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wearejapanese · 5 years

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By Jon Letman (https://fluxhawaii.com/the-scourge-of-oura-bay/)

It’s a blistering hot day when Japanese Coast Guard officers pack into a dozen black Zodiac inflatable boats, determined to deter yet another wave of protestors. The enforcers are dressed in all-black dive gear with black facemasks, sunglasses, and helmets. Cameras mounted on their shoulders record protesters floating in kayaks alongside small motorboats flying rainbow peace flags over Okinawa’s Oura Bay. After a tense hour, the protesters rally. Some paddle their kayaks over the orange buoys that act as a barrier, while others swim beneath it, racing toward a four-legged platform used for sea floor construction. The Coast Guard quickly surrounds and apprehends the protestors, hauling them back to the shore.

The floating orange buoys at Oura Bay mark one of three places in the sparsely populated district of Henoko, where these forces have been facing off regularly since 2004. This clash is centered on the fact that the buoys form the exclusion barrier where a new U.S. military base, the Futenma Replacement Facility, is slated to be built in order to relocate an existing base, the Marine Corps Air Station at Futenma, which has been in service since 1945. The move towards re-militarizing Oura Bay has returned to Japanese and American foreign policy agendas as tensions continue to rise among Asian countries over territorial claims on the South China Sea.

After World War II, the United States entered into an occupation of Japan, leading to the independence of the country under specific conditions. One of those conditions was that the U.S. military continue its rule of Okinawa—the archipelago of islands south of mainland Japan—which kept the main Japanese islands largely free of U.S. military presence. A 1960 treaty upheld that division, confirming the U.S. occupation of Okinawa and its use of bases elsewhere in the country. Because of this agreement, Okinawa is home to nearly 75 percent of all U.S. bases (there are 32 bases on the island) and about half the troops in Japan—this despite the fact that Okinawa accounts for less than 1 percent of Japanese territory. To put this into perspective, Okinawa Island is almost 20 percent smaller than Kaua‘i, yet the island is home to nearly 1.4 million people. To the north and south of the Henoko-Oura area are the Central and Northern Training Areas, which occupy more than 37,000 acres, including training grounds for urban and jungle warfare and 59 military landing zones.

Like Hawai‘i, Okinawa is a tropical archipelago endowed with rich biodiversity and an indigenous population deeply connected to the land. Along Oura Bay’s shoreline, legions of tiny blue soldier crabs march across the mud, black-naped terns nest, and stark white egrets search for food. Silky grey mudskippers, a critically endangered species, and more than 2,000 species of mollusk rely on these same tidal flats for their survival. Oura Bay is also home to at least 10 species of sea grass that attract dugong, a large, lumpy marine mammal similar to a manatee that has been red-listed by the International Union for Conservation of Nature as “vulnerable.” Sensitive to noise, it appears that the dugong may have already left the bustling area.

A variety of flora and fauna thrives in, and may disappear from, the area—a region which includes fringing coral reefs, mangrove swamps, mud flats, estuaries, and a rugged shoreline dotted with rocky outcrops and white coral sand beaches. “It’s just stunning,” says marine biologist Katherine Muzik, who lived in Okinawa for 11 years and dove extensively throughout the Okinawan archipelago. “The bay is on par with the best marine environments in Indonesia and the Great Barrier Reef,” she says. Muzik notes the more than 400 species of coral, a thousand species of fish, and 110 species of sea slugs present in the bay, explaining that “there’s nothing left like it in the entire [Okinawan] archipelago, which means there’s nothing left like it in all of Japan.”

At Cape Henoko, which juts into the bay, 21 million cubic meters of sand and soil are scheduled to be dumped in order to reclaim land for a new base. Environmentalists argue that this act would destroy the ecosystem. Henoko’s depths, which reach almost 200 feet, are one of the distinctive qualities that give the locale such biodiversity. Millions of tons of sand would alter the bay’s currents, which, in turn, would affect the amount of sunlight that penetrates the water, drastically altering its clarity and imperiling what Muzik calls “soaring cathedrals of blue coral.”

A dive team called Snack Snufkin has taken up the responsibility of documenting the rich marine life of the bay through its website ourawan.com, as well as informational brochures, photo exhibitions, and a new educational book. Botanist and diver Kenta Watanabe, a member of the dive team, says the group wants to use its scientific findings to educate the public on the uniqueness of the bay. “It provides many good habitats for various species,” Watanabe says. “The diversity of topography supports the diversity of marine creatures. We’ve found this place is very special.”

These divers aren’t the only people concerned over the Henoko plan. In 2013, the Ecological Society of Japan sent a letter to the Japanese Ministers of Defense and Environment requesting that the survey work for Henoko be stopped. Last year, 19 Japanese scientific organizations also signed a joint petition calling for the conservation of Oura Bay’s significantly high biological diversity. Polls consistently show the Henoko plan—with its proposed multiple helipads, 892-foot military-grade docking facilities, fuel and ammunition depots, and 5,900-foot V-shaped dual runways—is fiercely opposed by the majority of Okinawans.

