Showing posts with label Tokyo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tokyo. Show all posts
Monday, October 23, 2017
Words
On a rainy Thursday, we took a taxi to Shinjuku station and went to see a
film by Jim Jarmusch. It was a very slow but a beautiful film and I loved
it. It made me want to write again. I immediately ordered a poetry book
by William Carlos Williams, and it arrived two days later. It's a collection of his poetry translated in Japanese. A Japanese poet in the film said that poetry in translation is like taking a shower with a raincoat on, and I agree, but it's still nice. I read one
or two poems a day from that book after kids go to bed. Funny how one or
two poems can fulfill me... "It's just words..." said the bus driver played
by Adam Driver, but without words, I realize, I don't feel alive.
Monday, September 7, 2015
９月６日 日曜日
９月６日 日曜日
今日は朝から雨が降ったり止んだりのすっきりしない天気で、私は図書館から借りて来た村上春樹のエッセイを読んではうとうとし、起きてまたその本を開いて少し読んでみては眠りに落ちたりして、一日のほとんどをベッドの上で過ごした。
マイクはと言うと、ここのところ何かに取り憑かれたかのようにコンピュータに向かい、なんと昨夜は一度もベッドに来なかったから、一睡もしていないことになる。それでも目を爛々とさせて、今も同じ体勢で仕事をしている。これには感心を通り越して呆れてしまう。さっき台所で緑茶を淹れている彼と鉢合わせになり、何気なく横に並んでみると、明らかに私の方が背が高い。一日中寝ていた人と、一日中寝なかった人との間ではこんなにも顕著に身長に差が出るものか！と身をもって知った。
たった今、その村上春樹のエッセイを読み終えたのだけど、すごく面白かった。「村上朝日堂はいかにして鍛えられたか」という本なのだけど、この間図書館に行った時に「本日返却された本」というカートを何気なく見たら並んでいたもので、その題名を聞いた事もなければ、もう２０年近く前に出されたような本だったので、さほど期待はしていなかったが、それをいい意味で小気味に裏切ってくれた。前にも書いた事があるけれど、本当に面白い本に出合うと「一刻も早く次のページへと読み進みたいけれど、この本が終わってしまうのが惜しいから、出来るだけゆっくり噛み締めながら読みたい。それでもいかんせん早く先が読みたい」という葛藤にぶち当たる。そういう本だった。
中でも面白かったのは、村上春樹の２１歳になる長寿の飼い猫、ミューズの話だ。あまりのおかしさにククククっ！と笑いがこみ上げて来てしまう事が何度もあった。隣の部屋では口を尖らかしてマイクが仕事をしているので、気付かれないように静かに笑うのがやっとだった。前に「村上さんのところ」というサイトで読者が「村上春樹の本は胎教に悪い」と言っていたのを思い出したが、こんなにも笑える内容ならば、問題はないだろうと思って最後まで読破した。そして、面白い本を読むと決まって思う事がある。「お兄ちゃんもきっと好きだろうな...。」...ということで、早速アマゾンで同じ本を注文し、お兄ちゃん宛てに送った。窓の外からは降り止むところを知らない秋雨の音。そして隣の部屋からは依然としてパソコンのキーの音が鳴り止まない。そんな日曜の夜更けです。さ、私はお風呂に入って寝よう。
今日は朝から雨が降ったり止んだりのすっきりしない天気で、私は図書館から借りて来た村上春樹のエッセイを読んではうとうとし、起きてまたその本を開いて少し読んでみては眠りに落ちたりして、一日のほとんどをベッドの上で過ごした。
マイクはと言うと、ここのところ何かに取り憑かれたかのようにコンピュータに向かい、なんと昨夜は一度もベッドに来なかったから、一睡もしていないことになる。それでも目を爛々とさせて、今も同じ体勢で仕事をしている。これには感心を通り越して呆れてしまう。さっき台所で緑茶を淹れている彼と鉢合わせになり、何気なく横に並んでみると、明らかに私の方が背が高い。一日中寝ていた人と、一日中寝なかった人との間ではこんなにも顕著に身長に差が出るものか！と身をもって知った。
たった今、その村上春樹のエッセイを読み終えたのだけど、すごく面白かった。「村上朝日堂はいかにして鍛えられたか」という本なのだけど、この間図書館に行った時に「本日返却された本」というカートを何気なく見たら並んでいたもので、その題名を聞いた事もなければ、もう２０年近く前に出されたような本だったので、さほど期待はしていなかったが、それをいい意味で小気味に裏切ってくれた。前にも書いた事があるけれど、本当に面白い本に出合うと「一刻も早く次のページへと読み進みたいけれど、この本が終わってしまうのが惜しいから、出来るだけゆっくり噛み締めながら読みたい。それでもいかんせん早く先が読みたい」という葛藤にぶち当たる。そういう本だった。
中でも面白かったのは、村上春樹の２１歳になる長寿の飼い猫、ミューズの話だ。あまりのおかしさにククククっ！と笑いがこみ上げて来てしまう事が何度もあった。隣の部屋では口を尖らかしてマイクが仕事をしているので、気付かれないように静かに笑うのがやっとだった。前に「村上さんのところ」というサイトで読者が「村上春樹の本は胎教に悪い」と言っていたのを思い出したが、こんなにも笑える内容ならば、問題はないだろうと思って最後まで読破した。そして、面白い本を読むと決まって思う事がある。「お兄ちゃんもきっと好きだろうな...。」...ということで、早速アマゾンで同じ本を注文し、お兄ちゃん宛てに送った。窓の外からは降り止むところを知らない秋雨の音。そして隣の部屋からは依然としてパソコンのキーの音が鳴り止まない。そんな日曜の夜更けです。さ、私はお風呂に入って寝よう。
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
A collection of random thoughts on a Wednesday night
It's Wednesday night on July 22nd, 2015. I'm now 28 weeks
pregnant, which means I'll have a baby in about 10 weeks. Wow. I just
looked at my belly which is really starting to show lately. Despite the
fact that I am unmistakably pregnant and everyone on the train wants to
give up their seats for me nowadays, the idea of me becoming a mother
still hasn't quite caught up with me yet. I thought I became pregnant
only a month ago or so but it's been 28 weeks already; yes I have come a
long way. I didn't have a morning sickness, and I kind of knew that I
would have an easy pregnancy even before I got pregnant. Why? Because
I'm lucky like that. I have never even had cramps during my period, and
who doesn't?? I hope I'll continue to be lucky and I'll have an easy
delivery as well, but who knows? Luck isn't the most dependable thing in
the world.
