Small decisions can have lifelong consequences

Manila, that teeming mass of happy, colorful, friendly people, was my first destination upon moving away from the US way back in 1976. In my youthful idealism and naivety, I had set off to “help people.”

I loved my years in Manila. The bustling traffic seemed to have no rhyme nor reason — or any consideration for traffic rules or safety. The colorful, open-backed jeepneys. The overcrowded buses, some wooden-framed built on the chassis of surplus WWII-era trucks. And the loud motorcycles with sidecars that seemed to be held together by nothing more than twine and a prayer.

This was where I would live out my days, I imagined, working in small mission schools. I could influence children for the better. I could make a small difference in the world.

I met a man I loved. I gave birth to two children.

It was a happy life, for the most part — even in a country under the iron rule of the notorious Ferdinand Marcos.

But then everything changed.

Revolution

The controversy surrounding the results of the February 1986 presidential election grew, and turmoil spread throughout the country. Although Ferdinand Marcos claimed victory, the election was plagued by accusations of vote rigging, and the results were contested. His opponent, Corazon Aquino, was wildly popular among the common people. She was the widow of one of Marcos’s staunchest critics, Benigno S. Aquino, Jr., who had been assassinated on the tarmac of Manila International Airport in 1983.

Marcos and his family soon fled to Hawaii, having been advised to leave the country by one of President Reagan’s close associates, the then General Chairman of the Republican Party, Senator Paul Laxalt. They left from US Clark Air Base, north of Manila, taking with them crates and crates of cash, gold, jewels, and other valuables — so much that the Guinness Book of World Records awarded the Marcoses the nefarious award of the “Greatest robbery of a Government.”

During this time, Manila’s main thoroughfare, EDSA, the commonly used name for Epifanio de Los Santos Avenue, was the stage for the public to air their grievances against the Marcoses’ oppressive regime. This highway, filled with over a million protestors, was just blocks from our house.

That in itself was not troubling. The protests were largely peaceful. Yet, a bomb had gone off in the shopping area we frequented. Then, one morning just after dawn, outside our front gate, we discovered the body of an unfortunate man who had had his throat cut.

Helping a friend

Meanwhile, my dearest friend who was suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum, a severe form of morning sickness, needed to move to Tokyo. She asked for my help.

Without giving it much thought, I agreed. Who wouldn’t want to help their best friend in such circumstances?

So my husband, our two young children, and I traveled with her and her brood of small children, arriving in Tokyo in 1987.

Immediate illiteracy

To say I was ill-prepared for such a move would be an understatement. I knew three Japanese words — dōmo, dōzo, and ohaiyō, “thanks,” “go ahead,” and “good morning.”

I landed in a country that seemed to be the polar opposite of the cheerful, colorful, and friendly Philippines.

There were no smiling greetings on the streets or people wearing bright, flamboyant clothing.

There were no colorful Jeepneys — in fact, I saw no colored vehicles at all. Black or white cars cruised through clean streets with narrow lanes. There were no honking horns nor bus ticket punchers calling destinations. The city was eerily bereft of sound.

Trains slid in and out of stations filled with busy, austere, black-suited men. Sardining into one of the cars, I noticed no seats offered to women, whether pregnant, babe in arms, or even to the elderly.

On the sidewalks of the city, women wearing bland conservative clothing carried shopping bags, shuffling a few steps behind their imperious husbands until rushing ahead to open doors for them.

What rude men, I couldn’t help but think, comparing them to the Western gentlemen I had become accustomed to in the first 30 years of life.

Adding to my sense of alienation, I was instantly illiterate.

Due to English being used in all schools with local dialects spoken at home, the majority of the Philippine population were bilingual. Not so in Japan, where the highly nuanced, contextual, and culturally enmeshed Japanese language is so difficult, it takes nine years of education just to be able to read the newspaper. Teaching English in schools was minimal, at best.

No one spoke to us in English. I could read no signs. I could understand nothing at all.

Time passes

One year added to another. I focused on raising my many children and educating them in English to complement their education in Japanese public schools.

