George Takei

March, 2000, LONG BEACH, CA - We look up to the night skies with wonder. We see the stars and imagine galaxies beyond. In our mind's eye, we conjure up the possibility of alien life forms. We envision challenges and promises that the "final frontier" might hold. We are creatures conditioned by Star Trek.

Some of the most fantastical reality is found, however, not by looking up, but just by simply looking downward. I went to the dazzlingly new Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach, Calif., last month and discovered the almost surreal world swarming just under the surface of the water. The most incredible life forms have literally been just below us under the water line since the beginning of time.

I saw almost transparent, mushroom-like sea life virtually invisible but for the luminous glow outlining their outer edges. There were tanks teeming with microscopic, needle-like fish, each with a single neon dot but swimming in perfect unison to appear like one large, moving creature made up of a million shimmering polka dots. There was a huge, python-like eel so well camouflaged lazing on the bottom of a sandy aquarium that it became detectable only when it moved. No Star Trek episode had fictional alien life forms more fantastical than the real ones at the Aquarium of the Pacific.

There were more recognizable but nevertheless exotic sea life like the colorful tropical fishes from the south Pacific. Sea horses, I learned, carry their young in pouches until they are old enough to fend for themselves --- just like kangaroos. And sharks lay their leathery eggs, already containing little, wriggling fingerling sharks, among the sea kelps. We saw such an egg on display with a tiny, miniature shark visibly moving in it.

The aquarium itself is a technological marvel. The tank containing fish from north Pacific waters is churning turbulently, replicating the choppy waters of the Alaskan currents. This primeval savagery of the sea is powerfully recreated by unseen sophisticated technology. There is another tank that is the equivalent of a three-story building filled with sharks and other large fish happily plunging down and shooting right up the entire height. The newest addition to the aquarium, a torpedo-like Blunt Nosed Seven-gill shark, was curiously exploring the full loftiness of its new home. I was in awe of the strength of the clear plastic enclosing what must be tremendous pressure from all that water in the gigantic tank.

The Aquarium of the Pacific is nature's science fiction world made possible by the advances in technology. But the sobering message from the day at the aquarium is that the technology that helps display this wondrous sea world so realistically, also threatens this world. Sea life is endangered by improved fishing technology, massive pollution and rapacious oceanic exploitation. The tired irony of our times is that the wonders of nature are placed in jeopardy by the wonders of technology.

As I drove back to Los Angeles with the night sky twinkling down, I realized that we don't have to look up to the sky and wonder about strange alien life forms. We don't have to conjure up fictional challenges. We don't have to imagine some future "final frontier." We have it all, right here, right now, right under us.

November, 2002, LOS ANGELES - There is a warm and gracious Japanese custom called "omiyage." It could translate as both "gift giving" and "memento offering." When one is a guest, it is, of course, appropriate to take a gift to your host. "Omiyage" can also be a special memento of a wonderful place that one has visited which is given to a friend back home. I had an unforgettable two-week visit to Japan in October and the memories of that experience I would like to make my "omiyage" to the readers of this column.

The Japanese American National Museum has had one of its exhibits touring the southern parts of Japan for the past two years. In October, the exhibit opened in the northern prefecture of Niigata. I participated in the opening ceremony as the chairman of the museum. One of the wonderful "omiyage" that I've come to look forward to on these occasions is the gathering of Japanese Star Trek fans that I've met on previous exhibit opening trips, as well as at many Star Trek conventions in the U.S. As I looked over a sea of formally dressed guests gathered for the ribbon-cutting opening, I could recognize many familiar faces of fans that have now become friends. Instead of Starfleet uniforms, they were in suitable 21st century business attire. Their loyal support and friendship have been one of the many "omiyage" that I consider among my blessings. They even gave me an elegant "omiyage" of lacquer sake cups.

Niigata is the snow country of Japan, just north of Nagano, where the last Winter Olympics were held. When I visited, it was early autumn, and the weather was ideal. The Niigata museum is only two years old and the building is an impressive modern structure on a hilltop overlooking a vast expanse of rice paddies. The area is celebrated for producing the best rice in Japan - and fine rice and good water means top-quality sake. The sake of Niigata is renowned. My Star Trek friends gave me another unique "omiyage" - a tour of one of the major sake breweries of Japan called Yoshi-no-gawa. I realized then that my gift sake cups were intended, not to be just decorative, but to be used as well. We viewed the entire process of producing the famed libation of Japan. The part of the tour that we were most eagerly anticipating - the tasting of the sake - came at the very end of the tour. We tasted about a dozen different types of sake - sweet, strong, mild, fruity. To me, they were all superb. In a high state of predisposition, we were ushered into the brewery's shop. I came home with an "omiyage" for myself - sake in a gold, gourd-shaped flask. It is a handsome memento of that visit gracing the sideboard in my dining room. But I have yet to savor its content.

