The awkward daily life of a member of pop music unit, Hidemi Woods. Her life in Japan, music, family, childhood, and embarrassing everyday-experiences. More info at HidemiWoods.com
My family disagrees My friends are gone As I started chasing my dream Yet somebody oversees Cheering me on As I go on keeping my dream
I’ve got the secret Only dreamers know After tons of pain and sleepless nights I’ve found the secret All the dreamers saw That can take me to new heights
The universe helps me The universe tells me The universe encourages me to go be The universe leads me The universe shields me The universe illuminates me to be free
My life has no guarantee My money is lost As I started chasing my dream Yet doing what’s right is glee At any cost As I go on keeping my dream
I’ve got the secret Only dreamers know After lots of scoffs and heartless slights I’ve found the secret All the dreamers saw That bestows bliss and unites
The universe saves me The universe aids me The universe exhilarates me to go be The universe fills me The universe heals me The universe initiates me to be free
Don’t be afraid You’re not alone Completely free Creating a new world
Don’t let faith fade With much hope shown Need not worry
I’ve got the secret Only dreamers know After bitter toil and ceaseless fights I’ve found the secret All the dreamers saw Shining my mind with insights
The universe helps me The universe tells me The universe encourages me to go be The universe leads me The universe shields me The universe illuminates me to be free
It’s the universe that will sustain Those who try to seek, strive to attain
The universe saves me The universe aids me The universe exhilarates me to go be The universe fills me The universe heals me The universe initiates me to be free
We all face decisions every day, big or small. It may be as trifling as what to eat for lunch, but sometimes it is as important as what decides a course of our life. And the big one often comes abruptly like a surprise attack when we least expect it, unguarded. I faced the first crucial decision unexpectedly on my 20th birthday.In Japan, 20 years of age is regarded as the coming-of-age and there is a custom to celebrate it. When I was 20 years old, I lived in a big house with my family. My parents had a hefty fortune inherited by my ancestors as it was before they failed in their undertaking and lost every thing. For them, my coming-of-age was such a big event that they had bought an expensive sash of kimono for me months in advance for a municipal ceremony held in the first month of the year.
Since I defied the custom and didn’t attend the ceremony for which the sash was wasted, my parents determined that my 20th birthday should be memorable at least and planned a party. I wasn’t told about the party because they wanted to surprise me.On my birthday, I was hanging around and having fun with my friend until night, not knowing that my parents and my sister waited for me with 20 red roses and expensive steaks cooked and delivered from a restaurant. As crazy as it sounds, my curfew was 9 p.m. back then. I had too much fun and broke it that particular day. I came home half an hour late bracing for a rebuke from my parents. What awaited me was beyond rebuke actually.I usually came in from the back door that was left unlocked, but it was locked that night. I went around to the front gate that was locked too. I thought my father had locked them by mistake and pushed an intercom button.
My mother answered and I asked her to open the door. She said in a tearful voice, “I can’t. It’s no mistake. Your father shut you out of the house.” She started crying and continued, “We were preparing a party and waiting for you from this afternoon. We waited and waited until your father got furious. He said that he didn’t want you to come home because you never appreciated this important day and your family. I can’t open the door. Your father doesn’t want you in this house any more.” I was astounded at the deep trouble I suddenly got into.I could have apologized repeatedly and begged her to let me in. Instead, I was wondering if that was what I really wanted. I didn’t have anything but now it was a chance to leave the house. Totally out of the blue, the moment for a decision for life came up. If I lived in this house forever as a family’s successor like I had been told to, I would inherit family’s fortune. But if I threw it away, I could do whatever I want for my own life.In a matter of seconds, I decided. I chose freedom over money. I said, “That’s fine. I’m leaving.” I felt oddly refreshed and upbeat. My chained life came to an abrupt end through the intercom.
My mother panicked and shouted, “What do you mean that’s fine? Wait! Don’t go! I’m coming to open the door! Stay there!” I saw her rushing out of the house and dashing toward the gate. She grabbed me in. On the dining table, there were two empty plates that were my father’s and my sister’s and two untouched steak plates that were my mother’s and mine. In the center was a big vase with 20 roses. I ate steak with my mother who was weeping through on my completely ruined 20th birthday.Shortly afterwards, I eventually left home and became a musician. My mother, my grandmother and my aunts were married unwillingly for money. My father and my grandfather gave up what they wanted to do in order to succeed the family. They all looked unhappy and I didn’t want to live like them. But I also didn’t know freedom didn’t come cheap and my decision would lead to trials and hardships that I had to endure as a consequence…
To keep being a dreamer living in Japan is as hard as to catch a fly
in the air with chopsticks, and yet it’s not all impossible. The chain
of events that you have never experienced in your life changes your
routine days into chaos. While you can’t quite grasp the sudden change
of circumstances, it throws you into confusion in which you continually
need to make decisions and actions. You are sucked by mighty force
against your will and can’t get out. It inevitably changes some point of
your life, your way of life, and your inner self also. As a result, you
become another person who is not the one you used to be. That is
exactly what happened to me from the fall of 2009 to the fall of 2011.