My family moved away from the big city of Tokyo to Kagoshima, a city in southern Kyushu, surrounded by idyllic natural beauty.

As the years passed, I slowly learned more about this unusual land with its long history, its many traditions, and its unique customs. As with a person we are just getting to know, understanding them is the first step to love. The more I learned about Japan, the more my love and appreciation for this extraordinary land grew.

I came to appreciate the philosophies of Shinto and Buddhism, and the adamant beliefs of my younger years were left behind. I woke up to the reality that volunteer work would not pay the bills, and undertook work as a private English teacher and editor.

When most of my children left home, I started work as a tour guide, and that was a turning point in my life.

Seeing Japan once again from the viewpoint of an outsider — vicariously through my foreign guests — deepened my interest in Japan’s fascinating past, folklore, and culture. I wanted to learn as much as I could about this country that had become my home, and I undertook years of study which continue to this day.

Living in Japan today

These days, I do my best to share my love of Japan, its history, its hidden treasures, and its many stories with curious people through my writings, tours, and presentations.

I hike along ancient highways and mountain trails, and even in my beautiful rural neighborhood, and I travel to explore new wonders in other prefectures.

Thirty-five years after first setting foot in this country, I have become an old woman. Reflecting on that seemingly insignificant decision in 1987 to help a friend, I now know it was momentous, hugely affecting my life and that of my eight children.

I will never know what would have happened had I continued my life in Manila, but I am happy for the life I have in this beautiful, safe, and clean country of Japan.

The post Living in Japan—The Unexpected Path that Brought Me Here first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Turnabout is fair play

Growing up in the US, I enjoyed Valentine’s Day parties in our classrooms at elementary school. Each child gave every other child a very inexpensive little card, and we all ate heart-shaped sweets.

Television showed images of men giving flowers and heart-shaped boxes of chocolates to their sweethearts.

Good ole Valentine’s Day.

Then I moved to Japan.

History of Valentine’s Day in Japan

In 1936, the founder of the Kobe-based Morozoff chocolate company heard about Valentine’s Day from an American friend. He took out an ad in the country’s English language newspaper, The Japan Advertiser — “Let’s give chocolate to our sweethearts for Valentine’s Day.” This caused a spark of interest but met with minimal success. The ad had only targeted English speakers, and the drums of war were already beating in Japan. People were not in the mood.

Fast forward 20 long and difficult years.

In 1958, another chocolate maker, Mary’s, held a Valentine’s Day sale at the Isetan Department Store in Shinjuku, Tokyo. In contrast to the Western tradition of men giving gifts to women, Japanese advertisements urged women to use this one day a year to confess their true feelings to the man they loved.

The economy was starting to boom. People were becoming interested in Western customs. The fire was lit.

In 1965, the first Valentine’s Day Fair was held at Isetan. From then on, Valentine’s Day sales spread to other department stores and shops. With women as the target buyers, the chocolates became increasingly fancier and cuter.

Obligatory vs True Love Chocolates

The first chocolates given came to be known as honmei-choko, “true love chocolates.” But by the 1980s, the popularity of Valentine’s Day had increased to include chocolate given to co-workers or even classmates — if the teachers didn’t catch the students, that is. Schools do not allow such frivolities as the exchanging of chocolates among friends on Valentine’s Day. But kids find a way.

Gifts of chocolate among co-workers are called giri-choko, “obligation chocolate,” and among friends is called tomo-choko, “friend chocolate.” It is understood that no romantic feelings are attached.

White Day

There is a deep-rooted custom in Japan that when one receives a gift, one must give something in return. This may partially explain why people play down the gifts they give, so as to negate feelings of obligation to reciprocate.

With this custom in mind, in the late 1970s, various members of the National Confectionery Industry Association came up with ideas to create an answer to Valentine’s Day — Marshmallow Day, Candy Day, Cookie Day — but none had quite the right ring to it.

