Hearts Are Bursting

Three weeks have passed since the earthquake/tsunami, and it still seems too early to write about “what happened.” Everyone knows what happened, and it was hard to believe I could add anything more. What changed my mind was a beautiful fundraiser I found one hopeful day, by a community of compassionate souls who combined their hearts, brains, and resources to help victims of a disaster thousands of miles away.

I wrote to thank LaVonne for putting together such a generous gift of the heart, and she wrote to thank me back. Encouraged by the movement and so many beautiful souls, I slowly began to type.

Japan as I see it, now. – Yuki Murai, Tokyo

My heart is raw.

If one is awakened to life when faced with sorrow, death, and pain, every person in the country in which I write this, stands wide awake.

I, like so many here in Japan and around the world, sat clutching my chair on what had been a peaceful Friday afternoon, watching in horror as the tsunami washed away entire cities, pursuing cars as they tried to make panicked u-turns, engulfing houses and schools, tossing ships onto 5-story buildings. Live NHK cameras quickly panned away from any moving figures, but the visuals are etched clearly in my mind.

If Japan had been asleep before (as I often thought it was), a highly advanced but emotionally stagnant society, it is fully alive, and aching now. And I feel each pulse.

I thought I knew this culture inside and out. I was born in Tokyo, raised by first-generation Japanese parents in Los Angeles, speak the language fluently, and live now with my Japanese partner in Japan. I’ve worked for the past ten years with Japanese children and teenagers in education and the arts. The fears, pressures, joys and angst of growing up in a tight-knit society like this one, the unspoken rules, the intricacies of this delicate culture were like second nature to me.

How little I knew.

Since news of the earthquake/tsunami broke, the Japanese have been portrayed by the international media as resilient, composed and polite, all of which is true:

A woman rescued from under the rubble tells her rescuers, “Don’t mind me, please go rescue others.” A pregnant woman in labor tells a nurse, “So sorry to take up your time when there are people who need you more.”

An elderly man rescued from the second story of his home after days without electricity, food or water, only to walk downstairs and see his entire town had disappeared under the rubble, says with a smile, “Survived worse. We’ll just have to rebuild.”

The media (both Japanese and international) may be hungry for more drama to heat up their newscasts. They may want tears, anger, sadness, and exclamation marks. They are continually disappointed.

And with each reaction I see from the Japanese, I am floored. Shocked. Moved, no doubt. Ashamed, even – for what, I don’t know. I had questions like, “Why are you so calm?” and, “How are you holding yourself together?”

I quickly realized I was the one who needed to get real.

See, the Japanese generally do not ask for help. Not because they don’t need it or they think they’re above it, or even that they are shy. They generally don’t ask for help because much of the time, others will sense their need and are there to help, without the exchange of words. Why does Japan offer such amazing service in restaurants, hotels, and the local bakery? There’s your answer.

Because Japan is a small country, the culture’s history is based on cooperation, looking after the neighbors, thinking of others before self. Communication is oftentimes unspoken, and the senses rather than words or facial expressions, will tell them what the other person needs. This makes Japan a true puzzle for the gaijin, or foreigner, and I’ve been frustrated to bits and pieces on more than one occasion.

But the Japanese are human too. In times of such devastation, with no water or showers for weeks, no food (where there is some, they will share), people’s nerves are rattling, emotions are like glass, ready to shatter at any moment. There are arguments, resentment, blame, and other naturally human emotions that arise like flames until extinguished, either internally or with the help of a neighbor.

Immediately following the quake and tsunami, Twitter was flooded with desperate cries for help, about the elderly freezing to death in sub-zero temperatures, babies losing consciousness, mothers unable to breastfeed from the shock, ambulances running out of fuel, hospitals with no running water. I was both glued to my iPhone and unable to read the tweets.

A nation of people who do not openly and vocally ask for help, were screaming in ways I had never seen or heard. I began to see what my novice eyes didn’t notice before.

And I am finally now, looking deeper within, both at a nation I was asleep to before, and at myself. While the Japanese are weeping inside, they are grappling with the notion that this is a part of life. Still, the “calm” is threatened with each wave of bad news that streams daily into our lives.

Right now, what is helping those directly affected – who are also the strongest of us – is financial support for food, water, gasoline, medicine, diapers, and other basic necessities, along with large doses of generosity, and human connection.

Love.

There is genuine surprise amongst the Japanese, towards the people around the world who have extended their hands and hearts, and I know already they are thinking of how they might give back.

The Japanese may not say it aloud, but their hearts are bursting.

They are alive. We all are.

Just, thank you.

My cultural identity-challenged background has led me to a 10-year journey of Japan, as Translator, English Instructor, Director of a Japanese performing arts school, and writer/director of a weekly documentary program on Japanese television.  Having spent the past 10 years speaking only Japanese, writing in English has become a somewhat awkward endeavor, but I’m hoping to find that voice again and start an English-language blog in April.  Until then, you can find me on Twitter @yuki_murai.