What do you think this is advertising?

You all know I love how I’m getting better at Japanese and how I’m more able, day by day, to understand what’s going on around me.
But sometimes I think I’d be better off not knowing how to read.
This is the sign that was smack bang in front of me on a recent early morning commute.
What do you think the sign is advertising? You might be surprised.
I’ll give you a hint - look at where they’ve cannily placed the red star. With me yet?
I’ll translate. The business man is saying, ‘I’m itchy!’ and then underneath, ‘...in my delicate area!’
I nearly fell off my seat. It describes itself as ‘ a balm to alleviate itchiness caused by sweat, uncomfortable undergarments, and the like’.
I decided I had to get a picture, even though it was a crowded Tokyo commuter train.
I did my best to switch off all the flash and camera noise, and so on so that I’d go relatively unnoticed. Of course, I got it totally wrong and ended up letting the bright light of the flash fill the car.
Many heads turned in my direction, and many turned away convinced I was suffering from severe crotch irritation. (PS If I hadn’t been before, I certainly was after my habitual self-induced embarrassment!)

May Sickness

The other day I was late home from work for the third time this month.
It wasn’t due to overtime or anything like that. It was simply that the train had been delayed.
In a country where you can set you watch by the train’s arrivals and departures, it seemed strange that nobody was very surprised.
I later found out the reason - 五月病 (gogatsubyo - May Sickness).
You see, in Japan, everything starts in April - the new school year, the financial year, company promotions and transfers, moving to a new house. So as the pressures of daily life increase at this time, so do the number of people who feel they can’t cope.
In most cases, gogatsubyo manifests itself as mild depression or a lack of motivation or energy for the month of May (much like our post-holiday-season blues). But for some people, it all becomes too much and they take their own lives.
You’ve guessed it. My train was late three times this month because three times a different person had jumped from the platform to commit suicide.
The most recent jumper was here in Zama, so it felt all the more real and troubling. Usually my reaction is pretty selfish. I think, ‘Why did they have to jump and make everybody late? Why didn’t they just go off into the mountains or something?’ But this time, being so close to home, it made me think a bit more about the whole topic.
It led me, too, to talk to my students about suicide, and our conversations ranged from the slightly irreverent to the downright chilling.
One student told me of a former co-worker. The co-worker had a lot of stress related to his job, and took to carrying a noose in his briefcase everyday. The fact that he felt he could take his life at any time allowed him to deal with the pressures his work put him under. When the troubles eased off, he felt comfortable enough to come to his office noose-free.
This story seems to have a kind of twisted logic to it, much like with people who purposely cut themselves. The noose acted like a kind of stress release or a symbol that he had some control in a world where he felt powerless.
Still and all, I worry that his situation masked a deeper problem not related to work stress.
The noose was one thing, but he also showed my student a ‘Guide to Suicide’ he had been able to buy - not over the internet, as I expected, but at a real bookstore.
The ‘Guide’ showed all the many ways to take your own life, even going so far as to recommend the best train lines to jump at. You see, as if the victim’s families didn’t have enough to be dealing with, they have to pay the train company huge compensation for the loss of business the suicide caused. Not all companies charge the same rate, however. The line on which I live is one of the cheapest, hence the three tragedies so far this month.
I just feel that anyone who goes out and buys a book like this has more serious problems than meet the eye. According to my student, the co-worker seems ok and in good spirits now, but I worry for him and his loved ones.
I realise this has all gotten terribly heavy, so let’s lighten the mood.
Another student cracked me up with a funny little anecdote.
In Japan, people usually take their shoes off before they commit suicide. I never really figured out the reason (this was not one of my high level classes), but it seemed to have something to do with signifying you’re ready to die.
When you go to some amazing cliffs or deep gorges here in Japan, you will sometimes come across a lonely pair of shoes and realise something terrible has occurred.
The thing is, you often come across the same lonely pairs of shoes in the car parks of large supermarkets and department stores here in the city.
You might be thinking that, overwhelmed by the 24/7 Japanese shopping culture, people just suddenly lose the will to live. And you might be right! I’ve felt that way myself at times.
But the more rational explanation is that some people just love their cars a little too much. They don’t want to spoil their beautiful shiny pedals or plush interiors. So they take off their shoes before getting in, and drive off, leaving behind an unintentional air of doom and gloom in the equivalent of the local Tesco. A little fitting, don’t you think?

