Thoughts of my dad and family run through my head with determination. My sensory memories have been on high alert the past couple weeks, often leaving me overwhelmed at the most random moments.
I realized, even before my dad passed, that I’m needing hugs. I’m currently a bit fearful of them, afraid they will cause a meltdown of emotions built up over this past year of hiding and avoidance. But right in this moment, I desperately need a friend or loved one to just hold me as I let everything out. My husband and son are doing the best they can, but sometimes a person needs hugs from other people in addition to the family snuggles.
I’ve told a few friends locally. My expat friends have taken me on walks and checked in with me to see if they can help. But we are afraid to touch one another. As foreigners, we have extra fears of getting sick. Our support systems are very limited. For example, I have had to think of what to do with my son if both my husband and I were to get sick. Without family here, it’s terrifying to need to think of these realities.
Japanese people are notorious for not being touchy-feely. People bow in lieu of shaking hands. Children are not cuddled, especially after reaching kindergarten age (I can’t tell you how many times people have commented on how I hug and kiss my son...). And they certainly don’t hug their adult friends. It’s a cultural difference that sometimes I appreciate and other times I loathe. I currently despise the cultural standard of social distancing.
Unable to return to the US right now has left me feeling extremely lonely and isolated. If it weren’t for my husband and son, I don’t know how I’d manage. At least my tank isn't on empty.
I admit that I give mixed messages, saying “I’m fine!” one minute and feeling sucker punched the next. But in the midst of both of those feelings, I really do just need a good, old fashioned American hug.
The other day I picked up my copy of “The Last Lecture” by Randy Pausch. The book discusses living one’s life to the fullest and achieving childhood dreams. As a child I dreamed of living in Japan. It was a place that seemed magical to me. The adventures I’ve had here have been incredible, but right now the dream isn’t so magical. I'm reading the book in the hopes to rekindle that feeling of adoration for this country I often dreamed of as a child.
I keep telling myself that I cannot loose it in Starbucks. I don’t want to make more of a spectacle than I already am. So I take a few deep breaths and try to center myself. My hugs and comfort will come. If not here and now, then later when I visit home.
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After I picked my son up from ballet, we noticed the sunset was especially brilliant. I stopped and stared at it for a bit and was reminded of a movie I watched as a child - An American Tail. In the movie, a young mouse was separated from his family while moving to the US. At some point, Fievel and his sister sang a duet called “Somewhere Out There” about being connected even though they weren't together. The song really resonates with me as I live far away from so many loved ones. Looking at that sunset, I felt a little less alone. Then, I walked inside my house and hugged my husband and son, feeling grateful for them on so many levels.
Somewhere Out There
Somewhere out there,
beneath the pale moonlight,
someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight.
Somewhere out there,
someone's saying a prayer,
that we'll find one another in that big somewhere out there.
And even though I know how very far apart we are,
it helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star.
And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby,
it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky.
Somewhere out there,
if love can see us through,
then we'll be together, somewhere out there,
out where dreams come true.
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