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.