The U.S. military says base opponents are in the minority, and insists that the American bases are vital to regional stability and the “common defense of Japan.” Speaking at Futenma air base, a Marine spokesman stressed the military’s role in providing humanitarian aid and disaster relief in places like the Philippines, Nepal, and elsewhere. Thousands of Japanese and Okinawans are also either employed by the U.S. military or work in fields that rely on its presence, including employment that ranges from working as private security guards to pouring concrete, providing heavy equipment, and installing and maintaining miles of fences that surround military sites.

Others in Okinawa welcome the U.S. presence for fear of China or North Korea, although many reject this stance, pointing rather to a centuries-long history when Okinawa had peaceful and prosperous relations with China during the period prior to Japan absorbing what was then the independent Ryukyu kingdom in the 1870s. Also, many Okinawans draw attention to the fact that the Chinese are already in Okinawa—doing business and supporting the tourism sector.

From an island perspective, this foreign military occupation is something with which many in Hawai‘i can relate. Our islands are home to one of the world’s largest Okinawan diaspora communities, and share long-established and cultural ties with Okinawa. It’s natural that the two island peoples have an affinity for and understanding of one another. In July 2015, Okinawa and Hawai‘i celebrated 30 years of sister-state relations. Okinawa is a place where the land and sea coexist in a fragile balance, one that is constantly challenged by external forces. We in Hawai‘i have seen this struggle play out within places of similar ecological fragility, like Mākua Valley, Kaho‘olawe, Pōhakuloa, and Ke Awalau o Pu‘uloa, which was transformed from the “breadbasket of O‘ahu,” a place of aquatic abundance, into what we all know it as today: Pearl Harbor. Like these sites, Oura Bay now finds itself similarly perched upon the edge of an uncertain future.

#Okinawa #Oura Bay #Protest #Hawaii #US Military #United States #Japan

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abitoflit · 7 years

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Doc vs. Challenger

Character, “one of the attributes or features that make up and distinguish an individual,” (Merriam-Webster). If we were devoid of our traits, personality, and other attributes; we would fail to be distinct. We would be bland individuals who lacked depth. Therefore, when authors pen their work, they strive to imitate human nature by weaving some of man’s more common characteristics into their stories. They try to create “realistic” characters, which their readers can relate to and sympathize with because that is in part, what keeps their readers engaged. Doc Savage, from Kenneth Robeson’s novel, Doc Savage: The Land of Terror is written in such a way as to suggest that Robeson sought to engross his readers by creating a protagonist, which possessed the qualities of a “superhero.” This is due to the fact that it would appear as though Doc is good at everything—he is knowledgeable in a number of different fields such as chemistry and biology, can hypnotize people with his eyes, fly a plane, hold his breath underwater for extended periods of time, etc. Furthermore, he has the body of a Greek god, is physically strong, and an excellent fighter. He is also extremely agile, has keen senses, is modest, and polite. He travels the world with a group of friends and doesn’t seem to have any true flaws or weaknesses. Therefore, readers are bound to find some way to relate to him as there are many different aspects to be found within his character to which one can draw a connection. However, his “overabundance” of positive traits and interests transforms Doc Savage into an otherworldly, bland character because he is the “perfect, static character.” Nothing appears as though it presents a true challenge to him. In sharp contrast, the “ape-like” Professor Challenger from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World is an imperfect a being as they come. He proves to be a more complex and dynamic character than Doc, as he changes subtly throughout the course of the novel. He is also ill-tempered, poor mannered, and proficient in only a narrow area. Furthermore, it takes him the full length of the novel to make any friends, while Doc beganThe Land of Terror within the company of a small group of friends. However, Challenger began the novel as a married man, while Doc never demonstrated any interest in women.

