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Last Chance

“You’re going where?” Raquel’s voice cracked slightly in disbelief.

“Routledge,” Caldwell repeated, face as blank as ever. He pushed his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. “It’s in Kentucky,” he continued. “In the States.”

“Yeah, I know where it is!” she snapped back, her tone sharp and exasperated. He never heard her speak like that before. “But I don’t understand why you want to go so far away. Look, if you’re going to be this stubborn about being a hunter, fine, but there’re plenty of good places here in England, hell, in London! America is- I mean, I can’t even visit y-”

“Who said I wanted you to visit me?”

Caldwell knew what he said to his mother was cold. Cruel, even. But they’d barely spoken the past five years; why suddenly start being all buddy-buddy now?

He took a sip of the Americano he’d ordered, his breath even despite the wild thudding in his chest. Was it nervousness? Smugness? Something else? The young man didn’t know, and decided not to dwell on it further, focusing instead on the aroma of his coffee and the white noise of the cafe they were sitting inside as he willed his heart to return to a steadier pace.

A few, tense moments crawled by before Raquel started speaking again.

“I just… I just don’t understand. What about all those years you spent on your degrees?” she said. “You’re so young, and you’ve got so much potential out here, in *this* world! Why are you throwing it all away!” She slammed a hand on the table, her voice thin, as if she were barely controlling its volume. A few drops from her untouched macchiato spilled over.

His grip on his cup’s handle tightened at the mention of “this world”. Of all people, she had no business lecturing him on his decision, and he was about to say as such, but something made him hesitate. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to aggravate her more, or maybe it was because he didn’t want to look her in the eyes: he knew if he did, he’d lose his confidence, and he couldn’t just give up now.

Wordlessly, Caldwell took a final sip and set down his drink. “I’m not throwing away much,” he said, deadpan. “It’s not like I’m leaving behind a family. I’m an adult, and this is my choice. I only told you so you don’t go on a warpath looking for me if I don’t answer messages in the future; technology’s a bit spotty in Routledge, it seems.”

He got up. “Thank you for the coffee. Good-bye.” There was a split second pause as he turned away however, and he faced Raquel again. “Chloe said she hasn’t heard from you in a while. You should message her sometime.”

Raquel was silent, but he could tell she had more to say. He waited. “Caldwell, just… be careful,” she finally sighed after a while. “You’re smart. A bit too smart, if I’m being honest. If you aren’t careful, it’s going to get dangerous real fast. Even the cleverest hunter can end up six feet under.”

The back of his head tingled for a moment, but Caldwell resisted the urge to touch the old scars there, adjusting his glasses instead. Another silence hung in the air between them.

His mother closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled before opening them again. “I’ll text Chloe soon,” she said. She sounded tired. “ Good luck out there, Squiggles.”

Caldwell’s lips thinned at the old nickname. He’d already said his farewell, no need to repeat it. Still, he gave her a curt nod, and quickly made his way to the cafe door. There was still some packing left to do.

#writing #creative writing #prose #>1000

Midnight at the Oasis

Godammit, it was cold, he grumbled to himself, crossing his arms to keep some semblance of body heat. Weren’t deserts supposed to always be warm? What the hell was with this wind?

The neon lights of the run-down motel sign nearby flashed electric blue for a moment before flickering back to black. Damien sighed and glanced at his watch.

11:39 p.m. Cameron was really taking her sweet time, wasn’t she?

Mumbles of frustration tumbled out of his mouth as he reached for his phone, his other hand still resolutely tucked under his armpit. As another burst of wind whipped around him, the poor man was reminded, yet again, of his poor choice in wardrobe today: a cotton t-shirt and cargo shorts, with a shabby, thrifted Hawaiian shirt and a few haphazardly placed band-aids on his legs serving as his only insulation from the cruel cold. His phone’s home screen was blank; no messages, no missed phone calls. Nothing.

Damien threw his head back and groaned. He asked himself, for perhaps the 30th time that evening, if this was really worth it. When she first told him of her plan, Cameron had seemed so sure of herself, so confident in her idea’s success.

And yet here was, waiting for over an hour, sitting on the roof of his shitty, old-as-hell Pontiac, sustaining himself on one cup of diner coffee, and, not to mention, he was still fucking cold!!

He was about two seconds away from throwing his phone into the sand below him when a tell-tale roar of a motorcycle engine suddenly reached his ear. Hastily, he adjusted his glasses and squinted in the direction the noise had come from.

