I’m writing this to you from the inside of a Mo’s Burger, not the most classiest place one might want to create literature but I guess it’s no McDonalds. There is only myself and another young man here with me, one of those trendy young things. I am now living in Saitama prefecture, about sixty seven odd minutes away from Tokyo, It feels more to me like the suburbs. Or maybe even the city outskirts, but my friend Daichi insists that this is the country side of Japan. Whether that’s is the mistaken thinking of his own sheltered mind or this really is Japans idea of country side, either way it doesn’t feel like country side to me.
So I’ll catch you up to where I am now, and for fear of being a bore I won’t elaborate too much.
So the night after my church service I decided to go out to dinner when I got home to Chiyoda, I got myself comfortable in a small Chinese restaurant a small walk away from the YMCA. As I’ve found to be the case the restaurant was a wash of different smells and colours, a lot of red seemed to always be in these places, set against the shiny brown of the wooden table tops and benches.
As I began to eat I felt a little frustrated, I had been trying for a week now to contact my friend Daichi, a Japanese University student who had been a part of an exchange program with my high school. He lived amongst us for a year, and in that time we became the closest of friends, resulting in Daichi living with my family for the last three months of his stay.
I remember those days with a certain light of humour and I guess sadness, it was one of the last summers that for me was truly carefree, most days were spent in the pool or at the beach, watching movies and spending long hours each day simply doing nothing.
After Daichi left things went quite typically, the way you would expect things to go when someone who has been such a part of your life leaves. I was stunned, someone who I had shared so much of my life with, my family, my home, even my room was now gone. Nights that had been spent talking and laughing into the early morning hours were now silent and empty.
Though ironically, Daichi always had a saying that he would often quote when it wasn’t really relevant.
“Time tames the strongest grief...”
As I was saying, ironically, it was in his absence that this little anecdote could be best applied, over time our communication became very on off, and eventually, and sadly, almost non-existent. But now I was the foreigner in need of a helping hand. I had called his mobile phone number for so long in vain trying to reach him, the YMCA was beginning to get expensive and I still had no job.
As I finished up with my meal I payed, the man behind the counter could see quite visibly that I was disgruntled, I didn’t care if he could see me grumbling under my breath, I was angry. Praying furiously I grumbled to God that I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t put it on Daichi’s heart to contact me, why he couldn’t just miraculously make me bump into him on the street, why he wasn’t doing this and wasn’t doing that. I think it’s safe to say that I was telling God how he should do his job as God and creator of all things....you know, because of course I would know better.
Stepping out into the night air I sighed, in that breath was all the pent up frustration I had carried during the week. I assessed my situation, The Lord had gotten me into the country, taken me from one end of the nation to the other, with minimal hassle he had gotten me to the YMCA and to top it off, despite my complaining and eye rolling and all the rest that comes with an annoyed whiny Tyson he had also taken me to church where I had met some fantastic people.
“Sorry Lord” I thought, gosh, and I used to think the Israelites were bad when they complained, even after all the miracles he’d performed in gaining their freedom.
I thought to myself, how many other miracles in my own life had I ignored or chosen to forget when ever things got a little hard.
Looking across the street, a small phone booth alight with a fluorescent bulb called to me in the balmy night time air.
Something inside of me said “go ahead, give it a try, one last try” So I obeyed, crossing the street, I entered the booth, inserted the coins and dialled Daichi’s number, the familiar ring tone began and for an instant I prepared myself for the disappointing sound of the answering machines annoying message. I was startled when I was faced with a “hello” from the other end.
Blinking in surprise it took me a moment to register what had happened.
This is where I speed things up a bit.
The next morning I sat with my suitcase, once again packed, outside the Ochanamizu station, not exactly a short walk from the YMCA but not a long one either. Sunglasses on I stared off into the distance with my iPod playing in my ears. It was a warm day, tolerable compared to the sweltering humidity of the last few days.
I glanced at the station exit, still no sign. I hadn’t been waiting that long anyway. A cool and very welcome breeze was blowing and suddenly a pair of shoes appeared before me on the pavement. Looking up, I realised Daichi had arrived.
