how much

愛は不思議だ。
素直でいれば、信じられない位深い、深い感情が見つかる。


私の好きな歌に、こんな歌詞がある。

「ねぇ　こんなに笑えた事　
生まれて　初めてだよ。
きっと　私はね
この日の為に　間違いだらけの　道を
歩いてきたんだ　ずっと。」


太平洋は大きいけど、前に進めば、いつかたどり着く。
夜の空は暗いけど、月はたった一つしかない。


次に会える日を、待っています。
その日まで、元気でいて下さい。


Just imagine—how deeply you can love the right one.

日本の謎 / Mysteries in Japan #5: 身分証明書 / ID

It's a little past 9 PM at this Starbucks here, and the joint is, as they would say, jumpin'. It's like, geez people, don't you have anywhere else to be??

I have an excuse, because I don't have Internet at my apartment, and I need, as Kusanagi Motoko would say, to get connected to the Net. And I have discovered that the reason I have to be at a Starbucks at 9:11 PM on a Thursday night is because Japan has a pretty screwed up subject identification system.

I won't complain about the mind-numbing process of getting myself transferred into this city at the local ward office. I know I have it pretty good as a Japanese citizen, even having to wait around, explain to the officer about living overseas, clarify why I'm not contributing to the national pension system, or be dismayed by the persistent racism and patriarchy of the Japanese koseki (family registry) system.

But it does make me sad when I have to consider handing over my passport just to get Internet set up, or when I can't get a library card without a "government-issued" ID. I mean, really—haven't you people ever heard of MIGRATION??

A Yard With Fruit Trees, a Family of Hawks, and a Goldfish Pond

When we were freshmen in high school, our literature teacher asked us to write a story describing an incident in which we had done something we later regretted. I wrote about how I killed one of the goldfish in our backyard pond by holding it out of the water for too long. That's right: Even as a child, I was a terrible person.

The pond now has a completely new group of goldfish swimming in it. The peach trees are gone, but we still have our navel orange trees. The pump is as fake as always, but now we at least have wooden boards to protect the goldfish from preying birds (like our very own hawk family) and evil children like me.

See you later, little pond. I'm off to a new city to try my hand at doing what I've received six years' worth of training to do. I may be back earlier than I expect, but when I do, it'll be to create another yard somewhere new, full of dreams and fruits and birds and love. Maybe by then the baby hawks would be all grown up too.

Beautiful but Tragic Movie, or, How Love Makes Us Vulnerable

I am notoriously bad at guessing the endings of movies. (Maybe that's why I really like spoilers—thank goodness for Wikipedia. (This, of course, is totally unlike what my sister does when she says she's "read" a book after she reads its Wikipedia plot summary.)) But with La migliore offerta (2013), written and directed by Giuseppe Tornatore—man, that one really pissed (and threw) me off.

It wasn't so much the fact that I couldn't guess the ending of the movie (I'm used to that), but like...really, the messed-up-ness of it all. It was this moment of (very) slowly realizing (shut up) what had happened...and I was like, OH FUCK SHIT. That...didn't just...what???

To make matters worse, the poor protagonist of the movie was played by Geoffrey Rush, of whom I'm a big fan. I liked him in Shine (though I didn't care much for the movie) and absolutely loved him in Quills (in which he portrays a very likable Marquis de Sade). Rush's Virgil Oldman (the film is heavy with symbolism) is a man who fears women in the flesh—until he becomes entangled with a mysterious heiress. Before we can say "Sold!" (he's an auctioneer) he is head over heels for this beautiful (but confusingly annoying) woman.

If the number of parentheses I've used so far doesn't cue you in to just how worked up I am about this...I can only tell you that I just feel so bad for our good friend Virgil. Because the simple truth is this: He loved that woman in ways he didn't even know were possible. He accepted all of her flaws, laid bare all of his own vulnerabilities, and whispered to her in that moment, only—"I will never abandon you".

There was so much tenderness in the way he touched her face. In the way he wanted to make sure she was OK, that she was eating well, that she was given flowers on her birthday. There was longing in the way he talked with her on the phone. So much love in the way he put his arms around her. And he knew, he had faith, that she felt the same way.

Dammit, Tornatore. I had Cinema Paradiso on my list of films to watch (if only for Ennio Morricone's score), but I may just change my mind. Give me my happy endings, and I'll give you a satisfied viewer in return.


[Oh, wait...I just read the plot summary of Cinema Paradiso on Wikipedia. That one stays on the list.]

I Don't Recommend This Book, but

In the third year of my Ph.D. program I stopped buying books. I'd imagine I had a really good rationale behind that decision, but I just can't remember it at this very moment.

