January 21
Dawn broke, sending rays of sunlight through the curtains and drapes. Once I awoke, I looked at the light and wondered at the fact that merely two days remained. Today was the day that capped off a wonderful trip; today we would attend the Japan Student Science Awards ceremony.
As we had pushed back breakfast and pulled forward lunch into one mid-morning brunch, I was well rested, having slept the night peacefully away. I dressed formally, putting on my favorite dark blue suit and picking out a rather calm tie. Then, refreshed and ready to face the day, I went down to brunch.
Conversation at brunch went well, though it was slightly saddened by our ever-nearing departure. At times, however, by a waiter came by and apologized that another Belgian waffle had been burned. Debra had ordered one with bananas – apparently the machine was broken. After about three cameos by our good waiter, each more apologetic than the last, Debra went with a different item on the menu. Brunch wrapped up and then everyone went upstairs to change – and to confirm that we had our return tickets, just in case some bureaucratic gymnastics would be necessary. I checked quickly, and as I was already dressed, set up camp with my Palm and its keyboard in the lobby and typed quietly.
And then Debra, Mrs. Medlin and Mrs. Mizoguchi came down and I gathered up my electronics so that we could board the van. This we did and soon, amidst a gloomy, rainy day – perhaps Tokyo was sad to see that we were soon leaving – we drove to the Keio Plaza Hotel, site of the Japan Student Science Awards.
Getting out of the van there, Debra immediately noticed the uniformed guards with the top hats – there was no time to snap a picture, for we were shuffled inside quickly. Checking in at a long desk, using a different line from the many Japanese students that were also there, we soon had our nametags and made our way, after some photos by interesting art, to the waiting room. The waiting room was rather exquisite; it had an amazing chandelier that somewhat recalled the multi-colored pearl necklaces that we had seen just the day before at Mikimoto. I snapped a photo and then we were quickly re-briefed by Ms. Yukiko Ohhasi, our translator and guide for the science awards. Then Dr. D came in with his wife and we made conversation over cool ice water and green tea. But soon the hour of waiting rolled by and it was time to go take a picture with all the students and Prince and Princess Akishino.
Ms. Ohhasi – who had once again showered us with gifts in the waiting room – led us into a large room where, upon a stepped stage, the Japanese student winners for middle school were lined up. The front row was still open, for the Japanese dignitaries and scientists, but our spot was right behind the front center two seats. A few moments later (after a few "hellos" to the Japanese students nearby), the Japanese professors and competition judges took their seats in the front row, leaving the front center two seats open. Debra and I surmised that these were for the Prince and Princess.
We stood a few minutes longer until heads began turning to the doors at left – the Prince and Princess were entering into the hall. Everyone stood at attention as they took their seats with graceful smiles and confident gaits. Then the photographer ran behind his camera and counted out in Japanese before yelling "Hai!" when he snapped his photo. This repeated twice more and then the Prince and Princess rose, once again with smiles and grace, and went to a backroom to wait while the middle school students shuffled off and the high school students, all in their uniforms, came on.
A few more minutes waiting and once again the Prince and Princess took their front center seats. The photographer counted again, yelled "Hai!" thrice more and took three more photos. Then the Prince and Princess rose gracefully again and went out the door they had come. We would see them again at the awards ceremony – which was next.
The whole photograph deal reminded me vaguely of Presidential Scholars in June 2001, if only because there the scholars also stood behind the head of state. Then, however, I remember they kept moving us from side to side, in an attempt to somehow arrange us on steps. Another thing lacking here was "Hail to the Chief" playing upon the entrance of the Prince and Princess… indeed, it seemed strange that they them entered in silence.
In any case, we were soon rejoined with Ms. Ohhasi who whisked us off to the large hall in which the actual ceremony would take place. There we took our seats, a bit off to the right of the center in the front row. The hall was filled with students, all sitting calmly in foldout chairs. The "stage," if that was what the very slightly upraised platform in the front could be called, was flanked by huge televisions that relayed different angles of the proceedings. A television announcer stood off behind a podium and the whole hall sat in anticipation. Then, one by one, the dignitaries came in and took their seats on the stage, facing the audience. And finally, Prince and Princess Akishino gracefully came in and took their seats in the center. The ceremony had begun.
It wound on, beginning with a speech given by a hale Japanese scientist, in which he spoke at length about a particular project in biochemistry. Even with translation, helpfully supplied by Ms. Ohhasi who sat behind Debra, Mrs. Medlin and I, the speech was not the world’s most stimulating. The scientist’s measured unchanging rhythm did not help either.
