Tokyo Unplugged

In compliance with the country's energy consumption hold back, businesses from Tokyo Tower down to the ubiquitous vending machines have turned off their unnecessary lights.





Lots of store fronts in our neighborhood sport these little black and white signs in their windows, identifying them as setsu den chu or energy-saving entities. We walked by Food Magazine the other day and almost all of their window lights were off. Was the store open or closed? It was hard to tell. I wonder whether or not shops that cut their electricity use have more customers than their brightly lit competitors.





Despite their subterranean locations, subway stations have cut back as well. Dimmed lighting, darkened signs and dormant escalators are spooky. It seems like things are broken and that never happens in Japan. Especially where subways -- the city's circulation system -- are concerned.



Overall, the city seems to function perfectly well with less artificial illumination. In fact, I am amazed at the waste we lived with before. Yet the lowered light level contributes to the already somber atmosphere. It makes the city seem darker. Even during the day.

The New Normal

Damaged during the quake, Tokyo Tower's wonky antenna tip.

We have been back in Tokyo for a few days and I am pleased to report that things seem to be pretty normal, albeit the new normal. We have only felt one earthquake and that was while we were at baggage claim the other day at Narita. The building shook quite strongly. At first I thought it was just another jumbo jet coming in for a landing. But I quickly remembered that jets don't make the building jump and then I heard airport personnel asking everyone to crouch close to the ground. I wish I had taken a picture. It was quite a welcome home.

We found our apartment completely as we left it. Though a few pictures were askew, there was no additional damage despite the many aftershocks that continued after our departure to the US. The girls are adjusting to their early schedule. Designed to dodge the planned electricity black outs (have there actually been any?), the school bus leaves at 6.50 am. Though we miss touring Chicago, Pippi and I continue to enjoy our morning walks. The shops have plenty of food, the petrol stands have plenty of gas and people are out and about. True, milk and bottled water are being rationed. But we are Litvak seltzer drinkers and there is no limit on San Pellegrino.



Yet something is fundamentally changed. Despite its continued cleanliness and relatively crime-free streets, Japan no longer feels entirely safe. But in a completely different way. Despite Japan's restored orderliness, chaos feels much closer than before. Just look at those decimated townscapes in Tohoku -- an area we enjoyed touring on several occasions and I have written about professionally. And we now know what Tokyo feels like when infrastructure elements we took for granted shut down and the city all but grinds to a halt. Though stories about radiation levels occupy journalists, the threat of more earthquakes bothers me more. I no longer regard those tremors as benignly as I cavalierly once did. I look at the cherry blossoms now peaking and their breathtaking beauty is countered by first hand experience of nature's overwhelming, destructive power. All of these realizations contribute to a profound and pervasive sadness that was not there before.

When I meet friends for the first time, I see worry in their faces. Our initial conversation all pertains to the earthquake. How could we possibly talk about anything else? The caretaker who cleans the public spaces in our building thanked me for the help the US government and armed forces have provided to the nuclear situation. Very poignant. Accompanied by a deep bow. Among my foreign friends, a little gallows humor temporarily relieves the incumbent stress.

Even with complete strangers, the subject is the first to come up. A taxi driver asked whether I was leaving Tokyo and returning to my home country. He thanked me profusely when I told him that I left and came back. Though we are removed from the devastation up north, it is hard not to replay those scenes in one's mind and think about the loss that so many are suffering. Those images are always in the back of my mind. I am searching for a meaningful way to help.


Gambare, Higashi Nihon! Hang in there, Eastern Japan!

Chicago Crocuses

One advantage to being an earthquake refugee in Chicago is the crocuses. From that point of view, we could not have better timed our stay. Though temperatures have been hovering around freezing for the last few days, the crocuses are undeterred. When Pippi and I explore the neighborhood we find the little purple, yellow and white blossoms poking out of gardens everywhere.

Their colorful faces remind me of the time my mother bought me a crocus of my very own. My mother, who until very recently had a very green thumb, used to have a glass and wood shelf affixed to the wall directly below the arched windows in the room that was at that time my parents' bedroom (now an upstairs sitting room where we often congregate). This shelf was laden with potted plants that my mother tended lovingly every morning. I would often lend a hand.

One day, when I was three years old, my mother decided that I ought to have a plant of my own. So we went to the plant store on 55th Street. It was conveniently located next to Wolf's toy store which had a marvelous penny candy counter in addition to a full array of goods by Mattel, Hasbro and other lesser known toy makers. But on this day we were focused on getting me a crocus. I remember the plant store had that jungly smell and the air was quite moist. The refrigerated cases were well lit yet the shop interior was a little dark and mysterious.

It must have been just about this time of year, when crocuses were beginning to bloom. Though I knew from the start that I wanted purple flowers, I had to inspect all of the potted offerings. Finally, my decision made, we purchased a crocus plant and headed home. How proud I was of my round terra cotta pot with its little green sprigs.

For the next couple months (weeks?) I nurtured my little plant each morning, right alongside my mother, making sure it had enough to drink. I was always tempted to over water but my mother gently encouraged restraint. And in due course, the plant flowered on cue. How I loved those purple blooms!

But one day, as crocuses are wont to do, my beloved bloom shriveled up. Oh the tragedy of it all! Oh the tears! Oh the sadness! I was quite inconsolable. My mother tried to comfort me and assured me that I could get a new plant next year but I never did.

The House Began to Twitch ...

This photo of the bookshelf in my study was taken on March 11, 2011 at about 5 p.m., just hours after the Great Eastern Japan Earthquake (aka EQ11 according to David) rocked our world. As you can see, the wood frame is leaning to the left and some of the books are askew. On the top shelf you will see one failed earthquake brace and one on the brink of collapse. This image is an apt metaphor for our current condition: slightly out of kilter but not in any real danger.

We are now in Chicago where we maintain an apartment and feel at home. Sort of. The girls and I flew to O'Hare last week Tuesday. David and Pippi joined us the next day. Pippi was not too happy about being cooped up in a crate for the 11 hour flight but bounced back quickly upon her release. Francia is at home in the Philippines.