Although it may appear to the contrary, we do know that people have a life beyond what they do to get into college. Tell us about an experience you've had outside of your formal classroom and extracurricular activities that was just plain fun and why.
Quietly and with a sense of mystic reverence, we entered a garden of cherry blossoms, of ancient garments, and old tea recipes. The scent of the blossoms, their pink hue permeating the heavens above me, though delicate, the trees they clung to so tenaciously were hundreds of years old. My mind wandered through the history of this ancient land, and the experience I was about to embark upon. Earlier this morning as I laid on my mat I reflected on my visit to Kobe, the sights and sounds of this bustling ancient, steeped in history yet a modern, city. Yumi came in, and in our special way of communicating part Japanese, part English, and part hand gestures, she told me that this was going to be a special day, something she hoped I would enjoy and always remember about Japan and the history of the Geisha.
After a week of hearing my name pronounced incorrectly and an additional "chan" placed at the end, I was not surprised when the owner called my "Allison-chan" from across the room. He was a gentle old man; the kind I had always imagined was the epitome of the Japanese elderly. I could imagine him sitting on a bench in the park with their eyes half closed, wearing a faded kimono, and always willing to provide a new proverb to his grandchildren. Tucked beneath the sleeve of his garment was a photo of a girl, not many years advanced compared to Yumi or I, with a face almost as white as a ghost's and with a smile that seemed to say, "This could be you". My heart rate began to pound with excitement as I imagined the soft silk against my cheek. In that moment I truly felt Japanese. I opened my arms wide to embrace Yumi for her generosity and thoughtfulness. This was not the most formal way to say thank you for her amazing gift but it felt the most natural. This entire week I had constantly referred to the kimono as the epitome of Japanese culture and for Yumi to spend her Saturday driving two and a half hours to Kyoto for me, meant the world. Yet I should not have been surprised by her extreme act of self-giving today, for a week she had sacrificed her time to guide me around downtown Kobe, provide a home for me, and patiently instructed me when my chopsticks slipped through my finger tips. I followed the shop owner through a long, narrow, bamboo corridor. To my left was a small traditional chaniwa garden, used for tea ceremonies, and to my right a single calligraphy hung from the wall. I was directed to a room and asked to put on a thin white garment, similar to what one wears during an exam at the doctor's office. Two minutes later I found myself climbing up a set of slippery wooden stairs that led to a light and open room with three mirrors. A gentle tug directed my attention toward a single large closest. A chill snaked its way up my spine, not in fear but in awe, as I watched the attendant glide the bamboo doors open and reveal a magnificent display of kimonos. The sight was overwhelming. The dyes of each kimono were perfectly in balance with the handcrafted woven fabric creating a garment almost as holy as the Pope's golden laced robes. I eagerly sorted through the racks of kimonos worn by the mikos, each personified a unique artist and infused with its own identity. How I appreciated Yumi's hospitality when she relayed to me that even though she owned a yukata she had never been adorned in a kimono of such high quality. I knew I never wanted to leave Yumi, her lifestyle, her culture, or her cuisines. Suddenly, one kimono toward the end of the row caught my eye, like a cat that spots the flick of a mouse's tail. A ruby red sash hung from its dark blue bodice. I interpreted the blue as reflecting the serene waters of Kobe's port and the red as the Nissoki of their flag, that sun which welcomed me every morning to a new, adventurous, and surprising day in Japan.
My dark thick hair was restrained by nets. White makeup was applied to my face and down my neck (not to fear, the smooth powder did not contain a single trace of bird poop like in Memoirs of a Geisha). Scarlet red lipstick was applied to my small lips and dark blue eye shadow was added to compliment the hues and tones on the kimono. Surprisingly, the makeup artists directed me not to smile, but the temptation was too great as I recalled the previous night at the dinner table attempting to impress Yumi and her family with the few Japanese phrases I had learned. Their verdict of my shameful attempt was this, "convincing accent, but a little bit more, um, practice". The memory of her all-too-gracious and polite comment caused the lipstick to smear across my teeth. Finally, I was dressed in my choice of kimono. With all the intricate pieces and separate components that comprise a single kimono I was impressed by the fluidness and natural speed in which the two women were able to dress my bodice. The three pound headpiece was the final accessory to my ensemble. I stared at myself in front of the three mirrors. From the outside I knew I appeared drastically different in the eyes of my audience, and yet I could see my Latina face transcending through the layers of makeup. I had never seen myself appear so beautiful, and I had never once felt so embodied with a culture so drastically different from my own. This moment was the consolidation of every new sight and sound that graced this country, and the zenith of my experience in Japan.