Since I last saw him three years ago he had changed quite a lot, but then in a strange sense he had not changed at all. He had grown into a man, still slim of build, yet a ruddiness existed that had not before, the tan that had developed during his stay in Australia had been replaced by a lighter pallor, but still lingered underneath, maybe because it was summer. His hair that he had taken so much pride in was thicker now, still dyed brown and I could tell that the style of the moment in his case was lacquered on hair spray with no particular order or purpose, a deliberate mess.
In Australia he had never been one to wear jewellery, but now he wore beaded bracelets and other bohemian looking trinkets. In a way I was pleased I guess, in a community that seemed to have the very attitude of urbanised living in their blood he seemed almost out of place in his simple clothing and care free style. I wondered how I looked.
As we sat on the train laughing and remembering times passed I glimpsed a clear reflection of the two of us in the train window, he had changed since Australia, but there I was, still the same, shoulders back, hair perfect with each curl trained and held exactly where it was meant to be. Haughty and pretentious I was still Tyson, I felt a strange twang in my stomach of guilt and shame, was I so insecure that some people might think that I a mortal, constantly tried to elevate myself to the level of a God? Something that could only be looked at but never touched.
I recently watched a movie called “Sakuran” which is Japanese for “confusion”, without going into too much detail it follows the life of the legendary courtesan or “Oiran”, Kiyoha , who would later become known as Higurashi.
An Oiran is exactly what most people perceived Geishas to be. Oirans and Geishas are almost identical in appearance save a few elaborated details but Oirans were not just artists and entertainers they were also courtesans, or prostitutes. They lived in a communal house like an Okiya, and in each of these houses there were attendants, courtesans in training who were usually young girls newly sold into the house, “New Girls”, virgins who are yet to begin work as courtesans, the courtesans themselves, and then there is one girl who is an Oiran, the highest ranking and most beautiful girl in the house.
Each night the New Girls, Courtesans, and Oiran would sit in a display room behind a wooden rail, men would crowd outside the window watching the girls, hoping for a glimpse of the Oiran flanked by her lower ranking counterparts. There behind the railings, untouchable the Oiran would sit with her elaborate kimono and hair style, with the other girls, waiting for a client who could afford her company. Unlike a Geisha who are more approachable and would leave her Okiya to attend functions or rendezvous’ with clients, you always went to an Oiran, she never came to you, and Oirans were something like celebrities in their quarters.
Oirans would also perform what was known as a sort of promenade, in full Oiran regalia, painted white face, hair styled and wearing their lavish kimono the Oiran with a train of attendants and New Girls, preceded by men bearing her house’s crest and a large parasol the Oiran would parade down the street on nine inch wooden shoes called “geta”, gracefully sliding one foot out to the side and then gliding it around in front, and then doing the same with the other foot. Usually the Oiran held onto the shoulder of a man servant who would walk in front of her, this coupled with her slow and deliberate gait resulted in a sort of graceful dipping and rising, the many hair pins with hanging strings of cherry blossoms and tiny metal chains and chimes, swaying and dangling with each movement created a dazzling spectacle of moving light and sound.
As the Oiran promenaded down the main street of the Flower District people would line the sides of the street to stop and watch this untouchable swan float past on what seemed to be waves of air. Beautiful, often so mortal and insecure, and yet so distant.
I realised that for much of my life, I had created my own screen of secrecy, gilded with paranoia and mystery. Hiding behind a large pair of sunglasses I was in my own way, untouchable, but I realised, it was not in the way that made people fear you, or sit in awe of you, but in a way that prevented those who loved me reaching out to me in my times of need.
Daichi was still chattering when I looked away from the haughty reflection of someone who insisted on freezing a barrier of ice around themselves, it was only meant to guard my heart, but I found that instead, it had blinded my eyes.
I went silent for a little while on the train ride to Machiya, the place where Daichi lived. Something embraced me that unlike a human touch started from within and then worked its way to the surface.
It said “Don’t be so hard on yourself” I smiled and found that I could go back to enjoying Daichi’s care free conversation. As a result of my many years of hiding behind a facade, a facade that often damaged those who never should have seen that side of me, I also began to punish myself.
Sometimes I would be so caught up in my own shame that I forgot about how someone took the punishment for my own inequities a long time ago, took them, and nailed them to a cross, so that I could live without the cloud of guilt over my head that I seemed to cling too so tightly.