The rainy season ended and the summer has come
to Tokyo a week ago. We had a real nice June and the beginning of July
with lots of rain and the cool weather to accompany. It rained day after
day, and everyone complained but I didn't mind the rain. I actually
never mind the rain. I secretly wished the rainy season would never end
but it decided to go away with the typhoon which visited here out of
season. Hate is a strong word, and I rarely use it, but I hate summer. I
hate the heat and the humidity. I hate getting tanned. Well actually I
don't hate getting tanned; I hate getting freckles. Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Film review: Ian Thomas Ash's "-1287"
I knew it was going to be a sad film. It was about this woman with a terminal cancer, and from the film title "-1287" and trailer, we can infer that it's about her death, and probably that the number -1287 is some number of days having to do with her death. The entire audience in the small theater where I watched it knew it too, and we all expected to shed some deserved tears in the end.
The ending was pretty much what I think we all predicted—but what we weren't prepared for was to experience the death of someone close: someone who is so much alive with sense of humor pouring out, and genuine laughter from her belly. After the showing of the film, one of the audience members (while sobbing) said, "I'm so sad and can't find words because I feel like someone I knew has just died." That may sound a bit too dramatic if you haven't seen this film, but I shared this sentiment, and so did the rest of the audience, I'm sure. I couldn't stop crying. It wasn't so much about her death itself that made me cry— instead what moved me was how she lived and the tender and honest conversations she had with the filmmaker (Ian Thomas Ash.) And how she wanted to be loved—"truly truly truly" loved by someone, and how she wanted that even until the very last days of her life.
We know death happens to all of us one day. What we don't know is when that one day is going to be and how to come to terms with it. And we really don't think about it so much because we somehow effortlessly forget the fact that we all die one day or maybe because it's just simply scary to even imagine. When the movie star Ken Takakura (he's often noted as "Japan's Clint Eastwood") passed away last month, I came across many tweets saying something like, "I never thought he would actually die one day!" As silly as those tweets may sound, that's probably how we think of our own death too: we just can't imagine we all die one day!
In "-1287", through the lens of Ian, we get to know Kazuko, a lovely woman in her 60s, who loves cooking and reading books in English. It begins with a shot in her kitchen where she's cooking for him. Then he starts asking her questions. The film consists only of dialogues between Ian and Kazuko: dialogues of two complete strangers to me. But to my surprise, I was quickly drawn to their world and the tender moments the filmmaker shared with Kazuko. The tender moments of the two of them were so intimate and perhaps so personal that I sometimes felt shy or even wrong about watching it. It's not because of what they talk about; Ian asks Kazuko fairly general questions: who she is, about her family and her hobbies—and then he moves on to ask her about her illness, and about big questions: life and love.
What made me feel a bit shy watching was I think the tone of his voice. He's shooting the film so we don't usually see him on the screen. We saw him occasionally when she held the camera, but we mostly just heard his sweet, calm, warm, modest, and sometimes very interrogative tone of voice. And how happy & shy she looked, responding to his voice, which revealed a unique intimacy they embraced together. Their conversations (carried out mostly in Japanese, sometimes in English) were incredibly real and honest; not even a tiny bit was phony. I don't even know how I know that, because I don't know her in person but I was somehow able to sense that she was true to herself, and to Ian, the filmmaker. Maybe it was more about him. She wanted him to hear her story. Her true story—the true her, that she'd probably never shown to anybody before.
After the film, Ian was invited on stage so we could ask him questions and/or share our thoughts with him. One woman in the back said, "I'm turning 70 so I'm Kazuko's age, and I envy her that she had a friend like you. I have a husband but we never really talk. I wish I had someone to tell honest stories to each other, like you and Kazuko did." She continued, "Maybe it's my generation thing, or maybe it's a Japanese thing. We don't really talk!"
