Saturday, September 21, 2013

Paradise


The Second Half

After two weeks spent in the eastern half of the country it was time to fly from Chicago to San Diego. My friend Dan was going to get married, and I had to be present. But more than that I wanted to see family and friends. The lengthy stay would end up being a great one and this is the summary of it.

Home Sweet Home

Once back in San Diego, I took immediate note of the splendid August weather. Each day had clear blue skies, low humidity and temperatures in the low 80s. Until I moved elsewhere in the world I had taken the Southern California coastal climate for granted and it set me up for great discomfort because nowhere has the weather come close to the same level of wonderful. So the day after arriving, I made the most of the sunny San Diego days by taking my uncle Mario and aunt Wanda to Torrey Pines State Park because they were visiting from Texas and do not often see the Pacific coast. Oh, and Torrey Pines is not just any ordinary stretch of coastline. Windswept cliffs drop to the sea but are offset from the water by a strip of black and gold sand. The place is secluded and scenic, and home to California's only public nude beach.

Nice day at the beach
Sandpipers
A Torrey Pine Tree
Uncle Mario on the edge
Beautiful
Two other areas also warranted a visit. One was the Hotel Del Coronado. The hotel has become a prominent landmark in San Diego going back 125 years. At the time it was the grandest resort in the world, and to this day remains one of the largest wooden buildings in America. It was also the first hotel to have electricity, installed by none other than Thomas Edison. My friends and I checked out the lobby and main building. Then we took a dip in the Pacific Ocean. The water was colder than I would have liked and I had to move around to warm up. In the meantime I kept glancing over at Point Loma to the north. The peninsula rose up from the sea like a great earthen wall and I made up my mind to visit the place. I later went with my friend Shelley. She was in San Diego for the wedding and we went to the tip of Point Loma to Cabrillo National Monument. Some 460 years ago the Spanish explorer Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo made landfall in the area and traded with the Kumeyaay natives. The monument has a statue of him that overlooks the sea, and higher up on the promontory stands a white historic lighthouse. 

What is interesting about the places I went to is that they are completely different than those I visited a year ago during my last stay in San Diego. The city has much to offer. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to go to one other destination I had hoped to see, that being the campus at San Diego State University. It will have to wait until next time.

Hotel Del Coronado

Lobby
Pt. Loma in the distance
Armed Service Cemetery
Cabrillo's Ship
The Statue
Lighthouse
Winding staircase
Party

I have been teaching English in Japan for eight years now. In that time I visited San Diego four times, and whenever I'm back, my mom makes it a point to have a party for me at the house. This year she put in more effort than usual. For one, she hired caterers, and I'm not talking about just any run-of the-mill hotplate food scoopers. Nope. Mom paid for a portable taco grill complete with its own corn tortilla press. The Mexican dude tending it had four meats to choose from plus all the fixings. And on top of that, one of Mom's friend Maria Teresa served the homemade lasagna she's brought to each of these welcome back parties. I've grown quite fond of the dish. Maria Teresa makes so much there are always leftovers, and much like pizza, the lasagna still tastes good the next day, even right out of the fridge.

Tacos done right
The food aside these parties are great because I can see friends and family. My uncle Mario and aunt Wanda were present, as were uncle Kent and aunt Gloria. Cousin Ian and Ana Maria came too. But Ana's husband Sid missed the festivities because a spider had bitten him the day before. She did however bring her son Joaquin. He's half Latin and half East Indian, and a cute little rascal. Mom and aunt Amparo both told me Joaquin looks a lot like I did at the same age. That made me curious, so I went through the old family pics. A side-by-side comparison showed that Mom and Amparo were right to a degree. In the photos we both had long curly hair and big almond shaped eyes. I went ahead and scanned some of the family pictures and now have them digitized for posterity's sake.


Joaquin at 2 years of age
Me
My Parents and Brother
Dad once did Karate
Paradise Lost

As I have already stated San Diego has a very pleasant climate. The land is chaparral desert so the area receives little precipitation and has close to no humidity. But unlike most deserts the high temperatures are moderated by cool air that accompanies ocean currents coming down from Alaska. Below is a chart from Wikipedia showing how ridiculously nice the year round weather is.

Best climate on Earth?


Topographically, the city has a large natural bay and river valley that feeds into an estuary. In days of old these natural features provided access to water for farming and fishing, and the native Kumeyaay lived peacefully in these lands.

