Yesterday when I woke up, a long (Long!) letter was waiting for me at my spot at the table, it was written in Japanese. I worked at it for some time, trying my best to assimilate the words, but its exact meaning evaded me. It had to do with chopstick etiquette, of that I was certain, and it was also clear that I had commited some chopstick faux pas the previous night at dinner, but the details of that blunder were unclear to me. Later a long explanation took place, Baba and Jiji both doing their best to make me comprehend, but no, not even a spark of understanding. Next, a game of charades, but still no. All their efforts were futile. Still I have no idea exactly what they were trying to tell me. Oh well.
Conversations between myself and Baba and Jiji are like that, each one a small mountain to traverse. My day is peppered with tiny Everests. Sometimes I choose to go around them, opting to be misunderstand, the effort just too great and my Japanese too lacking. I weigh the importance of true understanding at every moment. To what end will it bring? At times I do forge through the language barrier, offering bits and pieces of broken Japanese in hopes of understanding. When we are able to truly communicate it is like a window of light being opened.
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