Since about two weeks ago, I've been getting daily updates on what's happening in the Japanese news. It's rather shocking that I went 10 months in Japan without knowing more than the local weather report, but from living in SA, I know that your quality of life can be higher if you do not keep yourself updated with the news.
The news in Japan is different though -
The sad side is the suicides. Almost every day, there is news of family suicides, teenage suicides, group suicides. It's a popular way out. And in Japanese fashion, they seem to be on a mission to perfect the act. In this week's news, a 47-year old man killed his mother, then himself. Another bulletin featured a JR (Japan Rail) worker who left his suicide note on the platform before jumping in front of a bullet train in Osaka, screwing up the system for about 4 hours. The honorary award for creativity though, goes to a 50-year old man in Nagoya. He tied a rope around a tree, strung it through the back window of his car, tied it around his neck and hit the accelerator. Kinda like pulling a tooth, only bloodier.
That's the creepy side.
In other news, people have been giving away money.
In April, a man trew 57 10,000Yen bills from a bridge, in order to "vent frustration about work" (you get'em, tiger). Three months later, the man who did this strange crime was identified, and the police publicly requested the return of his money. So far, 47 of the 57 bills have been returned. The others probably haven't heard the request yet.
More recently, someone has been wrapping 10,000 Yen bills in white paper, and leaving it in municipal buildings. A few months ago, free money was popping up in cemetaries in Osaka and Hyogo. No one knows who is doing this, or why, but the money carries the message: "Please make use of this as a provision for ascetic practices".
So far, 545 bills have been found. And by that I mean returned to the police.
'Tis a strange country, this.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
The 17th Space Children Gathering
Every golden week, as hordes of omiyage-seeking Japanese families chase their way around Japan in search of the perfect picture and the local delicacies, a small handful of people find their way to Kyushu and go off the beaten track. In a small town called Akamizu-cho, the train line from Kumamoto-shi ends. Only few kilometers from this final train station, a steep windy road snakes through trees, past a golf course and shrines, and opens up to a natural reserve. And that's where you'll find the Niji no misaki matsuri, a just-add-rain community, a small piece of paradise.
After a long, exhausting drive from Okayama-ken, we finally made it to the festival. We paid our entrance fee and chose the gemstones we wanted our entrance necklaces to be made from. Cars and tents created a little village, with teepees, stalls and festival-goers keeping it all together. I could see the stage from afar – a small, intimate stage, with the longest pieces of bamboo I've ever seen tied together at the top to form a roof. Next to it, a koinobori was flapping in the wind, a sign that kodomo no hi was just around the corner.
The van was parked, the beers opened, and the camping chairs broken in. Night was falling though, so grudgingly we put up our tents while the boys tried to get a fire going. With only a lighter and some coal it proved to be tricky, but within a few minutes our new neighbors were huddled around the barbeque, contributing all sorts of flammable materials. And so started a continuous theme through the weekend – without asking for anything in return, random strangers shared their food, their drinks, their ganja, drums, camping equipment, ideas.. they pushed cars out of the mud, looked after each others' kids, provided shelter from the rain, organized lifts for those traveling on luck, passed on their knowledge and skills.. and everyone smiled when you looked at them.
But a festival is not a festival without some good tunes. By the second day, with a light but persistent rain, the area in front of the stage had virtually turned into mud pit. Not that this deterred the party people from stomping hard onto the ground. Some donned gumboots, others just gave up on shoes and let the rich volcanic mud paint their feet black up to the ankles. I remember looking down and thinking: "I haven't been this dirty since I was 6 years old." And just after that, someone gave me free ice cream. It was beautiful.
Music for the festival was provided by an array of diverse artists, including a 7-man "let's-jam" outfit who rocked the stage with 60's sounding beats that led to spontaneous dancing while grinning, a rock trio with a front man who looked more like a front girl, a gaijin hippy lady wearing a patchwork dress crooning with her guitar, beautiful belly dancers who hypnotized the crowd with their liquid hip movements (and then gave a crash course from the stage), ギター パンダ who later transformed into Elvis, more jembe drums than you could shake a bamboo at and an outfit called "seikatsu circus".
Truthfully, I can say that it was one of the best weekends I've had in Japan, if not in my life. It's a side of Japan that not everyone gets to see, where there are no foreigner/Japanese barriers, where people treat you like an old friend, and where you can join the fundoshi revolution if you are so inclined. With Mount Aso in the background, surrounded by bamboo forests and the smell of food and fire, you can be, just be. Without prejudice, worries or shoes.
After a long, exhausting drive from Okayama-ken, we finally made it to the festival. We paid our entrance fee and chose the gemstones we wanted our entrance necklaces to be made from. Cars and tents created a little village, with teepees, stalls and festival-goers keeping it all together. I could see the stage from afar – a small, intimate stage, with the longest pieces of bamboo I've ever seen tied together at the top to form a roof. Next to it, a koinobori was flapping in the wind, a sign that kodomo no hi was just around the corner.
The van was parked, the beers opened, and the camping chairs broken in. Night was falling though, so grudgingly we put up our tents while the boys tried to get a fire going. With only a lighter and some coal it proved to be tricky, but within a few minutes our new neighbors were huddled around the barbeque, contributing all sorts of flammable materials. And so started a continuous theme through the weekend – without asking for anything in return, random strangers shared their food, their drinks, their ganja, drums, camping equipment, ideas.. they pushed cars out of the mud, looked after each others' kids, provided shelter from the rain, organized lifts for those traveling on luck, passed on their knowledge and skills.. and everyone smiled when you looked at them.
But a festival is not a festival without some good tunes. By the second day, with a light but persistent rain, the area in front of the stage had virtually turned into mud pit. Not that this deterred the party people from stomping hard onto the ground. Some donned gumboots, others just gave up on shoes and let the rich volcanic mud paint their feet black up to the ankles. I remember looking down and thinking: "I haven't been this dirty since I was 6 years old." And just after that, someone gave me free ice cream. It was beautiful.
Music for the festival was provided by an array of diverse artists, including a 7-man "let's-jam" outfit who rocked the stage with 60's sounding beats that led to spontaneous dancing while grinning, a rock trio with a front man who looked more like a front girl, a gaijin hippy lady wearing a patchwork dress crooning with her guitar, beautiful belly dancers who hypnotized the crowd with their liquid hip movements (and then gave a crash course from the stage), ギター パンダ who later transformed into Elvis, more jembe drums than you could shake a bamboo at and an outfit called "seikatsu circus".
Truthfully, I can say that it was one of the best weekends I've had in Japan, if not in my life. It's a side of Japan that not everyone gets to see, where there are no foreigner/Japanese barriers, where people treat you like an old friend, and where you can join the fundoshi revolution if you are so inclined. With Mount Aso in the background, surrounded by bamboo forests and the smell of food and fire, you can be, just be. Without prejudice, worries or shoes.
The original document
What will follow is the original story I wrote for the Okayama JET publication, The Fuzzy Peach. Not that it's in any way a literary achievement.. it's like a community newspaper. Hey, it keeps up the illusion that I get mail.
So yesterday while cleaning, I picked up the Fuzzy which featured my memories of Golden Week. I never read my article in the magazine cause, well, I knew what it was about. However, yesterday I read it for the first time, to notice to my horror that the article was mangled beyond recognition, and dumbass spelling mistakes appeared where I never would have left them. Would I ever spell "tent" as "tenet"? I don't think so.
After being silently offended all on my own, I got to school this morning to hear my JTE say: "Oh, I found your evaluation sheet but, Marilu, you made a spelling mistake. Memorisation is spelled with a z."
I'm done with arguing about "MY WAY" vs "The American Way", so, what the hell, let's spell it with a z.
I digress.
Next post to follow will be the article of the last bestest time on earth I had.
peace out.
So yesterday while cleaning, I picked up the Fuzzy which featured my memories of Golden Week. I never read my article in the magazine cause, well, I knew what it was about. However, yesterday I read it for the first time, to notice to my horror that the article was mangled beyond recognition, and dumbass spelling mistakes appeared where I never would have left them. Would I ever spell "tent" as "tenet"? I don't think so.
After being silently offended all on my own, I got to school this morning to hear my JTE say: "Oh, I found your evaluation sheet but, Marilu, you made a spelling mistake. Memorisation is spelled with a z."
I'm done with arguing about "MY WAY" vs "The American Way", so, what the hell, let's spell it with a z.
I digress.
Next post to follow will be the article of the last bestest time on earth I had.
peace out.
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