I spent a very enjoyable few hours the other day walking around part of 'Yanaka', one of those few districts of Tokyo that yet retains much of a flavour of the 'old days'. A friend and I had come to see the narrow back streets, the tiny shops, the many temples ... all the things are no longer found over in the modern part of the city where we live. Part of our route took us through one of the large graveyards that dot the area. It was very peaceful in there, with the roar of the surrounding city being almost completely muted, and as we strolled aimlessly along the bushy lanes that separated the groups of graves I for one, was somewhat amazed that such a huge 'undeveloped' area was still allowed to exist in this metropolis.

Presently we came to a part of the graveyard that overlooked the neighbouring railroad tracks, but even there, the peaceful feeling still remained with us, and we stood and watched the different trains going back and forth below us just like a display in a large toy shop. After a while, we turned to resume our stroll, and some marks on a nearby gravestone caught my eye: red lettering, standing out sharply from all the rest of the dark-coloured names. My companion explained what the red colour signified - those were the names of family members who had not yet died. When that particular gravestone had been erected, it had been prepared with the names of all those who were expected to one day 'reside' in this plot, presumably thus making it unnecessary to take it back to the memorial shop for re-engraving each time somebody in the family passed away.

This was interesting enough for me in its own right, but a closer investigation of the information carved on the stone turned up something more intriguing ... The gravestone was for a Christian family, and the names were those of four women, apparently a mother and three sisters. This seemed not to make sense at first. Although a surviving spouse would expect to be buried together with the partner who had passed away, as might a son, it would not normally be expected that daughters would be. In Japanese tradition, when a girl marries, she legally joins the family of her new husband, and would presumably be buried together with that family. Why then, were these girls' names carved on this stone? A bit more investigation of some other stones in the family group turned up the answer. These people were very Christian. These girls had no plans to get married and join somebody else's family ... They were not only 'small s' sisters, but 'big s' Sisters - nuns.

Now, should I be 'careful' what I say next? I don't have a particularly high opinion of organized religion, and perhaps some of you who read these little scribbles will be a bit upset with my ideas. But I suppose that if I don't say what I really think, there's no point in writing these essays ...

How is the life of those sisters being spent? It depends on your point of view. By their own standards, and probably those of most of their associated Christian community, they are spending their life wisely. They would perhaps use such phrases as 'self-sacrifice', 'service to God', 'service to humanity', etc. etc. They chose to set aside such 'normal' human activities as getting married, having a family, and exploring the wonders of this world, in favour of a life of dedication to their religious practices, and the promise of rewards in a 'next' world.

My standards differ. I have no belief in a 'next' world, and although I wish to behave as a responsible member of my community, and am certainly willing to extend assistance in such cases as I am able, I will not 'sacrifice' myself in the pursuit of such activities. I do not find the concept of 'self-sacrifice' a particularly noble idea.

But actually, it is not the thought that any one of the women in that family took up that type of life that bothers me. It is the fact that all of them did. Why should this be different? It is different because it tells me that those women did not make that choice of such a distorted lifestyle of their own free will. In an ideal world, each of us as we approach adulthood and the time when we must make decisions on how to make our way through life, would look at the world around us, look inside and consider our own needs and desires, and choose a path accordingly. If any particular person were to choose the life of self-sacrifice of a nun, then so be it. I would have no quarrel with them. Their life is their own, to use as they see fit. But to see that all three girls in a family have chosen that same route ... tells me that they did not make the choice of their own independent volition. Obviously, from a very young age, those girls were programmed to make such a choice by their parents and the people around them. By their parents' standards: they were educated well, and made a good choice about how to spend their life. By my standards: they were brainwashed, and simply did as their parents planned. They did not grow up to be independent human beings, but now exist merely as appendages to their parents' lives ...

I have two siblings, one brother and one sister. Simon lives an independent life in Germany, working as a musician. Sherry lives on the west coast of Canada, married and also happily working. I of course, live with my two children on the other side of the world, here in Japan, doing this and that ... None of us are living a life that could have even been foreseen by our parents, let alone planned by them. The very fact that we three siblings are leading such different lives tells me that my parents did something very right in bringing us up - they did not blindly program us with their own values and desires. They simply gave us a framework of values ... and then left us alone to sort things out as we saw fit.

The parents of those three sisters, on the other hand, obviously felt it their mission in life to inculcate those girls with their own values. In their eyes, those young children were not human beings, but simply clay to be molded into such shape as they chose. I hope I cannot disguise my disgust at such a philosophy ... and my horror at its consequences: adults who walk around the world looking to all intents and purposes like 'normal' people, but who are in reality, intellectual zeroes; beings without any ability to think for themselves, without any ability to understand what it means to be human. Beings who are capable of no other behaviour than simply following their so-carefully programmed track ... Truly, little more than animals ...

