Being in Love? No thanks

My cousin asked me how my love life was doing, and I didn't get the chance to answer; my neighbor's car with my neighbor's loud friends wanted us to move out of their way. "Are you not trying?" asked my cousin as we moved aside for them. He meant that I was going to Japan for the JET Program in a couple of months, so why should I be trying if I was going abroad anyways?

I don't want to fall in love before I say "sayanora" to my old life, but what if somebody comes along and sweeps me off my feet? I would really like to believe I'm a mini-Temperance Brennan, indifferent to love and marriage, but deep down, I really want to be in a relationship. But for me to be in a relationship, do I actively have to try? I am fine just sitting in a cafe and a guy coming up to me and talking to me. Who knows? It could turn into something! Still, I don't believe that can happen.

First off, I'm a single black woman with goals and aspirations. Being black already puts me at a disadvantage. Only forty-five (45) percent of black women were never married versus twenty-three (23) percent of white women in the U.S. (U.S. Census Bureau's American Community Survey in 2006). Plus, with media working against me, I'm not the model girl; I'm not afraid to say what I want to say, do what people think is impossible, and be un-girly sometimes.

So, if there's nothing wrong with me, do I really need to work at finding someone?

July 29th, 2008: "Hakone"

Another town, another display of how cultural and historic Odawara was, began with Eriko accompanying me, Chris, and Haruka to the Odawara Station JR. We met Jason, Kelsey, and Risa, along with half the OIFA membership, at the station, and climbed onto the Hakone Tozan Bus to head to Hakone.

Hakone, a sector known for its museums, bayfront pirate ships, and sulfur-spewing mountains, was our destination and we arrived at the front of the Narukawa Museum, a large red traditional Japanese post greeting our arrival. We were behind schedule, so we hopped onto escalators embedded in the hillside, man-made machinery contrasting the natural foliage of the surrounding woods. When we reached the top, a photo session commenced before heading into the museum.

The Narukawa Museum was small, but very clean, like any other building in Japan thus far. We browsed through the first floor filled with hand-blown dishes, colorful and unique, alongside paintings, artistic kaleidoscopes, and unusual glass lamps. Kelsey, Chris, and I explored the second floor to find paintings worth more than $500 million dollars just hanging nonchalantly on the immaculate walls of the museum.

One painting, by Kaiyama Natasou, caught my attention, and I quickly investigated its artistic medium. Most of the paintings were done in a pigment mixed with water and gave an appearance of thick watercolor paint. Kelsey, an avid painter and artist, was mystified by the art pieces, and went on to take picture of every single work of interest.

Chris and I bought souvenirs before we left the building, hurriedly trying to catch the 2-minute delay in schedule. Apparently, being behind by even one minute was largely treated as a major flaw in design.

We all but jogged down the hill, across a busy street and into the line awaiting for the next pirate ship to tour the beautiful bay. While in line, Kelsey proceeded to teach the other Japanese teens within earshot the American baseball theme. “Take me out to the ball game. Take me out to the crowd…” Our voices rang out in the low murmur of the other waiting participants, and some laughed at Kelsey’s outrageous arm gestures as she explained points concerning the American lyrics. I simply looked on and tried to avoid any more embarrassing stares, but of course, it’s hard for a black person to blend into any crowd of untanned Japanese people.

The large pirate ship anchored next to the pier and we climbed in, following a large procession of Japanese tourists to the deck of the ship. I admired the view as the ship pulled away from the empty pier. I talked to Shoko-san briefly, soon learning that she never visited America before. Her smile made me wish I was rich so I could book her on the next flight to California.

Kelsey, Jason, and Chris posted themselves in front of the canon at the front of the ship. A photo shoot of odds and ends began, with me directing half of it, while other tourists took pictures of our shenanigans. The pirate ship turned around, and I admired the scenery.

Unlike California’s murky bayfront areas, Odawara’s bayfront was quite breath-taking. The lush green forests dominated most of the view, mountains and hills of emerald hiding the sparingly present buildings buried into its hillside. The buildings stood out, most of which held a light beige color or brown color, while the blue sky, cloudy from ominous rain clouds, kissed the earth beneath it, shielding our view of Mount Fuji. The water beneath us was a deep blue-green, and as we sailed back into the pier, fisherman on their small boats littered parts of the water.

