Good Food and Carefree Deer

I know I keep promising to talk about Kyoto and I have made you guys wait long enough. So yes, I do indeed plan to talk about Kyoto.

Right after I talk about Osaka and Nara. Teehee.

When we ventured into Osaka, we knew that we wanted to use the city as a base of operations for visiting nearby areas. At the time, we only considered this because it was cheaper to stay in Osaka and make day trips to Kyoto and the like, rather than find a hostel there. Besides, there would be plenty to see in such a populous city, right?

Well, not so much.

Apparently that runner in the background is iconic. Not sure why...

See, Osaka is known for it’s food. While their food is indeed lovely, that reputation might also be due in part to how few things there are to do in the area as a visitor. There is Osaka Castle, which has been converted into something of a history museum, and Dotonbori; the city’s main drag. Even Dotonbori, however, is not much of an event once you arrive.

It is certainly a sight worth seeing, because between the flashing lights and multitude of extravagant decorations, there is a lot to take in visually. However, it also only takes about twenty minutes to see your fill. Vibrant and dazzling as the place is, it takes only a few moments to realize that nearly everything in that area is a restaurant. Even if those restaurants had been within our price range, you can only visit so many before you burn out.
Before we discovered this, though, we wandered around near our hostel, looking for a local specialty: Okonomiyaki.

This is a pancake, of sorts, with pretty much any ingredient you like in it. Heck, the word is even derived from the Japanese term for “how you like” or “what you like.” You want shrimp? Throw that in. Some potatoes and green onions? No problem. Pork shavings with fish flakes on top? You got it. There are innumerable combinations to this dish. A big part of going to a okonomiyaki restaurant, however, is that you do a bit of the cooking yourself. The chef combines the ingredients and makes the pancake and then you and your eating buddies cook it to your taste and add whatever batters and toppings you care for. To make it even better, this is a pretty cheap dish. While the food was lovely, though, the main event ended up being the other guests.

As we were preparing to pay our bill, a group of four older locals came in and began chatting. From their body language and behavior, I’d say it was a safe bet that at least two of them were already tipsy, if not sloshed. We paid and these men and one woman called us over to chat! Sort of. They spoke minimal English and we had about as much Japanese at our disposal. At one point, they asked how old we are. We each said that we were twenty-three, but when our friend David said as much, one of the old men shouted in surprise and replied. I nearly bent over laughing while my friends stood there confused. When they asked what was so funny, I translated that the man had said that David looked like he was forty-three. That got a laugh out of them.

What was not as amusing was one of the other, more noticeably drunk men. As I have said, my Japanese is not that great. However, I can understand enough to catch the gist of what a lot of people say. Although this man was smiling at us, he insulted us for pretty much the entire time, assuming that we could not understand. Throughout, the woman was politely trying to get him to stop and, in what little English she could manage, gave vanilla translations of what her friend was saying. Instead of “It’s amazing to see a bunch of annoying/stupid foreigners in here,” she said “He asks if you like Japan” and things along those lines.

I don’t know about you, but I find that condescending as all hell. It’s like playing with a dog and saying “Oh, you’re so stupid!” with a big, shit-eating grin plastered across your face and a goofy lilt to your voice. Thing is, I love my dog and wouldn’t do that to him, even if he is a doofus. So when someone does the like to me, you can imagine that it got my hackles up. I was only too glad when my friends decided that it was time to go. They had the impression that something was off about him too, and I explained what had transpired. Can’t say that any of us were terribly surprised, considering that we are foreigners after all. No matter what, you’re going to get assholes like that every now and then because, guess what?, assholes are everywhere, even in the infamously polite Japan.

Taking in the view.

Then again, Iza was carrying around an anime-styled plushy doll of a shrine maiden in her backpack, so perhaps we deserved the ridicule, even though these guys never saw the doll. Then again, David and Iza were pretty thoroughly enamored with Merron-chan and it was hard not to get swept up in the goofiness. I mean, seriously, check out some of these pictures! Iza even made an Instagram account to document this doll's trip!

Okay, I couldn't help myself. I got into it with the doll too.

David's face in the background, though...

Anyhow, the food in Osaka was lovely. Not too much variety for us, considering the distinct lack of money in our pockets, but we enjoyed some takoyaki (battered and baked octopus balls with sauce and seasonings) and Japan’s terrible excuse for beer. FYI, everything here seems to be some variation on a weak lager.

