Looking back at 13 year old Kho

I suffer from nostalgia  from time to time, but I've learned to not let it take over me now because it can get dire. Listening to some pop music in the staffroom today I'm suddenly stuck wondering why I can no longer just enjoy this music on my own now. I don't go online to look for pop music and I certainly don't browse around that section of a music shop. Yet ten years ago its mostly what I listened to. Then my mind trails off...

Ten years ago today I was in grade ten. A year before that I wasn't attending Saturday school yet because I wasn't doing Science. So I would spend Saturday mornings cleaning and then spend the rest of the afternoon reading novels and listening to music simultaneously. East Coast Radio was my favorite station and I listened to the Top 40 chart from 1-5pm every Saturday without fail.

It was a magical time I spent with myself, I loved it. Thats where my love for music was first nurtured until I learned to write my own songs and then I started writing music instinctively. Form and wording came naturally. Wher did all of that go? I could call it consciousness and moving into hip hop, rock and other ways of expressing my anger and growing frustration with dissilusionment but I cannot deny the fact that after all that, at some point I gave up my art. I forgot the purpose of music and I lost all feeling of it.

Now I struggle to write at all, I don't sing unless I'm drunk at karaoke and I hate that I don't quite know how to break out of this. My understanding of music, since my music degree has changed and I have a deeper appreciation of a much wider spectrum of music but that doesn't change the fact that my understanding of the core concept is burried, mabye suppressed for what I have thought to be higher enlightenment until now.

I guess the nostalgia lies more with the little girl that didn't know much about the world and therefore wasn't consciously affected by the issues and politics around her. Its the innocence and all the bliss and peace of mind that comes with it. Its the appreciation of feeling over thought, the sincerity of just being without wondering or worrying too much about what this means or how people view it.

I stopped reading too. First I stopped reading novels because I was angry at the way they warped my perspective of reality. I quit watching television for the same reason. Those things I don't regret. I do however read much less now than I used to because non fiction can get really boring, but I'm steadily getting back in the habit. And non-fiction catagorized books aren't always truly non-fiction. I guess I just choose my influences more critically now.

All in all, growing up is interesting and at 24 (almost 25) I feel that lots will still change about me. I just don't want the final product to be sour, bitter and angry at the world. After all, I enjoy being here. The world can be a wonderful place if you have the right attitude.

I miss Pietermaritzburg!

Today I realised that my life will never be the same again. I miss home today. I miss driving home late at night with my dad, I miss the family sitting around the tv. I miss my moms kitchen and preparing food there or watching my parents having breakfast at the kitchen table in the morning, arguing about whatever. I miss the garden and the spinach growing there, being sent to pick some. I miss seeing dad in the garden with his gardening boots and I miss sitting outside with my dogs in the sun or at the veranda in the shade. I miss sneaking out at night to watch the stars or meditate. I miss retreating to my cosy little room. I miss washing dishes at the kitchen sink and singing in the toilet. I miss greeting the neighbors and having my hair done next door. I miss our couch, or sleeping with mom when dad's away. I miss complaining to dad about the loud tv when I'm trying to sleep. I miss hearing dad come home at night completely unaware of how loud his car radio is while he parks. I miss home. I miss the post office and the taxi rides home and the interesting people in them. I even kinda miss the taxi conductors arguing about which taxi I should get into when they recognise me at the taxi rank. I miss that the taxi drivers knew who I was and where my stop was. I miss watching the sunset over the mountains from my sisters window. I miss Scottsville and hanging around 50's with my best friends. I miss the Msunduzi River and the people canoeing on it. I miss the bridge with the hobos that live under it. I miss the jacaranda trees that make me sneeze in the Spring when they bloom full purple decorating the city! Boy, I miss Pietermaritzburg!

 

Valentines Day, White Day!

I would not like to be a Japanese guy on White Day. Especially the popular ones. Its Valentines Day today and I've been watching my coordinator receive endless amounts of frilly pink presents and decorated candy, chocolates and cookies for Valentines Day from his wife, collegues and friends. This means that on March 14th he needs to send back three times this amount of gifts back to these ladies because thats how it works in Japan, and some surrounding countries.