Then came the White man.

First were the Spanish. They established a mission in the river valley and named it San Diego de Alcala after Saint Didacus, a 15th century Franciscan monk. The mission founder Father Junipero Serra deemed it his responsibility to spread the catholic faith among the natives and in doing so forced them to adhere to rigid rules that conflicted with their way of life. Moreover, the Spanish used the natives like slaves to farm the land and maintain the mission. This led to open revolt and on more than one occasion the natives attempted to drive the White men away. The Spanish, however, had garrisoned the mission with soldiers, and their guns and steel proved to be the difference. Thus, the Spanish remained and with each passing year there came more of them who seized Kumeyaay lands for farming and ranching.

The Noble Kumeyaay People

The Mission
Father Junipero
Revolt
In 1856 the Mexican American war erupted a thousand miles away in Texas. By the end of it US General Willard Scott had marched south to Mexico City and occupied the capital. Before leaving, the Americans forced an interim commission of the collapsed Mexican government to sign the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The signing ceded 900,000+ sq miles of Mexican land to the US government, and made San Diego along with all of modern day California a part of America. The change led to an increase in white settlers--this time from the east. Their arrival pushed the Kumeyaay further out of their lands, and the definitive blow came when the town's people dammed the San Diego River. This put an end to seasonal flooding in the area and allowed settlers to occupy the entire river valley. Other Kumeyaay lands were swallowed up by the resultant reservoirs. It was then only a matter of time until the natives were forced to resettle in the mountains to the east. What few Kumeyaay remained were divided into thirteen groups, the most prominent of which are now the Sycuan, Barona and Viejas tribes.

In Mission Valley
The current river
The Kumeyaay became forgotten and irrelevant as the city continued to grow. By the late 80's San Diego had over a million people and it was at that point some astute businessmen from Las Vegas lobbied to have the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act passed. The businessmen realized that they could exploit the tribal sovereignty of Indian reservations to legalize gambling and build casinos, but they needed operational guidelines sanctioned by the government which in turn gave them more control over investment dealings. The casino companies didn't take long to move in afterwards, and they struck deals with the Kumeyaay tribes whose reservations were relatively close to San Diego (a large population center). In return for their compliance every reservation member received monthly stipends taken from casino profits. For many that money later amounted to over 100,000 dollars a year. Understandably, other tribes wanted in on the windfall and casinos soon sprang up all over San Diego County.


Many a Casino
Typical Casino Signage
This is the legacy of the Kumeyaay people. Their tribal names now light up bright casino signs and loom down from Interstate billboards. Is it not fitting? The once poor natives now profit from the vices of the White men who robbed them of their land and way of life. But the truth be told, it's the Asians who frequent the casinos most, especially the Chinese. I'm talking about people from a culture whose families sell their children into sex slavery to pay off gambling debts. That is the affliction posed by gambling. And others are just as susceptible for no race is free of the gambling bug. Admittedly, my mom goes too. I really wish she wouldn't. It's a waste and she might as well toss her cash down a storm drain because the result would be the same. But mom is convinced she makes money playing slots. I've seen her in action. She walks between the machines with her hands stretched outwards, and when she feels something in her fingers she'll stop and play. I don't think it works in her favor.

As for my friend Chris, he fares better. He plays poker. Now that is a game of skill. How one bluffs and reads others determines the level of success, and him being Filipino he was practically raised at the poker table beside uncles and cousins. Card savvy Chris loves playing against old Chinese men who show up to the casino with their money belts stuffed and leave penniless. I've gone with him before. Poker was never my thing so I play the $5 blackjack tables. I never win. Sometimes I walk away so bitter that I am tempted to go to the buffet and dump plate loads of food into the garbage to earn back my money.

My friends and I joke that at Barona Casino, a greedy, fat Indian wearing a turquoise bolo tie sits in a back room watching the cash bags tumble in. We call him Johnny Blackfoot. But he doesn't exist, and if he did, the big money makers of the gaming world would not be the Johnny Blackfoots. Rather they're the executives and shareholders from the multinational companies who set up and run the casinos. Those old white men use the natives as needed and then write them off with a small cut of the profits, and in the meantime they are making a killing. By conducting their business on Native American land the companies are exempt from strong government oversight. They also don't need to pay certain types of taxes, and lastly, their profits are unaffected during an economic downturn. This is because most Indian casino visitors are from nearby cities. The casinos operated in Las Vegas and Atlantic City on the other hand depend on out of state tourists for business, and it's a known fact, people are less willing to travel when money is tight.

