December 14th . I would find nothing romantic in this first snowfall, if it weren't for the fact that it has him wanting to crawl back into bed and share my hibernating tendencies. Very rare. . And not to be. . Its ugly out there. Bitter cold and swirling winds, this is not the Burl Ives' imagery of my childhood. This is not the brilliant sunshine of Squaw Valley. You couldn't pay me to go out and make snow angels today. . Last year the snow was kept at bay until Christmas Eve. . I remember it as beautiful, but I was also surrounded by the laughter of many friends, (all snowed in at the same Christmas Eve dinner) and had imbibed too many glasses of mulled wine. While I have wine within reach, nothing could make the encroaching darkness outside this window look beautiful to me. . Today the house is not so crowded, and the documents which are stacked on the kitchen table to be translated prevent us from retiring. It is a marriage license, issued in the Philippines, requiring a Japanese translation. We could never do it alone, it would be irresponsible of us to even try, but neither could the Japanese friend who is waiting for us to translate the "hereunto's" and the "in witness hereof's" into simplified Japanese so that she can then translate it into legal, and appropriately long-winded, Japanese. Only the stacks of dictionaries and the reconfirmation of every single word and phrase prevent something crucial from "getting lost in the translation". Usually we find some enjoyment in the task, but this is boring legalese and so we are trying to amuse ourselves by talking about the people whose lives hang in the balance while we re-construct semantics. . "So...where to you think Mr. Nakagawa and Ms. Palmares met?" There is laughter in his eyes, but I am suddenly unable to find humor in his words. He's baiting me...he knows I'm uncomfortable with stereotypes, even when I am beaten over the head with them again and again. . "I hope you don't expect me to say a hostess bar in the red light district...they could have met as exchange students, ...you don't know." Already on the defensive, as if these people care to have me as their champion. They will be fighting this battle on their own real or imagined frontlines soon enough... as soon as the legal documents are filed, and their life together begins here in Japan. . "You're right, but how many Japanese men do we know married to Filipinas who are ex-hostesses?" He says this knowing full well that every single one of the Japanese-Filipino couples we know (we know quite a few) has the hostess-bar history. . "Granted, but I still think it is unfair to make any of your assumptions. Maybe he does business in the Philippines and they met there." This region is known for its textile factories, many of which have companion facilities in Southeast Asia...I've got a leg to stand on in this argument. . "Well, then my next question is how old do you think they are?" Ah, the "desperation" question...now he's really fighting dirty...in spite of the inherently rascist attitude here towards the women at the Filipina hostess bars, it is not uncommon for a man over the age of forty to "settle" for a non-Japanese wife. Sometimes the age difference is several decades. . "Prove to me you are not thinking stereotypically and answer the question yourself first!" Unecessary challenges, destined to bring me answers I don't want to hear... . "Fine, I think he's in his early 50's and she's in her early 30's..." . Don't do this, we were getting along so well this morning. This isn't even something we should be discussing, let alone arguing about. . "That's exactly what I expected you to say! I hope you are very, very wrong." The envelope please... . He is wrong...verily. They are both in their early twenties, but I had no idea that was the case when I climbed upon my soapbox. . Ha ha, I win. . Do I really? They might be exactly what he imagined they are; she might have started "working" when she was 16 and has now reached retirement age, he could just be a one way ticket out of Metro Manila that she views with yen symbols in her eyes. He might be some twisted little man whose Oedipal yearnings drove his parents to push him out before checking to see if he was capable of finding a life of his own, which to them probably means finding a wife of his own. . I want to believe he's wrong, even when I see this little story played out all around me. . I have to believe he's wrong because my own life experiences and, in particular, my memories of the Philippines tell me there is no way to judge all by the actions of one...or even by the actions of many. Besides, I tell myself, if there is anything that can break down a stereotype...itmust be love. . And love is the thing I want most to believe in... even as the snow silently buries the last light of the day, the city streets, and my heart. . .

SMQ1996