anpan is great.

Anko: 4/10. Just not my favorite thing, and definitely not a dessert from my point of view.
Anpan: 7/10. I wouldn't eat it every day, but it's a delicious occasional treat.

This probably won't be my only post about food. First of all, I'm sure I've forgotten some foods I'll want to go back and rate later. Second of all, food culture here in Japan is so different from in the States--portions are smaller, but more filling, fruits and vegetables taste so amazingly much better here, eggs can safely be eaten raw, you have so many more types of food at the average meal, and yet despite all of this, Japan is one of the healthiest nations in the world. Beyond basic common sense, I haven't been restricting myself or "dieting" during the time I've been here, and yet I've lost around 4.5 kilos since I left the States. I feel like I'm eating more, and more often, than I normally do back home, and yet I feel, look, and am becoming so much healthier. I know part of it is lower salt and sugar levels (Japanese cake tastes so much better than its American sisters; it's not overpoweringly sweet in my opinion like American cake tends to be), and the general low-calorie status of the standard drinks (like water and green tea), but it's still amazing to me how few overweight people you see here, and yet how clearly everyone eats plenty of food without guilt or trepidation. If you ask for weight loss advice here, rather than being told to diet or exercise, you'll probably be advised to drink fermented milk drinks (similar to Calpis, oftentimes, and also really good), take a hotter/longer bath every night, and to drink more green tea. The concept of diets exists, but they're not a super common thing.

All of this makes me wonder, why is it so different here? Why can we all eat so much, including the occasional trip to McDonald's or Lotteria (a Japanese fast food place), and still be at (or be making progress towards, in my case) a healthy weight/BMI? Why do the vegetables and fruits look (and taste) so much better here? (I'm half-convinced this part is because GMOs are banned here--produce hasn't been hybridized to the point it doesn't taste anything like it's supposed to anymore.) How come can I eat bread, and rice, and noodles, and pastries on a daily basis and still be consistently losing weight?

Well, I don't really have answers to these questions, and I probably won't anytime soon. I just know I love the food here, I love the culture around food here, and I love the fact that I can basically eat whatever I want and still be losing weight.

Man, it's gonna be hard to leave next month...

No More Hiroshima

No matter how many times you imagine a scenario happening, none of the things you imagine ever really end up being quite like how things turn out--and not necessarily in a bad way. Just... different.

I've wanted to make a... for lack of a better word, a "pilgrimage" to Hiroshima ever since I was 14. The same summer I fell in love with Japan, I also gained a growing horror at the events of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. When I read the story of Sadako Sasaki, a little girl who died from atom bomb disease several years after the atomic bombings, I made her, myself, and God a promise.

Someday, I was going to go to Hiroshima. It was a duty. I had to go. I had to see the atom bomb dome for myself. I had to see the Peace Park with my own eyes. I had to pray at the peace memorial.

Above all else, I had to leave paper cranes at the statue dedicated to children victims of the atomic bombings, depicting Sadako lifting a giant paper crane up to the heavens.

I had to do that, someday. I had to make that pilgrimage. I had to go and pay my respects, and acknowledge the horrors that man had wrought.

I finally made that pilgrimage today.

I woke up this morning at my homestay, with my bag already packed for my two days in Hiroshima and upcoming few days in Tokyo visiting a member of Morningside's board of directors. The trip from Nagao to Osaka went uneventfully, and I was able to get on the shinkansen to Hiroshima without any trouble (or luggage tumbling down escalators, thank goodness).

At Hiroshima Station, I met Ken Tanimoto, a friend and alumnus of Morningside College. If you've ever read John Hersey's landmark 1946 work Hiroshima, you'll recall a Japanese Methodist pastor by the name of Kiyoshi Tanimoto as one of the several people the book focused on. He was Ken Tanimoto's father. Mr. Ken Tanimoto's elder sister, Ms. Koko Kondo, was a young baby at the time of the atomic bombing, and has gone on to be an outspoken peace activist. Hopefully, I will have an opportunity to meet her sometime before I return home to the US.

Mr. Tanimoto showed me around the Peace Museum. In the images of the aftermath, he pointed out his father's church to me. He told me where his mother and Koko were during the bombing, and showed me on a map. He waited patiently, and let me take my time looking at the various exhibits (much fewer than normal currently, as the museum is undergoing earthquake-proofing renovations).

Once we'd finished looking around the museum, he led me out to the memorial for the dead out behind the museum. I didn't take any pictures of the memorial itself. It felt like a sacred place, like somewhere a camera didn't really belong.

I bowed in front of the memorial and prayed for peace, then stood up and, in a wavering voice, asked, "What does the memorial say?"

Mr. Tanimoto's voice was also shaking. "We will not make this mistake again. Let all the souls here rest in peace."

It may not be commonly viewed as appropriate in Japan, but I couldn't help it. I bowed my head and I cried. Not loudly, (quite quietly, actually), not obnoxiously, but I cried for a couple of minutes. When you are standing in a spot where just 74 years ago, human beings were literally vaporized or died in all manner of horrific ways, after having viewed images and relics of those lives, you can't help being emotional.