Potential for Indian Gaming

Desert Antics

San Diego is a large county that encompasses a variety of regions. Most tourists visit only the beaches and coastal towns, and it's a shame because the most beautiful part of the county in my opinion is Anza Borrego State Park. An hour drive away from downtown, the park has wide desert vistas, and other areas that teem with vegetation such as the ocotillo and yucca plants. As a bonus it's also possible to camp in any part of the park without a permit. I decided I would go and spend a night beneath the stars and persuaded my friend Roberto to join. We headed east in my father's truck, which had once belonged to my grandfather. When granddad passed away 5 years ago dad drove it from New Mexico to California. And here I was putting more miles on it for a fun filled excursion. Inside I knew it was what granddad would have wanted.

A little over half the distance to the desert Roberto and I made a stop in Julian. The small town is home to a famous bakery that has arguably the best apple pie in Southern California. I got a big slice with berries mixed in, and on top, a scoop of cinnamon ice cream. Man did that hit the spot. With our bellies sated we were now ready for the day ahead. The single lane highway led us from the forest-covered mountains into a wide swath of brown, arid earth.  In Anza Borrego State Park there is but one real town, a backwater collection of houses called Borrego Springs. We got provisions at a market and then made for Fonts Point. Access to our destination was via a dry wash that doubled as a vehicular path. I knew from experience that tires can become easily stuck in loose off road sand and did my best to maintain constant momentum. It worked and we arrived without incident.

Julian
Apple Pie
One Town
Desert bush
Fonts Point
The other side
Emerging victorious
Fonts Point was a hidden gem. Beneath the overlook hundreds of veiny hills dotted the horizon and the vista was unlike anything else I had seen before. I then noticed a trail that led into the hills. In spite of the heat I walked down and Roberto followed. The dry, crumbling path proved to be a challenge but we managed to reach the desert floor. Coming up was a bit easier. But both of us were fatigued and soaked with sweat. I took my plastic jug of water from the truck and dumped a good portion of its contents onto my head. And like that we had conquered Fonts Point. There was nothing more for us to do, so we returned to town, dined on Mexican food and then bought beer for later. From Borrego Springs we headed south. Night soon fell. I pulled off the highway and into a random clearing. We took out the sleeping bags and made ourselves comfortable in the flatbed of the truck. Overhead a canopy of stars filled in the night sky, and looking up, I got to thinking about UFOs.

"You believe in extraterrestrials?" I asked Roberto.

"Yeah. Why you ask?"

"I was thinking it would be cool if we saw a UFO right now."

"I'm not sure about that. But you know what? I wouldn't mind seeing a movie with aliens in it."

He then suggested we watch an alien abduction film called "The Fourth Kind." Amazingly, his phone had reception and we could see it on Netflix, albeit with serious bandwidth issues. The film had a creepy vibe and portrayed the extraterrestrials as heartless, terrifying creatures. Much to my disappointment they were never shown on screen. So it turned out that even in the world of film I was denied seeing a UFO.

Movie poster
I didn't sleep well during the night because of the bugs. It was too dry for mosquitoes, but moths, beetles and other little things were buzzing about. Moreover, I had a foul gas attack made worse by the tostada and beans from dinner. At around 5:30am day broke and I rose with the morning sun. That tends to be the case when camping outdoors. It didn't take long for us to get back on the road. We continued south and after half an hour of driving I saw a turn off for a small natural spring. On an impulse I pulled in. This time the road was less agreeable than the one to Fonts Point, and I was so focused on my steering that when the road split I went the wrong way. Like an idiot I stopped the truck, shifted into reverse, and before I knew it my back right tire had become caught in sand.

Roberto and I tried to dig out the tire. We put a large, flat rock beneath it for traction. He pushed while I gave the truck some gas. We did everything short of deflating the tire, but the vehicle did not budge. To get cellular reception we had to trek a mile back to the highway. I phoned the park's service number. That call went through to an automated voice box. I tried 9-1-1 next and an operator connected me to a local dispatch. Within an hour came a green and white jeep, and out stepped Ranger Don. "I'm here to help," he said. Roberto and I hopped onto the back of his jeep and held tight as he tore down the wash to the truck. Fortunately, the man had come prepared with a chain. He hooked it to the truck's chassis, and the other end to the jeep. When Don gave the signal I reversed the truck. His all-wheel-drive jeep went forward and the tire finally came out of the sand.

