"It's definitely coming, definitely."

He laughed that fast, high-pitched, choppy Japanese laugh, oh so familiar to me, yet so foreign.

And what is it, Kyohei, exactly, that is going to "definitely" be paying us a visit here in Tokyo? Oh, nothing too important, he informed me; just a magnificent earthquake, one so large and destructive that it would rip the city in two.

"It's coming," he said again, giggling.

Ah, after those few short weeks in America, I'm welcomed back to Japan by earthquake forecasts. Just another little thing you don't really have to worry about in Nebraska, and so quickly forget.

But what's so funny about impending doom, I wanted to know; though Kyohei never informed me. Perhaps the simple fact that the inevitable was on the way, and there was nothing any of us helpless, little human beings could do to stop it.

Don't worry about me, though, and certainly don't worry about things collapsing on my little nogign: I live in the countryside--well, that's what the Japanese call Matsudo; though I don't quite understand the moniker, considering the city I live in is half the size of Lincoln but contains more people than Omaha.

But I suppose since my neighbor does grow onions in his back yard, we can call it country--and truth be told, it is much different than the college area I lived in last year; there just aren't as many people here. (But don't get the impression it's not crowded, ha!)

I'm still settling in here, still getting used to Tokyo life again, and this time around I recognize my culture shock and am trying to embrace it. My Japanese speaking skill has deteriorated slightly, making conversation a bit more tricky; I've forgotten how to walk in completely packed areas; I'm relearning how to navigate the trains; and I'm still getting used to carrying an umbrella with me everywhere I go.

But despite the rain, the weather is pleasant.

50 degrees the day I arrived, and only about 40 degrees today.

Funny thing was, yesterday all the Japanese swore that it was going to snow.

"You know you can't go out tonight! The trains will shut down! It's going to snow!"

80 percent chance said the weather forecast! 80 percent! But when I stepped outside yesterday morning, my Nebraska bones told me no snow could possible come. I felt the cold, fresh drizzle on my face and sniffed the still above-freezing air, and immediately knew that there would be no snow.

But how! How did I know, they asked. How was I right and the weatherman wrong.

"It's because of Nebraska," I told them.

And why! Why are you wearing a short-sleeved shirt and light jacket, they asked.

"It's because of Nebraska," I told them.

And why, why do you seem so .... not yourself, they asked.

Again I replied, "It's because of Nebraska."