I looked at Mike who was sitting next to me and I thought, no, it's not a generation thing or a Japanese thing. We're a bit younger and married internationally, and we do talk but we don't tell honest stories to each other, the way Ian and Kazuko did, either. Then I thought, do I tell honest stories to anyone really? To my parents? To my brother? To my best friends back home?
We never know what the future holds; we don't even know about tomorrow. But there is one thing that we know for sure: we all die one day, sooner or later. That much we know. I think about this fact a lot lately thanks to this film—but give it a week or two, I can assure you I won't be thinking about it a lot anymore. But I just don't want to forget the conversations between Kazuko and Ian and how she lived and shared her honest stories with him, and with us.
The ending was pretty much what I think we all predicted—but what we weren't prepared for was to experience the death of someone close: someone who is so much alive with sense of humor pouring out, and genuine laughter from her belly. After the showing of the film, one of the audience members (while sobbing) said, "I'm so sad and can't find words because I feel like someone I knew has just died." That may sound a bit too dramatic if you haven't seen this film, but I shared this sentiment, and so did the rest of the audience, I'm sure. I couldn't stop crying. It wasn't so much about her death itself that made me cry— instead what moved me was how she lived and the tender and honest conversations she had with the filmmaker (Ian Thomas Ash.) And how she wanted to be loved—"truly truly truly" loved by someone, and how she wanted that even until the very last days of her life.
We know death happens to all of us one day. What we don't know is when that one day is going to be and how to come to terms with it. And we really don't think about it so much because we somehow effortlessly forget the fact that we all die one day or maybe because it's just simply scary to even imagine. When the movie star Ken Takakura (he's often noted as "Japan's Clint Eastwood") passed away last month, I came across many tweets saying something like, "I never thought he would actually die one day!" As silly as those tweets may sound, that's probably how we think of our own death too: we just can't imagine we all die one day!
In "-1287", through the lens of Ian, we get to know Kazuko, a lovely woman in her 60s, who loves cooking and reading books in English. It begins with a shot in her kitchen where she's cooking for him. Then he starts asking her questions. The film consists only of dialogues between Ian and Kazuko: dialogues of two complete strangers to me. But to my surprise, I was quickly drawn to their world and the tender moments the filmmaker shared with Kazuko. The tender moments of the two of them were so intimate and perhaps so personal that I sometimes felt shy or even wrong about watching it. It's not because of what they talk about; Ian asks Kazuko fairly general questions: who she is, about her family and her hobbies—and then he moves on to ask her about her illness, and about big questions: life and love.
What made me feel a bit shy watching was I think the tone of his voice. He's shooting the film so we don't usually see him on the screen. We saw him occasionally when she held the camera, but we mostly just heard his sweet, calm, warm, modest, and sometimes very interrogative tone of voice. And how happy & shy she looked, responding to his voice, which revealed a unique intimacy they embraced together. Their conversations (carried out mostly in Japanese, sometimes in English) were incredibly real and honest; not even a tiny bit was phony. I don't even know how I know that, because I don't know her in person but I was somehow able to sense that she was true to herself, and to Ian, the filmmaker. Maybe it was more about him. She wanted him to hear her story. Her true story—the true her, that she'd probably never shown to anybody before.
After the film, Ian was invited on stage so we could ask him questions and/or share our thoughts with him. One woman in the back said, "I'm turning 70 so I'm Kazuko's age, and I envy her that she had a friend like you. I have a husband but we never really talk. I wish I had someone to tell honest stories to each other, like you and Kazuko did." She continued, "Maybe it's my generation thing, or maybe it's a Japanese thing. We don't really talk!"
I looked at Mike who was sitting next to me and I thought, no, it's not a generation thing or a Japanese thing. We're a bit younger and married internationally, and we do talk but we don't tell honest stories to each other, the way Ian and Kazuko did, either. Then I thought, do I tell honest stories to anyone really? To my parents? To my brother? To my best friends back home?
We never know what the future holds; we don't even know about tomorrow. But there is one thing that we know for sure: we all die one day, sooner or later. That much we know. I think about this fact a lot lately thanks to this film—but give it a week or two, I can assure you I won't be thinking about it a lot anymore. But I just don't want to forget the conversations between Kazuko and Ian and how she lived and shared her honest stories with him, and with us.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Words from Berlin
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| My bible here : "Berlin Guidebook" by Masato Nakamura |
So I'm in a hotel room in Berlin, watching local news on TV, munching on chips, drinking grape juice and trying to write a digest of my stay so far. Mike and I decided to come to Berlin and have a little vacation before and after his meetings on Sep 10th and 11th. I had never been to Berlin or Germany before, and my teaching job at a college doesn't begin until the mid-September, so we couldn't think of any reasons not to.
 |
| as I write this blog at a hotel room... |
We arrived here last Wednesday, so it's been exactly one week since then. Everything seemed "wunderbar!" the first couple of days; we enjoyed the gorgeous fall weather (coming from muggy Tokyo where it was still the midst of summer), there were no yucky mosquitoes (while Tokyo seems to be suffering from a pandemic of Dengue fever, believed to have been spread from mosquitoes in Yoyogi park), everyone speaks English, we didn't have any problems getting around the town (thanks to the excellent subway system in Berlin), trains run on time and more frequently than the ones in Tokyo—plus it's never crowded even when everyone seems to be heading home. I was like, wow! I could imagine living here!
 |
| First exploration day! Near Kurfürstendamm street, Berlin |
On our 3rd or 4th day here though, I was already starting to notice shortcomings of this "wunderbar" city, and this makes me realize how quickly I take things for granted and start bitching about what I miss or what I don't have. For example, I was getting annoyed by not being able to find public bathrooms easily, because there are *always* toilets at the train stations in Japan (though when in Japan, I often complain about the presence of filthy traditional Japanese toilets and how unnecessary they are.) Even if I find toilets here, we usually have to pay to use, so before I know it, I naturally began to rant, "Come on! Who needs to pay to pee? It's the most basic of minimum human rights we should never have to ask for!!"