Sure enough, he could see a headlight: a lone beacon in the pitch black, barren desert highway. As the light and cacophonous thrum of the bike drew closer, Damien unconsciously ran a hand through his hair; he could feel his heart beating faster. Finally. Finally she was here.

The motorcycle braked to a screech dangerously close to his car, but Damien could care less. One more dent in the bumper wouldn’t make a difference, though he winced at the blinding light, raising an arm to shield his eyes. Even so, the nearly frozen man relished the warm air of the engine’s exhaust, a brief reprieve from his suffering. The near deafening roar of the motorcycle abruptly stopped as its driver turned off the engine.

The figure finally jumped off the bike, propping up the kickstand before wrestling off the helmet that obscured their face.

“You’re late, you know,” Damien called out as nonchalantly as he could, trying not to let the nerves he felt show in his voice. He didn’t bother getting off his car and simply watched her struggle with the helmet; she deserved it for making him wait out in the middle of nowhere for so long. “It’s lucky you got here now. I was gonna leave in five minutes.” Artificial blue washed the surrounding again, a violent buzzing filling the air as the neon sign struggled to stay alight. At that moment, the rider finally removed the plastic protective headgear, revealing a delicate, mischievous face and a shock of thick, curly hair. The harsh brightness of the motel’s sign behind her left her mostly shrouded by shadows, but Damien could practically feel the wicked smirk curling her lips.

Indeed, in the eerie light, Cameron’s eyes seemed to almost sparkle as she turned to face him directly. With the halo around her mop of hair, she looked otherworldly, supernatural even, but whether she would prove to be an angel or a demon, only time would tell.

He gulped. All his bravado from before seemed to seep out of him, flying into the void of the night alongside the wind.

“B-but I didn’t, so…” his voice trailed off, sheepishly.

Cameron’s smirk only seemed to grow.

“Ey, stupid,” she tossed back casually, as if she hadn’t even heard what he said. “Ready to catch some aliens?”

#writing #prompts #creative writing #prose #>1000

Christianity in Japan: Part I

I got another chance to write an article for Connect! This time, I decided to write about Christianity in Japan, and its influence. This was a particularly long article, so I’ve split it into two parts. The first part revolves mostly around my perception of Japanese Christians, and my interview with a Japanese Christian. The second half focuses on the history of the religion of Japan. I found this so fascinating to research, and even though I still have very complicated feelings regarding Christianity, I do have a profound respect for people who still practice it, especially in those who endured through difficult times.

#>2000 #christianity #Japan #connect #ajet

Christianity in Japan Article:Part II

In Jesus’ Name, (R)Amen- Kaedama!!: Japan’s Dark History With Christianity

Christianity’s impact on Japanese culture is… debatable. Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely there, but sometimes, it can be hard to clock. Traditions for Christian holidays like Christmas have changed to fit Japanese tastes past the point of recognition for most foreigners (“Christmas is Kentucky”, anyone?), and the aesthetics of Christianity seem to be embraced rather than for its ideologies. Previously, I discussed how the religion has permeated Japanese culture, as well as interviewing a Japanese Christian to learn more about contemporary Japanese views of Christianity. Through the interview, I could better understand not only Japan’s image of Christianity, but also how Japan viewed religion in general, and I hope some readers were able to, too.

But, the one thing I still didn’t really understand was why only 2% of the population identifies as Christian. It had been around in Japan since the mid-1500s, (almost 500 years!) and I knew that there were incidents like the 26 Martyrs, but that had happened 1597! What happened between then and now for Christianity’s growth in Japan to be so stunted? I took to the books, Internet, and articles, and as it turns out, Japan’s history with Christianity was far darker than I realized.

It all started out happily enough. After Portuguese traders, Antonio de Mota and Francisco Zeimoto, accidentally landed on Japan’s shores in 1543, the first Christian missionaries sailed from Portugal to Japan in 1549 and began working. Spearheading the effort was Francis Xavier, a Jesuit monk. Though evangelizing the Japanese people was the main goal, the Portuguese were keenly aware that establishing Christianity in Japan could help expand their trading territory further, and with that, the race to convert (and earn money) was on.

Unfortunately, initial efforts weren’t one hundred percent successful. In addition to the language barrier, missionaries had a hard time explaining Christianity to the Japanese, who questioned how a God who created everything, including evil, could be good. Most were indifferent, and tolerated the missionaries at best. Oda Nobunaga, the most powerful warlord at the time, supported their activities, but never converted nor pushed policies to further their work. Still, the missionaries managed to catch the attention of powerful people who wanted in on the trade and commerce they brought.