In contrast to the gastronomic hub of Osaka that provided little to do, the nearby city of Nara was a cuisine wasteland with tons to see and do, especially if you like deer. Yes, this is the place with the famous parks where you can feed crackers to a bunch of wild deer as they bow to you and deign to let you sketch or even pet them. Gotta say, deer are not nearly as soft and sleek as they look. Still, I can cross “Deer Cuddles” off of my bucket list now! Seriously, though, the deer in Nara are just so used to people that they simply do not give a fuck. These guys couldn’t have been more chilled out if they were each toking like it was April 20th! Car horns? Who cares? Little children screaming? Par for the course. Foreigners gushing over us? Eh. We deserve the gushing.

We didn't even realize that this lady was in the photo with us until after the shot.

In that same day, we wandered all over several temples and a monastery. We even managed to get a brief peek at the resident Great Buddha statue, though that was more of a coincidental bonus than a destination for us. After doting on deer and admiring temples and Shinto/Buddhist statues for the entire day, though, we found ourselves rather peckish and rather starved for interesting choices. Yes, you can hit up the street vendors or go to a restaurant or izakaya (sort of a small restaurant where you are required to buy at least one drink), but we found nothing in the way of local specialities. Turns out, there’s a local saying that “Nara has a Great Buddha, but nothing good to eat.”

David was looking for an elevator. Falling was the next best option.

And thus we returned to Osaka, stumbled into an izakaya, and had some of the best plum wine that I have ever tasted in my considerably limited experience. In all seriousness, though, if you guys know how to get your hands on some mango plum wine, PLEASE get in touch. It’s hard to go back to beer after tasting the gods’ Nectar.

Seriously. This was TOO good.

That being said, on our first night in Kyoto, we found a bar that sold actual, honest to god BEER!!! I don’t mean Asahi or Kirin (though they offered that too), but stouts, ales, pilsners, and all sorts of others! Better yet? They were actually good, which is surprising. I’ve tried some other “ales” in Japan and they’re all just lagers with different names. This, however, was something else entirely. It tasted like the brewers had maybe studied in Germany and the U.S., because the beer had flavor! Frankly, I was rather surprised to discover that it was brewed in Japan at all. Just saying, f you come to Japan, keep an eye out for something called Hansharo. It is an American Amber Ale brewed in Izunokuni, Shizuoka. Strangely enough, though, I cannot find this beer in Yokohama, even though the cities are essentially neighbors. I need to hunt further…












And after our beer, we left Kyoto and went home.

…


Okay, not really, but still, if I tried to write about Kyoto in this post as well, the entry would be WAY too long. Last thing I need is to scare away or overwhelm my three readers.

So I promise, Scout’s oath, that I will tell you about Kyoto next week.

Until then, can someone PLEASE tell me how to get mango plum wine?!?!?!?

See ya!

Song of the Week: I totally missed last week’s entry because of a crazy work week and now I’ve got you guys waiting one more week for me to blab about Kyoto. So what song could be more appropriate for this week than “I'm Waiting” by the All-American Rejects?

Well, there’s “Waiting on the Sun,” “Waiting for You,” “Wait for You,” “Wait A Little While…” Ah, you get the idea.

Enjoy!

There And Back And There And Back Again

Okay. No more store-bought sushi for me. Or onigiri. I think the raw fish is disagreeing with me. Every time I eat a box or packet of sushi, onigiri (rice balls, often with fish inside), or the like from a grocery store or convenience store, I start getting strange pains in my head, ear, and jaw. Just lucky it hasn’t manifested as other more… internal problems.

Still, I think I’m going to stick to noodles and cooking for myself!

Anyhow, last time, I mentioned that I went to Kyoto! That is a bit of an understatement, though. I travelled with a couple of friends from college in a whirlwind tour of Nikko, Osaka, Nara, and Kyoto.
There is a yearly holiday here called Golden Week, which celebrates the emperor’s inauguration. This year, however, was something special because the previous emperor was seceding from the throne and passing it to the next in line. This hasn’t happened very often and, between his farewells and the new inauguration, Golden Week this year was actually more like Golden Ten Days. What better time to travel?!

The answer is nearly any other time.

Golden Week is apparently the most popular time for Japanese people to travel around their country, considering that they often do not get long holidays like this. Because of that, hotels, trains, restaurants, and pretty much everyone else jacks up their prices to make the most of the great demand.

Expenses aside, though, it was an interesting trip, to be sure!

First, for various work-related reasons, my friends and I missed our train and had to take a bullet train in order to try to get to our hotel on time. Just a note: It’s really not that exciting. It’s fast, sure, but you don’t feel it. The whole trip was actually a rather smooth ride and would have been lovely if this train had not been delayed for AN HOUR AND A HALF!!! Because of that, guess what?, we lost the deposit on our hotel and had to crash at a random hotel in the town we ended up in when the trains shut down for the night. To make it worse, the train company would not reimburse us because the delay was less than two hours. For a country so intent on being timely and polite, that was rather jarring. I would like to say it was smooth sailing after that, but then I’d be lying.

