Lioness in Japan

Photo: idg

I’ve been thinking a lot about this topic again because the kangaroo is not around and he’s working very hard overseas.

This year has been a bit different for us as he’s been in Tokyo quite a lot since March. If he did travel, it wasn’t more than a week or two and that was easy to deal with. In fact, I looked forward to having some me-time, but this six-week absence has been somewhat unsettling and challenging. I’ve had to go back to understanding these feelings and re-adjust my state of mind, so while I did that (reading tons is always my solution) I became inspired.

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…Hokkairo (heat pads or pocket warmers) comes to the rescue as winter is creeping into Tokyo.

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Since I lost all my photos in the big iBook crash, I couldn’t blog about certain events. But a few days ago, a friend emailed me her photo album on Picasa, so here I am, sharing pretty pictures of my last snowboarding trip of the winter season.

A gal pal invited me to her company’s ski trip in late March. They got a massive discount on accommodation and free lessons thrown in, so I couldn’t resist. Her group of colleagues was fun and easy going. Everything was well organised and all we did was tear down the slopes, eat, drink, played silly games and dipped into the onsen twice a day. ‘Twas bliss…

Meanwhile, the kangaroo was back in Tokyo lugging our things from the old apartment to the new. My friends teased me for abusing my boyfriend, but really, our lives are so spontaneous schedule-wise, that stuff like this happens sometimes. His business trips are unpredictable and I make plans regardless whether he would be in town or not. As an aside, this is one way I survive as a trailing partner. If I waited for the kangaroo to tell me when he would be passing through town, I wouldn’t make any friends nor go on many outings. My advice is: make plans as if you were a single gal. If he can fit into your plans, cool, if not, you can hang out as a couple another time.

Back to my awesome trip…

We stayed at New Greenpia Tsunan Ski Resort in Niigata, which was about an hour away on the shinkansen, plus an additional hour’s bus ride from the station. It’s a big family hotel, but for the reasonable fee, who cares?

I love snowboarding but I am not good at it. This is me struggling to get up to pose for a photo but I couldn’t stand upright on this down slope.

The view was amazing. It makes all the tumbling and aching muscles worth it.

On breaks, I would just sit on the snow in the sun and gaze at the mountains and trees.

One new thing about Japanese culture I learned is they are absolutely into taking lessons. The Japanese believe in structured classes where they will practice till they get it right. Since this was a company trip, we had to participate because attendance was taken. It was particularly challenging for me as the lessons were all in Japanese.

If you’ve got time to kill, stop by the sake museum at Yuzawa station. For a small fee (probably less than 1,000JPY), you can try five different cups of sake. How it works is they have a huge selection of sake along a wall where the rice wine is dispensed into your tiny cup. I tried anything where I could recognize the kanji — from dragons to flowers to red monkeys, I sipped my way to a giggly, tipsy state.

I’m quite a loner most times, and if I do travel, it’s always with the kangaroo, so this group experience was refreshing. Anyway I hope the pictures will encourage you to try out Japanese ski slopes — they are just breathtaking.

The Japanese celebrate V-day (what Singaporeans call Valentine’s Day) with the women giving the men in their lives chocolate — from their hubbies to their bosses.

This is our second V-day in Tokyo. Let me recall the first: we just planned to meet back at the shoebox in the evening and the kangaroo suggested a tapas place nearby. The waiter put us way in the back room that looked like a sorry medieval dining room — replete with red and bronze print tablecloths and severe candlestick holders. Bizarre European shite in the middle of Tokyo. We were both tired and stressed — he about work and me about moving countries.

So this year wasn’t toooo different. Though we planned to meet at home and then head out, I thought I should take some initiative: I bought him Godiva chocolates (they are more expensive on the actual day — much like roses in Singapore) and booked a place at another tapas bar that seemed warmer and cosier.

Turned out the kangaroo’s business meeting ran late — usually they have a formal meeting end of the work day and then go for after-work beers but these guys were hungry and ordered food, too. Derek was antsing away and apologised for rushing off from the biru (beer) time. He asked, “Are you doing anything with your wives?” They said, “We’re going back to the office.” I cracked up when I heard it.

His colleague, a Japanese girl who has an Aussie boyfriend, feigned sickness to get out of the informal dinner and drinks — which is so Japanese because I think she didn’t want to look unprofessional and declare she had a date, and not a fever.

It was lovely nibbling on mushies, mussels, shrimp and bread drenched in olive oil and parsley, with sips of red wine in between. Then we held hands all the way back to the shoebox.

My gfs are all anti-V-day and I feel a little embarrassed to like this experience. But hey, if it’s an excuse to dine like a princess with nice wine — why the hell not?

For those who may not know this Singlish term, tai tai, it means a lady of leisure. I halted a week’s worth of lessons, packed my bags and hopped on a plane with the kangaroo. I’ve been on many trips with him but this is our first together while he is working and I’m just in for the ride.