Quietly and with a sense of mystic reverence, we entered a garden of cherry blossoms, of ancient garments, and old tea recipes. The scent of the blossoms, their pink hue permeating the heavens above me, though delicate, the trees they clung to so tenaciously were hundreds of years old. My mind wandered through the history of this ancient land, and the experience I was about to embark upon. Earlier this morning as I laid on my mat I reflected on my visit to Kobe, the sights and sounds of this bustling ancient, steeped in history yet a modern, city. Yumi came in, and in our special way of communicating part Japanese, part English, and part hand gestures, she told me that this was going to be a special day, something she hoped I would enjoy and always remember about Japan and the history of the Geisha.
After a week of hearing my name pronounced incorrectly and an additional "chan" placed at the end, I was not surprised when the owner called my "Allison-chan" from across the room. He was a gentle old man; the kind I had always imagined was the epitome of the Japanese elderly. I could imagine him sitting on a bench in the park with their eyes half closed, wearing a faded kimono, and always willing to provide a new proverb to his grandchildren. Tucked beneath the sleeve of his garment was a photo of a girl, not many years advanced compared to Yumi or I, with a face almost as white as a ghost's and with a smile that seemed to say, "This could be you". My heart rate began to pound with excitement as I imagined the soft silk against my cheek. In that moment I truly felt Japanese. I opened my arms wide to embrace Yumi for her generosity and thoughtfulness. This was not the most formal way to say thank you for her amazing gift but it felt the most natural. This entire week I had constantly referred to the kimono as the epitome of Japanese culture and for Yumi to spend her Saturday driving two and a half hours to Kyoto for me, meant the world. Yet I should not have been surprised by her extreme act of self-giving today, for a week she had sacrificed her time to guide me around downtown Kobe, provide a home for me, and patiently instructed me when my chopsticks slipped through my finger tips. I followed the shop owner through a long, narrow, bamboo corridor. To my left was a small traditional chaniwa garden, used for tea ceremonies, and to my right a single calligraphy hung from the wall. I was directed to a room and asked to put on a thin white garment, similar to what one wears during an exam at the doctor's office. Two minutes later I found myself climbing up a set of slippery wooden stairs that led to a light and open room with three mirrors. A gentle tug directed my attention toward a single large closest. A chill snaked its way up my spine, not in fear but in awe, as I watched the attendant glide the bamboo doors open and reveal a magnificent display of kimonos. The sight was overwhelming. The dyes of each kimono were perfectly in balance with the handcrafted woven fabric creating a garment almost as holy as the Pope's golden laced robes. I eagerly sorted through the racks of kimonos worn by the mikos, each personified a unique artist and infused with its own identity. How I appreciated Yumi's hospitality when she relayed to me that even though she owned a yukata she had never been adorned in a kimono of such high quality. I knew I never wanted to leave Yumi, her lifestyle, her culture, or her cuisines. Suddenly, one kimono toward the end of the row caught my eye, like a cat that spots the flick of a mouse's tail. A ruby red sash hung from its dark blue bodice. I interpreted the blue as reflecting the serene waters of Kobe's port and the red as the Nissoki of their flag, that sun which welcomed me every morning to a new, adventurous, and surprising day in Japan.
My dark thick hair was restrained by nets. White makeup was applied to my face and down my neck (not to fear, the smooth powder did not contain a single trace of bird poop like in Memoirs of a Geisha). Scarlet red lipstick was applied to my small lips and dark blue eye shadow was added to compliment the hues and tones on the kimono. Surprisingly, the makeup artists directed me not to smile, but the temptation was too great as I recalled the previous night at the dinner table attempting to impress Yumi and her family with the few Japanese phrases I had learned. Their verdict of my shameful attempt was this, "convincing accent, but a little bit more, um, practice". The memory of her all-too-gracious and polite comment caused the lipstick to smear across my teeth. Finally, I was dressed in my choice of kimono. With all the intricate pieces and separate components that comprise a single kimono I was impressed by the fluidness and natural speed in which the two women were able to dress my bodice. The three pound headpiece was the final accessory to my ensemble. I stared at myself in front of the three mirrors. From the outside I knew I appeared drastically different in the eyes of my audience, and yet I could see my Latina face transcending through the layers of makeup. I had never seen myself appear so beautiful, and I had never once felt so embodied with a culture so drastically different from my own. This moment was the consolidation of every new sight and sound that graced this country, and the zenith of my experience in Japan.
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