Caroline Ishii. Photo by Paul Jones.

As I transition to a blog to reach a wider audience, I fell upon a blogging challenge, and loving challenges that keep on me track, here I go or grow as I often say. I will share my challenge with you, because that’s part of the exercise, and because I love sharing things that excite me. Here’s the challenge. http://goinswriter.com/confident-pro/#disqus_thread

March 14, 2016 (sorry, I started the original blog in Japan and I can't change the publishing date and time from Japan Standard Time. It is really March 14 in my time zone and world! See why I need help with my blog?!)

Assignment: Write a manifesto: a 500-word treatise on what you’re about. Then publish it.

As I understand it from what Jeff wrote, it’s a worldview, what gets under my skin, what wrecks me. The "why" is more important than the "what". It’s a short document that tells the world what matters to me and creates movement. Even if you don’t publish, perhaps you’ll want to do this one day, or now. Here goes!

Manifesto starts:

Love… My view is that one of the most important things to living is love, and not only the romantic kind, but all forms of love. For me that form is food, it always has been, from the first time my mother put chopsticks in my hand as a baby so that I could start feeding myself. And being the determined and smart child I was, I did exactly that, and haven’t stopped.

Respect and Equality… What gets under my skin is when I am not treated with respect and equality, and when others are not treated in this way too. I believe we are all equal inside, it’s our outside shells that differ, but seems to make such a difference. What if the only thing we could see of another was their inside and not their outside, no matter how beautiful and attractive, or ugly and repulsive they are? What kind of world would we have? 

Racism and Prejudice.. In large part, I feel strongly about this because my father was born in Canada but as a young boy he was stripped of his possessions, education and forced into a prisoner-of-war camp during WWII because he was of Japanese descent. There was a lot of prejudice and fear at that time and although he was Canadian, because of his skin colour, he became an “enemy” of the people of Canada.

If you met my father, you would think this ridiculous, because he was one of the gentlest and kindest men around, and I doubt he changed much since he was a boy because he was always youthful to his last dying days when he was 88. He enjoyed doing things for others, and he loved to make people laugh. He loved to dance! He continued to be a happy spirit despite everything he had experienced.

I experienced my own share of racism and prejudice when I was a kid, but in a much milder and more discreet way than my parents, and that’s why as a kid it was harder to recognize. Often, the words wouldn’t match what I was feeling in my bones. Even today, although I am third-generation Japanese-Canadian, people will ask me where I come from, and when I say “Canada” or “Toronto”, they will ask, “but where do you really come from?”

When I was opening my restaurant in Ottawa, we found a great spot in Chinatown that had reasonable rent and good parking but I was reluctant to put my restaurant there because people would think that I was Chinese and making Chinese food instead of gourmet fine dining vegan food with international influences.

Asians are all not the same!... For some reason, from my experience, people often think that all Asian people are Chinese, or go to this as a first response, and see nothing wrong when you tell them you are not, like it doesn’t matter that they were wrong in their assumptions and they don’t apologize.

An astute media person told me that he was happy for me that I found a location for my restaurant and it must be nice to be “with my people”. WTF? I’m sure he had all good intentions, but that struck me like a dagger and I’ve always remembered it.

Words… That’s what words do, have the power to hurt and make you sad, but also can make you happy and provide comfort. And this is one of the reasons, I’ve had a fascination with writing, books and with people. As I little kid, I loved going to the library to take out books and would read one book almost every night, and sometimes all night until I would finish it. I would get caught up in the words and the stories, like a fly in a spider web, and I would be captivated until the first last word. I haven’t changed.

Artist or Writer… When I was young, I often said I wanted to be a writer or artist, because I also loved to draw and write. But each time I pronounced this loudly to my mother, she would said a firm “no, you’ll be poor, you can’t make money doing that!”

She only had two career options for me, doctor or lawyer, and one university, the University of Toronto. And when I went to college and for public relations, she was upset and embarrassed and told her friends that I was going to UofT anyway. So, one day, when my mother was out, I ran away from home and never came back.

It was not only this incident but I had a lifetime of abuse, physical and emotional, since I was little and refused to take it any longer. When I ran away and was on my own as a teen, it was scary but one of the happiest moments of my life. For some reason, I knew I would make it, nothing would be as terrible as living in fear, pain and shame.

