The cover of “Book from the Ground“–which is very brief and to the point, literally! By the way, I found out while working on my master’s project that this man is called “Helvetica Man” 🙂
7???（?6）：?←?
The sixth book is Book from the Ground by the Chinese artist Xu Bing. This is a novel that’s written entirely in pictograms! I love pictograms so much that I wrote my “master’s project” (the equivalent of a master’s thesis at my journalism grad school; essentially a long article meant for publications in magazines) on it.
I feel very lucky to have learned about Xu Bing from my dear friend Kieu, an artist who also loves languages. I was fascinated by Bing’s renditions of English words that are made to look like Chinese characters. Then, a few years after, Bing happened to come to my grad school to speak–and that’s how I learned about this book, which he was still writing at the time.
From inside “Book from the Ground.” By the way, the exit sign (on the left page) was invented by a Japanese individual!
The back of the book contains Bing’s quote that says: “Twenty years ago I made Book from the Sky, a book of illegible Chinese characters that no one could read. Now I have created Book from the Ground, a book that anyone can read.” Indeed, the pictograms make the story accessible–but I also find that it takes a lot longer to read! The story is essentially about a day in the life of one man, and has lots of humor (including slapstick bathroom humor).
I’d always been fascinated by kanji, and love how they are essentially little pictures. They are so concise in conveying meaning. I especially love the series of characters that belong to one family, like fish names (who *hasn’t* tried to read all the characters on tea cups at sushi restaurants??), tree names (like fish, you can kind of guess what “hard tree,” “white tree,” etc. each refer to!), and types of weather (especially poetic with the droplets in the “rain” portion).
From the exhibit “Chinese in the Information Age” at the Museum of Chinese in America (February 2019), a panel that shows how the character for “mountain” evolved over time
When I attended Bing’s lecture, emojis were just becoming popular. Facebook wasn’t as big, Twitter was just gaining traction, and Instagram didn’t even exist. But texting was huge, and lots of shortened words (like LOL and TTYL) were being used. I began to wonder if that was the direction were going–will words continue to be shortened, eventually giving way to pictures? I talked about this with my advisor and fellow advisees, and one of the advisees pointed out that letters like hieroglyphs came from pictures–so perhaps we were actually coming full circle.
I really, really, really enjoyed working on this master’s project. I got to interview lots of designers, including the designer of the sports icons of the Mexico City Olympics (1968), and a designer who was commissioned by the Department of Transportation to create airport pictograms (the first of its kind, including bathroom signs). I also got to interview other professionals, including a computer programmer who crowdsourced the translation of Moby Dick into emoji, as well as the founder of an NPO that facilitates virtual communication among children all over the world using emoji. (I didn’t get to meet Bing himself, but visited his studio in Brooklyn, where his assistant provided me with many resources.) Some showed me drafts of their designs, and many welcomed me into their home, reminiscing about their past projects or sharing their ideas for the future. Others were kind enough to meet me for tea–on one occasion at a station in Tokyo, when they were about to jump on a bullet train to go home for the holidays.
It is truly one of my biggest regrets in life that, while I submitted this article to my school, I did not get to publish it in a magazine. While I was pitching it, I was very excited that one major magazine that I’ve always loved expressed interest–but they asked that it be cut to 300 words (less than 1/20 of its length). I felt that was too short, and while I was being indecisive, I missed my timing. Now I fear it is too late, since the interviews were done ten years ago. I think back to all the kind interviewees who were generous with their time–especially the then-79-year-old designer who not only picked me up at a train station and drove me to his house, but gave me a two-hour long interview over tea, kindly brought out his hand drawn designs, and even gave me a rare copy of a poster that has his pictograms. I would still very much like to revisit this project, especially to repay his and other interviewees’ kindness.
Anyway, I continue to be fascinated by kanji, emoji, and pictograms, and look forward to exploring this topic more!
At a special exhibit at the Museum of Applied Arts in Vienna (May 2019). I love the beautiful waves!
*****
6冊目は中国人アーティストの徐冰（Xu Bing）による 『Book from the Ground（地の本）』。すべてピクトサインで書かれた（描かれた？）素敵な本です。
I thought this sign was hilarious and so straightforward! I’m sure Bing (whose book includes bathroom humor ?) would love it! (Found in the streets of Vienna, May 2019)
The fifth piece is Patchwork Girl by Shelley Jackson. This is actually not a book–it’s a “hypertext,” a type of interactive literature that is read on a computer. I encountered this work in a contemporary literature class in college, and continue to be inspired to it today.
Patchwork Girl is about a female version of Frankenstein’s monster, assembled from pieces of multiple corpses. It is very much a feminist piece, focusing on a lesbian figure who takes matter into her own hands. It is worth noting that the original Frankenstein was written by a woman. It is so cool that, while contemporary women writers in the 18th century (who I also love!) wrote about romance and witty conversations over tea, Mary Shelley wrote about human nature and industrialization–and invented the genre of science fiction. Still, the bumbling Frankenstein’s monster who cannot find a mate is very tragic and awkward to read about–and a lot less sexy than other characters of Gothic literature like Dracula, Mr. Rochester, and (while better known for their appearances in films) werewolves. Patchwork Girl empowers this figure, making her a strong and independent woman.
