Empress. Empress?

Who knew that the punch-perm dictator (now suffering a major health problem?) on the Korean peninsula had a beloved, younger sister. I didn't.

On the evening news today was a face of a woman whom I have never seen in the media. The woman's name is Kim Kyong-hui - Jong-il's younger sister and one remaining 'family' (besides his three sons). Apparently she spent most of her life dearly loved and cared for by her brother. But the mere and sudden appearance of this woman was not what caught my attention. Rather, it was the headline, which read: "Empress of North Korea?"

As Jong-il's artery surgery last month indicates, the dictator is allegedly suffering from major health problems. It's understandable - at the very least, explicable - considering his obvious obesity, especially in contrast to the bodily form of the rest of his country's population. In the last few months the Asian media have concentrated on reports of Jong-il's oldest son living in Macau, of one of his sons being 'bred' as a possible successor, and most recently, of North Korea denying any negative effect of Japan's economic sanctions on its own economy and well-being. But of course, the key focus has revolved around speculations regarding Jong-il's successor. Tonight's evening news presented a suggestion very different from those of the past: that, Jong'il's sister has been seriously considered as the next ruler of North Korea.

After years of complicated political drama (basically Jong-il configuring and reconfiguring his most trusted arms), Jong-il's sister, Kyong-hui and her husband, Jang Song-taek now stand in positions closest to the current dictator. According to North Korean journalists and former politicians at the upper-echelons of North Korean governance (who abdicated and now reside in various first-world nations), Kyong-hui's words have recently come to carry the same weight and power as those of Jong-il's himself, for all intents and purposes. Her husband, Song-taek, is an economist by trade and can be found at the core of North Korea's fiscal policies as well as its administration. He stands close to his wife as her first and foremost advisor. The interviewee on the evening news - a former member of the so-called 'royal family' - commented on this newest suggestion, "This is no speculation."

So, the country whose human rights standards are far below reasonable, whose majority of its population is dying of starvation, whose economy is barely riding on trickling aid, and whose response to multilateral negotiations in this past year has been abhorrent, skips all stages of any 'standard' developmental path and is now thinking of installing an empress? I mean, not to say that a country has to follow some sort of predetermined path of development and political advancement in order to have a female leader, but France just failed to install its first female prime minister, Japan freaks out at the thought of having a female 'empress' (despite the empty figurehead she would become anyway), the United States might have its first female president in the next election (but is still quite doubtful), and the best thing Canada could come up with is a female politician who decided to switch parties (all the way across the political spectrum) before a major election (besides PM Kim Campbell in 1993). European countries are probably faring a bit better in that department, and a lot of South Asian countries are faring a lot better, but the world has still a far ways to go in 'normalizing' female global leaders. And North Korea to spearhead that? Hmm.
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Mount Fuji

Even before I stepped onto the trail, I thought I couldn't do it. Let's just put it that way.

But here we were, Michelle and I, driving towards the oft-imagined icon of Japan.

Unfortunately, there were clouds that covered the top little bit of Fuji; this would remain the case while we hiked it. It took a while, actually, for us to find where the trail started. A colleague had given us some directions, and while we arrived at the foot of Fuji at around 7:15am, we spent the next half an hour trying to find the head of the trail. We finally gave up the given directions and decided that we "just get to Fuji!" So here we were (to the right) wandering in the greens. And we even had a treat - two deer were walking on the road up to 5th station (and I didn't grab my camera fast enough).

From 5th station we hiked up to 6th, and this was where our 'real' trek began. With all this snow, we should've known what would be waiting for us 4.5... rather, 5.5 hours later.. At this point Michelle (and I) were both grinning at the great weather and the outdoors! We were unawares as to what we had actually gotten ourselves into! Yes, we underestimated Fuji-san.








> View from 7th.
Well, the hike from 6th to 7th (and not to mention the hike down) was something to remember. The path was packed with small pieces of lava rock. This meant you had to dig into the ground with your feet so you could get enough grip to push yourself up. This went on for about 1.5 hours, until we finally reached the 7th station, and subsequently explained my sore thighs.

The clouds around us were moving so quickly. It would be sunny one moment and dark and grey the next. These, we realized, were the clouds that we saw from the car, covering the tip of Fuji. So peaceful it looked from afar! Gushes of wind would threaten to blow us off the trail, and then in the next instant would be a great, enduring silence. No other tourist, mountain/nature lover, or women, for that matter, was on trail with us.

> Station 8.

What we started to realize - but not yet to its full extent - was that each 'station' spanned across 50m in altitude. A lot of switchbacks and a fair amount of disappointment took place after one station, and until we would arrive at the next. When we reached the 'real' Station 8, Michelle checked her watch and oh my! It was already half past noon. The last two hours spent between Station 7 and 8 had literally flown by. We also saw how high we actually were - we were above most of the clouds! I popped a dosage of Advil at this point, just to make sure I wouldn't start dying of altitude sickness:

> View from one of the Station 8's.

> The gusty wind and clouds blowing upwards, downwards, to our right.

