My wife (woah…) Mari and I eagerly await the prints from our official photographer, other friends and relatives. I might not be able to post those images here, but here’s a nice bunch from me, my dad, my brother and our friend Hacchan.

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Mari’s immediate family and relatives and my parents and brother attended. We were also lucky enough to be joined by some of our Tokyo friends.

It was a cold sunny day, and the ground was covered with bright yellow ginkgo leaves.

Following the ceremony, the couple held a reception lunch (cooked by an iron chef!) at Nihonbashi Yukari restaurant.

Heartfelt thanks to all our family and friends (including all of you blog-friends) for their blessings and support. To all who couldn’t attend the ceremony, we hope to catch you in Kyoto this December or in the Bay Area next year.

Yay!

Snapshot taken by my brother Andrew. About my expression: they said you’re not supposed to smile! And I thought my eyes were smiling, but i guess they weren’t. I was smiling inside.

More photos to follow…

We sat in adjacent barber’s chairs, with Mari behind a frosted glass partition. After half-an-hour, I was all cleaned up, but the barber woman (barbress?) was still working on Mari. I went over for a peek.

The barbress held a straight razor in one hand and Mari’s head in the other. She scraped the blade deftly along the rim of Mari’s ear, pushing a soapy froth of shaving lotion along the cutting edge. She turned Mari’s head, spread lotion on her nose, and applied the blade to her skin again.

I should clarify that Mari is not a hairy woman. Other than eyebrows and eyelashes, her face has barely even any peach fuzz. Even that is gone now, and her skin is smoother and shinier then ever. This type of shave, konreiyō ubuge shori, is apparently a normal part of preparing for the traditional Japanese wedding ceremony: to ready the woman’s skin for the white makeup that will cover her entire face, neck and upper chest.
Hopefully the last time Mari needs her ears shaved.

Lots of last-minute things to do before I head off to Tokyo tomorrow to tour with my folks. Mari will join us later in the week. Then Saturday, the wedding!

I didn’t mention it before, but Mari and I are getting married in November! That subject alone — the excitement, logistics, stresses, relationship ups and downs — could fill a whole blog. Marriage is such a huge thing… I’m trying not to be overwhelmed. It seems too big to blog about.

We’ve been engaged for several months, but there’s still plenty of planning to do. Some details:
The ceremony will be in Tokyo at a shinto shrine, Asakasa Hikawa-jinja, attended mainly by family and relatives — about 25-30 guests. Lunch afterwards. The following weekend, a party in Kyoto. Since Tokyo is quite far (and expensive) for most of my friends and relatives in the U.S., we’ll also have a party in the San Francisco Bay Area in spring 2006.

This week I need to finish our invitations for the Japan-side of things.
To complement the red, orange and yellow of November’s autumn leaves and to evoke feelings of spring and new growth, I’m thinking of making the main color a refreshing green?

The save-the-date announcement I designed a couple months back (left) has the look of an old-fashioned movie poster. For the new design I’d like to move towards Muji-like modern elegance.

Mari and I will wear kimonos to the ceremony. But to the lunch and various wedding celebrations in Tokyo, Kyoto and the U.S., I’ll go “back-to-roots” style and wear a barong tagalog, the traditional Filipino men’s formal garment. Usually made from cream-colored translucent pineapple fiber or jusi raw silk and covered in embroidery, barongs are cool and breezy. You wear them like long untucked shirts with black trousers and white undershirt.

My barong, ordered from mybarong.com, arrived yesterday. I ordered ready-to-wear instead of custom-tailored. It fits well, but the neck is a little tight for me — maybe I can move the top button a bit…
It seems ironic that, while I chose to wear a barong because it’s specificially Filipino, this particular one was “Made in China.” Fine, no problem, so was my great grandfather. Filipinos are all a little mixed.

Forget about that. Here’s quick review:

Christmas
Santa-san was late with presents this year. He sent me gummi candy to eat while I waited a couple weeks for mine, which turned out to be a much-needed comfy pillow. Mari must have told him! Then I received a request from Santa-san: he was still delayed, could I help him out and take Mari shopping for pajamas? So we did, and found something cute and soft at Inobun. Santa-san will reimburse me through PayPal.

Oshougatsu (New Year’s)
Eight-hour bus and train trip to Mari’s mom’s place in Saitama, where we cleaned house, walked the dog, tended to an injured cat who cried all night, ate lots of New Year’s food, drank, watched TV. I met uncles and aunties and basically just kicked it with Mari’s family. Took a study book along and finally learned to read katakana, slowly. At midnight New Year’s eve, Mari and I were tucked in under the futon, falling asleep to the faint bong-bong of shrine bells ringing and muffled crackle of fireworks bursting. I took out my keychain light and flashed a private hanabi display onto the ceiling.

The workshop was a good fit for me because it involved art-making, which is already a part of my daily thinking and so could help make a smooth introduction to the unfamiliarity of meditation. It was also a chance for me to create something not related to the designs I do for work.

There was a personal connection as well. Mari lived with Oda in Hawaii for a few months (which is when Mari and I first met) and considers her a mentor. After hearing about Mayumi, I’d run into her art now and then in San Francisco, where she has connections to the Zen Center, just down the street from where I used to live. I was glad to finally meet Mayumi. Her art, energy and kindness are inspiring.

It was very therapeutic for me to get out of the house, away from my work routine, to meet a group of strangers on my own and share a strong experience with them. As the only non-Japanese person and non-Japanese speaker, I felt a bit like the oddball at times, but everyone was very helpful in translating for me and patient when Mayumi would take time to repeat things in English.

Painting the life-size thangka was fun and invigorating. Calmed by meditation and reflection, I could let my worries pass and the ideas flow. I remembered the satisfaction of moving my body to create something physical rather than virtual — not just clicking with my finger, but moving my whole arm, standing up and reaching out with the brush, kneeling in close, smearing the lines with my thumb. The image I chose is about my hope to, by looking inward, transcend the confusion of my clouded brain to find a strong and clear vision that others can share and benefit from. (Resemblence to the Eye of Sauron is unintentional.) Looking at the image now, I also see a hope that my hairline will get stronger, not weaker.

The other participants’ paintings were each really enjoyable and interesting, especially when the maker explained their personal symbolism and the process they used to find it. A dragon with flowering trees for horns, a figure floating fetus-like in a teardrop, a moon-deaded volcano hula dancer with banana feet, a man burning with Jackson Pollack flames, a chicken with daikon legs.

Back to my daily life. But last night I meditated with Mari for fifteen minutes before stretching my back and legs. It’s a start.

A choice is coming. If I’m not ready for it, it will decide itself. It happens every day — so many invisible choices and alternative futures. There are only two choices here, “yes” or “no,” but they are overwhelming me.

This way: get married and have a kid, maybe two. Life changes completely, gets much more complicated, possibly much more rewarding.
I want that eventually, but I don’t feel ready for it. My heart is not pulling me there. Is my gut feeling right, or is it just fear? Can I make myself want it?

The other way: more years of single life and the freedom to think mainly about myself and go where I want. Time to prepare and build security and certainty. Maybe years of loneliness. I might find out that I missed the best person and the best opportunity. The choice might not come again.

I’m lucky to even have the privilege to decide “now” or “later.” For women, the deadline comes sooner. If I choose “no,” I might lose my best future, and a woman I care about could lose her choice forever. If I choose “yes,” I give up the life I know before, it seems, having really understood it.

Adult decisions are difficult!