by Ioana Lee
One day I was brave enough to make boeuf salad (similar to Russian salad, made with diced potatoes, boiled vegetables and chicken or turkey breast). I felt the need to spice up the cuisine a bit. Everyone ate my salad out of politeness, and thanked me for the effort. I’m sure that the mayonnaise gave them an upset stomach, even though the Japanese have the best mayonnaise in the world. It was so tasty that I could have eaten it spread thickly on a piece of bread. Oh, bread! That’s another crazy story. Japanese people don’t eat bread at all, and since I wasn’t Japanese enough I wanted to eat bread. I wandered through all the bakeries and stores to find bread, as if I was looking for the Treasure Island. I couldn’t find it anywhere. Although I found thirty types of bread that looked similar to traditional bread, the taste wasn’t the same as back in Romania. This got me really upset…
One evening, when we were all around the table, Ken called Okaasan in a very revolted tone of voice.
“Hai[xx]” she answered timidly with her head slightly tilted.
“Where is the mussel soup?” Ken asked her in the same tone. It was shocking to me, while for him it seemed to be normal.
“Mussel soup? Well… I didn’t make that kind of soup tonight. I made instead soy soup.”
“You didn’t make it?! Didn’t I tell you in the morning that Ioana wants to eat mussel soup? How could you forget this? You must apologize!?
I felt terribly embarrassed and I started crying. I couldn’t stand hearing Ken talk to his mother that way, regardless of all the Nipponese mother-older son relationship rituals and customs. I also couldn’t accept the fact that all the other people found that awkward moment to be normal. I felt powerless. I didn’t know what to do and what to say… Indeed, Ken asked me earlier that day what I felt like eating and I answered randomly mussel soup. In reality I didn’t feel like eating anything. I forgot about it and ended up being part of a horrible scene because of that meaningless detail. I stood up and left the table while Okaasan was bowing and apologizing profusely in front of me. Worried and confused, Otoosan asked me about the situation. Ken came after me and said that I shouldn’t cry because his mother forgot to make the soup; that he will make sure to have a serious conversation with her.
I was wondering if I was the one who was weird or if all the people around me were from another planet.
“Ken—I said softly yet firmly—please never, but never talk to Okaasan like that when I’m in the same room. It affects me enormously, regardless of it being a Japanese thing or not.”
Otoosan came after me as well and told me:
“It’s ok Ioana. Tomorrow I’ll make an even tastier soup for you …”
From that moment on, Otoosan cooked for me many times. How could I not love them? My parents and sisters would do anything for me, but these people…? First of all they were Japanese, solid as a rock yet with warm and pure hearts. Otoosan made colossal concessions, stemming from his role as a manager of the Kurosawa Museum, head of the family, older Japanese man, to create comfort for me. I couldn’t always understand him, yet I loved him enormously and I’ll never forget all the things that he did for me. Oh God, my heart is filled with richness and I feel blessed to have had two sets of Parents that I adored; two unique families that protected me and fulfilled my soul… I could never feel lonely or poor!
Kiku
In order for Ken and I to obey the laws around pet transportation, we had to leave Kiku at Narita airport in Tokyo for two weeks after we arrived in Japan. If I remember correctly the whole thing cost us a few thousand dollars. It was extremely painful to leave her there and to see her crying. She was afraid of being left alone amongst strangers. Because of the long flight she was also very agitated. Regardless of how much I tried to avoid leaving her there, the Japanese pet customs forced me to. The officials called us twice a week to update us about the situation. They even sent us a picture of Kiku. She seemed to have lost a lot of weight, even though she was well cared for and lived in excellent conditions. Two weeks passed until she finally came home. She was disoriented and thin, but extremely happy to see us. I hugged and pampered her a lot.
Shortly after she arrived home it was obvious that something wasn’t going well with her health. Out of the blue she would start shivering, trying to catch her breath, as if she was suffocating. We didn’t know what to do with her. We took her in our arms and tried to calm her down like a baby, but her symptoms wouldn’t go away. I was scared and worried. I was aware that she was still in a state of shock after the abandonment experience at the airport. Ken and I took her to the veterinary hospital and the doctors confirmed that she was still recovering from the shock. That was the reason she lost so much weight and also two teeth. I don’t remember what medication we gave her, yet I remember that we took care of her with all of our heart. Kiku was the only thing that kept me connected to my homeland. She was my little co-national friend.
Shortly after the hospital visit she started feeling much better. She got used to the big house we lived in and ran freely all over the place. She also put on some weight, eventually reaching nine pounds. Her symptoms came back once in a while, but not as acutely. Looking like a little white furry ball, she was a good example of a fluffy and lively Maltese Bichon. Everyone in Ken’s family loved her, even though in the beginning none of them agreed that we could have a pet live with us. Yet they all honored my desire; it was more of a requirement that I established long before I moved to Japan. More than this, in our house, Ken and I should have been free to act the way we thought best for us, not best for the family.
