Haru Ga Kita!

Yes, my Japanese-speaking tomodachi, believe dat. Spring is coming! Along with bringing us longer, stronger, brighter days, Haru will also, I hope, envelope us in lightness. It's been a heavy Winter, and I'm ready for something luminous.

My friend Terra called today to say that she really enjoyed reading the blog about my father that I posted a few weeks ago. In it, I mentioned that he had been enslaved along with other black children in his Texas town, and forced to pick cotton for local whites. Terra's words today really encouraged me. And, because she is of Asian and Jewish descent, I know she gets the whole mixed-race bag and why it's an important topic.

After Terra's call, I went about my day and as Fate would have it, ended up in a conversation with a mono-racial Caucasian woman about my ethnicity and family. When I told her about my father suffering from fighting overseas in a segregated military for a country that denied him civil rights, she broke out in a wide grin and said, "Well, that's over. Now we have a black president!"

Somehow, she seemed so proud of this fact that she was inadvertently dismissive of what my father had endured. But I just smiled back weakly. How could I ever educate her about the atrocities committed against black folks since our forced migration from the Motherland 500 years ago? How could I tell her about a 14-year old Chicago boy named Emmitt Till who visited Mississippi and was beaten to death by white men for talking to a white woman? How could I convey to her the many revolutionaries whose lives were arrogantly ended by those who fought against change during the Civil Rights movement? How could I tell her of all that occurred to others in order to bring us to this intersection of having a "black" president? I knew I couldn't, so I simply left the conversation.

What would you have done? I know those of you who are mixed or of color have encountered many such moments. What did you do? What would Buddha do? Drop me a line and let me know.

Well, the subtitled version of NHK's Atsuhime is on its last episode this weekend, and at the same time a new taiga has begun. Tenchijin had been shown at least twice before but, without subtitles, I couldn't really figure out what was going on. Last week, though, the first episode aired with subtitles, and I'm addicted even though it's about two males--a local lord currently 13 years-old and his five year-old vassal. I'll miss the girls of the Ooku, but this has promise. I never thought I'd see anyone who could cry more than Atsuhime, but the kid playing the kid in Tenchijin cried buckets--on cue!

Nodojiman was also interesting last week because another brother won. I can't remember his name, but he was from Brazil and cried both when he was selected as a finalist and later when he won the Champion. The poor guy was so nervous that he forgot how to speak Japanese when the announcer asked him personal questions. My mother laughed and said, "Jero better watch out. Somebody going to beat him. He better hurry up and practice more."

As for all those Oscars going to Slumdog Millionaire, no comment. People of every racial persuasion keep asking me if I have seen it or will see it, and I tell them I don't think so. For one, I've been reading a lot of articles, especially on the BBC, that indicate the child actors, who really live in those slums, were exploited. I don't have any facts. I'm just repeating what I've read. But, right now, I don't feel comfortable contributing to anyone's exploitation--especially children's. Further, there are two perfectly talented Indian women filmmakers--Mira Nair and Gurinder Chadha--who could've made such a film. Although they've had successes in the past, I haven't seen them doing anything lately. It just makes me wonder; is it a gender or a race thing? But, hey, if you've seen the flick, and you think I'm wrong, drop me a line.

Right now, I'm working on a proposal for the Mixed Roots Film and Literary Festival to be held in June, so if you'd like to be on a panel or part of a workshop, drop me a line so I can factor you into my submission. One of the topics I'll offer will be about blogging and new media, but I'm also considering presenting one on relationships.

We're still in open casting call for Watermelon Sushi, too, so email me for a copy of the breakdown. And, I promised to post that link to the AAPEX blog--thanks, Jaz!--so here it is:

http://africanamericanplaywrightsexchange.blogspot.com/2009/02/yo-its-yayoi.html

And, here's a vid clip to entertain you this Spring:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bi9wttT8TZE&feature=related

Finally, that's my baby sis, b.r., doing her Sakura thing in that pix above many moons ago. The story is that she was slated to appear in a dance recital with three other girls with Japanese moms. On the day of, b.r. was riding her bike, fell down, and scratched one of her cheeks pretty badly. My clever, creative mother cleaned the wound, then added lots of rouge to both cheeks to make it look as if b.r. was just naturally rosy.

Ja matta ne.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

No Dead Animals In My Tendon, Jero And Atsuhime

I don't know about other hapas, but whenever I spend time with either one of my parents, I take on the cultural qualities of that one's particular ethnic group. For instance, if I'm hanging out with my dad (my folks have been divorced for decades), I end up reading all of the Ebony and Jet magazines laid out on his coffee table. Now, that's not to say that all black people read Ebony and Jet, but you get my meaning. My dad and I will often discuss politics, too--the state of black folks today versus the Civil Rights movement of yesteryear. However, I don't tend to eat the food my dad eats mainly because he's from Texas and his parents owned a barbecue joint. I am, after all, vegan (even though I'll admit to stuffing many a pig's foot into my mouth back in the day when I didn't know any better).

Whenever I visit my mother, though, I'm always ready to chow down. Mindful of my special diet, my mom tends to make me my own meal separate from what she serves her husband. And, like a true Japanese mother, she will eat what I (the guest) eats instead of what she cooked for her husband. A couple of weeks ago, she made me tendon; that's slang for tempura donburi. Tempura, as you may know, is veggies (and shrimp for those who insist on murdering the poor crustaceans) dipped in batter and fried. Donburi is a dish served in an individual bowl featuring veggies and/or dead animal flesh (call it what it is!) simmered in a slightly sweetened shoyu-based sauce and heaped on hot, white rice. The tendon my mom made me was tempura carrots, onions and pumpkin on top of fresh gohan. I was also treated to her home-grown edamame (steamed soybeans). Oishi!

Earlier, we were watching our favorite show--The NHK Amateur Singing Contest (aka Nodojiman)--when, lo and behold, the phenomenal Jero appeared as a guest singer. This is the kid who hails from Pittsburgh, whose mother is hapa Japanese and black, and whose Japanese grandmother taught him to speak her language and sing enka--a type of music that reminds of me the old R&B songs where the man is begging, crying and carrying on over a woman. Enka is very emotional like that, and is almost always about love. So, I don't think it's necessarily a stretch that a brother like Jero is so into it. Like the old school crooners, he feels the lyrics deep down in his soul. True, he's singing in Japanese, but he knows what the words mean because he knows the language. There's also some very specific expressions that go along with singing enka. One can't be too showy and drop to one's knees like James Brown because Japanese culture isn't about that. Even though Jero wears his signature baseball cap and baggy jeans, he's got the Japanese inflections down.

Later on in the day, my mom's husband and I watched another episode of Atsuhime. My mother claims not to care about

Japanese history, but her Caucasian husband and I can't get enough of the taiga series. Sadly, Atsuhime's husband, the shogun, dies in this episode and because of the turmoil surrounding the choice of heir, no one tells Atsu about his demise until a month later. Now, she's mad because weeks before the shogun instructed her to attend the cabinet meetings and become a part of the political process because she's so smart and beats him at go all the time. But now that he's no longer around, none of the guys are taking Atsuhime seriously. I can't wait 'til she starts kicking some butt. Her kimono may be wrapped around her legs like a mermaid's tail, but you watch--she'll figure out how to strike back. That girl is baaad!

Hey, drop me a line and tell me how your parents' differing cultures affect you. Do you act the same way with each of them, or not?

Above are pix of my tendon dish, my mom's garden-fresh edamame, Jero's appearance on Nodojiman, and NHK's Atsuhime.

Until next time, I swear to be...

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi