Author Archives: chloe elizabeth

dear you…inspired by two months in tokyo (part 1)

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Dear Japanese women,
A few things I’d like to understand. Okay, mainly one thing. How the hell do you walk around in heels all day long? And not just in the city, but hiking up temples in Kamakura and getting onto boats to scuba dive in Okinawa. I really really really want to understand so can someone please explain it to me? Okay, and while we’re on the topic, reapplying makeup mid-day everyday at work? Seriously? A girl could get a complex. I mean, I am pretty into the whole “doing my makeup” thing, but you just take it to a new level. When I’m on my way home from work every night, having switched my heels for more sensible (i.e. less attractive) footwear and with makeup that was applied a full 10 hours earlier, well, I just can’t compete. No wonder there are so many gaijin men married to Japanese women. So, really, I don’t so much care about the why or the how. I’d just like it to stop so I don’t feel like a total slouch.
Sincerely,
A girl who used to feel pretty put together…until she moved to Japan

Dear Don Quijote,
I’m so conflicted. You have so many great things and such great prices, and yet the assault on the eyes and ears upon entering your premises… Well, it makes it hard for me to be a consistent patron. I want to love you, but seriously…does every display have to talk or play music and flash lights? I mean, don’t you think it’s just a bit much? Even for you?
Sincerely,
A girl who’s just trying to help you out (and not go deaf from trying to save a few yen)

Dear Roppongi,
You have been a fun place to live for these two months. Super entertaining. Always a lot going on. But I will definitely be ready to leave you when these first six months are up. With all of your bars and strip clubs and the men standing outside of them inviting men in. I will not miss that. Now, the view of Tokyo Tower, I may miss. So thank you for that. Oh, and the proximity of the subway. But I’m pretty sure I can find both of those elsewhere. Your saving grace is that there is a gym in my building that I’m just not willing to give up.
Best,
A girl who tries her best to not be disappointed with humanity while walking your streets every day

Dear Japanese food (in all your varieties),
I had this crazy notion that I might be able to lose weight in Japan. That’s when my definition of Japanese food was sushi. What an ignorant fool I was. If I had only known. And could you explain to me why it is that my Japanese coworkers can eat you every meal as if it were their last and still look the way they do? Oh, and could you also apologize to my Instagram followers who wish that I posted more than just food. It’s totally your fault. If you weren’t so delicious and so attractive, it would be so much easier to not post pictures of you. But you are both and so, I just can’t help myself. I have no control.
With conflicted feelings,
Chloe

Dear Japanese men,
I apologize for not following your rules of hierarchy, but I’m a woman and where I come from, that means I get on and off the elevator first and I get the seat on the subway before you do. So, you can keep giving me your disgusted looks when I don’t do things the right way because this is one cultural difference I’m not willing to give up.
Yours,
Chloe

Dear Diet Coke,
I miss you dearly. I made a new friend this week who will be bringing you to me thanks to the U.S. Commissary her Air Force engineer husband. God bless America!!!
With great anticipation,
C-Lo

Dear gym on the first floor,
Thank you for being so convenient and helping me keep my weight gain to a meager 5 lbs as opposed to the 25 I’m sure I would have gained without you. And thank you for having two treadmills. I’d hoped for an elliptical machine, but life can’t be perfect all the time.
With intentions of seeing you even more in the months to come,
Chloe

Dear Dreamcycle,
Thank you for being such a fun way to get around town on the weekends. I’m sorry I’ve left you sitting in the bike room these past two weeks. Hopefully the other bikes are being nice to you. Unfortunately, I’m headed out of town yet again tomorrow morning, but I promise I will make it up to you next Saturday.
Love,
Me

Dear Union Supermarket (or supa maketto in Japanese),
Thank you for being open 24/7 and a block from my apartment. You are small and super expensive, but living in NYC has taught me that I value convenience over almost anything when it comes to grocery shopping. And thank you for having really good produce. Now, if you could just carry Parm Bars (think a Dove ice cream bar but with a chocolate coating that’s just a little more fudgy so it doesn’t crack or fall off), I would love/hate you just a little more. As it were, the convenience store just a few blocks away has them, so I suppose that’s all right. Actually, it’s probably better that we limit our relationship to produce, rice, and meat. I frequent you too often and the temptation would be too great.
Love,
A girl who’s rediscovered her love of cooking in a country that has much better ingredients than she’s used to

