Peek-A-Boo

Its a break to the 1 year and half hiatus of no paintings!!! This means its time for a Silly Senbay Story. My mom and dad found mice in our house in the basement. My mom put up mice traps with glue on the bottom ( I was a bit against this type of mouse trap but that's a digression, and there's no changing my mom's mind). A few days went by, but the mice were smart; they weren't falling for any stupid trap. My mom put a piece of cheese and cracker on the trap. She left the house to play tennis. When she got back, the mice definetly weren't on the trap yet. Instead, Senbay was walking uncomfortably around with the trap glued to his front paw.

I bet Senbay looked at that piece of cheese and cracker. Thought to himself "Eat them and have the trap stuck to my paw vs. not eat them and be trap free........? Of course I'll eat them!" *chomp chomp chomp*

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.

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.

Camels Crossing, Doha

I can't believe it's July already! I've been moving around; including moving out of Doha and taking a trip to Muscat, Oman. Now I am back in my hometown, Tokyo, Japan.

This painting was done from a photo I took when I went to see a camel race in Doha. The legs of the camels were pretty hard!!

Qatar feels like a dream now. It's hard to imagine that life is still going on just as I left it: traffic at the roundabouts. The nice clerk at the grocery store Al Meera, the spices all lined up in their bags for sale. The security guards still checking the IDs of vistors of the compound I lived in. The dead leaves and bugs floating at night in the pool while the French teenagers smoke cigarretes at the pool side.

All I know is that I feel blessed to have met everyone who is there. The boy and girl I was tutoring who insisted I try a bite of turkish delights or the arabic coffee, the Filipino nannies who taught me how to say hello in Taglog, the professors who invited me into their homes for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner in Doha, the men of Ras Laffan who work day and night in their little camps but squeeze as much fun out of the weekend as possible, the workers at the animal shelter I volunteered at who walked the dogs with such control even when it was 120 degrees outside, the woman from Lebanon who spoke in a high voice calling all the dogs darlings, giving them way too much treats but nonetheless meaning only love in the middle of the desert...

I miss it all, I miss them all. But all that is a part of me now, running in my blood.

Thank you Doha.

Souq Waqif in Doha, Qatar

Finally finished! Recently, I've been listening to jazz and painting, and what a combo. I just get lost in paint and piano and rhythm. I lose track of time.

Souq Waqif is one of my favorite places to go, for food, for shopping, or for tea with friends and family. It's a nice breather from the hustle and bustle of the driving, where you feel your life is in danger and sort of lose the idea that there are people with actual emotions, a human heart, driving the huge trucks, pick up trucks, land cruisers.

My memories at the Morrocan restaurant Tajine: I went with my former roommate for dinner. The food comes in little ceramic dishes, and we sat on the balcony on the second floor. I was sad that she was leaving. It was one of her last nights in Doha. We talked about our lives here, at Cornell, I remember we talked about sorority life too. She was always there for me when I needed it most. On our long car drives, I would tell her about unwanted encounters I may have had, anything. She would listen so patiently, trying to understand how I felt. We would sing on the top of our lungs, harmonize and practice certain songs in the car. I laughed until my stomach hurt and I was about to cry when we made up words for Disney songs.

Or when my dad and sister came to visit, we ate at an Iraqi Restaurant. We massacred this huge banana split even though we already had plates and plates of Arabic bread, dips, briyani. We laughed at the memories we had of the tri:, riding on camels, walking in the desert, swimming at the pool. The night enveloped us and we endulged in the strawberry flavored pink colored ice cream. Having my sister and father in my apartment when I woke up, and getting breakfast ready for them as the sun scortched through the balcony window was a piece of sanity for me. Having family around, it was a different world.

I went to the fish market restaurant with friends from France. They sat and talked of work, smoking their cigarettes as we watched the passerbys, all equipped with sunglasses in mid-day. We sat under the shade, as the sun punished anyone in its direct path. I felt warm and little. I smiled at the person sitting across from me.

I am leaving Doha in about a month and a half. A part of me is relieved, a part of me is broken hearted. Relieved, because I feel isolated here sometimes. I must say sometimes when I am driving I get angry at myself for forgetting that the "cars" are driven by people. But broken hearted as well, as the people I have become close to, I really have grown to love. From the students at school, from some professors at school, they've shown me and taught me things I know I will keep with me forever. Even the crazy drivers I feel have challenged me to think about what I should do when things beyond my control go awry. From the friends I've made, who have given me their attention in times of need, who have laughed with me at little things, who have agreed when things were frustrating; From the security guards at my compound, who smile and welcome me home; From the janitor at school who tells me about how happy she was to talk to her son on the phone: I know when I get on that plane, my heart will be twisting. It'll be hard to say goodbye.