Before moving to Niigata, our exhibit had enjoyed a successful run in Hiroshima. That success was, in large part, due to the wholehearted support of Hiroshima Governor Yuzan Fujita. I needed to call on the governor to express our museum's appreciation for his invaluable assistance. I also wanted to visit an elderly aunt I have in Hiroshima. But Hiroshima was practically at the southernmost end of Japan. Even on the super-speed Bullet train, it would have been a grueling eight-hour ride. I decided to treat myself to historic places in Japan that I had not visited as I worked my way south.

The first stop was the old castle town of Kanazawa. It is one of the few cities that had not been touched by war. History was richly intact here. Kanazawa Castle, an impregnable fortress with deep moats and heavy defense towers, was under heavy siege when I visited - this time by modern day tourists. The battle seemed to have been lost to the invading horde. Kenroku-en Garden, one of the three garden treasures of Japan was transportingly beautiful. Until 1871, this oasis of lakes, waterfalls, and forest teahouses, was a private sanctuary exclusively for feudal lords and their clan. Even samurai could not be admitted. We arrived early in the morning to enjoy the serenity of the garden as the lords did. But by the time we were ready to leave, the morning calm was being shattered by the megaphoned voices of banner-bearing tour guides describing the "tranquil loveliness" of the garden to herds of gawking, photo-taking tourists. The residential district of the samurai and the geisha quarters were carefully restored as they originally were. It was like walking onto the set of a samurai epic. Except for the incredible hordes of tourists, Kanazawa was like beaming back in time.

We continued our trek back in time with our next stop, Nara. This was the ancient imperial capital even before Kyoto, which, in turn, preceded Tokyo. What serendipity! We arrived when the great Todai-ji Temple, reputed to be the largest and oldest wooden structure in the world, was celebrating its 1,250th anniversary. Within this ancient temple is the giant bronze Buddha, another of Japan's great, historic objects. Alas, the momentous ceremony was by invitation only. But again, serendipity! Mr. Ito, the manager of the ryokan - the inn where we were staying -- had connections. He was able to get us invitations to the celebration in the great court of the temple. There we were. Seated in the blazing sun in our dress shirts to witness a rite that could happen only once in 1,250 years. A giant ritual drum the size of a house was in front of us. Beside it stood the priestly drummer in a voluminous, brocaded robe. Alongside the drum was a row of television news cameras. Craning our necks, we could barely see the headdresses worn by the priests and officiants as they paraded by. But at least we had seats. There were people standing in every available space. Sweat began trickling down my forehead. Then, I heard a gruff voice behind me roar in Japanese, "TV cameramen, get out! Get out of here!" At a sacred observance never to happen again, nerves were getting frayed. The angry voice kept up his bellowing until a few of the cameramen reluctantly packed up and left. The ceremony was a great spectacle. There were hundreds of elaborately bedecked officiants, hundreds of ritual performers and scores of costumed children in the historic great court. It was rich pageantry combined with technology and bad manners. I wondered what future ceremonies commemorating the 2,000th anniversary of the great Todai-ji Temple might be like.

Mr. Ito, the innkeeper, arranged another unforgettable experience for me - a rickshaw ride through old Nara village. The narrow alleyways and ancient buildings were charming. But the most amazing part of the experience was our young rickshaw man, Nao-san. He had the strength of a horse and the physical control of a precision stockcar. Going downhill with a load of two grown adults, Nao-san's powerful legs became our brakes. Going uphill, his whole physique became the accelerator and engine. As he huffed and puffed, he pointed out landmarks in charmingly academic English. "It is said that this quaint structure - as it were - was once the rice storage of the feudal lords," he huffed between puffs. And through it all, he maintained an enthusiastic smile. We stopped for a sip of sake at, what Nao-san called, "one of the oldest and my favorite sake places in ancient Nara." As I sipped my sake, I noticed that he was drinking water. I'm sure he sipped sake when he came back to collect his commission for bringing us there. He was amazing. Nao-san was a powerful athlete, a delightful linguist, and a wonderful tour guide with a good touch of marketing. I asked him what his goal in life might be. I suspected him to be an athletic college student studying foreign affairs, history, or business administration. Nao-san answered, "to make you happy is my goal." He most certainly accomplished that. Nara, for me, will be a place with a richly glorious past with a future personified by the energy, enthusiasm, and savvy of a young rickshaw man.