Patchwork Girl is like an allegory, where the various body parts sewn together are parallel to the pieces of text connected through links. In hypertext fiction, instead of pages, passages of text come up on the computer. Links are embedded in the passage, and when the reader clicks on any of them, the next passage appears in a box. But the links aren’t underlined, so it’s never clear where the links are. And unlike on a website, there is no back button or home button. There is no way to skip to the end, so readers are literally lost in the story. Patchwork Girl takes full advantage of this medium. There are scenes where the main character takes a bath with her girlfriend, and the seams come apart–and when she comes out of the bath, it’s not clear whether she’s still herself or has somehow merged with her girlfriend. The main character “dies” (although she is made of dead body parts to begin with) in one passage, but is somehow resurrected in another. These things would not make sense in a linear story–but magically, Jackson makes them work in this nonlinear medium.
I really enjoyed this special exhibit (2017) at The Rosenbach in Philly, which celebrated the 200th anniversary of “Frankenstein”
Ever since I read this, I’ve wanted to create interactive fiction. To me, they seem more natural than books and parallel to how the mind works, like endlessly clicking from one Wikipedia article to another. But there are some big challenges. The first is storytelling: I’ve found that it’s difficult to add depth to characters–or even have more than a few characters, since the story becomes so confusing. (Indeed, this article, which calls it “the failure of futurism,” says that hypertext fiction didn’t take off because they are too hard to write.) The second challenge is technology. In earlier attempts, I was very frustrated by how inaccessible this genre was–hypertext had to be read and written in a specific medium called Storyspace. I thought about putting it online, but thought the back button made things too easy for readers. Now, things are somewhat easier because of apps and websites like Twine.
Personally, I think a biggest challenge is that they’re often a difficult experience for readers. As a child, I didn’t really enjoy reading “choose-your-own-adventure” books, mostly because the characters seemed flat, and the stories were less exciting than linear books–so much attention was paid to making it interactive, that everything else fell behind. And even the experience of reading Patchwork Girl was an intellectual exercise. It was sometimes scary and frustrating to not know where I was in the story, and constantly making decisions ended up being a bit taxing, because even though I was given control in choosing the next step, I didn’t have enough control to know the outcomes of each step. But after I finished reading it, and explored what Jackson has said about her own work, as well as various research done on non-linear narratives and feminism, including Judith Butler–that’s when everything came together. It really was a piece of art that gradually came into focus, rather than a quick and entertaining read.
I’ve put a pause on trying to write interactive stories, because I’ve realized that I first need much more practice in writing linear stories. Still, I hope I can one day challenge myself to create an interactive piece of fiction that is thought-provoking and satisfying to the reader, lingering in their memories for years, like Patchwork Girl has for me.
Part of the exhibit on “Frankenstein.” Mary Shelley was truly a cool figure, the sole woman in a group of male writers!
The fourth book is “Theories of Modern Art” by Herschel Chipp, who was an art history professor at UC Berkeley. I encountered this book as a college student, when it was assigned in a class about the history of modern art. It’s full of primary sources: diaries, letters, and statements by the artists themselves. Despite the somewhat boring name, it’s a really fun read!
The following are works by some of the artists who show up in the book (in roughly chronological order). They’re paintings I happened to encounter, and not works that were mentioned in the book–or even the most representative work of each artist! This is “Postman Joseph Roulin” by Van Gogh, at the MFA in Boston. In the 2017 movie “Loving Vincent” (which, incredibly, was animated using handdrawn paintings that emulated Van Gogh’s style!), the main character is the son of this postman.
My parents are avid museum visitors, and ever since I was a child, I had the chance to tag along. We were most often in the sections with Renaissance art. In my childish mind, they were easy to understand as art that captured a moment in real life. We enjoyed the beautiful colors and nature represented in Impressionism too (although in my youth I believed the rumor that Monet’s style came from his bad eyesight, and questioned the point of Pointillism (so much work!)). But I just never understood modern art after Impressionism, and that frustrated me. So I decided to take a class about it in college–and boy, was that the best decision ever!
“In the Waves” by Gauguin, at the Cleveland Museum of Art. Whenever I see Gauguin’s Tahiti paintings, I have mixed feelings of nostalgia/familiarity (the scenes and clothing are reminiscent of Hawaii) and a vague annoyance at a white man’s portrayal of what he saw as an exotic culture. So I really like this painting that’s a bit different from his style, depicting a white woman (this was apparently two years before he left for Taihiti), and putting much more emphasis on color and composition than showing a different culture. The contrast of the green waves and red hair is so beautiful, too!
Starting with Post-Impressionism, this book progresses through movements like Cubism and Surrealism, ending with “contemporary” (as defined by when the book was first published (1968)) art. These letters and diary entries explain in detail what each artist aimed to achieve in their work, what materials they used, why they changed their style over time–and even their personalities. Van Gogh’s renowned letters to his brother about his artistic and financial struggles are heartbreaking. Picasso’s statement on “Les Demoiselles d’Avignon” is enlightening. Many artists’ lives are integrated with history, like WWI and nationalism. A couple of artists are so passionate that they seem rather self-absorbed–I recall one artist writing in his diary something like, “When I took a break from painting, I noticed that my wife had come and gone, leaving me dinner” (all the artists in the book are, inevitably, male and white).