Professor Challenger and Doc Savage look nothing like one another. On his first meeting with the Professor, Mr. Malone provided a description of Challenger, which made him appear as though he was larger than life. Part of this characterization stems from the fact that Malone described his head as being “enormous,” (Doyle 23). Another portion stems from Challenger’s possession of both an imposing countenance and a black beard, which Malone associated “with an Assyrian bull,” (Doyle 23). The remainder of Challenger’s overwhelming presence originates from his “blue-gray eyes,” which were later described as “masterful,” broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and “two enormous hands covered with long black hair,” (Doyle 23-24). Furthermore, Professor Challenger’s resemblance to the king of the ape men whom he and his fellow travelers discovered while exploring Maple White Land accentuated the reader’s earlier impressions of both his massive and bestial appearance. Although it was said of the king “that his coloring was red instead of black,” (Doyle 115), little else differentiated the pair except for the disparity cast by the shape of their heads “above the eyebrows, where the sloping forehead and low, curved skull of the ape-men were in sharp contrast to the broad brow and magnificent cranium of the European,” (Doyle 115). Doc Savage, on the other hand, may be described as a being with the figure and strength of a Greek god. He had a distinctive and powerful face which was marked by “a remarkably high forehead,” a “muscular and strong mouth,” and “lean, corded cheeks,” (Robeson 73). He also had bronze-colored skin, which was mirrored by the color of his hair, although, it was a “shade darker than the bronze skin. It lay straight and smooth,” (Robeson 73). Doc was also known for being rather tall, with a frame “lost” in “perfect symmetry,” (Robeson 73). However, “the most striking thing about him was his eyes. They were like pools of fine flake gold glistening in the sun,” (Robeson 74). Doc was also extremely muscular, to the point where he was described as an “Atlas,” (Robeson 89). His muscles “were not knotty, but more like bundled piano wire lacquered a deep bronze color,” (Robeson 89). I feel as though each character’s appearance, which was strikingly different from the other, was utilized by their respective author in order to hint at the nature of the body’s owner. Professor Challenger’s appearance, which was likened to an ape, suggested that his character still needed to “evolve.” In other words, there was still room for growth, change, development, and overall refinement. Doc Savage’s, on the other hand, suggested that he had already reached the height of humanity and had ascended into godhood or at least something akin to the divine. In other words, he was the “ideal man,” someone who was polite, powerful both mentally and physically, and blessed with many different talents and skills.

In creating a “superhuman” character within his work, Robeson developed a being who was proficient in many different areas. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Professor Challenger, on the other hand, possessed a more “human” skillset in the sense that he was proficient in only a narrow area. Professor Challenger being a “famous zoologist,” (Doyle 18), was wholly a man of science. Prior to the trip he would make with Mr. Malone and company, he had already “made a journey to South America… to verify some conclusions of Wallace and Bates,” (Doyle 29). He spent a great deal of time both contesting “lesser” individuals within his field or verifying the facts made by other keen observers and scientists. His breadth of knowledge in the field of zoology became particularly evident whenever he contested Professor Summerlee about some matter or tried to classify the prehistoric life forms, which the travelers found within the Maple White Land. Doc Savage, on the other hand, appeared to be a man who was good at everything and who knew everything. His vast skillset and knowledge were explained as a mixture of training beneath the most talented men in a particular field, (such as Jerome Coffern in the field of chemistry), and a series of mental and physical exercises, which he performed for a few hours out of every day. Doc’s vast stores of knowledge had allowed him to contribute “new discoveries to more than surgery and chemistry. Electricity, archaeology, geology, and other lines have received the benefit of his marvelous brain,” (Robeson 73). Furthermore, he was able to perform intricate math problems entirely in his head, impersonate other people with ease, track both humans and animal life effectively, fly an airplane, and hypnotize the unwary with his gaze. Such was the case in the beginning of the novel, when he used his amazing power upon one of Kar’s men, so that he could discover what had happened to his late mentor, Jerome Coffern. “It was amazing, the things Doc could do with his eyes. He had studied with the great masters of hypnotism, just as he had studied with famous surgeons… By the time Doc asked his next question, he had exerted such a hypnotic influence… that the fellow replied with the truth,” (Robeson 80). Naturally, his ability proved useful because it allowed him to learn of the existence of the dissolving agent, the “Smoke of Eternity.” Doc’s newfound knowledge was beneficial because he would need to avoid the substance upon his return trip home from Oliver Wording Bittman’s apartment. He accomplished this by jumping over the edge of the Central Park West bridge as it was engulfed by the “Smoke of Eternity” his assailant had unleashed. He hid underwater, which he found a simple enough feat because “his lungs were tremendous. He could readily stay under water twice as long as a South Sea pearl diver, and such men have been known to remain under several minutes,” (Robeson 89).

Doc’s training in conjunction with his strength, also lent him a certain degree of agility and martial prowess, which Professor Challenger does not possess. Jerome Coffern said that Doc’s “strength and agility are incredible… for Doc Savage it is child’s play to twist horseshoes” and “bend silver half-dollars between thumb and forefinger,” (Robeson 73). The full extent of his strength is demonstrated towards the center of the novel when he is trapped within a passage of the Jolly Roger by Kar’s men and the ceiling begins to descend upon him. “The dropping roof would have crushed the life from a body a whit less like springy steel than Doc’s. The mass of the monster timbers must have weighed a full ton… Doc caught the massive weight… He broke the deadly force somewhat. But the shock bore him to hands and knees,” (Robeson 107). The extent of Doc’s agility becomes evident when he distracted the tyrannosaurus rex of Thunder Island as his friends escaped. “Only the power and agility of his mighty bronze body saved him, for once he had to dodge between the very legs of the monster, evading by a remarkable spring snapping, foul, fetid teeth that were nearly as long as a man’s arm,” (Robeson 122). Furthermore, he is a good marksman and very capable in both hand-to-hand and armed combat. Professor Challenger, on the other hand, is not described as being either particularly agile or strong. Perhaps his “barrel” chest in some way limited him, it is difficult to say. However, it can be said that like Doc, he has the capacity to shoot a gun, which proved useful in his fight against the dinosaurs and the ape men, which inhabited the Maple White Land.

