https://kellykikuchi.com kellykikuchi.com Sun, 05 Feb 2023 22:47:19 +0000 https://kellykikuchi.com en https://kellykikuchi.com/More-please Sat, 24 Dec 2022 00:07:56 +0000 kellykikuchi.com https://kellykikuchi.com/More-please Off-Duties <img width="800" height="600" width_o="800" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8c6fa195340f8235b23f2f3b61d1957f69cbcee165646f68ea1a624335b2e5e9/Komazawa-evening.jpeg" data-mid="162673639" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/800/i/8c6fa195340f8235b23f2f3b61d1957f69cbcee165646f68ea1a624335b2e5e9/Komazawa-evening.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1824" width_o="2500" height_o="1824" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/11c59f5a27ad1adff4beb29383c7fbf6483615369e542f540084a07f0c032290/derby.jpeg" data-mid="167379820" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/11c59f5a27ad1adff4beb29383c7fbf6483615369e542f540084a07f0c032290/derby.jpeg" /> Japan &nbsp;Shoes <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b64361b69d696bd6b5fca6dc52710d60fb6952e0ee9d075add26421b91016e74/bunny.JPG" data-mid="167379841" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b64361b69d696bd6b5fca6dc52710d60fb6952e0ee9d075add26421b91016e74/bunny.JPG" /> <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/17f08e54a75e22d615cd53cc2d125015c0b8d2477e456e2452451c2e2a8af6b3/henry.JPG" data-mid="167379857" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/17f08e54a75e22d615cd53cc2d125015c0b8d2477e456e2452451c2e2a8af6b3/henry.JPG" /> Play &nbsp;Words https://kellykikuchi.com/Leaving-You Mon, 19 Aug 2019 02:17:45 +0000 kellykikuchi.com https://kellykikuchi.com/Leaving-You Leaving You 1: Komazawa Olympic ParkJuly 5, 2018 <img width="800" height="600" width_o="800" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8c6fa195340f8235b23f2f3b61d1957f69cbcee165646f68ea1a624335b2e5e9/Komazawa-evening.jpeg" data-mid="162670712" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/800/i/8c6fa195340f8235b23f2f3b61d1957f69cbcee165646f68ea1a624335b2e5e9/Komazawa-evening.jpeg" />Let's start at the very heart of my Tokyo existence. The week I moved here, I asked my Oya (landlord) family if there was a park nearby. At that time, I had been running a lot.&nbsp; They pointed me in the right direction and still I missed it. On the second stab, I found exactly what I was looking for: 60s brutalist concrete architecture, a two km running loop, trees and an indie cafe the likes of which I had not yet found in my neighborhood.&nbsp; It has been a long and glorious affair, Komazawa Olympic Park.&nbsp; I began seeing you daily when I was young and single. I'd run through you in the daytime and, having discovered walking through a park at night was still, for the most part, quite safe, I began sneaking kisses in the evening as well. It was those evening meetings that were especially sweet; as an American woman, freely walking about a park at night is something akin to casually robbing a bank. I remember traversing your bare expanse of plaza, pressing my back into the cool of your marble benches in the torrid evenings Tokyo summer, noting that somehow, a breeze was generated that would pour up from my feet and over my head.&nbsp; That, looking up with my head in your lap, it was the only place I from which I could view the sky without accidentally peripherally being forced to acknowledge the teaming buildings surrounding us. This went on for years. <img width="1500" height="1000" width_o="1500" height_o="1000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/07db1032abbc7ed0c4a5e9df1459789eb09d4a69535cc83d46547406ecdb752e/komazawa2.jpeg" data-mid="162670713" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/07db1032abbc7ed0c4a5e9df1459789eb09d4a69535cc83d46547406ecdb752e/komazawa2.jpeg" />We broke up once, when I first married and moved away.&nbsp; We didn't fight, but for some time, we didn't see much of each other.&nbsp; We drifted in and out of separate circles.&nbsp; I thought of you often, but I knew I wouldn't be able to commit. <img width="800" height="533" width_o="800" height_o="533" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/955230bd7be8df083ff33b40d8ccb9d9162df082c2dc089b28dd5795647c1c4c/komazawa-3.jpeg" data-mid="162670710" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/800/i/955230bd7be8df083ff33b40d8ccb9d9162df082c2dc089b28dd5795647c1c4c/komazawa-3.jpeg" />A short while later, my family moved to your opposite border, and almost immediately, our relationship was rekindled.&nbsp; Near daily visits, nightly rendezvous.&nbsp; I looked on as your pool collected radiation from Fukushima and was summarily shut down for good. I watched pick up games on your courts. I avoided the spiders in the corners of your restrooms. I was comforted by the sounds from your skate park. You supported me as I trained for two marathons--you didn't seem to mind my tracing the same path on your chest hundreds upon hundreds of times. It's been 16 years since we first met, and you still look as good to me, feel as good to me, as you did back then. My love, thank you for watching over me. <img width="600" height="400" width_o="600" height_o="400" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0ada40227f5aa636ebeb239db5937f670c65af079c88640d46c3ca411bc3d067/komazawa-4.jpeg" data-mid="162670711" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/0ada40227f5aa636ebeb239db5937f670c65af079c88640d46c3ca411bc3d067/komazawa-4.jpeg" /> 2: Toilet Paper July 6, 2018 Here's the one that made me really pay attention for the first time. I had already been in Japan for at least five years, when walking past an Aoyama Dori drug store I noticed<img width="600" height="569" width_o="600" height_o="569" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/82154a19ecc55671aab422a461fd509a6628d8265eb0fad8cc78ad6914ab4559/Naive-Lady.jpeg" data-mid="163063471" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/82154a19ecc55671aab422a461fd509a6628d8265eb0fad8cc78ad6914ab4559/Naive-Lady.jpeg" />So then, I started keeping my eyes peeled. And quickly discovered <img width="400" height="535" width_o="400" height_o="535" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/00db9d4853e6575f6f2978f694b6ce4276dfea88308f04fbb442cff741ee82e7/hinthit3.jpeg" data-mid="163063470" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/400/i/00db9d4853e6575f6f2978f694b6ce4276dfea88308f04fbb442cff741ee82e7/hinthit3.jpeg" /> <img width="400" height="535" width_o="400" height_o="535" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6af3bb560c305402a5b6f5f39592146c065728a951151ca238c6b779afa04691/fitin2.jpeg" data-mid="163063469" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/400/i/6af3bb560c305402a5b6f5f39592146c065728a951151ca238c6b779afa04691/fitin2.jpeg" /> <img width="400" height="533" width_o="400" height_o="533" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bc514c9a0367f123f0b31c0663204b8639c25aa4d395d7dbd66399524c1d41da/silttyroman.jpeg" data-mid="163063473" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/400/i/bc514c9a0367f123f0b31c0663204b8639c25aa4d395d7dbd66399524c1d41da/silttyroman.jpeg" /> <img width="400" height="351" width_o="400" height_o="351" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d4e0310b61c5f1f9aaa00455c78527aeffdbf387fac0abd4f78ec0dd89d9c201/pity5.jpeg" data-mid="163063472" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/400/i/d4e0310b61c5f1f9aaa00455c78527aeffdbf387fac0abd4f78ec0dd89d9c201/pity5.jpeg" /> 3: Sleep July 15, 2018 <img width="1500" height="1120" width_o="1500" height_o="1120" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a52879379fa7a0d356cf6e3686b959dd01664c7211e5c200cadb7d47626a6389/Kakinokizaka.jpeg" data-mid="163064399" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a52879379fa7a0d356cf6e3686b959dd01664c7211e5c200cadb7d47626a6389/Kakinokizaka.jpeg" /> Not long into my relationship with be not-yet husband, we went to an exhibition of the work of Laurie Anderson.&nbsp; &nbsp;I believe it was at ICC Gallery in Shinjuku.&nbsp; We were going to exhibitions nearly every week, and found we had very similar tastes and ways of&nbsp; understanding art.&nbsp; At a certain point,&nbsp; we got to a piece that I enjoyed, that he just didn't get.&nbsp; It was a series of black and white photos of people sleeping in public.&nbsp; I was still relatively new to Japan, and still hadn't gotten over Tokyoites penchant for sleeping just about anywhere.&nbsp; No matter what cafe you went to, there would be at least one person face down.&nbsp; Most often at Starbucks (which would probably garner a visit by the police in the US, depending on the color of your skin). On any bus, for certain.&nbsp; On the train, well, there are several levels of train sleep.&nbsp; There's the I ran onto the train, pushed an old lady out of the way and dove in front of a pregnant woman for this seat and am pretending to sleep so I don't have to give it up for anyone sleep.&nbsp; This is the most popular, most often enjoyed by able-bodied men in their 30s and 40s. There is the I am so damn tired I can't hold my head up so I've got my head on the next passenger's shoulder and I don't even know it but will be totally mortified when I wake up and find out sleep.&nbsp; I am on the receiving end of such affection about once or twice a year.&nbsp; Mostly the very young, especially upper middle class teens made to endure endless hours of study.&nbsp; Occasionally, young businesspeople who haven't yet figured out the work-life balance thing. Then there's the I have been on a bender sleep.&nbsp; Most often committed by middle aged men in suits.&nbsp; See example below <img width="1500" height="2008" width_o="1500" height_o="2008" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3bdcd06240be82bedc8043522bdfbcb4cd55328cfcff0de743a623fb064879af/Toyoko-sleeper.jpeg" data-mid="163064402" border="0" data-scale="78" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3bdcd06240be82bedc8043522bdfbcb4cd55328cfcff0de743a623fb064879af/Toyoko-sleeper.jpeg" />This happens with increasing frequency during Cherry Blossom season and in December, when most companies have mandatory year end parties. I really do quite enjoy what I call the "blue collar siesta".&nbsp; It's quite hard to snap photos of these, as Japanese phones all have an incredibly loud shutter sound to discourage upskirting.&nbsp; But oftentimes, at a construction site or similar, you'll peep a gaggle of uniformed lads who, having just refueled on lunch, are napping like an array of gentle giant kittens on a tarp. I got this one guy from afar.