We made our way through the crowd to a ropeway and cable car. The cable car, moved along wheels turning together like gears, moved us over the mountain side slowly. We played 5 fingers to kill time before we landed in Owakudani, a popular point at the top of the mountain known for its hot spring boiled eggs. I refused the eggs (because I don’t like boiled or raw eggs) and turned my attention to drawing the scene overlooking the egg site. I finished my quick ink sketch in time to follow everyone down a winding path to the souvenir shops. I bought my mom a Japanese doll that I thought she would like.

My father, when he was still in the Navy, bought my mom some now-endangered geisha dolls when he visited Japan. Though they are divorced, my mother still lugs them around every time we move. It cost ¥2,200, roughly $21, to purchase and I spent most of the time carrying it on my wrist.

We took the cable car to Koen-kami, a small area where the Hakone Museum sat. We ate lunch before entering the free museum. Our tour guide spoke very good English and he walked us past the Japanese gardens filled with 150 different types of moss, including the water moss, which grew randomly at the museum.

“The International Moss Society,” our white-haired guide explained, “said that the water moss grows at the side of water, and yet, it grows in our gardens.” We followed him to a tea room, where we were greeted by a kimono-clad non-Japanese woman. We learned that the hostess was from Brazil, and she spoke Portuguese, Japanese, and some Spanish. She prepared green tea for us in the traditional way, and I drew her form as she served us. She looked at my picture.

“Sugoi!” she gasped, and her and everyone else marveled at the ink picture I drew in a matter of minutes. I wanted to give her the picture, but I drew it in the intention of sharing it with everyone. We left the tea room, and followed our guide through the rest of the museum.

He bade us goodbye and we took a bus to the Venetian Glass Museum. The sky thundered as we entered the eloquent museum entrance and rain glistened the slick cobblestone walkways. The hosts gave us umbrellas and we led a small procession to the glass-walled café. There, we dined on coffee and angel cake with crème before an Italian singer and his pianist sang to us. We joined him on the tiny stage and took pictures until the rain stopped.

The Venetian Glass Museum, known for its brilliant host of glass blowing, held many types of rings, from rings from Mary Antionette (France) to Presidnet Eisenhower and his wife. I felt a bit under the weather and secluded myself to recuperate. We took a few pictures before traveling down the road to a bus stop.

The bus, packed with people, somehow crammed us onto the small bus, and we held on for dear life as it winded down sharp turns and narrow pathways. Slowly, the bus emptied, and I sat down to doze off the sickness I felt swirling in my head. The lightheaded feeling didn’t dissipate, and I had to take a short nap before refusing half my dinner. Soon after, I fell into an exhausted sleep.

July 28th, 2008: Playtime with Peace

The children at the elementary school were well behaved. The elementary school, built within a valley like most of Odawara’s city outskirted buildings, was hidden behind a throng of trees and bamboo.

I was the third to arrive and when Chris and Haruka entered, we introduced ourselves in Japanese to a roomful of 8-year-olds. They, in turn, introduced themselves, and soon, we were set free to play with them. Kelsey and I taught them new games and Jason and Chris randomly joined small groups of children who didn’t mind sharing their toys or magazines with us foreigners.

Shoko-san came, and I greeted her with a hug, forgetting that in Japan, people usually bowed. She was somewhat of an assistant to the OIFA, and she invited Jason and I to pick up lunch at a small market place. We returned shortly with tempura for Chris, a limited fish dish for Kelsey, pork cutlings and rice for Jason, onigiri and rice for Haruka, and onigiri and pork katsu for myself. We ate with the children, their small black eyes following our movements as we spoke in English amongst ourselves.

I asked Chris if he wanted any onigiri, and I ate half of the rice-seaweed food before I handed it to Chris, expecting him to be the human disposal and eat the rest of it.

“I can’t finish this,” he said sheepishly, handing it back to me after two bites. I ate the rest, and snickered along. Kelsey raised an eyebrow in my direction.

“Chris ate some,” I begun, “and then I ate the rest, so this should be an indirect kiss.” Kelsey just shook her head and Chris turned a different color.

