Maybe We Can Fly (if only we'd let ourselves)

It’s 9pm and I hear my doorbell ring.  No one ever comes to visit me so I was wondering whom it could be.  I answer the door and it’s the woman who lives in the apartment below me.  About a month ago, one of her kids had fixed the broken lock on my bike without me asking.  I also see her for brief moments almost every day, taking her kids to school or bringing them home.  I never really see my other neighbors, and when I do, they usually don’t acknowledge me, but she always warmly greets me, even though she doesn’t speak any English.   I always admire her bravery when she tries to talk to me, because she knows I suck at Japanese, but she’s still tried speaking to me more than anyone else in my neighborhood. 

But she came to tell me that the wind had knocked over my bike again.  It makes me feel irresponsible, but the first thing that came to mind was, “damn…now I’m going to have to go outside in the cold and pick it up.”  I bought the bike for about $100 when I first arrived in Japan because I wasn’t able to get a car right away.  My bike was definitely fun to have during the summer, but now it’s more of a nuisance because I have nowhere to put it and it’s usually too cold to ride it around.   But then she started talking about her son.  I’d met him once and he’s a junior high school student.  She told me that he’s going to start high school next year and I didn’t catch the last part, but I think it was something about it being too far for him to walk to (most students walk or bike to school).  She asked me how much I’d be willing to sell it to her for. She even had her wallet out. There's something really depressing about someone asking you how much your bike is with their wallet in hand. And for about one second, I did that thing where you tilt your head up to think, even though you already know the answer, and said, “it’s free, you can have it.” Her family of five lives in an apartment that barely fits me. I'm pretty sure she needed it more than I did.

I think the reason I’m writing this is because of her reaction.  It was almost like I had just given her a new car, she was so genuinely happy.  She asked me “hontoni? hontoni? really? really?” about thirty times, and after around the tenth time, she started to cry and held my hand.  I feel like it was one of the best and most surprising experiences I’ve had here so far. I remember feeling that same way on the day when she dragged me out to my bike, only to show me that one of her kids had replaced the lock on it after it got knocked over from the wind.  It’s funny, because out of everyone I’ve met in Japan, I’ve barely talked to this woman and we can’t really communicate enough to get to know each other well, but I feel a real connection to her.  It’s interesting how connected we can be without words, or perhaps how much unnecessary meaning we put into language.  And maybe even more interesting is the feeling I got when she held my hand for that second.  It was like a “That’s So Raven” premonition moment where my body just froze up because I’m not used to physical contact with the people here.  Japan’s culture is group oriented, but sometimes it feels like people are so disconnected from each other.  No one really hugs, there are no playful pats on the arm, instead of shaking hands, people bow at a distance, and even when you pay for things, you put your money in a little tray on the counter instead of in the salesperson’s hand.   I think that’s part of the reason why I like teaching in junior high so much.  The students haven’t lost that human interaction, that physical touch.  It seems like they’re always holding hands, hanging on each other, or craving each other in the most innocent ways – boys and girls alike.  

I guess my interaction with my neighbor just reminded me of what I’ve been missing in Japan, but coupled with the idea that perhaps what we’re missing never really lives that far away.


Camera: Nikon EM
Film: Superheadz; Fujicolor Pro 400H 

Sannai Junior High School.





First day of snowfall!




Stumbled upon at least 100 of these birds a couple minutes from my house.









-M