&nbsp; He must be a road construction worker, as he is wearing the nifty vest. <img width="1500" height="1125" width_o="1500" height_o="1125" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/702023c9dd449e6d0776384c26dbecdedcc0169a1a480b779226f27cace8b678/Komazawasleep.jpeg" data-mid="163064400" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/702023c9dd449e6d0776384c26dbecdedcc0169a1a480b779226f27cace8b678/Komazawasleep.jpeg" />So the real reason my soon-to-be husband didn't get what was so funny in the art about public sleeping was because there is nothing funny about public sleeping. A quick Google search proves the Japanese are champions at it. 4: Shibuya Be Like July 16, 2018 Generally, I don't enjoy being in Shibuya at all.&nbsp; All of the reasons people flock (my younger self included) are now the reasons I flee.&nbsp; More on that later.&nbsp; Just, last Friday evening as I passed through, I remembered to look up and saw <img width="1500" height="1000" width_o="1500" height_o="1000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e9e5413cb06662c2d92d4473be546137e5b7b8fdbda8a429a43963a57d6e8da0/shib-1.jpeg" data-mid="163065064" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e9e5413cb06662c2d92d4473be546137e5b7b8fdbda8a429a43963a57d6e8da0/shib-1.jpeg" /> <img width="1500" height="2250" width_o="1500" height_o="2250" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5f464e5857876d900eaa858bf752b31654db449a00af25b2a04b2be32ee598be/shib-2.jpeg" data-mid="163065065" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5f464e5857876d900eaa858bf752b31654db449a00af25b2a04b2be32ee598be/shib-2.jpeg" /><img width="1500" height="1000" width_o="1500" height_o="1000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5ebb36b846f41cbef2a2b67a6fe331b597a63b59b1aa7697779d5b6c3690879f/shib3.jpeg" data-mid="163065066" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5ebb36b846f41cbef2a2b67a6fe331b597a63b59b1aa7697779d5b6c3690879f/shib3.jpeg" />No filters, no editing, no nothing.I feel like I should shake the hand of my opponent.&nbsp; Well played, Shibuya. 5: (not) Lost July 21, 2018The relative safety of life in Japan will be a recurrent theme.&nbsp; Crime is really, really quite low.&nbsp; Most violent crime, for better or for worse, is confined to the yakuza or is committed by family members (and some of it quite extreme).&nbsp; But for the most part, we don't have to look over our shoulders.&nbsp; Wallets in back pockets basically stay there, are not removed by anyone other than their rightful owners. And there is something quite magical that happens when our possessions try to wander off on their own. <img width="1500" height="2000" width_o="1500" height_o="2000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/29d3b1f333885185d299d6e83136619357dd82e9b07dfbd36ae64a75322dcd8f/Patrick-Stephan.jpeg" data-mid="163070520" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/29d3b1f333885185d299d6e83136619357dd82e9b07dfbd36ae64a75322dcd8f/Patrick-Stephan.jpeg" />This is my card case. It has identified as mine for at least 10 years, if not more.&nbsp; My friend Patrick Stephan designed it, and he hasn't lived here in Japan for years and years. Though it has been mine for 10 years, it probably has been in my possession for about nine years. I have lost it many times. It has wandered off like an outdoor cat, lived a different life for awhile and then come back to me. Always. It's pretty significant that in Japan, if you leave your phone on the train (did it) or in a taxi (friends did it) or your laptop in a taxi (friend did it) or your shoemaking gear on the top rack of the subway (totally did that), 9 times out of 10, you will be reunited with it.&nbsp; Kind souls bring your lost material children to the police boxes and lost and found.&nbsp; They hang stray keys on fences, lonely solo baby shoes on post boxes.&nbsp; Wallets come back with cards and sometimes even cash untouched. My card case went for a walk sometime in early 2011 and failed to come home.&nbsp; It had run away before and come back.&nbsp; I had counted my blessings then, but as time passed, I became less and less hopeful. The great earthquake came and kind of changed everything forever (that's a different post).&nbsp; I actually forgot about the case. That summer, typhoon season ramped up pretty early. One had just battered through town, dumping a deluge of rain and blustery winds.&nbsp; It was July.&nbsp; The day after a typhoon is always clear and very, very hot.&nbsp; I took the 8-min walk to the subway very slowly, so as not to open the sweat spigot full blast.&nbsp; And then I came upon this <img width="1500" height="1120" width_o="1500" height_o="1120" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/129b2bc90f9cbe8e43b3df0e3984ba766d651b3a7da2dbb36b126e4f33bcd4ad/card-case-post.jpeg" data-mid="163070518" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/129b2bc90f9cbe8e43b3df0e3984ba766d651b3a7da2dbb36b126e4f33bcd4ad/card-case-post.jpeg" />Perched atop a hip high garden lamppost, was my card case.&nbsp; Exactly like this.&nbsp; It was damp, and the cards inside were all worthless. But still, it was there!&nbsp; In a place I passed twice every weekday. I still do not know what amount of kismet was necessary to make our reunion a reality.&nbsp; I don't know if the neighbors who had seen me pass on the way to work guessed the case belonged to me because of my foreign name.&nbsp; I still don't know what kind of adventure the case had been on for all of that time.&nbsp; It would have been impossible that the case had been there longer than a few hours;&nbsp; it would have been blown into the bushes by the previous day's storm. No matter.&nbsp; We are still together because of the honesty and thoughtfulness of the 37.8 million people I share the Tokyo metropolitan area with.&nbsp; Go figure. 