Henri Rousseau’s “Fight Between a Tiger and a Buffalo,” at the Cleveland Museum of Art. I was amazed to learn that Rousseau had never seen a jungle–or even left France! I also like his style that somehow makes jungles appear two-dimensional.
Now these artists have become some of my favorites–so much so that when I go to museums, I rush to the modern art wings first. Some I just enjoy because of their visuals even if I still don’t understand them (Klee, Miro), and some I admire for their chameleon-like transformation over time (Picasso, Kandinsky). It is fun to recognize their names and style, read the descriptions, and interpret the emotions they were expressing. I find that there’s so much depth, and that the more I stare, the more there is to discover.
“Woman in a Purple Coat” by Matisse, at the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston. This woman is so stylish and could totally be an amazing fashion magazine editor today!
Thanks to this book, I have a much better appreciation for modern and contemporary art in general. I also have a better understanding of how crucial primary sources are in the field of research. In combination, they are even more powerful, fulfilling the artists’ desire for expression and enriching the viewers’ lives at the same time. For now, I’m enjoying these photos from the past few years–but can’t wait to visit museums in person again!
“Tre Croci-Dolomite Landscape” by Oskar Kokoschka at the Leopold Museum in Vienna. I am not a big fan of Kokoschka’s style of depicting people, but his harsh strokes seem perfect for these mountains (and the very muscular horse!).
*****
4日目は『Theories of Modern Art（近代美術の理論）』。故ハーシェル・チップ（カリフォルニア大学バークレー校で美術史を教えていた教授）がまとめた本です。
“Three Musicians” by Picasso at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It seems like MoMA’s version is more famous, but I like this one more, because the musicians seem happier (the mustaches/smiles are so cute!).
Chagall’s “Sleeping Woman with Flowers” at the Albertina Museum. It is so interesting that the emphasis is on the flowers rather than the woman, as if to depict the contents of her dream.
The third book is Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club. I’m especially excited that I get to write about this during Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, as well as a few weeks after Mother’s Day.
I was blown away when I first read The Joy Luck Club in high school. It was the first time that I could see someone similar to myself in a book written in English: Asian American women who struggle with the dichotomy of two cultures. Because during my childhood, even in Hawaii, the most iconic books were written by and for Caucasian children. It was especially bad with picture books: an Asian kid occasionally made an appearance as a classmate or friend of the white main character, sporting slanted eyes and unreadable expressions. Hawaii bookstores did feature local authors who wrote more diverse characters, but they were harder to come by. So in most stories I read growing up, I felt like a bit of an outsider.
I was super excited to see her on stage at the 2018 National Book Festival (she’s on the left, with her iconic hairstyle)! I bought her memoir but didn’t have the chance to ask for her autograph.
What I love even more about The Joy Luck Club is its focus on immigrant mothers and their second-generation daughters, each with different back stories and personalities. The book really resonated with me because, like those daughters, I was also desperate to fit in the United States, and often narrow-mindedly cast away my mother’s–and my own–culture.
My mother was no “tiger mom,” but she certainly seemed stricter than other parents. She is tall, beautiful, smart, and confident, and growing up, I often felt that I didn’t live up to her expectations. But I also remember a few instances when I hurt her, especially because of the bicultural environment. Once, when I was in second or third grade in Hawaii, my classmates and I were hiking in the mountains, and she joined us as a chaperone. She spoke to me from behind in Japanese, warning that my backpack strap was slipping from my shoulders–and I turned around and said to her sharply, “I told you to talk in English in front of others!”. She apologized, looking surprised and embarrassed. I had wanted to fit in with my American classmates, and wanted to appear strong, as if I didn’t need my mom’s help. I’m now so ashamed that I treated her that way, especially when she’d joined the trip for my sake. In retrospect, I think this was the first time I realized that my seemingly almighty mother could be hurt by my thoughtless words. Now that I’ve matured, we’ve come to understand each other much more–and I’m so thankful for the stronger relationship we now have.
Amy Tan is such an icon and pioneer Asian American woman writer. I understand she has her critics about stereotyping, and to be honest, I don’t think I would be as receptive if she wrote stories based on Japanese history and culture. But I will never forget how much comfort The Joy Luck Club gave me when I first read it, and I believe she paved the way for generations of writers.
The 1993 movie, which I sometimes still talk about with my mother, was unforgettable. While it is shocking that a quarter century (!) had to pass before another major American movie with an all-Asian cast was created (Crazy Rich Asians), it is also amazing how progressive The Joy Luck Club was when no one else was willing to create a movie like that. Either way, I hope I can someday also create stories that bring together diverse characters and universal themes.
From an exhibit on influential baby boomers at the Newseum (2015). I found hope in the fact that she started publishing later than some other authors.
The 2016 Annual Conference of my former workplace, the U.S.-Japan Council, welcomed Tamlyn Tomita (left), one of the actresses in “The Joy Luck Club.” She was as beautiful as ever, and really encouraging of Japanese American leaders. (Photo borrowed from USJC)
The second book (or set of three books) is Nihon Mukashibashi (Japanese folktales) compiled by Joji Tsubota. I read this series several times while I was in elementary school. Among the many different versions of Japanese folktales I’ve owned or borrowed (I bought regional folktales whenever I traveled in other areas in Japan), it’s one that I remember most fondly for its readability and wide collection of stories.
