Getting my stuff done so I can look in the mirror

Back in October the Chronicle of Higher Education had a humorous article about procrastion and productivity.  The writing style is clever and the point is obvious, procrastination lets us tend to tasks that appeal to us simply because they are less arduous than whatever deadline is looming before us.  We rationalize these lesser tasks as more pressing than the more important task.    A similar Youtube animation poses the same point.

 I lived that experience yesterday when I realized I still had to read two books for a paper due on Sunday night.  I found the books after cleaning up my apartment from the production of last week's Org Theory paper.  I put them on my desk after cleaning the desk up so I had a productive space.  Then I realized that I needed to clean the kitchen and do some dishes.  In the process of doing that, my disposal broke and leaked all over the floor.  I cleaned that up and called Maintenance for a repair.  I decided that working while someone was fixing my apartment would be difficult.  I was hungry so I went grocery shopping (Kroger is only 200 feet away).  I came back and the maintenance worker was finishing the repair.  He left and I got down to work on taking notes from the book.

Now, one very important thing that both of the above authors forgot to mention is the sense of elation and/or accomplishment that accompanies this gradual progression towards doing work.  After I finished the first book I felt ready for a break because I felt so proud for having done so much before 1 pm.  Fueled by this ill-gotten sense of accomplishment I threw my climbing gear in my bag and biked to Kinetic (the climbing gym) because it was sunny out...but not warm and not without a strong headwind while riding up High St.  At the gym I had a surprisingly productive workout considering that yesterday I had tried the same workout and failed miserably.  

Upon returning home I felt further buoyed by my accomplishments-that-were-not-helping-me-finish-schoolwork so I cooked up some cod for lunch and made burritos.  Followed by a nap and going to one of the most dubious bars I've seen in a while, followed by dinner with a group of Japanese folks from Honda. 

At dinner I quipped that my grandma would be so happy to know that I was having dinner with a group of Japanese people.  Most of them work for Honda and emigrated to the U.S. as a result.  Dinner was a blend of Indonesian and Japanese dishes, which I was very grateful for since my cooking pales in comparison in both taste and nutritional content.  More importantly, this dinner was a chance for me to be a part of the Japanese community in Columbus.

Those of you that know me know that I rep my Japanese heritage hard...obnoxiously so at times...possibly ad nauseam.  But as much I as enjoyed eating and talking with them I also felt like the odd man out.  Language was an obvious factor, they all spoke fluent Japanese while I spoke none.  That wasn't off-putting so much as the physical differences.  I've always contended that I look clearly Japanese and that to confuse me for another Asian race, let alone a non-Asian race, was a clear indicator of cultural incompetence.  But after sitting at a table of all Japanese I realized that I do not look Japanese at all.  For one thing, Japanese have black hair.  I mean black, obviously black hair, whereas mine is a dark brown that could pass for black (and I have argued with people that my hair was black).  Likewise, the Japanese at the table had darker skin than I.  I don't attribute this fact to sun exposure since they all work full-time in an office whereas I have the luxury of going outside practically as the whim (and weather) suit me.  All of this was a subtle reminder to me that I am Hapa.

I don't feel shame at being Hapa, but sitting at that table brought back a slew of feelings that haven't been felt since I debated joining the Japanese Student Association at Seattle U.  The most prominent feeling being the notion that, "I'm not Japanese enough."  I had the good fortune to read some theories about intersectionality and identity development in multi-ethnic Asian-American students so I feel well equipped to grapple with the issues in my head.  Obviously, my "Japaneseness" cannot be measured quantitatively, so it becomes a qualitative measure of my appearance, that is, the image I portray.  It's a strange sensation to suddenly be unstable in something so central to your identity.  

However, these thoughts only came to me on the drive home and did not spoil the night.  In a particularly funny moment, I explained my tattoo to Tokyo Hip Hop and another woman who both laughed when I told them that the rising sun was in the background.  I was perplexed and asked why they laughed.  They told me it was cheesy, but after explaining the tattoo more and showing it to them the tattoo seemed more respectable.  What was funny about that exchange was how much pride I associated with the rising sun portion of my tattoo and how that pride was deflated when I was told that such a showing of ethnic pride was cheesy.  But, I realized that if a friend came to me talking about getting the American flag tattooed on him to represent his ethnic pride I would do the same thing.  It was a weird moment of being disconnected from my heritage  then coming back around to better understand it.  

Anyway, I'm off to do my stuff because I wanted to write this all down so it wasn't in my head 'cause I need to focus when I'm working on my stuff.