Manorexia

This is just going to be a silly, little entry as I've absolutely nothing going on at the moment.
Tonight, I took my first 8.45pm yoga lesson. I know that sounds a bit late, but the time really suits me. Plus, I can just go on home and crash at 11pm... and I mean CRASH - it's hard yakka! (Aussie readers - have I spelt that right?)
Anyway, I realized in the lesson tonight that I have way more 'junk in my trunk' than Japanese people.
You see, the room is all mirrors, and as I was lying there, face down, all the Japanese folks had these two little 'eggs in basket', while I had this massive, fat ass stickin' up in the air.
I'm tellin' ya, continued yoga will drive me manorexic.
Asian people are just built differently. I often feel like a freak in the lessons as my outstetched arms cover, like, three times the distance of everyone else's.
I'm really not worried about losing weight, though. I think this exercise will hopefully build muscle. My goal is to have a six-pack by the summer. I've never had one before.
Although, I am genetically predisposed to one as my father is blessed with a keg!.... badoom tish... thank you, I'll be here all week.
I was also confused about locker-room etiquette today.
Usually I don't say a word to the other students. And I certainly don't encourage conversation. But today this guy struck up a conversation with me from between cubicles. I mean, you each have your own separate shower cubicle, and the dude is shouting through to me like we're best friends. I was severely discombobulated. In fact, in my confused state I think I washed my face in hair conditoner. But sure what harm.
Apart from the social boundary I felt he was crossing, I couldn't hear a freakin' word he was saying over the running water.
It's just like at the hairdresser. They don't say a word to you until your head is back, full of suds, and they're washing away at the old follicles. Then, they're talking sixty to the dozen.
Or, like at the dentist when he asks you all about yourself while there's half a drawer of dental intstruments jammed between your gnashers.
Discomobulated, I tell ya!
That reminds me of going to the hairdresser for the first time when I moved to France. I'm nothing, if not a stickler for precision. The hairdresser told me, as she was washing my hair, 'Penchez' ('Lean'). So I did. I leaned forward and got a stream of warm water right down the back of my neck.
Through their gallic chuckles, I tired to recapture what little was left of my dignity and said coldly, 'You have to tell me which way!'
Anyway, sorry for this stream of consciousness waffle, but I really have nothing going on.
Happy Birthday, Dadsy! Sorry for the keg crack.

The Wedding

Here is the one picture of me I allowed to be taken with my camera. You can see how at ease I felt.
Seriously if I ever get married it will never be in Japan. I would die - it’s all about the photos. The poor bride and groom barely have a minute to sit down. They spend the day being asked to move her, stand there, smile, don’t smile. Honest to God, it would be my worst nightmare.
There were official photographers and cameramen (even with studio-style lighting). And that’s to say nothing of the digital cameras, Polaroids and camera phones that we guests shoved in their faces at every available opportunity.
It really reinforced the stereotypes many people hold about the Japanese and picture taking.
There were times I actually felt sorry for the bride and groom. The hotel provided this amazing banquet. It was served and all for the happy couple at the high table, but as soon as they sat down to eat, an usher came along and said, ‘now it’s time for oiro naoshi.’ (お色直し - when the bride and groom change from traditional kimono into a second style of outfit).
I heard subsequently that the staff wraps everything and leaves it up in the bedroom for the couple to eat in the short space between the reception and after-party. I mean, it’s not wasted which is good, but those beautiful dishes would all have gone cold. At least they didn’t starve.

This is the seating plan we were all given before the start of the wedding reception. Can you see where I was sitting? Not hard, eh?
I was mortified - they went and put me at the top table with the bride’s closest friends, right beside the bride and groom.
These Japanese really take the whole ‘family-stand-back’ philosophy to another level. Usually the family of the bride and groom are put sitting way in the back, practically in the kitchen. Then, if you have a boss from work or old teacher in attendance, they will be given the most prominent seat.
As the bride and her husband now live in Switzerland, there were no work colleagues to show respect to, and by default, the honour came to her oldest friend...and me. Go figure!
It’s really quite different to the Irish way of doing things, where it’s all about family. I guess you could say it was just one of the many cultural differences I came across throughout the whole ceremony.

