Personal History (Draft)

1. Dawn: Pre History

2. Middle School: Classical Ancient Times

2.1 Daily Life

2.2 Books

2.3 Friends

2.4 Thoughts

2.5 Reflection and Lessons

3. High School: Middle Ages

3.1 Thoughts

4. University: Renaissance

4.1 Daily Living

4.2 Visit by my Student, Yachan, to my Apartment

4.3 At a Coffee Shop

5. World Travel: Modern Times

5.1 Departure

5.2 Minamata

5.3 Okinawa

5.4 Leaving for the World

5.5 Asian Countries

5.5.1 Nations

5.5.2 India

5.5.3 Rafiek

5.6 Europe

6. Present Times

6.1 Chieko’s Birth

6.2 Teaching

6.3 Teacher’s Strike

6.4 Friendship

6.5 Now What?

6.6 Poet 

7. Future

1. Dawn: Prehistory

Prehistoric times predate my classical ancient period. That was the dawn of my personal history. I remember clearly about my tireless drawing, painting, and writing activities, but the records to show them might have been buried under volcanic ashes somewhere in my own prehistory. 

Although the written records may be gone, my memory of that period is vivid. Two of my sisters, our friend, and I had a campfire in the woods and baked sweet potatoes in the burning ashes. I can still smell the smoldering potatoes. Once a year we had a trip to the beach. The white waves and sounds of the ocean still come back when I close my eyes.

I always had more energy left to keep playing at the end of a game. Athletic meets were held on clear autumn days and white shirts and white pants would scatter across the schoolyard under the blue sky. Ready, get set, go. I ran as fast as I possibly could. My cheeks trembled.

I, along with the neighborhood children, endlessly painted the scenery of a river about one mile away from home. Along the river was our favorite spot. The river disappeared into a point where distant blue mountains merged. The river’s deep blue and the bright blue of the sky mysteriously connected in harmony at the distant horizon.

Now, I would like to dig into my classical ancient times rather than continuing with my prehistoric years for which no written records have been recovered. I would like to trace the classical ancient times for which some records were kept. My mother safeguarded my journals and shipped them to me when I moved to the United States following my travels through Asia and Europe.

I have a cardboard box stuffed with diaries and journals, revealing a detailed history from my ancient through modern times. And I still keep journals to the present day.

I have chosen events from these records that are characteristic of each time period: Ancient, Medieval, Renaissance, Modern, and Present.

My developmental stage around high school corresponds to my medieval times. I cannot give a complete interpretation to this stage of my history. Most of my original records are yet waiting to be reviewed.

I believe that I traced human history by reliving each stage--growing up in Japan.After college I traveled in Asia and in Europe, and settlled in the United States. This original perception of tracing human history came to me clearly and suddenly when I was a sophomore at a Japanese university. This perception was formed while I was still wandering from Medieval Times through the Renaissance and to the early modern period. I remember that I used to recall my childhood as a Classical Ancient Times when I was in my Dark Ages. After my realization I think I continued through the developmental stages until I found my way to the present.

Now I would like to trace the history as it was, as I conceptualize it. When I read my records or when I recollect my childhood, I feel deeply about the ancient human spirit that was within me during my childhood years.

Each developmental stage of the human race corresponds to each developmental stage of my life. In retrospect, I know that I felt that I was going through those stages even though a firm and comprehensive conviction did not yet support my feelings.

Modern Times are still difficult to define thoroughly, especially when it comes to the time frame, and sometimes I wonder exactly when my modernity started.

My departure from my parents and family and the existentialistic realization of myself took place in a slow but steady manner, although a clear realization of reliving human history came to me in an abrupt way, as a Revelation, when I was in college. I was In awe for a few weeks.

2. Middle School: Classical Ancient Times

 (From my early diaries)

I started writing my diary when I was around eight or nine, but to my regret I have misplaced some of the earliest writings.

From now on I will keep my diary and securely store it so that I do not lose it. It will be very meaningful to read when I grow up and it will also be interesting to leave some traces of my life for the future. This is something that only human beings can do.

I am a bookworm now, going to the school library every day to eat some delicious books. There are not enough books to read at home and naturally the school library is the place for me to go. When I find interesting books at the library, I check out as many as five at a time—and that can be every day.

Mrs. Kumata, the librarian, treats me specially and lets me borrow even on days not designated as library days. I wish my school could get more interesting books for our library.

