Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Peek-A-Boo
Thursday, June 17, 2010
My Sister and Brownie
There was a time in sixth grade when I had just moved back to Japan, and I wrote all my secrets in a diary. I wrote about everyone, my family, my friends, and how I didn't fit in, ofcourse how I didn't like what people did, what they looked like, a typical sixth grade diary which was pretty rude and inappropriate. I got into a fight with my sister, and she somehow got a hold of my pink diary of secrets, read it out loud to my other sister and brother. My words in the notebook felt so strange being exposed to the outside world as they laughed holding their stomachs. I remember I was so angry I threw open the door to the bathroom, leaving a large scratch mark on the closet door, which didn't quite help the situation. Because ofcourse, my parents weren't super excited about this large permanent scratch on the door. This means nothing to me now, I realize how silly it was. But at that time I felt like that dark corner of the house I hid in, across from the bathroom, crying into my awkward adolescent knees. Brownie found me, walking so slowly as if he was tiptoeing to me. He held his chin on to my knees, and pushed his head against mine. He let me cry into his fur, my childish tears streaming into his brown fur, while he sat there silently taking it all in like a wise statue.
Brownie is gone now. He passed away this spring. He helped my sister stand up to bullies, he helped me jog by the river to keep in shape, he appreciated my mom's cooking and mine, he kept our cat company, snuggling with her to sleep. I'll never forget everything you gave me as I grew up from an awkward teenager into who I am, as you watched me come home everyday wagging your tail, whimpering with joy and jumping up to give me a kiss.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
View of Tokyo from Sunshine City
It's been a while.... I've been working on this painting since August, but due to new adjustments in my life and school, I haven't really worked on it seriously until about a week ago! I loved painting buildings that were so close up. The challenge was the sky. The picture was taken from a restaurant I went to with a Cornell friend, Nari, over the summer. It's from the 58th floor of a building called "Sunshine City."
This summer I met Ooshima san, a worker at the bicycle station near my house. He's about 70 years old. Everyday I would bike to the bicycle garage to park my bike and go to work at 3pm. He would be there to align my bike correctly so that the maximum number of bicycles could be packed into that four story bicycle garage. The bicycle garage is jam packed with bicycles, where we pay 100 yen for a place our bicycles won't be "towed" or stolen. Ooshima san first started to talk to me as he noted how tall I was. Then, we would talk about the weather, his smile always greeting me. His green cap over his balding head, he walked slowly, taking his small steps with his short legs.
I know there must have been people who didn't treat him well, especially at the garage. People in a rush, people who listened to music through their i-pods injected into their ears, who parked their bikes and went on with their business without acknowledging his existence. But its as if he got joy out of arranging those bicycles in perfect rows, taking care of each one lifting and adjusting them. He would always be smiling, with warm wrinkles around his eyes and cheeks.
On the last day of my job and my last day in Tokyo, I looked for him as I got my bicycle. I hadn't seen him for awhile, and it was getting dark. I saw him with his usual smile, waving with his white glove getting brown on the palms. I told him that I was going to the US, that I might not see him for awhile, that I wanted to thank him. He told me to wait for a minute and came back, fast paced and with a plastic bag in his hand. That day, he told me that he might not see me again then, if I wasn't coming back for a few years. He looked down at the dark asphalt, then at me, telling me in a small voice he had been diagnosed with liver cancer. Although it had been successfully removed he said his life was short. All I could see were his eyes, and his kindness. Trains passed in the distance, rattling on the tracks; people coming back from work whizzed by in their bicycles right by us. I felt so little, I could physically feel my heart. I didn't know what to do with the emotions I had. As I said goodbye, he gave me the plastic bag. Inside was a bottle of melon soda and melon bread wrapped in plastic wrap. He told me to eat it on the plane, and to take care of myself. I cycled away and waited for the traffic light in the crowd. People all blankly staring at the traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. All I could feel was a warmth around me, and my heart wishing that the next time I rode into the bicycle garage he would be there with his usual smile as if time hadn't passed. The perfect stranger he was to me: he had given me happiness everyday despite not knowing me at all: His efforts everyday as he took care of all the metal bicycles, all the ones that are even peeling with paint, or even the ones with trash in the baskets. Carrying them, arranging them so that we could find them when we got back, so that all those bicycles fit into the tiny space in Tokyo.
The city of Tokyo is packed with buildings, bicycles, strangers.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Camels Crossing, Doha
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Souq Waqif in Doha, Qatar
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Kiyomizu Temple in Kyoto
Friday, January 2, 2009
Sunny Day and Senbay
Greetings from good old Maryland! I've been on winter vacation, and I've been defining the meaning of relaxing. I've been painting, learning how to play the guitar (my fingers are all beat up!), seeing friends and family, cooking and baking, shopping, watching movies. I almost feel guilty; last year I was doing nothing but studying for the MCATs (other then eating and sleeping... haha).
I am actually not fully done with this painting, atleast I do not think. It's taken me a LONG time to do and I just needed to post something or atleast make it seem like I made progress.
Senbay is my loving laborador retriever. He was born in Tokyo, and was on sale at a pet store near our house. I never saw him when he was a puppy, but my little sister said that she would go to the store every day to play with him. He kept getting bigger and bigger, becoming too small to fit in his cage. Soon, no one wanted him, including the pet store so he was about to be put in the pound.
My brother and two sisters agreed to put in 10000 yen in each (about $90?!) to buy him. When we got to the store, we begged the store owners to let us take him home with us. After a while of bargaining, they agreed. It was raining really hard, and the pet store put Senbay in a cardboard box, because he couldnt walk. All four of us were soaking in rain as we tried to stabilize the Senbay filled box on the seat of one of our bicycles. He kept trying to chew through, wondering what the heck was happening to him as we cycled him home in the dark and rainy night.