This is a photo of the envelope in which you put your monetary gift to the bride and groom.
First of all, deciding how much money to pay is an absolute nightmare - it all depends on your relationship to the bride and your social ranking. It’s all done on a sliding scale. I really had no idea where I should place myself in this tier system, so I asked around. Of course I got a different freakin’answer from everyone I asked. Man, it’s not wonder committees never get anything done. In the end I split the difference and paid half way between the lowest and highest figures that were suggested to me. I wish I had paid more now, especially seeing where they put me in the seating plan.
It’s not cheap attending a wedding over here. You pay for every party you attend. As I was at the wedding ceremony itself, the reception and the after party, it really added up. But it was worth every penny.
You can see how beautifully decorated and ornate envelope is. It reads kotobuki (寿 - a special celebratory kanji). Eagle-eyed readers might notice that mine is decorated with a crane - remember how I said this symbol is used for long life and happiness.
The whole folding of the envelope presents another challenge - it varies depending on the occasion: funeral, marriage, birth etc. You have to know what way the notes should face, whether they should be new or used, which flap should be over or under the other. It’s all very confusing. Having now attended a wedding and a funeral, I’m becoming a bit of an expert.
I also included my tie in the photo - black for a funeral and white for a wedding. I felt so over dressed. Real penguin style. I was happy with my silver cufflinks though, a parting gift from my first real job. By chance they had little Swiss crosses stamped on them, quite appropriate with the groom coming from Zurich.

The day of the wedding mapped out as follows:
We arrived at the banquet hall and signed in. In the lobby, we had a chance for pictures with the happy couple in their traditional robes.
We signed the guest book and gave our gift of money.
The bride and groom boarded the rickshaw outside the hotel to an accompaniment of traditional enka folk music.
Many, many pictures (even from the bystanders).
We proceeded up to the temple in blessed dry weather under a canopy of fresh, green cherry blossom leaves. Bad weather had been forecast all week, but in the end it stayed dry.
In fact, to have it rain on your wedding day is quite lucky in Japan. They have a saying ‘ame futte, jikatamaru’ (雨降って地固まる - when it rains, the ground is hard - the implication being that rain on your wedding day represents a solid foundation for your future life together). The saying is not only used for weddings, but is used anytime you want to show that a stable foundation has been achieved. It’s a pretty good one to remember. I’m all about the positive thinking now that rainy season is almost upon us. Yuck!
To get back to the procession, it wasn’t as picturesque as it sounds - the ground was quite muddy, no small challenge for the kimono clad, and the pigeons swooped down thick and fast.
We went to a side room of the shrine, sat Japanese style on tatami, and formally introduced ourselves. I sweat more than in a Bikram yoga lesson. Needless to say, more pictures.
To the accompaniment of a trio of traditional wind instruments, we moved to the main body of the shrine. The music has to be heard to be believed. It’s an eclectic mix of beautiful organ-like sounds and gentle wooden flutes, combined with the screeching of a cat whose tail has been caught in the door.
To actually be allowed into the shrine was a rare and special chance. Usually this opportunity is reserved for members of the family alone. But as the groom’s family couldn’t come over from Switzerland, we were all allowed in to make up the numbers.
Imagine a large tatami room, where the bride and groom sit in the centre facing each other and behind them sit their family and friends. There followed a very austere and reverent thirty minutes of blessings, ceremonial dancing and chanting, and a solemn promise read out by the groom. He had learnt the script phonetically, as he doesn’t speak Japanese, and said later it was the only time he was nervous in the entire day. He gave a flawless rendition.
The high point of the ceremony is sansankudo (三三九度 - a very ornate exhange of nine sips of sake between the bride and groom and their families (and friends). I cannot stress enough how privileged I was to have a chance to take part in this event. But man, it was formal and restrained. I found it incredibly interesting, but quite joyless at what should be such a happy time. I really don’t think it’s for me.
Many more pictures (this is where the master of ceremonies gave out to me for trying to hide away in the back row - yikes).
We returned to the banquet hall and started the feast. This beautiful meal was broken up with of course an unending stream of photo ops, a slideshow of the happy couple’s baby pictures, a table quiz about Switzerland, and some karaoke by some kids and the Harajuku girls.
Thankfully, there weren’t many speeches. I was told that at weddings where company bosses and managers come along, you can be bored to death by the long-winded exchanges of pleasantries. Luckily the whole reception was really informal and relaxed.
When the bride and groom had finished changing into Western attire, the bride gave her speech. This was the time for waterworks. You see the bride’s father passed away many years ago, and she gave a very moving speech to her mother and brother talking about how she wished her father could be here on this special day.
It higlighted a real generation in Japanese society. The younger women freely wept at this and showed their emotions, while the older women (including the mother of the bride), though clearly dying inside, were stoic and did their best to show no emotion at all. It was another fascinating example of how much life in Japan has changed in only twenty or so years.
We ended the banquet with a formal receiving line of congratulation and thanks.
Then, thank God, the younger friends and the bride and groom got a chance to change into more comfortable clothes and moved onto the nijikai (二次会 - post-party party).
This was a small party of twenty or so in a Japanese izakaya (居酒屋 - pub). It was the loud, rowdy, slightly drunken gathering we Irish expect at a wedding. Don’t get me wrong, I adored the whole day up to that point, but I sure ended in my element.