After that speech and a few others, the awards presentations began. We watched carefully, for we had been told that when our names would be called towards the end, we should do as the Japanese students had done. The process was such that at having his or her name called, a student would promptly stand up and announce "Hai!" (Japanese for yes) before proceeding to the stage, taking care to bow as he or she went in front of the Prince and Princess. Then, after receiving the award with a bow and a handshake, he or she would bow once more to the Prince and Princess before returning to his or her seat.
As time went on, the awardees gradually received their awards. And then, the announcer said, out of a stream of Japanese, "Greedy Random" with rest of my project title. And then "Rabiej-san." I stood up and offered forth my best "Hai!" She then called forth Debra as well, and we went up, bowed to the Prince and Princess and accepted our awards, which consisting of a scroll filled with Kanji and an elegant pin. Then we returned to our seats, taking care to bow before the Prince and Princess. The entire event was surreal for the background music was "An American in Paris" – i.e. very Western. But the background music, which had run even while some of the speakers were presenting, had been Western Classical for the entire ceremony thus far. In fact, everything about the ceremony seemed very Western, save the language being spoken.
A few more awardees went up and then the anchor lady announced that Part I of the Japan Student Science Awards Ceremony was over. The next part would consist of various interviews conducted on stage – but first the Prince and Princess would leave. As they left however, they would speak with the denizens of the front row.
Everyone remained standing as the Prince and Princess, accompanied by dignitaries, came down the line. Finally, the Prince and Princess came before us. I was about to bow, but they extended their hands in the Western style, so we shook them, while half-bowed. The Princess asked me, in calm, precisely articulated English, "How are you?" pausing carefully for a moment between each word. After a few minutes of conversation, she asked me what year I was in my studies. I replied that I was a sophomore, and then – realizing that Japan, like Europe, used a cardinal number to designate the year, added that I was a "second year student." She nodded, smiling and said, "Ah, in second grade" bringing a brief smile to my face. Then, merely a brief time after the beginning of our conversation the Prince and Princess moved on down the line, followed by our words of thanks and gratitude. "Nice to meet you," she said in her calm measured tones. And then, but a few minutes later, they walked out of the hall and were gone.
Everybody then retook their seats as the interview stage of the ceremony began. We only sat for a few minutes before Ms. Ohhasi guided us to the back of the hall and around to the front, where we waited before going on stage. Then, when the interview before us finished, we walked on stage and met with the TV announcer. Holding our microphones, we answered the two questions – one dealing with our impressions of ISEF, the other requesting any advice we had to students. We spoke in English and then there was slight pause, while Ms. Ohhasi translated in Japanese from a ways behind and between us. All in all, it worked quite nicely though it passed like a dream. To me it seemed it was over as soon as it began, though I remember feeling comfortable throughout.
Once I returned to my seat in the front row, an immense feeling of accomplishment overwhelmed me. All responsibilities – all duties were now complete. I pulled out my camera and snapped some photos of the hall, feeling glad at the experience. The remaining interviews quickly wound down and the mixing time of the ceremony came up.
I spoke to some Japanese students, telling them "Congratulations!" enthusiastically in Japanese, before realizing that I needed someone to translate before the conversation could proceed further. Even with a translator, the conversations were very polite, though alas, not much scientific synergy occurred. We spoke with one winner who had been at ISEF before and was now returning, encouraging him to "follow his passion" and strive for his best. Finally, we all snapped photos by the beautiful (and huge!) bonsai tree that had had center stage for most of the ceremony. On our way out, Mrs. Mizoguchi explained why sometimes groups of Japanese students would look at me strangely and talk amongst themselves, intermingling giggles and laughter. "They think you look like Harry Potter." I blinked. I looked like an 11 year-old boy wizard? "But I don’t have a lightning scar on my forehead – nor do I want one!" I protested. She laughed and we continued on our way out of the hall. Perhaps the resemblance was there because, just like Harry, I was Caucasian, brown-haired and wore glasses. Maybe.
As we headed back to our waiting room, we gathered our stuff and I stole a buttercup from the flower vase in the center of the table, offering it to Debra for her hair. We then parted with Ms. Ohhasi, after taking a group photo and thanking her for acting as our voice throughout the entire ceremony. I remember descending the escalator, looking up and waving at her until she disappeared out of view. Strangely enough, I remember thinking to myself, "Remember this moment, Dominik, remember this moment."
But perhaps that would do as a philosophy for every moment, would it not? Is not every moment in life worth remembering? We are here but for a limited time, and when our span wanes, we will be gone. Death has been quite clear from the beginning: it is coming. Ah, then to live life passionately, breathing in the air fully, striding strongly and glancing gladly at all that lies before us. To do such I aspire. Psalm 118:24 comes to mind: "Today is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice in it and be glad."
