people are wonderful
Months ago, though it seems like years - wait, WAS this last fall?... - I was walking back from the local train stop, down a small footpath laid out straight through the rice fields. A ceremony ground for the local temple sits on a slightly raised patch of earth beside it. There was an older Japanese man leaning against the grounds fence overlooking the footpath, watching me go by. I was tired from trekking to and from the grocery store two towns down the train tracks, and working up a good case of the grumps, so I was inclined to tromp past and silently resent the staring, of which I'd grown kinda tired lately.
But the man called out a greeting, and out of habit I stopped to answer back as politely as I could manage, and found myself looking up into a face as serene as the Buddha under his tree. We made small talk about small matters, and parted ways, and it's probably one of the first memories I have from this time around in Japan of being engaged with not as a Foreigner or a White Woman or even Person In The Street but as a human being. The guy just had this easiness of manner and warmth of expression that suggested he'd happily strike up an interaction with pretty much anyone in the same way, because life is short and all differences aside people are people. I very much wanted to be like that man, or at least something like his inverse - the kind of person anyone would feel comfortable talking to.
I don't think I'm there yet. But the night of the art show's closing, I spent the entire graciously-offered car ride from Nagoya to halfway back chatting with L, an Englishlady with whom I am now engaged to spend a night out in Osaka and facilitate her first host-club experience.
On the way to her Reiki healing table at today's spiritual convention, on the Nagoya subway, I was startled out of daydreaming by the sounds of Kansai-ben and an old woman's hand running over my leg. She repeatedly exclaimed to both me and her equally-little-old&wrinkly husband over the softness and prettiness of my long, cotton, peacock feather pattern skirt, emphasizing the point with frequent pats; then handed me a small advert for a farmer's market they were headed to and told me I should go 'cause they gots good deals. No "So which country ya from?" or "My my your Japanese is wonderful isn't it," just "Wow you got a nice skirt there, and hey have you heard about this thing in town?"
And after receiving my first Reiki healing from L, and conversing with her friend about art and life, I nervously headed across the city to keep the lunch appointment I'd made with business-guy who'd wandered by my artstuffs at the show and invited me to meet his family. "Lunch" extended out to four hours, as we ate second and third helpings and talked about religion, politics and war, family and education, and some more about religion and their particular Muslim community. It was founded in the late 19th century on the premise that the two key commands of the Qur'an are as follows: exalt God, and love your fellow human beings. All of them. Period.
I have never felt so at home as a stranger in a strange place. I have never met a family so exemplary of the best qualities in the human family.
Now there's a miniature hand-woven rug from Pakistan on my tatami mat floor, as thick as a horse's coat and the same roughly soft texture.
But the man called out a greeting, and out of habit I stopped to answer back as politely as I could manage, and found myself looking up into a face as serene as the Buddha under his tree. We made small talk about small matters, and parted ways, and it's probably one of the first memories I have from this time around in Japan of being engaged with not as a Foreigner or a White Woman or even Person In The Street but as a human being. The guy just had this easiness of manner and warmth of expression that suggested he'd happily strike up an interaction with pretty much anyone in the same way, because life is short and all differences aside people are people. I very much wanted to be like that man, or at least something like his inverse - the kind of person anyone would feel comfortable talking to.
I don't think I'm there yet. But the night of the art show's closing, I spent the entire graciously-offered car ride from Nagoya to halfway back chatting with L, an Englishlady with whom I am now engaged to spend a night out in Osaka and facilitate her first host-club experience.
On the way to her Reiki healing table at today's spiritual convention, on the Nagoya subway, I was startled out of daydreaming by the sounds of Kansai-ben and an old woman's hand running over my leg. She repeatedly exclaimed to both me and her equally-little-old&wrinkly husband over the softness and prettiness of my long, cotton, peacock feather pattern skirt, emphasizing the point with frequent pats; then handed me a small advert for a farmer's market they were headed to and told me I should go 'cause they gots good deals. No "So which country ya from?" or "My my your Japanese is wonderful isn't it," just "Wow you got a nice skirt there, and hey have you heard about this thing in town?"
And after receiving my first Reiki healing from L, and conversing with her friend about art and life, I nervously headed across the city to keep the lunch appointment I'd made with business-guy who'd wandered by my artstuffs at the show and invited me to meet his family. "Lunch" extended out to four hours, as we ate second and third helpings and talked about religion, politics and war, family and education, and some more about religion and their particular Muslim community. It was founded in the late 19th century on the premise that the two key commands of the Qur'an are as follows: exalt God, and love your fellow human beings. All of them. Period.
I have never felt so at home as a stranger in a strange place. I have never met a family so exemplary of the best qualities in the human family.
Now there's a miniature hand-woven rug from Pakistan on my tatami mat floor, as thick as a horse's coat and the same roughly soft texture.