I'm not usually observant, but... The procession from the banquet hall took about 15 minutes. It’s not that far, but remember we were talking little geisha steps here, as so many of the guest in attendance were in kimono.
As we neared the main gates, I started to think there was something a little odd about one of the shrine buildings. It was kind of fuzzy. This was still early in the day, so not a sup of alcohol had passed my lips, if that’s what you’re thinking. As we got nearer and neared, I said to the people around me, ‘Hey look, it’s not a shrine at all - it’s a massive canvas sheet covering the shrine.’ I guess one of the outer buildings was under construction or something. And to keep the feel of the scenery undisturbed the decorated the massive sheet with an exact replica of the shrine being worked on.
I was happy with myself for being the first to spot it. I really don’t think I’m naturally observant, but I certainly pick up quickly on odd things. Water finds its level.
I was bad the other day to a student. I was interested to know how she read her watch. You know the way some people put the face towards the inside of their body, or have different wats of wearing a watch to the standard.
Anyway, whatever way she had it, I just couldn’t figure out how she told the time without breaking her arm. So I asked her in front of the whole class. Turns out the poor dear had just put it on upside down by accident that morning. My bad!

One thing I did not imagine would be a problem during the ceremony was pigeon poop. But just look at them all there waiting to fire. And this is just a small fraction of the birds flying around the shrine grounds. Seriously, these kimonos are expensive things. The one-day rental for the bride’s white kimono alone was about 1,500 euro. I know it’s lucky and all, but I’d hate to have it soiled by one of these airborne terrors. No kidding - special insurance against this kind of thing is included in the rental charge.


Here we have the bride and groom (from Switzerland), and some of the bride’s closest friends. It was really great that so many people went to the trouble of wearing traditional dress. It made the experience even more special.
I mean, I was lucky enough in the first place to see a Shinto wedding at all. More and more young people these days choose a Christian style white wedding (even if they’re not believers), or go and get married barefoot on the beach in Hawaii (my wedding of choice).

The Important Suff: The Fodder; The bride and her family really went all out for me. As I said, I was mortified by how much they took care of me, even though I barely know the bride and had never met the groom.
The family organised with the wedding staff to provide me with a 100% vegetarian feast of Japanese cuisine. It was so good. I had various boiled vegetables, salads, tofu prepared in two or three different ways, special celebratory beans and rice ‘sekihan’ (赤飯) and miso soup. And it was all presented like something out of a gourmet magazine. Above you can see how beautifully the dishes were presented, even down to the gold powder sprinkled the radish salad. For those of you who are really interested you can go and check out the pictures in the album on the right under Kamakura Wedding - you’ll even get to see a lobster from a gynaecological perspective! You’ll never eat seafood again (K. - you’re from Maine so I guess this doesn’t apply)

Another reason, aside from the paparrazzi bombardment, that I will never get married in Japan is that they set time aside in the recpetion to show a slideshow of your baby pictures. Oh God! The humanity! When I think about what terrible pictures my family have of me. I mean, I know this blog is all about opening up and sharing and all. But there is no way I am ready to expose my early childhood as captured on film here in these pages, much less on a big screen in front of seventy or so of my closest friends and family.