I’ve always enjoyed folktales and fairy tales from throughout the world, including those compiled by the Brothers Grimm or written by Hans Christian Andersen. In olden times, fantastical beings existed alongside humans. It is a bit sad that these beliefs have disappeared in recent times, due to progress in science that dispels myths and explains mysteries, nighttime lights that chase away shadows, and more.
In 2008, when I worked at the Japan Information & Culture Center, Embassy of Japan, I had the fortune of working on this amazing exhibit! Shigeru Mizuki, a manga artist who specializes in yokai, created a special rendition of “The Fifty-Three Stations of the Tokaido” (ukiyo-e prints originally by Hiroshige), with yokai inserted in all 53 prints. 2008年に日本大使館で働いていた頃、水木しげるの『妖怪道五十三次』の展示に携わることができました。広重の『東海道五十三次』の絵一枚一枚に妖怪が足されている、とっても素敵な企画でした！
I especially enjoy how in Japanese stories, animals and objects have a life of their own. This idea is intertwined with the Japanese indigenous religion, as well as the belief that every being, even inanimate objects like rocks or places like mountains and lakes, have a soul. I’m especially enamored with Japanese yokai (monsters), which I’d love to write about one day. They are very human in their behavior and a part of the daily lives of local residents. They often have sad origin stories: like babies that were killed by their parents who could not afford to raise them, monks that turned into monsters once they ate the corpse of an apprentice they loved too much, or animals that disguised themselves as humans because they fell in love with a man. Some are scary, some are mischievous and cute–but all of them have an undertone of melancholy in their isolation, otherness, and yearning to be a part of the human world.
Anyway, these folktales were really helpful in learning Japanese history and culture, especially when I was in the U.S. It looks like Tsubota’s version was written in 1957, and I think the version at my house was republished in 1975–so these stories have really stood the test of time. I hope I, too, can rely on these stories to someday pass along my culture–and perhaps my love for yokai–to the next generation.
This amazing exhibit at the Edo Tokyo Museum featured an all-star cast of ukiyo-e artists–including Utagawa Kuniyoshi, who frequently drew yokai. I’d always wanted to see his work in person, and was really excited that I finally had the chance to do so! 今年1月、江戸東京博物館で見てきた素晴らしい展示（この3人以外にも、写楽と歌麿も取り上げ、『夢の競演』（笑）の名前に負けない展示でした）！以前から憧れていた、妖怪を頻繁に取り上げる国芳の絵を初めてきちんと見ることができました。
Some of the many yokai-themed books I have. I’m especially excited about the “survival guide” in English! 妖怪をテーマとした本は、見ていて本当に面白くて、つい買ってしまいます。英語で書いてあるものを発見したときは飛び上がって喜んでしまいました。
Western monsters are somehow very different from yokai! (Ok, so “Monsters, Inc.” is a category of its own and doesn’t represent all monsters in Western culture, but still…!) This photo is from a great exhibit at the Franklin Institute that explained the technology behind Pixar animations! 西洋のモンスターと妖怪は全然違います。『モンスターズ・インク』はもちろん独自のカテゴリーのもので、西洋のモンスターを代表するものではないけれど。写真はピクサーのアニメの技術を説明した、素晴らしい展示から。
I’ve spent way too long agonizing about the seven-day book cover challenge, which I know is only meant to be fun! The more I saw posts from friends about unique book selections, the more embarrassed I felt about how much I haven’t read recently, especially for someone who professes to love words. But I’ve decided to choose seven books that have meant the most to me in my life. After moving a dozen times, most of these books are buried way deep in a box somewhere in the attic of my parents’ house, so I’ve borrowed the cover photos from online.
In somewhat chronological order that I’ve read them, the first book is Roald Dahl’s Matilda. I read almost every children’s book by Dahl. I think I first learned about him when my third grade teacher, Ms. Kakugawa, read us The Witches–which was a bit scary but very thrilling. The first book I (or rather, my parents!) bought was Fantastic Mr. Fox, then the collection grew from there. Even after my parents and I moved to Tokyo when I was nine years old, my father continued to buy Dahl’s books whenever he went to the U.S. on business trips, and so they were some of the few English language books I could continue to read in Japan.
What makes Dahl’s books wonderful are how much children are empowered, even when their circumstances are less than ideal. When I grew older and began reading Charles Dickens, I recognized so many common themes: the difficult childhoods, mean adults, and amazing naming sense (Miss Trunchbull and Uriah Heep should belong in the same world–just imagining their encounter makes me chuckle!). And Quentin Blake’s illustrations are simply wonderful! They are so simple and cute, but somehow convey the personality of the characters.
While Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach, The BFG, and more are all iconic, Matilda is my favorite. She’s a (somewhat socially awkward) bibliophile who finds happiness in the end. I’ve thought back often to the list of books that Matilda read— but I still haven’t caught up! A few years ago, I got to see a musical version of the book, and that was great, too (my favorite is this song), especially its fun play on all the alphabets)!
As an adult, I’ve learned about some of the controversies that surround Dahl, and that saddens me. Still, I like how feminist Matilda is–it’s about a young girl who stands up for herself, along with the help of a woman mentor (Miss Honey). It brought me so much joy as a child, and I hope I can do the same for others someday.
The musical was in San Francisco before it came to DC (I was so excited to see a poster during a business trip there!).