Dear restaurants with vending machines,
It took me a bit (and a Japanese friend showing me how to do it) to be willing to frequent you, but now that I have…man are you convenient. I don’t have to struggle through trying to order my food in Japanese because I just make my selection, pay, and hand my little ticket over to the guy/girl behind the counter. Talk about a perfect set up for a girl who’s very tired after her long days at work and the last thing she wants to think about is how to order her darn tonkatsu.
Love,
A girl who hates that she can’t speak Japanese

Dear little damp washcloths and towelettes provided at every eating establishment, be it cafe, fast food, or gourmet restaurant,
You are the best thing ever!!! I do not understand why the U.S. has not adopted this tradition. Seriously.
Love,
The girl who might have to start carrying wet wipes even though she doesn’t have a kid

Dear Japanese toilets,
It’s a love/hate thing. More love than hate though. Especially because you’ve provided hours of entertainment in the conversation form on Facebook, at dinner parties, and with my family/friends back home. I can unequivocally state that you will be missed someday when I leave this place. Even with your gross, germ breeding, heated seats.
With sincere gratitude,
Chloe

Dear kanji,
You make my life hard.
Chloe

underwater

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A lion fish – as dangerous as it is beautiful.

Once upon a time, I had just finished up my sophomore year in college. I was relatively depressed. My mom was dead. My sister was on her mission. We had to sell the house I grew up in. And I was forced to sleep on a love seat. In the family room. With zero privacy. Even though there was a perfectly good bedroom that was being used as an office. (Lots of fodder for therapy…)

I realize that this is a lot better than most of the world has it, but this was a rough adjustment for me. I was struggling with my never ending eating issues. I was slightly obsessed with exercising. I was trying to keep my mom’s swim lesson business going from my dad’s backyard both out of a feeling of duty and because I wanted to earn some spending money for clothes and such, but mostly duty. These were not happy times. Mind you, not the worst of times I’d had up to then, but still, they were pretty crappy.

In the midst of my personal hell, my younger brother, who did have his own bedroom because he was still in high school, which apparently means you need a bed or something, was working on his senior project; a particular form of torture meant to keep seniors at my high school engaged through the end of that fourth year. While I had decided to focus mine on sewing, my younger (and wiser) brother had chosen something much more fun. He decided to focus his on scuba diving which included writing a paper about something related (nitrogen levels in blood?) and then getting certified.

Suddenly, there was a little light glowing in the dark depths of my unhappy existence. Somehow I managed convince my dad to pay for me to get scuba certified. I mean, it’s a two person activity and what was Justin going to do without a dive buddy? (My mother taught us well…and my father has a hard time saying no if tears are involved…) So I signed up and suddenly there was some kind of fun happening in my life. For those of you who know me and/or my family, we are all water babies. I’m pretty sure my mom is teaching her grandkids how to swim before they come to this earth. I don’t remember learning to swim because it happened so early in my life. I was on a swim team at the age of four, helping my mother teach lessons at the age of 12, and spent my summers in a bathing suit (sometimes even falling asleep in one). I have loved the water as long as I have been alive, so diving seemed like a very logical thing to take up.

It was also something that I knew my mom would have loved knowing I was doing. Once upon a time, my mom taught a woman at my church how to swim so that she could get scuba certified. Talk about impressive. I mean, going from not even being able to swim to scuba diving as an adult is kind of amazing. Not that scuba diving requires you to be an incredibly strong swimmer, but it does require you to be extremely comfortable in the water.

Back to the point. One of the things I’ve always loved about being in the water is the quiet. Not that swimming itself is quiet–it’s actually quite loud–but underwater, hearing is not easy. Things get muffled. The world (at least for me) becomes very quiet. And quiet was something I needed.

And then there was the freedom I felt while under the water. No need to surface for breath. Flying through kelp forests. Swimming along with schools of fish. Hovering above the sand. No thoughts of how much weight I needed to lose. No concerns about how cute my bathing suit was (in Monterey, where I got certified, it was covered by 14 mm of neoprene). My only concern was making sure I stuck with my dive buddy. That was it. Not worrying about talking to my buddy. Just making sure I could see him and vice versa.