"Thank you so much," I said afterwards, nearly about to hug the guy.

"No need to thank me," he said, "this is just your tax dollars at work." He removed the chain, slapped his hands clean, and for a brief moment his sunglasses caught a brilliant flare of sunlight. "Now how about we get the hell outta here?"

Once he had seen us back to the highway, Roberto and I both agreed-- Ranger Don was the embodiment of awesomeness.

Ocotillo plant in the morning
Ranger to the rescue
Roberto

In some aspects of daily life I'm a lucky guy. For example, there have been times when I've moved to a new city and not known anyone, but within a month had a fledgling circle of friends, and within two months had become acquainted with more people than names I could remember. It's easy for me to make friends like that, so you can imagine all the people I've gotten to know. Well, thinking back on their countless faces and personalities some individuals stand out more than others--those certain friends who lead a life I can describe only as extraordinary. Roberto is one such person.

Roberto is a man who doesn't live in a bubble, or in other words, never allows himself to become trapped too long within the security and comfort of a familiar routine. The guy is often drawn to new experiences, and when taking that first step into the unknown he commits whole-heatedly. I recognize this quality in him because we are the same in the regard. And not surprisingly, Roberto has his fair share of stories to tell. For example, he once became a stand up comedian and did comedy tours in the United States and Australia. It took some big cojones to get up on stage and crack jokes in front of strangers like that, yet Roberto gave it a go and succeeded. And it's not only about the things we choose to do. The ugly hardships we face shape us as well and in Roberto's case he had what he calls his "blues singer year." First off, the poor guy lost his stepfather to cancer and he had to assume financial responsibility of the family. Then one of his friends committed suicide and another was murdered, and to worsen matters an ex-girlfriend flipped out on him and brought grief to his already troubled life. Under these circumstances a normal person might have suffered a nervous breakdown. But Roberto is no ordinary man. He weathered the storm and emerged a stronger, wiser person while still maintaining a positive outlook on life.

Roberto's dog
 El Centro

Further to the east, across a featureless basin, Roberto and I drove from Anza Borrego to the city of El Centro. The area is an agricultural hotspot, and the air bore the unmistakable odor of cow manure. We stopped for breakfast at a Jack-n-the-Box. The heat outside quickly climbed into the 100s and upon finishing our meal we were forced to take refuge within a nearby mall. Inside at a Regal Cinema, Roberto was inclined to take in a movie so we paid the $5 admission price for one but ended up watching two--Two Guns and The Conjuring. Don't waste your time with Two Guns. Not even Denzel's acting could save that movie from its own absurdity. In other words, the plot was garbage, and by the third act I wanted back half my $5. The Conjuring though, I quite liked. For a horror movie in which no one dies it did an excellent job of scoring thrills thanks to the good direction and convincing characters. So kudos to the team who put it together.


Wind farm
Abandoned house
Anyhow, the whole reason I wanted to go to El Centro was to see my friend Yazmine. She had work until 5pm and we met her at her house where she lives with her husband, two kids and the family dog. The plan was to eat at a Mexican restaurant near the border. Before joining us, her husband left the kids with the grandparents, and Yazmine's coworker and his fiancée also met us at the restaurant. The place turned out to specialize in seafood so most the stuff on the menu I could not eat. But they did have deep fried, breaded fish tacos. Those were delicious. Moreover, the restaurant offered seven hot sauces to choose from, a larger selection than any other place I've eaten at. I mean this establishment was all about spicy food and drink. On the menu I even saw and ordered a spicy beer cocktail. It did not go down easy.

Sauces
Beer with a kick
Like so many other lasting friends I've made, I first met Yazmine in Japanese class at university. She graduated a year before me, returned to her hometown of El Centro and married. Then she got a job as a social worker, had the kids and now lives the typical American life. By contrast I did not settle down after university. I went and traveled the world, and all these years later I have no house, no family, and no career job to show for it. Our paths in life have thus taken us to two very different spots. And I wonder how might life be had I done the same as Yazmine? I'd love to have kids by now, and a house to call my own, and at the same time, Yazmine told me she wishes she could travel like I do and experience far off exotic cultures. But then I sometimes think it's tiresome going from place to place. Moreover, I'm not getting any younger.

