When In Rome

The season is definitely turning here in Akita, as the days grow shorter, the temperatures drop, fewer and fewer leaves remain on the trees, and violent storms sweep in off the Sea of Japan with increasing frequency. The bite of winter is lingering in the morning air. The trees are close to concluding their striptease for the year, and the rice paddies stand, - stubbly, mown and harvested - glaring mournfully at passersby with the wounded dignity of a shaved cat. Bent and wrinkled obaachans and ojiisans continue hobbling and granny biking about, albeit now wrapped in a very Japanese-looking layer of quilted, padded clothing. Japanese pumpkin and soups have supplanted corn and cold noodles in my school lunch, and I have fired up my kotatsu (a table with a heat on its underside, covered with a quilted blanket tablecloth). Indeed, autumn is coming to a close here in Tohoku. And as it does so, I am confronting a reality for anyone living abroad - homesickness.

I hit what is referred to as "Stage 2" of overseas living (the panicky, weepy, melt-down-general-mess stage that follows euphoria and precedes acceptance and integration) very early on here in Japan. I hope I never descend again to the level of stress and misery I endured during that time - that said, for anyone who is currently living, or is thinking of moving, abroad from your home country...advice from a Stage 2 survivor. Stage 2 happens. It sucks. Bigtime. The main reason I'm still in Japan is probably because I hit Stage 2 prior to having a phone or internet access so I couldn't book a flight home. But it does pass, and it is worth it to stick it out. The rewards are great, however insurmountable the turmoil of Stage 2 may seem.

But as fall fades into winter, I am finding myself confronted with a different kind of sadness. This is a gentler homesickness than the violent loneliness and stress that wracked my world a few months ago. This homesickness isn't outright painful so much as it tugs at my heartstrings - I miss all of you at home, I miss familiar places and voices and foods and routines. I miss Seattle; I miss Grinnell. It's almost as if my Stage 2 was a violent, ripping separation, and what I'm experiencing now is a slow-growing melancholy as it becomes clear to me what I've left behind (even if only temporarily). I'm certainly not in Stage 2, because I do feel some comfort with my life here in Japan, but the weight of being forever foreign, forever noteworthy, forever outside, does begin to wear on a person over time. I'm fatigued and I can't wait to visit home and recharge.

I almost hate to admit that I feel loneliness or sadness, because in so many ways being here is such an amazing opportunity that negative emotions seem unwarranted. But it seems that nobody is very open about their feelings in this regard, and for myself as well as for any other expats (current, prior or pending) out there, I think it's important to say that yes, we feel this, and it's ok. Homesickness, it seems to me, is a natural and necessary part of the process of moving away from your own country. In ways you would never imagine - from working the ATM, to screwing up basic courtesy and procedure when buying a soda at the convenience store, to being served weird unknown comestibles that manners dictate you must eat, to being unable to express even the simplest ideas to people around you - it's exhausting and frustrating to be a foreigner. And over time I think that compounds into total exhaustion with being foreign. I can't speak for anyone except myself, but I for one am currently working through feelings of cultural fatigue, language depression (I'd really hoped my Japanese would be better by now) and homesickness. I find it helps to talk often with people at home, as well as to distract myself by going out and occupying myself here. To that end I went to a track practice coached by my Yuri Elementary curriculum coordinator/JTE, Mr. Takano, this Saturday.

Most of the team members are under twelve, and I'm a distance runner not a sprinter (ever been out-sprinted by a tiny Japanese seven-year old girl? After this weekend I have), but it was a blast anyway! Hopefully wonderful moments like this keep cropping up to remind me why it's worth the loneliness and challenges of living as an expat - this is really why I'm here, after all.

Also, for any of you who are Seattlites, I'll be home for about ten days in December covering Christmas eve through the first week of January. If you want to hang out, please let me know! I would love to see you. And for myself and others who are far from home, sometimes when in Rome, it's ok to be really sick and tired of being in Rome.