Due to the training exercises he performs each day, Doc Savage was not only able to develop his strength, agility, and his mental capabilities; but, his senses as well. As a result, his senses and powers of observation became far keener than those of an average human, which only added to his many “superhuman” qualities. For example, when Doc was chasing Jerome Coffern’s killers shortly after his death, “he saw a caterpillar which had been knocked from a leaf so recently it still squirmed to get off its back… He saw grass which had been stepped on, slowly straightening. The direction in which this grass bent showed him the course pursued by the feet which had borne it down,” (Robeson 76). This allowed him to continue his pursuit and put an end to several of Kar’s men. Another example would be when his sight allowed him to avoid being shot by one of Kar’s men. “The bullet would have slain Doc—if he had been one iota less quick on coordinating eye and muscles. For he had seen the rifle barrel stir out of the jungle foliage. He had flattened his giant form,” (Robeson 131). Professor Challenger, on the other hand, possessed none of Doc’s amazing qualities. Instead, his senses and power of observation were “average.” For Doyle made no effort as to say anything of the contrary throughout the entirety of his work, The Lost World.

The character exhibited by the two men is rather different as well. Doc is the model of the “fine, upstanding gentleman.” His “goal was a life of service. To go from one end of the world to the other, looking for excitement and adventure, but always helping those who need help, punishing those who deserve it,” (Robeson 80). He was kind, gracious, and personable, which allowed him to make a number of friends and earn the respect of those around him. He also had good manners and was said to be modest. “Were Doc Savage to become a professional athlete, there is no doubt in my mind but that he would be a wonder of all time. But he will not employ his astounding strength to earn money, because he is one of those very rare persons—a genuinely modest man,” (Robeson 73). In sharp contrast, Professor Challenger was described as an ill-tempered hothead who had poor manners and remained rather arrogant throughout the course of the novel. His ill temper and poor manners become evident from the very beginning of The Lost World when he chastises Mr. Malone upon his visit to his residence by exclaiming, “‘did you think you could match cunning with me—you with your walnut of a brain?’” (Doyle 25), before becoming entangled in a physical altercation with Mr. Malone. Professor Challenger’s poor manners are evinced throughout the novel’s length, particularly when he and Professor Summerlee are arguing about some aspect of their expedition and the world around them. An example would be when the pair was moving through South America with their companions and arguing about the nature of the Indians who beat their drums in the surrounding forest, thus issuing threats on the traveler’s lives. In his closing arguments to Summerlee’s claims, which he deemed false, Challenger said, “‘no doubt, sir, a limited knowledge would have that effect. When one’s knowledge is exhaustive, one comes to other conclusions,’” (Doyle 60). Challenger may also be described as arrogant because he looked down upon everyone and let it be known that he did so. One example would include the time when he explained that he would be leading the expedition to the Maple White Land. “‘You need no chart or directions now, since you will have the inestimable advantage of my own guidance… The most elaborate charts would, as you will readily admit, be a poor substitute for my own intelligence and advice,’” (Doyle 55). A second example occurred following Challenger’s rescue from the ape men, when he exclaimed that his and Summerlee’s loss “‘would have left an appreciable gap in modern zoological history,’” (Doyle 117). His arrogance becoming evident when he arguably, overestimates his own value.

Each character’s personality earned them a certain reputation—Professor Challenger became known as an ill-tempered individual who was “hated by everyone who comes across him,” (Doyle 21), while Doc Savage became known as a just and kind individual, whom people could look up to and respect. As a result, Doc developed long-term friendships with a small band of individuals. There were five men in total, who were all masters within their respective fields. “Renny was a great engineer, Long Tom an electrical wizard, Johnny an archaeologist and geologist, and Ham one of the cleverest lawyers Harvard ever turned out… Monk, with his magical knowledge of chemistry, completed the group,” (Robeson 88). In the company of his friends, Doc would travel the world and seek adventure, while doling out his own brand of justice wherever he felt it due. Professor Challenger, on the other hand, had no friends when the novel began; his personality simply did not allow it. However, as Doyle’s novel progressed, he began to make friends. Strangely, unlike Doc, Challenger was married at the beginning ofThe Lost World. Perhaps; however, this has more to do with the social expectations of the period surrounding the turn of the twentieth century, when The Lost World was set, than Challenger’s desirability as a husband. Robeson’s work, on the other hand, was almost entirely devoid of female characters. Furthermore, Doc expressed no interest in women throughout its length. Perhaps, he felt as though they would have hindered his ability to live the life of his choosing, it is difficult to say with any degree of certainty.