These people had spouses, parents, children, siblings, teachers, friends, coworkers. They had hopes and dreams. They had lives every bit as vivid and real as yours and mine. Many of them had nothing to do with the war, aside from the fact that it had unwelcomely pervaded into every single aspect of their lives. Many of them approved of the war, but many of them didn't.

And they weren't just Japanese, though that, of course, would be far beyond bad enough. They were Korean, Chinese, even American (there as POWs). They had futures. They had purposes. They had reasons to live.

And all of that was shattered in an instant. Some of them died in the blast. Some of them died in the days and months after. Some of them (like Sadako) didn't die until years later. But because of the most horrible weapon humanity has ever used, they died. Their lives were unceremoniously ended as just a "few" more casualties of a horrible, horrible war.

After I had finished crying, I quietly apologized to Mr. Tanimoto. "I'm sorry for crying."

He waved it off. He was teary too.

We went next to Sadako's statue, the memorial for the children of Hiroshima. Again, this space felt sacred. It didn't feel right to me to take a picture of the statue itself. There were several boxes full of paper cranes, one of which was standing open with space for more cranes to be placed.

And while I had not folded the full one thousand that many do, I had brought something with me, at least.

I kept the promise I made to my fourteen-year-old self. I kept the promise I made to God. I kept the promise I made to Sadako Sasaki.

I left my cranes I had folded, 24 cranes bearing the flags of various nations of the world, at Sadako's feet.

I looked at the cranes, and then bowed deeply before them, the common sign of respect in Japan. It felt like the right thing to do.

Mr. Tanimoto took me next to the atom bomb dome. It was much smaller than I had always imagined it to be; for some reason I thought it was very tall, when it's actually just about three stories at the tallest point. It's also not as wide or long as I thought it would be.

"There was a big argument over whether or not to keep this building," Mr. Tanimoto told me. "In Nagasaki, there are no buildings like this left. They were all torn down. And here, the survivors said the atom bomb was painful to see, because it is a terrible reminder of that day. But in the end, we decided to keep it, that we needed to keep it."

"I'm glad it was kept," I said, my voice still shaking with emotion. "Someday, there will be no one left who remembers the war themselves. We need to keep this building so that the people living then can see that these things really happened. People need to be able to see that this was real history, not just a legend."

Taking a deep breath, I finished, "Sometimes we need to be able to see our mistakes, so that we will not make them again."

We proceeded from there to the city government's memorial to the dead of Hiroshima. There was a long hall that went down in a big circle, before opening into a basement room. The infamous panoramic image of the razed downtown area, including the atom bomb dome, filled the giant, circular space.

But here, the image was made of tiles.

140,000 tiles.

One tile for each life that was ended because of the bomb in 1945 alone.

I cried a little more there, as well.

And lastly, Mr. Tanimoto showed me a tree that survived the atomic bombing, a tree that still grows today.

And at that moment, I noticed just how alive the park was. There were children running and laughing. There were cats wandering around here and there. There were tourists from various nations. There were countless plants, trees, and so, so many flowers.

There were so many colors. There were so many buildings all around us, beyond the park. There was a bustling open-air market on the other side of the nearby river we'd crossed a couple of times during our time in the park.

I cried a little more, this time from happiness and a full realization that, despite everything, Hiroshima is still here. Hiroshima is still alive, and well, and lively, and strong, and vivid.

I felt a bit cleansed, somehow. It's hard to describe, but I did.

The rest of the evening was lovely. Mr. Tanimoto and his wife took me to a really delicious ramen place for dinner ("because you are my Morningside College kohai (junior fellow student)," Mr. Tanimoto explained), and dropped me off at my hotel. Tomorrow, they're taking me to Miyajima, a famous shrine near here. On the way to dinner, Mr. Tanimoto told me about growing up as a PK, and laughed when he learned I'm a PK, too. He had three sisters and one brother; I have three brothers and one sister. He and his wife had three boys and two girls. His older sister, Koko, swore she'd never marry a preacher. So did my mother. Koko made her husband promise to never become a preacher. So did my mother. Koko married a financial worker. My mom married an accountant.

Both of their husbands became preachers. It's a small world, after all.

But now, as I sit here in my hotel, after the long day, trying to process everything, with tears rolling down my face, there's only one thing I can really think.

ノーモア広島。No More Hiroshima.

Not in the sense of "down with Hiroshima;" not by any means. No, this phrase is a promise of "Never again will we allow this to happen." It's an admission of "Never again can we allow this to happen." It's a plea of "Never again may we allow this to happen."

No More Hiroshima.

I went to Hiroshima. I did my duty. I saw the atom bomb dome for myself. I saw the Peace Park with my own eyes. I prayed at the peace memorial.

I left paper cranes at the statue dedicated to children victims of the atomic bombings, depicting Sadako lifting a giant paper crane up to the heavens.

I did all that, today, after all these years. I made that pilgrimage. I went and paid my respects, and I acknowledged the horrors that man had wrought.

And God willing, if I ever have children (as I hope to one day), I will bring them here. I will teach them about Sadako, about the Tanimotos, about the thousands of people who died here, about the thousands of people who survived. I will share all the stories I have learned about the victims, about the survivors. I will teach them, No More Hiroshima.