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| Subway station, Berlin |
In addition to the lack of free public toilets, I began to notice how dirty some streets are here; there's trash littered around in some places even though there are trash bins available (for everyone to use, for free!) at every corner. I often heard people outside Japan saying how clean the streets in Tokyo are, but I'd never thought Tokyo was such a clean city before I came here; I was wrong! Considering there are 20-30 million people living there and no trash cans available on the street, Tokyo does hella good job keeping the city as clean as it is.
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| Mauerpark—with some garbage scattered on the grass, in spite of several huge dumpsters in the park |
I assure you that when I go back to Tokyo I'll find everything to be marvelous the first couple of days but I will soon find something to complain about; whether it's the humidity or mosquitoes, I don't want to do that! So that's why I wanted to take time to write my reflections while I'm still in Berlin.
 |
| Trying to look pensive at Nikolaiviertel |
There are things that Berlin and Germany in general do so well, so much better than Tokyo or Japan do; how they face and handle some of the darker chapters in their history is one. We went to the Holocaust memorial (Holocaust-Mahnmal) just a couple of blocks from Brandenburger Tor. There, you'll see thousands of stone monuments laid out in all different heights. We couldn't find any sign or a board explaining what they are so we decided to walk in the narrow paths in between the monuments. Within a few seconds of being down there, you'll realize what these stones represent and at the same time, you start having some indescribable fear. However, in order to escape from that scary maze, you'll need to continue walking in the narrow paths. The taller the stones get, the scarier it gets; you never know what's going to happen at the very next corner. I almost bumped into someone at the corner who was also finding his way out.
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| Holocaust-Mahnmal, Berlin |
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| These stones were laid out pretty close to each other and are a lot taller than us, so we needed to be careful not bumping into other people coming from different directions. |
We then found this very insignificant looking sign just a few minutes walk from the Holocaust memorial and learned that it was where Hitler and his wife committed suicide. We couldn't believe how so unremarkable it looked compared to how those Japanese war criminals are treated (as gods) in Japan. There, too, we feel like we eye-witnessed great efforts and commitments of German people, not wanting to repeat that not-so-proud part of their history again, without hiding or turning their back from it. They must not be proud of their dark history during the Nazi regime, but they must be very proud of how they dealt with (and still dealing with) history and accepted and made amends for past wrongdoings. I am amazed and saddened by how hard it is for Japan to do the same.
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| Where Adolf Hitler committed suicide — his underground bunker |
Other than having free public toilets at the train stations, perhaps, there are things Japan/Japanese people do so well, too; superb customer service is one. I always thought that cliche "o-mo-te-na-shi" is overrated, but now I have to disagree with myself-then. Of course there are rude people everywhere you go, but Japanese people normally tend to go out of their way to be polite and kind—though not necessarily always friendly—especially to their customers. When you are a customer in Japan, you should be treated like a king or even a god (as in "customer is god" お客様は神様です), but in foreign countries, I'm not god, and I sometimes even feel like I'm actually working for them!
Monday evening after we came back from Hamburg, I took a short nap. When I got up and opened the curtain, there was "super-moon" gracefully floating in the sky; that same moon that Japanese people enjoyed several hours ago. I realized some things are the same, even on the other side of the world. Everywhere you go, there are pros and cons. No place is perfect—though Sweden or Switzerland seem to be perfect, but I'm sure I'll find something to bitch about once I visit there. So, once I'm back in Tokyo, I promise I will try to focus on the bright side and won't complain too much, for a week or two at least! :)))))
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| Super-Moon in Berlin! (Monday, Sep 8th, 2014) |
More later...