“Love-love,” Kelsey called out, and we all laughed. In Japan, the equivalent of “lovey-dovey” is “love-love”.

We watched the children put away their belongings and pull out their bags filled with swimgear. The teacher told us to swim after 1 PM, so it gave us half an hour to do whatever we wanted. We ended up taking pictures of each other and randomly did the Macarena and other dances to fill in the gap before the teacher showed us to the pool. It was a big pool that only went 3 feet the entire length. The size made Chris and I change and dive into the sea of children and water.

We played for more than an hour, giving kids piggy back rides, splashing each other and talking to the excited children who wanted to know our names, ages, and if we were tired. Chris and I left the pool once we became fatigued, and we returned to the room to find Haruka asleep on the tatami floor and Kelsey drawing as Jason welcomed our return.

We changed quickly and proceeded to lie around while we waited for the 2 o’clock hour to free us from our volunteer duties. The teacher put out teacups and saucers, announcing “tea time” and we sat down to cold popsicles, wheat tea, and cookies. Jason, Chris, and I began to talk about dancing, and soon, Jason and I gave a demonstration on the Cho-chonin dance we learned two nights before.

As we cleaned up the plates and cups, our host families arrived to pick us up. It was 3 PM. I imparted a few See’s Candies lollipops a keychain to the teacher, bowing many times to show her how grateful we were to have them host us.

“Konnichiwa, Papa-san!” I called out to Eriko’s father, joining him and Haruka’s sister in the parking lot. They laughed, then bade us goodbye before we set out our different ways. Papa-san and I rode in silence, until he slowed the small van’s speed to a crawl.

“Those are where green tea come from,” he said carefully, pointing at a neat row of green bushes near the road. I nodded and we went home. Mama-san was already home when we arrived. She showed me how to work the laundry machine before I went to my room and finished writing. She called me down when the load was finished.

In Japan, people don’t use dryers as much as Americans do. They hang up their clothes on lines, hangers, and clothing pins to dry their laundry. It was a drawling system, but it still got the job done, no matter how long it took to dry. I realized sadly that my sleepwear would not be dry by that night.

I returned downstairs to show my host parents my photos taken during the volunteer event earlier. We laughed at the pictures with Chris, Jason, Haruka, and I lying on the tatami mat. Soon, the three of us were having a good time, talking about my mother, discovering new vocabulary in the English and Japanese language, and sharing information about our families.

Finally, around 6:30 PM, Papa-san stood up. “Jd, let’s go to the station,” he said, and I followed him outside, walking past houses and shops that held the lowering sun’s rays. I talked about the events at the school, and before I knew it, Eriko came up to us, smiling. I recounted the details of the day’s activities again, and in arriving home, we ate dinner.

I liked when we ate together. Papa-san and Mama-san are like teenagers, and they joke each other in between bouts of English and Japanese translations. We laughed a lot.

July 27th, 2008: The Real Harajuku

Today was the day we planned to visit Tokyo. It was an exciting morning on my part. Eriko and I ran to catch a train, and I never knew a person could run so fast in heels. It took more than an hour to get to Tokyo’s Harajuku sector, and on the way, one of Eriko’s college friends, Rea, met up with us. She was a sweet looking girl with big brown eyes and a shy smile. She spoke to me ever so often in spite of the language barrier as we maneuvered through throngs of people.

In Harajuku, booths, shops, and salesmen flanked either sides of the markets, alleyways, and streets. Some stores were located below other stores or sat above lower stores. Many foreigners were peppered in the crowd. I was surprised to see a large number of punk, goth, and Lolita-clad shoppers filling the crowds.

We spent most of our time in Harajuku looking for a ramen shop, since it was something I requested. While looking for a ramen shop that served shio ramen (salty ramen), we browsed different stores. We finally found a small hole-in-the-wall ramen shop in the back of a secluded alleyway. It turned out that the ramen shop, Sontoku, was a very famous one indded, and I learned that shio ramen was very tasty.

We paid for our food and wandered into a mall with more than 6 floors. There was the sixth floor, then the five-point-five floor, then the fifth floor, etcetera. I purchased a shirt, two dresses, and a pair of overalls, all totaling up to around seven thousand yen ($70). We exited the building to find the sky overcast and droplets of rain hitting the streets.