Professor Challenger’s lack of friends at the beginning of The Lost World left his character with the means for growth throughout its length. This is due to the fact that by “softening” his harsh and unpleasant character traits throughout the journey he made with his companions, he was able to develop into a being with the capacity to make and maintain friendships. As a result, Challenger may be labeled as a dynamic character because he changed throughout the length of Doyle’s novel. Evidence of Challenger’s shift is subtle; but, permeates throughout the entirety of Doyle’s work, before becoming extremely evident at its culmination. An example would be when Challenger helped save Summerlee from the ape-men. After his “begging, pleading, imploring for his comrade’s life,” (Doyle 116), failed, Challenger aided in Summerlee’s rescue from the ape-men following Lord John Roxton’s and Mr. Malone’s attack upon their town. He accomplished this by grabbing Summerlee and helping him to flee to safety. Had his hatred for Summerlee persisted, he might not have made any effort to save the man who was slowly becoming his friend. The full extent of Challenger’s friendship with his traveling companions becomes evident at the novel’s end when the group “supped at Lord John Roxton’s rooms… smoked in good comradeship” (Doyle 148) and discussed their trip. This is due to the fact that Roxton reveals his having found a number of diamonds while on their journey, which amounted to a great sum of money. This he chose to share equally with each of his companions. Had he not considered Challenger a friend, I doubt Roxton would have chosen to share his good fortune with him.

Doc Savage, having been our first superhero, was endowed with numerous positive traits, skills, and abilities by his creator Kenneth Robeson. As a result, people may find him easier to relate to than Challenger. This is due to the fact that there is a vast array of traits for people to identify with, whereas there is a narrower focus with Challenger, (which is what makes him both more human and a more realistic character than Doc). Doc’s physical form and his skillset; however, cause him to be viewed by some as a “bland character.” He is simply “too perfect.” It is a bit off-putting when one considers how different he is from the average human and how later superheroes, such as Superman, could be reduced to his knees by kryptonite. Doc’s amazing abilities and character also leave him with little room for growth or development, since he has already reached the height of man. As a result, Doc may be deemed a static character, since he is essentially the same person he was at the novel’s end as he was at its beginning. This is due to the fact that all he discovers is who the “mysterious” Kar is, (Oliver Wording Bittman), and his only real “weakness” is revealed as being his great affection for his late father. “‘You knew my father—you knew the affection that existed between us. You were certain your trick would blind me to any faults you might have,’” (Robeson 140). This, I would argue, isn’t much of a discovery any more than the knowledge of Doc’s flaw is really much of a flaw considering how religion often tells us to “honor thy mother and thy father.” Thus, Doc’s lack of development starkly contrasts with that of Challenger who began The Lost World as a man feared for his temper, a man who lacked friends and was a social outcast, and steadily transformed into a man who had a close group of friends and was revered within the scientific community for his discoveries and contributions to the field.

In conclusion, Doc Savage from Kenneth Robeson’s novel, Doc Savage: The Land of Terror and Professor Challenger from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World are two entirely different characters. This is due to the fact that Doc is proficient in a number of different areas, whereas Professor Challenger has mastered only a narrow field. Furthermore, Doc is physically strong, a good fighter, and extremely handsome, while Challenger somewhat resembles an ape, is only an average fighter, and isn’t known for his strength. Doc is also an extremely agile individual with keen senses, whereas Challenger is not. Doc is known for being just, modest and polite, while Challenger is known for being both cantankerous and arrogant. Challenger proves to be a dynamic character because he changes throughout the course of The Lost World; becoming someone who is “softer” with friends of his own. Being that Doc was essentially “perfect” in every way, he remains the same throughout the course of his story and may be described as a somewhat bland, relatable, static character.

Works Cited

“Character.” Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster. nd. Web. 30 Jan. 2017.

Doyle, Arthur Conan. The Lost World. Ed. Paul Cook. Rockville, MD: Phoenix Pick, 2009. Print.

Robeson, Kenneth. Doc Savage: The Land of Terror. Vol. 14. Encinitas: Sanctum Productions, 2008. Print.

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westboast · 6 years

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Pas de Deux

And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. And Saul took him that day, and would let him go no more home to his father’s house. Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his garments, even to his sword, and to his bow, and to his girdle.

1 Samuel 18:1-18:4

I once went to a therapist in Seattle who spoke only in questions. I expected him to be like my college therapist: warm, compassionate, and empathetic. I was ready to be open with him. But all he did was ask questions, and I got so nervous that instead of establishing a rapport with him I simply confessed everything to him, every insecurity and every secret. I wanted him to pause and validate something, show empathy, but instead he just moved on to the next question, and the next. In a desperate attempt to make him pause on something, anything, and show he cared about what I was saying, I ratcheted up the intensity of what I was telling him. Finally, at the end of the session, I asked him why he only spoke in questions. Why did he make no declarative statements? He then snapped awake, his face flooded with life, to explain the methodology of his coursework. He said something about Lacan, and that name made me wilt. I wasn’t a person to him. I was data. He got me to tell him everything, all my secrets, things I have kept concealed for years, in forty-five minutes. Of course I never went back.