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| Photoautomaten is obligatory, isn't it? |
Thursday, March 27, 2014
廣之おじさんのこと
伯父さんは、廣之おじさんは、奥沢の線路沿いにある
陽の当たらない小さなアパートの台所の床で、冷たくなっていた
おまわりさんが駆けつけて来るまでの間、マイクと抱き合って
声を上げて泣いた
目の前で起きていることが信じられなかった
この目に映るもの全てを、信じたくなかった
その夜お父さんが東京へ来て、警察で遺体を確認した
変わり果てたおじさんの姿に、動揺を隠せないでいた
私はそれを見て、陰でまた何度も泣いた
次の日、お父さんと一緒におじさんの部屋を整理した
買い物をしたレシートを見てみると
イチゴ、とあった
おじさんは苺が好きだったのだろうか
明日、棺に入れてあげようか
私はおじさんの事をまったく知らない
おじさんの携帯電話の電話帳には
ひらがなで名前が二つ、登録されてあった
いしくら たきお
いしくら ゆきひさ
二年前に亡くなったもう一人の叔父さんとお父さんの名前
おじさんからすると、ふたりの弟だ
おじさんは結婚したことがなかったし
友達もいなかった
おじさんの小さな世界には、頼れる人はお父さんしかいなかった
私はおじさんの存在すらもよく知らずに育ち
よく知ろうともしなかった
こんなに近くに住んでいたのに
一度も会いに行かなかった
会おうと思えばいつでも行けたのに
でももう遅い
おじさんは寒い冬の夜
ひとりで逝ってしまった
警察のひとが検視をしているあいだ
私はマイクと等々力渓谷に行った
おじさんが好んで散歩をしたコースらしい
そこを歩いて、等々力不動のベンチで
マイクは疲れた、と横になった
私は膝枕をしてやりながら
彼の首筋のぬくもりを確かめていた
さっき触ったおじさんの頬は
まるで氷のようにひんやり冷たく硬かった
生きているということは
それだけで本当に尊いことで
毎日誰かがどこかで命を落とし
それでも世界は動き続ける
今週末には東京でも桜が満開になるだろう
おじさん、もう少しで桜が見られたのに
悔やんでも悔やみきれない
春の冷たい雨の降る、三月最後の木曜日
陽の当たらない小さなアパートの台所の床で、冷たくなっていた
おまわりさんが駆けつけて来るまでの間、マイクと抱き合って
声を上げて泣いた
目の前で起きていることが信じられなかった
この目に映るもの全てを、信じたくなかった
その夜お父さんが東京へ来て、警察で遺体を確認した
変わり果てたおじさんの姿に、動揺を隠せないでいた
私はそれを見て、陰でまた何度も泣いた
次の日、お父さんと一緒におじさんの部屋を整理した
買い物をしたレシートを見てみると
イチゴ、とあった
おじさんは苺が好きだったのだろうか
明日、棺に入れてあげようか
私はおじさんの事をまったく知らない
おじさんの携帯電話の電話帳には
ひらがなで名前が二つ、登録されてあった
いしくら たきお
いしくら ゆきひさ
二年前に亡くなったもう一人の叔父さんとお父さんの名前
おじさんからすると、ふたりの弟だ
おじさんは結婚したことがなかったし
友達もいなかった
おじさんの小さな世界には、頼れる人はお父さんしかいなかった
私はおじさんの存在すらもよく知らずに育ち
よく知ろうともしなかった
こんなに近くに住んでいたのに
一度も会いに行かなかった
会おうと思えばいつでも行けたのに
でももう遅い
おじさんは寒い冬の夜
ひとりで逝ってしまった
警察のひとが検視をしているあいだ
私はマイクと等々力渓谷に行った
おじさんが好んで散歩をしたコースらしい
そこを歩いて、等々力不動のベンチで
マイクは疲れた、と横になった
私は膝枕をしてやりながら
彼の首筋のぬくもりを確かめていた
さっき触ったおじさんの頬は
まるで氷のようにひんやり冷たく硬かった
生きているということは
それだけで本当に尊いことで
毎日誰かがどこかで命を落とし
それでも世界は動き続ける
今週末には東京でも桜が満開になるだろう
おじさん、もう少しで桜が見られたのに
悔やんでも悔やみきれない
春の冷たい雨の降る、三月最後の木曜日
Friday, January 10, 2014
ラジオのある生活
新春の初売りで、ラジオを買った。インターネットで世界中のラジオが聴ける時代に、わざわざアナログのラジオを買う人は、私くらいだろう。それくらい、ときに私は時代の先端からズレている。でもズレ過ぎていて、逆に新しい、なんて言ってくれる人はいないだろうか？まあ他人がどう思おうと関係ない。私はここのところずっと、誰が何と言おうとラジオが欲しかったのだ。
ラジオはラジオでも、小さなキッチンにちょこんと置けるような、コンパクトなのを探していた。そしてラジオを聴きながら、料理したり食器を洗ったりする。そんなラジオのある生活を夢見ていたのだ。そう、私の思い描くしあわせなんて、たかだかそういう小さなものなんですよ。
クリスマスイヴの夕方、新宿駅で買い物をしていたら、ふと夫が「クリスマスプレゼント何がいい？」と訊いて来たので、私は迷わず「ラジオ！」と答えた。それこそウェブの最先端をひた走る仕事をしている夫だが、カワイイ新妻(?)の頼みとなれば、仕方ないと腹をくくったのだろう。私達はその足で家電量販店に行って、一路ラジオ売り場を目指した。ラジオなんて今どき売ってるんだろうか？いや売り場さえもないかも知れない、と不安だったが、ラジオ売り場は思いのほか大きかった。2011年の3月にあった東日本大震災の時、ラジオが非常事態の情報収集において大活躍した、というのはどこかで聞いて知っていた。その影響だろうか、手動充電式のラジオが「防災用！」とか「緊急時に！」とかいうステッカーを付けられて、何種類も並んでいた。多く見かけたのが、このような↓ラジオだ。黒い部分を回すを充電される仕組み。