My heart became settled, and the train glided into our stop.
That first afternoon was so much fun, I realised that I had not had the time to stop and just have fun since I had arrived in Japan. So a trip to the local karaoke was much appreciated.
For the first time in what seemed like forever I opened my mouth and sung my heart out. It felt so good to make that familiar sound that was uniquely mine, singing a lot of old songs from old performances and few new ones recently learned I let my voice carry and with it the joy I felt at just being able to sing.
Singing I often likened to wielding a sword, it was a privilege that God had blessed me with, but I could decide how I could use it, Just like a sword could be used for personal gain, for power, for the taking of life, it could also protect, save, and maintain life.
A voice could be used in the same way, for power, and for selfish gain, or it could be used to touch people’s hearts, and glorify God.
The next week was indeed a vortex of activity, and yet at the same time a moment in my life of utter peace and stillness. As people around began to worry about my job situation I felt the Lord telling me to not have a troubled heart.
It was around this time that I opened my bible to Ruth, I was familiar with the story, being a favourite of my Sunday school days, but I wanted to see firsthand how God looked after his children when they were faced with the predicament of living in a foreign country.
If you have read my previous post “The Naomi to his Ruth, the Ruth to his Boaz” I had the revelation that I at first thought of myself as Ruth, awaiting the day that Boaz would ride out of the distance and provide for me, and I thought that God was my Boaz, but I was mistaken, for even though I fancied myself as the young and spirited Ruth I was actually the old and frail Naomi, and the Lord was my Ruth, for like Ruth, God went with me no matter where I found myself.
It was through this revelation that God gave me a patient heart, I delved deep into my faith and grafted the Lords promises into my heart. As each day passed, I did not become desperate, but felt that I was only getting closer to the moment that God would make everything fall into place, almost like he had taken a puzzle that had been of a troubled heart with worries that reached far beyond the sensible and thrown the many pieces into the air, and I sat patiently watching as each piece floated back down to the ground, each in its own place.
It was Friday when the pieces finally landed, and the picture on the puzzle had changed, instead of depicting an uncertain future, I found that now in its place was a content and hopeful spirit.
It was Wednesday at church when a girl from the congregation gave me the business card of a woman who owned an English school in Saitama.
At Daichi’s apartment on Friday night I stepped out onto his balcony to call the number on the card. The card read “Asa Goto”, as I dialled I felt optimistic, every hit I’d been taking in the last few days I decided not to take as a sign that I should be giving up, but as a sign that God was saying “No, this is not the job that I have planned for you, just wait a little longer.”
I was about to find out that the wait was over. The Lord decided to move.
So now, for the last few weeks I have been living in Saitama Prefecture working at Aussie Language school for Asa Goto, my new boss. Things have been settling down, however one detail I simply cannot avoid telling you is a rather un-expected encounter of a negative kind.
The first night I moved to Saitama I was staying in one of the apartments that Asa owned in Koku Koen, until the next night when a room would become available at her residence at Koteshashi, a young French boy by the name of William was to move out on that day, and I was to move in.
In the mean time, I would have the spare room in the Koku Koen apartment with an American fellow who I knew only as Lance. The night I moved in it was late and the apartment was dark, Lance must have been sleeping, so I quietly moved my things into the spare room and went to sleep, something in my spirit stirred, I felt almost uncomfortable, like the Lord was wrapping steel around my resolve. I knew it had something to do with the man sleeping in the other room, but I wasn’t sure how.
In the morning, it was still the same humid temperature that goes hand in hand with a Japanese summer. I was up early, I decided to go for a walk. Once I was out on the street I relaxed a little, appreciating the beautiful scenery, the apartments was on one of those long boulevards with wide smooth streets and large green trees arching their branches over the road. It was a slow walk, and I enjoyed the fresh air.
As I continued down the street I came across a small grave yard, with head stones tall and slim unlike westernised ones. A small Buddhist temple sat next to the grave yard, as expected every feature about the building was perfectly in sync, I had to admire the craftsmanship of the place, like one might expect it was the simplicity of each detail that made the whole picture something grand.