I am very saddened by the news that my former boss passed away last week. Irene Hirano Inouye, President of the U.S.-Japan Council (USJC), truly embodied USJC’s mission of strengthening bilateral relations through people-to-people connections. I’m glad to have had the opportunity to work with her for more than six years until last December. I especially cherish the moments when I heard her thoughts directly while discussing draft speeches, accompanying her at media interviews, or interpreting at meetings with Japanese leaders.
A Hero in the Japanese American Community
When I applied to work at USJC in 2013, I was drawn to the idea of continuing a career in Communications as well as U.S.-Japan relations. I was excited that the organization was founded by Japanese Americans–a community I consider myself to be a part of–but did not truly understand the significance of it until I worked there. I heard about the origins of USJC at Irene’s interviews, and met many members whose family members were incarcerated or fought with the 442nd Regimental Combat Team during World War II. I finally understood how groundbreaking the organization was in providing a platform for Japanese Americans–who’d long had to stay away from Japan because of the war–to proactively engage in U.S.-Japan relations.
Irene was at the forefront of this movement. She had a great relationship with leaders like Prime Minister Abe, who met Irene and the Japanese American Leadership Delegation almost every year–and that in turn helped Japanese Americans garner more attention by the Japanese media and the public. She knew how the Japanese American community was quickly changing, becoming more diverse in cultural background and other ways, and continually found new people who might contribute to the bilateral relationship.
People-to-People Relations
Over the years, as I gradually got to know members and supporters, I found a happy side effect. I, too, was benefiting from the “people-to-people” aspect of USJC’s mission, and got to befriend many people I admire. As a friend recently pointed out, these relationships are all thanks to Irene. Irene had an aura that made others pay attention, but she was equally friendly to dignitaries and high school students. She was a great listener who remembered every detail, including the knowledge and expertise of USJC’s hundreds of members. She simply brought people together, beyond cultural background, profession, geography and more.
Optimism
Irene always believed in potential and possibilities. Through USJC, she invested in young leaders, and connected people with the belief that they might collaborate on their own projects that would support U.S.-Japan relations. She continually came up with ideas, and attracted people who wanted to discuss proposals. While I was at USJC, I witnessed a wide range of new programs: from those that connect Asian American state legislators with Japanese leaders, to events and seminars supporting women leaders, to regional economic summits. Each year, we kept getting busier, and our portfolios continued to expand. (Honestly, I griped to colleagues about that.)
But Irene always stayed positive. While so many people and projects competed for her time, her answer was almost always “yes.” Once, at a staff meeting, I brought up two potential dates for an event, and asked which she would prefer. “Let’s do both,” she said–so that people could attend whichever was more convenient. We all laughed because it was so typically Irene, always willing to do it all.
Irene was a natural communicator. During media interviews, she was able to reframe tricky, unexpected questions and weave in information on our upcoming programs. She also agreed to every interview request, responding to urgent ones within minutes, and driving on her own to studios in LA and Hawaii.
Particularly memorable for me is the journey to an in-studio radio interview she did when we were on the Big Island for the Japan-Hawaii Economic Summit. I accompanied her as she drove 30 minutes each way from our hotel. Jagged black lava continued forever on both sides of the car, and she told me how her late husband, Senator Inouye, used to receive many rocks in the mail from people who’d traveled to Hawaii (fearing bad luck, they wanted to return the rocks to Pele, the goddess of volcanoes). We had a quick lunch before the interview at a tiny place across the street from the studio. It was called “Killer Tacos,” and I will never forget how jarring it was to see her, so well dressed, sitting on a steel chair and eating tacos in front of takeout counter.
She was also a great speaker. I drafted long speeches or those on general content, and other colleagues provided talking points for program-specific remarks. But she also gave many toasts or short speeches off the cuff. Afterwards, she knew how best to pose for the camera with other speakers or leaders of partner organizations. If my colleagues or I were there with USJC’s DSLR to take backup photos, she made sure to look at us in addition to posing for the official photographer.
During the 30-minute car ride on the Big Island, surrounded by lava (May 2017)
Japanese Language
She was also easy to interpret for. She spoke clearly and deliberately, never forgetting to pause when it was consecutive interpretation. She said she’d forgotten the Japanese she spoke as a small child. But when I interpreted for her, she often laughed right away at jokes others made in Japanese. Still, she waited patiently for my interpretation, and once that was done, laughed again politely.
I’m really grateful that I got to build my interpreting portfolio while at USJC. Thanks to the kindness of Irene, my direct superiors, and other colleagues, I got to use vacation and work as a freelance interpreter on many occasions–including at events where Irene happened to speak (so sometimes I interpreted a speech that I’d drafted!).
During my final month at USJC last December, Irene happened to be in the DC office for a few days. Realizing that this was the last time I could say goodbye as a staff member, I told her how much I’d enjoyed working at USJC, and thanked her for her guidance and support.
“We’ll continue to see each other, just in a different way,” she said. It made me so happy that she seemed to believe in my success as I continue working in the U.S.-Japan space. And in those few seconds, I daydreamed of the next time I might say hello to her, perhaps after interpreting at a USJC event. But that December afternoon was the last time I saw her in person.
