...a pit in my stomach, lump in my throat, tear in my eye,and a head full of rocks...

Today was (scanning for a word) difficult. I don't know where I belong. (heavy exhalation) But I feel (pausing at the keyboard again) a little lost.

My Japanese language classes are annihilating me. My teachers are kind and skilled, and I study for hours on end every night (way more than I ever did in the US!) but I just can't seem to learn. I feel stupid - I can't read. I never before thought about how painful it must be for the poor illiterate few out there who lack the economic or mental resources to acquire the skill of reading. These people must be far braver and stronger than I.

In the US I was renowned for my communication skills; I even like to think that I could hold my own pretty well in class debates or public forums like ASSMC. My language was my well-crafted skill and pride. In Japan my English has become so base, out of necessity it had been stripped down and minnimalized to present tense monosyllabic basic vocabulary. I cannot use skillful English to be understood, and I cannot use Japanese because of my own shortcomings... I am mourning a loss that I didn't expect, I feel like I've lost a good friend. I've been silenced.

After four hours of Japanese class, in which I am the only student - I felt completely worthless. I had answered every single question wrong for two hundred and forty minutes and my ego was a long lost memory. I went straight to the library, trying to focus my mind on the abstract curves and hash marks that compose Japanese language - my memory failed me again and I gave up after about two hours having gained nothing but a throbbing headache.

It was dark and late now, so I was surprised to see the light on in the International office. I thought I would pop my head in, I could use some cheering up from my friend Aki or silly Satomi. Despite all of her good intentions, I wish I hadn't seen Satomi then, I wish I had just kept walking past that office light. Satomi pulled me aside to discuss my classes with me. She is in close contact with my teachers, and I guess they expressed some disappointment or concern for me because Satomi need to have some 'straight talk' with me to figure out what the deal was. She kept asking me if the classes were too difficult or if my teachers were too strict. I couldn't stop myself from pulling my face back into a strained smile and repeating over and over again 'My teachers are very kind and skilled, I just need to study more... I'm so sorry that I do not understand yet...' in a feigned modesty to hide my shame and insecurity.

'How is your hearing' Satomi then asked. And I almost had to reach back and touch my head to be sure I had not been hit with a two-by-four. 'Oh my God, I'm doing so poorly they think I'm deaf.’ I thought, ‘They think I can't hear a damn word, because that is the only way any adult could possibly be so stupid...' my esophagus closed to the size of a pin prick. My reddening face must have told Satomi that her comment upset me, because she quickly rephrase her question, instead asking if maybe my teachers spoke too quickly... But the damage was done and I had nothing more to say. A few simple words sufficed as my goodbye, and my feet took me and my low-hanging head out the door.

A madwoman mounted my bike and feverishly rode back home to Wakakusa through the bustling nighttime Nishinomiya streets．Pushing down the pedals and suppressing my terrorized emotions, my heart was pounding when my breaks squealed to a stop behind Wakakusa. I systematically punched the four-digit security code at the six-foot front gate that locks me in each night, had my left index finger laser-scanned and approved, then entered the second security code before I could be safely greeted by the student at the security desk. Process… Process… Process…

I slid into my slippers, first my right foot immediately followed by my left. I hopped up to look into my mailbox, expecting nothing, ready to repeat the process of each day. But staring back at me through the small plastic window that separated us, was an unexpected piece of mail from a sender I could not recognize. ‘Who? Why?’ I thought as I scrambled to dig for my combination.

The letter was from an old friend. Things had ended badly between us and I thought that bridge had not only been burned, but fuckin torched. Sliding down that wall I ripped open the envelope and closed my eyes to the semi-truck barreling towards me. ‘I’m sorry. I was wrong. You are a good person and I want to make things right' my old friend told me. Not in an million years would I have expected this message, and I certainly didn’t expect it then. The feelings I had imprisoned over the course of the day were dramatically liberated by the forces of honesty and sincerity. My emotions can freely running out from their cage – and down my cheeks.

I don’t know how I made it up two flights of stairs, or how I found the key lost in the bottom of my bag. I honestly don’t remember. I know that my searching hand did not find the lightswitch before the closing door filled my room with darkness. Half stepping and half falling my body floated into the soft bed with a thud I could not hear, but instead felt. My head dumbly struck the headboard hard in the darkness, but now was not time for a comforting hand to reach up and stroke the sharp pain next to my hairline. Burying my face deep in the pillow – I let go.

I haven’t cried once since I came to Japan. Nope, no problems here thank you very much. Doing well, doing great doing – (dare I say) perfect! ‘Who is this girl crying?’ I thought. My mind floated up and away from my heaving lungs and satured pillow, ‘Why is she crying so hard? This is silly, she really ought to calm down.’ But she just kept on crying, and cried, and cried until she was good and finished.

I rolled over and looked into the black air above me. ‘OK.’ Then I flipped on the light so that I could properly poke and pod at my puffy red face. After a minute or two of self reflection in front of the mirror I turned to see someone looking back at me. Three perfectly formed ovals had puddled on my pillow and now made a hilariously macabre imperisnation of a clown face. I laughed so hard the tears came back, but this time they were fully mine and I stayed standing on my own two feet.

After fifteen minutes of a reparative Indigo Girls CD I wandered downstairs feeling cleaned like the streets after a heavy spring rain. I couldn’t have expected what greeted me in the living room. Silence - in a usually chatty joyous place, and the news flashing pictures of four train cars strewn out across the ground like a child’s play things capriciously discarded. But the train cars were real; and so were the seventy dead, so were the hundred-or-so injured, and so was the shared though on each and every one of our minds ‘I was on this-train-or-that-train yesterday-last week-today…’ I ate my dinner in silence.

I am not a religious person, but I wanted to go to church. And then I realized that I have no church here. I have no church here. A strong political critic of the Catholic church, I haven’t willingly attended a mass in many years, but I wanted to light a candle and hold my rosary, not even to pray – just to be near. I felt the universality of loss and I wanted to touch something I knew. I pushed the rice and chopsticks into my mouth instead.

That night I stared blankly at my textbooks until about 10, when finally Tomoko came to my rescue. She asked me what was wrong and after only a few minutes she had a messy foreigner on her hands. Tomoko held my hand and told me it was all going to be Ok. We listened to one another’s lamentations about living in a foreign country, she visited the US last year for a few months. Like two little girls comparing bandaged knees and elbows, we shared 'owies' and each others company. Then silence, and my hand in hers. And I felt so much better- there are no words.

So this morning, after a long night of sleep and no more studying – I started a new day. I put on my happy pink skirt (the one you love so much Mom, the one you say makes me look so free and comfortable) and was just a little bit quieter than usual. This is all natural, I’ve been told. Part of the experience, I’ve been told. I’m telling you now, which it isn’t easy or necessary – but real.