Thursday, March 27, 2008

Spring's Encroachment

There are seasons in Japan. Growing up in Southern California, it is hard to notice the changing of the seasons, since they are not very different from each other. But yes, friends, Japan has seasons and they live in them quite happily. The most common topic starter of conversations is usually some comment on the state of the weather.
Rainy, cold, foggy winter weather---寒いですね。Cold, isn't it?
Warm, sunny breezey--いい天気ですね?Good weather, isn't it?
hot, humid, summer---あついですね?Hot, isn't it?

I admire the relationship that the Japanese hold with the seasons, and spring is by far my favorite.

In Mr. Hepler's senior English class, we were forced to read Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales". At the time, I had no appreciation for literature. Don't get me wrong, I now find Chaucer to be quite close-minded and just merely a product of his generation. The introductory lines of the prologue describes the onset of Spring, but words, however famous or beautiful, cannot compare to riding your bike down the roads watching the newly sprouted flowers attacking the trees.


THE PROLOGUE
'Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye'

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And this is only the beginning.

To google or not to google: The Widget Factor

If I were more organized, I wouldn’t have problems such as:
--losing my internet due to 4 months of unpaid bills
--being unable to reopen my account due to losing the USB disk storage keychain that I must send back with the modem in order to get it fixed
--losing my keitai while jumping over a fence
--being unable to pinpoint the approximate timeline of when I last removed the clutter of my brown shoulder bag.

The last item doesn’t seem like much of a problem at all, I know. However, last night, during my attempts to reposition my belongings in order to create an environment condusive for mental clarity, I came about a most unusual item.

Finding a square inch origami-style folded paper at the bottom of my bag , shortly suspended my cleaning binge. It tumbled awkwardly among my fingers as my mind wavered between two thoughts.
What the fuck is THIS?
How the hell do you open this thing?

Luckily, my curiosity surpassed my annoyance with the cleverly folded object, and it began to make its way open. The curiosity became stronger once I realized it was a photocopied ½ sized A4 paper printed in Japanese. Once I flipped it to its backside, my interest had heightened. Fuck ya, English!

Twas written:

[I read a kind letter from a woman who describes herself as a 56-year-old housewife concerning my last article “The Widget Factor”. She writes, “I had not known the word “widget”…But when I read your article, I thought, “That’s it.” Before the war, she says, “There were many good phases such as taru o shiru * ….In this affluent society, precious words such as ‘contentment’ or ‘gratitude’ now seem to be left behind.
What will become of Japan?
What indeed? Of course, taru o shiru was a slogan before the war because the country’s rulers wanted to channel economic surplus into war preparations. Today, taru o shirazu* * is promoted (by advertising, etc) because they want to channel the people’s share of the surplus into commodity purchase rather than into free time.
Why don’t they want the people to have free time? First, because they can’t make money from it. (Of course, much money is made from the leisure industry, but I’m talking about free time, not industrialized play.) Second, because free time is hard to predict and control.
At the beginning of the Industrial Revolution Benjamin Franklin coined the slogan, “Time is money” to convince people that every moment not spent earning or preparing to earn money is wasted. In this century, the advertising industry has added the slogan “Freedom is buying.” The two seem contradictory, but together they form the basis of the workaholic/buyaholic personality that is the driving force of economic growth.
The first step to liberating oneself from this workaholic/buyaholic cycle is to reverse Franklin’s slogan: “Money is time.” Don’t buy widgets, buy time. Not industrialized, managed “leisure” time, but free time.
Free time to do what? What will become of Japan may depend on how that question is answered.

*to know how much is enough
**not to know how much is enough]

I read it again once I realized the cleverly placed astracized definitions at the bottom of the page. Of course, the thoughts I have now are “When, where from, and how did this strange message make its way onto the bottom corner of my bag?”

However at the time, I was lost in the message. I reflected over the cause of my urge to even undertake this activity of recreating a sense of order in my life. I have been feeling lost and floaty, disappointed in the way I lose touch with the realities of the world and how these realities affect my financial security and preparations for the future. Interacting with others who do not share my inadequacies in securing the comfortableness of their future had influenced the half of me that acts as the adult of this crazy ship I sail within. I am grateful for these influences, for without them—who knows how far off course I might flounder before the storm emerges.

On the other hand, the message shook something in me. Is it true that money is time? Which is the way to live happily? Is happy even the goal? Should it be? Which is better-to save and wait for the future, or to indulge in the now? The safe and obvious choice is to create a balance. However, then circumstances begin to complicate things. Thus things become a circular argument, and so I must digress.

So today arrives. And if I have recognized any patterns of how life works, then tomorrow will also come. But how many tomorrows? What will I need then? What will I wish for then? What regrets will I find on those mornings?
Continuing survival is an inherent trait of all living things, while memories and happiness are all but human ideas that philosophers have dreamt up and taught their offspring.

To hunt, gather, and be happy.

What the fuck is the widget factor anyway? I don’t know, and I am afraid to find out. First they tampered with my bag, and then my mind. If I follow in curiosity’s direction, I may not find the answer, and be left unsatisfied. I believe that fear must be conquered, and its only source of existence lies in the unknown. However, some unknowns will never be known. “What shall I do, wave?”

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Who are we?

Jung has classified me, through a series of binary questionaires, as a IIFP: Introverted Intuitive Feeling Perceiving .

