Love, Love, Love

I have been here for one week shy of three months, and I've already shared something very huge with the community. Even more importantly, with my own JTE. Her father passed away this week and tonight was his wake. It's called a tsuya (通夜）and it is one step in the process of caring for the recently deceased. You can tell if the family is Buddhist if they are holding prayer beads.

First, I took off my shoes and stepped up into the large tatami room. I offered my condolence money envelope (ご霊前）at the designated area and was given a bag with a gift in it in exchange. In Japan, it is customary to bring condolence money in a special envelope with your name on it. The amount you can offer varies, but 5,000 yen is about average. That's what I offered. The gift you receive back is anywhere from 1/4 to 1/2 of the amount of condolence money you give.

Next, I walked up to the main alter where a stone box filled with sand and extinguishing incense stood. I was offered a stick of incense and approached the box which stood in front of the most amazing alter I've ever seen. Thousands of flowers, beautiful lanterns, an ornate coffin-esque box containing the deceased's ashes, and piles of the most perfect fruit surrounding a picture of my JTE's father. I was in awe.

At the alter, you're supposed to say a small prayer and put the incense into the sand. When everyone had completed this task, the room was thick with the smell of pine or cedar, a haze of smoke bending along the air like water in a stream. I offered my incense and then faced the deceased's family, including my JTE. I felt so awful for her. On top of that, I didn't know what to do. I vaguely remember bowing and giving my JTE a sympathetic half-smile. Some attendees, such as the superintendent of education, gave the most respectful of bows by kneeling on the ground, their heads almost grazing the ground as they bowed.

After I showed my respect to the family, I sat in the second row of zabuton (floor cushions). At 6 sharp, the doors to the temple were closed, and the priest (who is actually also a teacher at my base school) performed a very long sutra at the alter. While he did so, the family passed the incense box between them and offered three pinches of incense each. Those in attendance were also given an incense box to pass down the lines. The box was split in half. On the right side was the incense, and you are meant to transfer three pinches of it to the left side. How you do this seems to rely heavily on how religious you are or how well you knew the deceased. After I picked up a pinch of incense, I held it quietly for half a second with my unoccupied hand underneath the incense before transferring it to the other side, hoping I looked thoughtful and not so out of place. I did meet the man once before he died, but he was very sick at the time and couldn't actually speak.

The whole process took about an hour and a half. After the priest finished the sutra, he sang a shorter sutra and then read what sounded like a character profile on the deceased, citing him as a very energetic man in life. Then my JTE's husband said a few words, thanking everyone for coming. It was difficult not to cry, watching my JTE try to keep it together. I stole glances at her from time to time during the wake. I didn't see her cry once, but she did dab at her nose with a handkerchief in an effort to keep herself focused on anything but crying. I was close to tears at least twice; I felt so terrible for her.

When it was time to leave, the majority of those in attendance departed and were given another gift. I was one of the last to leave. As I stepped outside, I saw two of my girl JHS students talking to my JTE. Their faces looked concerned, but it was obvious that they had no idea what to say. My JTE saw me and rushed over. Suddenly she was in front of me, dabbing at her nose, fighting tears. She told me thank you for coming. I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled her into a big hug. She burst into tears then, and she didn't stop crying. I told her everything was beautiful and that I'm glad I got to meet her father before he passed. We broke our hug, but she continued to cry. I told her I felt awful for her and that I was close to tears myself. I gave her another hug and she thanked me sincerely. I bowed deeply to her mother and other family members and made my way home.

I got in my car but couldn't drive for a few minutes afterward. I was reminded of my grandfather's passing that happened recently, and how difficult letting him go was... how it still is. I also thought about how the Japanese, as a people, are not comfortable with hugging. I sensed my JTE needed a hug, and I went for it. I swear her eyes were asking for one. I couldn't help myself. I don't like to see people in pain, and I definitely know when someone just needs to be embraced. I was relieved when she didn't pull away and even more relieved when she finally started to cry. She had been holding it in for so long, putting on a good face.

No matter how much people like their personal space, I believe that a hug in itself has a lot of healing power. Body contact is love-- a squeeze, reassurance. Everyone needs that at some point.

I felt like this was a good topic to put in this blog for a couple reasons. Firstly, to introduce how a Japanese wake proceeds in the unfortunate instance that you find yourself presented with one. Secondly, this is a good example of how you, the ALT, have to inquire about certain things because people won't tell you about them first. I was not invited to the wake. Don't be surprised if you're not invited either. They know it's not your culture or religion, and they don't expect you to go. The day I heard about my JTE's father's death, I immediately asked my supervisor when the wake was and if I was allowed to go. If you show interest, you will be rewarded. I'm so happy that I went. It showed everyone in the community that I care about them, and it showed my JTE that I am not just her assistant teacher but her friend.

That is the most important thing I've learned here: If I inquire about events, my teacher's weekends, where my students want to go to high school, that shows them that I am interested in them, that I care. Becoming a part of the community has become really important to me. I know I'll never be 100% Japanese, but if I'm going to live here, I'm going to try my hardest to spectate as little as possible.