And for the rest of my life, I will say, No More Hiroshima.

And may that phrase ring true throughout the rest of human history, I plea.

No More Hiroshima.

Amen.

Branch Lines and Main Lines and Freight Lines, Oh My!

Despite being a Wizard of Oz reference, that title really takes me back to my Thomas the Tank Engine days. My three younger brothers all, at one point or another in their childhoods, were massive Thomas the Tank Engine fanboys, and I'll freely admit that the fervor ended up rubbing off on me, too. We owned a big collection of all of the Rev. W. Audrey's (I didn't even have to look up how to spell the name; that's how much I've internalized it) original stories about the trains and their adventures on the Island of Sodor, and at least a dozen of the video tapes of the old episodes voiced by Ringo Starr and/or Alec Baldwin, back when the trains and people were still portrayed by wooden train sets and figures. Me and my dad still mention sometimes that we wish we could "go on holiday" to Sodor. For some reason, the idea of trains with faces has never scared me, even though I feel like maybe it should.

(And, surprisingly enough, Thomas is huge over here among little kids. The series makes for a common Happy Meal toy, you can find Thomas toys at any toy shop, and bigger train stations often have at least a few posters portraying the cheery blue engine.)

All that reminiscing aside... The reason I bring it up is because I grew up loving trains, at first as a secondhand fan thanks to my brothers, and eventually just because trains are really freaking cool (a major obsession with The Polar Express starting around the time I was 7 and never really ending probably didn't hurt any either). However, in America, the only times I really ever got to ride trains were on the rare occasions we went to train museums (or the less-rare occasions we went to zoos). And none of those ever had a real destination--it was just for the experience of riding in a train, or to go around the zoo looking at the animals and end up back where you first started.

While I went on the St. Louis Zoo train fairly often as a little girl, if you only count the train rides I've taken since moving to Iowa at age 8, I've easily gone on far more train rides since coming to Japan than I have in my whole life previous. By the time I leave, I'll probably be able to say that, even counting my times on the zoo train. A side effect of this mix of train adoration and actually being able to ride them on a regular basis is that I basically can't stop smiling whenever I'm on a train. I look out the window at the world speeding by, at the ever-present mountains (which I absolutely adore) in the distance, and just feel this huge joy in my heart. The swaying and leaning of the cars on the track, the clacking of the rails beneath, and the hum of acceleration all do the same for me.

My absolute favorite moment, whether I'm inside a given train or not, is when it first starts going and leaving the station. There's this distinct note that plays when a train here starts moving; I feel like it must have something to do with the electricity that powers the train, but you only hear it when a train starts moving. By the time it leaves the station, you can't hear it anymore from inside the train, and not really anymore from outside, either. I don't know why it is, but I just absolutely love that particular sound so much. To me, it sounds like adventure, like having a place in mind to go to and going there.

Alright, I think I've fangirled about trains enough. I should probably get to the actual point of this post.

I think I mentioned in my Osaka trip post that when me and my friends traveled to Osaka, we had to change from a Keihan train line to a JR line. This is a fairly common thing in Japan. You see, JR (Japan Railways) is the giant in transportation here. They have stations and lines throughout the country, and operate every single freight train I've seen to date. However, there are areas where smaller transportation companies still have a large share of the daily travel done in the area. Keihan (a train and bus company) is an example of this in the area where I live. While the station nearest my homestay is a JR station (Nagao), the station nearest Kansai Gaidai is a Keihan station (Hirakatashi). The bus I use to get around on a daily basis, too, is owned and operated by Keihan. But by the time you get to Kyoto or Osaka, pretty much everything is JR again.

(An aside, "Osaka" is actually pronounced quite differently from how we say it in America. In Japanese, it's actually spelled as Oosaka, essentially, and the two Os are basically one and a half syllables. They're not fully said separately (like oh-oh) but they're not just perfectly strung together (like ohh) either. It's hard to explain in writing, but it's sorta of like saying two separate Os, but slurring them together. It's not the same as saying them separately or perfect together, but sort of in-between. Ohohsaka is basically the best way I can think of articulate the proper pronunciation in writing.)

One of the interesting things about different lines being owned by different companies is that to transfer lines, you often have to go to a different station than the one you originally get off your first train at. I hear in Tokyo, this sometimes amounts to having to actually leave one building and walk across the street to another. So far, in my experience, it usually just means having to walk from one part of a building to another (though, oftentimes, there'll be a decent-sized courtyard connecting the two areas). There'll still be signs all over the place with info for both lines on them, but they're still technically two different stations (though often with the exact same names).

While it can be a little frustrating at times having to deal with multiple companies (JR tickets usually cost a bit more than Keihan tickets, though not to a point that it's a real issue), I find it fascinating how well the companies usually seem to work together. Like I said, oftentimes the two stations are practically the same building, and you'll see directional signs listing both companies on the same sign. You can find screens with the timetables for JR trains in the Keihan area, and vice versa, so you can check when you need to be on your transfer train as you get off your first train. It's really so convenient.

