Kimochi Dake

The Japanese have a set phrase that they often say when presenting someone else with a gift. That phrase is “kimochi dake,” or literally, “This is only to show my feelings.” The translation into English doesn’t work very well, but the idea is that you humble yourself and the gift you are presenting. I said this very same phrase a few days ago when I gave my host mom Misako a small gift of bath sprays and shower gels in a little colorful carry bag for Mother’s Day.

You wouldn’t think that a small gift like this would nearly move someone to tears, but after a hectic morning of spilling a pot of coffee all over the counter and having Kouji the Cat escape through an open window and run amuck at 2 AM, the significance of the gift far transcended the tiny bottle of melon flavored body lotion.

Misako told me that her kids never do anything for mother’s day or her birthday. She never receives a card or goes anywhere special. After I gave her the gift, she proudly displayed it on the kitchen table and told anyone who entered the room, “Look what Ben gave me.” The implied following sentence was “You are a horrible Husband / Son / Daughter for ignoring me!” I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for Misako and her situation. Over-pampered kids are a trend in many Japanese families. I don’t really know what can be done about the subject – it just doesn’t really seem like my host siblings have one ounce of respect for how hard their mom works. I hate having to be the good son, especially since I’m the gaijin exchange student they are paid to lodge, but if I must be the good seed, then the good seed I will be.

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Aoi Matsuri is the second of three major festivals in Kyoto – the other two are Gion Matsuri (summer) and Jidai Matsuri (fall). Aoi Matsuri reinforced my idea that one could wave a pole wrapped in Christmas lights in front of a Japanese person and they would stare in awe as if it were the 8th wonder of the world. All it took was a few old men marching down the pavement with feathers in their hair to captivate the entire Japanese audience. Simply put, we do matsuri (festivals / parades) better in the U.S. Aoi Matsuri or “the moving mausoleum,” is a procession of indistinguishable Japanese old folks who walk down the street in traditional clothes as if marching to their own death. This festival stems from a time in Japanese history when the people of Kyoto were too joyous and needed a festival to curtail the dangerous and ever pervasive happiness that ran rampant through the land. Thus, Aoi Matsuri came to be. To this day, people wear the traditional clothes devoid of color – apply the traditional facial expressions devoid of emotions – and walk stoically down the traditional streets in a parade that is devoid of music or sound. Just so you know - they don’t bother to close the traditional street, so the traditional city buses and traditional Japanese high school kids with cell phones honk and blabber their way down the entire parade route. At least you’re not missing anything - If you’ve seen ten minutes of Aoi Matsuri you’ve seen it all.

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I’m still fat. You may recall the collective sigh of relief on my host family’s part when they discovered that I wasn’t nearly as fat as their expectations. Well, as the one-month mark of my home stay approaches, Misako has found it necessary to step up the anti-fat ripple rhetoric. This began with observations about my everyday habits such as, “You drink a lot of soda.” This isn’t the case, it’s just that we never have soda, so if someone happens to smuggle it in to the Murata compound, I help myself to an ice cold glass. Misako has no problems having a glass herself and smacking her lips at the sweet cola flavor, but whenever I do it, it’s, “boy, you drink a lot of soda.” This observation has prompted all members of the family to automatically respond, “But you’d rather have soda,” whenever I make my drink selection at dinner time. “I’ll have green tea,” I say. “But you’d rather have soda,” my host dad chuckles as he jabs at my pot belly with a chopstick. “Yes, piggy wants his soda. Could you put it in a trough for me?” – I can’t think how to translate the sarcasm into Japanese.

Next there’s my choice of food. I prefer sweet breads in the morning as opposed to savory ones. Bread stuffed with spicy curry goo in the morning just isn’t my stomach’s best friend. I’ve always been like this about sweet breads - Cinnamon-Raisin bagels are my favorite. Misako laughed for five minutes straight when she discovered that I put a packet of sugar in my iced coffee. She said I snuck it in there. I told her she was right, because if I had asked, she wouldn’t have let me have it.

Misako told the whole table during family dinner that if I drink soda I have to walk to school the next day to burn it off. She also took great joy in pointing out the similarities between me and the Samoan singer on TV who was so huge that his blimpish body dwarfed the small wooden stool he was confined to.

The daily struggle for sweetness is not without its small victories. Whenever I get dessert, I chuckle as I tell my host mom that it’s not sweet enough and ask if I can sprinkle sugar packets on top. I also play up the fat and inactive card as I huff and puff beside her when we climb the stairs, panting “shindoi,” or “I’m beat.” My host sis Nami, always a voice of reason, sympathized that I was probably tired of the fat references when Misako ducked out of the room. She used the word “ijime” which usually refers to childhood bullying on the school yard. Her use of the word made me smile. “Remember, remember, the sweetness and splendor…I see no reason why it should ever be forgot!”

B.E.W.