Hisashiburi, Nihon: Rebuilding my Life after 8 Months Away

by Emily Eisenstein ‘19, JFOU Fellow 2019-2021

Opening the door to my Obirin Coop apartment was like stepping into a slightly malfunctioning time machine: here was my past life, laid out exactly as I had left it. My favorite mug sat on the table atop a coupon from Ozeki Restaurant. The book I’d been reading remained on the stool next to my bathtub, along with a half-used Lush bath bomb. Only one noticeable change was visible: mold, everywhere.

In my haste to pack for an unexpected evacuation, I hadn’t taken much consideration of preserving my belongings in my absence. I’d be returning in a month or two at the most, I reasoned. The sheets and futons in my closet were particularly badly affected. Summer in Japan means the rainy season, and with no fans or dehumidifiers to prevent it, the moisture permeated every soft surface in my apartment.

After eight months of lockdown in my parents’ home in Wilmette, Illinois, I spent my first two weeks in Japan in self-isolation, scrubbing every surface in my home. I actually enjoyed it; cleaning gave me a chance to sort through all of my possessions, re-evaluate what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to discard, before starting over in Japan.

Over the last four months, I’ve been using the same method to rebuild a foundation for my life in Japan. The pandemic has disrupted everything that once seemed established: routines, future plans, relationships, patterns of thought and behavior. So, like the sheets in my moldy closet, I’ve sorted everything into two piles: keep, and discard.

In my discard pile, I’ve dumped lots of my past assumptions about the future. Experiencing a pandemic forces you to reconsider the idea of “security”. There’s nothing real behind the vague fantasy of working hard enough, becoming good enough, experienced enough, qualified enough, and never again having to think about employment or stability. Nothing is guaranteed, and there will always be something to worry about.

Now that my trash bin is overflowing with “shoulds”, suddenly there is so much space to fill. Ideas that couldn’t fit before can finally take shape. From those ideas, I’m finding the ingredients for my life going forward.

The first thing I wanted to do when I returned to Machida was to visit the Oga Guushikan, a special training center where folks with disabilities work to do a ton of amazing things including recycling used kimono into crafts, producing handmade recycled paper, and gardening. Before returning to the US, I had visited the center and spoken with the staff about volunteering. To my surprise, the woman who answered the phone nearly a year later still remembered me and was happy to help me find a time to volunteer!

Spending time with the people at this center has given me access to a community brimming with compassion, creativity, and joy. I look forward to Thursday mornings, knowing that I’ll be welcomed with smiles and genuine interest.

The more time I spend at the Guushikan, the more I understand what makes me really happy. Knowing that I am not only accepted but valued in this community has really helped me to feel at home in Japan. Beyond that, I feel a sense of peace and contentment when I am focused on what’s in front of me - having conversations with the people around me, working with my hands on a sewing project or in the garden.

Me, picking a daikon radish from the field belonging to the community center (December 2020)

Following the same thread, I was drawn to the Saihate Eco Village, where I’m now visiting during the vacation between semesters. I found their website when searching for places to stay in the countryside of Kyushu, where the winter is warmer. I wanted to get away from the crowds of Tokyo, spend time outdoors and experience a slower-paced lifestyle.

Getting to Saihate was an adventure in itself. The village is located on the top of a remote mountain in Kumamoto, so walking isn’t an option with luggage. After a day of traveling, I arrived at the closest local train station and walked into a souvenir shop for some snacks. I spoke with the clerk for about half a minute before he was ushering me out the door and into a nearby chanpon restaurant, insisting that I taste the most delicious local noodles. As the sole customer at the sole table, I chatted freely with the owners, who offered me a ride up the mountain to the village without hesitating for a moment. Before I ever set foot in Saihate, I felt the kindness and hospitality of the countryside begin to melt the frost of Tokyo isolation.

The road to Saihate winds dangerously up the mountainside, and if someone is driving from the opposite direction you have to back the car up until there’s space for someone to pass. As we drove by forest, golden citrus groves, bamboo stalks and wooden buildings, I wondered what kind of village could exist up here. It wasn’t until we reached the end of the trail that I saw the guesthouse, painted with pastel designs and stars. I heard the sounds of dogs, roosters, goats, and more distantly, people laughing.

There’s something about this place that brings out the inner child. Maybe it’s the architecture: strangely shaped and decorated buildings (built entirely by the villagers and part timers) complete with a trampoline, fire pit, and swing overlooking the mountains. Maybe it’s the income system, which allows guests to stay rent-free in exchange for labor, that attracts a more free-spirited type of person. Although I’m not using the system, I have participated in some work: I helped paint primer onto wooden planks during the construction of a new home, led goats to grazing pastures, fed chickens, collected eggs, walked dogs, cooked a communal meal, and helped with construction of a new chicken coop. Joking, singing, and sharing stories with the new friends I’ve made, every moment has felt like play. I know from speaking with villagers that it’s not an easy life all the time; the lifestyle here aims for sustainability rather than convenience. Despite that, I think people are drawn to this community because of the values: freedom, joy, creativity, fun, love. It sounds cheesy, but it’s really true.

The past week here has been such a valuable experience in so many ways. I’ve been totally immersed in speaking Japanese at all times, gained experience in different skills, and made friends with some truly amazing people. Wherever I go next, I hope to take the values I’ve practiced here with me; I want to be generous, loving, and I never want to stop playing.

Trampoline and building in Saihate Eco Village (January, 2021)

Feeding a goat at Saihate Eco Village (January, 2021)

Singing with friends at the Saihate Eco Village (January, 2021)