2.1 Daily Lives

My daily life is repetitious day after day, going to school, helping around the house, reading, and doing leisure activities before going to bed. I should do more homework such as reviewing and previewing schoolwork, but time is limited since I spend long hours helping my parents with their chores. My parents are expecting more help out of me around the house.

As a human being I need more leisure time. I listen to the radio for about two hours a day. In the long run this is a big waste of time, but I guess I feel emptiness if I don’t listen to interesting radio programs. As a compromise measure, I integrate some work with the leisure activities. While listening to the radio, I chop carrots to help my big sister cook. Peeling potato skins can be done easily while listening.

2.2 Books

Even if I happened

To lose my friends,

I would not despair;

My true friends,

Who share my sadness

And my happiness,

are the books I read

2.3 Friends

There is a little boy named Toshio in my class. One day he came up to me and said, “You are the girls’ boss in our class.”

“What do you mean by boss?”

“That would be the one who is commanding,” he said. I did not want to waste my time talking to a little boy like this and tried to leave. My friend, Miss Sakiyama, was standing next to me as usual.

“Who is the boys’ boss then?” she immediately questioned Toshio, who was grinning.

A boy named Ichiro, who was with Toshio, answered, “That is he, Toshio, as you all know.”

“Then why don’t you fight and show us who is stronger?” said Miss Sakiyama with a wide grin.

I finally left them, saying, “I’ll go for it not by violence, but instead by scholastic achievements.”

“Don’t be so arrogant,” Mr. Harada’s voice chased me. My conclusion for the day was that boys are not very rational animals.

2.4 Thoughts

Why did I appear to this world? Is this world a mere dream?

I do not know.

Why do I know about a human being called myself more than I do about others?

Why do people know about themselves better than about others?

Why do people care for themselves more than they do for others?

Why do people want themselves to appear good in front of others who are also just humans?

What kind of thought process or mind is causing this impulse of vanity?

I do not know

What this world is meant to be.

What kind of desires do our thoughts bring about?

When I first became conscious of myself, I was already in middle school. I tried to look back on my past, but could not find anything prominent. I felt somewhat lonesome.

I was born in Japan, a small but precious country. What was I thinking in the past ten years or so? Why did I not look at myself as a human being in all those years?

I think that I am lucky, and feel happy and grateful to my parents who brought me to this world. My parents are kind to me, and I can return their favor later when I grow up. How nice that would be! I wish my happy future would come quickly. There may be many obstacles on the way to the realization of my happy future, but the difficulties to overcome are also something I can enjoy along the way. I will reach my future soon enough with diligence.

2.5 Reflection and Lessons

Sometimes I act without thinking very carefully. After school, the other day I was reading in the library when Mr. Omiya, our science teacher, came up to me and reminded me that it was time to go home. The clock on the wall in the library showed three o’clock.

I saw my friend on my way home and she and I decided to visit our elementary school to talk to the teachers about a class reunion. After talking to Mrs. Hanawa, we decided to visit another friend in Kashakuma to further plan the class reunion.

When it was time to return home, it was pitch dark. I ran like a crazy person on the dark night road and tried to sneak into my house through the back kitchen door. My father spied me at once and scolded me.

“Why are you so late? Your sister just left for the school to look for you,” said my father in his most tense voice. I listened to him quietly and thought that I had not realized how seriously everyone in my family would worry about me if I were gone. Immediately I rushed to the school. When I got there, my sister was talking to Mr. Omiya, who knew when I had left in the afternoon. Mr. Hattori was phoning my parents, and Mrs. Kumata was standing next to him.

I apologized to everyone there for having made them worry about me by my silly action and came back home with my sister as quickly as possible. My parents scolded me again just to make sure that I would not do something like that again. I appreciated their kind hearts, and could not help but feel sad about my action. I promised that I would not do it again.

When I do things without thinking, I should reflect upon myself deeply.

One day I climbed a tree thinking that it would be nice and comfortable to sit and read a book up on a branch. As soon as I opened the book to read up in that tree, I realized how uncomfortable it is to sit on a tree branch. I immediately came down from the tree.

This event made me think. I should act only after thinking thoroughly from different angles. Reality can be harsh compared to just dreaming.