6: Opposite Platform July 23, 2018 <img width="1500" height="1120" width_o="1500" height_o="1120" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4ee2ccafa71776995b28100e101372c77120fca24be2262e0e801d093e14c395/Oyamadai-station.jpeg" data-mid="163071133" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4ee2ccafa71776995b28100e101372c77120fca24be2262e0e801d093e14c395/Oyamadai-station.jpeg" />One small glass box on each platform is climate controlled. 7: Too Much Peace July 28, 2018Quite often, you'll hear people say a compound word "Heiwa sugiru".&nbsp; Translated most literally, it means too much peace, or too peaceful.&nbsp; It is a lucky thing to complain about!&nbsp; Usually, it is trotted out when talking about Japan's supposed fading relevance.&nbsp; Punctuates the odd story that will make headlines because well frankly, there isn't a whole lotta bad shit going down all the time. Today's case in point “Police responded to multiple reports of the sound of something repeatedly the hitting windows of a Sapporo, Japan condominium in the wee hours on Friday. Residents reported that the window-thrashing lasted the better part of an hour.Arriving on the scene, police found octopus suckers scattered on the street in front of the building. Upon further investigation, the head and arm of the octopus were found in the gutter nearby.”&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; — FNN Prime News, July 27, 2018 <img width="1404" height="780" width_o="1404" height_o="780" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2c91f59814d61ef080c366bf2edb182d143305f7adab47074739cdf2689acf06/taco.png" data-mid="163071607" border="0" alt="photo courtesy of FNN Prime News, via Yahoo! Japan" data-caption="photo courtesy of FNN Prime News, via Yahoo! Japan" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/2c91f59814d61ef080c366bf2edb182d143305f7adab47074739cdf2689acf06/taco.png" />photo courtesy of FNN Prime News, via Yahoo! Japan 1. Someone spent an hour hurling an octopus at the windows of a condominium late at night. 2. This is news. 3. I am grateful to have lived in a country with such peace for so long. 8: JiyugaokaAugust 18, 2018<img width="1000" height="667" width_o="1000" height_o="667" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e69d217e91d75a3220d9b2eb70615d79ea24d13b92df7e1fddd8949cf9b2cdd7/sweets-forest.jpeg" data-mid="163074487" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e69d217e91d75a3220d9b2eb70615d79ea24d13b92df7e1fddd8949cf9b2cdd7/sweets-forest.jpeg" />This summer's theme at Jiyugaoka "Sweets Forest", a kind of dessert amusement park. Jiyugaoka is a neighborhood about 15 minutes away from Shibuya by public transport.&nbsp; It has, at least since the bubble, been ranked as one of the most desirable places to live in Japan. Jiyugaoka is an odd hybrid of Disneyland and Park Slope. Everywhere 4WD doggie buggies and baby prams, ladies who lunch, tons of upscale junior high school students and tourists in equal throngs.&nbsp; Now there's even a hip 'yaoyasan' (green grocer) that sells obscure vegetables grown by unreasonably handsome people who might have left their prestigious ad/consulting firms to go back to their families' farms and help them survive.&nbsp; Hey, I am not knocking it. Suffice it to say-- the area is fragrant of privilege, whether it be sinister or innocent--inherited or aspirational. My day job used to be here. <img width="1000" height="667" width_o="1000" height_o="667" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/26386d7bb20f0368f3a4461c0a281d0a68943eb167ae381e2cadf400e5079daf/labi.jpeg" data-mid="163077264" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/26386d7bb20f0368f3a4461c0a281d0a68943eb167ae381e2cadf400e5079daf/labi.jpeg" />Jiyugaoka Labi. Japanese electronics stores are another level of amusement park.One evening, after said day job, I made my way by bicycle to the local electronics emporium. There is the all-too rare ample free bicycle parking in front, which I knew very well, but managed to breeze past the entrance as the shop had blocked the far side for the season.&nbsp; Realizing my mistake, I stopped the bicycle with the front wheel angled slightly into the road to look over my shoulder, making sure I was clear to turn around. All of the streets in Jiyugaoka are very narrow. Too narrow, in fact, for the thicket of pedestrian, canine, cycling, and outsized Porsche Cayenne traffic making the rounds.&nbsp; I noticed headlights coming my direction, probably a half a block off, and decided to wait until the car passed.&nbsp; Very distinctly, I remember thinking, "He's not going to hit me.&nbsp; He doesn't have to." I glanced down again at my front wheel just to confirm that I was not at all in the way. Before I could look up again, I heard the sound, kind of like a soccer ball hitting the side of a metal suitcase at goal kick speed. That slow motion thing is real.&nbsp; I had just started training for a marathon, and having just enough time to think of my legs, I jumped. Next thing I knew, I was directly in front of the automatic doors to the shop, with my belongings splayed and rolling away from me on the slight incline.&nbsp; To my right, I could see a woman and her son rushing toward me, and to the left, I saw the taxi at the end of the block (the entrance to the shop is in the middle of the block) and saw his brake lights flicker on as he passed through the next intersection, screeching to a halt somewhere in the block beyond. There were now more people around me as I was blocking the entrance.