As I stood at the entrance of the grounds, between two large pagodas sat a stone statue of Budda, beneath his crossed legs were mounds of coins, and a tray of burned incense sticks. I wondered how many people had placed those coins there, in the hope that their prayers would be granted, unfortunately I knew just how many of those prayers had been answered by this stone statue. Indeed this statues face looked tranquil, peaceful. But could this stone faced god love? Somewhere beneath that graven chest, was there a heart that held compassion for the obscure, who felt sorrow for every sparrow that falls? Did this God breathe life into clay? Or give hope to the destitute? Did he offer love that redeemed or grace that gave back innocence? Did he offer himself as a sacrifice for my sins? Did this stone god hang, nailed to a cross, flesh torn from his body, the very real pain surging through his being urging him to call his hosts of angels to come to his rescue, but because he looked into the future, and saw my life, a life without his love, he decided to stay on that rugged cross and hang there, nails piercing hands that had given so much, and die for my sins?
No this stone god did not.
Turning and walking away from this house of emptiness, I knew in my heart, that I was in the right place, that even if my life in Japan only resulted in the salvation of one person, that it was still worth it.
Being in that place of false hope only strengthened me, pushed me forward, kept me walking, I thanked God that he was God, a God who did not sit and watch from a distance as I laid coins at the foot of his statue, but he existed within me, hurting when I hurt, rejoicing when I rejoiced. My “forever friend”, my companion.
Spiritually refreshed I returned to the apartment, I could smell tobacco, I assumed Lance was awake. Out on the balcony I could see someone sitting at the table, they were sitting on the right side so most of them was hidden by a sliding door, all I could see was a pair of slippered feet and a hand resting languidly on the white table holding a cigarette.
I went into my room and sat on the bed with my novel, I would not have been there more than four minutes and I heard a rather brash knock on the door. Opening the door I was met with a somewhat impish looking man, he had a shaven head and wore a silver ring in one ear. He leaned against the frame of my door. He had a jittery sort of manner, almost like someone kept pressing “play” and “pause” on a remote.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt which revealed a pale white torso, he was in shape, and probably worked out, but his muscles seemed to be placed very oddly, his chest seemed to be very well built but his belly seemed almost empty, dipping beneath his rib cage in an almost anorexic manner. In the same way his upper arms bulged with muscles and yet his wrists seemed so small that they could be snapped like a dry piece of kindling. The skin on his shaved head seemed to be pulled back like a mask that had been stretched and clamped tightly so that it looked difficult for him to talk.
He seemed to always talk with his head tilted, so much so that the back of his head seemed to be permanently resting on the top of his spine, the fact that he was also a short person may have contributed to this.
I was a little taken aback by the way he made himself so comfortable in the doorway of my bedroom, offering his hand he said “hi, my names Lance”
I took his hand in my own, it was cold, in the same lazy manner as I had seen him holding the cigarette he shook my hand in an almost tired way, like it was some great effort for his skinny little wrists to support his hand.
His grip sent shivers through my body, I felt immediately uncomfortable, something about the way he seemed to claim ownership over the situation.
“Nice to meet you, my names Tyson”
He wasn’t listening, he was unashamedly looking around my room at all my things.
“wow you take teaching seriously” he spotted the my college manual on my bed and without asking for an invite walked over to my bed and picked up the book.
Turning I began to get offended and a little annoyed at this very presumptuous little man. Still flicking disdainfully through the pages of the manual he said over his shoulder “I made coffee would you like some”
“um sure, thanks”
“It’s in the kitchen” he threw the book back onto my bed and turned and walked passed me out into the kitchen.
When I went into the kitchen I found two mugs of boiling water on the sink, a jar of instant coffee sitting open between them.
“you can pour yours” he said offering me the jar, taking it I tipped some of the coffee into one of the mugs.
“and that one’s mine” he said, I didn’t realise it mattered, I apologised and he laughed. when he laughed it was like grating on the ears, like his voice split in two and popped a little with every inflection, it was a leering laugh, one that you could tell probably never laughed with rejoicing, just in mockery or self gain.
“we’ll drink on the balcony” he said taking his mug and walking out onto the balcony where I had seen him smoking, I was getting a little tired of him ordering me around. To tell the truth I was a little scared, in the past, I’d found that people used to giving orders didn’t respond kindly when their orders weren’t followed.
I sat opposite him at the table.