Shrewd shoguns gave some missionaries license to practice and teach in their territories in exchange for access to foreign goods, like silk and porcelain. Japanese people were seriously craving Chinese goods because China had stopped trading with Japan after pirate attacks, and Portuguese missionaries took the opportunity to motivate people to convert. Some daimyos even voluntarily converted so Portuguese traders would be more willing to trade with them. Seeing Portugal’s success, Spain eventually joined in too, sending over Franciscan monks to Japan. Slowly, but steadily, the Christian movement spread across Kyushu and Western Japan, reaching around 200,000 members by 1582.

Alas, missionaries’ progress slowed down when Japan was reunified under Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who feared the growing influence of foreigners in Japan. Hideyoshi’s suspiscions weren’t exactly unwarranted, either; much to his horror, Hideyoshi discovered that the Portuguese were purchasing Japanese people for the slave trade, and found foreigners’ disdain for Buddhist traditions troubling. Things came to a head after the San Felipe incident of 1596, when the Spanish trade ship, the San Felipe, crashed into Shikoku and was ransacked by the daimyo of the area.

To maintain diplomatic relations stable with Spain, Hideyoshi sent a representative to speak with the sailors of the San Felipe (up to this point, Hideyoshi had tolerated Christians, albeit with some side-eye). The following meeting proved to be a disaster, however, and the representative reported back what he understood from their conversation: that the influx of Christian missionaries in Japan was, in fact, phase 1 of a bigger plan to conquer Japan as a Spanish colony, and if all went to plan, Spain would be sending in conquistadors to finish the job.

Though it’s up for debate whether or not this plan was real, Hideyoshi was furious, and fearing loss of his power, he quickly issued an edict to remove all Christians from Japan swiftly. To discourage further converts, the warlord ordered the torture and execution of 26 Catholics, later known as the 26 Martyrs of Japan (remember them?). Unfortunately, their deaths were just the beginning, and over the next few decades, more than 200 Christians were executed, with many others persecuted for their faith.

Things went from bad to worse in 1637, under Tokugawa Ieyasu’s reign, when 16 year old (!) Amakusa Shiro led the Shimabara Rebellion against the current rulers. Many of the rebels, including Shiro, were Catholic, and had originally joined forces to fight against strict Christian persecution. The rebellion’s eventual failure, however, caused the deaths of an estimated 37,000 insurgents and instigated an even more serious crackdown on Christian activities. Those suspected of practicing Christianity were captured and could be tortured until they denounced the religion, or even executed.

One interrogation method was using a fumi-e (literally “stepping picture”). Authorities would order suspects to step on fumi-es, which were metal plates with pictures of Jesus Christ or the Virgin Mary on them. Those who refused to step on them would then be branded as Christians and be forced to recant their faith or else be tortured (or executed). Countless others had land confiscated or reduced to utter poverty, and the rampant persecution forced Christians to go into hiding, thus beginning the era of the kakure kirishitan, or “hidden Christians”, who practiced their faith in secrecy.

These hidden Christians took great, ingenious lengths to disguise their religion. Besides physically hiding their activities, they disguised anything to do with Christianity; holy iconography was hidden in statues of the Buddha and his disciples, Latin prayers were changed to sound more like Buddhist chants, and all printed word was eliminated, with followers resorting to orally reciting the scripture instead. Christianity became a tradition that was passed down generations, and this system continued until the Christianity ban was finally lifted during the Meiji Era.

Of course, the road to religious freedom was not a fast one. It all started with America making trade agreements with Japan. As the number of foreigners began to increase, Japan and America passed the Treaty of Amity & Commerce in 1858, which only allowed Americans to practice their religion and establish places of worship. Around this time, the practice of using fumi-e to out Christians was abolished as well. Although they weren’t allowed to spread the religion, Christian clergymen began to pour into Japan, and 15 years later, in 1873, Japanese people were granted religious freedom, too. This didn’t mean Japanese Christians weren’t persecuted anymore, though. Christians were still considered a liability to the government, and politicians were concerned that Christians would be difficult to control or subdue. Even more damning was that many Christians did not recognize the divinity of the Emperor, and as the country began to colonize Asia, one of the opposing groups was, you guessed it, Christians! As nationalism started sweeping up Japan, Christians became seen as more and more of a disgrace to society. In other words, Japanese Christians were still very much considered “the other” in their own country, but it would only get worse when Japan entered World War II.