こういうラジオの利便性や必要性は理解できる。ライトも付いているし、緊急時にはもってこいだろう。でも、これは私がイメージしていたラジオではないのだ。私は毎日使う、もっと小さな「普通の」ラジオが欲しかったのだ。こういうゴッツイのじゃなくて、もっと可愛らしい感じの。しかもこういう手回し充電式のラジオ、お値段も可愛らしくない。中には１万円以上もするラジオもあって本当にびっくり。私はせいぜい二千円くらいで買えるようなラジオでよかったのだ。それから私達は取り憑かれたかのように、その見た目もお値段もキュートなラジオを追い求め、量販店を二件もはしごしたが、その日は結局見つからなかった。
それでも私の『よもやラジオ熱』は冷めることはなかった。年末年始を私達は信州の実家で過ごしたのだが、私が口を開けばラジオラジオとうるさいので、見るに見かねて両親が近くの量販店の初売りに連れて行ってくれた。そこで、私はこの↓dream radio笑と出合ってしまったのだ！
私が探し求めていた夢のラジオは、まさにこういうラジオだったのだ。これくらいコンパクトなら狭い台所に置いても場所をとらない。色も形も値段も気に入った。これで念願の「ラジオのある生活」ができるっ！と心弾んだ。新宿のアパートに帰って来て、荷物を解いて鞄から真っ先に出したのが、言うまでもない、このラジオだ。どうしても、このキッチンに置いてみたかったのだ。その時に撮った写真がこれ。
写真では見えにくいかも知れないが、うちのキッチンは狭いながらもタイル貼りの壁に、ちょこんと小物を置けるスペースがあって、そこに私ドリームラジオは腰を据えた。もう完璧過ぎて涙が出そうだった笑。かくして私の二週間に渡るradio hunting劇は幕を閉じた。私の夢のラジオは、今ではあたかもそこに置かれるために造られたかのように、堂々と根を張っている。そして私はラジオのある生活にささやかな幸せを感じながら、残り三ヶ月の専業主婦生活を楽しもうと思っている。
ラジオはラジオでも、小さなキッチンにちょこんと置けるような、コンパクトなのを探していた。そしてラジオを聴きながら、料理したり食器を洗ったりする。そんなラジオのある生活を夢見ていたのだ。そう、私の思い描くしあわせなんて、たかだかそういう小さなものなんですよ。
クリスマスイヴの夕方、新宿駅で買い物をしていたら、ふと夫が「クリスマスプレゼント何がいい？」と訊いて来たので、私は迷わず「ラジオ！」と答えた。それこそウェブの最先端をひた走る仕事をしている夫だが、カワイイ新妻(?)の頼みとなれば、仕方ないと腹をくくったのだろう。私達はその足で家電量販店に行って、一路ラジオ売り場を目指した。ラジオなんて今どき売ってるんだろうか？いや売り場さえもないかも知れない、と不安だったが、ラジオ売り場は思いのほか大きかった。2011年の3月にあった東日本大震災の時、ラジオが非常事態の情報収集において大活躍した、というのはどこかで聞いて知っていた。その影響だろうか、手動充電式のラジオが「防災用！」とか「緊急時に！」とかいうステッカーを付けられて、何種類も並んでいた。多く見かけたのが、このような↓ラジオだ。黒い部分を回すを充電される仕組み。
こういうラジオの利便性や必要性は理解できる。ライトも付いているし、緊急時にはもってこいだろう。でも、これは私がイメージしていたラジオではないのだ。私は毎日使う、もっと小さな「普通の」ラジオが欲しかったのだ。こういうゴッツイのじゃなくて、もっと可愛らしい感じの。しかもこういう手回し充電式のラジオ、お値段も可愛らしくない。中には１万円以上もするラジオもあって本当にびっくり。私はせいぜい二千円くらいで買えるようなラジオでよかったのだ。それから私達は取り憑かれたかのように、その見た目もお値段もキュートなラジオを追い求め、量販店を二件もはしごしたが、その日は結局見つからなかった。
それでも私の『よもやラジオ熱』は冷めることはなかった。年末年始を私達は信州の実家で過ごしたのだが、私が口を開けばラジオラジオとうるさいので、見るに見かねて両親が近くの量販店の初売りに連れて行ってくれた。そこで、私はこの↓dream radio笑と出合ってしまったのだ！
私が探し求めていた夢のラジオは、まさにこういうラジオだったのだ。これくらいコンパクトなら狭い台所に置いても場所をとらない。色も形も値段も気に入った。これで念願の「ラジオのある生活」ができるっ！と心弾んだ。新宿のアパートに帰って来て、荷物を解いて鞄から真っ先に出したのが、言うまでもない、このラジオだ。どうしても、このキッチンに置いてみたかったのだ。その時に撮った写真がこれ。
写真では見えにくいかも知れないが、うちのキッチンは狭いながらもタイル貼りの壁に、ちょこんと小物を置けるスペースがあって、そこに私ドリームラジオは腰を据えた。もう完璧過ぎて涙が出そうだった笑。かくして私の二週間に渡るradio hunting劇は幕を閉じた。私の夢のラジオは、今ではあたかもそこに置かれるために造られたかのように、堂々と根を張っている。そして私はラジオのある生活にささやかな幸せを感じながら、残り三ヶ月の専業主婦生活を楽しもうと思っている。
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Kakuta Mitsuyo's book and discovering Ueda Shoji
I read a book ( 恋をしよう。夢をみよう。旅にでよう。) by Mitsuyo Kakuta recently borrowed from the library and quite enjoyed it. It's a collection of essays about falling in love, dreaming and traveling. They are written in a light, easy and comical style; sorta like blog entries, and I especially liked the very last entry called "Has your heart been shaken up lately?"