For the first time, I had freedom and control over my life and I have never forgotten how sweet it tasted it the first time. Sometimes when I feel I have lost freedom and control over my life, and lose my way, I remember freedom is there waiting for me, as it always has been, like a faithful dog waiting for its master to come home and take it for a walk.

With my mother long gone, it is me that takes over her role and puts up the barriers and is the harshest critic of my life and who I am. It continues to be a journey to stand in my truth and power, embracing the good that she has given me and to let go of the bad.

This is why I want to share my story and journey with others, so that if one person can be inspired to make a change, to change that light switch on from darkness to light in their life, than I am happy.

Let go!... I went around trying to find other manifestos and wondering if I wrote enough, did I do it correctly, is there more to do, and I come back to this piece that I wrote easily and for fun, and it’s over 800 words already, so I will let it go for today. I have different themes for periods of my life, like fun, truth, freedom, love, and this period I am in is called the “fuck it!” period. I am a highly responsible, gentle and kind person so it’s kind of fun for me to say this out loud when I am working too much, trying too hard, or being too nice. I am letting go, as I am doing with a lot of things and people these days that are not serving me and bringing me joy.

Are you sometimes too nice of a person like me? What can you say “fuck it” to today and smile about?

 

Naked in Newark

Getting ready to enter the hot steam room at King Spa

When I said I needed a massage and where could I go, Yuki said right away, “let’s go to King Spa in New Jersey. I think you’ll like it, it’s a Korean spa with different saunas and there is a good food." She knows that the food part is important to me and a good allure.

Next thing, we were running to catch the shuttle on Saturday morning in Korea town, the specific spot being where there is the Dunkin Donuts. When we got there, there was already a line-up forming of mostly Asian people. The people waiting were squished into a small white shuttle, which was more of a van, with the young woman beside me saying she was holding on with one cheek, and she didn’t mean those on her face. We had a good laugh about that. She said it’s a short ride and worth it.  We both laughed and I couldn’t stop thinking of her hanging on with one cheek.

We arrived at King’s Spa in the Korean town of New Jersey, which was even bigger, then the one on 32^nd that I love. It’s quite the non descript large white complex.  Upon check in at King Spa, we were given electronic wrist bands that open up a locker to store your things, and allows you to spend throughout the day without worrying about carrying cash. You are also given up a roll up with two towels and a large one size fits all t-shirt and shorts, which reminded me of being in prison, except they were pink, or being back in gym class in my public school where I had to wear rompers or generic gym clothing so as not to be too enticing to the opposite sex during gym class. The men were given white t-shirt and shorts.

One of the sauna caves

Inside one of the sauna caves with bags of mineral salts hanging

In the common areas, which are sprawling, all you can see is mostly pink and some white uniforms. This is where there are most of the saunas, which are different small caves with various properties, which are supposed to heal and calm you, from gold and herbs, to mineral salt, tea and infrared.

The one that intrigued and scared me the most my friends said was the hottest sauna and had warning signs all over it not to go in with medical conditions and such and a video in Korean of what it’s like inside, which looked like some short of torture chamber. A short elderly woman would hold the rope to the door and let people in and out in shifts, and the people going in and out had burlap bags covering them and some of them had cloths over their heads. What the hell I thought?! My friends asked if I wanted to try it. Well, I thought “no” and my mind started going crazy. What if it got too hot, what if I couldn’t breathe, what if I couldn’t get out easily? My friend Rudi said it’s his favourite and said, “Let’s go!” Before I could say “no”, I was following my friends, trying to find a burlap bag in some bins to put around me, and waiting for the women at the door so we could run in.  And in we went into the inferno!

Hottest steam room at King Spa

Showing you the eggs that are cooked at the hottest steam room at King Spa

Inside it was dark and there were a few dozen people sitting around, most with burlap bags covering them. It was the strangest way to be in the company of people, all quiet, twitching from the heat, and heating up or should I say burning up.

Then all of a sudden, the door opened and in came a man covered head to toe in dark clothing with rubber boots and thick rubber gloves, carrying a large empty box. What?!  He reached for the cartons of eggs high up on a ledge in the dome, there were about 12 cartons on each side of the dome, and he put them in the box, and then left.  What?!

