Ambition

Please, entertain my whims and ask me who I would like to become.

Perhaps it's an answer only valid for today, but it would have to be Christina Ong.

If They Looked Like Bunnies

The thing is probably creeping around my house right this very moment, trying out my sofa, exploring my cupboards and strolling past the bottles and jars in my kitchen.

It was 1.30am and all it took was one cockroach to throw me completely off balance. i was almost ready for bed when i saw it in the study. the moment i reached for the light it decided to take flight so i panicked and hurriedly shut the door.

i did contemplate summoning my courage to kill it, but it wasnt something i could have done alone. i thought about shutting the doors to the other rooms and going to bed, but there was no way i could have slept through the thought of sharing my apartment with a cockroach.

my wallet, phone, driving licence and everything else that was essential was in the room where the cockroach was, so going in was never an option.

i stood outside the closed door, running through a list of unappetizing choices. i've always had an inexplicable fear for cockroaches, and back home in singapore, all i had to do was scream for my father and he would always take care of things. last night was probably the farthest i felt from my family and i literally felt trapped in my own house.

so i did the only thing a person in my position would have done.

i grabbed the car keys and an umbrella and headed for ken's mom's.

yesterday was the start of the rainy season in okinawa and i had the headlights on high beam because the rain was so heavy i couldnt see a thing. funny what adrenaline does to a person. as i was driving it suddenly crossed my mind that i was driving without my international permit, and if i had gotten into an accident i would have had to tell the cops i was running away from a cockroach.

it was 3am when i reached his mom's apartment. she thought something terrible had happened, and when i explained the situation she laughed and tucked me into bed.

after a fitful night's sleep i proffered my sheepish apology and headed straight for the drugstore. i now have two huge cans of insecticide and a year's supply of bug-killing paraphernalia. the entire kit cost me close to 3,000 yen and i am praying that it all works. if i am lucky i wont need to kill it myself. if i had my wish it might just show up dead in the morning.

i can pretty much do most things on my own, but cockroaches just get to me every single time. to be honest, the idea of sky-diving is actually a lot more palatable than killing the bugger sitting at home right now.

if only they looked a little more like bunnies.

Seeing Double

Pedicure packages.

That new watering hole at Dempsey's.

Yoga classes.

Bitching about work.

Shopping at Orchard.

Dinner at the hawker centre.

Cheap movies.

Maybe, just maybe, I'd be happy for all of two weeks. Do I really want the things I say I miss?

It's already a different life.

Blame It

Yup, it's all about the job.

the job that eats up the best part of your waking hours, turns you into a paranoid ball of nerves when you discover a file-sharing tool in your computer and made you gain ten kilos in less than a year.

blame it on the job. blame it on the fact that you're tired. blame it on me.

when you work i/we take a backseat. the sun is shining and spring is beckoning but you have to sleep so i while away the afternoon tip-toeing around the house because i dont want to wake you.

when you work it's like romance never existed. a woman is for cleaning the house, ferrying you around and fixing you dinner.

i am giving you a hard time. i am pushing you into a corner. i am asking for too much.

what are you giving me then? a car to always feel sorry for, a house too big and too old to clean by myself, or lonely dinners i have with the TV?

the tub of a man needs to seriously reconsider his rapidly decreasing number of options.

S-Factor??

I'm sorry but I seem to be missing out on something HUGE taking place on my island.

there's a show called S-Factor with girls in bikinis on channel 5?

judging from what i've seen from the following clip, it is safe to say that we have officially hit rock-bottom.

Road to Kin

“People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people. The building is a symbol, as is the act of destroying it. Symbols are given power by people. Alone, a symbol is meaningless, but with enough people, blowing up a building can change the world. “
- V for Vendetta

I don’t know if this movie generated enough fanfare back home, but it earns a place in my personal top ten. Natalie Portman’s British accent is weak and inconsistent at best, but V’s eloquence is probably the biggest reason why Portman’s character fell in love with the mask of Guy Fawkes. Any more information and I’d be spoiling it for you.

If every day of the world’s life had a name, the one for today would be “feisty”.