We’d have breakfast in the morning, after which, he’d head off to the office and I would take off to discover a new city.

That’s the sun rising over the Gangnam district, a fashionable business and entertainment hub (sort of like Ginza) in Seoul. The kangaroo had to wake up at dawn to work on something or call someone so I dragged my eyelids open to look at Seoul just coming to life — I felt it was going to be a day of cool sights and great food.

This is what they call a bulgogi dish — a beef soup ensemble. I was reminded of my North Asian looks and was greeted by many Korean service staff in rapid-fire Korean. I only knew, “Anyeong haseyo” (hello) and “Kamsa hamida” (thank you) but it was enough for being a tourist. To my relief, I could fall back on Japanese because most Koreans know at least a smattering.

On my way to this delicious lunch, I couldn’t help comparing Tokyo and Seoul. Seoul has buildings that are more spaced out but they have the same overall grey look.

And guess who I ran into?

I couldn’t believe Wentworth Miller is the face of Bean Pole — South Korea’s answer to Gap, perhaps — so I had to take a picture. I felt like a groupie. He does look cute here with his Michael Scofield intense gaze going on, but I have to admit the passionate fires have died down after more than a few kind friends have suggested he bats on the same side. Nothing less attractive than being a fag hag.

Today was my first foray into a tai tai luncheon. Well, not really, but most of the women who attended followed their partners to Japan, like me. But the similarities stop there.

Let me give you a bit of history here: Recently I started volunteering for a social work organization to do some proofreading for a book they are translating. It was interesting work and the coordinator in charge also organises events for foreign women and Japanese women who are married to foreign men. She asked me to join them for their monthly cooking class. I thought, “I like to cook and if I have something in common to talk to these women about — cool.”

I was all for it because I wanted to meet other women but in a more natural scenario. I am so totally over going to these expat events where you introduce yourself to strangers in a bar — it feels forced and you can’t really make friends because it feels like a rotating socializing wheel where everyone is hungry to talk to as many people as possible. Call it friends musical chairs at a frenzied pace. Plus, a spiel that involves a boyfriend gets you quickly dropped from the menu, let me tell you that. Or those “international parties” where most are on the FFF Hunt — Find, Fuck, Fuck-Off.

Back to my original story. So it wasn’t really a cooking class. The coordinators cooked for us. Today’s meal was okonomiyaki, which I like and was keen to learn. We sat at a long table and chatted. Some were regulars and some were new and who helped out in the proofreading project.

It was fun, don’t get me wrong. They brought out cans of beer which relaxed us all. But the topics of conversation revolved around children and international schools. One American lady, Erin, just got pregnant and another Japanese woman brought up a snippet about her experience giving birth in London, “They gave me champagne and wine with dinner everyday. Even the nurse was drinking on duty! In Japan, this is absolutely forbidden.” So this South African lady, Martina, was like, “Yes, just relax. Enjoy your pregnancy. I drank wine and ran till I gave birth.”

The anecdotes were hilarious by these spunky women but it was a world so alien to me. Which international schools are co-ed or single-sex? What Japanese food do kids like most? Kids pick up foreign languages like a sponge and all of them agreed their children speak better nihongo than them. Part-time work is the most they can cope with two tots and a busy corporate warrior hubby. The one thing I could relate to was that the kangaroo also travels three weeks in a month, and even when he is in Tokyo, he’s so busy, I hardly see him either. It was refreshing not to have people look at me in sympathy when they ask me where my man is.

In the end, I felt a bit strange — like I walked into a completely alien world of nappies, cars, morning sickness and babysitters. Weird.

Do they have a group for gals who are not married but have a significant other without kids who work freelance and have flexible hours?

I thought that a weekday update is long overdue. I tend to blog about my weekend adventures so perhaps let’s touch on what goes on in the shoebox in between.

Right now, I’m watching a language program — a Russian lesson in Japanese. Mind-boggling. I think if there’s a more difficult language than nihongo, it’s got to be Russian. There are two Russians who speak perfect Japanese and they are chatting with a Japanese lady who yammers flawlessly in Russian (well, not that I would know but she sounds like the Russians). Such language programs are very popular here. I heard that there are Italian, French, Spanish and English lessons on TV. In fact, I’ve seen computer instruction lessons and mathematics lessons, too. This is a country that loves to learn.

I don’t say that with any sarcasm because I realised, through my students, that many Japanese feel very isolated from the rest of the world. I assumed that the Japanese were happy the way they were but they actually feel left out and want to be involved with what’s going on out there.