I was so mesmerized by this, that I didn’t realize that my legs were heating up so much from the floor that I was having difficulty sitting, and I wondered how long I could take it. I was relieved when my friends left shortly afterwards, and followed them. I didn’t want to seem chicken but then again I didn’t want to fry either, a fine balance!

When we got out, I asked my friends about the eggs. We returned our burlap bags and they asked if I wanted to try some? What? They heat up the eggs for a few minutes, and bring them to sell right away in the juice bar beside it.  We had some with our juices, and they were incredibly hot to peel, hard boiled and delicious. We started to wonder out loud if these eggs were hard boiled in a short time then what about our insides? How long would it take for them to get hard boiled or burn? We looked at each other and I didn’t want to give it much more thought than that because thinking that we could have fried our brains in there wasn’t a pleasant thought. Many people go into the ice cave after that, but it reminded me too much of being at home so I wasn’t eager to do that.  Instead we relaxed a bit and then tried other caves like the mineral salt one with bags of salts hanging from the dome. It was fairly warm but nothing as hot as the hottest one we had been into. I could actually lie down on one of the mats and relax.

The difference from most spas I’ve been to is that there are both sexes but mostly women, a variety of ages but more teenagers upward, no children. There are a lot of areas for different forms of entertainment, from playing mahjong and chess, to desks where you could use computers. There are also areas where you can lounge, or most people sleep, in comfy lounge chairs and either there was a Korean movie playing or sports like golf, and this is where most of the men were hanging out.  Surprised?

One of the most popular areas is the eating area. There are a variety of Korean dishes to choose from. I selected my dish… veg bibimbap and all the side dishes that come with it and I love about Korean food… swiped my wrist band so they could record the payment and I was given a buzzer for when it was ready for pick up. It was quite the military-like operation run by a team of women who were hard working and stern.  The food was plentiful and yummy!

Eating area at King Spa

Waiting for my buzzer to go for lunch

bibimbap at King Spa

In the women’s change room, there is one area where you put on your jail clothing, as I called it, and there is an other area that is mandatory nude and you are not allowed to bring in towels, well the small one but it’s not to cover up your body being no bigger than a dish cloth, more for washing and covering your head. This is area for showering and you can go into the hot tubs and wet sauna.

I waited nude in the hot tub for what my friend Yuki called a wet massage and scrub, which she loves and I was looking forward to as my body and mind needed relaxing. I was surprised to see some women running around in black bras and underwear and I wondered who they were and why they were allowed to wear some clothing. When my name was called and one of these women ran up to me to follow her, I quickly figured out that these women were the massage therapists.

I was taken to an open area with about six tables covered in heavy pink plastic. The woman knew no English except to say things loudly and firmly like “lie face up.” Ok, I thought, now what? Well she started throwing warm water on me with pails. Ok, good thing I didn’t have my mouth open I thought. Next she brought out the loofa and scrubbed me all over like a baby but not with baby strokes, it felt more like with rough sandpaper and she was doing home renovations. You can’t be shy with this as she goes all over the body, telling you in broken English, “go on side”, “move leg up”, “turn around” or would push my body part firmly to where she wanted it to go.

To be honest, it was kind of excruciatingly painful at times and I almost wanted her to stop and other times it was almost bearable, but I wouldn’t say it was pleasurable and fun, unless you want to know what it feels like to be a piece of furniture that is being stripped of paint, and in my case, old debris and cells. Most of the time, I tried to close my eyes and keep them covered with a small towel because I didn’t want to look at this women in her bra and underwear scrubbing my body hard like she was in the body washing Olympics or look at the others beside me being cleaned in various positions and acting as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.

At one point, she put on a face mask made from fresh cucumbers she grated on the spot, and that was nice, along with a scalp massage that was almost relaxing. It was a welcome relief from the pain. At one point, she told me to go to the shower to take off the cream on my face and debris, and go into the steam room for five minutes. Rest alas! Just when I was enjoying the calm and thinking what would be next, the woman, I don’t even know her name, with the black underwear and bra, opened the steam room door and motioned me to follow her.

Ok round two, more warm water thrown on me like I was in the bow of a boat, and here was the fun part, the massage. Not the usual relaxing massage experience I’m used to with dark lights and candles, soft music and the firm but gentle hands of the masseuse. Instead you get bright lights overhead, tables beside you with other people nude and being cleaned or massaged, lots of loud voices of people talking in the background as this is a fairly open area, and the sound of scrubbing and water being thrown on your neighbours. And then there is a woman in the black underwear and bra kneading you firmly and everywhere, taking out any knots and sometimes it feels like some skin too.  Again, I heard no crying or in pain so I assumed I was being a wuss, and I shut up and tried to enjoy the ride. It was ok at times, but for the most part, I would be lulled into a false sense of security, and then it would hurt again.

