Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Joshua Radin


I love this song. Look into Joshua Radin if you haven't heard of him yet. There are very few songs of his that I don't listen to over and over again. This one, I think, is from his first album.

I like my job, too. I'm a freelance translator now, but working for a specific company this month as a trial for full-time employment, possibly starting in the new year. It keeps me busy because there's a lot to do and a lot of new things to learn, and it's wonderful to be grappling with Japanese all day long. Sometimes the texts are bulky and awkward, sometimes they're peppered with yet unfamiliar technical terms, and sometimes they're pure linguistic elegance, flowing with keigo and courtesy. My goals for now? Increasing my understanding and efficiency, building trust and amicability with my team, and.... writing a bucket list.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Friday, November 18, 2011

a blacksmith courted me

A blacksmith courted me nine months and better.
He fairly won my heart, wrote me a letter.
With his hammer in his hand, he looked so clever;
And if I were with my love, I'd live for ever.

O, where has my love gone, with his cheeks like roses?

He's gone across the sea, gath'ring primroses.

I'm afraid the shining sun might burn and scorch his beauty

And if I were with my love, I'd do my duty.

Strange news has come to town, strange news is gath'ring;
Strange news flies up and down that my love's married.
O, I wish them both much joy, though they don't hear me,
And if I were with my love, I'd do my duty.

O, what did you promise me when you lay beside me?
You said you'd marry me and not deny me.
If I said I'd marry you, t'was only to try you,
So bring me witness, love, and I'll not deny you.

O witness have I none, save God Almighty!
And may he reward you well for the slighting of me.
Her lips grew pale and wan, it made her poor heart tremble
For to think she'd loved but one, and he'd proved deceitful.

(Traditional)

does “what I believe" matter?

Monday, November 14, 2011

the love song of j. alfred prufrock

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question….
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

It's good to re-read T.S. Eliot.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

do something

Today's homily was based on the same Gospel reading I analyzed here a few weeks ago, the one about the talents. I gained a new insight on it, though: in the Christian life, it isn't enough to just "not sin." That could be comparable to the third servant's burial of the one talent. He isn't doing anything wrong, per se. But it is expected of us to multiply the gifts and the grace that we're given. We have to be active. Jesus multiplied the loaves and the fishes, resulting in a meal for a staggering number of people. But what did He need to do that? A small boy giving up his food. The point is not to worry about the magnitude of our actions as much as the question of whether we are in fact acting at all. If you multiply nothing by a million, it's still nothing. Multiply one by the same number, and bam-- small actions have astronomical repercussions.

Life is supposed to be abundant, exciting, adventurous. Make it happen.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

that waterless fish again...

There's a full moon tonight and its luminance, reflected on the wind-driven surface of the dark lake, caught my eye and pulled me a short way back in time.

It was not so very long ago that I felt in control of my life, a competent young professional optimistically working through mysteries and questions while seeking the future as though it held nothing but sincere smiles and firm handshakes and home. If you had asked me then, I would have told you something both modest and reasonably hedged against life's unpredictability, but the way I felt was invincible. I had come through enormous difficulties in my first year or two of life in the inaka, and felt that finally I'd established a good reputation as a hard worker, a helper, a friend, a role model with a fun little off-the-wall streak, a genuine person always seeking to lift people up. I'd not only conquered a terrible long bout of illness, but I'd also regained much of my physical strength and endurance. Finally it seemed there were people who were as comfortable around me as I was around them, and I felt like I belonged-- that with just a bit of companionship I would be happy to go on living and working there forever.

Cruel intervention of contracts and timelines! Yet like the tide, of course, it inevitably came, so what I had been and done was washed away; and though I felt deserved pride in my accomplishments and knew that there were some who would remember them and me, I also knew that for all the world there remained no trace of my ever having lived there.

Sometimes I fancy my spirit returns to the mountain roads or to the harbor--perhaps it is caught there-- quietly observing the ebb and flow of the sea, the to and fro of the people in the streets, and the passing of the seasons while my body sits ten thousand miles away trying to make sense of new conditions. This brings with it overpowering loneliness.

I wonder about my sanity. I wonder too, sometimes, if I've wandered onto the wrong set, and no one has a script. And now the story is interrupted, the curtain's crashed, the program's frozen, and no matter what I try to do I can't move. My hopes and dreams seem to be losing the battle against inertia.

There, you see. You tried to change, to grow. You tried to fit in somewhere new. But nothing ever changes. Here you are again. Don't you know this is all there is for you?

As a rule my mind recoils against such pessimistic, downward-dragging drivel and determines to redouble its efforts, or it recognizes the signs of reverse culture shock and seeks a distraction.

Reverse culture shock. All the ex-JETs I've spoken with have said something like, "Oh, it definitely took me at least six months" or "one year" or even "three years" to work through it and feel like a normal person again. Why?!? I didn't turn into a different person just because I was living in a different culture. But apparently it strikes everyone who spends significant amounts of time abroad. I suppose less-developed aspects of personality and intellect are exerted, grow stronger, and then are superfluous or even harmful upon return to the home country.

It's going to be a process, that much is clear. I refuse to give in to pessimism, defeatism, weakness, or whining. I must. I know, though, that I also should cut myself a little slack and stop trying to force things to work when, for all I know, they may be terrible for me in the long run. What is needed now is prayer, and patience.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

live from a place of strength


"My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."


「『考えすぎをやめる』ことが、いつでも自在にできるようになると、肩の力が抜けて、生きるのが楽になってきます。笑ったり感動したりすることが多くなってきます。自分自身に盤石の自信が持てるようになります。」


"Don't say, 'That's the way I am--it's my character.' It's your lack of character. Esto vir!--Be a man!"

I do not like
divided hearts;
I give mine whole,
and not in parts.

1. Jane Austen 2. Arina Hosai 3. Jose Maria Escriva de Balaguer

Monday, November 7, 2011

spending it all


At the end of Living the Catholic Faith, author Abp. Charles Chaput poses a question we should all ask ourselves at the end of each day:

"I have paid one day of my life to do what I did today. Was it worth it?"

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Bingley's Teas

I want to share with you a wonderful discovery I made at the 2011 Jane Austen Society general meeting in Texas: Bingley's Teas. You may have noticed its debut on the side bar a few weeks ago-- if you haven't already, check it out!

Bingley's Teas is a small company owned and operated by Ms. Julia Matson, tea sommelier and fellow Minnesotan. She describes the Jane Austen Tea Series as her "way of fusing my two great interests, and hopefully, [it] will be seen as doing so with respect to both of them. In this way, I hope to share good teas with my fellow Janeites and to support my habit of traveling to other countries, learning more from others."

In the Jane Austen Tea Series, Julia has crafted a variety of teas in honor of Austen characters, like Elizabeth Bennett and Marianne Dashwood, as well as memorable places or turns of phrase, like Longbourn Wedding Tea, or my favorite tea name of all time, Compassion for Mrs. Bennett's Nerves.

I spent quite a while browsing through all the offerings before finally settling on four: Miss Elizabeth (black), Sweet Jane (green and black), Wicked Wickham (white), and Longbourn Wedding Tea (white). They've all been marvelous!

To be honest, this is my first real, consistent foray into steeping loose leaves rather than using prepackaged teabags. Julia offers first-timers like me a guide on the back of each box, called Respecting the Leaf. It lists exactly how much tea to use for your cup and what temperature the water should be for black, green, and white teas, as well as fruit and herbal tisanes. The results have been brilliant. I certainly still enjoy a quick cuppa from the shop down the road, but there's something very special--and dare I say magical--about these teas.

Yet what impresses me about Bingley's Teas just as much as the quality of the blends is the sweet personality and obvious passion of the owner, Ms. Matson. It was clear as soon as we started talking that Julia thoroughly knows and loves her work. She's a fresh inspiration to me during my own career journey, and it's a real pleasure to give her business.

So next time you're in the market for tea, I hope you'll remember the name of dear Mr. Bingley, always so affable, and give these teas a try!

more revels in rhyming


Everyone Wants

"Everyone wants" a home of her own,
Green grass in the suburbs, her personal throne,
But do I now, really? There's a new thought.

"Everyone wants" a good job with a raise,
Or even a bad one, as long as it pays
Something. What is it exactly, the job that I want?

"Everyone wants" to get married quite young
To the love of their lives, raise a daughter and son.
But how old is young? Is love chosen or destined?

"Everyone wants" this country to change,
More jobs, and more gas, and more cash in the bank.
Which plans really work? I never have questioned.

Maybe I don't want a box from the shelf
Maybe I don't want a cage for the self
Maybe I think I'll find love my own way
Maybe I think about more than I say


Thursday, November 3, 2011

November, one more year


In the waiting room the air turns sour
Ears open, but they catch no sounds
The moments gape like open wounds
A hundred thousand every hour.

Visions of a time long gone,
Remembered land across the sea;
Can any ship there carry me?
My heart sinks in the light of dawn.

I seek and search, my heart has flown;
The journey's done, the door's now shut.
Search seaside, seek the forests, but
where it lies hid God knows alone.

Familiar sight, detested place,
Back into the waiting room,
Strung up inside the waiting room,
The future hangs on will and grace.
It's grey and grey, and grey and grey
In the prison outside and within myself.
No words can penetrate the self
that's lost its hope, that's lost its way.

Night comes, and darkness dyes the very air
Where my perceived bonds bind fast.
But the stars emerge like a trumpet blast
Through doors and windows everywhere.

Whence came these burning points of white?
Their pure light bursts my lowered head,
Their voices pierce through what was dead
In me, and herald fairer sight.

They bring the sun, and with its rays
The sad world's bathed in roses' wine.
Look down, the chains are gone, no sign
Of that which held me in this place.

The sad world stays, but all throughout
Dart bright pinpricks of eager souls,
Escaping waiting rooms and holes
To run their paths with joy, and shout
With mirth to find a kindred soul--
A soul to share their dreams and vision,
Inspiration, motivation,
And forge ahead with common goal.

In Dreams

"When the cold of winter comes
starless night will cover day.
In the veiling of the sun
we will walk in bitter rain.
But in dreams
I can hear your name
and in dreams
we will meet again.

When the seas and mountains fall
and we come to end of days
in the dark I hear a call
calling me there; I will go there
and back again."

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

जय हो


The song "Jai Ho" from Slumdog Millionaire has been in my head all day. Wikipedia tells us it means "may there be victory," just like it sounds (right?). The song was used for a practice warm-up at the Zumba training I attended this past weekend, and that's exactly what was right about the whole experience: so many people who think like I do about infectious music and expressive movement-- and a great many of them are much better at it than I am at this point, but I aspire to their level of creativity and energy.

It's also an apt song for today, because today the company asked for an interview. It's set for later this week.

To paint in broad generalizations, the folly of workers is a propensity to lose sight of the value of work, while the folly of the unemployed is to undervalue the gift of leisure. I hope I've steered clear of both extremes so far, but I also hope to become a much wiser worker in the near future. JAI HO!