Men receive candy and chocolates on Valentines Day. Handmade gifts are more special. It has to be nicely decorated to show you put effort into it and Japanese men look forward to getting stuff from their wives,girlfriends, mothers, admirers etc. It is expected that this gesture is returned a month later. That's a lot of money spent on chocolates for some guys.

As for me, I've never believed in Valentines Day,never received anything, never complained about it, never given anything either. So suddenly a few days before Valentines Day I was surprised when I was asked to contribute so that we would get all our male collegues obligatory chocolates for Valentines Day. I understand its a cute gesture but I still find it unnecessary. I will send chocolates to some guy I don't even like and they are obliged to send me back three times that amount a month later all in the name of Valentines and White Day because everyone else is doing it. As if I don't eat enough chocolate already, as if he needs more chocolate and obligations. As if any of us needs to be spending that much money on stuff we probably won't even eat!

So I chose not to be a sour-puss and contributed but honestly I would rather NOT receive anything in return. This is impossible in Japan.

Let me tell you a bit more about where I'm coming from. Where I come from, Valentines Day is probably not as big as in Western countries although we are fairly Westernized. Girls and guys enjoy exchanging flowers, usually roses or chocolate or jewelry or small gifts on Valentines Day. Some have special dates,dinners, trips, whatever. Its also a treat time to send your secret admirer something. A single red rose is a common gesture amongst teenagers, even amongst friends. You never expect anything in return, especially if you're a guy. Mostly the guys spend money on girls.

That being said, I come from a culture where women aren't expected to pay for anything ever in a relationship really. In my culture a man flexes his power by spending money on the women in his life. The women have other ways of treating their men. Small gifts to your lover or to the men in your life, your father, brothers, cousins are OK. Like the Japanese, in my culture its more appreciated if the woman uses her hands to make stuff, gifts for the men in her life. However no gift is required to be succeeded by an obligatory gift or gesture at any moment, coming from either sex.

In that sense then, it makes me uncomfortable to be giving just any male person a gift, especially on Valentines Day. Back home that gesture is left for lovers and admirers and courters. At the same time, receiving something back often signifies a mutual interest, arguably to the extent of the value of the returned gift. For example, if I have a crush on a guy and I send him a single rose, he would return a bunch of roses to say that he likes me too and wants to persue a relationship. If he returns a single rose it would mean he wants to be friends only. This is a gentle letdown. Not returning the rose would be rude and read as rejection. There's many varying ways to do this and it also depends on a persons budget but the point is, communication is made through those gestures.

However, I came here to experience Japan and this is part of that. Never mind that Japanese people have expensive habits, its part of the reason their  economy thrives so well.Compared to our stingy habits.

I should think though that I will still be embarassed if I receive anything for White Day, whether a returned gift from the people I gave candy to on Valentines Day or just obligatory White Day gifts. After all, this is Japan and men here aren't very good at straight up mackin' on girls. Gifts here actually have meaning. What a confusing paradox.

So heres my player tips for Japanese men in White Day trouble:

Chocolate is bad for your gut. It's bad for your teeth and for some of you, even bad for your skin. Too much chocolate is bad for your stamina. Not impressive. Keep all the Valentines gifts you get from all these women. Don't eat any. Chocolate doesn't expire quickly. Keep it for a month, change the wrapping and add a few more chocolates. Send it back to the various random people you got gifts from. Be careful not to send the same chocolate back to the person you received it from, thats suspicious.

Now you can keep being popular without ruining your health. Know the game, player player!

Western men, stop complaining, you have it easy!

I wish the world would run out of hair relaxer

I wish the world would run out of relaxer

Some black women would die

That’s ok though.

We would have a parade

Afro-thickness would take over

WORLDWIDE THERE WOULD BE TANGLED MASSES OF KINK and true nappiness

The dreaded locks would abound and spread like disease.

 I wish the world would run out of chemical perm and relaxers!

We would burn Barbie at the stake and deliver our youths from burns, bad skin and balding

Young black girls would be free

Nobody would care about hair type A, B or C, 1, 2 or 3

It would all just be AFRO

Braided, plaited, weaved, locked, sewn, shown

Bought or our very own

Just no more relaxer

I wish the world would run out of relaxer!

