A Love Letter to Japan:
Dear Japan:
I heard last night about the earthquake that has hit your shores. I heard about the hundreds of people who have died. I have heard about the devastation. I cannot imagine the pain and suffering your people have been through. I have never endured an earthquake, tsunami, typhoon(hurricane) or tornado. I do not know what it feels like to lose your home, your loved ones or your peace of mind, from such a disaster. I have been chased in a car by a tornado, as a child, but it never caught me. Something much worse caught you and all I can think to do is tell you what you have meant to me.
When I was eight, my father enrolled me in a judo class. Some bigger kids at school were picking on me. Scrawny and weak, my father wanted to make sure I could protect myself, if I fell, or maybe even flip somebody, if it came to that. I attended classes for a few weeks, until my father decided I needed to learn attacking skills. He then enrolled me in Tae-Kwon Do. This Korean discipline may have dominated my life for several years, but judo was my first. You never forget your first.
I learned to drive in a Toyota Corolla, at roughly the same time. My father's girlfriend, Heather Wicke, bought a two-door red model. My father wanted to trade in his old Plymouth Duster for one of the same, but had never learned to drive a stick-shift. Ms. Wicke drove around and explained to me when to change gear. She accelerated, pressed in the clutch and told me to move the gear stick. I became proficient at this. My father took turns driving Ms. Wicke's car, with me in the passenger seat. Nervous, I made him press in the clutch, while I changed gear. Once my father became used to the clutch, he then took over the complete operation of the car. He would accelerate and I would say, "now!" and he would change gear. He bought his own Toyota and I continued tutoring him in gear changes. One day he told me to stop and he drove on his own. Years later, my father enrolled me in defensive driving classes. He then sat in the passenger seat and watched me drive the same Toyota I had taught him to drive. I passed my driving test the first time. When I graduated from high school, my father gave me that Toyota as a graduation present. It served me well, until a few years later, when the axle broke. A tow truck hauled it away. You never forget your first.
First came Voltron, then Transformers and finally Robotech. Without Robotech, my childhood definitions of heroism and adventure would be incomplete; the first show with cool robots, laser guns and aliens, while simultaneously showing realistic human relationships. Rick Hunter became one of my greatest heroes. I cried when Roy Fokker and Ben Dixon died. I felt shock when the Zentraedi nearly destroyed the Earth. I cheered when Rick Hunter chose Lisa Hayes over Minmay. Nothing in my childhood, not even the triple threat of Star Wars, Star Trek and James Bond, could match the power of this series; bastardized as it was by Carl Macek, it still remains the epic story* of my childhood. I even still quote a line from it, as the founding principal I base on all my relationships: Rick Hunter, quoting his recently deceased brother Roy Fokker, once said, "Before you love someone, you have to like them." For a 13 year old boy to effectively hear "affection means more than lust or desire" shook my perceptions of reality and shaped who I am today.
Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Laputa: Castle In the Sky, My Neighbor Totoro, The Castle of Cagliostro, Spirited Away, Ponyo: what would the world be without Hayao Miyazaki? It would be a very dull and boring place. Just as Akira Kurosawa had managed decades earlier, he placed his imagination on the silver screen and our lives are much richer for it. Rashomon remains my favorite foreign film of all time. Without Seven Samurai, the American Western may never have grown up; what price Clint Eastwood, without Yojimbo? But perhaps of all his films, Ikiru may be the most devastating, the most emotionally rich and rewarding. The story of a dying man deciding what his legacy should be after he dies, is as astonishing and beautiful as when it first amazed audiences over fifty years ago. The world of cinema feels anemic, without Takashi Shimura's overwhelming performance. On the other side of the spectrum, a world without Tokyo Story is not even worth contemplating. One of the greatest examinations of "the gender gap", and the abandonment of the elderly, Ozu's masterpiece shows the uncomfortable reality of daily, little tragedies: Thoughtless words and actions, which lead to isolation and loneliness. Thank you for them all.
On the day I turned 21, I worked a split-shift at Boulder's Dinner Theatre. This meant that I helped clean the dining room, after the first show, and helped set-up for the evening's performance. I would return by 7:45pm to run a spotlight and go home. Not expecting to leave earlier than 5:30, I unexpectedly received the order to leave as soon as I had finished cleaning up from the matinee. This meant leaving nearly an hour early. I suppose my manager felt guilty that I had to work a nine hour split shift on my birthday. I sat for a few minutes, wondering what to with my time, my coworkers walking by, wishing me a happy birthday. I then decided I would treat myself. I usually ate my meals at the Dinner Theatre. They were free and I had very little spending money. With a hole burning in my pocket from my Dad's birthday cash, I decided to confront an old fear.
Years earlier, my father took me and his current girlfriend to Sushi Zanmai, adjacent to the Pearl Street Mall, in Boulder Colorado. For a 15 year old, I had adventurous tastes: but I drew the line at raw fish. My father made me try a piece of COOKED sushi. I finished it, and spent the next two days sick in bed. On my 21st birthday, I took the local bus to 28th street and Arapahoe and wandered around, trying to think of what I wanted as my first drink. I finally noticed a neon Budweiser sign and made a bee-line. Yes, I still needed to work for a few more hours. Yes, my boss would fire me if she found out I had been drinking just before a shift. No, I did not care. I stood in the parking lot, the sign bathed in a gentle red, when I saw the sign next to the beer logo: Sumida's: Fine Japanese Food. Oh crap! Here we go again! Well, wait, I told myself. Maybe things would be different. On nothing more than a whim, I entered. Frightened, I told the server what happened the last time I tried sushi. The server then gently explained every aspect of the menu and recommended a good selection for "my first time". I started with miso soup, something I had never tried. I liked it. I then ordered an appetizer of fried soft-shell crab. I really liked that! Then, with a slight tremor in my voice, I asked for sake. The server asked me for my ID. I pulled it from my wallet and waited. She nodded and handed me back the card. A few minutes later, I received a California Roll and an Eel Roll, along with a warm flask of my drink. Sweet, sour, salty, savory: for the first time, I had experienced them all in a meal. I loved it. I finished, paid, and jumped back on the bus to return to work. After the show, my coworkers made me a "Flaming Dr. Pepper". I slammed it back, and then they took me to me first bar; a little Irish joint destroyed by fire a few years later. That night, we toasted my coming-of-age, as I tossed back martinis. We then ascended Boulder Canyon, where we stared at the night sky and romped around like idiots on the hillside. I will never forgot that night and my first drink as an adult, which only I knew about.
You have fed my stomach, my mind and my heart.
You will heal, Japan. You will rebuild. You will be stronger, for enduring this catastrophe. For now the pain and loss are too immediate and raw. Those of us who love you, hope for the best and wish you a speedy recovery.
Love,
Christian Chapra
Please give to the Red Cross.
*'Epic Story': I use the definition given to me by Professor Bruce Kawin, from The University of Colorado at Boulder. "An 'epic' is the story of the founding of a tribe."
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