Despite the absence of a kasa (umbrella), we bought shaved ice cream and crepes and went out into the thick air, heading back towards the train station. The train ride was rather leisurely, in spite of the wards of people filling it every stop, and soon, Rea bade me goodbye. Eriko and I remained on the train before switching to one bound for Odawara. We talked about my family, like how blunt my little brother could be, or how fast my mom likes to talk.

We made it home in time to sit down to somen, soba, and green tea ice cream. Before I went to sleep, I organized my room and my purchases, snickering at the Hello Kitty poster I bought for my co-worker.

Me and Jason eating green tea ice cream

July 26th, 2008: Cleaning Up

Today was an exhausting day. We had to go to a beach clean up at 9 am. The OIFA was already there, erecting canopies to shield participants from the sun. By 9:30 am, most of the participants arrived and the sun bared down on us as we were given large plastic bags to collect garbage. The green plastic bay was for burnable material, like cigarette butts, Styrofoam, and wood, while the brown plastic bags were for cans, bottles, plastic, and unburnable materials.

There was little trash to pick up, really. Most of the trash had to be dug out from between the stones of the rocky beach. While we worked, a 15 Channel one-man filming crew shot us collecting the waste and goofing around. Finally, a member of the OIFA called us back for us to start the presentation on our City.

The audience was given the presentation handout in Japanese, and after every slide, we waited for our counterparts to translate it. At the end, the four of us went to a brief interview with the 15 Channel guy. I was last to go.

“What was your first impression of Japan?” the camera guy asked.

“Well, I knew it had a lot of culture and traditions,” I replied, trying to formulate an answer. I smiled the entire time to show how approachable I was. “Fun, exciting, too.”

They asked me a few more questions, one OIFA member translating along the way. Once the interview was over, I joined Kelsey and Jason in life with food. Kelsey scarfed down a bowl of noodles, and as she ate with me watching, a newspaper reporter took pictures of us. We were asked to interact with the local participants in English, and a little 8-year-old siddled up to Jason and I alongside his obaasan (grandmother), anxiously gripping his shirt hem. I bent down to talk to him.

“What’s your name?”

He thought for a moment. “My name is Yuka.”

I repeated the name and asked a few questions. He became shy, so his grandmother thanked us and walked away. After some wait time, Jason and I grabbed a gyro-looking food. As I ate, an American OIFA member from South Dakota named Robert came up to me.

“Thank you for the handkerchief,” he said, showing the green clothe in one hand. Earlier, I had imparted the new 100-yen handkerchief to him. The material matched his striking emerald eyes.

We talked about Japanese food, how he became a teacher in Japan, and interacted with his Japanese friends whose English was good. Though 27, Robert looked like a high schooler, his small face showing many of his emotions.

I conversed with him before joining Miku and a family of three underneath a tent. Miku translated for me as the family asked me questions about America and the City. Their son, Yamato, shyly darted between his parents, whispering questions for me to answer. He returned my smiles with a toothy grin of his own, excitement written across his face.

Jason, Risa, and a few other guys started a game with a volleyball, setting and bumping the ball back and forth. Soon, we grew tired of the game and I returned to the family, enjoying the time with them before disappearing with Kelsey and the Odawara girls to the bathrooms. I changed my shirt into an extra A-shirt Jason stashed in his bag. We returned to begin the “watermelon cracking.”

The children stood in life, waiting be blindfolded, turned 10 times, and coaxed verbally to hit a watermelon with a large bamboo stick. Once the children went, it was our turn. I decided to go last because it was just like hitting a piñata, except you only got one try, which seemed like a wasted effort after all you did just to find the melon.

I found myself blindfolded, turned the 10 times, handed a bamboo stick, and carefully without swaying, walked cautiously towards the watermelon. I listened to Kelsey and Chris, and finally, I lifted the bamboo stick, thinking, “Well, nice try. It’s now or never.” I put as much effort into the swing as I could muster, and the sound of breaking rind and the watchers cheering filled my ears. They gathered up the shattered watermelon and quickly began cutting and distributing it. I was rewarded with the largest piece I had broken, and began eating. The watermelon took me through the second watermelon cracking while Robert told me how precious the watermelon was to the people. His soft smile and dry humor made me laugh.