Lately, living overseas has been a little like that. I want to regurgitate everything and see what happens. I want people to know the “real me,” whatever that means. Japan is a tricky place to try this, because you won’t ever get a lot of pushback. People don’t say “No” in Japan. They say “It’s a little difficult…” No one will slam the door in your face. They’ll simply glide through it when you aren’t paying attention. It’s hard to express your feelings here, to be sad here. Feelings are intimate and precious, the holy of holies, guarded deep within. They are not meant to be exposed to the light.

Japan provokes questions but gives me few answers directly. I have to search for the answers myself. For me Japan has been a glass of water into which drops of food coloring are placed. Watch them swirl. Japan is Narcissus’s pool. In it I long to see myself, know myself. I get closer and closer to the surface, examining every contour of my face. I fall in, and no one is there to pull me out. Japan is a hotel. There is comfort but only for a while. At some point I will check out. Sometimes an entire day passes here and all I have done is talk about the weather, or clothing, or food. What are you interested in? What do you like? Surely I must know these things about myself, but often I cannot remember.

Japan is consistent. There is a man who walks by my apartment with his white dog every day at five o’clock. He has been doing this for two years. At the Family Mart down the street the same clerks have been there every morning. For two years. Japan is so quiet. In its silence I have vomited up every feeling in order to fill the space. Japan is zero gravity. I release water into the air to watch it split into drops and float around forever. It will never pool.

On the news the other day I saw that a singer had ended her own life. The news crew interviewed her neighbor, who said that “she was getting really sad.” One of my principals pulled me aside at a party once and told me that he was immensely lonely. He works alone in his office. He sleeps alone at home, separately from his wife. His father is already asleep when he comes home at night. We drank coffee in his office together once, maybe twice. We communed in loneliness.

I am alone yet seen. My neighbor keeps an eye on my trash and tells me when trash day is. My coworker tells me that a student saw me running the other morning. Which student? Where? On one of my worst days, my principal appeared behind me, said nothing, and placed a bag of my favorite snacks on my desk. He knew.

I took the Shinkansen from Fukuoka to Hiroshima a few weeks ago to visit R. It was a clear, blue-skied day. I looked out the window while listening to Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Flowers” as the landscape soared past. I had never been on a train that fast, and my forehead was sweating nervously. The buildings streaked past the window too quickly. It felt wrong. My friend said that riding the Shinkansen is like being on a plane that is always about to take off. I would add that it’s like watching a movie that has been sped up a little bit, just enough to unsettle you, make you grip the armrest a little tighter.

For a little while there my clothes smelled like Bulgari cologne.

I can no longer listen to an Indonesian song called “Jauh.”

The drama of the landscape. The mountains are undulating by. All of the houses settled in the valleys. The colorful diesel train cars chugging through the whole scene. The teenagers in their black and white uniforms moving in groups on bicycles. It’s gorgeous, but in a matter of minutes an earthquake could turn it all to tinder. The thing that is most likely to kill you in Japan is the landscape, though I imagine loneliness is up there.

Everything but the landscape is just so in Japan. Nothing is out of place. Everything is on time, predictable, safe. America looks like the Apocalypse from here. Chaos is reserved for the cities at night. One of the strangest things you will ever see in Japan is a young salaryman in a crisp black suit, surrounded by other young men dressed the same way, vomiting into a grate. Everyone drinks in Japan, but there are no alcoholics in Japan, only “people who drink every night.” No one says “You are wrong” in Japan. They just say “Maybe…” People work themselves to death in Japan, open the office window one clear day and walk out of it into the void. Everyone is at once happy and unhappy, but do not press this point in Japan.

Do not be greedy. Do not be bothersome. Do not tell anyone if you are having a bad day. Whatever you do, do not fall in love. Place your hand on the surface of the water, but do not reach in, because the fish will all scatter. Things are offered until eventually they are no longer. Conversations are started but never finished. They slowly dissolve.

Japan is the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. Japan is one of Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Rooms. I turn to scrutinize the different reflections. Which is the most realistic me? The most convincing me? Who is buying any of this anyway? Probably no one.

Japan is none of these things. Japan is Japan. Japan is not a metaphor. Japan defies metaphor.

Japan does not exist for my pleasure. I understand that. I love Japan. It’s just that I don’t understand it a lot of the time. Being invited to live here is the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me. When things are going well, they go extremely well. But when they aren’t, I realize how far away I am from everyone and everything I know. It’s part of “the experience,” right?

Right?

Lately I’ve been thinking about the Adrienne Rich poem “Diving Into the Wreck,” about a diver exploring a shipwreck. The diver descends through the deep until finding it:

I came to explore the wreck.

The words are purposes.

The words are maps.

I came to see the damage that was done

and the treasures that prevail

I stroke the beam of my lamp

slowly along the flank

of something more permanent

than fish or weed

the thing I came for:

the wreck and not the story of the wreck

the thing itself and not the myth….

Japan for me is now the thing itself, or maybe I am. People go abroad to “find themselves,” don’t they? Yes, that’s it. How cliché. It’s me. The thing I came looking for. The thing to which curiosity brought me. The problem with being a curious person is that sometimes you learn things that you wish you hadn’t.