The most challenging thing with poor little Kiku was that she wasn’t taught to pee outside. She used to do it indoors, just like a cat. The spacious house that we lived in disoriented her quite a bit when it came to her physiological needs. Ken told me that if Kiku peed in one of the forbidden places in our new house, Otoosan would kick us all out. Somehow I found this fair… I didn’t worry too much about it, as Kiku was very smart and trainable. I set up a box for her in an isolated corner on the first floor. It was in the Japanese hallway (genkan), close to the main entrance door. The box looked like a modern container, with a soft mat made from an absorbent and deodorant fabric. The mat had to be changed every day. After a few “mistakes,” which were washed away by Ken, Kiku learned to use the bathroom in her special little box. Even though she was very spoiled, we thought that she got it.
Ken and I used to go out without her and when we returned we sadly discovered that she expanded the action area to several other forbidden places in the house. It was probably a form of protest for being left alone. Ken would clean up after her and I would give her a harsh reprimand. She seemed to do it intentionally, as if to say: “that’s what you get if you neglect me!”
One afternoon, when I returned home, I went upstairs to my room. I found all my favorite envelopes on my little desk, from where I used to send my letters, wetted by Kiku. They were reproductions of pictures from the impressionism era and I valued them a lot. She really pushed my buttons with that behavior. She could have ruined anything, but not the creations of my favorite artists, even though my envelopes were commercial reproductions of their masterpieces. I took a newspaper in my hand, rolled it and hit her bottom. I also ignored her for a few hours. Ken couldn’t resist her and petted her as a form of consolation. None of us was strong enough to hold our punishing attitude for a long time. Kiku was extremely intelligent, always exceeding our expectations. She would understand through words or gestures what was about to happen next. She was incredible! She behaved especially well for the rest of that day.
The next day Ken and I went to the museum. When we returned home Otoosan decided to join us. We didn’t know how to open the skylights in the house, so Otoosan offered to show us. After he taught us what to do, he played with Kiku a little bit. I wanted to invite him into the living room to chat over a cup of tea. Our living room was divided in two areas: the European style area, with a couch, table, television, etc., and the Japanese style area. Th
is last area was called zashiki and it was like a smaller room in a larger one. It had walls and sliding doors made out of wood and rice paper. Beautifully built and decorated, the room had a tatami on the floor. You could only walk in if you left your shoes at the entrance. The ritual was to walk in with small, delicate steps, typical of the Japanese. In the middle of the room was a tea set. The tea was usually served sitting on the tatami. It was a true ritual. We all honored the zashiki as being a special room, and maintained it as immaculately as we could. It was a sacred space in the house, not only for its classic design with minimalist components, but also for its symbolic value. It was the one place that best combined the traditional and modern facets of our Nipponese lifestyles.
Going back to Kiku… right when I was getting ready to invite Otoosan in the zashiki, I saw her leaving her “thing” on the fine rifts of the bamboo rug. The rug was well respected by all generations (it’s true! generations of people, not dogs). On the rug (tatami), you would only be allowed to wear socks. Kiku left me speechless. I was ready for my worst punishment ever, even for a forced hara-kiri.[xxi] I quickly glanced at Ken to get his attention. He looked at the whole “scene” and almost fainted. To save the situation, I distracted Otoosan by asking him to come to my room and see how organized the things that he had given me were. Otoosan loved me and treated me like a little girl, like his own daughter. He always did what I asked him to do. So, we went into my room where I had a closet and a huge dressing room. I showed him my closet and thanked him again for the Kenzo pullover, which was marvelous, and also for the Italian brick colored coat. I then entertained him with a short fashion show, which I usually like to do in front of those people who have patience.
Ken and I had our own unique world, with secret words and knowing glances. It was like a code that neither the Romanians nor the Japanese were able to decipher. Often times we were like two children who would be trying to discern together the concept behind the word “adult.” We helped each other to get out of the adult world’s labyrinth.
While I was upstairs with Otoosan, I heard Ken’s signal from downstairs that meant that everything was ok. The runway was now clear, so I ended my backstage show. Otoosan thanked me for wearing what he had given me and for truly enjoying his gifts. We then went downstairs. Shortly after he left the house…
“Shinu tokoro data!”[xxii] said Ken and we both started laughing. We were two accomplices that just got away with a huge gaffe, unacceptable in the harshness of the Japanese tradition. We made the best out of a less than ideal situation.
The problem was quite serious, though. Kiku had to be retrained immediately, not just punished. None of us knew how to do that. Ken started studying chapters from books on dog training and came up with several methods, which were sophisticated and time consuming. He also came up with the idea that she should be taken to a special pet training center.
“You know what, even if she’s a puppy I’ll educate her the same way as a human being” I said.
“She won’t be able to understand you. She’s just a dog!”