“So have you met with her yet?”
assuming he meant Asa I answered.
“Yes, I met her yesterday for the first time, oh and she had a message for you, she wanted you to meet her at the office at seven”
He laughed “No, I’m not meeting her that early she’s crazy. Look, we need to have a talk, this woman, she’s a liar and a cheat, she’ll steal your money”
Now I understood the un-easiness I’d felt earlier. As a Christian I truly believe that the Lord gives you a spirit of discernment, one that grows and blossoms as you grow as a Christian. From the moment I had stepped into that apartment, even while he slept, I felt like something was wrong.
The coin swirled into the air, tumbling over and over as it came back down, he caught it, the other Tyson caught the coin in the palm of his hand, he rose to the surface like a snake into the sun light, rearing its head and hissing in defence.
My eyes narrowed as my stomach turned to iron, looking Lance square in the face I let him know with a glance that I was not going to be swayed easily. The way he spat out his accusations wreaked of disloyalty and a rather unfortunate authority complex.
His accusations were to disgusting to repeat, ranging from the absurd to downright perverted, painting Asa to be not only a liar and thief, but also a predator. A far cry from the generous and friendly little woman I had met a day earlier.
Breathing easily I said calmly “I will keep my eye on all that you have said, but it’s innocent until proven guilty with me”
He nodded, more out of courtesy than agreement. “If you’re smart you’ll make a game plan with me before she gets you too, we could bring her down” The lax way he said it didn’t match the zeal of his words. It wasn’t as if he was excited about bringing down an enemy, more like he just wanted to cause destruction, and had been doing exactly that for a long time now. I had to wonder how many more employers had he found an excuse to hate, an excuse to campaign against them.
“Like I said, I’ll keep my eyes open, but she has given me no reason so far to doubt her, but I thank you for the warning”
He sighed as if to say “have it your way, but you will regret it” and then said how he was going to go get some breakfast and if I wanted to join him. I lied and said I had already eaten.
“Okay well I’ll go get my breakfast, then I’ll come back, eat, probably read my bible...”
I raised my eyebrows at this, he’d only just finished spewing out the most deviant claims against Asa and then in the same breath spoke of the bible. Now please don’t mistake me, I’m not one to judge another on their Christianity, I am in no way equipped and it is not my right to do so. But it was a rather trying claim to believe, I guess all I know is that if I wanted someone to know I was a Christian I would not show such disloyalty to an employer, and express it in such a distasteful, un-savoury manner.
I told him that either way, she was coming to get me in a few minutes and maybe he could talk to her then.
He laughed that same double voiced laugh that made me cringe. “No, I can’t be here when she comes, you see I have an anger problem...” he smiled as if proud of the fact “...a big one, ha-ha I used to be a bit of a bad boy, but I’m not anymore, well, maybe a little bit” he winked at me with that same arrogant pride in the assets that most people would be ashamed of and with that he tipped his head and walked out the door.
I waited a few minutes till I was sure he was gone. As I waited I hurriedly packed my things and put them by the door. I didn’t want to wait too long because the store was only around the corner and if I was too slow he would be back. Something about him made me sick to my stomach and I didn’t want to be anywhere around him again.
With everything packed and ready I wheeled my bags across the road to where the office was, glancing up the street hoping I didn’t cross paths with Lance.
I was relieved when I got to the office and found Asa sitting at her desk. Hurrying inside and shutting the door behind me I placed my bags beside the door.
“Asa, I need to talk with you...” I spilled out all that had been exchanged between Lance and myself, I had only moments beforehand decided to let Asa know, she couldn’t have someone de-faming her character, it might hurt the reputation of the school as well.
She was surprised, she said she had never seen this side of Lance before, and that she gave him the job because he was un-happy with having a part time job so she gave him the full time position instead.
I saw Lance briefly again after that, once when he finally turned up to the office to meet Asa and again when I was preparing for class and he arrived thinking that he was going to be teaching. I didn’t enjoy letting him know that he had been fired, but it had to be done, when he asked why my nerve dissolved and I told him that if he wanted to know why he best get in contact with Asa (which was impossible because she had left for Australia the day before for a three week trip) or he ring the group manager.
His anger flickered like a new flame behind his eyes, but surprisingly he stilled and invited me to dinner after work. I agreed, but with every intention of not showing up.