For a little while there my clothes smelled like Chanel cologne.

I can no longer listen to a Japanese song—my favorite Japanese song—called “Sukiyaki.”

The loneliest I have ever felt in Japan is standing on the roof of Oita Station at night one November, alone, watching the lights twinkle on all of the buildings. No, I’ve been much lonelier than that. Maybe it was at the hostel in Okinawa on Christmas Eve two years ago. Or in my apartment on any given Tuesday. Maybe it was at a party. Maybe it will be in an hour.

A Japanese phrase that I hear a lot: the nail that sticks up will be pounded down.

Another one that I like: a frog in a tank does not know the sea.

In Japan there is a tradition of women, called the ama, who wear goggles and plain white diving suits and dive to the seafloor to retrieve pearls. I keep a picture of them on my desk.

***

After partying all night in Fukuoka recently, my friends and I took the train to the suburbs for ramen. I listened to the pas de deux from The Nutcracker and watched the buildings pass, more slowly and more sadly than they did on the Shinkansen. I watched a salaryman as he looked out the window.

When we got to the restaurant, we all ordered ramen, but I couldn’t eat it. My stomach was still rolling from the night before. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to go to Mass, and I got on a bus back into the city. My phone wasn’t working, so I had to try finding my way without it. I got so lost. I think that’s the loneliest I’ve felt recently: running through the streets of Fukuoka attempting to get to Mass.

The priest gave a homily on marriage. He said that we are not meant to be alone. I don’t know if we’re meant to be married, but I don’t believe we are meant to be alone.

Afterward I went out for drinks with some of the congregants. One of them said: “Michelangelo was probably gay, but who cares? If you’re good at something, it doesn’t matter.”

This irritated me. If you ask a Catholic what God looks like, there’s a good chance they’ll tell you he looks like Michelangelo’s image of him, in billowing pink, stretching out on a cloud toward Adam on the roof of the Sistine Chapel.

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “Another way of looking at it is that Michelangelo’s gayness informed how beautiful his art was.”

When I went to Hiroshima, I didn’t buy any souvenirs. The only thing I did buy was a string of pink rosary beads made of glass, imported from Italy. The nun who sold them to me asked if they were a present. She smiled when I said no.

Japan is the most beautiful place I have ever been. There are the blue waters of Okinawa, the cliffs of Yamaguchi, Takachiho Gorge, Mount Aso, the rolling hills of Miyazaki…

Japan is a hallucination. It must be. The last two years cannot possibly have happened. How long have I been dreaming with my eyes open?

My friend says I should write about what it’s like to be gay and living in Japan, but I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t want to talk about it because it’s too sad. And also because if I talk about that, I have to talk about that night at the club in Beppu, and suddenly I hear the music and see the lights. I have to talk about the escalator in Bangkok, the flower garland from the street vendor. I have to talk about the beach party at Iki Island, the laughter and salt at the beach. I have to talk about that day in Hita, the cologne mixing with the onsen steam and evaporating into the leaves overhead.

Gone.

Cut to: Itsukushima Shrine, the tide in. Soundtrack: “O Soave Fanciulla,” sung by Placido Domingo and Montserrat Caballé. I’m there with R, and the knowledge that even though things ended we still care about each other so much. We ask a French couple to take a photo of the two of us with their Polaroid. We are both smiling widely, so clearly happy in spite of the circumstances. Itsukushima Shrine is built on a platform above a tidal plane. It appears to be floating in the sea. We pull each other close but in sadness, and the speed of the movie changes. All of the tourists seem to slow down. Everything that happened between us soars through the camera shutter as it is opened to the light—light bouncing off of the red torii gate, light bouncing off of my sunglasses, off of his smile, off of our torsos which are close but not touching.

I’m there with the knowledge that he’s safe. When we were together I couldn’t sleep at night because of what he told me about the political situation in his country, where people like him—people like us—are occasionally stoned to death. But that won’t happen to him now. Now my insomnia comes from somewhere else.

“Isn’t this song beautiful?” I ask him.

“It makes me want to kill myself,” he responds.

The record skips. Put on a new one.

Soundtrack: “Ave Maria,” by Schubert.

September 11, 2017: “In my mind there is a Baroque cathedral built to honor all of the things I want but cannot have.”

Running.

Where the fuck is the church? I don’t remember which side of the train station it’s on.

Why am I writing this? Why am I trying to write about something that is still so alive? I’m foolishly trying to write about something that presents itself anew each day…

Living in Japan is a gift.

