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February 1, 2002 - Talking Bamboo in a Tofu World
Welcome to 2TheHeart!
"Everyone is unique. Compare not yourself with anyone else lest you spoil God's curriculum." ~Tov, Baal Shem
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I was really surprised when I read today's story the first time. My
husband is Asian-American, and the "Bamboo" concept was a new one to me. (Also unfair.) Taking this journey with Jon was an unforgettable experience and I am grateful to him for sharing it.
"Talking Bamboo in a Tofu World"
by Jon Tun
The "Issei's", the first generation Japanese in America, call
us "Bamboo", because we're supposedly tough on the outside, but
hollow (without substance) on the inside. Growing up as an Asian
American, I tried hard to overcome this perception by trying to have a broad understanding of my Chinese and Japanese roots. After having lived with my Japanese Grandparents for two years, taking Kendo, and studying intensive Japanese language, I felt fairly confident that I was prepared to go to Japan on assignment for work.
We traveled quite a bit to different cities in Japan; Kyoto, Osaka,
Sapporo, and Nara were quite impressive in their depth of culture and historic significance. But my favorite experience was the time I spent in a little village called Kusatsu. I was tired of the Western
style hotels that I was normally put up in and had decided to "totally immerse" myself by staying in the Japanese version of Bed-
And-Breakfast, called a "Ryokan". The woman that ran the inn, Tanaka-san, was very excited to see a "foreigner" staying with them; it became her pet project to teach me more Japanese and to practice her English. Her husband ran a sushi shop in the front of the inn, so I would hang out there, chitchatting, eating sushi, and watching sumo wrestling on the "telebi".
"Doko e kimashta ka?" (Where are you from?) She asked. I replied that I was from Chicago, that my mom was Japanese and my dad was Chinese. "Ahhh, Omoshiroi!" (Interesting!) she said. I replied "Asoko de, ikitain des ka?" (Would you like to go there?). She looked a bit hesitant as she pondered this a bit, and responded (in English) "I like watch Chicago Cubs but, anoooooo......" the words escaped her so she did a mime. First, she did a "shudder" and I took that to mean it was too cold in the winter. That was a given. Then she did something that surprised me; she made her fingers like a machine gun and make her best "rat-a-tat-tat" sound. "Al Capone - Vely dangerous!" she said. I laughed. I guess her whole perception of Chicago was from the Cubs ball games and old gangster movies that she saw in syndication on satellite. This was going to be a fun place to call home away from home.
One day I went with my Japanese boss to a reputable sword shop. Having lost my decorative sword previously (see "Death of a
Snowman"), I was looking for a good one to replace it. As it turned out, my manager was a black belt in Kendo and therefore knew where to take me to find a good blade at a good price. The artisan carefully packed the blade into its scabbard, and slipped it into a long, black leather carrying case. I was thrilled as I carried the blade back to the office. I wished my Kendo sensei could have seen the katana blade; I bet he would have liked it.
Nonchalantly cool, but with flair of bravado, I strode into the
office with my blade slung over my shoulder. Hushed whispers
reverberated around the office as those who knew what I was carrying spread the word that I was "packin' a fine piece of steel". My Japanese comrades patted me on the back as my boss extolled the details of our excursion and the blade we had chosen. Just then, someone I had not known came running up to me, excitedly jabbering in Japanese something or other. Not wishing to "look stupid", I grunted my acknowledgement, shook his hand, and saw him trot merrily back to his desk.
I looked around. The group I had been with had fallen suspiciously
silent. My boss broke the awkward silence and said "Umm, Tun-san - do you know what you agreed to do?" I had to confess that I did not. "You just agreed to spar with him after work today". "WHAT! Are you serious? I didn't mean it!" The group burst out laughing. OK, so I deserved that one for acting like I knew what the guy was talking about. I asked my boss to please intercede for me to see if I could graciously bow out of the "challenge". He did, and I saw the poor man's face turn a deep color of radish red in embarrassment. I never saw him for the rest of my trip. I felt badly for him and for myself;we had both "lost face".
