Japan and Me
Molly Baum (Longwood High School)
When examining the numerous Japanese philosophies, one particular principle bares greater
significance than the rest. The Japanese people believe in Gaman- a value system that praises self-sacrifice,
selflessness, and especially, forbearance. The idea of forbearance resonates strongly with me because of the
relationship between forbearance, courage, and emotional endurance. Throughout my life, I have
encountered numerous obstacles and seemingly impassable challenges. I have overcome such hurdles only
after discovering an indomitable sense of hope within myself and among my parents.

I was born with arms that end slightly below my elbows, and a spinal cord that lacks certain lower
nerves. Most doctors told my parents that due to my spinal condition, I would not be able to walk. Despite
the immediate devastation they felt due to my lack of hands, they focused on the prevalent issue- ensuring
the functionality of my legs. After numerous grim prognoses, my parents found a doctor with a more
promising prediction. Before I was a year old, the doctor fitted my legs with braces spanning from the
bottoms of my feet to just below my kneecaps. As time progressed, my parents’ perseverance in finding a
solution proved worthwhile. Gradually, I began to walk with the leg braces. During my first two years of
walking, I encountered issues with maintaining balance, but my parents persisted in finding an occupational
therapist that helped me to correct this problem. When I reached an age of comprehension, my parents
recounted to me this first of many struggles. At that point, I realized that my parents never had and never
would stop believing in my abilities. This thought surfaces whenever I want to give up on myself. My
mother and father taught me the forbearance and determination that I use whenever life seems impossible.

I had adjusted to my lack of hands within the first two years of my life, but the less visible medical
issues that followed became increasingly difficult to confront. From the age of three years old, I
encountered a barrage of invasive medical tests, medications, and painful surgeries. From the frightening
days that approached an operation to the following month of recovery, I unknowingly committed myself to
the Gaman philosophy of forbearance. I despised every minute of the fear and the pain, but I knew that my
experiences would increase my emotional endurance and contribute to my character. Due to the support of
my parents and the courage I have acquired, I can triumph over every new obstacle with greater strength
and the wisdom that accompanies experience.

In August of 2007, I will begin my freshman year of college. Although the prospect of independence
and liberation is exciting, I acknowledge that the new environment and lifestyle will be the greatest trial of
my character. College will be frightening and challenging, and its stress combined with the stress of my
physical obstacles will be overwhelming and will sometimes seem insurmountable. However, my parents’
reassurance, their ceaseless faith in my capabilities, and my own perseverance will enable me to adjust to
the changes. Eventually, I will thrive on what was once an obstacle.

While many philosophic ideals seem esoteric and irrelevant to the modern world, the beliefs included
in Gaman are more than relevant to my life. Gaman’s principles of forbearance and character-building have
become essential components of my values. They have enabled me to overcome countless difficulties and
setbacks. Each day may bring a more menacing obstacle, but with Gaman as the foundation of my ideals, I
know that there is no limit to what I can accomplish through determination.

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A Gamble in Japan
Joan Kim (Syosset High School)
When I was younger I used to despise Japan. I thought it was Japan who taken away my grandfather,
leaving my dad without a father and my grandmother without a husband. In 1948, the war had separated
my grandfather while he was on a business trip in Japan, forcing him to settle there temporarily and then
permanently. During those years, my grandfather, thinking his wife and child had died, married a Japanese
woman and had another son. He began a few businesses and was very successful. Eventually he came to
understand that his wife and child in Korea were still alive and living in America. He began to send money
to help support my grandmother and father. One day, my parents and I went to visit him in Japan. Forty
years had passed since my father had met his father.

I remember my dad lifting me out of a car, whispering in my ear, “Joan, don’t forget what I told you.

Remember to bow politely.” My parents, luggage in one hand and my hands in the other, walked towards
the building with whimsical designs on the windows. Rolling the front door to the right, my jaw dropped at
the sight of hundreds of strange machines. I had never seen anything like it, except it reminded me of a
room in Las Vegas that I was not allowed to enter. My mother, fluent in Japanese, called out someone’s
name and flipping back to Korean, said: “We’re here!” After a moment, we heard the sound of creaking
wood and a clatter of pots; then an elderly couple appeared at the bottom of the stairs. These strangers were
my grandparents.

Starting from scratch, my grandfather had started a casino business and at one point in time, owned
over three buildings in Japan’s most industrious cities. “Pachinko,” said my grandfather, as he beckoned me
to come and sit in front of one of the machines. Ignoring my parents’ protests that I was too young to
gamble, my grandfather took out a coin for me to insert into an opening. As soon as the coin hit the bottom,
the machine sprang to life and began to show images of a singing mermaid. After a minute or two, the
machine spit out two silver marbles, and that was my first introduction to Japan’s most popular pinball
machine. Tired of the crowded and polluted cities, my grandfather had moved to the countryside of Nagano.

Customers interested in pachinko were scarce, but strangely, my grandfather continued to open his doors
every morning to his small business. The building was surrounded by rice patties and somewhere, there
must have been a bean field because my step grandmother always brought in a basketful of cooked string
beans. To this day, I cannot forget the way these furry pods popped out sweet beans into my mouth.

These memories are vague, yet they stay with me. As I got older and began to learn about the culture
and history of Japan, I realized that it was the war, not the country or the people that I disliked. I realized
that, in a way, Japan had saved my grandfather and provided him with great success, even allowing my
family to be financially supported after immigrating to America from Korea.

Many things have changed since I left Japan in 1995. My grandfather’s buildings had become
bankrupt and were sold for very cheap prices. Recently, he passed away, leaving his Japanese wife and son
in Japan, and another elderly Korean wife in America who still remembered what he wore on their first
date. Seeing that generation fade away, I dearly wished that I were older and more successful. I wanted to
help my step-grandmother and my sick uncle, but I did not know how…That is, until I learned about a
Japanese language course at my high school. Dropping four years of honors Spanish courses, I enrolled in
Japanese Level 1 as a senior at Syosset High school. Sad that I did not find out about this course any
sooner, I am faithfully studying my hiragana, katakana and ru, and u-verbs and plan to continue in college.

I only hope for the day that I am able to meet my Japanese family again and tell them how much I waited
for this day to come in fluent Japanese.

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