the sound of silence

There is a stillness here that hangs between the branches of the little trees and blankets the narrow gravel walkways. Even during the busy morning commute, there is a silence on the streets. It lingers on the faces of the people packed on the morning train, pressed up against each other with stoic, expressionless faces. No one speaks. They have a quietness around their mouths that makes me wonder, What is life in Japan? And where does it abide? I seem unable to read their faces, unable to decipher their silence.

Silence is more valued here than it is in America, from what I can discern. It occurs much more in conversation and daily life than I am accustomed to. Living here makes me realize how terribly noisy Americans tend to be. (I am especially conscious of this when we go on tours of the city with my UNC classmates.) Respecting others' needs, even if they are unspoken, is a top priority for the Japanese. I think this is part of the reason why silence is so precious here. I wish I understood so much more than I do.

The Japanese conception of space is something I've been thinking about a lot lately, too. It is a small island (about the size of Montana) with a limited amount of space for the millions of people who live here. So everything is fashioned accordingly--nothing is given more space than it absolutely needs. The rooms, streets, houses, cars, appliances, even books and school supplies are compact, narrow, "tiny," to American eyes. No amount of space is ever wasted. It makes me want to live more in this way when I return to the States.

As I write this, I am sitting at my desk in my room and the windows are open (the Japanese try not to use A/C). The good (and bad?) thing about living in Japanese neighborhood is that all of the houses are pressed up against one another and so you always know what your neighbors are doing. There is a newborn baby a few houses down and I can hear it wail every evening around 8. A young pianist practices scales every morning before I leave to catch the train, sometimes in conjunction with the kid with the trumpet. Right now, I am listening to a father tell stories to his young son. The boy laughs after almost everything his father says. I can't make out most of it, but I know it's something about going to school and losing your obento (boxed lunch) on the train.

This morning I participated in neighborhood trash day. Every June, the whole neighborhood comes out with trash bags and identical white gloves to clean the streets--which, to my eyes, already looked perfectly clean. So everyone picked up leaves and bits of dead grass for an hour. I wasn't very good at discerning which leaves were ignored and which were picked up. I put some photos of trash day on Flickr, if you're interested.

New photos up!

Composed June 15

日本へよこそ

Greetings from beautiful, exciting Japan! I don't have a lot of time to update, because I have a TON of homework to do (classes here are keeping me incredibly busy), but I wanted to write a quick note to say that I am here, loving it, overwhelmed but delighted every day.

Right now I am sitting in the language lab at Kanda University, where I am taking classes. Diane is sitting beside me and we're discussing (griping is perhaps the more accurate word) our homework load. "Humongous, mumbo-jumbo reading," she says. Yep.

My host family is absolutely fantastic. The children are just precious and and I love spending time with them; Nana-chan (the 3-yr.old) and I have already become fast friends. As soon as I come home, she climbs all over me and chatters in Japanese, most of which I do not understand. Risa-chan (6 yr. old) understands that I don't understand, and looks at me with open, sensitive eyes. She is very perceptive and sweet. Keiko-san (my host mom) is amazing; probably the best cook I've ever met, and so thoughtful. She speaks great English but always tries to speak to me in Japanese. I love living with them and feel so very grateful.

I don't have time to write more, but I wanted to write this little bit to say I'm alive, I'm loving it. I wish I could write better sentences and describe things with language that matches my feelings... but too busy! All the time.

It's thrilling to be surrounded by the Japanese every day; I love listening to Japanese all day long and there are so many things here that I am intrigued by. I want to know the meanings behind certain customs, certain ways of speaking, etc. But every time I am tempted to regard every behavior, sight, and custom as something "so unusual" or "so un-Western," I am reminded of this: that children are the same everywhere. Japanese children, like American children, laugh and misbehave and fight and dance. Also, dogs and birds are the same everywhere. And so is the moon.

New photos posted! No time to tag many of them, but I'm sure you can figure out what's going on... will try to describe them in detail later.

Sayonara, for now!

onwards, tokyo!

By way of an update, I suppose it's worth mentioning that this will likely be my last entry from the States. J.Hecht is coming to fetch me and take me to Raleigh and we'll leave here Wednesday afternoon. Catherine is graciously taking me to the airport on Thursday morning, where I will fly to New York City. From there, I will catch a 14 hour flight to Narita Airport, Tokyo, arriving June 6.

