Michiyo brought me to the top of Mt. Kinpo, the mountain that overlooks Kumamoto City, at some point in the last two years. The view is fantastic, with Nagasaki visible on one side and Kumamoto City at the bottom of the other. The romantic atmosphere helps explain the dozens of padlocks attached to the railings on the metal lookout that rises several meters off the ground. At that time, Michiyo told me that couples came up there and put the locks on, which immediately made me roll my eyes. The thought of a teenage couple putting a padlock on something as a symbol of their relationship ranks right up there with tattooing a teenage love interest on your arm, or some other act of permanence for what probably will amount to a passing fancy. I did however, form an idea at that moment that such a gesture would be appropriate for an occasion such as a marriage proposal. At the time, I did not think Michiyo would be the recipient of such a proposal, but then again, you never know what the future will bring. My future brought me Michiyo at the same spot a year or so later, hearing me ask her to marry me.
I told Michiyo to pick me up from my Japanese class at 9:30 p.m., with instructions to bring some nice driving music to which she could relax. I hopped in, took the wheel, and tied a blindfold around her head. Surprised, she asked where we were going, but I told her it would be about 20 minutes, so she should just press play, lie back, and relax. As the car wound around the rising hills of the mountain, I figured that she would know where we were headed; there are few places in Kumamoto you can drive continually uphill, but the mysterious destination was never the point. Once we got to the top, I told her to wait a few more minutes, and I then ran from the parking area to the lookout tower with the padlocks on it.
During the afternoon that day, I had picked up two boxes made to hold rings, and a lock that would be for us. I wanted one that would stick out among the numerous, identical, boring locks all ready hanging up there, so I chose a big, gaudy, pink bike lock with two round keys. With permanent marker, I wrote our names in Japanese and English, drew a heart around them, and wrote the date, June 28, 2004, in Japanese. I brought it to the top of the mountain that night, and while Michiyo sat blindfolded for a few more minutes, I ran up and attached it to the railing directly in front of the lone bench facing the city in which Michiyo grew up, and which I have enjoyed for the last three years. I then walked back to the car, going over what I would say in maybe just a few minutes.
On that beautiful night, in such a perfect spot, those few minutes turned into roughly an hour, because plenty of other people were enjoying the atmosphere, and I insisted on having the moment to ourselves. At long last, we climbed the steps of the tower, looked out over the city, and I told Michiyo, “I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to see the world with you. I want to have a family with you. I want to come back to Kumamoto with you and see ‘our home,’ and I want to go back to America with you and see ‘our home.’ ” Then I put one knee on the ground, took her hand as her eyes slowly filled with tears, and said, “Boku to keikonshite kudasai.” She said, “Hai, Mo chi ron.”
Would you please marry me?
Yes, of course.
I handed her a box, and when she opened it and saw the round key, she looked up in confusion. I told her she had to find our lock on the railings and bring it to me. Michiyo then took about five full, agonizing minutes on a task that I had envisioned in my mind would poetically be completed in a few seconds, but that is what makes Michiyo who she is. She finally discovered that the key she was holding fit into the only huge, horseshoe-shaped, obnoxious, pink bike lock on the whole mountain, and brought it to me. I told her that now that she had yes, if she fully accepted me and our future together, she would re-attach the lock in its permanent place, I would take the other key from my pocket, and we would throw them down the mountain together. She slipped the lock on, we tossed the keys, and I gave her the other box with a ring inside. She stared at it, sobbed a little bit, and told me that she had never worn any of her other rings before on the ring finger, because she was waiting for the right one.
I said thank you, and Michiyo said Domo Arigatou. And in reference to the pneumonic device that helps you remember the Japanese word for "You Are Welcome," because it sounds similar, I said, “Don't touch my mustache.” Michiyo laughed, put her hand on my mouth, and said, “I will touch my mustache.” (The hilarity of that final exchange was one of those had-to-be-there type of memories, but if you read that one or two more times, you might see how funny it is)
So there you have it, as if you were at a date movie watching a romantic comedy. I wanted the whole thing to be equal parts cheesy, romantic, and memorable, but most of all I wanted it to be a good story, because that night was the only time I would be doing this.
Finally, here are a few odds and ends about Michiyo and I that might be best disclosed to everyone at once, though I know I will probably answer these questions again many times over. Her parents were born in the Nagasaki countryside, and lived through the incredible years of World War II, the atom bombs, and the evolution of Japan into the powerful nation of today. They are both retired, and I love spending time with them and achieving some level of communication through Japanese, English, and some good Japanese food and beer. Michiyo spent two years in Oregon a few years ago studying and working, plus she has been to a few countries in Asia and Europe. Her English is not perfect, though you will not find many Japanese with better English ability. My Japanese is not perfect, and you will find countless Westerners with better Japanese ability. But Michiyo and I have few language difficulties dealing with each other as well as native speakers of the opposite language, and we have a long time to continue to improve at both. She has been working at an English-language preschool here for students who are Japanese, non-Japanese, and children of mixed backgrounds; she has a degree of some sort in early childhood education which she earned in Oregon, and she wants to do something related to that once we get going in America. She is extraordinary with kids, whether at a party or in a classroom. She likes people, she likes to travel, she likes to learn, and she likes to laugh. Michiyo is beautiful, but for so many of these reasons and more, I am in love with her heart and who she is. I could go on and on, but maybe I will save that interesting stuff for the times when you can meet her and see her for yourself.
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