It seems the real credit for White Day should go to an executive with the Fukuoka-based Ishimura Manseido company. After a few years of measured success with Marshmallow Day, he came up with the brilliant idea to name the day after the color of the marshmallows — white and pure like true love — and White Day was born on March 14, 1978.

On White Day, men who received gifts of chocolate on Valentine’s Day return gifts of cookies, cakes, or other sweets to those women who gave them chocolate.

Trends are Changing

According to a 2020 survey of 2,000 people by JR Tōkai Takashimaya, the popularity of giving giri-choko has waned, with only 6% of those surveyed responding that they bought “obligation chocolate.” 15% bought honmei-choco, “true love chocolate,” and 26% bought chocolate for family members.

The largest percentage, 46%, bought chocolate for themselves. Another survey found that 60% of women bought chocolate for themselves.

I can understand. Those department store displays of chocolate are pretty hard to resist. I might just pick up some Valentine’s Day chocolates myself, but I’ll wait until the evening of the 14th or the next day when prices are slashed.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

P.S.  Why March 14th?

Different theories have been advanced as to why March 14th was chosen as White Day. One claims it was the day Christians who were married in secret by Saint Valentine pledged their undying love. Others say the date was taken from the ancient histories of Japan. It seems that knowledge is lost to time.

References:

https://www.candy.or.jp/whiteday/okuru.html, https://plustrivia.com/events/317/, https://bit.ly/3nLS8nl, http://iroha-japan.net/iroha/A01_event/06_wd.html, https://www.ishimura.co.jp/whiteday/birth.html, https://www.nippon.com/en/features/jg00025/valentine%E2%80%99s-day-and-white-day.html

The post Valentine’s Day in Japan—It Might Surprise You first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

It’s not as straightforward as you would think

I sometimes play a game with my English students. We ask the question, “How often do you…” and try to elicit the response we want — always, sometimes, hardly ever, or never. 

One of my students asked me, “How often do you say ‘Good morning’ to your children in the morning?” 

I could tell by the glint in her eyes, she thought she had an “always” answer in the bag!

Imagine her shock when I answered, “Hardly ever.”

“What? You don’t say “good morning” to your children in the morning?! Why not?”

She must have thought I was a very rude mother.

I explained, “Because I say, ‘Hi!’”

Something as simple as saying “Hi” is shocking because it is just not the way greetings are done in Japan. There is no anytime-of-the-day word for Hello in Japanese.

These are the four main greetings used:

Ohayō-gozaimasu (oh-ha-yo-go-zai-mä-su)

Ohayō-gozaimasu literally means, “You are early” and is used as “Good morning.” It’s generally used before about 10:00–11:00 when first seeing someone that day. 

Konnichiwa (con-nee-chi-wah)

Konnichiwa is the midday word for “Hello.” It literally means “Today is…” It’s probably the closest to “Hello.”

Konbanwa (con-bahn-wah)

Konbanwa means “Good evening,” or rather “This evening is…” 

Do people even say “Good evening” in English anymore? I usually say “Hello” or “Hi.”

Oyasuminasai (oh-ya-sue-me-nah-sigh)

Literally, “Rest!” In essence, oyasuminasai pretty much equals, “Good night.”

There is no Japanese Word for “Hello”

So, if you want to say “Hello” when you are in Japan, learn these four greetings. First make note of the time of day, then choose which one to use.

Alternatively, you could just not worry about the time and say, “Otsukaresama-desu!”

The post How To Say Hello in Japanese first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

“Please and thank you” is just not commonly used

The closest English translation that I can think of for yoroshiku-onegaishimasu is the expression used by Ron Swanson’s character in the American TV series, Parks and Recreation, “Please and thank you.”

Naturally, there is more to it than that.

Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu (pronounced yo-ro-she-ku — oh-neh-guy-she-mäs)

Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu is used when you first meet a person. It expresses “please and thank you” for any and all future give-and-take interactions, and it is accompanied with a bow. There is the understanding that one will inevitably ask a favor of the other and vice versa. It’s akin to saying, “May all our interactions be harmonious.”