Video Message
As if all the photos weren’t bad enough, there was also the dreaded video message to the newlyweds. After having been given out to for trying to hide in the official portraits, I didn’t dare refuse to be filmed. It wasn’t bad and passed pretty quickly. I don’t know how TV announcers do it though - I wasn’t sure where to look and will likely come out cross-eyed.

Japanese people are so considerate and tidy. We were all given party poppers for the end of the karako section. You know the way you usually end up with streamers all over the place when the smoke settles. Well here in Japan, the streamer is still attached to the cone, so when you’ve had the desired blast of colour you just roll up the paper strings and take the whole thing home: No mess for the staff to clean up. I think it’s a great idea.
These were two of the bride’s friends, who serenaded the newlyweds with a karaoke extravaganza. They’re wearing ‘kimono dresses’. This is a new fashion, which takes old kimono material and re-styles into a sort of flamenco / kimono hybrid. I thought they looked very cool and like something out of a Japanese animation. I’m going to see if I can upload the video of their performance onto youtube. I’ll let you know if it works.




My Swag
I really can’t complain about the cost of the wedding. It was a wonderful cultural learning experience. I got a great meal. Plus I cleaned up on gifts, too. Here you can see: a baum kuchen (kind of a German layer cake); a ceremonial sake cup; a Japanese sugar confectionery; Swiss jam; a hand-crafted coffee mug (the bride’s mother made a piece of pottery for every guest in attendance - in Japan they seriously kill you with kindness); and a Mickey Mouse novelty pen which lights up when you write (eh...yeah...).

Tumor-forming wires

Well, Golden Week is at an end. What comes after GW in the calendar you ask...poo-brown week? In fact, no. Things will go pretty much back to normal for me: Busy as usual.
I'm naturally slothful, so even when I have a week off with nothing to do, I still end up feeling exhausted. I wrote in an email today about how I slept for 12 hours last night. And I considered taking a nap this arvo. I didn't. I was afaid I'd get bed sores.
I can't even use the excuse anymore that I'm growing. That got me through my teenage idleness. Any other medical reason I can find for my early-thirties' laziness? Maybe narcolepsy...
I had my first balcony day today. Being a beautiful, warm and sunny afternoon, I took it upon myself to sit out, drink a glass of wine, listen to a CD (Marcus Miller, 'Silver Rain' in case you're reading this P & S) and just look at the mountains.
Today it really looked like I live in Asia - rich green and bamboo near me, fading off to misty greens, blues, greys and even blacks in the distance. It had that real Vietnamese postcard feel to it, if you just ignored the cancer wires to the left of your line of sight.
For those few of you (but growing in number) who've been to my apartment, you'll know that I have this massive balcony closed in on all sides by power cables, telephone lines, and all manner of tumor-forming wires. The balcony is still kick-ass, though, considering how cheap my rent is.
I totally don't make enough use of this space. Like I said, today was my first day of the year to sit out. It was so wonderful, but in another way just reminded me how much cleaning I still have to do.
Here in Japan we occasionally get storms that bring this dirty, yellow sand from China (this is an accurate description of the sand, not a racial slur).
Anyway, today I realized that this stuff is caked onto the floor of my balcony. I'll either have to get the mop out, or hope that the coming rainy season will take care of it.
On the topic of cleaning, I was forced to try out a new dry-cleaners today. Man, am I glad I did! My usual one was closed for the holidays, so I walked a few doors up the road to the new one. What a difference in service! Drop it in before 11am and it's ready by 6pm. My old one used to tell me, 'Oh, a white cotton shirt! That'll take a while... should be ready by 2008, but not before lunchtime!'
Not that the new place is without fault: The sales clerk had to have been the single-most unfriendly shop assistant I've met in Japan, and seriously the sales service is usually beyond reproach over here.
The thing is, the experience was refreshing in a way. She was totally unimpressed by my speaking and writing Japanese. Sometimes you get a round of applause for picking up a pair of chopsticks. It can be a little condescending, especially when you've lived here quite a while (4 years and counting). But they do mean well, I know.
Last item about cleaning, I swear. I feel so happy now GW is over as my laundry basket is completely empty! Having the OCD issues I do (see previous entries), this became an unhealthy focus for me during the week.
A combination of good drying out and too much time on my hands meant that anything that didn't move was washed, sometimes repeatedly.
Now GW is over I'm sure I'll return to my clothes-errupting-from-the-basket ways, but until then I'll enjoy the dirt-free loveliness.
P.S. The pic above is from winter... note the snow. I just couldn't be arsed taking a new pic - see above slothfulness.

