First email from Japan, August 2001

Subj: All about the ichi-mons, baby: Japan #1
8/30/01

A thousand hello's, my friends
This Saturday will mark four weeks since I stepped on a plane with the eventual destination being Tokyo, and soon thereafter, Kumamoto City. I want to share so much of what has　happened, but rather than begin right away with different anecdotes and stories of my first month here, I thought that a good initial message to all of you, not to mention an appropriate first email from Japan, would be the thoughts I recorded on my first 15 minutes in this city, my home for the next year at least. I recently typed this out, and I got so fired up reading it that I knew it had to be the first. So enjoy this one, and soon I will send tangible, chronological, and amusing entertainment from the first few weeks.

Just to introduce this, on Aug. 4 I flew out of Kansas City, MO, after a brief orientation　with more than 50 Americans from the Midwest, through Minneapolis, where we connected with the Canadians and more North Americans, and flew to Tokyo, where a 1500-person orientation took place over 3 days, at which point we departed to our respective cities. (JET= Japanese Exchange and Teaching Program)

Wed. 8/8/01 10:34 p.m. Japan Time Kumamoto CityI could write a book a book right now. I almost feel bad because of the amount of thoughts and feelings that have come and gone in the last three days, I don't think I could come close to retaining them all.



While it's fresh, let's start with today. Woke up, in Tokyo, packed, and went to the Kumamoto-JET meeting place. Lots of nervous energy was tangible, but a suit-guy held up a Kumamoto City Sign, for the group of 30 of us to follow. I looked at this girl Erin, and didn't smile right away, but involuntarily breathed in complete with a　cheek-expanding exhale, raised eyebrows and wide eyes. WE sort of both did that; I don't even know this girl, but that moment epitomized the emotions racing through every one of us. THEN THE ARRIVAL.



We rode a bus 40 minutes to the Tokyo airport, then flew 2 hours to Kumamoto City (henceforth referred to in journals as K.C., for convenience as well as appropriate similarity to my last city of residence, Kansas City, K.C.). This is where I want to describe things perfectly and not miss one detail. At this point, getting off the plane, I know I've got a homestay, i.e., a host family will be taking care of me for 3 or 4 days, but I don't know anything about them or my school or my city for that matter. So I'm just expecting someone to have a sign that says JOE FINGERHUT COME THIS WAY. We descend to the baggage area, and it's not too different from anywhere else;　a big group eyeing the conveyor belt. Then I look towards the glass walls enclosing the area: Dozens of Japanese people pressed against the glass, 10 or 12 deep, with equal looks confused and excited. I saw the signs: Welcome to Kumamoto Mr. Patrick Nowlin (my roommate in Tokyo), Welcome Kelly Oliver, and on and on.



Suddenly, the endeavor that began with an internet search in November had become reality: I was here. My life for the next year, or whatever, was about to begin. NO more 1,500 JETs at a Tokyo hotel. No more America. I wanted to shrink into nothing and disappear. I wanted to get back on the plane. The luggage belt was on the side of the room, and we took our luggage to the other side. I was going back and forth, but I kept wandering behind the "Wall" of JETs and luggage. I literally wanted to go sit in the corner and cry; I felt like I was on the brink of tears at least 4 times over the course of a few minutes in anticipation of the next step. EVERYONE, or at least most of us were freaked out.



I remember in Europe, what I described as the "Moment of goodbye." This is a moment that defined itself over and over as I skipped from city to city every 4 or 5 days after establishing certain patterns even in that short of time. The emotion created surfaced when I got on a train to leave Paris after 10 days of developing a group of friends in a new strange place; the feeling of standing alone in the city square in Strasbourg, France, watching my cousin David drive away, and the car with which we had explored CentralEurope in luxury for the last 2 weeks disappear down the street. That utter break with comfortability. That knowledge that the tight rope does not necessarily have a net underneath. That adrenalized moment that says, "You chose this. You'e been telling yourself and anyone who would listen about this for a year. Here it is. Life is happening." I sought out my new friend Kelly Oliver, said, "Would you give me a hug?" and we squeezed each other.



We all walked to our bags, and tried to find our people with our eyes. Patrick saw his people, and they all eagerly waved. A Japanese man wildly shook his WELCOME sign at a JET, and once eye contact, was made, he continued to point wildly with even more enthusiasm.



I didn't see a sign for me, and thought, "What if there isn't one?" then "What if there is?" So I backed up, sucked in some air, and rolled my huge new bag, my handy rolling backpack, and my strapped-on backpack out the baggage the claim exit. After about a minute, a group of English-speaking people my age and a few Japanese folks called out, “Joseph! Joseph!” and I heard an English-accented voice say, "He changed his hair!" I laughed and immediately thought of Mom shaking her head at the bleached look. I looked up at the banner they held, and it bore photographs of all of the heads of the new JETs in my school district office, connected to cartoon bodies. My smiling face on the photo reminded me that a month ago, I had longer, darker hair, and a secure place in the country I had grown up in. I snapped a photo of the banner, told them all thanks for being my family, and relaxed. Here were people. And where there are people, love and smiles will guide your way. I met my host-family, co-workers, and supervisors, and followed Kiraku Muragama(?), my new host-mother, to her brother's car, to be driven to my host families' home.

More, much more later. I could write all night.
More soon
Josefu