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Ordinary Thoughts of an Extraordinary MindLeaving the Maths to the Geeks March 08 Happy Birthday, Daddy!Today's my father's birthday. I feel a bit emotional now. I guess it's because I've just downed a 500ml can of Kirin Draft Beer in three hasty gulps.
He's turning 59 today. At least, that's what he claims. Nobody really knows when exactly my father was born. You see, my grandmother died when he was very little, perhaps just a few months old. He grew up in an old fishing village, together with his three older siblings, raised single-handedly by my grandfather. In old fishing villages, nobody really cares about peoples' birthdays. When asked, one mother would claim that her daughter was born one hot summer night when the men were out fishing for tuna. Another would say that she couldn't remember anything at all except that she gave birth to her eldest son when the moon was full and fish was plenty.
My grandfather lived all of his life as a fisherman. He was born by the sea, he died in the sea. Just a few steps from the seashore, actually. One rainy evening, when I was in high school, I got home and found my parents silently seated across the dining table. My mother had obviously been crying and my father had a somber expression on his face. Before I could ask what the matter was, my mother spoke in a hushed whisper, "Your grandfather died." His body was found floating upside down. He had apparently been fishing; his fishing pole was found right next to his body. Fishing pole in hand, he had been wading in knee-deep water on a scorching hot afternoon. People believed he suffered a heart attack, fell flat on his nose, and didn't have enough strength to stand up or at least turn over so he could float on his back. No autopsy was done. There really wasn't a need for one.
The earliest memory I have of my father is when I was four or five years old. It was late in the morning. My mother, a schoolteacher, and my sister were both in school; my father was preparing to go to work. I was home because I didn't feel like playing with the neighbors. As he was putting his shoes on, I asked my father if I could go to work with him. He glared at me and said no. It was the answer that I expected but I cried anyway. I followed him out the door and through the bamboo fence that used to surround our house. Out on the street, tears blurring my vision, I trailed him, maintaining a fair distance so I could run back home if he decided to turn back and give me a good beating. Everytime he turned around, I would stop in my tracks and bawl even louder. In an irritated and threatening voice, he would shout, "Go home at once!" or sometimes, "Don't follow me!" But I did, anyway, until he broke off a twig from one of the ipil-ipil trees that lined our street, held it firmly in his hand, and made as if he would indeed chase me back to our house and give me the lashing of my life. Bawling, I ran back home, turning around every so often and watched his back until he was finally out of sight.
These past few days, I've been thinking about what to give him for his birthday. Last Christmas, I sent him a brand-new Abu Garcia (his special request, actually) and two bottles of Scotch. Now that he's retired from his job as a police officer, he's spending most of his weekends fishing with his fishing buddies, sometimes on a boat that they would rent for a day or two. During one of our phone conversations, he mentioned how nice it would be to have a cool Japan-made helmet to go with his sleek "big bike." I thought, why does he need an extra helmet when he already has two! Apparently, fathers have no idea how much cool Japan-made helmets cost.
Anyway, here's to my father! Good health and a hundred more birthdays! February 24 Where Is the Love?How was everybody's Valentine's? I know, this greeting's (?) more than a week too late.
Well, Valentine's was a big day for me. It was the day of my "entrance interview" for PhD, that's why. Kyoto University has this policy that if (1) you've earned your master's in this same university, and (2) you've graduated with satisfactory marks, then you're exempted from taking the entrance exam. I didn't get straight A's during my master's; my grades weren't all "good." But let's just say that on the average, they were "satisfactory." So, I was exempted. The only thing they asked me to do was to give a brief presentation about my past, present, and future research. Hence, the "entrance interview."
People say it's all a formality. Something done out of etiquette and decorum. A convention. Well, all I can say is, when you're in one end of a round table, facing more than fifteen grumpy men, half of them old enough to be your great grandfather, it's hard to get that idea into your head. To say that I was butchered, roasted, and grilled would be an understatement. I thought I would never recover from the trauma it caused me. A couple of days later, however, when I got a post in my mail saying, "You passed. So we are informing you," I said to myself, "What the heck! All's well that ends well." Right? I hope so.
In other news, the tickets for Yukio Ninagawa's adaptation of Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost (Koi no honeorizon) are gonna be out from 10 A.M. tomorrow. However, reservations by premium members of various ticket companies have been going on since a couple of weeks ago. Damn, I hope there are still front row tickets left.
Obviously, the play has an all-male cast, which makes it very intriguing, in my opinion. I'm setting my alarm for 9:45 and this laptop's gonna be put on standby mode for easier access to the internet tomorrow! A good night to one and all! January 12 The Way NorthI had always wanted to go north. All by myself. On a three-day trip. When winter is at its "peak."