Friday: I am waking up. Now the sun streams into my room. Now I am making coffee. Now I am running by the river, the water is flowing over the rocks, and white egrets are leaping from the riverbed. Now I am at school, where the students and I are still learning how to talk to each other. Now I am counting money. Now I am on a bus ascending the mountains and descending into Fukuoka. Now I am in the city, and there are lines of people waiting for ramen or ice cream. There are people everywhere. They are cast in neon light, they are holding hands, they are buying cigarettes. We are bumping into each other, we are descending into the subways, we are gathered at restaurants. Sumimasen. Now we are ascending to the sidewalk. Now we are drinking together, now we are stumbling to the club, now we are on an elevator pressed against one another, now we are all dancing. Now the sun is coming up, What’s your name? Now we’re jumping into taxis, now we’re awake, friends with arms wrapped around each other.

Friendship is a gift.

Love is a gift.

Everything is now seen from Japan, and I see the different parts of me, through time, which exist at once. There is the little boy at Catholic school who is always designated to say Catholic grace at family dinners. There is the seventeen-year-old me in Maryland, driving through a corn field, not seeing the stop sign soon enough, slamming on the brakes and suddenly realizing that the brake pads are worn down to nothing, and the car flies into the intersection anyway at sixty miles an hour. But there isn’t any traffic and I get to keep living. There is the twenty-year-old me in Vermont, in a snowstorm, with uncontrollable feelings about basically everything, so certain that my life and opinions are terribly important. There is the twenty-three-year-old me in Washington State, alone in a beautiful house on an island, realizing that nothing really added up and yet here I am, worried I’m coming apart. Now there is the twenty-six-year-old me, who puts on a tie in the morning and rides a bike through a Japanese lumber town to a school where I can’t understand most of what is being said around me, but I’m trying.

I went to a riverboat dinner event last year, and someone took a photo. In the background are illuminated lanterns. My friend Shantel is on my left and my friend Ryu is on my right, with his arm around me. It’s the kind of photo that is immediately nostalgic, as if it was already twenty years old the moment it was taken. It says, like all photographs do, that we were here, in this place, at this time. So far from home. I’m real to many people, but to others I’m just photographs. David who lives in Japan, smiling near a boat. In the photograph, I’m thinking that different parts of me exist through time, but different selves all exist now. David the teacher. David the friend. David the party person. David the quiet person. David the son. David the brother. David the boyfriend.

I’m thinking of the way that surfaces slide over one another, the way that things deceive. In Washington I lived for a year near Deception Pass, where the Admiralty Inlet meets the Salish Sea. The currents are extremely powerful and dangerous, but you wouldn’t know from looking, because when the waters move past one another they give the surface a glassy appearance, like a colonial window. It is some of the most fatal water in Washington though. The Deception Pass bridge is a marvel of engineering. It is also a favorite suicide spot in Washington. Every so often I would check the news and see that a car had been discovered near the bridge in the morning, and soon after the search would begin for the driver, presumed to be somewhere in the water.

People have sliding surfaces too, which is why it’s wise not to make assumptions about human beings. You think you understand someone but then the current changes. Your leg is sucked under. And me? I can deceive myself too. Queer people know this too well. You come out, and then suddenly you’re on an archaeological dig through your past, searching for clues among the self-deception. Ah, that makes sense. Ah, no wonder my friends were always girls. Ah, no wonder people talked to me like that. Behaved like that.

The current picks things up from the bottom and drops them on the shore. Like this: one of the students collapsed during a performance last year, and my first reaction was to clasp my hands and bow. Hail Mary, full of grace… Spare her, have mercy. Someone dies unexpectedly and it’s the same thing. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women… Receive her soul in heaven. How many pearls can I pull from the bottom? Enough to make a rosary?

Wait, do I believe in heaven?

Pray for us sinners.

Other questions: Is there really such a thing as a good person? Do people have souls? Why am I alive?

Catholics seek to reconcile apparently contradictory concepts. For example: God is omnipotent and omniscient, and yet human beings have free will. Also: the world is fundamentally mysterious, and yet we must have faith that everything happens as part of a larger design. Mystery is what I can’t stop thinking about. It’s unbearable. Why does anything happen? Catholics believe it is the will of God. Which is a way of saying: it’s a mystery. Things just happen. Things just are. Maybe there’s a why, but it’s too much to understand. It’s God.

Now and at the hour of our death.

What of my own mysteries? I touch my hand to the holy water as I enter the church. I think I know the real me now, the architecture which holds everything else up, but I’m not sure. Japan gave this understanding to me. Gayness is a sexual orientation, but for me it’s also a spiritual one. It’s the Catholicism which collapsed and was filled by Saint James Baldwin, Saint Freddy Mercury, Saint Marsha P. Johnson, Saint Beyoncé, so many saints. Gay people love to beatify. My favorite saint is Saint Madonna. She’s Catholic, you know. But in “Like a Virgin” performances in the early nineties she used a lot of “sacrilegious” sexual imagery, enough that, due to protests from the Vatican, she was forced to cancel her shows in Italy during her tour. She prayed before every show, hands clasped with her dancers.

I write my own prayers.

What’s your name?

And lead us not into temptation.

Should we go somewhere else?

But deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory.

I’m sorry, I’m nervous.

Forever and ever.

Amen.

—Japan

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