Henka

Henka, is the Japanese word for change. Maybe a better translation would be to be able to change direction, a 180 if you will in your mind.
If you know any women….Ahhhh, I need not say more;)
I started my change while living in Japan…turning a 180…it just took me years to get all the way back to where I needed to be.

I don’t know where this blog is going at this moment. I just feel a need to type it out as I see fit. I don’t know if it’s going to be a history lesson, a small one for I have limited knowledge, or just my reminiscing of learning to be my self again and/or the fun times I had there.

I lived in Japan for several years. It wasn’t main land Japan. It was one of the poorest prefectures of Japan, the Ryukyu Island of Okinawa. I was but one of the many Americans that live/lived there. It’s a beautiful island, sort of the Key West of Japan. It’s hot, humid and a lush play ground for the habu…a very poisonous snake that likes to hang in trees and attack unsuspecting passers. The waters clear as my thoughts as I watch the sunrise.
The people of Okinawa are different from those on the main land. They are a mix, like us Americans, a melting pot of their own. They have darker skin and their facial features are unique and distinct from the Main Landers.
My Father was on Okinawa, as a Marine, before the Americans gave control back to the Japanese government.
My Dad is cool like that….in all the cool places, doing all the cool things;)
Anyway….

Living there, as all the other places I have been and lived, gave me a different perspective on the people. One you can only get by living amongst them.

Being defeated, overrun and at one point decimated….

We all know on December 7th, 1941 over 500 Japanese fighters and bombers attacked Pearl Harbor killing more than 200 Americans.
We were not at war yet…but World War II had begun as we stood by…BABAM….
December 11, Germany and Italy declare war on the US.

The Battle of Okinawa, Operation Iceburg, had over 250,000 lives lost, over 150,000 civilians. That is a lot of civilian lives. The war ended with us of course...having the last word in Nagasaki and Hiroshima.
It is a small island of farmers, women and children. It is a place I called home, the people my friends.

There were moments though I could see hate in their eyes, as drove my Y plated Van around, shopping, eating and site seeing.

Side note…I wonder why President Truman chose only Japan to drop the bombs and not Germany? Was it because we had so many allied soldiers in the area? Do you think that maybe the Japanese are insulted that it was them and only them? That President Truman couldn’t drop the bomb on Germany because as an American and as a melting pot of our own, they were to much like us?
Just thoughts…..

It was a fine line you walk as an American citizen there and I tried very hard to respect the people of the Island.

…I did party like a rock star sometimes…

Gate Two street was nothing like Vegas but had the same mental concept. The mental concept of a bunch of adults behaving like 22 year olds, drinking, dancing and singing all night long. Not noticing that time has passed by and you walk out of a club or Karaoke bar and hints of sunlight are streaking their way through the negative space of the concrete playground. There was the ‘snake lady’ (I’ll leave that there for your naughty imagination. Ok, go farther into the gutter, oh, baby, you are still not there! Think change and bananas...)… The Philippino karaoke bar with the co-bathroom with a stall and a urinal. Inevitably I would go pee and there was always some guy with his wanker out reliving himself. Joy, joy, joy!
Some ‘nights’ I would find myself out a great deal later than was expected…AKA…
…”Holy shit! it’s 6?”…that would be in the AM.
Sunabe or the 'sea wall' was my enemy at these times…and my friends that I hung out with. We pushed each other to go longer, farther…stay out later. Trouble with a capital T! Yeah…the XO’s spouse, mother of three…:/ it was not looked on highly.

I had a friend, C, she would help me out on Wednesdays all day and Friday nights. I loved C, still do actually. A lot of people had ‘Mamasans’ I didn’t, I had C! She knew everything about me, when my cycle was, where my underwear was kept and that I am a total slob. She knew how to make my children laugh and loves them, still…I don’t think she knows how much I love her, still to this day! C, would show up on Wednesday mornings at 10am and I would head out  and be back at 4. Friday night (or I should say sometime Saturday morning I would come home, house immaculate, laundry folded, ironed and put away. Poor C would be sleeping on my sofa. She is so forgiving and loving. Thank you C!