Maybe diving doesn’t appeal to you, but hopefully you can understand why I fell in love with it. It’s not just the experience and all of the amazing things I’ve been able to see. Diving saved me at a point in my life when I needed saving. So, perhaps you can understand why, after four years of not diving, I was so excited for my trip to Okinawa this past weekend. And it did not disappoint. I found this great dive operation with this super nice German dive master who took me out on six fantastic dives. He also found me this lovely little pension (think somewhere between B&B and hostel) to stay at and drove me to and from it each day.

While I was a little nervous about the whole thing, everything I needed to know came right back into my mind. It was just like riding a bike. And suddenly, I was right back in my happy place. So content to be floating over fields of soft corals, swimming through schools of fish, diving into the dark abyss of a hole formed by coral over thousands of years, peaking under over hangs and through tunnels to see what could be seen, and watching a few not-so-nice creatures float by…hoping they wouldn’t come to close.  (Or, in the case of the reef shark…stalking it. Sharks aren’t so scary, I promise. At least not little reef sharks.)

And then there was the whale shark…which took the whole diving thing to a totally new level. Awe inspiring doesn’t even begin to describe it. It took my breath away in the best way possible.

Note: all photos are from my dives, but were taking by the lovely Jan of Piranha Divers.

gyeongbokgung palace

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First of all, I finished the book I started reading about North Korea, The Aquariums of Pyongyang: Ten Years in the North Korean Gulag. So good. So interesting. And thanks everyone for your other recommendations. I’m going to start watching some documentaries…but I had to get caught up on Grey’s Anatomy and Revenge. (Yes, a sad commentary on my priorities…)

So, my last two days in Korea involved visiting a palace, a museum, a shrine, some qt with a childhood friend, and lots of rain.

To being with, the palace. It was amazing. Especially the grounds. The only one I made it to was Gyeongbokgung, but it was awesome. I wandered around outside at first. There is so much around it including the National Folk Museum of Korea, which I absolutely loved, and a recreation of Korean villages in days gone by. I could have spent hours there if I’d had them. And it was free. Crazy, right?

It’s funny. I don’t really enjoy reading about history (unless it’s in historical fiction or memoir form…and there’s some drama involved), but seeing it? That’s a different story. Especially when it’s a history so different from my own.

And now, the photo tour with a few captions to go along.

Just cool looking.
These are statures of scholars and military officers, usually erected in from of the tombs of  important figures in order to spiritually guard them.

A rotary grinding mill which was used to thrash and mill grain and soften woven straw.

A cool waterwheel, but I love the mountain in the background, too.
A replica of a town at various points in modern history (20s-70s or so).

This was an entire sculpture garden with all of the signs of the Chinese Zodiac. The Dragon reminded me of an awesome Chinese New Year party my roommates and I threw back in college.

This video showed photos comparing past times and today. It was awesome.

The palace gardens. I could have stayed here forever. So beautiful.

The actual palace.
Palace guards. Loved their uniforms.
A sculpture guarding the palace. Dragon? Dog? Falkor?

bloom where you’re planted

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So, you know, the blog has become quite the travel log (and appropriately so). It’s not entirely devoid of emotion, but a lot happens when you move halfway around the world and I haven’t really captured that. I have more Korea to finish writing about that I want for my own posterity. I have more Tokyo to write about it. And next weekend I will be heading down to Okinawa to dive with whale sharks and through ship wrecks, so lots to come. My life is definitely full of adventure. But right now, I want to just take a moment to breathe, so to speak.

Today, at church, there was a great lesson about finding joy in the gospel of Jesus Christ in Japan. And the teacher started the lesson with the statement, “Bloom where you’re planted.”

Now, I’m typically not a fan of these little saying that people like to cross-stitch onto pillows or cut out of vinyl and put on their walls, but today this one just struck me in such a way that there was much self-reflection happening in that classroom.

Once upon a time, I was getting ready to move into my very own house in Queen Creek, AZ. I was excited for this prospect, but also nervous about being in a new place and going to a new church. While I’d been in Arizona for almost three years at that point, I didn’t really have a close group of friends. I had my family (whom you all know I adore) and a couple of friends outside of work, but that was really it. And I was kind of lonely.