My companion and I discussed some of these ideas as we walked on through the graveyard, away from that stone with those names outlined in red. And as we passed by the seemingly endless rows of grave markers, each one a reminder of our own eventual fate, I offered up my own little prayer of thanks (To whom? you may well ask. I don't know!). Thanks that I had escaped the fate that befell those women. Not that they became nuns, for perhaps they have indeed had a life useful to somebody, but that they lost their humanity, their human-ness, in the process. I find it truly appropriate that their names are already carved on that gravestone, for in one way, they actually died many years ago, back when their parents took away their right to their own life ...

(February 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 01:45 PM | Comments (0)

One day, just a short while ago, riding the shinkansen from Tokyo to Osaka, I finally, finally had the experience that I have been waiting for ever since first setting foot in this country back in 1981. At last, I was able to get a good view of Fuji-san!

I have travelled down the Tokaido route from Kanto to the Kansai many times in the past 14 years, but I had never before been able to see this sight. Of course, I have seen the beautiful tourist pictures, with the majestic snow-capped cone rising into a clear blue sky, but until now, I thought that such pictures must be a kind of trick.

Each time I rode the shinkansen, I was careful to reserve a seat on the north side of the train. It is the other side, with the south facing windows, that actually has the better view, overlooking the sea during parts of the trip, but it wasn't the ocean view I wanted! It was that world-famous view of Japan's most well-known landmark that I wanted to see. But every time - every time - I passed by, I was always disappointed. Where was that mountain?

On some occasions, the trip would be made in gloomy weather, with dark rain clouds hanging overhead for the entire distance. During these trips, I knew there was no chance, and didn't even bother looking up from my book ... Sometimes though, I would depart from Tokyo station in gorgeous sunny weather. 'Surely today will be my day!', I thought. But it was not to be. As the train drew closer and closer to Fuji-san, the sky would inevitably become darker and darker ...

I became more and more convinced that Fuji-san didn't exist; it was just a myth! Perhaps it had actually been there many years ago, but construction companies had dug it up bit-by-bit to use for building super-highways or something like that. Nobody noticed that it was gone, because there are always so many clouds gathered at that spot!

What made the situation worse were the friends who came back from trips in that area invariably reporting the same thing: "We had a fantastic view of Mt. Fuji during our trip!" My friend Sadako did this to me just a couple of weeks ago, eagerly describing the long snow-dusted curves of the mountain-side standing out against the sky. Surely all these people couldn't be lying to me, could they?

But as I said, the other day, to my immense relief, I saw it at last, so now I too believe it is real. I remember hearing an old proverb about Fuji-san: 'Each true Japanese must climb Mt. Fuji sometime in his life ... but only a fool will do it twice'. Well, I don't know about climbing it, but at least I have now seen it once. Do you think there will be a second time?

(February 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 01:24 PM | Comments (0)

So here we are in the depths of 'daikan', the coldest time of the year. As I sit here at the keyboard of my computer, I am wearing a heavy sweater, drinking hot cocoa, and blowing on my fingers to try and keep them warm enough to type properly. What's wrong? Am I working outdoors? No, of course not - I'm indoors, in a modern Japanese home ... and it's freezing in here!

When I meet people for the first time, and they learn that I am from Canada, they invariably say the same thing, "Kanada wa samui desu ne!" My reply, which is quite true, is "Not as cold as Tokyo!" I have been far colder since moving to Tokyo then I ever was in Canada. Canadians long ago learned to construct warm houses for themselves. They had to, living in such a severe climate. But it is a never-ending source of amazement to Canadians who visit this country, that Japanese houses, even quite new ones, can be so cold and uncomfortable.

If I ask Japanese friends about this puzzle, they sometimes answer that houses here are designed to be cool in summer, rather than warm in winter. But actually ... a well-insulated house is both! Then they might answer that the energy cost of heating a house to a comfortable level is just too high. But actually ... a well-insulated house has very low energy costs!

Can you believe these figures? A Canadian-style house recently built in Nagoya (which is certainly a place with cold winters), and which has a huge floor space of 271 square meters, is being fully heated to 'shirt-sleeve' temperatures for a cost of less than 5,000 yen per month, even during the coldest part of the year.

The key of course, is the insulation. That home is very well insulated and sealed, and the windows are all double-glazed. Unlike many new Japanese houses, which have only a few centimeters of 'glass wool' stuffed carelessly here and there in the walls, that home has 15cm of insulation in the walls and under the floor, and 22cm in the ceiling. In case you are worried that a completely sealed house would soon become musty and damp, you should know that the house also has a device known as a heat-exchanger, which continually brings fresh air in from the outside, warming it up as it comes into the building. The result is a very livable environment, with extremely low energy costs.

I hope that one day I'll be able to build a home like that here in Japan, and when I do, I'd like to invite you all to come for a visit - at the coldest time of the year. You won't need to wear a sweater!

But unfortunately, that's for the future ... For now it's ... achoo!

(February 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 10:42 PM | Comments (0)