Wednesdays was my time. Me time.
I didn’t hang out with friends…unless the me, myself and I can be counted. The ‘holy trinity’ that is Kristin;)

I would go to StarBucks in the ‘American Village’, sipping on what ever coffee drink I picked that day, sitting, watching the Japanese women, studying what they were wearing, how they acted and walked. I studied those women like they were my heros. I already had my own walk and my own style, but I admired their un-canny ‘chichi’. Some of their outfits were a bit out of whack I’ll confess. Their love of stilettos I understood.
I would meander through shops, looking at the strangest things, trying to figure out what they were! Or I would head to Cocok’s and get the GREATEST pedicure a woman could receive. An hour of heat and massage and hand painted art on each toe nail, for $30. An hour later I would head to lunch…restaurants galore to choose from…

The Japanese don’t cook a lot. They maybe have 2 burners and this tiny oven that you could probably broil a small filet of fish in. Restaurants are all over the place, and all sorts of kinds. The San A or  even the connivence store on the corner had decent food to go. The Sushi Go-Arounds were immaculate and yummy. (Some times if I just wanted a snack, I would head to one, and just grab a little bite.)

The Restaurants where diverse. Some were traditional, taking your shoes off when entering and sitting on tatami mats. Others were fast food, Mos Burger…they had these pressed rice patties that served as ‘buns’ and had stir fry meat between the two, absolutely DE-LICI-OUS!

In the very Okinawan restaurants they would have shelves along the walls, on them were ceramic jugs. Each one designated to a person, filled with your favorite kind of Awamori. Awamori is like sake. My favorite kind is Black Zampa. It’s a bit reminiscent to moon shine for some, but I love it. They would serve it with a glass of ice and a pitcher of water…I always skipped the water.
I had SO many favorite restaurants its hard to name and remember them all: The Barrel, Transit Cafe, the Garlic Restaurant, Coco Iichbanya, Sam’s By The Sea, Sushi Go-arounds to name a few…

Transit Cafe in Sunabe…If I wasn’t taking a cab and had to drive, finding a parking place was difficult and dangerous,  when you did find one you prayed when parallel parking one of your tires didn’t fall into the binjo ditch. Walking up a slender stair case to be greeted by white stucco walls and a modern interior. The owner standing behind the bar ‘yelling’, “Irashaimase!”
 I loved sitting outside, listening to the waves crash against the sea wall. I always ordered the same things…Melted brie cheese served with french bread to dip and Tuna, corn and mayonnaise pizza. It sounds gross if you have never had it, but it was daring and palatable. I of course added Tabasco sauce to it. Tabasco sauce was everywhere.
The only thing I think was hard to find was sour cream…I think they thought Sour cream was poison, not sure.


OHhhhhhhh……Coco Ichibanya…A Japanese curry house. It was fast and tasty.
You pick what you want, and how spicy you want it. Depending on time of day and the events of the previous evening I ordered my meal. If it was a regular day, Eggplant, level 5. If it was 4am or lunch the day after and I had a hangover it would be fried pork cutlet level 7….with a mango lassi, to cool the heat.

Sam’s By The Sea...I actually lived on the same street as Sam’s when I first moved there. It was less than a hop, skip and jump away. Tiki torches welcoming you and the servers with blue and white sailor style uniforms. The curry soup bewildered my taste buds. I think everything I ate there I loved. It was a more Hawaiian inspired place, I still loved it. The music the tropical infused drinks.

I didn’t even get into the 100 yen store, my friends, the Roxbury….the memories….

Since this blog turned into me reminiscing I would like to try to bring it full circle…

Emperor Hirohito, the word ‘henka’ and the change in me…and the Japanese people.

August 15th, 1945 was the first time the Japanese people had really heard the voice of their Emperor, as he surrendered. 2.3 million soldiers 800,000 civilians dead later. He directed the people of Japan to change their minds. After all the hostility, the horrors, can you envision the repulsion they must have felt at being defeated? (I am aware they ‘started’ it). The Emperor told them to do a 180….
….Did Henka rub off on me the moment I landed on the Island? Could I feel the desire of the lives lost and their need to fulfill their lost lives?
I really don’t know. I know they were ordered to change their mentality, from war to peace. Funny I seemed to have have changed my mind from peace to war…