Like with colonization, Japanese Christians were strongly against the war, much to the ire of more patriotic neighbors. Accounts of Christians receiving less rations or even being taken away by special forces are ample, and it wasn’t much better in the army, either; Christian soldiers were blacklisted if they were discovered, and labelled as a risk to the regime. Those who disobeyed orders because of their faith were severely punished or tortured.

The shift towards acceptance began once Japan surrendered and, more importantly, the Emperor renounced his divinity, a huge blow to national pride. Post-war Japan was a difficult landscape to navigate, and under General MacArthur’s project to suppress Japanese nationalism, Japan’s entire identity was changed or reevaluated. Traditions and values people had maintained for generations meant nothing when faced with hunger and violence in this new, unfamiliar environment that was once their home. Many turned to religion for solace, and with the large presence of foreigners, Christianity started to become a more widely accepted religion.

In my interview, I was told that many Japanese people saw Christians as too moralistic, uncompromising, and soft. However, through my research for this article, I realized that, actually, Christians have been seen as rebels, insurgents, and in some ways, revolutionaries. They chose to embrace the unfamiliar over traditional Japanese values, and when they were ordered to disconnect from the foreign influence of the religion, they disobeyed and tried to preserve their faith as much as possible. For a country like Japan, whose people pride themselves in maintaining traditions for decades or even centuries, what the early Christians did was absolutely radical. There are many, many valid problems with organized religion, and I myself don’t identify as Christian anymore despite my upbringing, but I am awed by the sheer perseverance of the Japanese Christians.

If you would like to learn more about Japanese Christians, you can find historically significant sights in Kyushu, like Oura Cathedral in Nagasaki, the oldest standing church in Japan. There are also several remote areas around Kyushu where kakure Christians practiced their faith in defiance of authority, such as Hirado island or the Goto islands.

Even though Christianity may never truly be a major religion in Japan, I hope and pray that the country’s promise to grant religious freedom to everyone, citizens and foreigners, will never be broken. Amen.

#>2000 #christianity #japan #connect #ajet

Article for Connect Magazine

I had a chance to write about a music artist I really love, and it will soon be published in Connect Magazine, which is a community driven project where expats living in Japan contribute articles about Japanese culture and everyday life. The issue my article will debut comes out in a few days. It is totally free to read and available online. Please enjoy below!

#>2000 #omodaka #minyo #article

Big Goldfish

The sound of rain hits grass and summertime cicadas chirp. An occasional drop of rain from the roof falls onto the wooden patio deck, a satisfying, solid thud resounding each time it collides onto the firm surface.

She continued to read, her back hunched over the low, lacquer wood desk. The sliding doors were wide open, letting in refreshing, cool air. The rain was certainly a welcome change from the otherwise muggy heat that dominated the summer. No one in the village had expected such strong rainfall so soon, though; typhoon season was still a few weeks away.

“Hey… where do you think the rain comes from?”

She remained silent, head down, eyes trained only on her book.

“Hey, c’mon. I asked you a question.”

Concentrate. Ignore him.

“I saaaid, where do you think the rain comes from?”

Rain comes from condensation in clouds collecting to the point they can’t fight against gravity and fall back to the ground. Ignore him.

She wasn’t even reading anymore, just making sure that her eyes stayed on the matte, stark white pages of the book, at least until she found herself staring at the shiny, deep sienna glaze of the table. She snapped her head up to glare at her brother, who waggled her book smugly.

“Give it back,” she said, tone even.

“Not until you answer my question.”

“No.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll be reading this instead. Have fun reading something else,” he retorted. He opened the book, flipped to a random page with exaggerated delicacy, and rested his chin on one hand and lifted the book up to his eyes.

“Hmmm, interesting, the use of Euler’s formula and the complex exponential function…wow I feel like a genius like you already, like I’m the number one student in my entire prefecture- Wait, wait, I don’t get this.”

He turned the book towards her, pointing at the mathematical formula in question.

“How does adding a one to a number make it zero? That doesn’t make any sense.” He turned it back, squinting at the pages. “Why would it go back to nothing? You put in all that equating and calculating for… nothing?

“I could explain if you let me finish-” She swiped at the book, but he dodged with such grace it must have been calculated. “-reading.”

“Woah, don’t worry, don’t worry. I’ll give it back. Just answer my first question. It can’t be difficult for a genius, right?”

She huffed exasperatedly.