In that entry, Kakuta talks about her time in Vienna where she went with an editing staff to gather materials for her upcoming writing. She had free time on her last day there, so she decided to scout around the neighborhood, with no particular agenda in mind (she notes that's what she likes to do in Tokyo too; walking from Shinjuku to Okubo just to see how these two cities are really neighboring with each other, for example.) And while she was walking about the city of Vienna, she ran into an "eccentric" building, which caught her attention for some reason. She looked up the area in the guidebook and learned that it sure was built by some famous artist called Hundertwasser. Without really knowing who this Hunderwasser guy was, she decided to visit his museum, which she found in the same guidebook.
There, in his museum, she says his painting directly came deep inside, and her heart was "pinpointed and snatched." This experience was new to her, because when facing the paintings that she's acquainted with, it's usually hard for her to look at the paintings without being influenced by preconceptions, and especially in front of some well-known paintings, she feels like she must feel something. So, she felt that it was a precious experience to encounter something/someone without having any preconceptions.
This reminded me of an recent event of my own. A few days before Christmas, a grad school friend visited me in Tokyo. She is a PhD student at Purdue and was home for the winter break. She and I both spent the summer of 2012 working in a language school in Oakland, and that's when we became close. I asked her what she'd like to do in Tokyo; I wanted her to decide, because she's on a vacation! She said she liked going to museums, and we decided to go to Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography in Ebisu. I agreed without hesitation because Natsumi Hayashi (known for Today's levitation series) exhibited her work there. I'd only seen her photos online but always thought her photos were amusing and looked forward to seeing her work. We got there and looked at her photos (such as this one below), and I felt like I was required to feel something; in all honesty however, I didn't feel anything, which came as a surprise to me.
A bit disappointed but pulling ourselves together, we went to another exhibition called "Play with Photography" by Ueda Shoji & Jacques Henri Lartigue.
I hadn't even heard of either Ueda or Lartigue till then, but I was quite intrigued and quickly fascinated by the world of Ueda—I'm nobody to talk about photography, but to me, he has a very unique outlook on the world, and his photos are quiet but lively, artificial but natural at the same time—and my heart was shaken up, pinpointed and snatched all at once.
Kakuta concludes her essay by saying that the same can be said about meeting someone by chance. Without having bias or caring about advantages or disadvantages, she would want to meet people in a stark-naked state of mind and get her heart shaken up unexpectedly big. I agree, and as a firm believer of serendipity, I think the key is 1) having the wisdom of not knowing everything*, 2) and appreciating unexpected and fortunate discoveries, 3) and then finally making a big deal out of them:) Encountering photography like these, and a photographer like Ueda, was a true serendipity, and whether things or people, I'm looking forward to more of these unintended encounters this year.
*I came home and found out that Ueda Shoji is a quite famous photographer, and I even owned his postcard!! No matter how renowned he may be though, not knowing him (or noticing him) helped me face his photos without being interrupted by any preconceived ideas.
In that entry, Kakuta talks about her time in Vienna where she went with an editing staff to gather materials for her upcoming writing. She had free time on her last day there, so she decided to scout around the neighborhood, with no particular agenda in mind (she notes that's what she likes to do in Tokyo too; walking from Shinjuku to Okubo just to see how these two cities are really neighboring with each other, for example.) And while she was walking about the city of Vienna, she ran into an "eccentric" building, which caught her attention for some reason. She looked up the area in the guidebook and learned that it sure was built by some famous artist called Hundertwasser. Without really knowing who this Hunderwasser guy was, she decided to visit his museum, which she found in the same guidebook.
There, in his museum, she says his painting directly came deep inside, and her heart was "pinpointed and snatched." This experience was new to her, because when facing the paintings that she's acquainted with, it's usually hard for her to look at the paintings without being influenced by preconceptions, and especially in front of some well-known paintings, she feels like she must feel something. So, she felt that it was a precious experience to encounter something/someone without having any preconceptions.
This reminded me of an recent event of my own. A few days before Christmas, a grad school friend visited me in Tokyo. She is a PhD student at Purdue and was home for the winter break. She and I both spent the summer of 2012 working in a language school in Oakland, and that's when we became close. I asked her what she'd like to do in Tokyo; I wanted her to decide, because she's on a vacation! She said she liked going to museums, and we decided to go to Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography in Ebisu. I agreed without hesitation because Natsumi Hayashi (known for Today's levitation series) exhibited her work there. I'd only seen her photos online but always thought her photos were amusing and looked forward to seeing her work. We got there and looked at her photos (such as this one below), and I felt like I was required to feel something; in all honesty however, I didn't feel anything, which came as a surprise to me.
A bit disappointed but pulling ourselves together, we went to another exhibition called "Play with Photography" by Ueda Shoji & Jacques Henri Lartigue.
I hadn't even heard of either Ueda or Lartigue till then, but I was quite intrigued and quickly fascinated by the world of Ueda—I'm nobody to talk about photography, but to me, he has a very unique outlook on the world, and his photos are quiet but lively, artificial but natural at the same time—and my heart was shaken up, pinpointed and snatched all at once.
