Memoirs of a sensei, part one

ACROSS THE WORLD
Memoirs of a sensei
(Excerpts from my journal entries dated June 26, 1997 - June 29, 1997 on the tenth anniversary of my departure for Japan. More excerpts to come.)

ONE: The way I feel

“Somehow let me say how I feel. I think you’d take my hand if you could understand the way I feel.” (N. Honeytree)

Flight.
My weary swollen half-drugged eyes crack open. Blood shot, tear-streaked eyes. The reading light glares above me and it seems to have zapped all the energy from my just-turned-23-years-old body. I’ve always been paranoid of flying overseas because I think the worst place to crash would be in an ocean…the unfathomable depth, the inability to rescue yourself since no land is in sight, the interminable wait for the sharks to come looking for breakfast. How morbid. But it’s true I think. If a plane should crash on land at least there’s a hope of survival and the possibility of walking to a payphone to call for help. Ok, maybe not. But it’s my birthday so I’m allowed to exaggerate. It’s funny though, because if I’m going to drown to death on this flight, it won’t be in the ocean that stretches endlessly beneath me, it’ll be in a pool of my own tears. I’ll probably shrivel up from the saline water that drenches my face sooner than I’ll be eaten by sharks. Hmmmm. Comforting thought.

Staring at the airline logo on the paper bag in front of me, I wish myself a happy 23rd birthday and wonder, God, what the hell am I doing? I just left everything I know and love, and that knows and loves me, behind - in the only place I’ve ever known. Why exactly am I doing this to myself? Some invisible invincible force has wrenched me away against my will it seems. I didn’t choose this, I couldn’t have.

Although I’m emotionally stable for the moment, I have this ominous feeling that once I reach Tokyo I’ll lose it again. This is the wildest situation I’ve ever been in….there’s no telling how I’ll react when the plane touches down on the other side of the world. Ever since the plane lost contact with Canadian soil, I’ve felt myself being stretched. I am “different” for the first time ever. I feel so unsure of myself and of everyone around me.

I can see the shadow of the plane on the blanket of clouds underneath me. I hope the clouds will protect me from the water below since they can’t protect me from my own tears.

Arrival.
Sitting alone in the Tokyo airport. When we broke through the clouds and I saw land, it looked so different from what I had expected. From the little I’ve been told of this place I was imagining infrastructure as far as the eye could see. Zero land, zero space. But I was so wrong. There are the same patchwork squares of land joining together into the quilt that is Japan. Not so different from home.

It hasn’t taken me long to notice how much I stick out here. The lack of foreigners isn’t bothering me so much…it’s the language barrier that is frustrating. Communication is one of my strengths, so I really hate being unable to make use of that strength now. I hate being illiterate. It’s a good thing the signs here in the Tokyo airport are bilingual. One more flight and a bus ride until I can go to sleep and dream of home.

Saga.
I made it. I’m here. Lying in my new bed (a futon), in the middle of my new room (with tatami floors). It’s much easier to believe that everything will be ok now that I’m surrounded by people who have already done it and survived. Now I know it can be done, I just have to find the courage and the creativity to do it myself.

Every few seconds the “why” demon flits in and out and my stomach turns. I have to remind myself during the seconds in between that the whole point of this experience is to TRY. Not to be guided or to depend too much on other people for direction. To learn. To experiment. To explore.

Kanpai…