Perhaps it is like they say. The grass is greener on the other side of the fence.

Yazmine and family
The Fattening

I tell you, as much as I love visiting America for a long vacation, I dread putting on weight. Without fail I return to Japan afterwards ten or so pounds heavier. The food is to blame. It is loaded with fat and sugar, and the portions are oversized. That and it tastes so damned good. Back in the day, it used to be I could eat whatever I wanted without worry. So long as I exercised regularly I kept off the pounds. Well, around the age of thirty my metabolism changed. To stay in shape now requires a mix of exercise and dieting, which hasn't been too hard to do in Japan. There are plenty of cheap, healthy dishes that I've made a part of my regular diet.  Moreover, when eating out, a lot of the food is not that greasy or heavy on calories. But in America it is a whole other story. Where to begin? I ate massive sized hamburgers, plates of pasta, burritos, hotdogs, pizza, chicken wings, butter-smothered pancakes, and all that in the first week.

You are what you drink
Fat, juicy, unhealthy Fiesta burger
Ok. I'll admit it. I was on vacation and didn't care to count calories with each meal. The scary thing was I saw in others the direction I was headed. The level of obesity in the United States is shameful. People fall into bad eating habits and many who do make an effort to control their weight go about it in the wrong way. They think just because something has the words "diet" of "fat free" written on the label it's good for you. Well, too much of that crap is loaded with sodium, sugar, and artificial flavors which are overcompensating for a subdued taste that had nothing wrong to begin with. It's how natural food is supposed to taste; only Americans have grown accustomed to rich flavors and end up craving the unhealthiest of additives. And with the way foods are processed the body absorbs very little of the nutritional value offered by the ingredients. It's a lose-lose situation.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to get preachy here. I only feel it is important to know more about what one puts in their mouth, and to better consider how different types of food affect the body. That knowledge is key to leading a healthier lifestyle.

Now for a story. One about Roberto and the spicy chicken wings. I hate to use Roberto as an example, but this experience demonstrates the excessive nature of American food worship. The story begins at Dan's house. His relatives were in town and the family prepared a variety of dishes. We gorged ourselves thoroughly on meat, noodles and cake, and later went for drinks down the street at a Buffalo Wild Wings. While we were waiting to be seated, Roberto noticed that his name was no longer on some list on the wall. Apparently, he had set the store record for their Blazin' Challenge. That's where a person must eat 12 super spicy chicken wings in under three minutes. Roberto said he had done it in a 1:13, which according to their nationwide database was only 3 seconds short of the franchise record. Had it been anyone other than Roberto who claimed such a feat I would not have believed them, but as I've already noted, Roberto is no ordinary man.


Dinner at Dan's
At Buffalo Wild Wings
It wasn't long before my friend wanted to reclaim his place at the top of the store list. The current #1, we saw, had only completed the challenge in a paltry 2:34.

"I can do better than that," Roberto said, "no doubt about it."

"Yeah, but you just ate like five plates of food at Dan's house," I reminded him.

Roberto threw back the last of his beer and faced me with a cold, steely look in his eyes. "It doesn't matter," he said.

I knew then he was determined and I might as well support him in his endeavor. "Alright dude, I believe you."

By the time the waitress came with the chicken wings, Roberto had made it through another two beers. The young blonde set down the basket of wings and a fiery smell singed the inside of my nostrils. The wings appeared to be the real deal. But I had to be sure. I took my finger, rubbed off a bit of the red wing sauce, and then put it to my tongue. "Damn that's potent," I said to Roberto with a cough.

He didn't hear me. The man was too focused on the task at hand. The waitress set a timed buzzer and siren alongside the basket. I was sitting opposite Roberto with my camera, and to his right, Dan's younger brother readied a video recorder which he had bought to make skateboarding clips.

"Are you ready?" the waitress asked.

Roberto replied with a nod, the waitress hit the buzzer, and the spectacle began.

It's on!
I watched in awe as Roberto dug into wing after wing after wing. The speed and precision of his movements indicated that the man knew not the meaning of spiciness. It really looked as if the meat he shoved into his mouth were covered with honey rather than habanero sauce. Even the waitress was taken back. "Wow," she said, "this guy's a beast."