Once the watermelon was done, we began gathering our things together, pulling down tents and helping the OIFA make the BBQ end officially.

Afterwards, we trekked off into the beach’s water, its cold feel providing us with relief from the humidity. The beach water hid the depth of the lowering canyon in the water. Eight feet after entering the water, and the land suddenly dropped, and you were left to waddle the rest of the way to the rope surrounding the swim zone. Surprisingly, we made the most out of the beach like it was still San Diego. At one point, a wave tossled Chris towards the edge of the water, and he rolled into me, knocking me over and sending me rolling behind him. The incident made me laugh before I realized my bra strap had separated and Eriko helped me readjust the strap to its former embarrassing glory.

We played in the water for half an hour, then made our way to the showers and bathrooms for changing. Together, the whole group walked for 20 minutes to the International Lounge and participated in an informal tea ceremony and origami. It left us less than an hour to explore the nearby store market where I purchased a pair of cute heels. We returned to the lounge to find everyone gathered for a practice in a dance called Cho-chonin for the Lantern Festival. Our teacher, an enthusiastic pro at heightening anyone’s spirits and flamboyant dancing, taught us the dance.

The practice ended and we streamed a block over to an ambiguously labeled building. There, we witnessed the official practice of the dance and went upstairs to change. Two little Japanese ladies folded the provided clothes into a traditional festival yukata, complete with a yellow bow in the back and the cloth of a hachimaki tucked into the right side of the yukata.

Once everyone was clad in the festival attire, we waddled down to the festival. Lanterns with different designs and booths filled with food, games, and gifts flanked a huge surround-sound stage. We took pictures with our lanterns lit before we were given a few minutes to locate some food. I chose a small dish of noodles, vegetables, and squid arms, and Eriko and I returned to the group in time for me to chow down on a chopstick of noodles.

Robert greeted us, and we were told that we would be heading out soon. “Will you be around for the festival?” I asked, fishing for some type of time frame. He thought for a moment before admitting he wouldn’t. “Aw, this might be the last time I see you.”

Robert smiled. “Well, I think I will see you at the Farewell Party,” he replied as he remembered. “All OIFA members have to go.”

My face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, and I might see you before then.” Before I had the chance to say anything, Eriko took me by the hand and began to drag me away. I threw Robert a sympathetic look, calling a quick “I have to go” before I was pulled across a bridge and into the streets where the festival dancing would take place. We lined up, joking and practicing the new dance moves, before we lined up and danced down the streets, each dance more coordinated to the booming voice of an avid instructor.

“Ichi, ni, san, close, open, ichi, ni, san, hey! Ichi, ni, san, hey! Right! Left! Ichi, ni, san yon, go, roku, nana, hachi, kuu! Juu! Ichi…”

We danced down the streets with the audience’s eyes on us for half an hour straight, until we were told to stop. Exhausted, we headed over the red bridge again, this time, to line up for the dance competition results. Kelsey fanned herself frantically as Jason tied his hachimaki around his head, sweat dripping down his reddened face. Risa, Eriko, Kelsey, Jason, Miku, and I went in search of shaved ice, which seemed to a very popular treat.

The strawberry-flavored ice went down cool and sweet, and I hurriedly devoured it as we trekked back to the obscure no-name building. I recovered my noodles and camera, and after scarfing down the food, joined everyone for a round of immense picture-taking. I laughed the entire time.

Everyone gathered their yukatas, which were becoming undone by people wanting to free themselves from the heat, and went upstairs to change. Kelsey immediately threw herself on the floor, fatigued from excitement and exercise. Another round of picture-taking proceeded—one with my foot in Kelsey’s face—before the entire group of yukata-clad women entered, and we changed back into our evening clothing.

In Japan, girls and women take pride in keeping up with fashion, even down to their bras and panties. Some of the bras and panties the girls wore looked very complicated but pretty in lacy and intricate design.

We finished dressing and we walked down the streets to the train station. Eriko and I headed home, both tired from dancing the excitement.

July 25th, 2008: History and Histories

Odawara City has many homes stretched across the homeland. One minute, you’re seeing house after house, and the next, an apartment crops up before another army of rather vertical homes begins again.