&nbsp; The woman with her son began talking to me in English, telling me she had seen everything, that I should lie down. A few bystanders began to gather my things. The taxi driver made his way back to the front of the shop slowly.&nbsp; He didn't speak to me.&nbsp; The woman was now quite angry with him, asking him what he had been thinking about in Japanese. She paused to call the police, who must have teleported to the scene. I was shaken, but not really hurt. The police asked the taxi driver what had happened, and he opened with ”外人ですから。。。”　Literally, "Well, you know, she's a foreigner, so..." at which point I asked him (also in Japanese),"I'm a foreigner so, what?"&nbsp; He did seem a bit surprised that I knew what he was saying, and abruptly gave up on playing that card. The woman, my well-doing bystander, leaned in on him at that point.&nbsp; I let her do all of the work, and sat there surrounded by my stuff thinking about the 13 years I had already spent&nbsp; in the country, learning the language, paying taxes, marrying a local, making friends. As advanced as Tokyo (and all of Japan, for that matter) is, it is still hopelessly behind when it comes to xenophobia.&nbsp; I wondered if the police would have a similar bent, and if I would be forced to pay for the damage to the taxi or something ridiculous like that. The policeman eyed both of us like we were thieves.&nbsp; His partner walked to where the taxi was stopped, walked around it, fingered the minimal damage to the fender and grill.&nbsp; His head suddenly snapped up, and he jogged back to us. He asked the taxi driver if he realized he had hit someone.&nbsp; The driver responded, "Yes, of course." "Then why did you wait so long to stop? The rubber tracks on the road don't start for a hundred meters or so." Later, after the ambulance ride and x-rays, my husband and I met up with the taxi driver at the police station.&nbsp; He asked me not to file a specific kind of complaint, the kind that would damage his standing at his company and leave a more serious mark on his record.&nbsp; He was of advanced age, and I did start to pity him a bit. "Was there oncoming traffic?' my husband asked. "No." "Then why did you hit my wife?" "I didn't want to cross the center line." <img width="1500" height="2000" width_o="1500" height_o="2000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b091ee75043f4aa5840e933248da44821a388d65edd7ef09fadb9ea85c0632f3/yellow-lineJPG.jpeg" data-mid="163077683" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b091ee75043f4aa5840e933248da44821a388d65edd7ef09fadb9ea85c0632f3/yellow-lineJPG.jpeg" /> https://kellykikuchi.com/Lady-Cordwainer Fri, 23 Dec 2022 22:46:43 +0000 kellykikuchi.com https://kellykikuchi.com/Lady-Cordwainer I made these with my own two hands. <img width="2500" height="1875" width_o="2500" height_o="1875" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ed6fa6027ae14fecd9413f7f9ebc50cd5c26f8c62a7f1c6646f2dfe55a96bcd5/booty.jpeg" data-mid="162669062" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ed6fa6027ae14fecd9413f7f9ebc50cd5c26f8c62a7f1c6646f2dfe55a96bcd5/booty.jpeg" /> <img width="1000" height="1339" width_o="1000" height_o="1339" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d7461c62935d39c36640376db9482df8ffa83b9f147c36842ae248f3a0cb32ef/trademark-sole.jpeg" data-mid="167376860" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d7461c62935d39c36640376db9482df8ffa83b9f147c36842ae248f3a0cb32ef/trademark-sole.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1824" width_o="2500" height_o="1824" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/11c59f5a27ad1adff4beb29383c7fbf6483615369e542f540084a07f0c032290/derby.jpeg" data-mid="167375624" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/11c59f5a27ad1adff4beb29383c7fbf6483615369e542f540084a07f0c032290/derby.jpeg" /> <img width="640" height="480" width_o="640" height_o="480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5d840d5bfa870af44c30e5a0867d25a836dfd644aefd9d4adea96835b694185a/mens-bracelet.jpg" data-mid="167375630" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/5d840d5bfa870af44c30e5a0867d25a836dfd644aefd9d4adea96835b694185a/mens-bracelet.jpg" /> <img width="1600" height="1200" width_o="1600" height_o="1200" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ea5ad3a23d5a291dc9812dd27bba568574b0e49dbb5f280048f7006a11e01e98/mensbracletpair.jpeg" data-mid="167375631" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ea5ad3a23d5a291dc9812dd27bba568574b0e49dbb5f280048f7006a11e01e98/mensbracletpair.jpeg" /> <img width="1000" height="1333" width_o="1000" height_o="1333" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a72ae465093046677d47d5e2b95bd5f13a6f31a98235040e231276c77d97e165/boot-together.jpeg" data-mid="167375622" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a72ae465093046677d47d5e2b95bd5f13a6f31a98235040e231276c77d97e165/boot-together.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1875" width_o="2500" height_o="1875" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/555a925f73be8161e7305b2a3acac220dc8da3e845401bf3f068692171434ddd/boot-sole.jpeg" data-mid="167375621" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/555a925f73be8161e7305b2a3acac220dc8da3e845401bf3f068692171434ddd/boot-sole.