When Irene announced this past January that she would retire, she wrote that being USJC’s president was “an honor of a lifetime.” That line, which seemed to condense so many “thank yous” and “goodbyes,” made me cry. Only a few years ago, when she was asked about retirement as part of a media interview, she had said that she wanted to continue working or volunteering for as long as she could. I could only imagine how painful the decision to retire must have been. But I was also relieved, thinking that now she’d finally have time to rest.
I did not think she would be gone so soon. When I told a friend about my last in-person exchange with her, he said that I was lucky that I got to say goodbye. And I am comforted by that thought. Yet, I’m full of regrets. I wish I’d spoken more that day, instead of awkwardly trying to find the words to condense six years into a few sentences. I wonder about the moments when I could’ve done more to help her prepare for interviews or speeches, but didn’t because I was swamped. I regret the times that I said or showed that I felt overwhelmed.
But I’m also reminded of so many happy memories. She was always poised, so on the few occasions that I made her guffaw (sometimes not on purpose!), I felt a sense of accomplishment. When a business trip to Honolulu allowed me to reunite with my wonderful elementary school teacher after more than two decades, she emailed me to ask how it was. When we returned from a business trip to Japan, where we each got a cute singing duck from one of our sponsors, Aflac, she brought hers back to DC but gave it to me–and I laughed that she knew I was likely to appreciate it the most out of anyone in the office (even though this was my second duck).
The adorable Aflac duck ? His song comes out garbled now but I still enjoy looking at him!
Looking Ahead
To me, my former workplace feels like how an adult child might perceive her parents’ house–always there as a source of comfort and familiarity during difficult times. So this monumental change is incredibly close to my heart–but I also feel powerless that I’m no longer staff. I picture myself visiting the office to hug former colleagues, and feel sad every time I remember that the office is empty while everyone teleworks. I am especially heartbroken that we lost someone who championed people-to-people relations at a time when we must all remain isolated.
But Irene’s legacy lives on, as evidenced in the many people who have met and worked with her. This period of us remaining apart will eventually be over, and I have faith that USJC will continue to succeed in bringing people together, be it in person or virtually. There’s so much that I learned from Irene, including optimism in the face of challenges. I hope to continue to work on strengthening U.S.-Japan relations in my own way, and hope I can make her proud.
A fortune cookie that I took home from a restaurant back in February–and which I happened to open days ago! What an appropriate fortune in the quarantine era.
The challenges I’m facing (the current lull in jobs and financial difficulties) have been difficult to talk about. It’s been hard to admit my struggles when I just recently chose the path of freelancing. And so many people are facing much greater obstacles. Still, opening up about my situation has been rewarding.
Freelancing by Choice
My career has basically come to a standstill. When I voluntarily left my previous job three months ago, this was not at all what I had in mind.
I’d been working towards independence for a long time. As much as I enjoyed my full-time job at a nonprofit that helps strengthen U.S.-Japan relations, I’d always wanted to try freelance interpreting. With the generous support of bosses and colleagues, for about four years, I used my vacation days to interpret. I tried to build savings and a portfolio–and courage. There never was a point where I could confidently say “now is the time,” and I kept extending my own timeline and financial goals. But eventually, the lack of rest started to take a physical toll, and I reached a mental tipping point. So I finally took the plunge at the end of last year and became a full-time freelancer.
Things were great in the beginning. Thanks to the kindness of interpreting mentors and colleagues, clients I’d previously worked with, and fellow freelancers who guided me through this new lifestyle, it looked as if I could make ends meet. In early January, it didn’t even occur to me that the faraway coronavirus would affect my work.
Taking the plunge (a roller coaster at Busch Gardens in August 2019)
A Cascade of Cancellations
The first sign came in late January. An interpreting assignment I was supposed to do in mid-February was canceled–it was a multilateral meeting that included China. But as the virus took hold, first in Japan and then in the United States, cancellations continued. Two in March. Three in April. One in May. And on and on. Included in this was a high-level meeting that would’ve been the biggest interpreting assignment I’d ever had–a great opportunity that I was devastated to lose. A few assignments, thankfully, were postponed rather than cancelled, but it’s hard to count on them when things are so uncertain.
Soon, I had nothing. My calendar was suddenly empty. I felt incredibly lucky that I could continue to do some translation work for the nonprofit I used to belong to. But this was a hard lesson on the instability of freelance work.
I turned to other things, like the monthly column I’ve been writing for Sakura Shimbun, a Japanese community paper here in DC. Then, days after I submitted my column for March, I learned that the newspaper had to suspend publication. Due to dwindling ads, a lot of local newspapers around the country have suffered–and Sakura was no exception.
Everything in interpretation came to a halt.
Mental Well-being
There’s been a lot of talk about how to take care of our physical health. In recent weeks, there’s been a lot of articles on how to take care of our mental well-being, too.
In my last column for Sakura Shimbun before it was suspended, I wrote about how reaching out to and helping others might in turn help us feel better during this challenging time. It was partially a reminder to myself, as well as a message of gratitude to friends who reached out to me.
In one of the paragraphs, I wrote: “People who live alone and can no longer see friends and colleagues, as well as those who have lost jobs, may be having a difficult time. If they seem to hesitate to share their feelings over emails or text messages, you could propose to have a phone date with them.”