Though, honestly, the train system in Japan is endlessly convenient in general. If you have an IC card (a preloaded funds card) all you have to do to pay for your tickets is scan your card at the gate on the way in and again on the way out, and it automatically deducts your fare. (As my host mom put it, you bin when you get on and bin again when you get off--bin being the sound the scanner makes when you scan your card--though she was referring to buses at the time, since IC cards work there too. You can even use some IC cards with vending machines or at stores; I bought a book at a bookshop using mine the other day.) When it comes to local trains (and sometimes even to bullet trains), your ticket (if you buy a physical ticket) isn't restricted by time. You can buy a ticket, eat lunch, and go on the fourth or fifth train going where you want to go, and there's not an issue. Oftentimes, the exact same sort of train (say, Local service to Such-and-Such or Rapid service to So-and-So) will come through every ten minutes, so if your bus is delayed by traffic, it's really not a big deal.

I'm taking my second bullet train trip ever to Hiroshima this Saturday, and then taking the bullet train back to Osaka just in time to travel to Tokyo to visit a friend of Morningside the next day (so, I have four bullet train trips planned in the next couple of weeks). Since I'm planning to have less luggage to deal with this time, I'm seriously looking forward to it. I'm hoping to be able to sit in a window seat this time, so I can actually get a few videos of the world rushing by outside for my littlest brother, who still has yet to completely finish his train mania phase.

Overall, the trains are just yet another facet of daily life in Japan that I find absolutely enthralling and enchanting, despite their total normality to all of the natives. One thing's for sure--when I go home, I am going to seriously, desperately miss being able to go anywhere in the country, anytime, with just a bin of my IC card and a spirit of adventure, with the beautiful note of the train pulling out of the station to sing me along my way.

The Pros and Cons of Living with a Host Family

Pros:

Your host mom truly becomes, in many ways, your surrogate mom for the time you're under her care. Depending on the society, maybe she doesn't hug you or pet your hair like your real mom does, but she shows her affection in her own ways. She pats your backpack when you head out for the day, reminds you to take an umbrella in case it rains like the forecast says it might, and tells you to take care. She slips up and calls you the society's version of a pet name on occasion, even though normally she takes care to call you by your real name in order to sound polite and respectful. If you tell her you especially enjoyed a dish, you notice she starts making it just often enough for you to realize she wants you to be able to enjoy your favorite meal fairly often. She tells you to run your heater even when you feel bad about the electricity usage, because she doesn't want you to get sick. She tells you not to forget your jacket, since it gets cool out still in the late afternoons when the sun starts setting. She gets excited when you tell her you did well on a test, and even more so when you tell her you made a new friend. If you make a mistake in the local language, she gently corrects it. She laughs whenever she discovers some new aspect of her home culture that you already know about and enjoy.

Your host dad is really a dad too. He laughs at things on the TV with you, and laughs even more when he realizes you're laughing too. He asks what you're working on for school, and when you show him, comments "That's tough... please do your best!" He tells you funny stories about things that are happening to the family's friends and at his work, oftentimes using funny voices. He teaches you interesting things about the culture. He gets overjoyed when you learn a local dialectal phrase and use it correctly.

Your host grandma is a grandma. She helps you when you have a crafts-y project you want to try and go to her to ask for advice--and when you thank her for her help, she tells you "it's my first time trying this too." She comments on how well you do everything--according to her, at least, you use chopsticks well, you play the piano well, you sing well, you fold origami well. She loves when you show her photographs of your family and home surroundings and tell her things about where you come from. She gives you a nickname and uses it often. She makes sure you get enough to eat and excitedly teaches you about different kinds of food.

Your host sisters are sisters. They sing duets with you of their favorite songs, letting you sing the English bits and singing the parts in other languages themselves. They sit on the floor and laugh at the TV with you, sometimes to the point where you're all dissolved in giggles and can't even see the TV anymore, leaving mom in the kitchen to comment "well, now EVERYONE is laughing!" They laugh when you make an obvious mistake in the language, but correct you nonetheless, and you know their laughter is all in good fun. Sometimes when they buy a snack while they're out, they buy an extra to bring home and give you, so you can try it too. They make you laugh with their antics--the way they make faces at their homework, the way they dance around the house together to their favorite songs.

Your host family is a family. They make you one of their own. They teach you their customs, their tastes, their celebrations, their language, their culture. They do what they can to make you feel at home. They support you in your life abroad. They do so much for you, and treat you so kindly, and really just make you feel like you belong.

Cons:

You know that after the months you spend living with them, laughing with them, eating with them, picking up their mannerisms, internalizing their faces, their smiles, their voices...

You'll probably never get to see them or even talk to them again.