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I actually have a really, really hard time making new friends. There is a lot of noise that happens in my head that makes it really hard and/or scary for me. Growing up, I lived in the same town my entire life and so my friends were the kids I grew up with. Going to college, I started in the dorms with a bunch of other freshmen, so we were all in the same boat and it made it easy. Moving off campus, I had roommates, so instafriends (or enemies, in a few rare cases). And then I moved to Arizona and lived with my sister which made it super easy to convince myself I didn’t need to make other friends because I adore her and we are the best of friends. And I am painfully insecure when it comes to meeting new people.

Well, then my sister left Arizona (I actually left first, but that’s a very long story and the end of it is that I was back in Arizona and she had moved to Utah) and I was getting ready to move into this new area by myself with no roommates to be instafriends (the only thing I ever miss about roommates), and I had a little “come to Jesus” talk with myself. It was inspired by something someone had said one Sunday during church. I don’t remember the exact words, but the idea was basically that, when you first meet someone, it’s really easy to get caught up in worrying about what he or she thinks about you and whether he/she will want to be your friend, etc, but chances are that he/she is worrying about the same things, so stop worrying about yourself and start worrying about how you can make that person feel more comfortable and safe, so to speak, and like you want to be his or her friend.

I took this advice to heart. I can still remember walking into church that first Sunday and looking around at all these people whom I didn’t know and who didn’t know me and thinking, “Okay, Chloe, it’s time to suck it up and just pretend like it’s your job to make these people feel comfortable around you and feel good about themselves.” To say it wasn’t easy would be an understatement. But it totally worked. Or at least the change in mindset did. I made friends quickly and was soon the one helping new kids feel more comfortable and inviting people over for dinner. I quickly felt like I had this community that I’d been missing for a while.

When I moved to New York a little over two years ago, I had these grandiose ideas about how great my life was going to be. And while it was pretty amazing, I found myself wishing, after being there for two years, that I had done things differently. Moving to New York was easy. I had a number of friends already there both from my Utah years and that I’d met during my internship, and through those friends I made some new ones, as well. And it’s not like my life lacked busyness or adventure or friendship. But I just didn’t feel super connected. I didn’t feel like I had a community (specifically at church)…and apparently I need a community.

So, before I moved to Tokyo, I spent some time thinking about this. And the thought that popped into my head was the one from my days in Arizona. What had been missing in New York was my effort. I was so worried about what people were thinking about me that I wasn’t able to just be myself a lot of the time. Especially at church. And church time is a big deal for me. I need to feel connected. I need to have friends there. And for the two years I was in New York, church was a little rough. Don’t get me wrong, people were super nice and they tried, I was just too caught up in my own whatever to be very engaged. I can honestly say I have no one to blame but myself. I also decided that, even though this assignment for work is only six months I had to treat it like it was more. Not just because I want it to be more, but if I were to treat it like it was something to just get through (in terms of my social life), I can guarantee that a) I’d be lonely and b) I would be on a plane in six months back to the states.

Heading to church my first Sunday here was nerve-wracking because I wanted it to be great. And by “it” I mean me. I wanted to be that super friendly, fun girl who will just go up to new people and introduce herself and chitchat away. Well, that didn’t exactly happen (I don’t know if that will ever happen on the first try). But it wasn’t awful either. And I did meet a few people. But I was still focused on me. The following Sunday was a little better. I tried a little harder and, thankfully, there are some very friendly people in my congregation.

Last Saturday, though, I had a bit of a set-back (in my view). My church was having an opening social for the new year (we operate in terms of school years since so many people take off for the summer), and while I had planned to go, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I told myself it was because I had a headache (which I did have), but there are lots of other things that I would do even with a headache, so it was totally an excuse. (I love it when I realize I’m lying to myself. It’s awesome.)

On Sunday, I realized that I really wished that I had gone. While I do have a few great new friends, all of them have responsibilities during church that make it so I am alone during the second and third hours. I got home from church last Sunday and thought about how I could make those two hours a little less lonely (because they were, in fact, lonely). All of these women have their lives and their friends and it would be a lie to say that I think they have any reason/desire to become friends with the single girl who works full-time and has no kids. And so…I knew it was all on me. I decided I was going to have to kick my effort up a notch…or five.

