Happy Thanksgiving

Ojika was hit hard last weekend with another typhoon of American holiday merrymaking. I'm proud to report that my house is still standing, but a little less proud that I have to report the boys of Ojika were gravely disappointed in the pious sentiments of my super-hot girlfriends. Ah, the group of us! You can almost hear hearts splitting in two, even before we walk into a room. Check them out in their (ok, I'll give you the fact that this reference is dated - but haven't we reached the statue of limitations on this gaggle of Brits being dorky? C'mon, it's retro by now!) Spice Girl Pose. This was the first trip to Ojika for Vicky, Milissa and Carrie. Welcome to Ojika! What a hazing we had!

Last Saturday, my little two-story teacher's apartment played host to the second annual Ojika Thanksgiving Party. The Kamigoto crew came for gluttonous amounts of carnivorous consumption (well, except for the vegetarians of the milieu) and karaoke crooning. Emma joined in from Uku, and three of my lovely Ojikan, home-brewed friends popped over to taste the delicacies of the Japanese cornucopia laid out by the hands of Americans, Canadians, the English and Welsh. It was tasty.
Going against all we've been taught in Japan about good manners in regards to the social confines of time, space and the reality of "partying down", we kicked off the weekend with an afternoon cocktail. And, I was bursting at the seams, as I typically do, when delightful little surprises (like a bottle of J.D. for instance) find their way to my island. I get giddy in the ways that some freckled nine-year old who's forced to ration crumbled Hershey Kisses with half-way disintergrated paper flags would in an post apocalyptic Mongolia in the year 2065.
Before we beat my kitchen space into submission with a few steamy hours of bending over the stove, we strolled the island. During this walk, we debated the possible (read: inevitable) trip to the Melody Box for some amateurish displays of Crazy Train and I Want You Back by Ozzy and The Jackson 5, respectively. I also told my compatriots that I would not force them to, before dinner, write down what they were thankful for on a sheet of paper and place them in a hat, where they would be read later on. (My still sometimes immature mind-set had me imagining moments of eye-rolling, pathetic-pleading with the facsimile of all American mothers to stop being so dorky. ) But, my deferral on this Thanksgiving tradition was met with a hearty surprise. It seemed that my friends actually liked that idea, and it was carried out during our Thanksgiving feast. Here's what we wrote:

"I'm thankful for my friends in Japan and my life. I really don't think I could ask for more than what I have today."

"I'm thankful for Japanese warm, sunny days; and beautiful Goto scenery; and many yasashi tomodachi .""My father and mother. Leo. Friends. And, my boyfriends. And, today, I live life!"

"I came here and we met things we appreciate. My sister, nephew and niece. They are my diamonds."

"I am thankful for... my friends' and familie's health and happiness; the fact that I can move freely and do things what other people can't do with their bodies."

"Father and Mother, our differences, friends, family, our similarities, food, money, our beautiful earth, and Dawn." -- Aw, shucks!

"My work."

"I am thankful for family, friends (new and old), trust, truth, welcome and generosity."

"I am thankful for the ability to eat large amounts of food. I am also thankful for my mum."

"I am thankful for the good health of my family and friends."

Like I mentioned above, this was the second annual Ojika Thanksgiving party, but in reality, there will only be two - two that I'll bear witness to in any case. This is my second and last year living within the confines (are they really?) of the blue-green ocean of child-like narcoleptic dreams and heavy-handed winds that stop ferries - weighing tones - from embarking or disembarking the soft crust of our borders. Sometimes when I explain my geography in the world (playing up my isolation in order to hear ill-gotten sympathy) I listen as people refer to my situation as if it were a prison - a deserted island full of serpents and human-sized insects waiting for me to fall asleep so I can be wrapped in a cocoon of silk so as to be devoured at a later date (well, that part's actually true) - and I think how wrong they are. Ojika makes me feel freer than any other place I've claimed as a stomping ground. And, although, I still have eight months to call this place my home, I'm already missing it. I'm already feeling the pangs of nostalgia. The reminiscing about Thanksgiving in Japan - and the rest of the things that have coated my life in blessing like rich cream.

So, I didn't write it on my crinkled, lined paper during Thanksgiving dinner, but I want to make sure I say it now. I am thankful for Ojika.