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1875" width_o="2500" height_o="1875" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9fb460683642f46736d69a08581af547551ffef192f4a76ae13ce1bc76fbb929/boot-parts.jpeg" data-mid="167375620" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/9fb460683642f46736d69a08581af547551ffef192f4a76ae13ce1bc76fbb929/boot-parts.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1667" width_o="2500" height_o="1667" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f152a2ccb0e2ebbcf6dfcc6d8050e28eea912b15e2ee4f8185be2248c808b7f3/red-heels.jpeg" data-mid="167376854" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f152a2ccb0e2ebbcf6dfcc6d8050e28eea912b15e2ee4f8185be2248c808b7f3/red-heels.jpeg" /> <img width="1000" height="1333" width_o="1000" height_o="1333" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f28b6b3138bc1dd3a8a45af9263f31eb5723dbdee2412f7fb4b7b5d64acc14ab/kiriya-boot.jpeg" data-mid="167375629" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f28b6b3138bc1dd3a8a45af9263f31eb5723dbdee2412f7fb4b7b5d64acc14ab/kiriya-boot.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1875" width_o="2500" height_o="1875" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/39f6adfe0bce9856316ed977ddc1bcb582c265ad2f5f060bfc7467a87de403cb/insoles.jpeg" data-mid="167375628" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/39f6adfe0bce9856316ed977ddc1bcb582c265ad2f5f060bfc7467a87de403cb/insoles.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1667" width_o="2500" height_o="1667" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e9ed2c6f2c9c01ebc586d75ae232f8702bf63d77d67ccc79f75c1cd8635888ab/heels-sole.jpeg" data-mid="167375627" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e9ed2c6f2c9c01ebc586d75ae232f8702bf63d77d67ccc79f75c1cd8635888ab/heels-sole.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1875" width_o="2500" height_o="1875" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e4a4bbe712b6227b2ae06ba35fdf6cae1f820fe39e4ac3a5c42344f758f9fe0e/with-patrick.jpeg" data-mid="167376861" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e4a4bbe712b6227b2ae06ba35fdf6cae1f820fe39e4ac3a5c42344f758f9fe0e/with-patrick.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1875" width_o="2500" height_o="1875" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/10d01bad1de6e62dbc727863165d412374b092f856edce0bb346ba3532041f49/norweigian.jpeg" data-mid="167375632" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/10d01bad1de6e62dbc727863165d412374b092f856edce0bb346ba3532041f49/norweigian.jpeg" /> <img width="640" height="480" width_o="640" height_o="480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9f84e0dfcc0774f86454c022fdb6092a0e15924744d7311172f8a3a567299294/forgotthisprocess.jpg" data-mid="167375626" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/9f84e0dfcc0774f86454c022fdb6092a0e15924744d7311172f8a3a567299294/forgotthisprocess.jpg" /> <img width="1600" height="1200" width_o="1600" height_o="1200" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/09045a2b967b3ffd5606372b753b47d7533231a3a3ab9df98f36165a19d7c070/stud-bootie.jpeg" data-mid="167376857" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/09045a2b967b3ffd5606372b753b47d7533231a3a3ab9df98f36165a19d7c070/stud-bootie.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1875" width_o="2500" height_o="1875" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/455adf4e88451368ebedc86004931352c7e62ce6e26f5ad33229c1dd8e8f5d33/peg-waist.jpeg" data-mid="167376853" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/455adf4e88451368ebedc86004931352c7e62ce6e26f5ad33229c1dd8e8f5d33/peg-waist.jpeg" /> <img width="2500" height="1945" width_o="2500" height_o="1945" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b905f51b9a3f596c0e68880b5e610f966c0748e9485b956fbc2fdb2a65eff31a/tiny-ankles.jpeg" data-mid="167376858" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b905f51b9a3f596c0e68880b5e610f966c0748e9485b956fbc2fdb2a65eff31a/tiny-ankles.jpeg" /> Yamaguchi-sensei, thank you so much for taking a chance on me. https://kellykikuchi.com/Home-Page Mon, 19 Aug 2019 01:34:52 +0000 kellykikuchi.com https://kellykikuchi.com/Home-Page This page is for work stuff. I am working, but I’m feeling stingy with that info. If you’d like to see what I’ve been up to outside of work, click “more, please.”&nbsp; https://kellykikuchi.com/Other-Words Sun, 05 Feb 2023 22:47:19 +0000 kellykikuchi.com https://kellykikuchi.com/Other-Words Sun Hats November 19, 2022 Berkeley HillsI’ve always enjoyed going for walks so long as to be disconcerting. I flew my first Thanksgiving in Tokyo solo, so I explored the neighborhoods extending out from around my apartment for eight hours, from Sancha to Youga and all the nooks and crannies, chutes and ladders in between. Later, I’d get bolder and go further, from Shiodome to Todoroki on foot, mirroring some 20 years’ earlier’s exploration of London with the help of a pocket A-Z.&nbsp; A couple of years before that epic London jaunt was the walk from my job at Cooper’s Coffee in&nbsp; Chelsea to Ft. Hamilton Parkway station in Brooklyn.&nbsp; I’d wanted to see and feel how the cities stitched themselves together, to witness firsthand how organic flows had been stopper-ed by greed, ignorance and/or affluence.&nbsp; How those same channels might have been revived through tiny passageways and secret stairs by the curiosity of others like me. In the last 12 weeks in Tokyo, a season I’d unironically named “Sayonara”, I walked every night. Loops and circles through quiet neighborhoods and down bustling shoutengai. That era is one of the most perfect of my memories, the warm safety and protection of that darkness, and how the intimacies of the city shine through in slivers and cracks.