Meditations and musings aside, we were soon outside of the Keio Plaza Hotel, making our way to board the bus. Remembering that Debra had admired the gate guards on entering, I asked Mrs. Mizoguchi if she could hail one of them to take a photo with her. Smiling, she did so and I quickly snapped away in the darkening dusk and softly falling rains. "Never regret a photo," I told Debra afterwards, punning perhaps on her favorite line, "Never regret not buying something" that she had taught to me in my panic-shopping.
Camera with photo on memory card in hand, we boarded our van and drove through the gathering dusk of a rainy Tokyo. I looked out the window, watching the lights pass by and then realized: "This is our last night." Somehow putting it into words made it more real.
We arrived at our hotel and after getting our room keys, Debra and I were ready to dash away to change and work out. Mrs. Medlin, however, spoke wisely: "This is our last dinner." Re-realizing this, I decided to push working out to later in the evening and, once again filled with a passion for life, declared that I would "stay formal" for this dinner. Mrs. Medlin laughed, saying she would rather wear something more comfortable, causing Mrs. Mizoguchi to nod her assent. Debra however, hit upon the idea and also resolved to "stay formal," though she said she would change her dress. Conscious of the shifting fashion trend, I obliged it by resolving to change my tie.
Fifteen minutes later we regrouped in the lobby, heading into the restaurant for our last dinner in Tokyo together. We took a table by the windows and there ate, amidst conversation recounting our adventures and our hopes for the future, gladdened and rested by this vacation. I had ordered lemonade to drink – and it came with a cherry and lemon speared by a small plastic sword. On prior nights, Debra had showed off her oral dexterity by tying the stem of a cherry into a knot using only her tongue. Tonight, however, she had not received a cherry and lamented that she wished she had one. Noting that the cherry I had lacked a stem of any substantial length, I hailed a waiter and asked him: "Excuse me sir, could the lady here please have a lone cherry with a stem."
He looked puzzled at first, but after a short discussion, nodded in assent and said he would bring back a cherry, with a stem, from the kitchen. And he was true to his word, arriving with the said cherry on a small white bowl. As he still bore an immensely puzzled expression, we explained. The ability to tie a cherry stem into a knot using solely one’s tongue supposedly demonstrated whether one was a good kisser or not – or it could be used as a challenging puzzle. He nodded in understanding and went off with a glad smile, which was hopefully further gladdened by the "cherry delivery fee" that we appended to our bills.
After the lone cherry with a stem had been consumed and its stem tied into a knot, dinner soon ended on a humorous and glad note. We scheduled a time to meet in the morning and Debra and I grabbed our CD players and went down to the basement to try some more ballroom dancing – this time with music.
We experimented with various audio projection set-ups. First we tried using the CD players line out to support a second pair of headphones, but this limited what turns and spins we could do, as we were essentially "dancing on a string." Once, while opening out in merengue, Debra’s headphones simply popped out of her ears and dangled near the ground, prompting us both to laughter. Next, I tried to leave the CD player on high volume off to the side, but then that was simply too quiet. Finally Debra hit upon the idea of me wearing the headphones around my neck at high volume, thus the music would move with us. This worked well; enabling us do all sorts of cool things, from cool mambo spins to fun swing drops.
I am not sure what the passing hotel patrons thought of us – their looks were generally all puzzled, though some appeared to have shades of laughter and amusement hiding away as well. No matter, for we had fun and I found myself a bit reluctant to stop, but I knew that we ought work out before the long plane ride the next day. The exercise room closed at 9, as we had found out a few nights before, and it was already 8 o’ clock.
We changed and met up again in the exercise room, where we stretched our muscles in anticipation of the long period of apathy in the sky that they would be subject to. Once we had finished our workout, we resolved not to watch a movie tonight, figuring that Final Fantasy had been enjoyable and that we also had to pack for the trip home. We parted then, until morning.
After showering back in my room, I looked at what I had to pack for a moment and then plopped down on the bed, lying out to rest a while. I woke fifteen minutes later, realizing that the trip was now essentially over – and feeling a bit nostalgic about it. Deciding that it would be wise to get my rest, and also knowing I had time in the morning to pack, I called home and then snuggled into bed, turned off the lights and fell into a slumber filled with dreams of MIT, though, as both Mrs. Medlin and Debra told me later the next morning, those might have been triggered by the construction sounds outside (quite common at our ever growing Institute).