Tall and smiling.
Seemed like a nice man, a really nice man.
Despite the language barrier you could tell from his smiles and efforts to communicate that he cared.
I didn`t know him really. Just a few brief exchanges over the past year. I culd barely remembered his name, so when the news came that a Mister Nakahashi had suffered a brain haemmorage at work last Thursday, I had to make sure I had the right face for the name.
He rang the ambulance himself apparently.
I find that errie.
“so what seems to be the problem Sir?”
“Erm…I think my brain is bleeding. ”
“Oh, we`ll ve there in five.”

Last Sunday was the infamous Mud olympics which my town hosts. I organised a team of ALTs to go which was why I was down in the city hall offices several times in the past week. I`d pop in to ibd cordialities to my boss and the gand at the board of Education.
I chatted about the mud games to Mister nakahashii. He told me to have fun. I assured him that I would.

And I did. It wasn`t until Monday morning that the news arrived that he had passed away on Sunday morning, his last few words to pass on the message to all his colleagues who would volunteer at the mud games, to go ahead with the event.

The wake was on Tuesday. The irish are obsessed with death as far as I can see. I don`t know how many funnerals and removals I have been to, but it`s a lot. More than I can count. And I`ve see a lot of corpses, kissed them even. Dead people lying there don`t freak me out. So, I was interested in how the Japanese conduct such a ceremony.

Everyone wore black for a start. Conversation was a no-no. Little or no exchanges took place. Mourners took an envelope with 3,000YEN and signed a book. We received some kind of a “present”.
There was chanting, which I took talked of his life. Somewhere in my warped awful mind I couldn`t get the song “born slippy” out of my mind, the “larger, larger, larger” bit. It turned and turn around and round in my mind. I studied my shoes and thought of startved Ethopian children.

57.

May he rest in peace (or float with the wind as the case might be.)

I should confess. The reason behind my stagnated posting is this. I don`t actually know my password for this blog. Every so often this computer at school and my own laptop log me on automatically and this allows me some tapping time. Otherwise, I`m confronted by a big red “enter your password” intimidations. Yes, I have tried several times to log on as a different user but it doesn`t seem to work. Something to think about before I hit the high seas.

The progress resport on semi-to-demi hot teacher is that we haven`t spoken since my return from Bangladesh. About five weeks of silence, going on six. It might actually make for an ideal relationship. The nerves borne of knowing that there`s only two months, out of a total of thirty-six to go, are making me desperate. He must realise that I stare at him. a lot. And boy, does he look good in a fitted shirt and tie. If only those trousers were a size smaller, and then you could…

Have to see what`s under there, must…once….see…glimpse…hair….gasp!…free…HELLO DOCTOR!

I did get to hold hands with a Japanese boy yesterday.
Ok, so truth be told, he was no boy. He belongs to that fifty-to-one-hundred-years-old group-who really cares how old they are once they get to that age. anyway…the random intimacy took place in the pool.
And the hand holder was someone who took me aside to critique my strokes.
I appreciated his interception as it is hard to know where you`re loosing speed, and good to know why exactly your shoulder cracks every time you move your arm thesedays.
So, I`m sure you`re wondering, just as I wondered of him, if in fact he once was a swimming coach, maybe in charge of a school swimming team?
OH NO!
He learned to swim three years ago.
OH!
Well, I (and the first time I`ve ever used this expression, and it scared me to hell once I said it) “I first started swimming twenty years ago” (TWENTYFUCKINGYEARSAGOSHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIITE! she exclaims to self. surely such expression should be reserved for people looking forward to retirement, or getting nostaglic about a grandchild…not for me…) back to the original stream of chat.
“Did you take lessons dear sir from a retired Olympic coach to warrant your confident critiquing of others` styles?”
“erm…no…i-ta-ne-to…kara.”
Pardon?
“from Interneto”.

Did y`all hear at the back?
He learned to swim sitting on a chair, on dry land, reading from a computer screen.
How big is your bath Mister?