At that time, I was too deep in a whirl to understand what was happening
and why it was happening. But in hindsight, it was supposed to happen
and someone or something pushed my back, yanked my arm, and rushed me
who was reluctant into the new place.
For me being a singer-songwriter from Kyoto in Japan, the change
coincided with the time when I gave up chasing fame and fortune that I
had been craving fervently enough to leave my family and its long good
lineage. I ignored the commercial-based timetable for the first time and
took time as long as I was satisfied to complete a song for which I
composed, wrote English words, arranged, and recorded all instruments
and vocals by myself. When the song’s completion was on the horizon,
what would change everything began to happen. Embarrassment and conflict
in my odd daily life, the massive earthquake and the following nuclear
meltdown that unexpectedly knocked the bottom out of such daily life,
surprises and transitions in the new place, and my new self. If you find
my awkward, tottering adventure funny, it’d be worth taking on and I’d
be more than happy.
Surviving in Japan: Awkward days with shakes, escape and Awakening
One day in my childhood, a family of stray cats appeared in the front
yard of our house in Kyoto, Japan where I was born and grew up. I
was raised by my grandparents and my grandfather had cherished several
hundreds of chrysanthemum pots in the yard in those days. The yard was
practically a sea of chrysanthemums. For that reason, the apparent house
rule existed, which was not to keep a dog. I had never had a pet. The
cats family stood in the middle of the ragged path between the front
door and the gate. There were four cats, one was big and others were
very small kittens. I was about six years old and standing probably ten
feet away from them when I found them that day. While I had constantly
talked with my staffed animals, I was quite foreign to live animals. I
walked toward them slowly and carefully with full of curiosity and a
twinkle in my eye. As I got closer, a mother cat and two kittens quickly
ran away. But one kitten didn’t move. He stayed where he was and just
stared at me. I reached right in front of him and crouched before him.
He was a tortoiseshell cat with gray and brown marks on his fur. He
fixed his gaze upon me and never left. We looked into each others eyes
for a while. I tentatively stretched my arm and touched him. He didn’t
so much as flinch and kept looking at my eyes. I sensed that I was
chosen as a friend by this kitten since I had no human friends back
then. I held him with my both hands and felt surprising warmth of his
body. I brought him inside the house. I showed him to my grandmother
and she promptly prepared a small dish of dried bonito. As I saw him
nibbling it, I asked my grandmother if I could keep him with absolute
certainty of no. Her unexpected reply was, “As long as it’s not a dog,
your grandfather will allow if it’s kept inside.” I got my first pet.
I named him ‘Joe’ because he looked nothing else but ‘Joe’. I asked my
grandmother for something like a collar now that he’s my pet. She
scrambled and got me a bell and a red ribbon. I put them together and
proudly presented to Joe’s neck. His quarters were decided at the
entrance of the house, right behind the front door. I gave him some milk
in the evening that day and talked to him into the night although I had
been sometimes regarded as mute by others to whom I rarely spoke. I
thought Joe was as happy as I was. But after I went to bed, he began to
cry. He didn’t call me though because he cried toward outside. Soon, I
heard a cat meow outside too. It seemed his mother came to him. They
meowed to each other with the front door between them. His fragile meows
to the door continued till late at night. My grandmother suggested that
I should release him because she couldn’t bear to see him miss his
mother so much. I agreed that it was cruel to separate them. He wanted
to be outside with his mother. I opened the front door and took him out.