I took the green mobile out on a ride up north to meet two very spirited old ladies in what was my first official field research outing. It was also my virgin ride alone on the toll expressway, and I was given very specific instructions by the man to “go at 60, keep left and watch the road”.

Words by a wise man with a gold driver’s licence (they give it out to people with a 5-year accident-free record).

(Wait. Doesn’t scratching the entire left side of the car against a wall count as an accident?)

I ended up staring at the back end of a delivery truck as I trundled along the highway, watching the other cars happily whizzing past me in the rain. My over-zealous plan to arrive on time worked too perfectly; I was an hour and a half too early, but that did nothing to dampen my triumphant mood at completing my first-ever long-distance drive.

In the end, the interview lasted for five hours. For most of it, I felt as if I had spent an afternoon in the home of two chatty grand-aunties that I’ve always had a soft spot for. They told me of how their parents had taken their entire fortunes and crossed the ocean to the Philippines, livestock in tow, in the search of a better life. They recounted how as children they picked coconuts and fruit in Mindanao, and how they scrambled for rations given out by the GIs in wartime Okinawa after the escalating Pacific War forced their families to flee the Philippines and return home.

These two women come from Kin, a sleepy town 25 kilometers north of Naha, where 60% of the town’s total land area is occupied by a massive US military facility. This town was also the place where the kidnapping and brutal rape of a local 12-year-old girl by three US military servicemen took place in 1995. Just last month, a stray bullet from an army live firing exercise ricocheted off the license plate of a car parked at a residential apartment just meters from the military base.

The Americans obviously knew how they could make the locals tolerate them being too close for comfort right in the middle of the town’s most arable and fertile land. Money never fails to quell displeasure, and every year hundreds of millions of yen flow from the hands of Japanese taxpayers to the US army and into the palms of waiting Kin folk.

The women of Kin soon found themselves deprived of the military payments when the male representatives of the local residents’ community altered the rules to fatten their own pockets and prevent females from getting their share of the money. Rattled, the women banded together and took their male counterparts to court. They won the first lawsuit, lost the second and earned what they were hoping for in the final appeal to the Supreme Court.

As I listened to their stories I suddenly realized that these two women who were the same age as my own grandmother were talking passionately about human rights and gender equality. And I thought women of my age knew better.

In a time when the young women of the world are busy equating material affluence and economic independence with emancipation and empowerment, I found myself speaking to two living examples of what feminism should really be representing – relentless challenge of the status quo and the desire for justice and the things that should truly be.

They expressed their surprise at how a foreigner like me could be interested in the affairs of a small town so far removed from the eyes of the world. I balked at the awe they bestowed, humbled by the richness of their life experiences and the strength of their spirits.

In a Minah Mood

Don't mind me, it's the breeze lulling me to sleep and I am feeling minah-ish today.

kind of miss the minahs manning those tiny shops in far east plaza.

Love Sex Magic

Justin Timberlake is getting too cosy with Ciara! There is officially no more N'Sync left in that man.

Jessica Biel, be angry. Be very angry.

Health Check

Clean bill of health.

Height: 157 cm (i am shrinking!)

Weight: 42kg (where's all the food going?)

Blood pressure: 103/76 (isnt this a little on the low side?)

Eyesight: deteriorating

Hearing: perfect

i could really do with some more flesh on my bones. any skinnier and my eyes might look as if they are popping out of their sockets.

Love is Art

J:

Stands for the power of secret thinking and the art of making wishes come true. Ever the intrepid traveller, she will fly to faraway destinations, even if it is just for the sake of doing nothing in particular with a few like-minded friends. Lover of straight talk and sound advice dished out in the form of bitter medicine, J will quicken your step with ninja impersonations (in Japan's most sacred shrine no less) and offers to carry your luggage in her gigantic silver Jac-in-the-Box.

She swept in and out of our days like a summer typhoon (J would insist her stay was more like that of a sperm whale but i really dont see the connection), colouring our trip with bats of her kohl-lined lids and her take on love, life and friendship.

Some things, however, dont ever change. like how J would still want to hurry back to the hotel to wash her hair even though it is now shortly cropped, or how we all try to look for yomogay in japanese bakeries.

