Genie in Japan

A Loooong Weekend.

I just flew in from Jejudo, S. Korea. My grandmammy lives there, in the middle of nowhere on this beautiful island. To make a long story short and then tell a long story, by flying out there I messed up my good “traveler’s” record with the Japanese government. But I kept my very, very lonely grandmother company and in addition to that, I learned a lot/am discovering a lot about myself as a Korean. Here’s three days worth of journaling and ranting scribbled on receipts, envelopes, and other scraps of paper because I didn’t bring a journal…but I had to write, lest I explode:

May 5th, 2007

“Today is Cinco de Mayo. But I’m sure no one in Japan/Korea cares. Anyways. It’s 9am. I’ve been awake for the past five hours already. I can’t say it’s been a crummy day, but I think I’m just tired, cranky, and not wanting to put up with people…but God is great, and the past few days have been amazing. Wednesday night, we had dinner at Hiroyuki’s house. He made awesome curry and these soy/tofu patty things. I chopped up daikon (radish) salad and brought some Mister Donut donuts. Shiawase~ (Good times.) I connected with Naofumi on a level that I hadn’t before, based on our joint affinity for M-Flo. Gotta get him that Power-For-Living book. He also offered to watch Spiderman 3 with me. Yatta!

Thursday I spent all day at home, on the phone, Internet, getting ready for Love Sonata. In my personal opinion it was overhyped and too Korean. I had a hard time enjoying it. The whole event just started out bad. Maiko showed up half an hour late. We got separated, and I couldn’t even talk to her. The entertainment was…decent. There was a lady doing praise songs on a Korean-koto thing (what do you call that in Korean?! Geez). She was pretty skilled. It made me want to take up something more ethnic–whether it’s the koto (what is that?!) or drum or whatever. Korean cooking. Language. I am madly in search of my roots now. As modern day Korea touches a sensitive nerve with me, I will delve into ancient Korean culture…

Anyways, it was so funny to see Yoo Seung Joon, in his old age (29?), dancing (mediocre, repetitive, unimpressive), and lip syncing to long forgotten hits. But I was moved when the pastor of Onnuri Church blessed and prayed for him, in pursuing his true passion, which is pastoring. But in his youth, while he still can sing and dance, that’s what he’s doing–singing, dancing, doing his thang. I don’t like how Koreans hate him because he didn’t go to the army. Do you know how stupid that is? They say they’re angry because he didn’t do something he said that he’d do. Well guess what you hypocrite, I bet you can’t even count on your fingers and toes how many times you failed to do something you said you’d do. You call yourself a Christian, Korean? Didn’t Jesus Christ teach to love and forgive? You call yourself a hater? Then why are you cheering for this apparent person you hate, then desperately wanting to shake his hand and take a picture with him? I don’t understand you people. I don’t understand my people.

Well. The message was good. I was furiously tapping away at my Korean-English dictionary. It was direct, it was a clear presentation of the Gospel. Though it came from a Korean-Christian perspective. That much it lacked, considering the Japanese audience. But two of our kids came to Christ, and that’ s good enough for them so that’s good enough for me.

Early the next morning, we took off for Taka’s. His house/temple was large and beautiful, and his mother so hospitable and generous. She wanted to shine her light as an ambassador of Tenrikyo. Christian moms around the world, how are you shining your light? Do you keep a clean house? Do you raise upright kids?

Toriaezu, we talked, joked, laughed, ate, and then took off for Tenri City, Tenrikyo capital of Japan–of the world, I should say. It’s a completely different universe. Tenrikyo flags fly everywhere, people don black prayer robes, and the Ojiba (or temple, Tenrikyo’s “mecca”) is the center of everybody’s attention. Taka and his mother said that that place brought them peace. I could see why–it was beautiful, serene, mountains and blue sky in the backdrop. I could understand why–knowing that when you come to this place, everyone believes what you believe, understands you, relates with you, can connect with you with ease. You are not a foreigner. On that level I connected with Taka that day, realizing how difficult it must have been in school in atheist Japan, trying to hold on to a faith that none of your friends can vouch for. At the same time, his family wasn’t much of a support either, though his father being a Tenrikyo priest. Christian fathers, are you raising your children in the faith? Are you growing and supporting, equipping and training your children in the Truth?