The scary recesses of my mind

Okay, so this entry is coming out of nowhere.
Basically, I have tonnes of these weird things that go on in my brain all the time. I'm pretty sure I'm a nutjob. But maybe other people have other similar weird stuff going on all the time, too. If so, please share and help me feel like less of a freak.
So to introduce my topic, I'm pretty sure I have a mild version of Obessive Complusive Disorder.
I talked before with my sister about my loo roll thing and, being the professional counsellor that she is, she was like, 'you're a psycho!'
You see the thing is, I have to have the loo roll pulling away from the wall. I mean that the available paper shouldn't be near the wall itself. It should be at the opposite side, with the maximum distance between paper-for-use and wall. Do you understand what I mean?
I actually get anxious if the arrangement is the other way. It's just not right. I haven't progressed to the stage where I will change the arrangement in other people's houses, though I feel sometimes I'm not that far off.
PS I love those little TP triangles that hotels do for you and I try to do them at whatever convenience I visit - seriously you'll know if I've been in your loo, I think.
Another example of my nuttiness. There's this blog I love to read. I read it almost every day. But the font is really small, so I usually copy and paste it into a word document for ease of reading.
The thing is, when pasting you have to be careful where you click. If you click on an address or highlighted name or something, you will lose the copy and be redirected to that link. No big deal you might think. For a normal person, maybe. But for me, I mean it's been two years since I've been reading this blog and I still hold my breath when copying and pasting for fear that I'll mess it up.
This cannot be normal behaviour (although the whole thrust of this entry is that someone will tell me that it is - seriously a free blog is way cheaper than therapy!)
The thing is, my psycho foibles are not recent. As a pre-teen I gave my folks a lot to worry about with my obessive cleaing slash hiding other people's stuff. I became known for a while as an arranger of coals in the fireplace, my OCD was looking that bad.
Moreover, I honestly unwittingly used to drive my little bro crazy (although I'm sure it was often mutual).
For example, whenever the Golden Girls came on, I would sing my little alternative theme song - and it would drive him MAD! Sleeves-pushed-up-bald-spot-from-the-bicycle mad, I tell ya!.
But I honestly couldn't stop myself - it was like if I didn't sing my own version of the theme song something terrible would happen.
Anyway, I know this entry has nothing to do with Japan, and I usually try to have some sort of link to the old Nippon.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that even here I'm still a few beers short of a sixpack.
Please mail and tell me this is all perfectly normal. (PS your own little foibles would be much appreciated, and treated with the strictest confidence).

The Mask

Today I went out in public mask like this for the first time.
Don't worry - we haven't had a SARS or an Avian Flu outbreak. It was just a really windy afternoon, and the last time I got rotten hay fever from having pollen blown all up in my face.
I felt kind of odd for a few minutes and then totally got over it. As any visitor to Japan will tell you, these masks are a common sight.
I would say there are three possible reasons why someone would choose to wear one of these face masks in the first place.
1. They suffer from allergies.
2. They have a cold or the flu and don't want to spread it around.
3. They have recently undergone unsuccessful gender realignment surgery (well this is the theory my boss and I came up for for a student we had years ago who would never take off their damn mask - not even in the lesson room).
I guess I can't really criticize - what with my dodgy sunglasses (that you've all seen), my black sun hat, and now my mask, I really have gotten my scary unabomber look down to a tee. I am a living photo-composite off Crimewatch UK.
It's great over here about appearance. I feel so much freedom to dress and act in ways I probably never would at home (hello - man bag, anyone?)
I think part of this freedom comes from the fact that you will always be seen as different over here. You will always be open to being stared at.
No matter how hard you try to adapt to the culture, how hard you try to copy the customs or learn the language, as soon as anyone sees your face, they're never going to buy that you're Japanese.
I think you just resign yourself to sticking out and then go on to emrace it.
I think also, you really feel like you have a clean slate when you come to Japan - even more so than another foreign country.
Maybe this is because there are so few Irish. I mean, in Ireland I am the sum of my background, my education, my accent, my side of the river. But here I can pretty much create who I am. When you say you come from Ireland, the Japanese have almost zero assumptions about you. So you build yourself from scratch.
This is very liberating and empowering, but I'm not sure if it's psychologically that healthy. I mean your background is what has made you. You shouldn't cut yourself free from it. If you do, you run the risk of not knowing who you are or where you belong. Even worse, you could end up feeling like you don't actually belong anywhere.
I don't think this has happened to me. In fact this is all probably just guff to justify me walking out of the house in a binliner and pink fluffy mules.
As long as I wear green, I will always be Irish.
As long as I live in Dublin, I will always be a Northsider.
And as long as I breathlessly rush to tell you somebody you've never heard of has just died, I will always be a Cadwell.