XY:

Stands for "lean-on-me-i-will-take care-of-you" rock of gilbrator-worthy reliablity dressed with a healthy dose of mothering. i heeded her advice and turned off my inner GPS, content with following her stride.

her love of all things strawberry is cleverly juxtaposed against a nearly all-black ensemble and dark nail polish, but a quick look at her dressing table revealed what i always knew. pink cheek tint, berry lipgloss, Daisy perfume.

there is a girl in XY, and her feet will be swept off the ground by a man who knows and sees her for the person that she really is. XY only needs to believe.

R:

Stands for sheer gumption and the ability to deal with personal contingencies that is impossible for me to summon. hokkaido might be cold and sometimes unfeeling, but R's laughter is really the kind that would melt even the hardest of stones.

R is really not as clumsy as she thinks she is, although love for one's husband is best practised with a lot of care and caution. the next time a snowy mountain beckons, R really needs to tell herself that she will go home safe and happy.

R couldnt join us on our trip, but we thought of her every step of the way. hope she liked the package we sent her.

The Four of Us:

Stands for comic tension, endless conversation, blankets of comfort and rose-tinted friendships.

Love is indeed Art.

Warwick Avenue

The girls are on to something.

this is probably duffy at her best and i really think her tears are heartbreaking.

White Cows Never Looked This Good

The all-new leather tote from Burberry. Saks is selling it for US$995, but let's see if I can locate it in Nagoya and try it on for size.

友情ってもっと格好悪くてもいいのに

ほったらかしてからすでに七ヶ月が経ってしまったのだ。

仲がとっても良かったので、ずっと葛藤で悩んでいた。「これでいいの？」って何回も自分に言い返した。結局、あきらめることを選んだのだ。

大人になったせいなのかよく分からないけど、年をとればとるほど素朴な人間関係を求めるようになった。恋人とはそうだし、もちろん友情に対しても同じ期待があった。

「素朴」とは、飾りのない、単純でまっすぐな気持ちが込められているということだろう。
つまり、素直に自分と向き合えるとのこと。

素朴な友情なら、本当のことを言えるはずなのだ。誠実に気持ちを伝えられるはずだ。
友達の前に自然に振舞うことができなければ、その友情は一体何なんだろう？

いまさら謝っても元に戻れないような気がする。悩みが増える一方だけだ。

The Fried Mascot

Do something wrong and you might be struck bald by lightning, just like what happened to the Merlion.

Being a mascot has never been more dangerous.

Faintly interesting, this.

Bumper Crop

And so the last Peter Pan graduates from Neverland and asks the fairy for her hand.

it seems that everyone around me is either getting married or being proposed too, and the prospect of becoming a later bloomer (or worse, a non-bloomer) is making its presence felt in very real terms.

i am 29. i should be starting on anti-wrinkle and cellulite-busting creams. i might be 40 when my kid enters primary school. my skin will eventually sag and so will the rest of my body. wedding gowns don't go well with ageing brides. i need a reason to keep staying on this island.

so in order to hasten the natural progression of things, it makes sense that i ask him about our plans for the future.

or so people think.

this is almost silly to admit, but the bridezilla in me craves for The Moment. the instant when the man gives you that i-am-so-nervous-i-can-almost-die-right-here look, the split second he goes down on one knee, his fumbling fingers opening the ring box, the constriction in your throat and that life-changing, teary "yes" that you immediately whisper.

i want all of that. and i am not about to sabotage The Moment for myself by broaching the topic first. what's the point of a proposal if there is no surprise element or no fireworks exploding across the sky?

the man formerly known as peter pan proposed over an evening of newspaper reading in the living room with no ring. most couples do the job with a trip to HDB. i am fully aware that my own proposal would be less than earth-shaking, but still, i insist on being bowled-over. i want to be able to look at the man when asked that all-important question and know for sure that the path i choose to walk down will be the right one to take.

romance has never been a good friend of reality so i really dont care if i am candy-coating weddings and marriages. but yes, i will heed the advice of those concerned and learn to make my intentions known, albeit in small and discreet ways.

other than that, i shall be right here waiting for my one-carat tiffany ring and my man on bended knee.