It's been a quiet afternoon. Grace, of course, is still adventuring in the deep jungles of Peru (we haven't heard from her in a number of days and Mom and Dad are convinced she's dead; I, on the other hand, merely think she's been kept too busy by the indigenous Quechuan cult she joined). Kelsey is at CTOPS (orientation for UNC) today and tomorrow with her roommate, registering for classes and being inundated with all of the sparkly rah-rah Carolina goodness. So it's just me and Sam. The two of us finished watching two episodes of "30 Rock" and now he's off to hockey. I will miss easy, comfortable home life. But I am excited about adjusting to different, exciting home life in Chiba.

Dad has been digging in this pit next to the house all day long; he just came in, spotted with sweat and streaked with red dirt. My parents have this ridiculous notion that they are going to put a fish pond there. Cute idea, but I'm not so sure it's going to work. We are not the best of fish-keepers and somehow the idea of creating a pool of water right against your house seems unwise. But I guess Father knows best? I'm forever entertained by their many projects. The most recent one before this being "the nursery" that he's been outfitting. It's a room (previously the attic) just off of our bedroom that was going to be Grace's art studio (oh, the privileges of being the favorite) but is now being called "the nursery" because my father is crazy and wants grandchildren. As soon as possible. He had all of us girls together a few weeks ago and asked us, in his characteristic yet confusing mix of facetious sincerity, "Don't you think it's a wonderful idea to have babies? Like right now? Don't even worry about getting married! I just would like some more kids!" Mother has, apparently, already refused to contribute on this one, and so he has turned to us. We reminded him that he has Ally and Kate right next door, but he said two is not enough. Sorry to disappoint, Dad. Not for some years yet.

Been thinking a lot about prayer lately (thanks to conversations with Mr. Pratt and Megan) and realized how much my prayer life needs to grow. I feel like it has during these past few weeks, with everyone I love scattered all around the globe, and my need for some connection with God has been heightened. I know I'll need that line to be as strong as ever in Japan.

With that acknowledgement, I'm off.

Love and the Pacific Rim!
Abby

like sycamore

This morning I was sitting on my bike in our driveway, about to take a spin around the block in the light rain, when I was nearly backed over by a maroon Cadillac. An elderly couple sat inside. The man rolled down the window, leaned out of it and sputtered desperately at me, "They said Caldwell runs parallel to this street, but that just ain't true! It ain't true! Where IS this Caldwell Street?" I had no idea where Caldwell was, having only lived here two years and even then only for a few months at a time. I asked them where they were trying to go and they said the Episcopal church. I was relieved because I knew where that was; I told them to turn left out of Thompson and then take the second right. With wide and grateful smiles they waved and drove off. As soon as they did, I realized I had given them bad directions. The Episcopal church is left out of Thompson and the first left. I hope they found it. I've been feeling terrible about this all day long.

Started packing for Tokyo today. My suitcase is half-full and I haven't even put any clothes in yet. Quite problematic.

Now that I have a pro Flickr account, I have an unlimited number of photos to upload, so I am taking advantage of that by uploading a set I am calling "the ones that got away." This set includes photos from throughout the year that didn't make the initial 366 list. I don't just take one photo a day; usually I take at least five or more, often dozens. Often it becomes very hard to choose the one I like the best, so I decided to pick all of my favorites that didn't get chosen and upload them. I'll post a new month every day or so before I leave.

Really enjoying the John O'Hara novel (Appointment in Samarra) that Dave lent me. O'Hara is like an edgier, more direct version of Fitzgerald. One of the things he does so pitch-perfectly-well is paint a verbal fight. The last sparring match between Julian English and his wife Caroline was so real, so believable; great stuff to read.

The fiery crash, it's just a formality before you get on a plane...

it tastes like being poor and small

Curious. It's a state I've never been in before: to have family and friends, everyone I care about the most, spread out across all corners of the world--and myself soon to follow suit. I'm accustomed to having accessible loved ones, and so it is strange--at least for this summer--to have them dispersed across the globe. Grace left for Peru on Sunday and is currently chilling there now with Elisabeth and Sarah; Guion flies to his beloved Ireland tomorrow afternoon; Rachel and Elizabeth are hiking in Alaska; Kelsey is preparing to do the same in Olympic National Park; Emily is in Egypt or almost there; J.Hecht will be across the sea from me in Korea; J.Clem and Chad are living out "The Motorcycle Diaries" in S. America (see their thorough blogs for proof), with Catherine to join them later; and I am beginning to create a packing list, for I am Tokyo bound in a week (June 5). My head feels dizzy and unfocused and my heart is uncertain and distracted.