“Fine. The rain comes from water vapors collecting in clouds until eventually they become so heavy they fall back to the ground. Then it can evaporate into the air again and restart the cycle,” she deadpanned. Her hand snapped forward, arm straight, palm upwards. “Now give me back my book.”

“Interesting theory. Now, I was thinking the rain was because of something else entirely…” He trailed off, looking away, but not before sneaking a coy glance at his sister’s face. She could swear she saw a smirk, too.

Ugh, she knew it. But it would be no use fighting him, she thought as she reluctantly retracted her hand. He was dramatic as all hell, but it was only because he wanted attention. She would just have to sit through whatever act he had planned.

“Alright, in your opinion, where does the rain come from?”

His head snapped back towards her, his smirk twitching as if it were barely suppressing the urge to stretch across his entire face. He cleared his throat, and, with bright eyes, leaned conspiratorially forward. She sighed internally.

“Remember Ryujin?”

“Yes.”

“I think that’s where the rain comes from, Ryujin.”

What.

“I think it rains whenever he feels sad and cries,” he elaborated, “And it seems he’s really upset today.”

“Really? That’s just some country myth farmers believe in-” she started.

“But he gets embarrassed when people see him being so emotional, so if we’re outside in the rain, he’ll punish us by soaking us or making us sick,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to his sister’s increasingly sour expression. “That’s why we have to cover ourselves with raincoats or umbrellas, so that we can give Ryujin privacy.”

“Okay. Cool. Now give me back my book-”

Another swipe. Another failure.

“Do you know why he cries though?”

“No. I don’t care. I just want to read my book!”

He looked at her expectantly. She sighed, and crossed her arms. She was starting to reconsider if the book was worth the effort.

“Okay, fine. Why does he cry?”

“Because he misses the earth so much.”

Oh. My Goood. That was enough, she was tired of whatever this pointless charade was, but it was clear he was just going to keep it up until the bitter end. In a last ditch effort, she tried to glare the book out of her brother’s grasp. Unfortunately, years of exposure had left him immune to her intimidation tactics.

“Why can’t you just give me back my- ugh!” She threw her hands up. “I mean, that doesn’t even make sense! Why would he miss earth, he still lives on earth-”

“Well wouldn’t you be lonely too? Living alone? By yourself?”

She startled and looked at him. He still had a smile, but it had lost all of its mischievousness. There was something else behind it. Her stomach tightened. Before she could think, formulate a response, he continued talking.

“You remember, right? How Ryujin used to live on earth as a plain old goldfish, but wanted to be more than that?”

She stayed quiet; he wasn’t waiting for an answer.

“So he decided to swim up the big waterfall, so the gods could see how much he wanted to be up in the sky with all of them, too… and then he finally made it. He… he got to leave his pond as a dragon. He got to fly up.”

She was no longer looking at him, her gaze on the lacquer wood table. Her throat ached. The rain outside seemed to grow louder, almost to a roar; the cicadas’ cries were long gone.

“But you know what the story doesn’t tell you?

“It doesn’t tell you about how Ryujin felt after he got to be a dragon. How being up in the air wasn’t anything like he thought it was. He missed his pond, and his friends, and he missed the rice fields with the old farmers who say ‘hello’ with a weird accent. He missed… reading boring, stupid math books while Mom was making dinner, and watching the New Year’s TV specials with his brother, and- and- and-”

She kept her head down, eyes trained on the table still.

There were deep, shaky breaths on the other side of the table. Then the sound of a throat clearing.

“Ryujin… misses his old life, but he knows he can’t go back. You can’t just go back to your pond as a dragon. He knows he wouldn’t fit in it; he’s changed too much, he’s not a goldfish anymore. So he’s stuck looking down at everything he loves, always apart from it. That’s. That’s why he cries. That’s where the rain comes from.”

Thud… Thud… Thud…

She finally decided to lift her head to look across the table.

He was staring out the open doors, expressionless. His body seemed limp, except for his hand, still gripping her book.

She looked out the doors,too. The rain had made everything almost indistinguishable, silhouettes marred by the deluge attempting to drown all of them. In the distance, though, the mountains’ presence was still there.

“You know that… I can’t stay here. If I want to succeed, I have to go to university away from… and-and I’ve never belonged here, you know? I mean-” She fumbled for words. “There just aren’t enough resources for-”

“Whatever. Go get your dumb book, genius.”

She saw her book fly from the living room and out of the doors, soaring past the dry refuge of the patio and straight into the yard, landing silently in the soaking grass.

The rain continued to fall.

#short story #>1000

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