On my way back to the ryokan, the innkeeper spotted me. "Tun-san, You OK? Suteki desho neh!" She was complimenting my sharp business suit, trying to cheer me up. Snazzy looking, but hollow "bamboo" I am, I thought to myself. I gave her a weary sigh and thanked her for the compliment as I headed back to my room. I looked at my Asian reflection in the mirror. Who was this Americanized guy fooling, trying to be Japanese? I slept restlessly the rest of the night on my tatami (bamboo mat) floor.
Things for the remainder of my trip turned out quite well, surprisingly. After having been the "comic relief" at the office, people were much more friendly and sociable with me. I guess they had seen me with my "hair down", so they were willing to open up as well. Maybe they just felt sorry for me. I got invited to my manager's home for dinner, did Elvis songs in the karaoke bar with some coworkers, and even got to bring a small enclave over for my farewell dinner. Tanaka-san and her friend provided the entertainment, and her husband supplied the delicious food. They did a tea ceremony, sang, danced, and played some traditional Japanese instruments for us. It was wonderful.
I have a personalized folding fan from Tanaka-san and a warm picture of all my Japanese "buddies" to remind me of this simple fact: letting my guard down broke the ice to a world of new experiences. The person inside my bamboo shell was what people really wanted to see.
Jon Tun copyright 2001
jwtun@tva.gov
Jonathan Tun is a third generation Asian American (Chinese and
Japanese descent). Besides enjoying writing, he is an avid exercise enthusiast and philanthropist, currently serving on the board of
directors for "Hope for Chattanooga" (a religious-based community
outreach organization). He is employed as a programmer/analyst for the Tennessee Valley Authority (T.V.A.) residing in Chattanooga, Tennessee with his wife and two children. His other stories, "Death of a Snowman", "Shoreline of Memories", "Take That Baby for a Ride" can be found in the 2theheart archives.
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The Letter Box:
Dear 2TheHeart family,
This is a first for me - writing to my own Letter Box! I thought this
a good place for this request. Most of you know Maxine Wright. She is a faithful and wonderful writer and friend to 2theheart. Maxine underwent surgery last summer to remove a brain tumor. Her recovery was expected to be simple. It is now six months and Maxine still can not swallow, talk, eat, and is sounding more and more depressed. When she wrote me this morning, she apologized for not having good news. It's been a long time since I've heard from Max and now I know why. I know she could really use some love and prayers and cheering up right now. If you would like her address, let me know. If you have it, please send some comfort her way. She's a strong lady, but this would be a challenge for anyone. Max needs some angels right now.
Blessings,
Susan Fahncke
editor@2theheart.com
2theheart,
WOW! Amanda has touched our heartstrings again. Sharing, what
I'm sure has happened to many and giving a flicker of hope to
those still waiting for their "reunion".
Thanks
Mark Crider
mark@cccoating.com
2theheart,
I was touched by Amanda Krug's story, "No Longer Strangers", which told of a healing that came between a father and daughter after divorce. I identified with this story, as my parents' divorce also caused a skew in my relationship with my father and his family. However, my story did not end quite as happily as Amanda's did. Even after my mother's death I continued to have a daily contact with my father, though it was strained. I remember really feeling led one day to say "I love you" to him, which was an unusual utterance between us. After I voiced the "I love you, Dad", I was dissapointed that he did not respond at all. My father died suddenly the next day and my dissapointment turned to joy because I I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God led me to say those words FOR MY SAKE and not only for his. I have no regrets that I voiced those words in a shy, hesitant, awkward way. God Bless Amanda for her heartwrenching stories that she shares so freely. She has endured a lot of pain and uses it to minister to others.
Cathy Haddad
chaddad@mediaone.net
2theheart,
What a touching story is 'no longer strangers' and how thankful I am for email which brings people together in such wonderful ways and gives us the opportunity to keep up when we can't find time to write or perhaps express ourselves as freely through letters. It's like talking isn't it?
Margaret Drysdale
2theheart,
I am so often moved to tears by Amanda Krug's writings. Her stories are so honest and her experiences with life teach and lend themselves to gratitude and growth. Thank you for this, another such wonderful story.
~Elisabeth Aikens
UK
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