River

The video is horrid (it really isn't a video, just a hashed-together powerpoint) but the song is beautiful.

actually a joni mitchell classic but i really have never heard k.d. lang sounding this good.

christmas comes a little too early, but then again, we dont need snow to listen to good music.

The Latvian and Haruki Murakami

In one short morning, my long-awaited Friday was sullied by no less than one Latvian, a trumpet-tooting Chinese and half a year's worth of lessons I'm no longer sure I want to continue with.

so the latvian translates murakami into latvian for a living. and she does so by referring to the english and russian translations. my already tightly wound spring was twisted several notches further when she started complaining about the shoddy work done by the translators. i have read almost every book by murakami, both in english and japanese, and i happen to think that peter gabriel does a beautiful job of conveying the nuances of murakami's prose into english.

it took five lifetimes worth of self-control for me not to beat her down right there in the classroom, but when i mentioned peter gabriel she shook her head and said she had no idea who he was.

i cannot imagine what sort of english translations the girl has been reading if she has never heard of peter gabriel. murakami's books have only been translated into english by jay rubin and peter gabriel, and both these men happen to be exemplary academics in their field with long careers translating and researching traditional and contemporary japanese literature. to be accused of mediocrity by some unknown know-it-all is possibly the worst kind of insult ever.

if the latvian has ever done her homework, she will know that passages in original works are sometimes deleted from the translated texts NOT because the contents are "too difficult" to be translated, but because the passages in question imply the knowledge of certain cultural contexts that foreign readers might not otherwise possess.

in other words, translation is not simply a case of coverting the entire text lock stock and barrel, because it requires the delicate consideration of what to include and what not to so that foreign readers will be able to enjoy the novel as much as people reading the same book in the original language would, with or without prior understanding of specific cultural and literary concepts.

so perhaps the problem lies not with the translations but the latvian's stubborn egocentricism and a severe underestimation of the skills necessary to ensure good translation work.

two hours later i found myself listening to a chinese man telling me how difficult his work as an interpreter was. it was meant to be a talk by former foreign students about their experiences working in okinawa, and normally i would have swallowed the speech whole like a bad dose of medicine, but somehow, the chinese man became hugely unpalatable after the lavian fiasco. he was merely blowing his own horn, and it was all jarring noise to my ears.

what will it take for me to find employment as a foreigner in japan? the country's not hyped up about "foreign talent" like singapore is, and foreigners are not encouraged to play up their non-japanese traits because the issue invariably degenerates into a debate about "fitting in".

i was told that i might have to play down my assertiveness because a woman in her 20s with a habit of displaying her initiative might not go down well with a room full of middle-aged men looking to fill a position in their company.

just when i thought i knew japan and okinawa well enough not to be unpleasantly surprised any more, i get stopped in my tracks with situations like this.

too much for a friday, and too much thinking for me to arrive at a decision by this time next year.

Stuck in My Head

Santa, if you give me hips that move like hers, I swear I will never wish for anything else in the next ten years.

don't ask me why, but this tune keeps playing in my head. must be those devil hips.

You Don't Need To Get Married To Have A Wedding

People who know me will know that I love surfing wedding sites to look at those beautiful beautiful confections also known as bridal gowns. like eating fried chicken when i am upset, googling for pretty white dresses is a lovely distraction from dulling powerpoint work.

these are some of my favourites from brides.com (which is, by the way, a FANTASTIC place to be. they should really make this a World Heritage Site. a hah.) this season.

who says you need a groom to walk down the aisle or wear a gown? i would really love to have my own wedding picture taken one day, with or without the man.

