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11/21（日本語は後に続きます）

By the time I can write a paragraph about my emotions and frustrations, I am almost through with that phase. Usually writing brings that process to the surface of my consciousness, and I am fine by the time I have finished writing. Writing has the same effect as meditation and counseling to me; it serves as catharsis.

Many people sent me kind E-mails and comments after reading the previous entry, and I felt almost embarrassed to receive them. I was OK by then.

On Friday, Mark and I went to the Reischauer Institute annual dinner on the Harvard University campus. Edwin Reischauer was a Harvard professor and was an ambassador to Japan after the war. The Reischauer Institute is an important center for scholars of Japanese studies in New England.

There I saw my old colleagues (or bosses) at Tufts University, curators from the MFA (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston), and old friends. It was so nice and energizing to see and talk to them.

Being there reminded me of how turmoil-filled the past year has been, because I remember last year’s dinner vividly. Haruki Murakami, the world-renowned writer, was the main guest last year. I am a big fan of him; he was a guest scholar at Tufts in 1994, and he helped my 4th year Japanese language class one time; I have fond memories from those days.

I was extremely busy last year, with a calendar full of assignments. I was flying all over the US for interpretation assignments, and was enjoying it. But at home, we had over one foot of flood water in the basement that destroyed my office in October, and I was attempting to clean the mess, or restore the records in the ruined computers and file cabinets almost every day before and after my work.

Harvard is in the city of Cambridge, which is about 60 miles away from our house. Even though we had checked “yes” to the invitation about a month ago, I was not sure if I was up for it, particularly because I had been feeling quite miserable for the past few days. I was very glad that I went, however, because it was a small step toward wading back into the social scene. Also I was glad that I could eat the soup and dessert with other guests.

I am writing this entry in Maine. I finally felt that I could make the trip up here today. Even though Mark had wanted to bring me up here for over a month, I never felt comfortable leaving the house, and kept refusing. It is strange that you know exactly when you are ready in your gut.