&nbsp; It was a celebration of female-identifying liberty that I knew I would lose immediately upon returning to “the Land of the Free.” Just months later, I was having an American Thanksgiving, no longer as a visiting expat, but as a resident of Nob Hill, San Francisco. From there, my walks radiated west through Pacific Heights and as far as Lands’ End. &nbsp; I walked to friends’ homes in the Mission, in Cole Valley, to visit the Palace of Fine Arts.&nbsp; It was a meaningful way of reacquainting myself with the U.S., of reorienting myself. Walking was soon replaced by running, and by much longer loops.&nbsp; I was almost able to explain to myself how San Francisco worked, and that surprised me. There were only two situations that didn’t feel safe.&nbsp; The first was predawn darkness.&nbsp; It wasn’t as sinister as its evening counterpart, but the desperation of those who have been forced to spend the entirety of the night out there was a vibe that clashed too harshly with the privilege of my morning state of mind. The second was sudden encounters with impenetrable fog.&nbsp; Don’t get it twisted, I love me some fog- i’m a sucker for its mystery and romance.&nbsp; It’s a vote for living in the City. Something the city has going for it. But once, for example, on a long run somewhere near Portola, I followed the sidewalk around a curve to the right and was met with a larger-than-life blank screen. Opaque. There was a plane that severed the reality I had been running in and replaced it with an abrupt dead end. It wasn’t my mind that had panicked; it was my body.&nbsp; I tried to run into that actual abyss but my body’s engine had trouble turning over in the face of it.&nbsp; In the end, walking saved the day.&nbsp; I couldn’t dive into the fog.&nbsp; I had to slow down, be curious and explore it. In the fall of 2019, I started over yet again. Not at the same scale as returning to the US after 17 years, but a refresh in a slightly larger apartment in a more interesting and comfortable (for a Black woman) neighborhood near Uptown Oakland. My marathon finished, I was back to walking as my primary mode. Again to orient myself (or in this case, reorient myself) with Oakland.&nbsp; Around the lake, through to Rockridge, up into Piedmont and the hills.&nbsp; Marveling at the monuments people made to themselves. Imagining the egos and drives that lead to this design decision over that one.&nbsp; The virtue signalling of succulent-based landscaping, electric vehicles, of solar panels perched precariously on rooftops. In the summer of 2020, I began wearing sun hats on these walks. Not so much around the lake, but usually when going up into the hills.&nbsp; If it was overcast, I’d more often than not carry a cup of coffee from a hipster coffeehouse.&nbsp; I began to pay closer attention to the presence of American flags, both the traditional stars and stripes and those ruched, half-circle not-quite-a-flag-but-might-as-well-be decorations striped red, white and blue.&nbsp; The ones that always seemed to whisper “confederacy” under their breath. It wasn’t until a number of months later that it dawned on me. On that particular day, I wore my hair in long braids, a “protective style.”&nbsp; They were stunning, they made me stunning and they had been stunningly expensive to install. 13 hours in the making, they were voluminous enough to make it very difficult to wear any of my sun hats.&nbsp; I struggled to get the largest and most accommodating hat in my collection on. I struggled to keep it on. That day’s course had me pass the house I believed to be my favorite, a two-story brick affair that looked out of place in California. I was crushing so hard on the house that I’d actually stalked it online.&nbsp; I knew the names of the owners.&nbsp; As I passed, the woman watering plants outside returned my “hello.”&nbsp; I knew she was, or at least had been, a lawyer.&nbsp; I tried to keep my greeting more ‘sunny’ than ‘creepy’ and kept it moving. Walking away, I let my attention to my audiobook stray into a daydream about the home somehow becoming available. And an even less likely mind-fib: that I would actually have the money to purchase it. Finally, my fantasy had me pull into the driveway, unload groceries and greet the neighbors.&nbsp; That’s where the record scratched.&nbsp; Even my daydreams couldn’t tolerate such an impossible falsehood.&nbsp; My waist-length braids swished back and forth as I stepped. I paused, a bit hot, and took off the hat, letting my crown breathe.&nbsp; And I was exposed. Not in the way that my skin was exposed to the sun. But because somewhere in the back of my mind, the Blackness of my presence was exposed to the eyes of the wealthy neighborhood.&nbsp; The Blackness of my hairstyle was now undiluted by the hat. Subconciously, I had been trying to deflect suspicion through signaling a certain version of whiteness. Upper middle classness. Liberalness. Educated-ness.&nbsp; Of sun-hattedness. I flicked back through my tens of dozens of walks through these neighborhoods thus far.&nbsp; I had always accessorized them with a sun hat, a white friend or a tote bag.