carolina herrera

giambattista valli

judd waddell

monique lhuillier

oscar de la renta

reem acra

st. pucchi

A Conversation - Yamanokuchi Baku

In the coffee shop where I used to hang out, one of the regular customers showed up one day after a long absence, his face deeply tanned. He announced in a loud voice to the woman who ran the shop and her daughter that he had been on a business trip to Okinawa. I’d been talking to some other people at the time, but, being from Okinawa, I was slightly irritated to hear him mention it. Most Okinawans of my generation feel uncomfortable at such times. Still, I could not suppress a certain interest in this man’s impressions of Okinawa. But hearing him talk about how he was invited to the home of a “chieftain”, how he drank awamori from a soup bowl, and how “the natives” do this and that, I felt as though he was conjuring up visions of a place I’d never seen. Although aware that this was simply a tourist’s amusement, I was saddened, not only because I am Okinawan, but also because the manager’s daughter was listening wide-eyed to this man’s every word. I had been planning to graduate from my lumpen lifestyle, and my relationship with this girl had progressed to the point where I was intending to ask her to marry me. I couldn’t help wondering what she would think if she knew I was Okinawan. Sitting in a booth of that coffee shop, I concentrated all my energy on writing this poem.

“Where are you from,” she asked.
I thought about where I was from and lit a cigarette.
That place colored by associations with tattoos, the jabisen
and ways as strange as ornamental designs.
“Very far away,” I answered.
“In what direction,” she asked.
That place of gloomy customs near the southern tip of the
Japanese
archipelago where women carry piglets on their heads and
people walk
barefoot. Was this where I was from?
“South,” I answered.
“Where in the south,” she asked.
In the south, that zone of indigo seas where it’s always
summer and dragon
orchids, sultan umbrellas, octopus pines, and papayas all
nestle together
under the bright sunlight. That place shrouded in miscon-
ceptions
where, it is said, the people aren’t Japanese and can’t under-
stand the Japanese language.
“The subtropics,” I answered.
“Oh, the subtropics!” she said.
Yes, my dear, can’t you see “the subtropics” right here before
your eyes?
Like me, the people there are Japanese, speak Japanese, and
were born
in the subtropics. But, viewed through popular stereotypes,
that place I am from
has become a synonym for chieftains, natives, karate and
awamori.
“Somewhere near the equator,” I said.

---------------------------

In the sub-tropics, winter is surprisingly short and easy to bear. The winds might bring a chill, but every now and then everything is bathed in warm sunshine and life suddenly seems a little better.

The end of winter in the sub-tropics is marked with the burst of vivid pink sakura across the island. This year, I feel particularly sympathetic for these blooms because it seems so difficult for people to love them in their own right. Didn’t Shakespeare say that a rose by any name would still smell as sweet? Didn’t Smap sing that each and every flower is equally unique?

When compared to their (seemingly superior) cousins from the sacred mainland, the sakura in Okinawa are simply too pink for their own good. Oh, and they don’t flutter in the early spring breeze like blushing rain like “those on the mainland do”.

I never knew that there were yardsticks for flowers, and that they had expectations to live up to.
For once and for all, a flower is a flower is a flower.

(I have even heard of foreign students who are unwilling to study in Okinawa because they fear that they won’t be taught standard Japanese. – sorry, this is really a story for next time)

If the place isn’t “Japanese” enough for you, perhaps you would like to move on to Kyoto instead?

Okinawa has probably come a long way from being snubbed as a cultural backwater, but some things don’t ever really change. Today the island ekes out a living from selling images of blue seas, azure skies, white sandy beaches and S.L.O.W. life.

Apparently the people here eat luncheon meat with everything and everyone knows how to play the sanshin and do the kacha-shi. The women are sprightly and the men lazy. No one is ever on time and hey, strangers are practically like brothers to the Okinawans because ichariba-cho-de-!!

Which begs the question. Are we supposed to love Okinawa because it’s so “different”, or are we supposed to dismiss the place because it seems nothing like Japan?

Sometimes when I hear the locals sing the praises of their own island, I wonder if they actually mean what they say. Surely there’s more to Okinawa than shi-sa and goya champuru right? But then again, no one mentions the unemployment rate (double the national average), the GDP (lowest in Japan), the divorce rates (highest in the country) or the terrible noise generated by U.S. fighter jets flying low over local residences.

What will it take for Okinawa to be seen in the flesh? The longer we live with the stereotypes and images, the harder it will be for Okinawa to be appreciated and understood the way it should be.