by Ioana Lee
It was easier for me to lie than to admit that I didn't know how to cook.
“Today I'll cook..." and she started telling me the whole menu for the day. My mouth was watering more than Kiku's when eating chicken.
Once she left I started thinking: "Oh, so this is the way things work here in Japan? Ok, we'll see who’s better!" I've always liked to draw, design and sew dresses. In Japan I made all the adjustments necessary for my clothes: buttons, zippers, hemming, tailoring my dresses. So, I pulled out all the aprons that I had "preserved" in storage buckets until then. I noticed that Mrs. O changed her aprons daily, compared to the other neighbors who weren’t as wealthy. I made myself dresses, measured only with my eye. The most beautiful one I made was the Kenzo one, which had beautiful red flowers on it (typical design for Kenzo at the time). I created a very attractive clothing compromise, somewhere in between the Japanese tradition (kitchen apron) and my own taste for clothes worn in the house. My apron was useful and trendy at the same time, and what was most important was that I didn’t look like a housewife even if I was staying at home.
Next day I woke up early. I put my makeup and lipstick on to match the color of the apron I was wearing. I couldn't resist the temptation to put high heels on. Heels are considered a grotesque thing to wear in a Japanese house, where, as I mentioned before, only a dizzying variety of slippers were allowed. I would have preferred to memorize a thousand Chinese characters than to remember the order of wearing slippers in a Japanese home. Now I know it perfectly… but it's not useful anymore.
Mrs. O showed up at 12 p.m. that day with another bowl of strawberries. I told her that that day I was going to make rice and Japanese soup. To impress her I proudly offered her a bowl of Romanian soup (pork belly soup), which Ken had made. The tastiest pork belly soup that I have ever tasted in my life—remember I am a non-gormandizer person—was the one made by Ken, who was using secret ingredients to give it a hint of Japanese taste. Ken loved cooking. He confessed that it relaxed him. He held a cooking diploma in French and Italian cuisine, as Japanese cuisine didn’t have enough mystery for him. Some of the Romanian dishes such as sarmale (stuffed cabbage or grape leaves), ciorba de burta (pork belly soup), and boeuf salad (similar to Russian salad) were culinary child's play for him... How different we were! I told Mrs. O that I made the soup myself because I wanted to prevent a high blood pressure situation on her part. I had already started it by showing up with red high heel sandals to complement my kitchen outfit.
So, the Japanese weren't going to let me be a foreigner and maintain my own identity that made me who I was…Ioana…with qualities and defects, superficialities and depths. Ioana… with a Japanese heart, an international mind and a body that looked Romanian. Their interdiction to be me made me even stronger, with an insatiable desire for knowledge. I was fascinated with the psychological game and intrigued by all the meaningless discussions that I had with others, which at the end left us empty, just like one's hungry stomach after a long, meal-less journey.
The young Japanese women my age—between 23 and 27 years old—were talking a lot yet saying nothing, as if a vacuum had emptied their minds of words, leaving them raw and with no substance. It seemed that a tornado had mixed up all their words and ideas, not giving them the chance to settle into any meaning or depth. All they talked about was weather, fashion (Japanese-style fashion), diets and having children. Any other tentative discussion failed just like a small boat adventuring into the immensity and depth of the Pacific Ocean. These women had no curiosity or idea about literature or culture—Japanese or otherwise—history, art, the rest of the world or different mindsets, ways of thinking, speaking, eating, dressing or being…
I was tired of explaining to them that I didn’t follow any secret diet, but even more, I would have liked to gain some weight. It was useless to keep on telling them that I didn’t want any children because I was too young and I wanted to start up in life with a successful career… What is a career? A concept hard to explain to the Japanese wives, because for them a successful career meant getting married and having children before getting old, meaning before turning 26!
We had nothing in common. Every day that went by I noticed how they continually made mistakes in their native language, which I was still studying intensely. I couldn’t stand grammar mistakes in Japanese (a professional defect stemming from my teaching days)… On top of this, these Japanese women had no interest in befriending a foreigner, especially one that was taller and thinner than they were. In other words, a thinner and taller married woman who came from a noble family didn’t have any chances to make friends… I was lonely, sad and isolated, despite all appearances to the contrary. I was a Friday in a country of Robinsons and I was fighting against a strong current to change things.
From these experiences I learned another major lesson: when you are different and you can’t change yourself nor the ones around you, stay who you are and try to improve each aspect of your personality. Learn to respect and tolerate those who aren’t like you, but grow apart from them and focus your attention and energy towards those who are like you, lost somewhere waiting to find you or to be found. And always pray to God “to give you the strength to accept the things that you can’t change, the courage to change the things that can be changed and the wisdom to know the difference between the two.”
My Japanese interview
The first media interview I had given in my entire life was in Japan, during my first visit. I was a foreigner studying Japanese and the fact that I spoke knowledgeably and enthusiastically about Sei Shonagon, the Japanese writer from the 10th century, and also about Shin Kurosawa whose grandchildren were hosting me during my stay in Japan, made the journalists quite curious. My physical appearance also matched the Nipponese taste: dark eyes, sickly pale skin long dark hair; this was also very intriguing to them. The journalists called Otoosan and asked permission to schedule an interview with me.