&nbsp; Sometimes a combo. They were my signifiers and my shields. And in that moment, I&nbsp; couldn’t quite identify who the shame and embarrassment I felt was really for. The Black Cat May 23, 2020 Oakland Two days ago, I’d finished my last meeting of the week from my sofa an was to embark upon the long weekend with my last bottle of sparkling wine. I cleared the picket line of masked potential grocery shoppers and into the evening sun soaking the parking lot. Weaving at a social distance between parked cars and carts, I had just crossed the territorial divide: a single stripe of magnetic red paint describing the edge of the CVS/Grocery Outlet parking frontier. Sauntering down the middle, between rows of parked cars (and garnering not a little attention) was a black cat. Not hiding beneath the vehicles, darting from shady underbelly to shady underbelly, but straight down the middle of the “road”, uncaring. He was mangy, to be sure, and his utter disregard for motorists was striking. As I approached, that slow-motion horror sunk in, one laced with recognition and panic. He was known. There had been posts on neighborhood social media about an injured cat and whom to call or text when spotted. People were looking for him, wanting to take care of him. And had been for a couple of months. After the SNS posts, I had begun noticing handwritten signs here and there, with same information, posted around the neighborhood. Cat contact tracing—these people had been trying to describe his routine so they’d best be able to catch him and get him care. He sauntered back out of the center of the street and up onto a curb and paused. It was then, with his back to me, that I could see his full regalia, peacocking the extent of his destruction. I’d never seen such devastating injuries to any human or any animal in my entire life. I didn’t know how he could possibly be walking. He was partially flayed, with parts of felt flapped back. There were boils on what should not, could not possibly be skin. Massive, gaping wounds. I took his photo and sent it to the prescribed contact. No immediate response, so I moved on. He continued on his path. Thirty minutes later came the response, but by then my psyche had let go. He had been steady and on a mission of some sort. Who was I to stop him? Besides, there was wine to be drunk, lights to be knocked out again. *** It’s officially the weekend. Weekends are longer now as workweek reductions are used as an excuse to be paid less. It’s a four-day work week, except that lots of messages and “recommendations” and suggestions, requests, ideas are being smattered about online during the official, unpaid, third day off. I tune it out anyway. Lockdown despair finds extra solace in neither work nor “play” but the frivolity and/or meaninglessness of the work I am doing in the face of this disaster makes “play” seem a more honest way of devoting time. I set off in search of ice cream and pipe cleaners. Novelty distractions. My building manager had shown me an interesting shortcut to the destination just a week prior, and I decided today is the day to try it out on my own. I hook a right around the mildly abandoned yet somehow still inhabited church parking lot. It’s maybe the warmest it’s been this year so far. At the far edge of the lot is a staircase and shade that I’m already a bit thirsty for. And there he was. The black cat. At the edge of the shade. Not sauntering, not moving. Lying flat on his side. He’s not doing well at all. His eye is positioned all wrong. He’s breathing. There are flies inside his skin flap. I panic again. Texting the same number as the day before. This time, the call comes immediately. No names, no pleasantries. As I describe the situation, I begin to cry and jump up and down like a kindergartner. Another neighborhood feral looks on. The woman on the other end of the line tells me to keep shooing the flies from him, she will send help. I grab a twig to fling around him, warding them off. There’s water in bowls for other cats and I pour some onto the ground in case he needs it. Another call, this time from the rescuer. Ten minutes, she says. Looking at him, I can see that 10 minutes will be a very long time. I’m still weepy and I talk to him, but I am too amped up to deal with 10 long minutes in an empty parking lot with a dying cat. I call a friend, basically hysterical. She’s the mother of a young child. She is able to calm me. I excuse myself and thank her profusely, noticing when the call ends that we had spoken for seven minutes and 33 seconds. “Only a minute or two more,” I tell him. He raises his head and gasps. Somehow, he moves in such a way as to close the open flap of skin. The flies can’t get in any longer. He coughs with his whole body. I know it’s the end, I’ve known since I spotted him. Did I know yesterday when I watched him walk through the lot? The first car arrives. I’m still teary. The woman has a net but quickly understands that this cat will not be moving. She’s tough, stoic, she doesn’t think he’s going to make it. Another car arrives. This woman reminds me of the crying police officer in Twin Peaks. She is emotional as she moves and I back away. “I’m going now,” I say. I just don’t want to see him die. I can’t witness the moment. I descend the staircase onto the backstreet. An older black gentleman greets me from his stoop behind his mask. Disoriented, I reach the intersection and see the long line of nearly consumers waiting six feet apart, and turn back. I take the long way home. https://kellykikuchi.com/Kelly-Jo-Kikuchi Mon, 19 Aug 2019 00:02:50 +0000 kellykikuchi.com https://kellykikuchi.com/Kelly-Jo-Kikuchi