That part was about me. Because honestly, it hasn’t been easy to be truthful. In written exchanges, I tended to edit out the negatives and tried to sound positive. I was embarrassed about my terrible timing of going independent. How shameless could I be to turn to former colleagues, who kindly supported me in my decision to leave only months ago, and ask for work? After announcing so proudly (as nervous and fearful as I was inside) that I’m going to try this new lifestyle and getting the blessing of so many people, I couldn’t complain. It was my choice to become a freelancer.
And so many others are going through much bigger challenges–like those in medicine and health, as well as those who lost full-time jobs. I am also very lucky because I am only responsible for my own livelihood. I have so much respect for those who are supporting family members through this difficult time. And my heart aches to think about the bosses who must tell their employees that their business has to be suspended.
Enjoying a walk with me, myself, and I (a bench 10 minutes from my place)
Living Alone
But one thing I can say is that living alone is tough. I’ve always felt lonely because my family is in Japan. When the coronavirus caused the borders to close between my two home countries, I cried a little. Both the symbolic implications of it–however temporary it was–and the inability to travel was heartbreaking. I’ve always had the choice to visit if I wanted to–and now more than ever, I am sad to be apart from my parents and my boyfriend, who are halfway around the world.
I tell my parents I’m worried about them. But in reality, I’m the one who wants to run and hug them, with the childish desire to feel protected. While borders were still open, they offered that I could stay with them in Tokyo for the time being–but in the few days that I hesitated for various reasons, including the concern that I might bring the virus to them, I lost the opportunity.
Nights are lonelier. When the spring sun sets, birds stop chirping, and darkness takes hold, I start to worry. It’s not just the fear of getting very sick and possibly having to go to the hospital on my own. The reality is that I won’t have interpreting work for months, especially as a relative newcomer in the field. And even when the social distancing measures are over, I may have less work because clients are also having financial difficulties. Gig workers are only now being considered for unemployment benefits, which I may not be eligible for because I just started. The stimulus check is based on my income last year, when I had a higher salary. Thinking about these things keeps me up at night, even though I know that I need sleep for my health.
I’m looking for new opportunities in the meantime. And I know now’s the time to write, which is one of the reasons I chose to become a freelancer. But it’s been hard to be creative when reality is more dystopian than fiction. Articles like these, which help relieve the pressure that we need to make the best use of our time now, have helped. And I realized that, before I could work on any happy stories, I first needed to get my thoughts on the virus out–as in this post.
In the dark, even a pretty redbud tree looks like barbed wire… (this is also around my neighborhood)
Collaboration Rather Than Division
Until now, public health to me was mostly a concept–I reaped the benefits of mandatory vaccines and diseases that were put out before my time, but it was never something I considered in my everyday life. But now, not only every government decision, but everything that comes out of leaders’ mouths affect us physically and emotionally. My greatest passion in life has always been to connect my two home countries, and seeing all countries effectively shut their borders makes me very sad. Even some states are implementing quarantines to those from other states–and while it can’t be helped because the infections need to be controlled, this fear of any outsider is a worrisome mentality. The animosity between certain American and Chinese leaders has been concerning, too. This common problem that the entire world is facing should unite us and serve as a time for collaboration, not blaming.
Recently, the rhetoric on masks has been changing in the U.S., and many more are wearing them. While I’ve never been a fan of masks, I am relieved that people are more accepting of it. I hadn’t worn them in the U.S. until now because I was afraid of sticking out. Seeing reports of what’s happening to many Asian Americans, I didn’t want to be a target of slurs or physical violence. Yes, the way the Chinese government initially sought to hide this disease is terrible, and we’ve seen how numbers are underreported even now. But the people of China–and people of Asian descent throughout the world–are as much victims as everyone else. If anything, the situation is worse for those who have to be afraid because of what they look like. I suspect people who discriminate know that deep down, and that the way they act is more a manifestation of their own anger and insecurity regarding job losses, financial instability, physical and mental health–and above all, an intense panic in losing control over their own lives. I hope they realize that this fear is something that grips us all right now, regardless of where or who we are.
The Level 4 travel advisory against all international travel
Gaining Support
It took me a while to accept that maybe it was ok to ask others for emotional support. I had always been honest about all this with my parents and boyfriend, who check in with me regularly as they see the numbers rapidly climb in the U.S., and have selflessly sent care packages when they found items that are also scarce in Japan. But I also decided to open up to friends who had reached out to me, and write to others that I hadn’t seen in a while.
Everyone responded so kindly. I’ve had calls with my middle school friends in Idaho and LA, as well as friends and former colleagues in DC. I talked about my situation at my now-virtual Meetup group, as well as with friends from grad school who now live in Tokyo, New York, and Vancouver. Each person has their own difficulties, such as parenting while working from home. I am grateful that, while this challenge has stopped us from seeing friends and family in person, it allows us to build stronger bonds with those who live faraway. It takes courage to be vulnerable, but it’s always worth it.
I’m writing this today in hopes that it might pay forward the support I received, and cheer up others who are also living alone. Or others who have a hard time opening up about challenges when everyone else is also going through a trying time. I know we’ll get through this, even if it’s not as quickly as we’d like.
