STROLLING . . .

I took a stroll down memory lane this afternoon. Winding down from my interview after a week during which my mind whirled non-stop, I suddenly found myself with nothing to do. Nothing to read. Nothing to watch on TV. Nothing to cook. Nothing to clean. Nothing to wash. Nowhere to go. It was bliss, and nostalgia took over.

I Googled everyone I could remember from my history, high school years on. Everyone is doing fascinating things, and most have gone the route we all had long expected them to go. I wonder if some of them would look at my life and consider me predictable as well. Curious.

And then I Googled myself and came across some old blog entries. It's funny (funny-haha and funny painful) the things that weighed on me over the past few years. But in the middle of all this funniness, I came across an entry that made my heart squeeze in pangs of pain, frustration and disappointment at the sameness of my weights: a rant about my care group. It was a different group back then, but sad to say, my ranting hasn't ceased. Is it me? Or is it the group?

The saga, I'm sure, is to be continued ...

***

NOT SO COMFORTABLE . . .

The Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe is in Washington, DC right now, and as expected, his presence here has stirred outrage and protest about Japan's kidnapping and use (there's no other word for it; just "use") of Korean and Chinese "comfort women" during World War II. An estimated 200,000 women were kidnapped by the Japanese military and thrust into sexual slavery for its members during the War, and to this day, Japan has not apologized -- not outright, anyway -- for it. (In fact, earlier in the years, Abe had the balls to suggest that comfort women never existed, that their kidnappings had never occurred. Balls!)

This issue tears me up inside. On the one hand, I'm disgusted. It wouldn't matter to me whether it was Korean women who were used, or women from another nation (although admittedly, the fact that they were Korean and I am also amps up my sympathies). The whole idea of sexual slavery, that which happened sixty years ago and that which is happening now around the world, turns my stomach and raises my ire past the roof of my head. My angry self demands an apology for such atrocities and violations.

But then, I flip to the other hand. Who would be apologizing to me? And who am I to be apologized to? It makes me think of the oft-repeated demands here in the States, from African-American groups asking the American government to apologize for this country's history of perpetuating slavery in its early years. Slavery and the inherent prejudice underlying it is anathema to me, and though I'm not a Black American, as a minority in this country, I loathe the residual racism that lives on into the new century. But does an apology from a government 200 years removed actually mean something? I can understand how it is symbolically significant ... so, is that enough? To have a symbolic expression of remorse?

It's one thing if current descendants of slaveholders could meet and apologize to current descendants of held slaves. I think that would be different; there is a connection, a responsibility -- NOT a blame -- to apologize that trickles down (just as there is a responsibility to forgive). When someone in my family does something to hurt another, I apologize on their behalf. I believe the situations to be similar. And likewise, if current descendants of Japanese military men who abused the sex slaves apologized to currently living comfort women (there are only about 300 Korean comfort women alive today), there would be great significance.

I don't know how these things play out among nations, whether the significance of an apology (and acceptance thereof) is diluted or magnified when you're talking country to country, government to government. As for me, if I were wounded in some way, my government accepting an apology on my behalf would be ... eh. I'd want to hear it for myself, from the person who hurt me.

But then who knows? I haven't, thankfully, endured an ounce of the pain and trauma that these now-elderly women have. I have the lucky privilege of NOT having to stand in their shoes to decide what sort of apology would satisfy me. I can't speak in their place.

(Disclaimer: I also come from a home that did not display the traditional hatred towards Japan and its government and/or people. Sure, my folks and their families were affected by the Japanese occupation of the Korean peninsula, and once in a while now, my parents will wryly comment that they can't remember the Korean word for something, only the Japanese term they were taught as youngsters. But because of more personal circumstances, they choose to reserve any bitterness for the leaders of North Korea. And ultimately, because they are among the most faithful Christians I have the honour of knowing and being loved by, they stick firmly to the principles of forgiveness and the granting of limitless chances. Which, after all, is what it's all about.)