3. High School: Middle Ages

3.1 Thoughts

As I mentioned before, my interpretation of this period of my developmental stages is not well defined yet. Although there remain plenty of journals and records to review, I do not know how to choose the right samples to show the period most accurately. In other words, I am not fully capable of editing my high school days to show a clear image of the time. It is not a clear-cut Dark Age, but rather gray. I know that I often recalled the bright and happy times of my elementary and secondary schools. I become envious of those times and began to call them my Classical Ancient Times or my Golden Age.

I would repeat to myself a saying from my favorite author, one of whose characters said, “I need to suffer, die, but first of all, I should be a human being.”

My personal reminder during this period was “Pursuit of Truth,” the motto I wrote on my hand-made batik wall hanging. I was trying to survive this period of my life with a simple objective in mind.

4. University: Renaissance

My Renaissance

When the snow melted and black soil turned to brown, I entered my university gate.

No more examination hells.

From now on is my Renaissance.

Farewell to rote memorization in preparation for college entrance exams.

I can now pursue truth in the true sense of the meaning.

I can read, think, write, and paint as much as I want.

The university is full of greenery with its spring sparkles. Mr. Harada, who was my middle school sweetheart and went to a different high school, is at the same university. This was a pleasant surprise for both of us.

Nothing will control and restrict me anymore. I can be myself, one human being who cannot be replaced by anyone else. I will decide on my direction by myself and determine my own path. I can choose if I would like to walk, run, or fly. A bird from a cage has been released and I will obtain the freedom of the bird flying into the deep blue sky.

I have finally left the home where I was born and raised, rented an apartment, and started a new life. I will determine things for myself all by myself. My parents will no longer watch my every move. I will let go the bonds of a feudal family. Thus, my college life is full of the spirit of laissez faire. My apartment is small, but it has become my castle from which I extend myself to various gatherings and activities. I attend classes in the daytime and in the evening tutor children, wash dishes, and do some modeling or other part-time jobs to earn a living.

4.1 Daily Living

My friend, Tak, has gone home to Chiba for summer vacation. There is no way to get him back. I go to bed early and am woken up at eleven PM by two students, who have come to see my art exhibit. They say that they are from Nihon University. I chat with them on art and philosophy until about 2:30 AM. They finally leave. When people make such midnight visits, they should bring something meaningful, such as skillful expressions, kind hearts, or anything that makes the hostess feel appreciated. There are not too many relationships that can go without a certain politeness.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, is motivating me to get up from bed in the morning. I keep reading books in bed while the sunbeams pour into my room. My sister, a student at the same university, comes by to have a cup of tea and, I am sure, to listen to some favorite love songs I keep. I say to her that I would like to have a cup of tea too, and she starts making tea for both of us. She listens to the music and leaves my place without staying too long. Now I am sitting at my desk and planning my studies for the week.

A farmer’s wife who usually comes around pushing a cart with various vegetables to sell is in front of my apartment. I go outside and buy some red apples, which look delicious and are urging me to paint them. I try to draw them on a piece of paper but do not feel up to it. I eat one of the crispy and shiny apples. It is as delicious as it looks.

In the evening, my friend Mr. Shioya comes over to see my latest work. He claims that my paintings are great. “Your paintings reveal your true feelings,” he says, as if he has become an instant art critic with deep background and knowledge. I do not really like his comments, although expression of feelings may be the ultimate objective for the art of painting. I know that he does not mean such profundity in his rash statement on the definitions of art.

Mr. Shioya is reading some of my latest writings when twofriends from my philosophy study group come over. “Are we supposed to meet today?” I say without thinking about the effect my statement might have on them. “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” I say to prevent an embarrassment, and notice from the corner of my eye that Mr. Shioya is taking notes while reading my writing. “I will pass on your note to your girlfriend if you so wish.” I offer my help with a bit of sarcasm, and see Mr. Shioya leaving quickly with a grin on his face.

My study group meets for only thirty minutes or so and the members leave. I want to get out of my room to get fresh air and to shop for dinner. The cool evening breeze refreshes my mind and thoughts. After shopping I come back to my apartment and make a hot cup of tea for myself. The hot tea is something I learned from Tak. I listen to the music and enjoy the fresh evening air from the window, reading some essays by Margaret Mead, drinking the cup of tea.

I hear someone knocking on the door. “Come on in,” I say, and that someone is my friend Tetsu.

“Do you have a copy of The Outsider?”

“Wait a minute.” I say to him quietly. “Would you like to sit down first, my friend, before conveying your urgent business to me?” He is the kind of friend to whom I can speak my mind without prior examination and reservation. Sometimes my statements may sound rather harsh to him, but he takes them well.

