Kiki's Wild Child

Kiki is strong.  In her wake she claims two ex-husbands with whom she has three children.  She is the local powerhouse woman running her own salon--a gathering point for gossip, support, companionship, advice--until the women feel threatened by her strength and leave.  The revolving door of women who enter Kiki's salon has no end but this admiration seldom leads to friendship.  We agree being a strong woman in rural Japan is often a lonely predicament.

Kiki's middle child is Mini Kiki personified.  Opinionated, clear, Ruka states the obvious.  It never occurs to Ruka her thoughts shouldn't be expressed.  The older daughter has publicly stated she will "skip my wild years" for the sake of her mother.  "I don't need to rebel," Mona told Kiki.  "The other two will do that for me.  You need one responsible child out of us three."  My spoon stopped half way to my mouth when Kiki shared Mona's words.

"What 13-year old says that?" I say.
"I know," Kiki says.  "She's a bit scary, that one.  But, I believe her.  She won't rebel."
"Ruka, on the other hand," and I finally put the food in my mouth.

Ruka made it clear to Kiki she had no intention of going to greet the large ship that came to port.  Kiki made the mistake of announcing, "We all need to get up early tomorrow," which Ruka met with, "But, I haven't agreed to go."  As in, she was not consulted prior to mama making the decision.  Only when Kiki's boyfriend, her ex from high school explained to Ruka that "not everyone gets to go, you know" did it occur to Ruka attendance might be prudent.  "In that case...." Ruka tells her mother's beau.

Kiki and I meet for late dinners after the kids are bathed and in bed.  Her mother stays with the children on these nights out.  Mona accepts Kiki will be late.  "You're going out?  With whom?  Oh, you'll be late then."  Ruka is displeased.  "But, I told you I wanted to go along last time you went out to dinner.  Did you tell her I wanted to see her?" 

If you're not a woman and you don't live in rural Japan you will not understand what life is like here.  I'm sorry if that's a statement you find annoying, but I'm not sorry enough to delete it.  In many rural communities roles of women are more traditional.  Women look forward to the day they will become a beautiful bride.  Trying on wedding dresses and playing Cinderella for a day is fun. 

When expectations are more defined and less options is not seen as problematic raising daughters who do not fit the mold offers up a set of challenges few women know how to tackle.  Kiki is open about the fact there came a point where she made a decision.  "I decided not to crush Ruka's spirit.  I could have.  I could have forced her into a box.  To be the kind of girl who would grow up more proper and to fit in."  I laugh at this.

"As in, not like you."
"Not like me," Kiki laughs, too.
"But, I decided to let Ruka go.  She will be herself no matter what.  It scares me," Kiki says, "because she will be wild.  I won't be able to control her.  But, she'll be fun."

A big, big deal, this is.  Kiki chooses fun over fitting in and I love her for this.

The New NIMBY

NIMBY, or Not In My Back Yard.  WIIFM, or What's In It For Me.  I coined the latter.  At least I think I did.  It's the new ugly.  It's entitlement in your face.

In City A, there's a community pool with six lanes.  Kompi's swimming school uses two lanes four afternoons a week.  The local high school's swim team uses two lanes every day after school.  The remaining two lanes are for the public at all other times.  A few random numbers:  Kompi's swimming school has 40 kids here during the lessons; the high school has 28 team members; the afternoons Kompi is at the pool one woman and three men use their two lanes.

Here's where it gets interesting.

When the woman arrives the three men will not swim in the lane the woman uses.  The woman will not swim in the lane the men are in.  Do the math.  She gets a lane to herself and the three men share theirs. 

"Here's the problem," Kompi says.  "The men don't like it that she uses a lane by herself, and so they want an additional one for themselves.  One of ours."
"Why won't they swim in her lane?" I ask.
"I don't know.  They won't."
"So they want another lane.  To split between the three of them." 
"Yup."
"One of yours.  One the kids use."
"Uh huh."
"So, you're supposed to let your 40 kids use one lane while three men split two, and one woman uses one."
"Yeah."
"Who are these guys?"
"Former school principals and other people who were at one point important."
"So?"
"So, they think they deserve a lane."
"By making kids they used to teach give up one of theirs?"
"Right."

I pause.  In this small provincial town in rural Japan the actions of these four adults will go viral via gossip.  Word will spread and judgment will be harsh.  Kompi will not give up a lane.  Nor will the high school team.  Some will see this as selfish:  "Honor thy elders."  More will be critical, bowing with a smile when they pass these four but hitting with harsh words behind closed doors.  

I am angry.  I am angry at the four teachers who can't agree on how to divide four into two.  I am angry at the men who think it's their right to exercise the way they want even if it means forty kids have to cram into one.  I am angry at the woman who needs a lane to herself. 

What's In It For Me?  Or, My Rights Trump Yours.  Or, Me First.  Or, Because I Said So.  Or...

There are plenty of ways to express this sentiment.  There are, I hope, more ways to highlight the arrogance implied.