Callused, but not Callous

A number of weeks ago, I noticed a callus on the palm of my hand, below my pinky finger. I hadn't been doing a lot of undue exercise or hanging off of bars or cleaning my house, so I wondered what it was from. It was strange since it was only on my right hand, not on my left. Several weeks later, I was riding my bike home from work and I realized what caused it. It was from holding onto my bike's handlebars. The reason it was only on my right was because I hold the right handlebar differently, in order to hover over the front brake lever.

Such a tiny thing, why even bring it up? Because in this tiny piece of hardened skin, is my life in Japan. It is something that has developed over days, weeks, months of riding that bike: to school, to the station, to the supermarket. It only exists because I've spent the last 2 and half years here.

Last night, while I stopped at McDonald's (yes, I know, it's horrible) for a quick snack, the theme song of Rent was playing inside MegaMart. One verse goes, “525, 600 minutes- how do you measure, measure a year?” I thought about that, and thought of my callus.

Time: seconds, minutes, years, these are all abstract concepts. Terms that we apply to describe the passing of time. But isn't my callus more of a testament to the seasons than all the terminology we toss about? It represents a physical change in me, something that at least attests to the greater mental and emotional change wrought in myself after spending so long out of the states, away from home. Long enough that I've created another.

Part of my captivation with this callus is that I'm on the verge of going back to that previous home, yet again. It will be the fourth time I've returned, my third Christmas...in Seattle. I hesitated for a minute there because I wanted to say, my third Christmas abroad, but then I realized, Japan is the 'abroad' and that Seattle, America, is supposed to be my home. Is it any longer? I don't feel like it is. I'm excited to go, to see my family, my friends, but I view it as a place I'm going to for 'vacation', not a place that I live anymore.

Yesterday I chatted with my friend Ray on gmail and recommended a Japanese movie that I thought he might like. Pin showed it to me and joked that the title sounded more appropriate for a porno than an anime, “Byosoku go senchimetoru” or 5 Centimeters per Second. Rather, it refers to the speed at which cherry blossoms are said to fall. It is about one boy and his relationships, particularly his first love, and the distance that separates them.

The stories are rather sad, but what we both liked about them was again, something little. They would cut these shots of Japanese things into the scenes. Normal things, like the handles hanging from the roof of a train car, or slippers at a genkan. My favorite one was this shot of a washing machine. It was just completing a load, but it struck me how familiar it was, from its looks to its whirring noise and the beeps it made. So completely mundane. Yet, if I only lived in Seattle, I probably would have no clue what that shot was of, and then promptly dismissed it from my thoughts. Instead, it helped create a fuller, more real picture of these characters lives. Life in Japan. A life that I share more and more.