A Quick Trip to Osaka

As I believe I've mentioned a few times, Hirakatashi is set almost exactly in-between Osaka and Kyoto. The only time I've spent in Kyoto so far is the day I traveled from Tokyo to here, but I can now say that I've spent an evening in Osaka. I meant to spend a day in Kobe and ended up spending a night there in preparation to do so, but upon waking up sick, I had to forego enjoying the Lunar New Year festival (one of Japan's three Chinatowns is in Kobe) with friends and go home instead. But hey, at least I can say now that I got to spend a really fun evening in Osaka.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned Zachary on here yet, but he's a friend I met in a McDonald's almost a month ago now and have been hanging out rather routinely with ever since. He's sort of connected me to his friend group at large, mainly through a Pokemon GO group chat on LINE, so pretty often when one of us has a plan to do something fun at least a few of the others will end up joining in.

Anyway, last Friday evening's trip to Osaka was born out of me stumbling over a "Watch It Again!" recommendation on YouTube. It was a thumbnail for a video for Uncle Rikuro's Cheesecakes, a sweet that went viral almost three years ago due to the fact it's a super fluffy and jiggly cheesecake.

"Huh," I murmured. "I wonder where that shop is."

Well, as luck would have it, it's not only in Osaka (a mere hour away from me by transit), but literally inside Osaka Station. So, suddenly in the mood for cheesecake, I hopped on the Pokemon GO group chat.

"Anyone up for going to Osaka this Friday after classes to get some cheesecake from this cool place in Osaka Station?" I linked the video for others to see.

Zachary answered right away. "I'm up for it." He and I share a class on Wednesdays and Fridays, which also just so happens to be our last class on Fridays, so it's pretty easy for us to hang out together then. We've made a couple of trips to a local multi-floor thrift store, the local two-story SEGA arcade, and now Osaka too because of this fact. "I'll reach out to a couple friends in other chats too and see if they're interested."

A couple minutes later, he asked, "Wait, how far away from the Umeda Sky Building is Osaka Station?"

A quick Maps search showed it's only about half a kilometer. When I let him know this, he got really excited. "We have to go there, too. That place sounds amazing."

"I'm up for it," I assured him, despite having no idea what the Umeda Sky Building is. A quick Google search told me it's the tallest building in Osaka, with an outdoors rooftop observation deck. It's not nearly as tall as the Tokyo Skytree, which I visited in January, but it's pretty amazing all the same.

And a few minutes later, he informed the group, "Guys! The Osaka Pokemon Center is in the station too!"

Welp, it looked like the evening was all planned for us now. Unfortunately, as it turned out, everyone in the Pokemon GO group chat had later classes that evening, but Zachary's friend Isobel said she could come. So the three of us made our way to Osaka Friday afternoon after class, rode up thirteen floors' worth of escalators to the Pokemon Center, and enjoyed looking around at all the plushies and toys and stuff there. Then, we walked over to the Umeda Sky Building and got in a line to get in an elevator that would take us to buy tickets to ride an escalator up the last few floors.

We stood in that first line for 45 minutes.

On the bright side, Zach and I were able to trade several Pokemon on Pokemon GO in the interim, and he was kind enough to hold my backpack for a bit (since I don't have a dorm and my homestay was out of the way, I had to carry mine all day, while he and Isobel dumped theirs off at the dorms before meeting me at the station. Since I had a bus pass, I took the bus there to save my knees as much as possible). But still, the wait was ridiculous.

Once we got out of that line, I thought it was time for the elevators, but no. We got into a smaller line that was waiting for the elevators.

Finally, after another fifteen minutes, we were in the elevators up to the 39th floor. From there, we each bought a ticket for ¥1500 (think $13.50, basically, at the current exchange rate which keeps skewing more and more in the dollar's favor by every week) and took the escalator up to the 42nd floor.

The view was... I don't want to exaggerate, but it was extraordinary. The wraparound windows revealed the by-now-night-shrouded city of Osaka glittering as far as the eye could see.

And then Isobel spotted the staircase up to the rooftop.

We all but sprinted up the stairs onto the roof. The roof in and of itself was a really cool space--there were black lights that caused the ground to glow like a starry sky, making it easy to see where the path was. Of course, a side effect of this was that everything white glowed. Zach was suddenly wearing glowing blue shoes--"I have Skechers! Yay!" he joked. My polka-dotted sweater was now gleaming all over the place.

But the view.

Wow.

I can't get my photos to my computer very easily at the moment (it's a long story), but I'll definitely post some of them here at some point, even if not till this summer. If you've been keeping up with my Facebook story, you saw some of them there. I also have a video of two trains crossing a huge bridge into Osaka in the dark.

The whole view was beautiful, and for whatever reason, the loudspeakers were quietly playing English pop songs. I sang along with a couple that I recognized, just for fun. Isobel spotted an area where couples were placing heart-shaped locks bearing their initials, high in the sky. We figured out that the gift shop sold the locks just for this purpose.

"Humans and our ridiculously intricate customs," Isobel observed.

As most people who know me well can attest to, one of my lesser-known talents is the ability to randomly spout deeper-than-it-needs-to-be nonsense off the top of my head sometimes when the moment calls for it. This, apparently, was one of those times.

"What would be the point of human existence if we didn't have our ridiculously intricate customs?" I asked quietly, leaning against the railing and surveying the starry-sky-like city around us.

Isobel fell silent for a moment. "Valid point," she agreed finally, emphatically, though with a bit stronger of language.