Amagwinya, Food, health, randomness and a morning in my life

One of the first things I noticed when I arrived here is that food is very important to Japanese people. Japanese people may be impressed by a few things but give them a good meal and you’re in the good books! Japanese people also care a whole lot about what is in their food. This makes sense as they are some of the healthiest people in the world. When asking a teenager or a child how their food is, you don’t often get a reply such as “It’s bitter but it good for my health.” This happened to me when I observed a girl munching away nonchalantly at her Goya. Goya is one of the famous super-healthy super-bitter vegetables that Okinawa is known for.  Most teenagers would just not eat it, especially at school when their parents aren’t watching. They even more especially wouldn’t spend their own money on it. Perhaps I’m making assumptions, but you know what I mean.

I find it fascinating that there’s so much junk food all over the place though. Everywhere. The food industry in Japan is very big. A lot of people eat out all the time. Sometimes it can even be cheaper to eat out than cook for yourself. Depending on what you eat of course.  The fast-food industry is also on the rise. Regardless of this, not many Japanese people are overweight. Even less are obese. I’ve been here three months and I have never seen an obese person. And I live in Japan’s supposedly fattest prefecture, Okinawa. There is a lot of American influence here because of all the military bases and hence a lot of fast food and Japanese adaptations of American food and fast-food. I haven’t seen big sumo wrestlers but I’ve been told that they are large but mainly muscle-large not fat- large and very fast.
People here also exercise a lot. I can never tell how old they are but there are a few old men and women that jog at the Athletic Park every day and I am certain they could outrun me, even though they are probably way passed their 80’s. Almost all the children take part in sports and everyone looks younger than what they are. If you think a person looks 50 here, they are probably 80. If you think they look 30, they’re probably 45.

Yesterday we had a typhoon warning so they cancelled my English club and told everybody to go home. It was humid and rainy and I thought it was perfect weather to make amagwinya. I missed my mother. I thought about her the whole time I was making them. She usually does this in cold rainy weather and Oh what a blessing it is, indeed!  So at 5.30pm began making dough.

In about half an hour it was done. I left it to rise. I then cooked eggplant curry and rice and unidentified fish from the local supermarket that I was later to find out was commonly eaten in autumn (instincts though!). It’s been sitting in my freezer for about a month now.

At about 9pm my dough was ready and I began frying amagwinya to the sound of wailing wind and rain coming from outside.

 Well I was so excited that I had to give my landlord a taste. I went downstairs, saw that the lights were still on so I fetched their treat, knocked on their door and happily delivered amagwinya abo.

 It went something like this:

(Its dark, I’m standing under the outside light in front of the door, wind and light drizzle)

Me: Knock knock

10 seconds later their son opened the door. He looks 28 so he’s probably 38.

Me: Konbanwa!

Son: Hai hai Konbanwa! (Confused look)

(Meaning “yes, good evening”)

Me: (handing over the bowl of amagwinya) Minami Afurika dough-nuto! Tabetai!

 (Meaning “South African doughnut, eat”- in my broken Japanese)

Son: Aah, hai hai, arigato!

(Meaning “yes yes, thank you!”)

Me: Arigato gozaimashte! Bye!

And then I ran back to my apartment grinning foolishly. I love this place.

 I overslept this morning. Today is visiting school day.  I don’t remember hearing my alarm at all. I had an sms from my base school coordinator saying that the typhoon warning had been lifted and that we were to go to work. Perhaps I forgot to set my alarm last night. Being late is not good. I was very embarrassed. I sms my visiting school coordinator who then calls back. Now I feel even worse. Morning rush, traffic, school. My coordinator then tells me its ok she just thought I stayed away because of the typhoon warning. I don’t argue.

I’ve been waiting to give something to the people here since my presents from South African have not arrived in the mail yet. So I brought them amagwinya. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while. (Imagine wanting to make something but you don’t know what the ingredients are called nor can you identify them in the supermarket because the packaging is completely different.)

