Hidemi's Rambling No.385

When I was in college and still lived with my family, my younger sister rose to the holder of a diploma in Japanese dancing, which meant she obtained a license to teach it. A celebratory public performance by her was going to be held at a big hall. And again, my mother demanded me to come. Her demand escalated this time and she ordered me to hand a bouquet to my sister when her dance was over. My mother’s intention was to show everyone she knew that all the family had supported my sister and were happy for her success. The fact was I hadn’t supported her and was never happy for her at all. My mother had known it for years and that was why she decided to make me hand a bouquet. She wanted to give an illusion to everyone including my sister that I was pleased. While I refused repeatedly, my mother looked at me as if I had been a cold-blooded monster. I gave in to her persistent attacks. On the day of my sister’s performance, I visited her dressing room and my mother waited with a huge gorgeous bouquet that she had bought and I was supposed to give to my sister. The plan of a farce was like this; when she finished dancing, she would walk on the runway in applause, and receive the bouquet from me who would stretch out beneath the stage. As I was told, I was standing beneath the runway with the bouquet when it happened. Her dance was over, but the curtain fell and she didn’t appear on the runway because of a mix-up. I was left standing like a fool, holding a ridiculously large bouquet. The audience was staring at me curiously and whispering. I laid the bouquet on the runway and left the hall instead of returning to my seat. I was walking along the street and tears were rolling down on my cheeks. I had never been humiliated this much before. For her Japanese dancing, I had suffered alienation, loneliness and disregard all those years. It culminated in huge humiliation…

Hidemi's Rambling No.384

My hometown is in Kyoto, which is a popular tourist destination in Japan. There is a big historic festival called Gion Festival in summer. Because it attracts visitors all over the world and the venue is too crowded, my family had never gone out to see it. When I was in high school, my friend suggested hanging around the venue on the eve the festival. The evening of the eve is also a popular attraction with the parade floats parked on the street. To go there, it was common to wear a yukata, which is a casual kimono for the summer season. I didn’t have one of those and asked my mother to get one. Before the festival, she bought a yukata for me so that I could go. I liked its design very much. Usually, a yukata had a pattern of morning glories or goldfish, but mine was unique and fancy with a fireworks pattern. It became my treasure as I wore it again a couple of years later for the festival with my first boy friend. Meanwhile, after my younger sister failed the TV talent show audition, she hadn’t stopped learning Japanese dancing against my wish. My mother convinced her that she failed because we were late for the audition that day. According to my mother, the judges weren’t taking enough time to see how talented my sister was. So, she had still taken lessons in Japanese dancing. It’s danced with wearing a kimono and for practice, with a yukata. My sister had some yukatas as her casual practice wear for the lesson. One evening, when I was left at home as usual, my sister came home with my parents from a lesson. She was wearing my yukata. She used my treasured fireworks yukata as her casual practice wear. I cried, “It’s mine!” My mother explained she was out of fresh yukatas and made her borrow mine for that evening only. They were too insensitive to care about my feelings toward her Japanese dancing lessons and my yukata. I’ve never worn it since then…

Hidemi's Rambling No.383

When my younger sister had learned Japanese dancing for a couple of years, my mother decided to get her on a local TV talent show. Unlike me, my sister was always my mother’s pride for her prettiness. To be on the show, there was an audition in a city, about 20 miles away from our home. My father was going to drive them there. I assumed they would go with just three of them, leaving me behind as usual. For this particular occasion though, I felt rather happy not to join them because I had borne a grudge against Japanese dancing since my mother let my sister take lessons not me. But my mother had the nerve to demand me to come with them to the audition, saying that it was a huge event for my sister and I should show support for her. I got in the car, not for her audition but for a possibility to eat out at a restaurant on our way back, which we hardly did and the three of them might do without me. My mother was never punctual and we were already late by the time we left home. From then, things were just like the movie, ‘Little Miss Sunshine’. When we got there, the registration was closing and the judges were leaving. My mother desperately begged for the audition. They reluctantly allowed it with the obvious intention of making it finish quickly. After my sister danced for a few seconds, they stopped the music and said thank-you. I kept asking my mother if it meant she passed or not while my sister gloomily undressed. When my mother admitted my sister failed, I felt over the moon. I thought justice had been served. I was in an utterly good mood and was saying, “Let’s eat out! Which restaurant shall we go?” all the way in the dismal car. My parents and my sister were too depressed to respond to me and we ended up going straight home. I couldn’t get to eat out after all…