As Eriko said, Japan doesn’t have much land. They try to conserve space, leaving minimal room for car parking and running bridges and transportation though already buildings packed areas. The close proximity of everything—the neighbors, other cars on the narrow roads, and living spaces in general—made me realize the reasons why the people here were so hospitable.

Everyone and everything surrounded them, and very little was wasted. No smog or film of pollution littered the air. Trash didn’t sprawl out into streets; it was hardly seen. Even inside Eriko’s home, the walls, hardwood floors, and the tatami maters were emaculate. I feared dirtying anything and made an effort to keep everything as clean as possible.

There were shoes for every occasion, probably to keep everything as clean as possible. There were indoor shoes, worn mostly in school facilities. They were made out of rubber and spandex material. For homes, there were slippers to keep the hardwood floor clean. For the bathrooms, woven slippers or straw slippers stayed inside the confines of the tiny bathrooms. Everywhere you went, it was customary to take off your shoes at the entrance before slipping on the indoor shoes.

The customs weren’t very rigid as I expected. Everyone was hospitable, always giving us something cool to drink and providing us with snacks. I was very impressed with their generosity, and I began to think of ways to be more hospitable in my own life.

The lives Eriko and her family lead was simple, as were the rest of the people I met. It seemed bland, compared to the hustle and bustle of America, but I understood why. There wasn’t much room for diversity in the culture. Even the lack of disabled person—or people with disabilities who continued to do things like everyone else—showed how little room there was to be a non-contributor to the society. You would only witness a few lame people, but even they made their way around without assistance.

*

Today, we toured historical places in Odawara. We went to a couple of memorial houses, the Environmental Enterprise Center, and the Odawara Castle. At the Environmental Enterprise Center, we learned about Odawara City’s recycling affairs, which normally consisted of 9 separate categories in sorting, and how their system reduced pollution for waste disposal.

They burn the “Burnable” waste at super high temperatures before spraying the air with water to decrease CO2 pollution and gas exposure outdoors. The heat from the steam produced from adding water generates electricity for the air conditioners to run and the water run off from the AC’s go to the greenhouse located on the plant’s premises. Though the tour of the facility was unclimatic, their advancement in waste disposal blew my mind.

We went to the Matsunaga Memorial Hall and participated in a traditional tea ceremony and bento lunch. As I sat there, chewing on a piece of tempura shrimp, I gazed out into a view that overlooked the house’s yard. Just sitting there, on the tatami mats and listening to the idle chatter in Japanese, I realized I didn’t want to leave Japan. I felt like I had returned home, and finally figured out what I was missing all these years. It dampered my spirits to remind myself that the stay in Odawara was brief.

We left Matsunaga Memorial Hall, and I felt saddened by the loss of the nostalgic feelings in being there. We went to Odawara Castle, an English-speaking guide showing us through high copper gates from the Edo Period and weaving us through galleries inside the castle. We couldn’t take pictures, so I drew different items, trying to capture what was prohibited by the curators.

At the very top of the castle, we delighted in the most breath-taking view of the city I thought didn’t exist. We explored the gift shop, and I bought something for my co-worker. We left Odawara Castle with gifts, memories, and a handful of digital pictures—most of which included us holding katana.

Our last stop was the Sontoku Memorial Museum. Sontoku, a man who devoted half his life to helping poor villages secure food and battled sporadic whims under social justice, lead a rich and, largely, peaceful life. The museum, though small, displayed life-sized models of Sontoku and his life for others. At the museum, Papa-san met me and tagged along until we bade everyone goodbye as they finished looking at cicada.

We headed home, and at the house, we waited until Mama-san’s arrival. I sat on the window sill, reading with my feet on the balcony before they called me down. Together, we drove 30 minutes to a 100 yen shop named Daisko. It was a store with everything, from food to organizers to buttons to flags. I picked out 2 pairs of arm warmers, a belt, and souvenirs that were of good quality. My host parents paid for it, totaling under 2,000 yen before we went to a dessert store and bought manjyu (a type of sweet) and ice cream. They let me pick out the green tea wafer ice cream, where a cone wafer surrounded a glob of green tea ice cream. When we returned home, Eriko was waiting for us, and she asked about my day.