Another Bullet train ride and we were in Hiroshima. This is a place with a more recent significance in history. In the center of the city is a vast open park embraced by two rivers. Named Peace Park, it commemorates the dropping of the world's first atomic bomb. Alongside the river is the ruins of the building that was at the epicenter of the blast. The skeletal dome of the structure is to remain forever as a reminder of the devastating horrors of war. Today, the city of Hiroshima is a dynamic, modern metropolis with sleek high-rises soaring into the skyline. Its governor, Yuzan Fujita, is a young, vigorous leader who had lived in New York for a time as a banker. My meeting to thank him for his invaluable support for our museum exhibit there, however, was conducted all in Japanese. The Japanese American National Museum's hope is to build on the relationship that had been established by the visit of our exhibit there earlier this year. It wasn't until the formal conversation was concluded that he broke into English - the rascal. I had another reason for going to Hiroshima. My aunt, my mother's younger sister, is there, now in a rest home. She suffers from Parkinson's Disease but her mind is lively and she is as chatty as she has ever been. I passed on to her a Mexican necklace that my mother had treasured. She immediately launched into an anecdote of the time she was in Mexico.

On our way back to Tokyo, we stopped off in Nagoya to visit a national park with a collection of buildings from the Meiji period appropriately called Meiji village. The Meiji period of Japan, the time of the reign of Emperor Meiji, was almost parallel to that of the reign of Queen Victoria of Britain. The park is studded with, what we might call, structures in the Victorian style. The Meiji era was a time when Japan was eagerly importing ideas and technology from the West. I was particularly interested in this visit because a portion of the original Imperial Hotel, designed by iconic architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, had been moved there from Tokyo. It was classic Wright, bold, horizontal, and reminiscent of the Biltmore Hotel in Phoenix, Arizona, which Wright had also designed. The coffee shop was still operating. So, we enjoyed a refreshing pause in our tour of Meiji period railway stations, residences and even a kabuki theater.

The great joy of our much too brief stop in Nagoya, was meeting a young American named Matthew Rossi. He had been interested in Japanese culture as a teenager in Florida. He first came to Japan as a student with the JET program to teach English. He returned to the U.S. a born-again Japanese. He came back to Japan, this time to live with a Japanese family in a small mountain village where he was the only foreigner. He ate, slept, and lived the life of a rural Japanese with every pore of his being absorbing in the culture. After that singular experience, he studied and worked in Nagoya and had become, for all rights and purposes, culturally Japanese. But his personality and spirit remain vibrantly American. And Matthew just happened to be the Vice President of the Kanko Hotel where we stayed. He also happened to be a Star Trek fan. When my reservation was made, he enthusiastically offered to serve as our personal guide to Meiji village. What an extraordinary treat that was! He took a half-day out of his office to be our guide. To have an enthusiastic American who, at the same time, was so thoroughly and proudly Japanese, show us a part of Japan's history was an experience we can never forget. I pledged to him that I would return to Nagoya. He gave me a tantalizing bait. He told me that he was opening a trendy new restaurant called Morgan and Rossi in the hip part of Nagoya. He even pointed out the building he and his partner, Morgan, had selected for their new enterprise. It was a wonderful old Meiji period building right alongside a canal. Nagoya, and Morgan and Rossi are definitely on my agenda for a return to Japan.

All too soon, our two weeks in Japan were coming to an end. Our last hurrah was Tokyo, the highlight of which was a day at the kabuki - yes, literally, a day at the kabuki theater with intermission breaks for sushi. The performance began at 11 a.m. and finished at 9:30 p.m. The play was the classic revenge drama "Chushingura" or "The 47 Masterless Samurai." It was electrifying theater. There were elaborately brocaded costumes, sets on turntables to reveal both the exterior and interior, and dramatic musical accompaniment with sonorous big drums and high-pitched clackers. The final assault of the 47 samurai on the palace of the evil lord took place in a driving snowstorm. The choreography of the mass sword fights was spectacularly athletic. It was, at once, exhausting and exhilarating - which is a good summation of the entire two weeks in Japan. We came home with glowing "omiyage" memories in our hearts.

On the day of my return, I was greeted by tragic news. A very dear friend, Beulah Quo, had suddenly died that very afternoon. The news was like a jolt of electric current. I had talked with Beulah on the phone the day before I left for Japan. We had made plans to get together for lunch on my return. The shock and pain of loss was unbearable.

Beulah Quo was a fine actress with whom I had acted on many shows. I first worked with her on an episode of the television series "My Three Sons" back in 1963 and we had become good friends. We worked in partnership on the KNBC public affairs show "Expressions: East West" from 1971 to 1973. She served as the producer and I was the moderator. We collaborated on many civic and community projects together. We were co-chairs of the fundraising campaign to move the oldest Asian American theater company in the nation, the East West Players, from a 99-seat theater into a 240-seat house. Beulah had boundless energy and a passionate dedication to the ideals and causes we shared. Most of all, she was a caring friend. If I should get sick, Beulah was there with hot soup and healing Chinese potions. She gave me so much. She inspired so many. She achieved so much. Beulah was a gifted, Emmy award-winning performer, but more than that, she was an actor in the fullest sense of the word - a person who takes action. Beulah Quo leaves a rich legacy of accomplishments, her life "omiyage" to the community she served so well. Thank you, Beulah, for having shared your extraordinary life with us.