We finally headed down a bit later. Zach and I ended up at the tail end of a group that was ushered onto a long escalator down to the 37th floor that was encased in a wraparound window. When we got to the bottom, the escalator was empty, making for a perfect photo op. Isobel joined us in the line for the elevators down a few minutes later, and then we stood in that line for about twenty minutes.

"I don't see any stairs anywhere," I murmured. "What do we do if the building catches fire?"

"We die," Isobel offered helpfully.

"Or we could bust a window and jump out," Zach observed.

"And die," I muttered with a shudder.

"You either die or you die," Isobel shrugged.

"GUESS I'LL DIE," Zach, me, and several other foreign students/tourists mixed throughout the crowd replied in unison, striking the now-iconic meme's pose.

We got a few funny looks from non-English-speakers in the crowd, but we weren't loud enough to cause any real consternation, and aside from several laughs and finger-guns directed at each other in recognition of the fact that we all knew the same silly internet joke, we quickly went back to being as quiet as everyone else.

We finally made it back down to the ground level. In the basement of the building was an area designed to look like an outdoors restaurant district of Japan's past (unfortunately I was too tired and hungry to remember to take photos). We found an inexpensive pasta place there and enjoyed a really good dinner before heading back to Osaka Station to find our cheesecake.

Despite the fact that it was after 8 PM at this point, there was a line over twenty people long at Uncle Rikuro's. Thankfully, it was quick-moving, and while we waited, Zach and I got to watch the cheesecakes being made through a window. We each bought a hot-and-fluffy cheesecake fresh from the oven (for only ¥695, no less), and then it was time to head home for the night.

We all three took the train back to Kyobashi (a fairly big hub station that connects the JR lines and the Keihan line--a long story, that), but from there, Zach and Isobel headed back to Hirakatashi on a Keihan train, while I got on another JR line to the station nearest my homestay. I actually ended up in a women's-only car, and despite the fact that I've never once felt in any way endangered during my time here, I have to admit that I appreciated that car's existence. Going by the fact it was pretty crowded, I'm guessing the many other women inside it agreed with me.

The trip home was uneventful. I got on a bus at the train station, walked the rest of the way from the bus stop to my homestay, and delivered the still-warm cheesecake to my host mother to be refrigerated and eaten for dessert the next day.

And let me tell you, when we finally did eat it: it was a really dang good cheesecake.

"Good recommendation," Zach texted me Friday night when he tried his. "Very fluffy. Not too sweet."

So, even though the Umeda Sky Building ended up stealing the night overall, my initial idea to go try some jiggly cheesecake still proved meritorious in and of itself.

Amefuri no Toki

I’ll never quite understand people
Who say that they don’t like the rain.
Those who hide underneath their umbrellas,
And grunt that the weather’s a pain.

Because rain’s not just good for the planet,
But it’s also good for the soul.
In the same way it grows trees and flowers,
It helps to make my heart whole.

I’m glad I’m not that type of a person—
“Amefuri no toki, amari genki janai;”
No, “amefuri no toki ga daisuki” for me,
Underneath the lovely gray sky.

*"Amefuri no toki, amari genki janai (desu)." (Ah-meh foo-ree no toh-kee, ah-mah-ree gen-kee jah-nai dess.) (When it rains, I don't feel very energetic/well.)
*"Amefuri no toki ga daisuki (desu)." (Ah-meh foo-ree no toh-kee gah dai-ski dess.) (I love it when it rains.)

♫ I Want A Church Girl Who Goes to Church...♫

♫And reeeeeads her Biiiiiible♫

To anyone who has never experienced that particular vine, I apologize, but I had no idea what else to call this post.

Essentially, probably totally unsurprisingly to everyone who knows me at all, I did indeed manage to find a bilingual Christian congregation here, which I've been attending pretty regularly. The church, Agape International Christian Fellowship, only has about 15 people at service every Sunday (unsurprising since only 1% of the national population identifies as Christian), and as such, they don't have a church building, but meet in a city-owned room at the moment. Services consist of an hour of worship music (led by the pastor, Pastor Watahara, on the guitar and his wife on the flute), and about an hour of scripture study/preaching. Even though services are longer than the ones I'm used to back home, they don't feel as long for some reason.

As I mentioned, the service is bilingual. What this means is that worship songs are primarily sung in Japanese (which is printed on the song sheet in romaji (Roman letters) so I can easily sing along), but occasionally we'll sing a verse and chorus in English. (I save the song sheets since several of the songs are ones I know from home; I'll try to post a video to YouTube fairly soon of me singing a couple of worship songs in Japanese that fellow Morningsider Christians will recognize.) When reading the scriptures, the pastor will read a verse in English, and then immediately read it in Japanese. In the same way, in the sermon, he'll say a sentence in English, and then immediately say it in Japanese. It's a cool way to both practice my Japanese listening recognition skills and hear the Word of God.

There is one major interesting thing I've noticed about the Japanese take on Christianity that surprised me a little. First of all, you almost never see Japanese people get emotional, at least not in a negative sense. Even laughter is often restricted to the home if it's anything beyond a short laugh in most cases. You definitely never see someone crying in public, unless they're a very small child, in mortal agony, or have just lost a relative/good friend or something. It's just not done here. Even at home, crying is rare. Aya-chan banged her elbow good on a countertop the other day, let out a single cry, and curled over on herself, before taking a deep breath and standing back up with a big smile.