“I have a copy of The Outsider in English. Someone borrowed my copy of the Japanese version, but I cannot recall whom. I know that someone did borrow it though.” Suddenly I remember who it was as I watch the rolling eyes of my dear friend.

Tetsu waits at my apartment. I run to the borrower’s house and retrieve the book.

When I come back to my apartment, I read aloud to my friend the last part of the story, where the main character of the book curses and is overjoyed at the same time.

Tetsu quietly listens to me. I remember that the movie, The Outsider, is coming to a nearby theater. 

“Are you going to read this book in preparation for viewing the movie?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think there are three types of humans and the main character of the book is a typical one of the three types.”

“Of course, yes, he is one in principle,” I assure him.

“Are you in agreement with the categorization of the three types?”

“I do not care if the types are three or four,” I answer in a definitive tone.

We slip into a debate on categories and finally my friend seems to realize how silly the debate is, smiles at me, and leaves my apartment after listening to his favorite song, “You don’t understand my feelings.” He is nodding and mumbling, “Good, good.”

“When you are done with the book, let me know if you liked the story or not, will you?” I throw my fair demand onto his back.

He looks at me and says, “Yes, and I will further discuss about the three types of human beings with you.” The front door is closed with a loud thud, leaving only one kind of human being behind the door.

I thought I would keep my diary while Tak is gone. Even if it ends up with only the dates of the days he is gone, that would be some record of his absence. I have stapled together three pages of paper wishing for him to return before the pages are filled.

The three pages are definitely not enough. One of the members of my writer’s group gave the paper to me. I remember him saying that the paper was smooth to write on, especially with a pencil. Try it. I will add just a few more pages and try to learn how to wait.

I cannot think of the world without you. You have become a certain existence for me. Forgive me when I notice even the slightest move you make. When you try to pull your long bangs up nervously, you look at me. That is the time when I get puzzled as to who is really looking. You or me?

Luther’s writings and Hoffman’s Don Juan are the ones I am reading now. I wonder how different these two people are, Luther and Don Juan! In the final analysis, they are quite similar in their enthusiasm in the pursuit of ultimate truth. “You are a human being, and you, too.” These are the people one might approach, pat them on the shoulder, and soon chat heart to heart.

A radio program from Moscow was on and an announcer reminded listeners saying, “Everyone, good night. Please rest well,” in the middle of the silent night. Can everyone really rest well?

4.2 Yachan’s Visit

I woke up in the morning with a bit of bitterness in my mind. I wrote an acceptance letter to Mr. Wakayama for a modeling job. I will not know where he is going to send me until I get there. 

Today my home tutoring student, Yachan, will come and visit me. This will be her first visit, so I hope she can make it and find her way out to my apartment. She promised me that she would write a review of The Star Prince and present it to me today. I wonder if she has managed to do that assignment. 

“I love The Little Prince, and I cannot stop thinking about him even when I am lying down to sleep,” she says to me. I wonder what happened to this project of hers. She is a precocious middle school student, living with her cousins for some reason, apart from her parents. Her parents are far away in Gunma.

She is a well-rounded student and can handle any hardship that comes along the way. With that courage and commitment, she still confesses to me that she feels helpless and alone. I read in the children’s room and wait for her to return from school. She comes back tired and pretends to collide with me to get my hug.

Now I am waiting for her in my apartment, reading Sartre’s The Methodology, and thinking that learning might be waiting. I am waiting and learning. Those who are patient enough to wait can accomplish learning. Art runs around. Art does not wait patiently. Humans need both—accumulating learned knowledge and heart fulfilling art to live with.

Yachan knocks on my door and enters my apartment. I need to have her settle down and feel at home first. Yesterday she had an autumn athletic meet at school. That must have been harsh, competitive, and sweaty under the hot sun. 

“The weather was great, wasn’t it?” I try to make things appear positive.

“The ground was wet and muddy, though.”

“You must be hungry, right? I will make you chow mien. Would you like to finish up your review of the story meanwhile?” I go to the kitchen in my small apartment and see her writing with a serious look on her face.

“Here you are, your favorite dish—though I put in some small pieces of carrot, which I know you do not care for.”

“Sensei (Miss Teacher), you told me that you do not like cooking, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did but I know what is required by a growing person like you. I can be my normal artist self and creative even when I stand in the kitchen, Yachan.” She finishes the steaming hot chow-mein with vegetables at once. I serve a cup of tea and she sips it; she still wants to keep writing her review, to finish it to her satisfaction.