I nodded. "You don't know the half of it."

After the last wing Roberto hit the buzzer with a red, sauce covered hand.

"A minute-sixteen!" the waitress announced.

We all cheered and clapped at the achievement. And as Roberto leaned back in his seat, at last showing the signs of physical anguish, I thought only in America would people celebrate such gluttonous debauchery...only in America.


Back on the wall
The drinking continues
The Wedding

This was the big event. The one I had come all the way from Japan for.

My friend Dan and his fiancée Yoko were getting married. It fell upon me to be the best man, and as the date drew closer, Dan asked if I could also be the event photographer. I now had to pull double duty--me of all people, who had done neither before. But I was not about to back down. Dan was depending on me to help make his wedding a good one. I couldn't disappoint him.

Wedding ceremony
The guests
Reception
Before I proceed I should give a bit of background info on the couple. Daniel Smart is as good a friend as I have. We met in Japanese class at San Diego University and a few years later we were both living in a Guest House in Tokyo. At that point, life picked up. The city became our playground and we made other friends with whom to share in the excitement. But after a while I grew tired of the crowds and hectic lifestyle. So I left and in the following years moved further and further west, away from the capital. The one exception was when I returned to Tokyo for treatment of my cancer. That was a difficult time for both me and Dan, and it was then, not too long after I finished my chemo that he met Yoko Iwakiri.

I said as much during my best man speech. One hundred guests sat at tables on the first deck of a boat with me at their center. That was the place of the reception--a boat--and it was halfway through a two-hour cruise of San Diego's Mission Bay. The speech's words continued to flow from my mouth. In my hands I held no paper with the speech written out. That's not my style. I simply shot from the hip.

Halloween Party
Next, I explained that Dan and Yoko had met at a Halloween Party. Everyone had been drunk that night and a group of us later went to sing karaoke by the train station. The had fun lasted until morning, time enough for Dan and Yoko to become well acquainted. I recalled having seen them sit together opposite the table, absorbed in conversation with one another. Something was definitely up. But how could I have known then that they would one day marry?

Well, life is funny like that, for there they now were together at a different table and as happy as could be.

I raised my champagne glass and said, "To Dan and Yoko, our newly wed couple. I wish you both the best!" To their table I went to hug them both. Applause filled the air, and while it was Dan who had just married, it felt as if I were the one entering a new chapter in my life. "I love you bro," I said to him.

The reception dance took place on the boat's second deck. At this point I had to multitask. I pounded margaritas from the open bar, mingled with friends and acquaintances, and most importantly, snapped photos of the festivities. The liquor helped loosen everyone up and the dance floor came to life with the rhythmic swing of sweaty bodies. After a few songs my mom took it upon herself to request Macarena at the DJ booth. She next led the crowd through the steps. Dan's aunts and uncles got in with the group and I took pictures.


Lover's embrace
Boat
Andrew and Shelley
Mom does the Macarena 
Big fun
Before the cruise finished I went to the top deck for a much needed breather. Chris, Roberto, Dan and other friends had come up too. We talked about nothing in particular, and watched as sailboats passed below on the calm blue water. For a moment I stepped away and stood alone at the rail. The wind picked up, my necktie snapped in the air, and a squabble of seagulls took to flight. In that specific time and place it felt damned good to be alive. The wedding had been a success. I was certain of it. And soon the newlywed couple would leave for their honeymoon in Las Vegas. As for me I had a flight back to Japan. My summer vacation had finally drawn to an end.


Mission Bay
Up top with the boys
In Conclusion

I get plenty of holiday time each year. But I never seem to catch up on my rest. That said, I had to relocate to Osaka as soon as I returned to my town of Toba. The day of the move was one of the longest, most agonizing in recent memory. It started with me jamming stuff into a rental car too small for my things, and then ended at a park in the countryside town of Nabari where I drank with friends until three in the morning. The worst part was I had orientation for a new job a few hours later. But I survived. I always do.

With another wild summer behind me I now look to the future. Roberto and I have decided to go to Bangladesh during winter break. Why Bangladesh you might ask. Well, it's one of the few countries I have yet to visit in Eastern Asia. But I'll have to wait another three months.  Until then I imagine I'll be having plenty of fun weekends in Osaka. With an open heart I have committed to my new life here. I intend to make the most of it.

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