Part Of My Soul
Emily Koehler-Platten
Nagoya, Japan
Nagoya University
I can feel it. Right below my heart. It's like a flame, a fire burning in me. I can feel the pain, the desire, concentrated there.
It's the part of me that thrived while living in Nagoya, Japan, for four months.
It's the part of me that wants to lay on the couches in the lobby of the dormitory and read the Japan Times and talk to Deng Min, who tries to teach me how to say "I am an American" in Chinese.
It's the part of me that wants to trek halfway across Nagoya with my friends to go shopping, only to end up at an electronic store drooling over computers.
It's the part of me that wants to sit in the cafeteria over a big plate of curry rice and complain about how I don't understand honorific language.
It's the part of that wants to feel the blast of cold air from the air conditioner as I step inside the door and sigh with relief.
It's the part of me that wants to say sentences such as "You can take the chikatetsu to the other daigaku, right?", speaking in the English/Japanese mix all the exchange students understood.
It's the part of me that made it a ritual to stop by the convenience store on the way back from class to get an ice cream treat, because it was always so hot.
It's the part of me that if you set me down in Nagoya right now, I could tell you exactly what subway line to take to get to Nagoya Daigaku, how far to walk to reach the dorm, and could navigate most of the streets around campus like the back of my hand.
It's the part of me that misses hearing the voices and laughter of the other exchange students as we came together in the lobby to celebrate a birthday or just to have fun.
It's the part of me that spent a Saturday morning attending a tea ceremony class at a local middle school. I was the only foreigner in a class full of teenage Japanese girls, and I managed not to embarrass myself too badly.
It's the part of me that misses speaking Japanese regularly, because most of the time there was no choice but to try to communicate in Japanese.
It's the part of me that wants to stay up late with Mike and Ambiyah to cook banana pancakes, making a total mess of the kitchen in the progress.
It's the part of me that would take my mail to the international exchange office and ask the secretaries to translate it for me because I couldn't understand all the kanji on it.
It's the part of me that would relax in the evenings in my tiny dorm room by listening to music, reading, and then walking out on my balcony to sing softly to myself.
It's the part of me that was confident enough to call up my former host-family and arrange to travel across Japan to visit them, by myself. The part of me that spent five days with a Japanese family, sharing in their lives.
And yes, it's the part of me that complained loudly every day about how hot it was, that missed my family and friends so badly I wanted to cry, that was sometimes lonely, that was incredibly frustrated at not making very many Japanese friends and not speaking Japanese as much as I wanted to, that got annoyed by cultural differences, and at times wanted to jump on the first plane back home.
It's the part of my soul I left in Japan, and it hurts.
It's the part of me that knows those short four months will become the defining moment of my life if I let it.
Part of my soul is crying out, wanting to go home to Japan. I'm going back to Japan someday, but it won't be the same. It was the combination of the place, the events, and the people all coming together at exactly the right time, and that will never happen the same way again.
But I know that whenever and however I return to Japan, part of me will be at home again.