The hike between 7 and 8 was probably the worst and the most demoralizing. The temperature began to drop, we started to feel the effects of altitude on our breathing patterns, and the cherry-on-top was the huge amount of snow that had not melted, leaving a good 3ft of icy, season-old snow for us to trample through. Needless to say, our socks were getting a little damp by this point, and the most agonizing part of it all was that some parts of the trail we couldn't even locate! As far as we knew, we were the only ones on this volcano at the time, and we didn't want to be stupid by risking our lives climbing it under poor conditions. But, we trudged on.

>Somewhere between Station 8 and 9.

I eventually lost count of how many pseudo-Station 9's (actually different sections of Station 8) we had come across. The climb was getting steep, and that the snow had eased a bit was our only savior. The occasional glimpse of where exactly we stood on the mountain gave us a mental umph to keep going. Again, the clouds whipped pass us, teasing us with the sun and the bright blue sky they would reveal in snapshots. In any case, Michelle and I definitely looked at each other in exhaustion when we saw that the final set of mountain cabins were labeled "Station 8.5."

Despite all this, the view was great when we could see it! We were all smiles again when our bodies had finished acclimatizing, and we started to feel a lot better. However, we bumped into an old man - we guesstimated his age to be between 70 and 80! - who was obviously decked out and prepared for the climb, and had hiked Fuji several times before. We asked him if he reached the summit, and he replied, "No, I came down after reaching Station 9 - there's way too much snow to get up to the summit right now. Maybe the snow will melt in a few weeks." After having left Station 8.5 (which was not followed by a Station 8.6, but rather, 9) and considering that we had hiked for 4.5 hours, and reconsidering the near-80 year-old man's advice, we decided to stop at Station 9 and start our descent. We took a last look at the summit, which you can see below, just past the torii gate:

It may look like the summit is only another 15 min away in this picture, but it is deceiving. That last little hike from Station 9 to the summit, apparently, would have taken another 1.5 hours... which we're really glad we didn't do.

Our descent, by the way, was a whole 'nother story! I truly realized how much we had climbed - a total of about 1400m in altitude - when we started descending, and descending, and descending... and the trail wouldn't hit Station 6. It took us 4.5 hours up, and a good 2 hours to come back down. Of course, as all hikes often are, the descent was far worse than the climb. I was, despite my initial concerns, quite well and un-fatigued by the end of the climb, but was definitely ready to go home (and was getting slightly cranky) by the end of the hike down.

A Japanese lady of whom we estimated to be 60+ years-old passed us on our way down, complimenting us for how far up we had gone. When we reached Station 6, she was sitting there, taking a rest.. but not just a regular rest: a cigarette rest. Then, her husband came to pick her up in their car. 3 American boys that passed us on our way up - and had made it to the summit, drenched and near-frozen - passed us on our way down, and asked, "Oh, you guys are still making it back down?" Michelle and I just looked at each other and rolled our eyes. Then there was the Belgian man, who we later found out had biked all the way up to Station 5, hiked all the way up to Station 9 and down, and biked home, back down from Station 5. There are some crazy people out there! But all in all, it was a fantabulous experience, totally fun to do, although I don't reckon I would do it again! Off to bed I go!!
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Touched.

These past couple of weeks have been full of parties, at which I think I've said 'good-bye' a bazillion times to the same people. It made the last ones, which took place on the last day of school (15th), that much harder to say.

The ultimate party took place on Thursday night, at a very nice Chinese establishment in Kichijoji. Food was great, the wine (and other alcoholic beverages) flowed continuously, pictures were taken, history was reflected upon, and it was followed by a karaoke party that was also quite entertaining. The culminating moment for me, however, was when one of the teachers came up to me, pulled me aside, and told me she had something to ask me. I slid next to her in wonder of what she might have to ask that would require a semi-private conversation.

She started by saying how her and her husband were thinking of adopting a female baby in the coming months. This introduction left me confused, but only briefly, as she quickly divulged her point: "We wanted to see if it was alright with you that we give her your name. I mean, if she's young enough."

While I good-naturedly asked a few questions about the adoption process, my mind was completely blank. I was shocked - life having been what it was for the past few months - that anyone would even think about giving my name to another life. I mean, what's in a name, really? Nothing all that much, so I don't mean to make a big deal of this. Yet, while I fail to remember exactly her words, and can only recall how I had felt in the moment, her reasons were rather flattering and I was actually quite overjoyed, and genuinely touched. The request had taken me by a great surprise.

I guess she (the baby) will have to suffer the life-long bastardization of her name, and will have to repeatedly coach strangers how to pronounce her name, and to find creative ways to get them to remember her name. Oh well. At least she won't be the only one.
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Sea Art

I forgot about this. Algae press from Izu.
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Reconfigured and finalized, finally.

My summer 2007 trip plan: 3 continents, 4 countries, 14 cities.
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Lack of foresight..

I should've seen this coming a long whiles back. What was I thinking? Talk about ignoring foreshadowings.

What I realized: These final weeks in Japan are all about saying good-bye.