At one point, she told me to sit up, did a few slaps on my back and then it was over. “Ok thank you,” I said sheepishly and left. I felt beaten up and exhausted.

I put on my pink uniform and went to find a lounge chair and fell asleep for what seemed a long time, and each time I tried to get up, I couldn’t. I felt like I was drugged and each time I would wake up I would see different people before me or beside me. A young Korean couple beside me holding hands, eating hot sauna eggs, and watching a Korean movie on the laptop together, young men in front of me  on their phones texting, elderly women fast asleep, friends playing mahjong, and me.  I realized this was like a community centre of sorts, where people could hang out for the day, with family and friends.

King Spa is open 24 hours, so if you had a stopover in NYC or Newark, instead of getting an expensive hotel room, I wondered if you could just come here and relax instead?  Or if you finished a late shift at a restaurant, this might be just the thing to relax and unwind. Or if want to get rid of some dead skin cells, get kneaded, have water thrown on you, and have bibimbab or bulgogi with kimchee afterwards, this is the place for you! 

At one point, I thought it was probably time to find my friends, so that gave me the motivation to get up from my comfy lounge chair.  Yuki asked me how it was, she looking as tired as me. I was too shy and tired to tell her much. I said it was good but kind of painful. She has this water massage and scrub often and she loves it, it is not painful at all to her, so two different people and experiences.

I have to say, my skin is baby soft, my hair silky smooth, the knots and stress in my body gone, my digestion and body feeling better than it has all week, I had a great sleep, and I am kind of curious about trying it all over again, but not soon.  I have to grow some new skin cells first.  

 

Reunion with New York City and Blogging

Caroline in Central Park New York City

March 3, 2016, plane to Newark, NYC.

I am out of captivity and flying again. This time to NYC for the 10-year reunion of my chef program at the Natural Gourmet Institute for Health and Culinary Arts.  

My apologies for not writing sooner, to anyone out there who has been following me, but there have been many transitions in my life, among a major transitional period for me, and I have not felt settled or inspired to write.

I see that the last time I blogged I was in NYC last November. It seems like I blog best when I am travelling. I can blog at home but there is something about leaving the routine behind at home with all the expectations and hopes I have for myself, and setting out with a carry-on suitcase, my tablet, and my cell/camera, that is freeing.

This reminds me of the Netflix TV series About a Boy when the lead is babysitting his best friend’s little girl and she cannot go to the washroom, number 2, without her dad being there to hold her hand and sing her a song. It seems that way with blogging for me, in that I cannot produce a blog post without travelling, though I don’t want to equate with my blogs with turds!

I do want to equate travelling as my hand holding. It provides me with comfort and freedom at the same time. It’s like when my mom or dad held my hand when they took me to the playground when I was little, and then I let go of their hand as I ran to the tall slide or swings, looking back at them once in a while to see if they were still there. That’s how I feel about travel. I am supported by many and then I let go, running toward new adventures and journeys, which I am anxious to share with readers through blogging.

I’ve been busy working on publishing my book The Accidental Chef, with vignettes and recipes or I call taste memories from my life. I am also getting my web site and blog going in a bigger way, and have moved to Toronto to do this and take advantage of other opportunities. I love Ottawa and have spent decades there but felt it was time to be return to my roots, be closer to family and best friends, and take the next right step as Oprah would say.

"If you don’t know where to go, just take the next right step," advised Oprah in the talk she gave in Ottawa. I try to remember that when I’m confused or paralyzed by fear of making a big move, making a mistake, taking the wrong turn, and the inner critic starts taking control of the steering wheel, pushing me toward places that I don’t want to go.

Instead, lately, when I remember, I’ve been pushing the brakes, gently of course, thank the critic, and let myself out. I start walking, taking big gulps of fresh air so I remember I am free. I put my hands to my heart so I remember to listen to my heart and intuition. And I start taking the next right step. When I did this in January, I ended up in Toronto, and when I looked up again I was heading to NYC.