After the class left I grabbed my bag and tried to lock up the office as soon as possible.
Just as I was turning the key in the last lock i heard Lance approcaching, walking out of the darkness into the brightness of the office light he said “Trying to run away were you?” the slight laughter in his words did nothing to mask the accusation in his sneer.
I was crouching as I locked the bottom of the doors. Resting back on my heels I rose and turned to face him. I lied and said “actually I was just coming to get you, I thought you might have forgotten”
I sighed in frustration at my own cowardice and followed him towards a small Chinese restaurant just around the corner.
We sat down and ordered and of course began to talk, he was still making livid accusations about Asa intent on poisoning me against her, I decided to try and take the focus of the conversation of Asa.
“So you’re a Christian?”
“Yeah I’m a believer”
“Cool, do you go to a church? I’m currently going to Jesus Life House”
“No, I don’t go to church, I would like too”
“Are you waiting until things become more settled?”
“Yeah I guess, I just need a job, then I think I’ll probably be in the right state of mind to go to church” I could see he was about to laugh and I cringed when that strange noise issued from his mouth, his eyes held that typical shine of attitude and arrogance, but there was something different this time, like he realised that in the long run, the joke was on him.
“Maybe it’s the other way around? Maybe church might be the answer to the other questions you have?”
He laughed again, the sadness in his voice becoming clearer “Yeah, I know God will provide, just not in my time, I’m a very right here, right now type of guy”
“Maybe you’ve been held back from jobs for a reason? Perhaps the reason you haven’t been getting into these jobs is because the perfect job is waiting to be freed up”
He nodded, but was silent. Maybe once upon a time he knew what it meant to have Gods favour, but for some reason or another he slipped away. I have no room to judge, I myself have known all too well the blessings of God, but so often I chose to forget what God had done and instead remind God of what he hadn’t done, always wanting more, always complaining until the memory of his kindness could almost have been something I had imagined.
In that small moment I saw that sense of recognition on Lances face, that he remembered a time when his now compromised innocence didn’t make him afraid to ask God for the desires of his heart. If only he also recognised that God has grace beyond human comprehension, grace that has the power to give back innocence.
Finishing up, we stood and paid at the counter, stopping in the doorway I remembered how I had a list of schools all over Japan that were looking for teachers, he gave me his email and I told him I would send the list as soon as I got home.
Although I did send the list, I have not seen Lance since, and he hasn’t replied to my email either. I’m sure we will see each other again one day, and I pray that when that day comes we will both be changed for the better.
Getting off the train at Kotesashi I strolled along the lamp lit street and hummed the tune of an old song that Nanny used to sing. The night was humid but tolerable, looking up at the stars I wondered if that was how God looked down upon us?
Like millions of stars scattered across an infinity of dimensions that we haven’t yet discovered or could even understand, and yet being able to hone in on each of us at the same time to feel every minute emotion we experience, I knew he could see me, I knew he could see Lance. I thanked God that in that small way I was not only able to maybe help someone come a little bit closer to Gods’ love, but I was also confronted with a situation that I might otherwise have run from had I the chance.
Lance would still remain un-employed at the language school, and even though we had come to a limited level of understanding his actions were still wrong, we are all like a square of soil, we just need to accept the seed of Gods’ love and let his promises be our water.
I could try and raise myself a level above lance for his wrong doings, but if I listened to my own metaphor, don’t we all start out as a simple patch of dirt? So what? Mine had a few more flowers growing.
I prayed that the Lord would help me remember that I was unfit to be anyone’s judge, hadn’t it been me who felt that I was being judged by those around me? The people I now called friends? If you continually judge a person because they aren’t Christian, what hope have they of salvation?
For now all I could do was be thankful for all the Lord had provided me with, if I didn’t, I might one day act as Lance did, one day, that could be me.
I thanked God that he had shown me a glimpse of a possible future before it became a reality.
I started writing this episode of “Memoirs of Another Kind” in Mo’s Burger, and am now finishing it inside the StarBucks across the road from church.
I have no other way to end this post other than to proclaim that “God is good” although I may love writing and pride myself on having been blessed with a gift for words, there is no way that I could elaborate on that statement.
God is good indeed.
To Be Continued....