Anyway, while ABD I mainly read books that I borrowed from either the library or people I knew. (Or I made my eyeballs bleed by reading electronic versions. ::sigh::) As evidenced by my post about Jeanette Winterson's Lighthousekeeping, this "no book buying" trend continues.

Of course, summertime means family time, and family time means my sister lending me books. And we all know my sister only reads books with covers that are mostly pink.

Her latest loan is Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) by Mindy Kaling. I admit, I've never seen a single episode of the U.S. version of The Office. (Chillax—I do own the British version.) I've also never seen a single episode of The Mindy Project. I have, however, read Kaling's essay "Types of Women in Romantic Comedies Who Are Not Real". I find many things in her book to be funny; I just don't care for her writing. Maybe I would like the jokes on her show, just not how they're told.

In other words, I wouldn't necessarily recommend this book to people (unless, of course, their sisters were lending it to them). But there were a few bits in it that really struck me.

1. Stress is not a legitimate topic of conversation. Kaling describes this sentiment as having come from growing up a child of immigrant professionals, where her parents (doctor and architect) worked and commuted long hours while making sure their kids had at least one parent at home at all times. Sure, there are many things about class and race to dissect here, but I kind of agree with her sentiment: we're all busy in our own ways, and we're all stressed out to a certain extent at different times. And maybe that's why you don't get to sit there complaining like your stress somehow excuses you from doing your part so that other people can get through their day too.
2. It's nice when a guy gets a little jealous now and then. OK, the heteronormative assumption is a bit disturbing in this book, but I'm going to ride its wave: I would freak out if my partner were as jealous as I am, because I am an insanely jealous person. But maybe that's why I kind of appreciate it when my partner does get jealous—I think like, "Hey, maybe he likes me and thinks I'm cool enough that he'd be upset if someone else made a pass at me". What a confidence booster that can be.
3. Adults should date adults. I'm paraphrasing here, because what she (really) implies is "Women should date men (not boys)". But whatever. I do, nonetheless, appreciate the things she says about what men do, which include: knowing what they want, making concrete plans, making reservations, going in for a kiss without giving "some long preamble about how they're thinking of kissing you". Essentially she gives points to people who aren't afraid of commitment—not necessarily to a romantic relationship, but to life in general: where they live and what they do to make a living. After all, if those are the types of commitments one person in the relationship is making, then it would probably make for a good balance for the other person to be making similar commitments as well.  

Next I'm reading a couple of books that I'm borrowing from my mum, which means they're in Japanese and probably about nutrition or finding happiness or whatever. But it's cool, because it's summertime—which means lots of time for non-reserach-related reading.

Grad School Awesomeness #1: To Ph.D., or Not to Ph.D.

I...didn't know how else to title this series. But since I'm in the process of, well, processing some things about my grad school experience, I thought I would do myself a favor by casting it as something that was pretty effin' awesome.

But as I've been in correspondence with a woman who is debating whether or not to apply to Literature Ph.D. programs, I've realized that my grad school experience was, in fact, pretty awesome. There's more to go into about that, but that's going to have to be a different post.

And since lately I've been talking with people about all the things I wished I had heard when I was in (or preparing to start) my program, I thought—all this stuff like what I'm writing to this woman, why not post it here so that I don't feel like I'm completely slacking?

So the posts in this series are for consumption by anyone who is considering applying for Ph.D. programs in the humanities (or social sciences, probably), at UCSD or elsewhere. They're modified versions of emails from the aforementioned (longer) conversation, but the general ideas remain the same.

--

. . . Since you already have an M.A., I assume you're familiar with the process of applying to programs based on advisors whom you would be interested in working with, in addition to taking into account how the overall program fits with your intellectual approach. (Very quickly: I had no idea how to do any of that when I applied to Ph.D. programs. I'd gotten my B.A. and M.A. at the same time (from the same school), which meant I never went through the process of applying to grad programs before. After getting my M.A. I worked for a few years, during which I decided to go back for a Ph.D. I didn't know what was involved in writing an application or choosing schools, so I chose based on geographic location. (I'm from southern California, and I was working in San Francisco, so it made sense to stay in California.) I got accepted to UCSD's Literature Ph.D. program and to the M.A. program at Purdue (I have family there)—and between those two, it was easy for me to choose UCSD.)

It can be hard to glean information from department Websites beyond the superficial—so I'm glad that you're actually contacting people. We do have a good program at UCSD, and as you say, there is a lot of freedom and working across national literatures that is a big draw for those who are interested in that. The reality, though, is that it can be hard to put together a program that works well for you in terms of depth—there's a lot of variety you can be exposed to, but you have to make some concerted effort in order to develop the kind of depth that you would need to be really good in your field.