“The same way she understands that she has to behave and eat at certain hours, she’ll also have to understand that she needs to use the bathroom in the same spot.”
“And where is that spot?!” Ken said, laughing at me.
The evening came and it was time for us to go to sleep. Kiku used to sleep with us in the same room, often times, even in the same bed. The bed was huge and she was very tiny. I took her out of the bed and went downstairs. I told her like I would have told a baby that what she did was unacceptable and that I know that she peed on my envelopes intentionally. I continued by adding that I knew she did it to get her revenge and that this type of behavior was intolerable in our house. She listened to me without moving, staring at me with her big, round eyes.
“Tonight you’ll be sleeping here because that’s what you deserve!”
And I left… After a few minutes she came to the door. She didn’t know what to do next.
“Go away!!!” I said. And she started barking at me. “Aha, so you’re arguing with me! I replied. You know what, Miss Kiku? Back in Romania we have a saying “I made you, I kill you!”
Ken started laughing out loud. I took Kiku in my arms, closed the door behind me and went downstairs again. I put her on her toilet and yelled at her: “You’re not moving from here, otherwise I don’t know what I’ll do. You’ll spend the entire night here.”
I left the room furious. She followed me. I turned abruptly towards her, and, scared, she went back to her little toilet. I showed her through my words and gestures that I was very, very upset at her and that it was serious. Then I went upstairs. I looked down and saw her from upstairs; she couldn’t see me. She didn’t move from that spot. It was pitch black and she started shivering and crying softly. I thought that my heart would break. I went back into my room and told Ken what I did to educate her and that I felt so bad about it. He shared the same feelings. We both looked at how she stayed in her spot, quietly and delicate like a mum flower. Her name meant mum, which was also the crest of the Kurosawa family. She was scared and was still crying softly so that we couldn’t hear her.
I started crying. My soul couldn’t be tough. Verbally yes, I was harsh, yet in my heart I was very sensitive. Too sensitive, I might add. Ken held my hand so I would resist the temptation to go downstairs. We had to give her time to think about what she had done wrong. She had to learn from it. After approximately 25 minutes I went back downstairs, turned on the light and went close to her. She stood up without leaving her repentance spot. I looked at her for a few moments and I told her “Yoshi, yoshi!” I was showing her that I wanted to become friends again. She jumped into my arms.
Two major things happened that night: Kiku never peed in other areas other than her designated spot, and I understood that I couldn’t be mean with a child, a human or an animal, without suffering a lot myself. Even to this day, I can feel the sorrow that I went through when I punished her. I punished myself even more.
To be or not to be a parent
In my conversations with the Japanese I was often asked: “When are you going to have children?” or told point blank: “A woman must have children!” or “You are already old at 25. You must have children quickly!” “We need successors for the Kurosawa family… successors from our oldest son” “Mrs. Ioana, when are you going to have babies?” “You want to tell us that you’re not pregnant yet?” “You don’t want to have children at all?!”
If anyone wanted to annoy me, all they had to do was to ask me about having children… Truth be told, I never wanted to have children; or at least not until a certain age. I’ve always thought of children the same way Oscar Wilde did: “Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.”
I never wanted and still don’t want to have children that would talk back to me, or ask me why they were born in Tokyo and not Hong Kong, why they are half Romanian and not French, or why their eyes are dark and not purple; or why they speak Japanese and I never taught them Afghani, why don’t I know how to write all the Japanese characters yet, why was I born in a different country than them …why …why …why? This kind of stuff isn’t for me… or at least not for now. Maybe when I turn 30—I kept on promising Ken.
I was aware that I could only share my thoughts and fears around having children with Ken and only partially with his family. Most certainly these weren’t ideas that could be shared, in the true sense of the word, with people that had a totally different mindset. It would have been impossible for them to understand me and realize where I was coming from.
“Maybe I’ll do it after I turn 30. Until then, I want to work, be independent and become someone successful from my own efforts. I want to make the most of my skills, qualities and harness my inner resources. I want to do modeling, work in television, make movies and appear in the theatre. I feel that I’m capable to do all of these things and much more. I deeply believe t
hat I need to reach my true potential, fulfill myself as an individual and perfect my character. These are some of the things that I have an inclination for, besides learning foreign languages—NOT making children,” I kept on saying.
“But this is not normal!” Otoosan and all the other people kept on telling me. Regardless of their age or sex they all said the same thing. I remember being asked by a 7 year old boy: “What kind of a woman are you if you’re not having children?!”
“A free and smart woman,” I told him, while thinking to myself that by answering that way I may have been dishonoring my mother. On top of this, there are a high percentage of people in this world who are parents of abandoned children.
“How come your oldest sisters don’t have children either?” Otoosan asked me. “Don’t you think that your parents would want to become grandparents? Didn’t they educate you to have children?”
Now, I can accept situations where people are saying things about me that I don’t like, but God forbid they start saying things about my family members! With this thought in mind I answered: