Wherever I am I find myself dreaming of somewhere else. No surprise then that few songs stir up this soft-hearted homosexual like Bali Hai, probably the best number from the entire catalog of Rodgers and Hammerstein, certainly the only one worth a damn in all of “South Pacific”. A siren song of longing for a mystic island you can see but never reach.
Most people live on a lonely island
Lost in the middle of a foggy sea
Most people long for another island
One where they know they would like to be.
Bali Hai may call you
Any night any day
In your heart you’ll hear it call you
Come away, come away.
The temptation towards adventure – or at least escape – has been a constant theme of my life, certainly a more applicable one than “There’s Nothin’ Like a Dame”, if we’re sticking with South Pacific.
So I suppose it’s no surprise that finding myself in Japan I am again longing for somewhere else. Not home, exactly. I know what I left behind – noise namely: police sirens, ambulances, firetrucks, trash compactors, a four lane highway that slices through the heart of downtown, commuters who insist on playing music without headphones or facetiming at full volume at the next cafe table over. And I was feeling very contained, stuck in routine, yearning to break from comfort.
Then when I came to Japan a year ago I found a culture that appealed to certain prejudices of my own – a strong avoidance of waste, of awkwardness, and small talk. A preference for quiet, even in the midst of activity. In Tokyo, Shibuya is the busiest train station in the world, and at rush hour you could still have a whispered conversation.
Of course, being in the country presents things differently. It’s the distinction of vacationing someplace and seriously considering it as a contender for residency. On the first visit, everything was a marvel, even the mundane – convenience stores, queueing for the metro. On this visit, the luster has somewhat dimmed. That doesn’t mean I find myself repelled or disenchanted, but rather I am in the position of someone in a new relationship around the 3 month mark, when the excitement has worn off and you’re asking yourself if and how you want the affair to continue.
The answer to the “if” is easy. Yes. The “how” though, that one has me stuck. But then, it has barely been a week into what will be a two and a half month long visit. And I’ve always been resourceful. It’s partly why I chose the name I did. I’m always on the hunt for self-preservation. I know how to survive. I’m resilient. The thorny shrub you can never pluck out. I’m the turd that just won’t flush.
On that topic, during this time of flux and personal uncertainty, I’ve been reminded of the film ‘Perfect Days’, about a janitor in Tokyo, who spends his days cleaning toilets and listening to classic rock. Is it glamorous work? No. But does he find joy and meaning in the ritual of cleaning? Yes. And think about it. Who is more likely to have had an immediate, measurable, and positive impact on your day. Particularly in a time of urgent need. A hedge fund manager? Or custodian of a public toilet?
That aspect of positive, immediate impact is definitely something I’ve truly enjoyed about being a mender. I would much rather have a position where I feel both useful to and appreciated by those around me than one where my absence goes by unnoticed. But I haven’t found that notch yet in Japan. I might not on this trip. But if I return here for residency, as I hope to, then this is something I very much wish to find.
And here we have the tension between appreciating what I have, and a constant yearn for what I don’t. At home, I have routine, community, and purpose, and I desired to get away. Here I have a new setting, new people, new experiences, but I don’t feel all that useful. Perhaps this comes with time, of which there is still plenty. But then, perhaps it never will. (“Bali Haaaaaaaaaiiii”)
Meanwhile, my jacket has been much remarked upon here. It’s the writing at the top that brings in the comments. But here’s the origin: I found it a bit more than a year ago abandoned on a sidewalk in Berkeley. Just a plain denim jacket with nothing particularly wrong with it aside from a rip at the shoulder, which I patched with some sashiko, some scrap denim, and a bit of quilting cotton. Then I covered the back with a patchwork of remnants from a shop that makes Aloha shirts. The navy boy and Japanese advertising were sent to me by a friend who knows I enjoy appliqué. The combination of the jacket, the sailor, the tinned goods, and the palm trees suggested a South Pacific theme. And so I asked a friend here in Osaka to translate a word into katakana that I could then embroider above the display. Something of mystery and longing. A desire for what one can never quite have.
And if you’ve gotten this far, you know what it says. Even if you don’t read Japanese.
“Come away, come away…”