Mama-san served me curry with rice, seaweed soup, and cucumbers with tomatoes before I got my hands on one of the treasured green tea ice cream bars. It was good, in spite of the somewhat stale wafer, but I love green tea ice cream. Eriko had me translate a French card after dinner and we started talking about slang, dialects, and accents until we drifted to bed. I slept soundly for most of the 8 hours of sleep I had. Though the day was simple, I was far fatigued.

July 24th, 2008: Childhood Learning

Japan seems such a tranquil place. I’ve felt at ease being here, like I’ve come back home. I woke up early today, sure to receive the 8 hours of sleep my body seemed to lack the past few days. The heat, which felt normal, was still high at 7:30 in the morning. I prepared the room for Mama-san’s cleaning later on, putting discarded papers and gifts into the provided drawers and stealthily setting aside my wardrobe for the day.

Once it was 8 am, I stole downstairs to find both Eriko’s grandparents in the kitchen with Mama-san. They spotted me, and we bowed to each other several times, each time, greeting formalities. I went to the bathroom and returned to my room. We were to leave at 8:30 am, and I busied myself with dressing. When I arrived at the table downstairs, Eriko was setting up breakfast for me.

We ate onigiri—seaweed wrapped rice with seasonings—miso soup, pickled cucumber, and tomatoes. Once we finished and gathered our belongings, Eriko’s mom drove us to the preschool we were meant to volunteer at today. We met Jason and his host parent there before we entered the facility. The preschool was a bustling place, with many caretakers in cute aprons and children running around. We were ushered into a staff lounge and greeted by the cheerful director.

Her round face and rosy cheeks reminded me of my aunt. She was engaging, asking us questions we half-understood and smiling at us with welcoming eyes. She showed us to the big room where all the children lined up to greet us. They sang to us, and after an intercession to change, we joined them in the 2-foot swimming pool in the back. The kids splashed us—mostly against my will because I improvised a red tank top and my black basketball shorts as swimwear. We played in the pool for an hour before showing ourselves back into the preschool. After changing, the assistant director insisted we join the kids for lunch.

I sat with four 5-year old boys. One boy, Yuu, was very talkative and kept hitting his friend in the head with a resounding “Baka!” When he asked me questions, I stuffed my mouth with rice in hopes of avoiding the half-understood question. Eriko, from a table over, tried to translate for me, but she also entertained a table of 5-year-olds.

Soon, lunch was over and the kids were directed to brush their teeth and change into pajamas for nap time. We helped to put them to bed by patting them on the back. Once a majority of the kids fell asleep, we were lead out of the preschool to explore the streets around. Our guide took us alongside the river, explaining things along the way. We stopped at a wooden mosaic museum, an ice cream shop and a seaside front before heading back to the preschool.

Our guide provided us with sweets and drinks while we waited for the kids to be redressed in casual clothing. We ate with them again, me avoiding Yuu altogether, and visited the director before our farewell party began.

The kids gave us origami and a small photo album, then they lined up in a circle, and we each went around and shook their hands. Mama-san arrived in time to snap a few shots of us. Sadly, we left the preschool with little faces and hands waving ‘sayanora’ to us as we drove away. We arrived at City Hall shortly afterwards to work on our presentation with the other delegates.

The presentation, being in English, needed some help with translating it into Japanese. We spent a majority of our time explaining words to the Odawara delegates. Jason, Eriko, Haruka, Chris, and I left together.

As we made our way to the elevator, I noticed a familiar person standing before a group of people, all following his movements. He saw us right away, but I was the only one who smiled and waved once I realized it was Mayor Kato. He smiled back, and him and a few other white-collared associated returned my wave.

In spite of Mayor Kato’s regular attire, he didn’t appear to be a businessman like the other white collars. Instead, an eloquent, commanding figure stood before them, waving his hands to illustrate his point and showing an unreadable smile on his lips.

He was quite handsome. I was in awe by his demeanor, and even moreso by his looks. I suddenly felt giddy and followed the others to the elevator. As we waited for Eriko’s mother to arrive, Shoko-san showed me around the mini Odawara museum crowned with an oversized Odawara Japanese light. It was seemed many cosmetics, artisan wood, and technology came from the Kanagawa Prefecture city.