Today was high school graduation. This means good-bye to seniors, some of whom I really got to know, and who truly made my year here worthwhile.
Next week is the final week of school. This means good-bye to all the people that I've worked with this year.
Next month is my final month in Japan, at least for a while. This means good-bye to my family, my parents, and those few friends who are staying here. Who knows when I'll be coming back here next.

I'm so sick of leaving. I tried so hard to think about the 'going' part of my August departure, and not look at the 'leaving' part. So stupid.
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Irony

On the final day of their entire secondary schooling career, on which all the 12th grade students here have their final exams, the train is late. Two seniors came in (actually pretty relaxed) about 20 minutes late into the classroom. The principal had walked in about half a minute before them, and gave a sympathetic laugh as the two rushed in. One of the kids presented to me a blue slip noted, "Tardy Admit," with a white paper that looked much like the following stapled onto the corner:
The principal took a long look at the blue slip and its white attachment, and asked, "What's that? A receipt for a cab?" I explained to him that this was a ticket that train companies would print when their trains are late on a given day at a given time. The n-thousand people that are thus affected by the delayed train are, upon submission of this small 'proof' to their respective companies, excused for their tardiness. According to the principal, this is also a Japanese phenomenon unseen anywhere else in the world. This makes sense. No other country in the world (that I've been to or heard of) is as obsessed with running transportation systems consistenly on time as Japan, to the point where they feel that they must put their apology on paper and distribute it in times of delay.

Living with such a transportation system, however, spoils you. I remember my first weeks in Vancouver when none of the buses seem to appear on time. In fact, it took me a while to figure out that there even existed a schedule; as far as I was concerned there wasn't one that the drivers cared to adhere by. As months passed I realized that Japan's transportation system, in the greater scheme of things (called, the world), is a total anomaly. In fact, my return to Japan after four years abroad revealed to me that, as some of my previous entries have attempted to show, Japan is an anomaly in every sense of the word. It's interesting (and tiresome to adapt to, actually) what seeing other countries does to our world views. I can't even imagine what I'm going to think after my upcoming years in London.

To be honest, I have mixed feelings about the upcoming move. Don't get me wrong - the prospect of going and living in Europe is exciting; it's something I've always wanted to do. I get to fly to continental Europe anytime for a pretty cheap price, and I can't wait to hit up Italy and Germany again. And it's not even that I'm worried about being able to adapt to the city - I've done it too many times before. It's just that the moves are getting tiring. I've been in one city for no more than 5 consecutive years, and while 5 years may seem like a long time, it's actually really not, considering that I can't set my roots in too deeply during them. I uprooted myself from Hawaii (you know I used to speak fluent Hawaiian? crazy thought.), from Tokyo, from Florence, from Vancouver, and from Tokyo again, and now I'm moving somewhere from which I'm going to uproot myself, sooner or later. Traveling is awesome, in every which way possible. But it's also very tiring and it drains me mentally and emotionally. But, what can you do. I suppose some people would love to live the way I do.
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New pack!

I noticed my lack of a regular-sized backpack a few weeks ago when I was getting ready to go to Izu. I know why. I rid myself of all backpack-looking objects after 10+ years of perpetually and unwillingly using a backpack for school. So, I got a new pack from the beloved MEC of Canada. Sweet.
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New look?

So, I decided that the dots thing was a bit too tacky for my liking, and spent all day figuring out what this blog should look like. I even spent a couple hours on Illustrator to see if I can come up with anything artistic enough to be appealing.. but alas, no, so I reverted to a picture of thorns, and reduced the dots. Meh.
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Japanese Obsessions

With masculinity. Yes, masculinity.

So we had what, Men's pocky, Men's pudding... now we present to you: Men's Tofu.














So ridiculous and yet, hilarious.
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Leaving... again.

Which means, I'm packing, again. Except this time I am leaving the final remains of my mini-library. After having parted with over 100 books last summer, this is an all too easy separation. The Republic and Leviathan, and all my Foucaults will be left behind in this bland apartment. I kept 5 books: my Italo-English dictionary, Oxford English dictionary, the novel Q in the original Italian, my UBC Institute of European Studies publication, and Michel de Montaigne's Complete Essays. Besides that, my boxes dominantly contain clothes and the occasional shoe.

I filled out just over 20 pages of paperwork for shipping four boxes to London. After being asked "Do your shipments contain the following types of food?" about 5 times per page, I got the point that I was not to ship any food, which sucks. I was also already hesitant in packing for London - I seriously pondered whether I really wanted to go to this widely loved yet fatally expensive city - so this extensive writing process just made it that much more arduous and painful. Thank god I had tea - it solves everything.

So much thinking about what to and not to pack, so much writing, so much cleaning up. This left me with a slight appetite, so I cooked some dinner for the first time in who knows how long. But I realized today that I don't like the regular kind of spaghetti; it's too thick. So I tried adding a little bit of vermicelli pasta with the regular kind, which was a bad idea. The vermicelli overcooked. And once I started eating I realized that I don't like overcooked pasta, either. The better of the two evils? Hmm, that makes too much sense.
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