How (Not) to Enter a Country

I surprised myself at the airport. While sitting down in front of the Narita Airport-bound gate, I was overcome with a sense of ironic joy, laughing at the improbability of what I was doing while enjoying the sense of impending adventure.

The flight didn't seem quite as long when it was punctuated by brief 30-minute naps. Reading The Acts of King Arthur got me thinking about how our desires affect and define our actions, as the disciplined affections or explosive tempers of various knights shaped their and other's fates. How, then, will my character and temperament affect those I meet over here? We'll see.

On the air-conditioned bus ride over to a nearby hotel, I got a glimpse of the Japanese countryside and road system. Both of them, aside from the switched road sides, reminded me very much of Germany: pockets of thick green trees, grassy plowed fields, and clumps of buildings huddled together for protection from the foliage. If I looked away from the kanji advertising characters, I could have been heading to Simbach from Munich half the globe away.

(When I got to the hotel, I still had to schlep 140 pounds of luggage to the apartment complex. It was already dark, and I'm sure all the onlooking night owls thought that foreigner dragging a year's worth of clothing through the streets was pretty hilarious, but I didn't care--I'd arrived, and why should a little muscle strain deter me from this fascinating people and language? Also: I didn't have the funds for a taxi.)

Another similarity to Europe is the humidity, which restricts movement in the afternoon but comes as a welcome change. (The mosquitoes, who attacked my exposed legs when I tried to enjoy the comfort of a park, are not so welcome. A "park" in my neighborhood, by the way, means fifteen or so trees planted haphazardly in an open area paved with gravel and dark sand...hardly nature for my rural tastes.)

The coming days bode well: new cuisine opportunities, student life orientations, and plenty of new faces. (The coming days are ill-fated: everything is greasy, several cliques have formed, and I was warned repeatedly that students tend to get sick in the first few days.) Perhaps I will stop learning to speak in parallel (but perhaps not).

And It Comes...

Sometimes when change looms on the horizon, I freeze. This happened to me just before taking summer school last year; despite plans to discipline myself into a routine of reading, writing, and music practicing, I ended up spending two free weeks huddled in my new apartment, unwilling to venture outside.

Now here I am preparing for a year away and I'm dragging out the packing process, looking over each book and listening to favorite old tunes instead of maximizing efficiency. As shoes and winter clothes disappear into shipping boxes, the reality of the unknown life that I will have upon reopening these cartons looms ahead. I don't regret following the Lord's direction to this point, but like a kid stalling for time at a spelling bee by asking for the word's dictionary definition I'm keeping the inevitable back with the feeble tools I have at hand.

So many small doors of face-to-face contact have shut that it's hard to fathom them all. In about 48 hours I will be off the airplane and heading to my hotel, but thankfully Jesus will be present even if those I love cannot. Though the world changes around me, I don't have to pull back in vague fear. Unless, of course, that anxiety concerns a dinner plate of unidentifiable seafood.