I decided to show up at book club. And I decided that showing up wasn’t enough, but that it was time to stop worrying about what people were thinking about me, and start making sure they knew I cared about and wanted to get to know them. I figured it would be a small enough group that I’d be able to manage it and not be overly anxious. I also made one of my new friends come with me so I’d have a wingman. (I’m not an idiot.) And it was great. I mean, it was hard and stressful, but it was worth it. It helped to be at something where there was something other to discuss than the typical small talk (which I am awful at, btw). But it also helped that I had stopped worrying about whether or not these women wanted to be my friend and was much more focused on helping them realize why I wanted to be their friend.

And today church was a million times better. I had all of these people to talk to. I felt much more a part of things. And so, when the lesson started with the statement, “Bloom where you’re planted” I got a little emotional because I feel like I am figuring it out in this new place. Sure, I’m the one that planted myself here, but that doesn’t mean it’s super easy all the time. Or even most of the time.  (Side note: one of my least favorite responses to when someone complains about how hard something that they chose to do is? “Well, you chose this.” If my life was full of choosing the path of least resistance, it wouldn’t be much of a life. And choosing a path that has some resistance means that it is going to be hard at times.)

Moving on.

During the lesson, I reflected on the effort I’ve made to make this a great experience. I thought about how I’ve been able to laugh at so many things that might have made me cry if I’d let them. How I’ve been a lot more committed to the things that really matter to me. How I’ve forced myself out of my comfort zone more often than I thought I would or could. And I thought about just how happy I am. Not just happy, but content and comfortable; two thing which, I’ve learned through therapy, are super important to me. I feel like I’m not just blooming, but flourishing. And that is an amazing feeling.

Now, if I could just learn Japanese a little faster…

korean food

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Two weeks later… In case you thought this whole Asian experience is just fun and games, it’s not. I am here to work and work has been busy and I’ve been exhausted. So, back to Korea (which I can’t believe was two weeks ago)…

I became a huge fan of Korean food after having it all of two times in NYC, so I was super excited to actually go to Korea and try the food there. (If you ever make it to NYC…you know, since Korea might not be the top of your travel list, pay a visit to Koreatown. Worth it.)
I had a list of foods to try. Sadly I didn’t get to all of them. But I did try some I didn’t know about. Amazing. Enjoy!
Wood coals all ready to go for my delicious galbi. This place was recommended by one of my apps…it was amazing.
Meat cooking… I don’t think I could ever be a vegetarian.

And cooked. All the little dishes are various forms of vegetables, most pickled, including kimchi–a Korean specialty.
This was the display outside a “restaurant” where I did not eat. The vat in the back with the red soup in it was some sort of soup (duh)…and it just didn’t look super sanitary. I also found it funny that they cover their fake food in plastic wrap. I’m assuming it’s fake anyway…
While I’m all for street food, this assortment of meats and fish sitting out in the open (not especially cold) air for who knows how long didn’t work for me either. 

And then I came across fried dough with veggies and noodles inside (they had a bulgogi one, but they were out of it by that point in the evening). It was delicious. But since when is anything wrapped in dough and fried not delicious.
This is possibly my favorite street in Seoul (of the ones I was on). It’s this great little tourist trap with all sorts of shops, restaurants, and street vendors. I might have spent half of a day there.

The Korean version of ebelskiver filled with red bean paste. I didn’t have any (not a huge bean paste fan), but it was super fun to watch this woman work at lightening speed making them. 

These are little pillows made out of super fine threads of sugar (floss) and filled with nut mixture. The video below shows the people making them. Kind of fun.  I actually only had one of these after I got back (I bought some at the airport to take back to my coworkers) because I wasn’t super excited about eating them. But I should have been because they were good. And I bet they were even better fresh.

There were lots of waffle places around. Not sure why. But I finally broke down and had one because they just looked too good. And they were good! 

Yeah. More fried dough. This one was filled with a brown sugar and almond concoction. Koreans like to fry things.

Ginormous dumplings. Again with the frying.

Just in case you need to get your drink on without missing a beat. Yes, plastic bags. Keepin’ it classy Korean style.

Another little ebelskiver thing happening…only this one was automated. Super old school technology…and totally effective. 

These are a sort of ice-cream cone. They had them hanging here and then you waited in line to have one filled with soft-serve. I also didn’t try this (there’s only so much a girl can eat in a day), but they looked awesome.

Bibimpap. Recommended by several people and a first for me. It’s this rice and veggie concoction that comes in this iron bowl, still sizzling.