Rising Son
The second I kicked down I could feel my big toe nail get ripped from its bed like a screaming child. Warm blood quickly filled my Birkenstock sandal and the pain was sudden, sharp and searing. I knew better than to stop pedaling my bike because my host parents’ house had to be over a mile away, and I didn’t know how to say where I was or even ask someone for help. When I finally got back, my host mom greeted me by throwing her arms up and screaming uncontrollably. I was as surprised by her reaction as she was to all of the blood and my lack of a toenail. At the time, through all of the pain, I remember thinking she was kind of overdoing it, and even tried not to laugh.
In the fall of 1997, I was sponsored by Rotary International to move to Japan as a foreign exchange student. In America at that time hardly anyone had a cell phone, which yes makes me feel pretty old, and the internet was unused and unheard of to most of the world. So when I moved to the other side of the planet it felt much bigger, further and more out of touch than it does now. On top of that, The Rotary also discouraged us students from having any communication with our parents for the first several months in order to curb the onslaught of inevitable homesickness.
The first three months that I lived in Japan were so vastly confusing, fast and mind shatteringly foreign that I immediately understood this was unlike anything else that I had ever, or would ever, experience in my life. My ears did not hear the separation of sounds representing words in Japanese for about the first 30 days. At first, the language sounded like a verbal machine gun going off, and I had no sense of tone or spacing whatsoever. So, as you can imagine, it was a real challenge to address the entire school of just under 3,000 students in Japanese on my first day. Or the fact that I was asked to attend Chinese language classes taught in Japanese. It was an exercise in futility to see the worksheets being handed out in class and not even be able to understand where to sign my name, having the thought, “Why bother?”
The next three months were unquestionably the most difficult of my year abroad. The initial adventure and intrigue of living in a new country gave way to an almost crushing loneliness and unyielding sense of isolation. The language barrier seemed like a monstrous metal wall that I would never be able to climb over. As the holidays approached they only magnified my awareness of how far away my loved ones were, and how different Japan was from my home. One of the lowest points for me was when I didn’t speak to anyone for about two weeks straight. Thoughts of leaving the exchange program and Japan became my new and only friends. It started to feel like I was turning invisible, and the weight of my silence and excruciating loneliness hung like an invisible yoke around my neck.
When my brother came to see me for my birthday that January everything about the whole experience began to change. One of the biggest differences is that I had met Akai sensei! He was the coolest teacher and librarian at our school, and he suggested that I go hang out with him in the library and do “independent study” instead of the daily doses of humiliation with the rest of my class. I have often thought about how much Mr. Akai, or Akai sensei, meant to me at that time, and wish that I could give him the biggest hug and thank you that he has ever seen! He helped me when I absolutely needed it the most, and I stopped trying to be the perfect exchange student and just did the best that I could. Akai sensei allowed me the space, safety and comfort to fall in love with Japan and its beautiful language, people and culture.
Preparing for this trip, I would have told you that my goal was to learn as much about Japan as possible within the year I would live there. In reality, I learned far more about myself and the kind of person I want to be in this life than I ever could about any language or culture. That most important lesson came from wonderful people like Akai sensei who taught me with their kindness and patience that it is not about where you are, but who you are, and for that I am, and will be forever, grateful.