An example: I am an East Asian comparative literature scholar (with a focus on modern Japanese literature), and there is not a single person in our department who does what I do. This is an issue with both the department and the university in general—California doesn't invest a lot of resources into public higher education, which means schools like UCSD take a pretty substantial hit. What's more, because UCSD places so much emphasis on science and engineering, humanities departments like ours often get the short shrift in terms of resources. This has made many of our faculty members leave—which happened with my former advisor and her partner. On top of that, we have had difficulty maintaining a strong East Asian studies community here at UCSD (for similar reasons to the above), which then made it difficult for me to find coursework related to my field of study. In short, I didn't have faculty from my department who were directly involved in my development as a Japanese literature scholar.

Buuut, of course that's not to say that people haven't supported me. In fact, I have had amazing professors who have been there for me, read my fellowship applications, gave tips on the job search, etc. But these were people outside my field of Japanese studies, and sometimes outside of the department as well. And again, because resources are tight, professors are having to stretch themselves as well—teaching larger and larger classes, grading more and more papers with fewer TAs, etc. Professors are human too, and they just can't be there for all of their graduate students in the way we want them to be.

With that said, I really enjoyed the six years I spent in UCSD's Literature department. I learned a lot, I met some great people, I got to go to Japan for a year on a Japan Foundation fellowship that I was awarded because of the training I'd received here...and now, I've finished my program and am starting a teaching job, even if it's temporary. These are all wonderful things (that sounds weird coming from me...sorry), and I couldn't have done them without the support system I had here. Plus I've benefited from our emphasis on cultural studies, and serious critique of structures of power that dominate our lives—even if we don't always practice what we preach in terms of resisting them (or at least not replicating them). A degree from UCSD is something to be respected—but it can also be difficult to finish the program in a fulfilling way.

I hesitate to name specific individuals who stand out as supporters (though a good number of them come to mind immediately), and for two reasons: 1) a prof who is good to me may not be good to other grad students; and 2) you will most likely spend most of your time and energy interacting with the prof closest to your research field, which I think isn't Japanese literature. This second point is particularly important: Of course, after you arrive at a graduate program, your research interests and approach will change and develop—they should, that's the whole point. But the initial step of getting accepted by a program, and for at least your first year, you want to have identified someone who is aligned with your scholarly interest, rather than aligned with your "personal fit" (e.g., how supportive they are).

One more thing: your decision to apply to a Ph.D. program or not, to start one or not once you've been accepted, which program you choose to attend—these, I imagine, are all things you will think about in the coming year, sometime between now and next April. I admire that you want to teach at the college level and that you are eager to jump into academia again after having worked upon getting your M.A. What I do want to stress (and others will remind you of this as well, even if we come from different perspectives) is that you have to do a Ph.D. program because that's what you want to spend six+ years of your life doing. You have to do a Ph.D. because you love it—because you love to read, because you love to write, because you love to teach bratty undergrads at low pay, be stressed out about qualifying exams, not get enough sleep for 10 weeks straight, etc., etc. Because in those six+ years, you may have awful professors, you may get rejection after rejection for fellowships, and at the end of it all, you may not have a job lined up at all. I'm lucky because I was offered the job I'm starting in August—but I can genuinely say that, if I didn't have that job, I'd still be happy finishing my Ph.D. and going out and looking for a non-academic job. For many of us (especially in the humanities), that is a tough situation to have to accept. And we can spend seven, eight years staying in a Ph.D. program, always looking for that college-teaching job we thought we would get once we finished our Ph.D. None of this is meant to be a deterrent, but it's important to me that I say it. I don't know what your personal situation is like, I don't know if you have family to support—but no matter what program you decide to go to, I think it's good to have that perspective, to know that a Ph.D. in the humanities may not actually get you the job you wanted to get.

OK, this has gotten far too long... I know you don't have to apply until the Fall, but maybe thinking about these things will let you do some traveling over the summer to check out some of the campuses . . . !

Lighthousekeeping — Jeanette Winterson

A friend of a friend let me borrow a copy of Jeanette Winterson's Lighthousekeeping. This was only my second Winterson novel, the first one being Written on the Body that my ex-partner got me while we were together. I really liked Written on the Body, so I jumped at the chance to read Lighthousekeeping.

What a bad idea. This is not the novel to read when your heart, mind, and body are exhausted and worn to their cores. Parts of the book left me a broken mess on the floor.

--
You must never doubt the one you love.
But they might not be telling you the truth.
Never mind that. You tell them the truth.
What do you mean?
You can't be another person's honesty, child, but you can be your own.
So what should I say?
When?
When I love someone?
You should say it. (85)


What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don't want you to come too close. I want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. I don't want to tell you where I am. I want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. I want to be with you. (198–199)