The other main usage is when asking someone for a favor or for help, when it is a “please — and thank you in advance,” à la Ron Swanson.

In short, yoroshiku-onegaishimasu conveys both a sense of reciprocal gratitude and future thanks.

So, to you, kind readers, for this and all future reading, “Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu!”

The post Yoroshiku-Onegaishimasu—A Wonderful Word that English Needs first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

It’s more than just a before-meal word

I grew up in an old-fashioned household. When we gathered for our nightly formal dinners, we quietly waited for all the family members to be seated, then my father would lead us in what we called “Grace,” the Catholic prayer of blessing and thanks for the food.

This sort of lovely custom is familiar to people of many religions and countries. Japan is no exception.

Itadakimasu (pronounced ee-ta-dah-key-mäs)

In Japan, children are taught from babyhood to place their hands together, bow, and say “Itadakimasu,” “I humbly receive,” in unison before picking up their chopsticks. Simply put, this is a word that expresses gratitude to the cooks, the shopkeepers, the farmers, and to the gods — to everyone that had a hand in providing the food of which they are about to partake.

What exactly does Itadakimasu mean?

Itadakimasu has a deeper meaning that is revealed through the implied word that goes before it, inochi-wo, meaning “for your life.” Putting that together, itadakimasu means, “I am sorry that you have sacrificed your life for my life, and I am deeply grateful.” This is said with a bow of the head and a folding of the hands, showing respect and humility.

This concept is in line with the indigenous Shinto religion that believes that all things have a spirit, as well as the Buddhist belief in reincarnation into plants, animals, or humans, according to karma earned in each life.

Itadakimasu acknowledges that everything that contributed to the meal — the plants, the animals, the bacteria, the air, the water — has sacrificed for us and is worthy of our recognition and appreciation.

Regardless of your religion, no one can deny the inherent value of expressing gratitude in such a broad and deep sense.

References:

https://toyokeizai.net/articles/-/149451

https://allabout.co.jp/gm/gc/390299/

The post Itadakimasu—a Japanese Expression of Gratitude first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Honesty is second-nature in Japan

Many Westerners may not realize the honesty and respect for others’ property that is woven into the fabric of Japanese society.

By way of example, let me take you back a couple of years, to a sunny day in June in the wilds of Gunma Prefecture.

I was walking along, enveloped in the tranquility of the forest, enjoying a hike with some friends.

As we picked our way from rock to rock across a stream, I reached for my camera.

It was gone.

My camera!

I had left it on a wall by the public restrooms at the mountain viewpoint where we had stopped 40 minutes earlier.

Now what was I going to do?

I certainly didn’t want to walk all the way back up the mountain to the viewpoint to see if it was still there.

Who should I call?

Oh well, I couldn’t worry about it now. I’ll wait until we stopped for lunch.

Sunlight dappled through the leaves. Birds and cicadas were singing. The weather was perfect. After a couple of hours, we reached our sheltered picnic spot. I pulled out my smartphone, found the viewpoint on google maps, and located the shrine that was next to it. I called the number for the shrine.

“So sorry to bother you, but I left my camera on the wall by the restrooms at 10:30 this morning. Do you think you could take a look and see if it’s still there? I really appreciate your help.”

“I’m busy now, but I can check it later. What’s your phone number? I’ll call you back.”

Leaving thoughts of my camera aside, I ate my sandwich and enjoyed the serenity of the forest. Just as I had finished, my phone chirped.

“Moshi-moshi,” I answered.

“Hi, it’s the lady from the shrine. I checked the wall but there is no camera. Why don’t you call the police? Maybe someone turned it in.”

Not being familiar with the police locations in the area, I asked, “Which police station should I call? Do you know?”

“The one in front of the station.”

After profuse thanks to the woman, google maps came to the rescue again. I found the police station, gave them a call, and told them my story.

“Yes, someone turned in a camera found at that viewpoint this morning. You’ll need to send us a copy of your ID and some sort of proof that this is your camera. It would be bad to send you someone else’s camera, right? We get an awful lot of cameras and smartphones turned in here,” the policeman went on, seeming happy to talk.

“Once we receive your fax, after the weekend, we will send your camera to you COD, is that OK? Is it alright for you to pay for the postage?”

“Of course! Thank you very much!”

Five days later and back at home, I had my camera.

Thank you, anonymous person who turned it into the police.

Thank you, kind woman at the shrine.

And thank you, helpful policeman.

Photos ©Diane Neill Tincher

The post Lost and Found—The Fabulous Yet Commonplace Honesty of Japan first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Because “sunlight filtering through trees” does not express the same feeling

Komorebi is a word that we English speakers could really use. And not just to add to our vocabulary, but also to our lives. It is formed from the Japanese word for “tree,” 木, the word that means “to leak,” 漏れ, and the word for “sun,” 日.

Komorebi 木漏れ日 (pronounced kō-mō-leh-bē)

Literally, “sunlight leaking through trees,” this word describes the beauty and wonder of rays of light dappling through overhead leaves, casting dancing shadows on the forest floor.

Like kōyō — the word that describes the changing leaves of autumn—the fact that there is a word to specifically describe the beauty of the sunshine filtering through the leaves of trees overhead invites us to notice and to take a moment to marvel at this wonder of nature.

There is a profound peace and sense of tranquility that one can absorb from simply stopping to appreciate the transient beauty of komorebi.

Photos ©Diane Neill Tincher

The post Komorebi—A Beautiful Japanese Word that English Needs first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Myths, pilgrimage routes, and soccer

Those who have had the pleasure of hiking along the ancient pilgrimage paths of the Kumano Kodo on the Kii Peninsula of Wakayama Prefecture, Japan, have probably seen an image of the three-legged crow, Yatagarasu. These sacred crows are said to be messengers of the gods, and due to their intelligence and keen eyesight, they are also revered as guides.

The Yatagarasu has a long history.

Ancient Chinese myths tell of a scarlet, three-legged bird that lived in the sun. Carvings of these birds have been found on tombs in China from the 3rd century, BC. In Japan, images of Yatagarasu were carved on the walls of the ancient Kitora Tomb in Nara.

The three-legged crow even appears on the 7th century Tamamushi no Zushi, a small cabinet for holding Buddhist texts and objects that was decorated with over 2,500 jewel beetle wings, stored at Hōryuji Temple in Nara, Japan.

Guide to Emperor Jimmu

According to the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, ancient books that tell of Japan’s mythical origins, the Sun Goddess Amaterasu’s grandson descended to the earth on Mount Takachiho in southern Kyushu. One of his descendants became the first emperor of Japan, Emperor Jimmu.

According to legend, in 660 BC Jimmu sailed north from Kyushu hoping to conquer the Nara region of Japan, then known as Yamato. He reached the western shore near present-day Osaka, headed inland — and was soundly defeated.

After some thought, he realized that his defeat must have been the result of traveling against the movement of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu. For his next incursion, he sailed down the coast to Kumano and made his next approach from the southeast, crossing the rugged mountains of the Kii Peninsula to reach Yamato.

The Kii mountains are steep, wet, and heavily forested. Jimmu and his army lost their way amid the towering trees.

Salvation came when Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess, sent a heavenly messenger in the form of a yatagarasu, a three-legged crow. This divine creature guided them safely through the treacherous terrain. Jimmu reached Yamato, succeeded in uniting Japan, set up the Yamato court — and became the forefather of all the Japanese emperors.

The Japanese nation’s roots can be traced to the bewildering mountains of Kumano.

Why 3 legs?

The three legs have been said to represent:

天 The gods

地 Nature

人 Humanity

all of which were born from the sun and thus all are brothers.

Or,

知 Wisdom

仁 Benevolence

勇 Valor

For the story of the most popular guardian along the old roads of Japan, read about Jizō here.

All photos ©Diane Neill Tincher, unless otherwise noted.

The post The Three-Legged Crow—Unforgettable Guardian of the Kumano Kodo Pilgrimage first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.