Much love and appreciation from the other side of the screen ♡
Introduction (the full text in Japanese continues below (日本語の本文が続きます)):
この投稿は、DCとヒューストンのコミュニティ・ペーパー、『さくら新聞』で書かせていただいている連載、「英語 de 敬語」の記事に関するものです。
新型コロナウイルスが蔓延し、精神的にも経済的にも辛い日々が続いています。今月の「英語 de 敬語」では、今のように不安な時期に他者をどのようにいたわるかについて取り上げました。なお、コロナウイルスの影響により、さくら新聞は来月から休刊となってしまいました。再開の時期も決まっていません。広告が減り、多くの地元紙やコミュニティ・ペーパーが苦しんでいます。ジャーナリストの方々は命を張って外で取材を続けており、地元の人々にとっては、感染の状況を知るために今こそ地元メディアが必要なのですから、非常に残念な状況です。たった10日前にこの記事を書いたときには、さくら新聞も休刊となることを知りませんでした。それくらい、状況は刻々と変わり、悪化していっています。一刻も早くこの状況が収束することを願っています。
“Polite Phrases in English (Episode 8): Words of Compassion”
This post is about my column in “Sakura Shimbun,” a Japanese community paper in DC and Houston.
These past few weeks have been mentally and financially difficult for all of us. This month’s column discusses how to reach out and comfort others during these uncertain times. Due to the virus, Sakura Shimbun has had to suspend publication–and it’s not clear when it might resume. Many local newspapers are suffering because companies are having to pull ads. This is very concerning, because journalists are risking their lives for us when they go out to cover these important topics–and in order to understand how the infection is spreading, we now need local coverage more than ever. When I wrote this column a mere 10 days ago, I did not know that Sakura Shimbun would be suspended–that’s how rapidly things are becoming worse. I sincerely hope this situation will improve as quickly as possible.
今最も大変なのは不眠不休で働く医療関係者の方々だと言えますが、他にも、配達や清掃など、リスクを負いつつ外で仕事を続けている方々が多くいます。 Thank you to you and your colleagues for all that you do. と一言メッセージを送ったり声をかけたりすることで、感謝の気持ちを伝えられます。
飲食業や観光業など、業界によっては、仕事の継続が難しくなってしまった方や、フリーランスや契約の仕事が滞っている方もいます。親しい友人がそういった状況に直面した場合、いろいろと話を聞いた後は、 I would love to help look for any opportunities. Could you let me know what kind of work you might be interested in? などと提案し、別の分野で一時的な職を一緒に探すこともできます。
体調が悪く自己隔離をしている隣人や外出に不安を抱える隣人に対しては、 Is there anything I can get for you, like food or medicine? I’m happy to leave it by your door. といったメッセージを送り、代わりに買い出しに行くこともできます。
友人や同僚と会えず孤独な思いをしている一人暮らしの方や、仕事が減って精神的に辛い方もいるかもしれません。皆大変だからと遠慮して自分から悩みを打ち明けない人もいるでしょうから、 I just wanted to check in with you to see how you’re doing. や I am here for you if you need someone to talk to. などと時々友人にメッセージを送ると、受け取る側は少し気持ちが軽くなるかもしれません。文面だと本音が言いにくそうであれば、 Let’s have a phone date! とある程度の時間を取って電話での会話を持ちかけることもできます。
DCとヒューストンのコミュニティ・ペーパー、『さくら新聞』で書かせていただいているコラム「英語 de 敬語」。 今月はバレンタインに言及しつつ、ビジネスの場における、人や物に対する好意の表明の仕方を取り上げました。
My column this month in “Sakura Shimbun,” a Japanese community paper in DC and Houston, touches upon Valentine’s Day and discusses how to express positive feelings for people and objects that you like.
まず、人事評価などで、上司、同僚や部下に対する評価を第三者から聞かれた場合。少し稚拙に聞こえる like よりも、 respect や admire といった言葉を使った方がよいかもしれません。米国はセクハラやパワハラなどにとても敏感なため、誤解を招かないように、その人個人への感情よりも、 I admire the way she treats all employees fairly. や、 I appreciate how resourceful and efficient he is. といった形で、その人の長所やスキルに対する好意を示した方がよいでしょう。
また、学生や部下の推薦状を依頼される教授や上司は多いでしょうし、転職を考える部下が応募した会社から、「レファレンス」として電話やメールでその人の評価を聞かれる上司も多いでしょう。 I was always impressed with his thorough research and insightful essays. と主観で言う以外にも、 Her subordinates told me she was a reliable and trustworthy boss. と周りの評価も交えることもできます。一緒に仕事をしたことがある業者について、誰かに非公式に聞かれた場合も、 She is a copywriter who always captures perfectly what we want to say. などと褒めることができます。
仕事に応募した人や外部の人から、自分の職場についての考えを聞かれる場合もあるでしょう。これには I love how we make a difference in people’s lives. や I’m proud of the innovative products we make. といった言い方ができます。自分の職務についての意見を聞かれれば、 I enjoy publicizing the accomplishments of our talented students and faculty. などと答えられます。
日々の業務の中でも、好みを他者に伝えることがあります。デザイナーなどの業者とのやり取りの中で、いくつかの選択肢から一つ選び、細かな点を変えていく場合には、 prefer という言葉が便利です。 We prefer the black one. などと特定できますし、 Our preference would be to use a brighter color palette. など、選択肢にない希望も伝えられます。好ましくない状況も、 We’d like to replace the purple with blue. や Would you please enlarge our logo? など、代替案を交えれば分かりやすく、柔らかく聞こえます。