I decide to write my thoughts on The Little Prince while waiting for Yachan to finish her assignment: “The Little Prince is someone who may be around you all the time. He knows what you think. He is transparent. He sees through humans’ minds and is still alone, and he enjoys that solitude. He is as light as air and can penetrate anything and watches what humans do all the time. The Prince is not a child but not a grown-up either. He is pure like a child, but he can endure absolute solitude unlike a child. The only sad part of this story is the fact that Saint Exupery, the author and pilot, perished and disappeared into a dark sky while he was flying his plane.” His image overlaps with the Prince and I can see the image in the dark star-lit sky.

Yachan leaves my apartment, complaining that her review is not completed, but looking happy about the fact that she has made it all the way to my apartment and has explored how I am living. The purpose of her visit might have been just to explore. 

After Yachan leaves I take a walk, strolling around the campus, and meeting one of the study group members who is also wandering through the campus.

“What are you reading?” he demands.

“Jaspers and Margaret Mead, and things like that.”

He does not notice that I am holding a book by Marx under my arm. Why can’t I completely become one with Karl Marx, when I am struggling to survive economically? 

I have dinner after a short walk. Now I am looking up at the clock on the wall so I do not miss the time when I am supposed to talk to Yachan by phone to listen to her summary and review of the book.

I walk to the telephone booth in the rain, which has started in the evening. “Sensei, I changed my story to ‘The Rakko’s Tears’ from The Little Prince, which I thought was too difficult for me to handle. If it’s OK with you, I will read it to you now.”

“Of course, Yachan, please proceed.”

“The Rakko’s Tears” is one of those fairy tales of friendship between humans and animals. From Yachan’s review it is clear that depiction of the cute Rakko is vivid and the scenes are colorful in the original story. The summary of the story would reveal what the reader feels about the story, in other words, it reveals the reader’s impressions. But in the end can you add what the story's about for those who haven't read IT??” 

“The summary is OK, right?”

“Yeah, definitely, except for the climax where Pilala and Rakko reestablish their trust. That was somehow weak. So, can you elaborate that point?”

“Thank you, I will do that.”

“Please make sure you complete this, OK?”

“Good bye.” Again into the rain I go, seeing a couple go into the booth as soon as I have left.

Again the night falls over me.

I am listening to music and thinking about you.

You are an abstract symbol of lovers. So you are not my lover. You exist only within me. In other words, you are me—nothing but myself.

Sometimes it becomes strange to me, and I wonder who you really are. You help me make moves but you are still just my illusion, which will never be destroyed. 

4.3 At a Coffee Shop

It is bright and refreshing this morning. I am reading Jaspers and looking out the window at the sky. Today is the day I am supposed to go to the Hanamura Restaurant for bookkeeping chores.

At Hanamura, the owner greets me with a big smile. I spend about three hours there. On my way to my home-tutoring job, I stop by Ari, a coffee shop, where I read and sip a cup of coffee. 

I talk to an old man who is sitting next to me. He claims he is eighty-six. He looks to be around sixty or so. He says that he does arts and crafts and that he expects an award from the prefecture soon.

“Look at my hands,” he says, showing his hands proudly.

“The intensity of your artistic living will show itself naturally and make your hands shine, won’t it?”

“That is really true, dear.”

“You are an artist to the tips of your fingers, aren’t you?” I say while observing his glistening hands.

“If you would like to do more modeling jobs, I have a lot of contacts for you,” he says. He adds that he knows a lot of big name artists.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

He steps out of the coffee shop. Afternoon sun floods through the window with its sharp rays, while I am still finishing my coffee and a book. I will read for a while here with the sun beaming at me and go later to my home-tutoring job. When I stop to pay at the cashier, she says that he has paid for me. I thank the cashier and the old man and head for Yachan’s house.

Michiyo, Yachan’s cousin, and a first-grader in elementary school, is playing in the children’s room. A housekeeper brings a cup of tea with some refreshments. While sipping the hot tea, I read “The Mermaid” by Andersen to Michiyo. I will not characterize the story as sadistic but look at it as a story of a beautiful being—the mermaid. Andersen might have aimed to glorify humans and nature, but with a bit of sarcasm as well. The mermaid, who is superior to anyone when it comes to the size of her desire and kind heart, disapp