DSCN3780
Memories of a Nameless Matron
Chuzaburo Tanaka
During the time I was conducting my field research there was an elderly lady I always visited for interviews. She, an old nameless grandma, is still vividly alive in my heart with a strong emotional imprint. We would sit down on her veranda under the sun and she would unfold the stories of her history to me. She would wear a towel around her head, softly putting her delicate hands on her lap while talking Since she stooped with old age, I had to bend down low to communicate. We would continue speaking and soon it would be me, not her who would grow tired with backache. Time had carved her back, but had not weighed down on her soul.
To learn more about that person's core, to truly see her for who she was, I had to go beyond just the casual sitting field interviews. Countless times I would return to visit her, and each time a warm smile would welcome me with a "Oh, you again!" My persistence began to show fruits when she sarcastically told me that I had become like a relative, because I felt as if I had glimpsed into her personal life for the first time.
One day, as we kept on talking on several issues, she suddenly stood and left. She soon returned with a small wrapped package and showed me the treasures it held inside; it was full of small fabric scraps. 'These scraps have been like partners in my life: I have collected them ever since I got married, some went from my mother, but the others were earned by my own efforts. I have raised 6 kids: Naughty boys always ripped clothes and made holes everywhere on their pants, and so did girls. I would cut scraps out of old clothes to patch up each and every tear at night. But now, if I were to take these old scraps out in front of them, they will just yell 'No grandma! It's shameful! Throw those dirty things away already!" My lifelong partners have always helped my family in many ways but now it's all about denial and rejection from the young whenever mentioned.'
Tears began to pool and overflow from her small eyes, She tenderly patted the soft pile as she continued: "I should have used them all instead of holding onto them. I know it'S just me, Times have changed and these scraps have indeed become useless already, eh? I can never tell you enough times how inconvenient the life was when we lacked these wraps. I raised my kids with these, but they all have forgotten about the experience. They don't like them, saying that these scraps are just a bitter memory of poverty. I even shared with neighbors, and that strengthened the bond of our community and shared the good will.
People above a specific age might still remember when they played around in scrap-mended pants. Today, it is a rare scene to see any clothing covered with scraps: all have been thrown and left behind in another time,
Now here, I ask you to recall our ancestors, who would not carelessly toss away things with their "Mottainai" (too good to waste) spirit. Maybe it is about time we considered applying our own "Mottainai" on a daily basis and grow out of our disposable culture. There is something we can learn from them who were indeed poor but hopelessly rich at heart.
DSCN3780
Memories of a Nameless Matron
Chuzaburo Tanaka
During the time I was conducting my field research there was an elderly lady I always visited for interviews. She, an old nameless grandma, is still vividly alive in my heart with a strong emotional imprint. We would sit down on her veranda under the sun and she would unfold the stories of her history to me. She would wear a towel around her head, softly putting her delicate hands on her lap while talking Since she stooped with old age, I had to bend down low to communicate. We would continue speaking and soon it would be me, not her who would grow tired with backache. Time had carved her back, but had not weighed down on her soul.
To learn more about that person's core, to truly see her for who she was, I had to go beyond just the casual sitting field interviews. Countless times I would return to visit her, and each time a warm smile would welcome me with a "Oh, you again!" My persistence began to show fruits when she sarcastically told me that I had become like a relative, because I felt as if I had glimpsed into her personal life for the first time.
One day, as we kept on talking on several issues, she suddenly stood and left. She soon returned with a small wrapped package and showed me the treasures it held inside; it was full of small fabric scraps. 'These scraps have been like partners in my life: I have collected them ever since I got married, some went from my mother, but the others were earned by my own efforts. I have raised 6 kids: Naughty boys always ripped clothes and made holes everywhere on their pants, and so did girls. I would cut scraps out of old clothes to patch up each and every tear at night. But now, if I were to take these old scraps out in front of them, they will just yell 'No grandma! It's shameful! Throw those dirty things away already!" My lifelong partners have always helped my family in many ways but now it's all about denial and rejection from the young whenever mentioned.'
Tears began to pool and overflow from her small eyes, She tenderly patted the soft pile as she continued: "I should have used them all instead of holding onto them. I know it'S just me, Times have changed and these scraps have indeed become useless already, eh? I can never tell you enough times how inconvenient the life was when we lacked these wraps. I raised my kids with these, but they all have forgotten about the experience. They don't like them, saying that these scraps are just a bitter memory of poverty. I even shared with neighbors, and that strengthened the bond of our community and shared the good will.
People above a specific age might still remember when they played around in scrap-mended pants. Today, it is a rare scene to see any clothing covered with scraps: all have been thrown and left behind in another time,
Now here, I ask you to recall our ancestors, who would not carelessly toss away things with their "Mottainai" (too good to waste) spirit. Maybe it is about time we considered applying our own "Mottainai" on a daily basis and grow out of our disposable culture. There is something we can learn from them who were indeed poor but hopelessly rich at heart.