As the clock ticked to 11pm, I returned from my last lesson in Roppongi. Mondays and Tuesdays are my most hardcore days where I start teaching at 2pm and finish at 10pm. I actually felt really hungry after and just hoovered some pizza and ice-cream. It’s after midnight and my resolve to jog everyday till my Nagano road trip on Saturday is strengthening every time I look at my satisfied tummy. :`(

Today, I just received my certificate for passing Level Three, or Pre-Intermediate Level, for Japanese. I felt a glow of pride — I made it. Nine months of daily lessons, four hours a day, Mondays to Fridays. I can understand 50 per cent of what’s on TV. Sometimes I even tune into Desperate Housewives in Japanese. Daily life is a breeze, though of course, I’ve my moments when I flub a little. For example, at Ebisu’s Bagel & Bagel, I asked for ice in my juice when she asked me if I wanted it for here or to go. Sometimes they speak so fast, I just rely on the “routine” or “order” of questions service staff ask. Okay, that’s cheating, but on peppy days, I make them say it again. Sometimes twice. Until they crack and speak to me in English but I’d stubbornly answer them in Japanese.

Had a great day as I think all my lessons fired away on time, on target and everyone enjoyed themselves methinks. Cheers to more of such days. On bad days, I get embarrassed for not knowing how to explain a word or phrase (for example, how do you explain a house cannot be equipped with a bus?), or my students would look at me with a perpetual quizzical look, or it feels hard to keep the conversation going. I have to think on my feet constantly and sometimes I longingly look at the time to make it go faster. Hopefully, it’ll get much easier.

I started with one student in February, three in March and now I have 23 students. It sounds like a lot but a handful always cancels so in any given week I have 16-20 classes which is an average of four a day, since I give myself a five-day week.

So that’s what’s going on in my life. I write freelance on the side, too, so busy days, indeed. I look forward to next week when I can just teach and recharge my batteries.

The kangaroo’s mum writes to me occasionally, but does so especially when she knows her son is away from the shoebox. Very sweet of her I must say.

The recent one offered me a couple of children’s rhyming books for my beginner students, plus a gust of encouragement about how I’ve managed to occupy my time productively in Tokyo, plus I don’t complain.

Well I do complain. Just a little. To myself. Or to friends. But just a moment of: Oh the kangaroo has been away for the past month and I’ve only seen him for four days.

But compared to when I first arrived I think I’ve leapt to the next level of self-sufficiency.

I still don’t have many friends but I like being alone. I found a tucked away cinema in Shinjuku to watch Stranger Than Fiction after a light chirasu rice bowl (sashimi on rice). After which I joined the mad crowd in Zara to buy a few pretty pieces of teacher clothes and then picked a sinful snack in Takashimaya’s food hall. I tried to look for my favourite ice-cream mochi (sticky rice-flour balls) but to no avail so I took my tired feet home and cooked dinner. I’m almost done reading Murakami’s Wind-Up Bird Chronicles, while re-runs of Kath & Kim tickle my funny bone in the last moments of wakefulness.

What I’m trying to say is, maybe solitude is really alright.

I finish work around 9 or 10pm these days. Exhaustion usually plagues me in the late afternoon and early evenings but once I get my second wind, I’m not ready to flop down on my futon by midnight.

It takes a while to unwind after a day’s work, doesn’t it? Working during other people’s after-hours gives me a strange schedule. Sometimes I have dinner at 530pm or if I’m not hungry, I’ll wait till 930pm. I hope I won’t put on weight because of such late meals but it usually keeps me awake, craving the company of the TV or a book or an MSN chat with a friend till after 1am or even to 2am.

Saturdays will now begin no later than 10am as I’ve to get my ass down to an 1145am class. I finish at 6pm but it’s a perfect arrangement for weekends when I don’t have much on.

Erasing years of 9am starts and midnight shutdowns on weekdays is a little more disorienting than I thought. But cheers to a new style of ebb and flow.

I killed my first cockroach. As I moved out of the parental home at a pretty late stage in life, I still go through stuff I’ve never done on my own. It was only a few months ago that I fixed my first lightbulb. The kangaroo had to teach me how to use the washing machine when I moved into his pouch in Singapore. Don’t worry, since then, I’ve been quite the domestic goddess.

Today, it was a disgusting critter that has been haunting the shoe box. Yesterday I spotted it scuttling around the fridge, so I left the door ajar for two hours, hoping it would escape.

This afternoon, this black ghoul was running up and down the wall next to the desk while I was pretending to focus on my Japanese homework.

I grabbed a plastic bag and slammed my fist on it. It didn’t die immediately. To which I screamed and screamed as it struggled without one leg — amputated by my clumsiness. Out of horror, I smashed it again and tossed it into a another plastic bag with a shudder.

It’s better this way….than to have this pest sculking around my futon at night. It’s moments like these I wish the kangaroo was around, but I’m not sure about how he deals with cockroaches. He’s not big on blood, but good with electronics.