This morning was great. I was just moments from the station when I suddenly realized that I had double checked for my box of soy milk, my Bible, and my gospel tracts, but had completely neglected my passport and ticket. Had to trek back up my mountain to get it. Ato, I got stopped at immigration and officially revoked my application for the missionary visa. That was a sobering experience. Toriaezu, I can return to Japan with no problem. But reapplying for a 3-5 year missionary visa in the future may get ugly. But my God provides what He wants to provide, so I have no qualms about that.

Now I’m sitting in a Korean Air airplane, where all the stewardesses have approached me in Japanese so far. Now what does that say about me?

I want to be perfectly trilingual–to be able to boldly and confidently introduce myself as a Korean. To clearly communicate that I am a daughter of God in Japanese. To relate my experiences to the world in English. It’s going to take some work.

I’m at my grandma’s house in Jejudo now, and not much has changed though I think I have. My perspective of this place–I used to hate it here. There’s no Internet, no young people, no noise, just trees, birds, bugs, and beautifully aged women with ninety years of stories on their faces. I’m captivated by this place, by these people. On the way here in the taxi, it was so good to hear the taxi driver and my grandma just gibber-gabber endlessly in a wild and rural form of Korean that maindalnders don’t even understand. Koreans are a gregarious people. Talking, laughing, bickering with people they don’t even know and may never see again. I don’t believe Koreans consider karma–do good or bad to another person, it doesn’t really matter. Koreans think, “I just need to be open and honest about my feelings.” There’s no such thing as self-screening here. I haven’t spent much time on the mainland so I can’t speak for all Koreans. But this has been my experience on this island where much of distinct Korean culture has been preserved and isolated.

Where a heater once sat in my grandma’s living room lies a chest with the entirety of my great-grandmother’s possessions atop it–some ceramic dishes, brass bowls, wooden ladles, and baskets. They have to be something like 80 years old. That’s 1920, mind you. I love the brass spoons, which are so crude-looking. You can see right away that they were hammered into these flat, round, enormous shovel-looking things by someone’s very own hand. My father’s side of the family was virtually unaffected by WWII. They were living on this island, away from all of the tragedy and racism. The Japanese apparently didn’t care too much about this island paradise, now considered Korea’s very own Hawaii.

However, my great-grandma’s stone hut has been mauled down and replaced by young mandarin trees. That is a tragedy! I was hoping to go in and explore the ancient edifice, hoping that maybe I could find an interesting thing or two and keep it as part of my history. Apparently, the person I resemble most in my family is that very great-grandma. Anyways, seeing that those spoons and bowls were here only possessions–not because she was poor, but simply because that’s all she really needed–I don’t know if I envy or pity that simplicity. Because life would be so nice and uncluttered if all I was concerned about was working hard and feeding myself and my children. But life for me, for all of us, is so complicated, living in the 21st century. I go to college. I have a car. I have a cell phone. I have an iPod. I have a Palm Pilot. I have interests and desires that are flung all over the place. I feel like I have a purpose beyond just working, eating, and sleeping and living yet another day. I want to make a difference in this world. And with the heritage I’ve been given, the upbringing I had and the experiences I’ve come across, it’s not my place in life to just survive, to just barely make it. I’ve been made to overflow. To expand, and push things forward.

My grandma talks a lot about her children, her grandchildren. But does she really know what kinds of lives we lead? This woman has gone years without seeing family. I completely understand now why my father insists that we go see her as often as we can. All of her grandma friends live with their children and grandchildren. Hers live in a land and world far, far away. Sure, we may well-off living overseas and claiming the American Dream, but what does that matter to her? She’s just a Korean farmer, a mother, a grandmother who could care less about the American Dream–she devoted her life to her family, and that’s what she wants most of all.

She’s so different from my own mother.