First I went to Kocho sensei (The Principal) and delivered the gift. This always makes me nervous because I get confused with when and how to bow and how to deliver something to a senior. Should I bow? My left hand automatically holds my right arm and my knees bend (Zulu style custom for showing respect), I avert my eyes. Now I don’t know whether I should bend (with bent knees) so I bow my head a little. He seemed completely unaware. From what I now know of Japanese people I know he is completely aware. The gift is handed over, Kocho sensei remarks “Oishi” and I am saved! I hurry on out before further embarrassment.  Next, the staff. My coordinator calls everyone to taste. One of the older ladies kindly puts toothpicks on the treat so that we don’t all stick our fingers in there (how marvellously practical and well, Japanese) and people proceed to munch.

“Oeshi!”

I’m smiling.

Then people start to call their friends and whichever teacher is walking past our staff room to come taste this African snack. I get questions: Wow, how do you make it? How old are you? (Random hey?) Do you enjoy cooking? “Oeshi!” Did your mom teach you? What are the ingredients? This looks like one of our sweets. One tannie whom I just admire asks me to teach her.

I am positively glowing now.

At the back of my head is that South African beer ad, was it Hansa? The one with the old Japanese man at tavern who tastes the beer and there’s dead silence till he exclaims “Oeshi!” and everyone is happy afterwards.  

I am happy. I am glad I made the effort. I am glad I put smiles on people’s faces. I am glad my mom taught me how to cook, and to be proud of my culture. What a great beginning to a great day!

Meditations over Bibimba, a Korean dish

Tonight I ate Korean food, in a Korean restaurant near my apartment. I cannot recall what my dish was called but it was served in a hot bowl and remained hot until the end of my meal. It was mainly vegetables on rice, with a raw egg yolk on top that cooked as soon as I started to stir. The old lady at the restaurant told me to stir. She was the only person there who could speak English. It was lovely. I never thought I would call any meal that was primarily vegetarian and super healthy, “wonderful”.

I say this because as I was sitting there on my own I remembered why I wanted to move to Japan again. Writing a list this morning helped remember, yes, but the essence of it all came back to me as I was sitting there. For the first time in a long time I was alone. I wanted to be alone. I am very comfortable being alone, most of the time and sometimes I crave my own company. But I wanted to be alone in a foreign setting, to see how well I can adjust, to see what I would find from it. Not only to learn but to enhance my appreciation of the world around me. To LISTEN, SEE, SMELL, TOUCH, TASTE and FEEL GOD in a completely different setting.  I’ve been in Japan three months now and I haven’t quite been out exploring on my own. I’m always with friends and that is a blessing but somehow that makes me feel less foreign and more like I’m back home. Which is a good thing most of the time, and a good support network to fall back into.

As I sat there eating slowly, I started thinking of how healthy Asian people eat. I looked a people whose culture is hardly influenced by Western standards and admired the persistence of tradition and culture in a predominantly Westernized planet. I sat and thought about the growing obesity back home and my own weight and health issues that have been influenced by so much more than personal choice of diet. I thought of many many things. I listened to the music there. I assume it was Korean music since I was in a Korean restaurant but I’ll never know. It was beautiful, somewhat jazzy and slow. Romantic. It soon changed to opera. Ideal for a Sunday night. My thoughts ran away with me.

Some people stared at me. I could tell they were curious. A black face in a non- tourist restaurant in the middle of a suburb on a Sunday night. Alone. Let me clarify here that Japanese people aren’t particularly race sensitive as a homogenous society but rather all foreigners are just foreigners to them be it black or white. It’s just that since there are so many Americans in the country, especially here in Okinawa, they tend to think all black people are American. If you say you are not American they assume you are Jamaican. It’s rare for Africans to be in Japan. And since there are so many American military bases in Okinawa, most foreigners are expected to be American military, especially the blacks. I, on the other hand am an African English teacher, from Africa. South Africa to be specific.

 The hospitality was amazing, nothing short of Japanese standards. I felt welcome there. Perhaps I should add here that as soon as I walked in I recognised the waitress who no sooner exclaimed: “Sensei!” and went on to tell the owner that I was her English teacher. Besides feeling like I was on show all night, it was a good experience.