"Aya-chan daijoubu?" (You ok?) Mama asked.

"Hai-hai," (Yup-yup!) Aya-chan replied, and went back to making herself a snack.

That said, the only time I've ever seen Japanese people getting truly emotional is at church. I've only been to one communion service somehow so far (I'm not sure about their schedule for those), but when the pastor read the Words of Institution over the Holy Sacrament, he was teary and his voice was shaking. There were several people throughout the congregation sniffling, and it wasn't runny nose sniffling (I've learned good and well what that sounds like by now, since wiping/blowing your nose in public is frowned upon here). At first I was a little confused by the emotional reaction, mainly because it was so unexpected, but when I got back home and thought about it a little, I began to understand.

When you live in a country where Christianity is legal and fairly readily available to you, if you choose to go looking for it, and you yourself are a Christian but practically no one else you know is, well... I can see how it would become all the more precious. The Japanese have religious freedom, of course, so Christians aren't legally persecuted, per se, but... When what you believe to be the most important thing in the universe is rare in your home country, and you know that the vast, vast majority of people around you will never experience why it is so important to you... I can see how that would make it hard not to be emotional every time you get to experience it.

I kinda wish the American church were that enthusiastic and emotional over Christianity, still.

Unfortunately, for the lovely little church I've found, times aren't the best (from a worldly point of view, at least) right now. I'm not entirely sure why, but after the end of March, religious groups can no longer use local city buildings for meetings. So, the room they currently use, and the library (their backup location) are both off the table as of April 1st. They won't have anywhere to meet, and they're not sure where to go.

Last week, the pastor met with the director ("a very kind person," he said) of the building they typically meet in, and asked whether anything could be done to allow them to continue to meet there.

"Well, you're all very kind and polite people," said the director, "and no one else needs that room Sunday mornings anyway, so I really want you to be able to keep using it and doing exactly what you've been doing. So I tell you what--if you say you're just studying the Bible for knowledge and being a chorus group, I'll let you keep using the room another two years, no questions asked. You can keep doing exactly what you've been doing; you just have to say here and now that what you won't be doing is worshiping God. As long as you're not worshiping God, or at least, as long as you say you're not worshiping God, you can stay."

Of course, Pastor Watahara replied, "We can't say that."

So, as of April, they won't have anywhere to meet.

The pastor explained, "From a worldly point of view, this is the worst time for our church. It probably seems like God doesn't really care about us, that He's giving up on us as a church. But from a godly point of view, this is the best time for our church. God is leading us on a new journey of faith and trust."

The native members of the church are trying to figure out where to go, so to anyone who prays, we'd all appreciate prayer on that front. The people of this congregation are all very sweet and kind. Every week, they all take the time to shake my hand and greet me, even if some of them don't really know any English and I don't know enough Japanese to have a full, in-depth conversation with them. The pastor (who is, of course, fluent in English) always takes time to check in and ask how I've been over the past week. The first Sunday I worshiped with them, he told me, "The precious prayers of God's people have brought you to us from across the sea. He has a plan to bless you and others through you this semester. If you need any help with anything, please tell us; we are all God's family."

And then this past Sunday, as I was preparing to go, he told me, "I might not know you very well yet, but you are very polite and joyous, and we are all very happy to see you every Sunday when you walk in."

I beamed back and replied, "Hai, watashi wa ganbarimasu!" (Yes, I try my utmost/do my very best!), only for him to gently interrupt.

"No, I don't think you understand," he said. "What I mean is that your very being and spirit are very polite and joyous." He meant, "You don't have to ganbarimasu. You already are the thing you're striving to be."

I kinda wanted to burst into tears, but in good Japanese fashion, I just smiled brightly and thanked him several times before heading out.

I guess what I really want to say overall is, God bless Pastor Watahara and the people of AICF. I hope and pray they find another place to meet soon.

Happy Artificial Holiday Day!

As everyone probably knows, I tend to be a little bit salty about Valentine's Day. Growing up, my siblings and I called it Chocolate Day, because our parents gave us chocolate candy every year to celebrate. Now that I'm grown, I find the whole "holiday" to be a little silly--Why only do loving things for your s/o once a year? Why not be loving year round?--and the fact that I've never had experience with having a so-called Valentine makes it a little hard for me to understand the hype.

That said, I'll still always enjoy the day for being Chocolate Day, and I'll still always send all of my internet friends meme Valentine cards that seem semi-threatening in a goofy way. (e.g., last week I sent one friend a "card" of a Kirby character exclaiming "Happy Valentines Day! I promise I'll never eat your soul!" that I found on Twitter. They loved it.)

Surprisingly to some people, Valentine's Day is just as big a day in Japan and East Asia as it is in the States/Europe, possibly even bigger. Everyone is highly aware when Valentine's Day is coming up, especially the moms and grandmas who are responsible for helping their elementary-through-junior-high schoolers make homemade treats for everyone in their class.