Whenever I was alone with my noble thoughts, I would fantasize about leaving my room on a clear winter morning, just at the break of dawn, with a light backpack filled with warm fleece sweaters, boxes of Calorie Mate of every flavor, and lots of clean, fresh underwear. I would take the bus to Kyoto station, get on the first train heading north and see how far north it would take me. Of course, the train would have to stop somewhere. At the terminal station, if I don't find myself in a place significantly different from Kyoto, I'd take another northbound train and repeat the whole process until (1) I reach a dead-end (then I would have to go back home and try my luck by taking a different route some other time) or (2) I get to a place where rivers and lakes are frozen and everything - mountains, fields, houses, trees, and even cows! - is covered with snow.
Skinny-dipping in a rotenburo is, of course, part of the plan. (In December, 2005, when Fuyuki invited me over to his hometown in Toyama Prefecture, three hours by rapid train north of Kyoto, he took me to this rotenburo on top of a snow-capped mountain. It was an awesome experience!) There's just something magical about being waist-deep in steaming hot water while lumps of snow pelt against your shoulders and back. Your legs are getting blanched, your eggs (if you have them) poached, and yet you're cold and shivering! The contrasting sensations make you dizzy; the whole thing's just surreal. (Now I see why seven out of ten people like being choked while having an orgasm. Or slapped while having sex.)
Hence, on Christmas day, after a lousy Christmas eve, I made a firm resolution to have my fantasy realised. When they heard about my plan, a young Filipino couple expressed their intention of going with me and since they agreed to let me do all the planning, I readily approved.
The trip to Kanazawa in Ishikawa Prefecture, four hours by semi-rapid train north of Kyoto, was set to be from December 29 to 31, 2006. In my succeeding entries, I will post short accounts of the trip, perhaps together with some nice pictures. So watch out! December 28 Just Another Cold Winter NightOn Christmas eve, I was invited by a Japanese friend to have dinner with his family at their house in Fushimi-ku. He and his ten-year-old son had been doing some Christmas shopping downtown so at around six, we met up at Takashimaya and walked all the way to Shijo-Karasuma, where my friend's older sister was waiting at the parking lot where he had parked the family van.
We left Shijo at half past seven and had to make a couple of stops along the way so we were all starving and pretty much exhausted when we got to their place. We were greeted by my friend's wife who had apparently finished setting the table ages before we arrived. The food had obviously gotten cold. Nevertheless, dinner was great since it was my first time to have makizushi (rolled sushi) that I had to wrap by myself while eating. It was quite easy. The only thing that you have to remember is to avoid spreading too much rice over your nori so you won't end up with an unrollable sushi. To make one, place a sheet of nori over your palm and cover it with a thin layer of rice. Put a slice of raw fish in the middle, roll everything up then dip it in soy sauce mixed with wasabi before stuffing it in your mouth! After having about ten rolls, two helpings of miso soup, a big piece of fried chicken and some vegetable salad with beans and torn leafy greens, I decided I couldn't eat another bite anymore so I stopped eating altogether and concentrated on finishing my tea instead. Right after dinner, the kid was sent to the ofuro while the mother cleared the table and took out the Christmas cake - a log cake filled and frosted with mocha cream and garnished with big chunks of chocolate and little birthday candles. We turned off the lights and lit the candles just before the boy came back in, all fresh and powdered in his short-sleeved shirt and pajama pants. Needless to say, the kid was ecstatic, especially after he was given the biggest slice of cake with the biggest chunk of chocolate. Me, I was filled with deep sadness. I used to enjoy Christmas, too. Little things - roasted turkey on the table, a crisp five-peso bill from Santa Claus, a big can of biscuits, a box of chocolates and candies - would get me squealing and jumping around the Christmas tree. Over the years, though, it would feel like there was always something missing. Christmas had somehow lost its meaning.
By eleven-thirty, I was back in Sanjo. Without anything to do and starting to feel lonely, I walked around aimlessly, trying to get comfort from seeing so many Japanese walking about, seemingly oblivious of the fact that Christmas was only a few minutes away. Perhaps they were thinking the same about me but had they looked closely, they would have seen how lonesome I was that night. Minutes later, I found myself by the train station so I decided to take the next train home. When I got to my room, I e-mailed Fuyuki, telling him how uneventful my Christmas eve was. He replied, "Don't give a shit. It's just another cold winter night." I smiled. Comforted, I went straight to bed and fell asleep the moment I closed my eyes. |
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