Three years after that interview I was 25 and married to the heir of the Kurosawa family. Everyone was curious to find out who Ioana Kurosawa was. They all came to ask me this one question, as if I knew who she was… I ponder this question even now, with the same desire and intensity. How enjoyable it would be to find the answer to this question: Who am I? Perhaps other people know, but I am still searching…
We had just moved to Japan, newly married. In the beginning we settled on the north side of Japan at our vacation house. That is where my parents-in-law were and also the Kurosawa Museum. After just a few days of being there, still flummoxed by the hour difference and most of all by the Japanese customs and lifestyle, I’ve been told that I was solicited to be part of a few conferences. They were two hours each and I had to talk about the European culture and civilization, especially about the Romanian culture, traditions and lifestyle. As if this wasn’t enough, I had another interview with the town’s magazine for their anniversary edition. I felt honored and happy to have received these invitations, yet I was overwhelmed. I would have liked to have 2-3 months to get used to everything. I hardly knew how to get from our house to our Parents’ house, which was located right behind ours. Not to mention that it was the only one.
For the interview I had a photo shoot for two days. I didn’t have the photo session with the magazine’s photographer, but with Otoosan, who didn’t want to have me photographed by another person. This was one of the first signs of things to come that I didn’t decipher in time. From all the photographs that were taken only one was published, because as Otoosan had said, it was for a serious interview, not a fashion magazine spread. I spent several hours talking with the journalist who came to interview me. We were under the continuous supervision of Ken, who didn’t leave us alone for even a second. He elegantly yet strictly censored my words through the way he looked at me… I found it somehow normal, as I didn’t want to make major linguistic or cultural mistakes. As a result of my interview the magazine published an article on me, which Ken and I translated. It sounded something l
ike this:
“Beautiful Ioana-san was born in Romania. She won first place at the Miss University competition in her native country. Her mother is a language teacher (Romanian and Latin) and her father is a judge. Ioana’s older sister is a judge as well and her middle sister is a philosophy teacher. Ioana-san is a linguist. She taught Japanese at a private university in Bucharest, Romania. One can easily understand that even if she is just 25 years old she is much wiser than most Japanese women her age. We consider her to be a genius. She speaks seven languages, including Japanese extremely well. Her husband, Kenijiro-san got his Ph.D. in musicology from the Academy of Music in Bucharest and will be a professor at the University of Tokyo. Mrs. Ioana Kurosawa married Mr. Kenijiro Kurosawa, who is the eighth descendent of the Shogun Kurosawa Tsutoo. The first time they met they were at a piano concert organized by the Japanese Embassy in Bucharest. After 5 years of dating they got married.”
I’m wondering now why I made the decision to write a whole book when the previous paragraph says everything about me, concisely and chronologically ordered.
The interview started this way:
“Journalist: What was your first impression when you saw Mr. Kenijiro Kurosawa?
Me: A real Japanese gentleman… He had elegant attire, elevated and polite speech… a generous soul. In these times that we live in people don’t have time for other people. We are all agitated, tired, nervous, cold and sometimes selfish. I was surprised and happy at the same time to discover that in this world a man with such a noble soul exists.
Journalist: How is your home country, Romania?
Me: Romania is beautiful. I truly love my homeland. There are a lot of wonderful things there. It is very hard for me to talk about Romania as a whole since the Japanese are generally interested in nature. If you’d like I can show you wonderful photographs of landscapes from my country, yet for me the people are the most important element. Their open hearts, hospitality, kindness and generosity are all characteristics I treasure. Unfortunately their kind hearts can’t be adequately presented in pictures. Romanians are also famous for their genuine hospitality. I find it sad that the Japanese know three elements of my culture and talk only of them: Dracula, Ceausescu and Nadia Comaneci.”
“It’s only been a short time since she arrived in Japan; therefore she is not fully adapted to the climatic and time zone differences here. Her culinary preferences are: sea urchin brain, mackerel with soy sauce, shrimp schnitzel and especially meronpan Sweet bun that has melon flavor)[ix].” It’s delicious! It’s tasty and weird at the same time. Honestly, I can’t explain why I like it.
Ioana-san is the newest member of the Kurosawa family.”
This is what the journalist selected from the few hours of dialogue. When the magazine came out I was told that: “From now on your life won’t be the same.” I smiled… my life has never been the same.
Some kind of lecture
My next social event happened a few days after my interview and was organized by the prefecture’s district counsel of Sendai. Initially, I didn’t understand what my responsibilities were, given the fact that it was supposed to happen in front of 150 to 200 people from the whole district, and I had no advance notice. My audience’s occupations were varied and included culture, business, education and police. My lecture was on the culture and civilization of Romania. The subject of my talk was predetermined, as was its duration; therefore I was faced with the challenge and duty to speak eloquently, at the highest level of the Japanese language, in front of an elite audience of the community.
The pressure was high since I was a member of the Kurosawa family. I don’t recall the moment when I finally understood that, in addition to Ken, I had married the whole Japanese civilization hiding behind centuries of history, traditions and culture. I had also married all the ancestors, whose honor and excellence weighed heavily on my fragile shoulders. I was just a young, thin-ish Romanian, exhausted and over-challenged by the cultural shock and the “royal” duties that wouldn’t allow me to fully breathe. In spite of all this, I accepted the offer to speak at the conference. Maybe it was because of the strong desire to respond to the challenge positively and honorably. Or maybe it was because of the fear that I didn’t really have any other choice. Perhaps it was just my vanity, which I take full responsibility for and which sometimes acts as an engine, pushing me forward. I would have to agree with the insightful description of vanity by Lord Lytton, who suggests that it has multiple forms: ambition, gall and a love for fame—the desire for applause as an echo of your deeds.
The big day came. It was scary. Many similar days would come from that day on… For a while I thought that the most important day of my life was the day I was born. Later on I realized that my birthday was just a warm up for what was to come.
I asked my Nipponese family to stay at home, especially Otoosan and Ken. I didn’t feel comfortable seeing their eyes in the room, regardless of them encouraging or disapproving of me. As usual, in social environments like these you’re most shy about your own relatives or close friends. The people close to you and the general audience need to be separated in order for you to adopt your best possible attitude. Distance from the people that you are familiar with is needed, so that you can balance the relationship with the unfamiliar people in your audience. It is hard to explain what I went through internally. My request was honored, understood or not. I was picked up by a limo and taken to the location. There were a lot of people there. I couldn’t see anything around me except people staring at me and applauding. Like most fashion models, I have a somewhat narcissistic personality. Most of the time nothing and no one can daunt me, yet in those moments seeing so many Japanese, “as countless as leaves and grass” as we say in Romania, I definitely felt the butterflies in my stomach. I wanted to wear my “brown pants” as the Stefan cel Mare joke said, referring to what best to wear if one was going to be scared sh**less (Stefan was a famous Romanian prince who fought the Turks to prevent them from conquering the country).
A gentleman went on stage and introduced me. I didn’t hear what he said or how he said it; I could only see, as though hypnotized, the big letters on stage: “Romanian Culture Conference.” I felt all the video cameras focused on me, unblinkingly capturing each time I swallowed, reading each unspoken question I thought about: where are all the Romanian cultural icons, such as Razvan Theodorescu, Liiceanu or Plesu now, when I needed them most? … Would they have found this easy? Nobility always binds, yet culture even more. I painfully realized that I needed more time to prepare some visuals for my presentations. Too late! I had only prepared with what I had “on me,” meaning what I had in my brain. It’s true that a cultivated person could easily say omnia mea mecum porto (All that's mine I carry with me), yet I’m afraid that this was only true in times past, where presentations weren’t as evolved and didn’t include cultural references; where the audience was less cultivated. On top of this, I didn’t choose the subject of my talk. The whole situation was set up for me to elegantly commit “presentation suicide” in public—as if with my own approval. I thought for a while that it would have been easier to propose a talk about their culture, perhaps because this required less responsibility on my part. The hesitations and inexactitudes would have been forgiven, or at least excusable. I even thought of running away!
When they started applauding again I said to myself “Please God help me!” and landed on stage, without knowing exactly how. My voice, hands and legs were shaking uncontrollably. I remember thanking the audience for being interested in what I had to say. I started by showing them on a map where Europe is located and within the continent where Romania is. I was afraid that because of my nervousness I wouldn’t be able to locate it on the map myself. I saw the map through the fogginess of my eyes and was searching for the yellow spot where Romania was. Then, showing them a blown-up map of Romania, I talked about its strategic location in Europe, population, size, neighboring countries, etc. And I started to catch some courage and enjoy
hearing myself talk. I left behind the notes that I had made at home and spoke freely about the subject. I’ve always disliked speakers who read from their notes, which were often prepared by other people, just like politicians in most of their public appearances.
I gave my talk behind a table, which covered half of my body. The microphone was mounted on the table and everything felt so official, overly so. At a certain point I explained to them that talking about my country made me feel like leaving behind the rigidity of the official setting, which didn’t represent the jovial spirit of the Romanian culture. I moved in front of the table, I pulled the microphone out of its stand and started telling them about a Romanian’s way of life. I told them about their openness towards foreigners, about what we, as a nation, admire in other countries and especially what we admire the Japanese for. I spoke about Romanian poems, about our cultural figures—Eminescu, Grigorescu and Luchian… I wasn’t sure if my vanity or something better stood between me and my talk, but I found what I was saying very interesting and I was pleased to discover that I had a lot of information to share. I was connecting many ideas so that my subject would make more sense and was exploring captivating topics—at least for the average audience. That was the moment when I truly appreciated my formative years studying at the high school in Valenii de Munte, my hometown.