My new dictionary has me perplexed.

I spent a lot of money on it so you'd figure it wouldn't go letting me down.
Well some of the search results it's given me have me worried.
The other day I went to look up 'bean', and what came up as one of the associated idioms? 'Beans & motherf#%$ers'! That's right... 'Beans and motherf#%$ers'. Apparently this was the name many US soldiers gave to their unappetising rations during the Vietnam War. But seriously when I am ever going to need to be able to translate that into Japanese, much less use it in English.
And then today I looked up valley. All was good and as it should be until I scrolled down the page to read some example sentences. What did they tell me? Well if ever I need to know how to say 'It's rude to look down a woman's sweater.' in Japanese, then I'm all set.
That's 28,000 yen I'm never getting back.

Sweatin' like a fat lass at a disco

Well it's glorious Golden Week. I have no work or school for a full seven days. And, blessed synchronicity, the weather turned really warm and fine the day the holidays began.
I have to make the most of it. Soon it'll turn all muggy and overpowering, and I'll be melting all over the path like an ice cream cone.
But right now it's just perfect. Imagine a rare summer Friday evening in Dublin. Home from school and changing out of your uniform, the weekend stretching ahead of you. Doors and windows flung open and the sun still up and shining. Mam pottering about watering plants in a summer dress (Mam in the dress, not the plants). And as Sally pads into Nana's room panting for air, you flop down on the couch, flick over to BBC1 just as the opening credits for Eldorado start to roll.
Well anyway, that's how the weather made me feel today.
On my earlier topic of sweat, though, I had to put and emergency red-cross request in to big sis. Can you believe I have nearly gone through all those deodourants I brought back at Christmas? I was sure they would do me a year. Damn my stinky armpits! And damn the Japanese for being able to make a microcomputer so small they can rest it on a pinhead, but not being able to market a roll-on antiperspirant/deodourant worth its aluminium!
PS Sorry if nobody was able to decipher my earlier summertime reverie - the aluminium from excessive grooming product use has clearly rotted my brain.

Sweatin' like a fat lass at a disco

Well it's glorious Golden Week. I have no work or school for a full seven days. And, blessed synchronicity, the weather turned really warm and fine the day the holidays began.
I have to make the most of it. Soon it'll turn all muggy and overpowering, and I'll be melting all over the path like an ice cream cone.
But right now it's just perfect. Imagine a rare summer Friday evening in Dublin. Home from school and changing out of your uniform, the weekend stretching ahead of you. Doors and windows flung open and the sun still up and shining. Mam pottering about watering plants in a summer dress (Mam in the dress, not the plants). And as Sally pads into Nana's room panting for air, you flop down on the couch, flick over to BBC1 just as the opening credits for Eldorado start to roll.
Well anyway, that's how the weather made me feel today.
On my earlier topic of sweat, though, I had to put and emergency red-cross request in to big sis. Can you believe I have nearly gone through all those deodourants I brought back at Christmas? I was sure they would do me a year. Damn my stinky armpits! And damn the Japanese for being able to make a microcomputer so small they can rest it on a pinhead, but not being able to market a roll-on antiperspirant/deodourant worth its aluminium!
PS Sorry if nobody was able to decipher my earlier summertime reverie - the aluminium from excessive grooming product use has clearly rotted my brain.