GAETSS, Update 5
EXCERPTS FROM MY REAL LIFE DIARY
September 1, 2008
… To be honest, however, I can’t believe I’m really going to be living here for four months. I don’t think it’s going to sink in until I’m on my way back to Minnesota.
September 6, 2008
… To get this half of me to shut the hell up, I’ve made a promise to myself, in writing.
…
I used to be interested in the unattainable precisely because it was such. But really, truly want this. For keeps. And that scares me.
November 9, 2008
… When I talked about the sakura this weekend, he held my from behind. I’ve never felt closer to anyone in my life, and so far away from myself. They said just my existence is powerful. I feel like these people actually love me. I sometimes can’t even do the favor of loving them.
November 13,
… Needless to say, I feel foolish, immature, and ever-so-slightly like my…bubble has been burst.
Rocking out,
Corporal Captain Awkward
December 11, 2008
… I’ll never re-adjust to being the rock rather than the stormy sea.
…
What good is there to return to? Broken friendships, empty beds.
STILL SEARCHING
Apparently I exist in bold lines and bright colors; a huge red bag with white polka dots; an absurdly patterned shirt; neon yellow; blue tights; green pencils and Rilakkuma accessories. The longer I’m here, the more I feel like those things are no longer meant for me. On the outside, I’m the over-excited, rambunctious puppy of my group (as per Lisa’s inadvertent suggestion, perhaps no longer to be called the Core). I go boldly where other people wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, often just to prove that I can. Someone else made the plans to take the bus, but I’m the one who has to ask driver tell us when the hell to get off his ride and start enjoying our fucking lives.
In so many ways, I feel like I’ve evolved painstakingly and purposefully into that person. That is Joanna, and Joanna is me. But when I sit down and begin to write here, or in either of my journals (because really, don’t kid yourselves, my LiveJournal has nothing to do with what’s written in my real journal and even this is filtered to protect the guilty), I don’t know who is writing. She’s scared of what’s to come, terrified of losing and making mistakes, of not understanding.
As sure as I was when I started writing this that I had “found” myself, I’ve begun to question that. On some level, I think much of it is because I was in denial about going through the ridiculous phases of culture shock. Of course I haven’t been on an emotional roller-coaster for no apparent reason. But now, five minutes removed from the crying wreck I was while I wrote to my grandmother, I see that I’m no exception to those particular psychological rules. My culture shock may not have manifested as annoyance with local customs or feelings of distance from my home culture, but it has certainly accompanied me here.
But in my time in Japan, looking back as far as September and as recently as this morning, I realize that every day is a little culture shock of its own. A shock because every time I look in the mirror I see a different version of me (incidentally, thanks, Fiona Apple), because I never know what I’m going to be the next time. Am I a different person when I step into the ladies room during dinner with friends than I am when I brush my teeth at the upstairs sink in my homestay?
Hours ago, for the past few weeks, never, have I realized just what it means to be a human. I’m not just a purpose or direction, a collection of skin and bones, emotions. I’m not divorced from the context of every changing minute. I am neither the music I listen to nor the things I aspire to be. Or I am, but I can change. I can change when I want to, when I put on a smiling face as I arrive at CJS in the morning, when I allow myself to cry over my insecurities about returning home. Perhaps the changes aren’t something to fear (but not necessarily something to embrace, either). I feel as though there’s an adage that fits my realization here, something to the effect of: If I ceased to change, I would cease to exist.
So maybe I will adopt some Eastern philosophy. I think I’m beginning to see that it is the journey and not the destination. At moments I’m frustrated, scared, horny, nostalgic, elated, but those moments won’t last forever. If I don’t start looking into that uncertain future, I’ll never get there, no matter what happens along the way or how it all ends. Maybe now I can stop being afraid of going home and accept that just like coming to Japan did, going back will change me. But it won’t take away anything I’ve had. Relationships will change, I’ll continue looking in mirrors, but not even the future can take away the things I love about now.