In my homestay family, Mama and Aa-chan (Grandma; a shortened form of Obaasan/Obaachan, grandmother) made little cakes for everyone in both daughters' classes. I attempted to help but mostly just ended up giggling every time the mixer broke down and I and Aa-chan would scold it. "It's not very kind," ("amari yasashikunai desu ne,") I added helpfully, which thankfully, the whole family found quite amusing.

And, of course, Rimi-chan and Aya-chan brought home treats from all of their classmates, a few of which (and one little cake) they gave to me with a little post-it note that said "Dear リズ" (Rizu being the nickname given to me by Aa-chan the week after Setsubun).

(And on the subject of nicknames, Mama called me "Erizabesu-chan" the other day, which just about made my day. Ever since I've been walking around thinking "I am the smart and cute protagonist of my own anime and abso-freakin-lutely nobody is allowed to make me feel bad about myself." It's nice to feel self-confident for once.)

But beyond grade school, Valentine's Day is still a serious matter over here. You see, Valentine's Day actually goes hand-in-hand with a March holiday known as White Day. You can't really have one without the other.

Valentine's Day is the day when girls high-school-aged-and-up give homemade treats (usually chocolates they've molded into cute shapes) to the boys they like/have crushes on, oftentimes as a quiet way to confess. White Day is the boys' turn to reciprocate--if a boy gives you chocolates/treats back, congrats, he likes you. If you never hear anything else about it after Valentine's Day, well... Better luck next time, I guess.

But the point here is that Valentine's Day is a day for girls to take action when it comes to matters of the heart. Which, overall, is pretty different from the way it works in the States.

Funnily enough, this difference led to a group of single American young women giving our South Korean professor a brief crash course in United States Valentine's Day.

First of all, a brief word about Professor Chang. As I mentioned, he's South Korean, and so far I know he's fluent in English, Japanese, Chinese, and that he knows at least some Russian and French. He might be fluent in those too; I don't know for sure. He used to work for the South Korean government, and was part of the Six Party Talks that up until a few years ago were attempting to persuade our jolly friends the Kims of North Korea to not build nukes. Since that, fairly obviously, has fallen through, he's now started teaching about nuclear weapons at the college level. So, I'm taking nuclear weapons class with him this semester.

(Also interesting is that, before the Six Party Talks, he was part of the branch of government in charge of keeping track of which South Korean citizens were currently abroad and whether or not they made it safely home when expected. "We lose three or four citizens to India every year," he told us, "whether by death or just disappearance. India's not a safe place. Don't go to India. If you have to go to India, whatever you do, absolutely never drink the water outside of a hotel." Considering the things my best friend's boyfriend (an Indian citizen) has said about India, I think Professor Chang's advice is pretty solid.)

Anyway, on Valentine's Day, I had class with Professor Chang, and after class, as most of the guys had left and a few of us girls were taking our time getting our backpacks re-packed and ready to go, someone coming in for her class afterwards mentioned, "Today is Valentine's Day."

Professor Chang agreed, "So it is," and then asked in surprise, "They have that in the United States? Is it a big deal?"

We single-and-salty American ladies gave each other a look somewhere along the lines of "oh boy."

"Yeah, but it's pretty different," I started off. "Here, it's more about girls doing things. In the US, it's more like... guys giving flashy gifts to girls they're already in relationships with."

"And then the girls bragging about the gifts all over social media and making every girl who doesn't have a boyfriend feel bad," another girl chimed in.

About this time an American guy came in for his next class (otherwise, it was just a bunch of female students at this point) and sat down at a desk to listen.

"It's also a time when you hear single people complain a lot," I added. "Some people jokingly call it Singles Awareness Day."

"So you have to already be in a relationship to celebrate?" Professor Chang clarified.

A round of nods. "Basically," a girl agreed.

"The week before Valentine's Day, you see a bunch of memes online that say things like 'If anybody likes me, they need to tell me now!'" I added.

The professor nodded. "I can see why that would make sense, if you have to already be in a relationship."

All of us girls kinda sighed and nodded.

Professor Chang turned to the one guy in the room. "Sounds like you need to get some chocolates or something for the ladies."

The guy laughed in embarrassment. "Yeah, I guess so."

Anyway, shortly after that I left, but it was still funny. I think the funniest part was how odd Professor Chang found it that Valentine's Day in the States is more about bragging about what you already have, and less about confessing to someone that you like them.

Of course, people who are already couples tend to celebrate on Valentine's Day here, too; they just tend to be a bit subtler than in the States (where you're all but guaranteed to see at least twelve posts on Instagram featuring a girl being noisily given a giant stuffed animal in the middle of a school somewhere. It's almost as bad as promposal season, I swear).

Overall, though, I think I like Valentine's Day better over here. It's less of an opportunity to show off in a materialistic fashion, and more a time to actually tell someone you like them for the first time. And honestly, I think that's pretty sweet.

It's still just Chocolate Day for me, though. I bought myself a Valentine's Day Kirby collector's tin of several little chocolates, which I enjoyed eating while listening to music that evening. And that's cool too.