Last June, Erik and I traveled to Seoul, South Korea. Coming back to the United States, we had a layover in Narita, Japan. Sadly we did not have enough time to leave the airport, and a part of me was quite sad. I was born in Yokosuka, Japan, in nineteen hundred and sixty two, in the Year of the Cat. Some lost part of me wanted so badly to step outside that airport, and just take a huge breath. Feel the soil beneath my feet. Maybe to feel like I had come home.
Home is a strange word. It can mean so very many different things. The house you grew up in, the faces of your children, and the arms that hold you when you return from a far away place. I have seen people yearn for home in the past. Where parents are still with you and maybe life was a bit more gilded. And it is all of those things to me, in increments.
There are concrete things that I know about myself. I am short, brown haired, brown eyed, and blood type A negative. I am agnostic, emphatic, and I am in love with a man named Erik. But there are so many things I do not know. I have been blessed enough to travel and see so many far away places. And some of those places, I have stood in and thought, this feels like home to me.
Last February, I went back to Seoul. I finally got the opportunity to hold my new grandson, Alexander Michael. And yes, he is a part of my "home". When you hold a child or a grandchild, you get to see all of it. Your parents, grandparents, siblings, and those who belong to others, who are now part of your life. I hope that some small part of him will remember me coming to see him, a distant memory that his adult self will feel. I also hope that he will make his way back to Seoul. Created and born there, he can take that breath of air, and feel that ground beneath his feet.
On my flight back to the US, I stayed in Narita for 24 hours. Yes, I got out of the airport this time, and decided to take the opportunity that presented itself to me. Locked up my large luggage, and caught the train from the airport. Trekked the "10 minutes" that the hotel website assured me it would take, and tried my best to conquer this huge language barrier.
The next morning I headed out by 8:00 am. Determined to see all I could in a short span of time. I walked down the Omotesando Road, in Narita. Walked past shuttered buildings, finding my way. I found the Temple at the bottom of this winding road, with the sun lighting the grounds. Up too many steps to count, back down through the woods. Ponds, paths, and everywhere just the most serene spaces. I came upon another temple with a kettle out front, burning incense. Flotsam. There it was. The smell of sandalwood and patchouli. A smell I have been drawn to for as long as I can remember. I have several friends who abhor the smell of it. One is catholic. She says it reminds her of church, of death. Maybe a memory from when I was young? Not so much. We attended church sporadically and never a Catholic Church. All I can tell you is that it was spiritual.
Outside a temple, there was a wooden rack with pieces of paper tied around it. They are called O-mikuji. Flotsam again. The o-mikuji predicts the person's chances of his or her hopes coming true, of finding a good match, or generally matters of health, fortune, life, etc. When the prediction is bad, it is a custom to fold up the strip of paper and attach it to a pine tree or a wall of metal wires alongside other bad fortunes in the temple or shrine grounds. In the event of the fortune being good, the bearer has two options, he or she can also tie it to the tree or wires so that the fortune has a greater effect, or they can keep it for luck. Strangely I have done this with a tree in my yard. It is covered with well wishes, and thoughts for good. Again, maybe a memory rearing it's head, but I cannot recall ever seeing one.
In my basement, is a Army footlocker with my Father's name. Inside is a plethora of ephemera from our residence in Yokosuka. Not my memories. They belong to Dottie and Jim, my parents. My parents took advantage of the opportunity to discover Japan, with trips to Temples, Sumo Wrestling, and day excursions. The pictures of them in their travels, were all before I was born, and none of them show my Mother obviously pregnant. I am sure that all I saw in Japan was the house on the Base Installation. My passport picture shows a baby girl, approximately 4-5 months old, too young to have harbored any memories of what I was feeling in Narita.
Do I carry flotsam from a time when I was not Lori? There is no way to say for sure. I sat by the pond at the Temple, and contemplated all of it. I felt a calming presence, and I spoke aloud to my Mother and Father, and thanked them for all that they gave to me, starting with my life. I like to think that they were there with me. My Mother laughing at me for returning to Japan, and my Father encouraging me to see more than what my eyes present to me. Yes. Flotsam.
