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9/10

To get well and to feel more energetic means wanting to see and talk to people, in my case. It is wonderful to see my precious friends. On Thursday, two senior consultants (a couple), with whom I worked for two years, came to see me and we had a wonderful time together. She brought along a home cooked meal! Having some idea about her hourly rate as senior consultant, this dish is one of the most expensive meals I ever had at my house!!

On Friday, Mark and I went to a Vietnamese restaurant to see a couple, who are among our best friends; she is leaving for Vietnam in a week to finish her documentary film about Vietnamese women soldiers (female Vietcong) during the Vietnam war. I prepared a gift for the Vietnamese woman whom I met through her some years ago: a postcard booklet of Diego Rivera’s work from the San Francisco Contemporary Museum of Arts.

Before embarking on creating the documentary film, my friend wrote a book about these Vietnamese women, their suffering during and after the war, and invited this woman, who was the central character of the book, to the US. She, who is exquisitely beautiful, tranquil, and strong, had several speaking engagements, to one of which I went. In addition, my friend was kind enough to invite my husband and me to her house so that we can intimately talk to her.

I remember how quickly I felt connected to her, and felt that I understood what she went through during the war better than most American people. I felt the pain and passion, the reluctant but determined choice those women had to make to defend their land, because it was their land and their homes that were being destroyed. Probably that clear understanding came to me from my collective memory as a Japanese, who, even though they are considered to be aggressors in world history, include many children and women who were simply victims of the war.

Thus, I understand why she was talking about forgiveness and letting the animosity go, and why she was calling for world peace. The devastation, loss, and sadness that they experienced were too enormous for them to linger and to be bitter about.

Turning the clock back to now…

Even though I am getting quite settled about the idea of surgery, a part of me was questioning whether or not to order the image training tapes for the procedure. One wants to be equipped with enough ammunition, and also everybody says that it is a good idea to do so.

Preparing the gift for the Vietnamese woman, I was murmuring the words, “a reluctant but determined fighter,” without realizing what I was doing.

That’s it! I will have her beautiful and calm face as my guiding image for the surgery, together with Gandhi.

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Vietnam is a very special place for me. When our family went to Vietnam in 1998 by boat, we were welcomed (assaulted?) by begging children as soon as we landed. They all had low quality postcards in their hands, and begged, “one dollar, one dollar!” When we ignored them, they would say “why?” with wonderful timing and big shining eyes, making us feel guilty about ignoring them.

It was such a calculated and orchestrated act, and you feel sad all the more. It is a Vietnamese cottage industry, but the fact remains that these children are orphans or ones in similar states, and that this is their only means to earn living.

As soon as I encountered these children in Saigon (Ho-chi-min city), I felt like watching the phantoms following World War II in Japan; Japanese children who begged for candies and chewing gum from American GIs. Also the wounded old soldiers who lost their legs and arms, who were crawling along the dusty street, or riding a handmade wooden box car that functioned like a rudimentary wheel chair, reminded me of Japanese wounded soldiers in white kimono, who were asking for money on the street corners of my hometown when I was a child.

While we were there, we visited the Cu Chi tunnels in the jungle, which the Vietcong dug for communication and to take shelter against US attacks. It was somewhat exploited for the tourism, but its narrow passages under the ground, right next to a huge crater created by American bombs that is now covered by lush tropical vegetation, were eery.

It was the first time I physically realized that censorship exists in the US. When we went to the War Atrocities Museum in the city, which exhibits remnants and facts from the Vietnam War, many professors who were with us were surprised to discover things they never learned in the US, but which had been covered by Japanese TV news during the war.

At the same time, I was surprised to find that the propaganda which had been used by the Japanese student movement in the 60s and 70s were among the exhibit captions displayed on the museum’s walls, now under the administration of the communist regime. The activists in those days were simply mouthing the slogans invented by the communist party. How fragile are “facts” and “information,” not to mention the truth…