I don’t know what to think…my father’s family and my mother’s family are so different. You’ve got very traditional, humble farmers and blue-collar workers on one side, and then there’s progressive, migrant, white-collar social activists on the other. My paternal grandmother doesn’t have more than a junior-high school education. My maternal grandmother was educated overseas and had a university degree. My paternal grandmother raised 3 children alone. My maternal grandmother bore 7 children whom she often left to fend for themselves while she led a feminine-rights group in the city. They were Catholic, by the way. My father’s side is Buddhist. I’m Baptist.

I’m always in this messy middle-ground–Korean-American, East-West, Liberal-Conservative, Buddhist-Catholic–haha, just kidding about that last one. But really–God, what is your intention by all of this? Would you have me be like my grandmother, an excellent chef and devoted housewife, or like my mom, who maybe hasn’t done a lot of hands-on-raising of children herself, but leads by example? She holds two master’s degrees and is pursuing a doctorate. But why education? What are her motives? Self-advancement? Self-achievement? To support, challenge, and encourage her children? I don’t know…I don’t know…I really don’t know much of anything, do I? It’s a tricky question. To pursue my dreams–is that being selfish and neglectful of my duties as a future wife and mother? Or is it possible to be a perfect-both. Most people say it’s impossible. Do I dare attempt the impossible? Of course. =)

Anyways, like Ecclesiastes says–do your best, just leave God up to the rest. My life is Your canvas.

Some relatives came to visit for like 5 minutes. An ancient man with watery eyes. A young man, young woman. They’re getting married. So we say hi, the bride-to-be hands my grandma an envelope, and that’ s that. They head out, probably to greet more distant relatives. I ask my grandma how we’re related. She started, “Your great-grandpa’s cousin’s…” and gave up. We just are. Somehow.

May 6th, 2007

I lost a lot of weight in Japan. The food is really small here. So my grandma kept feeding and feeding and feeding me, like most grandmas do. Then she asked me why I always wear maternity clothes. The irony. (If you don’t get it, it’s because I do. Wear maternity-esque clothes).

Today my grandma told me not to get too deeply involved in religious activities. She said being a follower of something is good, but not to get too involved, lest I become a fanatic. She said if I ever graduate and say some crazy-talk like I want to be a missionary or engage in other religious activities, that she will absolutely oppose. I responded, “Yes, grandmother…” Was that a lie? It’s not like I listened to anyone in my entire life anyway.

Anyways, it was good to discover that she’s not the hardcore Buddhist that I thought she was. I was a little bit troubled today when she talked about Reverend Sun-Myung Moon, notorious cult-leader; she was praising how much power and money and influence he had. He had made a visit to Jejudo a while ago, inviting all the Moons and connected relatives on the island to join this event at the convention center. Some distant kin urged my grandma to go, so she said yes because she just wanted to see the convention center, see someone famous. She mentioned her plans to go to my dad in one of his weekly calls, and my dad, a growing follower of Jesus Christ, said that he’d rather that she didn’t go. In actuality, she really wanted to, but so not as to displease her only son, she didn’t. And neither did all the other grandmas in the village. Go Dad. Go Grandma. These cult leaders can be tricky, tricky…

I learned today that money, power, and fame do in fact move people. Especially Korean people. And what about Japanese people? I don’t know. That seems like a given. But for some reason, I have this innate urge to steer clear of rich and famous people; I’ve never been one to join a fan-club or want to take pictures with celebrities. It kinda grosses me out when people get all excited about “Oh I saw this person” or “So-and-so was at blahblahblah today!” But what is God telling me about influence and impact…the ability to change lives as your own (hopefully) godly life is made visible…show me Your way Oh Lord.

May 7th, 2007

Why is it that I’m always so eager to leave this country. I’m always at high-tensity levels until I’m safely on the plane. I don’t really want to talk to anyone or even hear anyone, for that matter. What happened. The other day I was even contemplating living in Korea for a year or six months (never mind, three months, if can even last that long) to really learn the language and culture, maybe even be close to my grandma. Now, I can’t stand to be here another hour. What is this condition where you hate your own people so much? I can’t love Japan more than I love my own country. What is that?

When my grandma’s not around, I do this thing where I only speak to people in Japanese…like at the check-in counter at the airport or to flight attendants. When did Japanese get more comfortable than Korean for me? That’s a scary thing. Don’t forget who you are, where you came from.