Hidemi's Rambling No.382

My mother used to take lessons in Japanese dancing. A woman in the neighborhood taught it in the evening to the neighbor housewives at her house. They held an annual public performance and my mother would practice earnestly at home when it came closer. My sister and I used to imitate her and dance alongside her. I liked it and danced quite well. I was in junior high school and my sister was still in elementary school. Since my sister came home from school much earlier than I did, my mother would take her to the lessons and let her wait and watch there. My father gave my mother a ride for every lesson. So, my parents and my sister would go out together once a week while I was left in the house with my strict grandparents. Soon, my sister began to take lessons as well. I felt it extremely unfair because it was I who danced well and should take lessons. I complained to my mother as hard as I could, but she never paid attention. The junior high I attended was so far from my home and I couldn’t come home by the time they left for lessons. My mother made no effort for me to ask for a late lesson to the teacher. It seemed she simply wanted to go out with just three of them once a week. Even in an instance of Japanese dancing, I was again an outcast in my family. I wonder why it kept happening to me all the time…

Hidemi's Rambling No.381

Lately, relaxing at the communal spa in my apartment building has been the biggest pleasure for me. I take a hot bath, a Jacuzzi and a sauna first thing in the morning and also in the evening. But as usual, it’s housewives with kids that spoil my pleasure. Especially the one with a baby is the worst. I strongly disagree to bring a baby into the spa since it still relies on a diaper and the spa has a stone floor. I’ve often seen a baby slip and fall on the floor, bumping its head. It’s a dreadful sight to me but a mother is usually just laughing at it while the baby is bawling for pain. It even seems a mother tries to make an ear-piercing noise with a baby in the spa on purpose. They let babies shriek and cry all the time in the spa, and crawl around on the locker room floor while they’re drying their hair. It’s sheer madness. Some mother leisurely washes her body by leaving her baby to its five or six-year-old sister. In my opinion, it’s negligence of parental responsibilities and child abuse. Sadly, few feel angry with those senseless mothers. Other residents show great pleasure to see a baby and laugh happily while it’s crying. They look at mothers’ negligence as if it were heartwarming or something. They flock around a baby, laughing frivolously and babbling foolishly. Even a usually grumpy woman with a sullen face who returns hello very unwillingly to me is remarkably amiable to a baby and smiles at it with all her force. To me, a baby is a grotesque alien or a hairless monkey at best. I’m again in the minority here…

Hidemi's Rambling No.380

I was walking along the main street of this small town yesterday and saw a neighbor who lives two doors down from my apartment walking toward me. We’ve exchanged greetings for several times at the communal spa or in the hallway of my apartment building, but we’d never bumped into each other outside. When I said hello to her on the street, she didn’t recognize me at first. She gave me a puzzled expression for a brief moment and then seemed to recognize me. She returned hello with a friendly smile. After I walked on away from her for a while, I began to feel doubtful. Was it really she? She somehow looked different on the street and may have been a total stranger who just looked like her. Did she pretend to know me to be courteous although she had no idea who I was? I had an urge to ask the neighbor if it was herself. But, suppose I mistook a stranger for her, and ask her, “Did we meet on the street the other day?” What kind of a creepy question would it be? She must think I’m weird. And if we did meet, it would be even creepier to be asked whether we met or not from someone she actually met. She must think I’m crazy. There’s no means of finding out if that was she or not. Distinguishing people’s faces is so difficult for me and it often causes inconveniences…

Hidemi's Rambling No.379

The house where I spent my childhood was very old. Half the floor in it was bare earth and my family lived like in the way of the Wild West. With our shoes on, we walked around the house and ate meals. It was all right to throw away the rest of a drink from a cup directly onto the floor. My father used to smoke. When he smoked, he would light a cigarette with a match and toss the match to the dirt floor. It burned itself out. That is probably my earliest memory. I remember a thrown match was burning out on the floor and I said “Ah…” According to my parents, I uttered “Ah…” every time my father threw away a match as if I didn’t approve it. And my tone was always tinged with disappointment. I guess I was already cheap as a child and couldn’t bear a thing to be thrown away after just one-time use. I was nagging at my parents about everything all my childhood, and even my earliest memory is something critical about my parents. No wonder we’ve been on bad terms for such a long time…