I had a very anxious heart when I woke up this morning, thinking about all of these people that I love and how far away we are and how helpless I am. God's word brought some peace but I still need to pray for that all-surpassing peace more fervently, more devotedly. And perhaps it is a good state to be in, this helplessness. Keeps one spiritually flexible, I suppose.

I got information about my hosts, the Koyasu family, this morning. They live in Chiba prefecture (about an hour by train from my university) and seem very kind. To my delight, they have three young children: a son, Yutaro (age 12), and two daughters, Rina (6) and Nana (3). I am excited (and nervous!) about meeting them and hope I will be a easy and likable houseguest for two months. I am scared about communicating; I'm realizing more and more how shabby my Japanese is. But it's at least comforting to know that I can communicate with and understand Nana; we're at about the same language level, I'd guess... "Where is the bathroom? This is a red ball. My name is Abby. What is your favorite animal?"

I think I am going to keep this same blog while I am there, so keep checking here for updates. The photos will, of course, be on Flickr (and I'll be posting more than one a day, I'm sure).

I feel like my writing is very formal and dry right now. Don't know why but I don't like it.

One of the things I've been thinking about lately is how ample God's provisions are. I don't credit Him enough with all of the blessings I have been enveloped with these past few months. Everything with this summer in Japan has been so clearly orchestrated by His mercy and providence; how everything fell together, particularly financially, was nothing short of incredible. It is a prayer I hope will be circulating in my heart this summer: Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits.

Currently
Reading: Appointment in Samarra, John O'Hara; A Haunted House and Other Stories, Virginia Woolf
Hearing: "Hand on Your Heart," Jose Gonzalez; "Dubuque," George Winston
Thinking: I may experience what it's like to be entirely broke this summer

guess who was reading Woolf today?

Riding the bus home from work.

The sky is feathered and folded, periwinkle or almost lavender, no sun in sight but you can sense it pulsing in places. My body is tired but my mind is alert, supple, and I am thinking of the lines of a face and why the poor make me feel uncomfortable. We rumble and whistle down the interstate and seem to be moving much faster than we are. The throbbing city pulls all of these little cars to its center on roads like veins. A black bird flies from the grass to a tree.

The clouds are white on blue and in some places blue on white. To be deep in thought and at peace. The hammer clicks in place. Anxiety sinks down at the end of the day and the rest of life is nothing but a pale canvas flecked with rain.

A woman waits at a bus stop with her jacket hanging on her head, threading the handle of her purse through her worried thumbs.

such the conditions of our love

On the way back from the gym tonight, Vivaldi's "Spring" came on the classical radio station and we rolled the windows down and cranked the volume.

While I was running, I prayed for all of you who are going abroad this summer. For some reason, the thought that most of my dearest friends will be scattered all over the globe this summer has rejuvenated my desire for prayer. A good thing. Know that I will be praying for you this summer, wherever you happen to be. Let me know how I can pray more specifically; generalized petitions easily sound stale on my tongue.

Favorite song of the week: "Dirty Knife," Neko Case

This is why Woolf succeeds in making "characters that survive," the fact that she gets this:

"It seems that a profound, impartial, and absolutely just opinion of our fellow creatures is utterly unknown. Either we are men, or we are women. Either we are cold, or we are sentimental. Either we are young, or growing old. In any case life is but a procession of shadows, and God knows why it is that we embrace them so eagerly, and see them depart with such anguish, being shadows. And why, if this and much more than this is true, why are we yet surprised in the window corner by a sudden vision that the young man in the chair is of all things in the world the most real, the most solid, the best known to us--why indeed? For the moment after we know nothing about him. Such is the manner of our seeing. Such the conditions of our love."

The desire to shirk this method of seeing people--as being one thing or another, being so stubbornly black or white--is keen in me, re-reading this passage. (From Jacob's Room.)

"I can't believe we're sisters."--Kelsey, to Grace, upon observing the disaster in Grace's corner of our bedroom

Had three disturbingly vivid dreams last night: 1) I gave birth to two African babies in a mud hut on a dirt floor; 2) Emily E.S. had a baby girl named Sophia who was six months old; 3) I had my heart broken by my sister at a water park. And then I went back to school and all of the stairways in our dorm were blocked with piles of armchairs. I woke up startled and anxious, eager to awake in the neutral-colored morning and convince myself that reality was better. It was.

Geese are basically the only five-letter thing that fly in a flock.