I wish to keep more than memories. I wish my experiences to be more than words in my journal, more than stories that come out of my mouth in conversation. But they just can't be anything more. If I had a super power, I would have a power that could bottle up moments in life into a glass bottle. You'll be able to slip into that moment whenever you wished.

Kiyomizu Temple in Kyoto

An update is due! It's been over a month! I've been working on and off on this painting since I finished my Senbay painting. To tell the truth, this was very difficult for me. I still feel like its not finished, but I think at some point I have to put my paintbrush down and move on. The building its self was difficult, and the trees need a lot more work... but i am going to accept it as is for now. maybe i'll come back to it later.

This past summer, I went to Kyoto with my sister riding the bullet-speed train. We ate our bento box lunches, and sipped on bottled water as we passed city after city and the cubicle like houses packed into them. We had a total of three days at Kyoto: day one we walked to Chioin and the Geisha town, day two I walked around mostly by myself eating lunch from a bakery near a river side as locals fished, children screeched by, and shoppers cycled by, day three I went to Kyomizu Temple with my sister and her friends (which I took a picture of and painted!)

Something about Kyoto, that I feel I can't really explain. It's mystical, like there's a very old spirit lurking about protecting us and watching over us. Whenever I walked into the temples they were dimly lit I felt this presence, the tatami floors that we kneeled on leaving a print on our shins. There are wooden panels where visitors write a dream or a goal that they hope to be granted or accomplished. The panels were so fun to read; there were ones that hoped "the love of their life would notice them soon" in girly slanted writing. There were ones written about good health for family, ones written about winning the prefecture baseball game this season.

I debated on writing one out, after all everyone would read it and you had to write your name on it too. But I decided to go for it. For the past three years at college, I've been a pre-medical student, an international pre-med student. The pre-med advisor told me to switch to nursing. she knew I wouldn't get in to school because the chances of internationals getting in were "nothing," the people older than me would tell me not to apply, not to waste so much stress over something so little! But with the support of my true friends who never got sick of me for being a lame-oh and not going out, or for my parents who always listened to me when I felt like I was about to burst exam grades and thesis statements, with the experiences I was able to experience, including the boys at the Juvenile treatment center I got to volunteer at, I knew that I wanted this more than anything I ever wanted before. So I kept going. As I stood in front of the monk, dressed in all white asking for one wooden panel, I felt a bit embarassed, maybe she would think I was strange. But I wrote with the sharpie to be accepted into one medical school in the United States. I left it hanging among the others, hoping that the spirits might help me too.

I've been accepted! And I still think about that wooden panel, probably still hanging there, day and night and in sunshine and rain. I can't help but think, whether it was the reason why I got in. I have to tell you that there's something magical about the temples. Thousands of years ago. builders, monks, civilians united to build such complicated structures. It's so magical to think, that when there's such a strong belief, nothing can stop people. Even temples in the middle of the mountain, watching over the town miles below is possible.

What to paint next? I think I am doing something a tad bit easier.... :)

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.

Now, I feel like he brings my family together. He's always there for me when I need him, when I had a bad day or a fight with a family member: I started crying and Senbay just sat there letting me cry into his fur. He was there when I am trying to work on my secondary applications for medical school, with three tennis balls in his mouth taunting me to chase him, showing the tennis balls off. He's wagging his tail, waiting to be walked. He's there with his big eyes, when he wants to share the apple I am eating (yes, he eats anything, except for lettuce...haha). He's there in the coldest nights when he asks to cuddle under the blanket with me.

Maybe its because I recently turned 23, or that I am at a turning point in my life (I don't really know if that's true) or just that I have too much time to reflect on things, but I'm a little scared of time slipping away so quickly. I want to hold it and let it linger, but I feel like its slipping away like a massive sandtimer, with really light sand. Senbay is growing old and I am so scared of not seeing him around. Even the thought of it puts this choking feeling in my mouth.

Well, I wanted to explain the painting but I got into Senbay's Saga. Painting the fur was so difficult. I am need to add more details (esp to carpet, fur, etc). But I did this on a canvas, the size is bigger than my previous paintings. Senbay loves to nap, especially in the sun. He follows it everywhere in our house and just melts into what must be the most relaxing and comfortable naps that exist on earth.

In fact, he's napping on the couch in our family room. Before he was napping on my bed (probably bad dog etiquette, yes.) Before that he was whining because I wouldn't share my pineapples that I was eating for breakfast with him. Just now I walked him, and we ran back up the hill together. He had a huge tree branch in his mouth, and he was showing it off to all the cars that passed by, as if it was a trophy that he had just won.

Food, Play, Sleep. This is the life of Senbay.