Kakuta concludes her essay by saying that the same can be said about meeting someone by chance. Without having bias or caring about advantages or disadvantages, she would want to meet people in a stark-naked state of mind and get her heart shaken up unexpectedly big. I agree, and as a firm believer of serendipity, I think the key is 1) having the wisdom of not knowing everything*, 2) and appreciating unexpected and fortunate discoveries, 3) and then finally making a big deal out of them:) Encountering photography like these, and a photographer like Ueda, was a true serendipity, and whether things or people, I'm looking forward to more of these unintended encounters this year.
*I came home and found out that Ueda Shoji is a quite famous photographer, and I even owned his postcard!! No matter how renowned he may be though, not knowing him (or noticing him) helped me face his photos without being interrupted by any preconceived ideas.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
While thinking of and listening to Yundi Li who happens to be in Tokyo tonight...
Yundi Li is in Tokyo. He had a concert at Tokyo Metropolitan Theatre (東京芸術劇場) tonight and will have another concert at Tokyo Opera City tomorrow night. Though I'm a huge fan and Opera City is less than 10 minutes walk from my apartment, I didn't know about his concert until a week before or so...I might as well be disqualified from being his fan and calling Shinjuku "my hood" altogether! Of course all the tickets were sold out when I checked. What a shame! Well, in order to quit feeling disappointed, I looked for this video clip and started listening to it:
I first heard this marvelous Yundi Li when I lived in Kentucky, USA. I was working at a car factory and was on my lunch break. For that one-hour lunch break, I would usually drive to a park nearby, park my car on the hilltop, and eat a sandwich in my car alone, with my favorite radio program called "Performance Today" on NPR, turned up at full blast. It was a perfect way to forget about work in the middle of the day and to escape from reality; that incomparably miserable reality I somehow managed to put myself into and miraculously ignored who I really was and what I really wanted for as long as I did. Anyway, "Performance Today" featured live classical music concerts and was hosted by a guy called Fred Child. I remember I liked his soft voice and the way he spoke. He would usually introduce new and unknown artists recently performed in music festivals throughout the world. Yundi Li was one of the numerous newly discovered artists on that show that day, and his performance took my breath away. I never forgot his name to this day, and he's one of the pianists I'd love to hear in person some day.
When I lived in Kentucky, I had two serious (&long-term) boyfriends, and one of them was called Erik. He was a piano major student at Berea College and was the teaching assistant of the piano professor that I was taking private piano lessons from. Despite our age difference (6 years?), Erik and I naturally shared passion for music (piano in particular), and we went to many concerts together. Especially after he moved to Boston to become a piano technician, I had a privilege to hear many performances by Boston Symphony, and when he was working for the famous Aspen Music Festival, I heard sounds of all the big names firsthand and almost drown myself. Two of my favorite pianists I've heard live were Jon Nakamatsu (gold medalist of 1997 Van Cliburn International Piano Competition) and Evgeny Kissin (who needs no introduction). I wanted to share a funny photo of Kissin and I taken circa...2008? Look at Kissin's face! How excited he was to be in my photo! :)
.jpg)
Anyway...I got sidetracked (a lot!) but does anyone have extra tickets for Yundi Li's concert for tomorrow night??? Yeah, obviously, I haven't given up just yet!!
I first heard this marvelous Yundi Li when I lived in Kentucky, USA. I was working at a car factory and was on my lunch break. For that one-hour lunch break, I would usually drive to a park nearby, park my car on the hilltop, and eat a sandwich in my car alone, with my favorite radio program called "Performance Today" on NPR, turned up at full blast. It was a perfect way to forget about work in the middle of the day and to escape from reality; that incomparably miserable reality I somehow managed to put myself into and miraculously ignored who I really was and what I really wanted for as long as I did. Anyway, "Performance Today" featured live classical music concerts and was hosted by a guy called Fred Child. I remember I liked his soft voice and the way he spoke. He would usually introduce new and unknown artists recently performed in music festivals throughout the world. Yundi Li was one of the numerous newly discovered artists on that show that day, and his performance took my breath away. I never forgot his name to this day, and he's one of the pianists I'd love to hear in person some day.
When I lived in Kentucky, I had two serious (&long-term) boyfriends, and one of them was called Erik. He was a piano major student at Berea College and was the teaching assistant of the piano professor that I was taking private piano lessons from. Despite our age difference (6 years?), Erik and I naturally shared passion for music (piano in particular), and we went to many concerts together. Especially after he moved to Boston to become a piano technician, I had a privilege to hear many performances by Boston Symphony, and when he was working for the famous Aspen Music Festival, I heard sounds of all the big names firsthand and almost drown myself. Two of my favorite pianists I've heard live were Jon Nakamatsu (gold medalist of 1997 Van Cliburn International Piano Competition) and Evgeny Kissin (who needs no introduction). I wanted to share a funny photo of Kissin and I taken circa...2008? Look at Kissin's face! How excited he was to be in my photo! :)
.jpg)
Anyway...I got sidetracked (a lot!) but does anyone have extra tickets for Yundi Li's concert for tomorrow night??? Yeah, obviously, I haven't given up just yet!!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
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