My Type----It was ridiculously accurate. And I was quite stricken by the fact that only 1 percent of the population has this archetype. I wasn't sure if I should feel special or freakish.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INFP

If you wanna figure out your type--you will be amazed at how simply you can be catorgorized.
http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

Main Types---If you just want a synopsis of each type of person.
http://www.socionics.com/main/types.htm


I already knew my tendencies for shyness, caution for others, and my preference for conversing with and entertaining myself. I enjoy staying quiet and watching others, listening to others, learning about and analyzing the characters within my field. I have a lot of friends, but never all together, at one time. It has always taken people a long time to grow fond of me. I like to pick and choose the people that I will love for life.
I am a letter writer.
I am a birthday rememberer.
I take and keep pictures with me everywhere I travel. And I travel a lot.
But I’ve never been popular. Never the lifeblood of a party, or even a situation. As Jung has determined, I am an IIFP.

Why would I tell you this, here and now, on this 26th of March, 2008? Why indeed!

Jung and his ideas took hold on me for the first time in religion class, 12th grade. My hippy teacher, who used to claim that her husband looks like Morrissey, made us all take personality tests. These tests were to determine which of the 16 archetypes we reflected in our daily lives.

I became disenchanted with the assignment when the calculated score reported that I was NOT a #4. I was not an artist. Up until then, that is what I thought of myself as. Though I was never terribly good at drawing or painting, they were always things that gave me great joy. In 2nd grade, I remember sitting alone in the sandbox, drawing intricate mazes. It gave me much pleasure to fill an 8.5 X 11 paper, front and back with tight corners and T junctions, circles and swirls, boobytraps---never allowing the path to reach an end. I remember my best friend at the time, Nicole, who was deaf, tore up my maze when she discovered my trickery. She’s the reason that I know the alphabet in American Sign Language. I’ll teach you if you’re ever interested.

Jung determined that I was a #2. Number 2, I thought, that’s shit!!!! Both literally and figuratively. The 2nd archetype was “the caregiver”. I never did, and still haven’t paid any mind to the emotional connections I have with myself and even less with others.
“This is shit” was my lasting impression.

And so I grew up a little. I went off to college, graduated, had jobs, traveled---and now, well now, I live in Japan. Working as an ALT, as a 28-year-old, is quite interesting. I am about a college experience, sometimes even an undergrad and graduate experience ahead of the majority of my peers.

However, to combat the age difference is the fact that I am extremely immature and childlike. My social skills have always been a bit stunted, so the age difference rarely affects my ability to fit in perfectly it these freshly-graduated youngsters.

But back to Jung! It was through him that I learned of the existence of archetypes. At the time when I was introduced to this concept, everyone was new. There were druggy extroverts, nerdy introverts, philosophers who were beautiful and popular, dorks with social skills, naturists, lovers, haters, everything and everyone---my adolescence and young adulthood had them all.

Or so I had thought. Then I moved to Berkeley. It took me all 4 years to come to an understanding of all the people I met in that city. And, there are still some that I’m still waiting to understand. Now that I live in Japan, I’ve become friends with both the visitors and natives. I have only barely realized that people really do fall into archetypes.

Obviously, it is ridiculous to say that just because a person reminds you of people from your past, that there is no originality or things to be learned from these new friends. People are still unique and lovely to meet, However, recognizing an archetype from your past in a new friend is one of the greatest gifts that can be given to a newfound friendship.

Because of this experience, you can understand the roles you play within each others’ lives much faster. It becomes easier to understand their life view, intentions, mannerisms, quirks, annoyances, etc. And the best part of it all, is that you can enjoy the characteristics of the company you used to enjoy with a past loved one yet again---without picking up a phone or mending a lost friendship. Finding the archetype of a long lost friend is one of the greatest feelings you can have while growing older.

Yes, it is one of the greatest things, but not the greatest thing. The greatest hidden treasure that you can uncover through age and experience and meeting new people is when you encounter someone unique, special, unexplored. Here and now, in my 28th year, I have encountered another soul who has come to reinvigorate my belief that my experience in archetypes is still unfinished. I have recently met someone who stands outside the realm of anyone I have ever met before.

Everything about her is different from what I know. Despite the obviousness of age and nationality—there lies much more. She’s just different, special, and unbelievably cool. I am amazed by my newest archetype, and I almost feel guilty categorizing her as such. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever meet someone like her again. Until circumstances reveal themselves, I will remain firm in the belief that she is the only one of her kind. You can’t help but love someone for that.

And so I continue my journey through this mysterious sea of people. It is incredible, and I know I will never be bored with life so long as there are still strangers out in the horizon.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Missy's House--An ode to the fact that I have never been in charge of anyone

She might remind you of a baby Kornicova
Beat you straight down like a kind of supernova
We’d all admit that she didn’t even know ya
Didn’t care or think nothing of ya

I dreamt of my best friend in a pool at night
And she was also there
Not quite as fair, but still floating there
With nothing but some leaves in her hair.

Coming down from something or another
I heard the wind stab, grab and otherwise drag
a couple syllables from her other mother
and there she stood with her hands around another

I held my drink and shifted eyes
Back to the baby under my thighs
And throughout the sass and broken down ass
I lied back in my chair and wrapped my arms around the cutest
Little thing I could find.
Right there, a piece of mind.