December, 2002, LOS ANGELES - This is the beginning of the last month of the year and it's a good time to pause, reflect, and take measure of the events that took place over the past twelve months. It has been, for me, a time filled with some glorious highs as well as the lows that seemingly are the inevitable attendants of life.

The year began with a pilgrimage to Ground Zero in New York City in the bitter cold of January. The devastation I witnessed there, most certainly, was not inevitable. It was madness - a grotesque cruelty that festered out of the ugliness of blind hate. The last time I visited the World Trade Center, it was the vibrant economic beehive of the world. What I saw this time was a vast, hideous void. But I also talked to David Lim, an officer with the Port Authority Police, who was an inspiration. He had rescued countless people from the fiery north tower of the complex, went down with the collapse of the building and miraculously survived. Out of the chaos and tragedy came so many stories of incredible courage, humanity and valor.

This was the year that I lost my beloved mother, Fumiko Emily Takei, after a prolonged illness. Her death, at 89 years, was almost a relief of sorts because the struggle she put up against the series of assaults on her was so ravaging. She lived with me the final three years of her life and her passing left an aching emptiness. But the kindness and compassion of so many friends and relatives that surrounded me were life affirming. The memory of her love and a life fully lived will be a lasting comfort.

This year was when we held the summer meeting of the Board of Trustees of the Japanese American National Museum in Dearborn, Michigan, because the largest Arab American community in the nation is resident there. The backlash of blind hatred and suspicion that the Arab Americans have suffered in the wake of September 11th resonates deeply with the Japanese American experience after Pearl Harbor. By coming together as fellow Americans and sharing our experiences, we worked to remind the nation that we must not repeat the mistakes of history. Our constitutional guarantees of due process must not be pitted against expedients of national security. America has become better but our democracy is a continuing work in progress that can be intensely challenged at times of national crisis.

This was also a joyous year. I returned to the stage with a concert production of Stephen Sondheim's "Pacific Overtures" in Dayton, Ohio. It was wonderful working with Dayton's Human Race Theatre Company and a cast of gifted singer-actors in a piece that I consider a classic of our times. The play is about the opening up of Japan from its centuries long isolation by Commodore Matthew Perry of the U.S. Navy. Next year, 2003, is the 150th anniversary of that historic visit.

A flight to Hawaii is always a joyful occasion but my trip there in September was especially happy. Aloha shirts, floral leis and juicy fresh pineapples were not the only enticements. My mission was to serve as a master of ceremonies for what was billed as the Aloha Peace Concert with jazz greats, Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter. At a time when threats of war were in the air, this concert for peace was an opportunity to both comment on our times as well as connect with history. It was here at Pearl Harbor that the last world war began for our country. Herbie, Wayne, and I placed wreaths at the Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor in a prayer for peace.

As if to round out that chapter of history, my next trip the following month took me to Hiroshima, Japan. It was here, where the first atomic bomb in history was dropped, that was the beginning of the end of that world war. The desire for peace in Hiroshima is almost palpable. The great park in the center of the city is called Peace Park. The museum housing the horrible artifacts of the bombing is called the Hiroshima Peace Museum. A bridge, designed by famed Japanese American sculptor, Isamu Noguchi, is named Peace Bridge. My mission here was to meet with the governor of Hiroshima to build on the relationship that had been established earlier this year by a visit of an exhibit of the Japanese American National Museum. From such sharing comes understanding that can lead to happier, fuller, more peaceful relationships between nations.

A blessing that came unexpectedly out of the Hollywood blue last month is a wonderful role in an exciting independent film titled "Patient 14." I play a research scientist involved in a highly secret governmental project in this techno-thriller. John De Lancie from the Next Generation of Star Trek is a fellow researcher in the project with me. A lovely and talented young actress, Lucy Jenner, plays the lead. Keep an eye on her. I think her star will soar high.

And on this final month of the year, I continue some of my most enjoyable activities. I fly off for my annual visit to my beloved Dickensian London for shopping and theatre-going, and then hop over to Mannheim, Germany, for a Christmas party with devoted Star Trek fans. With all that the year brings - the wonderful blessings as well as the heartbreaking losses - it is these warming realities, the friendships, the people and things one loves that make life good.

I wish all of you a very happy holiday season.