He swiftly scurried away. The time I had a pet lasted for less than 12
hours. The time I thought was liked by someone was laughably short. A
few days later, I felt I heard a bell ring. I went outside hurriedly
and saw the yard. It was Joe. He huddled together with his family in the
middle of the path, at the same spot where we first met. I called out,
“Joe!” His mother and siblings ran away on my call, but Joe responded
and turned to me. I was amazed that he had learned his name was Joe
although our time together was so short. He remained there alone and
gazed at me. This time, it looked to me as if he was smiling. At that
moment I understood. He came back to see me. I felt an undoubtedly sure
connection between us. I walked to him and held him in my arms. I took
him into the house and told my grandmother that Joe came back. As she
fixed a dish of dried bonito again, she told me not to repeat what we
had done to him previously. While I was so happy to be reunited with
him, I also knew I shouldn’t keep him. My happiness wasn’t the same as
his. After I watched him eating…
The nearest train station from my home that I usually use has no
station attendants on site. All it has are a ticket vending machine and
an emergency phone. There’s no ticket gate either. A passenger gets a
ticket from the machine and goes directly onto the platform. Upon
arrival, they put the used tickets into a box on the wall. There are
several no-attendant stations like that along this local line. That
means it’s possible to ride free if you get on and off the train both at
those stations. It’s kind of an honorable system that whether you pay
for the ticket or not all depends on your conscience. Of course
riding a train without a ticket is a crime. To crack down on it, a
conductor sometimes makes spot checks on the train. He or she checks all
passengers’ tickets and stamps on them. If someone has a ticket for the
minimum fare, the conductor asks the destination and collects the full
fare. Since many passengers make the payments on the train, I suspect
the honorable system doesn’t work so well. I’ve once seen a passenger
without a ticket caught by the conductor. She received the conductor’s
severe rebuke and paid a lot of money. Some passengers try so badly not
to be caught when a conductor begins the spot check. Their common ways
are simply running away from the conductor by moving back and forth
between the cars. A conductor sometimes gets off the train and steps
onto the platform at a no-attendant station to check the tickets of the
passengers who get off there. In those cases, a passenger who cheats on
the fare walks toward the far end of the platform opposite to the
conductor. The train eventually has to leave on schedule and the
conductor doesn’t have enough time to go up to the passenger for the
ticket. The passenger waits there for the train to leave with the
conductor back on while pretending to rummage through his or her bag for
the ticket that doesn’t exist. The most impressive passenger I’ve
seen was a young woman who pretended to sleep in her seat when the
conductor asked her to show a ticket. No matter how loudly the conductor
asked repeatedly, she wouldn’t wake up. Although he almost shouted in
her ear in the end of the persistent demands for the ticket, she was
still asleep. I thought if she wasn’t acting, she was dead. After he
went back, her acting finished and she woke up. Unfortunately for her,
the conductor was as determined as she was, and came back to her again.
She was caught this time, but pretended to look for her ticket and
declared she had lost it somewhere. A woman with an iron heart! She told
her departure and destination stations which credibility was
questionable, and paid the fare to the conductor after all. A stingy
person like me buys a ticket each time. Even so, I feel nervous and have
shifty eyes every time a conductor walks through the train cars. That’s
because I may or may not devise some ways to save money for the ticket,
but I leave it to your conjecture…
My memories shared with my mother are stored in Memoryland. It’s the
place inside of me that holds all my memories and I named it Memoryland
by myself. Recalling my memories means visiting Memoryland. Like it or
not, a scene or conversation with my mother sometimes happens to flash
back in my mind when I inadvertently step into Memoryland.
I carefully avoid the section concerning my mother whenever I visit
there. It always evokes heartache and anger. Taking a glance at my
mother’s section, I find notable examples. I was in my late thirties and
came back to my hometown for the first time in years to see my family.
Instead of welcoming me, my mother said to me, “You’re not famous at
this age of yours. That proves you have no talent in music. You have
failed in music and you are a failure.” On my other visit, she said, “To
get this family’s fortune, I gave up everything that I wanted to do and
married without love. But you are doing what you want with someone you
love. Taking everything isn’t acceptable! Because you don’t sacrifice
anything, you’re not entitled to inherit the family fortune. So, don’t
ever come home. Visits are unnecessary since you’re not a successor.”
Just a few glimpses of my memories with my mother cause a lot of pain,
and that’s why I try to steer away from my mother’s section in
Memoryland.
My relative called me ten days ago and let me know that my mother passed away.
She was a chronic liar and an evil-doer. She got our family’s fortune
by sacrificing her life, yet seemed unhappy day after day. It appeared
that she had taken it out on others by trying to do harm anyway she
could think of. Eventually she lost the fortune when she and my father
failed the family business and moved out of their big house. After she
moved into a condo, she had submitted to violence from my sister. She
ran away to hide and moved into a small apartment where she died alone,
covered with her own vomit and excreta. Despite her advanced age, I had
assumed she wouldn’t die soon. Her revenge for her unhappiness was never
enough. I supposed she would persistently plot evil schemes or throw
heartless words at me and others around her which would keep her going.
Since I had thought her time wouldn’t come in the near future, her death
took me by surprise.
Has she repented and gone to heaven? In my theory, people realize
their mistakes and wrong deeds before their deaths. They admit, regret,
and thus are forgiven, released from suffering called life, and then
die. I wonder if she also has been forgiven. Considering her nature that
she wouldn’t admit her wrong doing, it’s hard to imagine she could ever
be forgiven. Nevertheless, as she has actually died, she might have
been.
I dared to go into her section of Memoryland. Passing through her
countless lies I received and her desperate efforts to make people
unhappy, I found a tall, heavy brass gate in the deep back of the
section. It was locked by a huge bolt, which meant I had blocked this
memory. Summoning courage and bracing myself for what horrible memory
was there, I unbarred the bolt and got inside. It was on the bus that
was running along the beautiful coast of the sea. My family was on a
trip and taking a tour bus. I was a small child and was in the window
seat with my mother next to me. She pointed at a big rock jutting out of
the sea and uncommonly tenderly asked me, “Hidemi, what does that rock
look like to you?” “An elephant,” I replied. “Really? Yeah, you’re
right! It does look like an elephant! Then, how about that rock over
there? What does it look like?” We continued this conversation for one
rock after another and she said I was right each time kindly. While she
seemed a different person from the one I met every day, I felt extremely
happy. Later though, when I told her how happy that bus ride was, she
confessed to me that she had just tried to divert my attention so that
she wasn’t embarrassed by me who could have thrown up on the bus because
I usually got car sick too easily. In any case, the funny thing was, I
unconsciously had blocked one of the happiest memories of mine.
On the night of that day when I was told about my mother, I burst
into tears all of a sudden. I couldn’t figure out why. I just couldn’t
explain the emotion I was having, but it engulfed me. While crying hard,
I was dismayed and tried to understand what I was feeling. It was more
like emptiness rather than sadness. I felt as if the long fierce battle I
had engaged in abruptly came to an end with my arch enemy evaporated. I
even no longer knew whether I loved her or hated her. Maybe both. I
was simply overwhelmed by an illogical, strange emotion that I couldn’t
comprehend and kept bawling.
Our furniture and appliances have finished being moved into our new apartment. My partner and I were gazing at an array of our musical instruments spread all over the floor in the living room of our empty apartment. Five synthesizers, two electric guitars, an 88-key MIDI board, two rhythm machines, three sequencers, three sound source modules, many effectors, an 8-track open reel recorder, an 8-track mixer, a 16-track mixer, a drum set and accessories. Those instruments have occupied a large space of our tiny apartment although they haven't been used for over twenty years since a computer became a dominant tool for me to make my music. Today, a person from the used instrument purchase company was coming to our apartment to make an assessment and collect them. The instruments that spent so many years with me were on standby for their last work with a somewhat tense look. We shared a lot of memories. It was my custom in my old days to carry several heavy instruments on foot and by train into the studio every time my band practiced and rehearsed. I input data of the arrangement I made for my song on the sequencer by staying up all night and the entire data was all gone in a flash when I tripped on the power cord toward morning that got pulled out of the outlet. Technical difficulties were rampant on the live stage since I used so many kinds of electric instruments connected to each other in place of human band members, such as no sound came out of the sequencer or unexpected sound was produced from the synthesizer, which needless to say horrified me and gave me a cold sweat each time. The instruments felt much heavier on my way home whenever I lost a contest or an audition. We had trodden together on a long, endless road of disappointment and cravings. Though I had already stopped using most of them by the time I moved into this apartment, I brought them anyway by paying costly moving expenses because I was too attached to them to let them go. For this move, however, I decided not to bring them to my new apartment. I was no longer my past self who had desperately coveted success as a band or had focused too much on writing songs and recording them without sleep until I harmed my health. As I grew older and accumulated more experiences, I came to understand things and be mature. That helped me sort out my feelings. I felt it was time to take the next step of my life, thus time to leave my instruments. Looking back, not all the memories we shared were bitter. There were fond memories as well. An extremely hopeful feeling that I had when I got a new instrument with all the money I saved by working for months on my part-time job. An indescribable satisfaction I obtained when I got the best take after redid recording hundreds of times. Heavenly bliss I felt when I listened to my completed song after a long period of time of making. After all those years, I finally realized how happy I had been and how valuable my experiences were. The person who came to our apartment from the used instrument purchase company was a young man who undoubtedly wasn't born yet when I bought these instruments. He carefully looked into each of them to decide the price. When he was done, he asked, "Why are you selling them?" My partner replied, "We make music with a computer now and don't use them anymore." Then he said to my partner and me, "It's so wonderful that you have been making music all the way together." The price he offered was far higher than we had expected. While we didn't have much income from our music no matter how hard we strove with those instruments, they earned a good sum of money for us at the very end. We helped him load the sold instruments onto his van and saw them off. I was a little sad, but somehow refreshed and cleared at the same time. And that made me feel like our new life had just begun.
Hidemi Woods was born and raised in Kyoto, which is located in the western part of Japan. singer, songwriter and author. For more information visit hidemiwoods.com