One of my two buddies, David, was unfortunately rather ill for most of the trip. Frankly, considering everything that was going on with him, I am amazed that he even made the trek from the states in the first place. Despite vomiting, headaches, miscellaneous pains, vertigo, and god knows what else, he was still determined to make the best of what time he had here! I am still marveling at his fortitude.

Iza is really big into these grilled sweet potatoes. And goofy pictures.

Nikko was our first stop and may have been my favorite. Perhaps I am saying that only because I have been in the city for so long (all of two months) and have been starved for any amount of nature. Regardless, being amidst the mountains and forests again was delightful. It was like I had finally released a breath that I hadn’t realized I had been holding. The experience was akin to what I felt when I went to Rome and saw the ocean for the first time in three months. Funny, how you miss things without even realizing it.

An elegant scene, though a humble shot.

Leave it to these goobers to soil the scenery [at my behest].

Anyhow, Nikko’s main attraction was an impressive complex and collection of temples and shrines nestled amongst the soaring cedar trees. It was near enough to town that we easily walked there, but within a minute of climbing the first steps into the forest, we lost sight of the road and it became easy to forget that we were near civilization. If not for all of the other tourists, I would have believed us to be in a monastery in the middle of nowhere. Even with so many people about, though, the place had a serenity about it. Perhaps it was the light or the grandeur of the trees and temples. Maybe it was the isolation from bustling streets. Whatever it was, this peace seemed to effect almost everyone around us. People spoke softly, treaded carefully, and appeared at ease; relaxed. It was not like so many other shrines and churches around the world that I have been to where the visitors are stiff and uncomfortable.

Many sites have a tension about them, a sense of expectation even. The moment you step in, you feel that you are expected to be quiet and reverent. You know too that others are watching you, gauging your actions and body language. There is a sense that you cannot belong because you are a tourist and, even though you are surrounded by other tourists, you cannot relax and simply enjoy the moment. Places like that have the expectation that you actively view them and that you remain aware of your alienness in that space.

That’s not to say that Nikko was a Nirvana-esque experience or anything. The quiet was still punctuated by kids shouting and there were enough visitors that, no matter how softly each individual spoke, there was often a soft hum of chatter. Oh, and there was one old guy selling whistles that made a bizarre sound somewhere between a duck call and a small child’s scream and he was intent on demonstrating his wares. That was weird.

I swear we're enjoying ourselves.

After a couple of days in Nikko, we headed back to our apartments in the Tokyo area to recuperate and pack for the next leg of the journey. Not exactly efficient, going north, back south to Tokyo, and then further south after that, but it worked for us. Also, David was in rough shape and I didn’t have a bag big enough to accommodate a whole ten-day trip.

During that respite, we decided to do pretty much the trashiest, most stereotypical westerner/anime geek thing to do: Go to a maid cafe in Akibahara.

Akibahara is a district in Tokyo that is simply inundated with anime junk. And when I say “junk,” I mean it. I like anime, but there is just so much merchandise and, to be honest, so much of it looks tacky! Then again, there’s an abundance of arcades as well, and those looked pretty fun…






Anyhow, a maid cafe, for those who were unaware, is, guess what?, a cafe where the female staff dress up as maids and serve the customers. It’s meant to be saccharine-sweet levels of cute and the staff call you “Master” or “Mistress.” It's a big draw for westerners/anime geeks. On the other hand, I saw a whole range of Japanese people in there too, from women to middle-aged men.

A picture of my shame. Apparently I wasn't supposed to grin...

Personally, I have a whole slew of hangups about this kind of place. I don’t know if the girls like their job, or it’s just the best one they could get, whether the nature of the cafe is objectifying them, or whether it’s just a super cute setting… I don’t know. It's only a few steps away from a strip club in some ways, but far more family friendly. Then again, some strippers love their profession. As I said. Lots of moral quandaries that I’m still trying to sort through and that I was wrestling with while waiting in line.

Also, I like cute, but I have a cuteness threshold and this place smashed that threshold, trampled on it, and then covered the remains with glittery hearts and pink lace. Apparently my face was beet red for much of the experience, which was accented by the rosy lighting. When I saw that these places are designed to be over-the-top cute and sweet, I mean that I felt my teeth rotting from all of the sweetness when I walked in. I wouldn’t have even gone in if my friends weren’t so set on doing this.

To be fair, though, I could have waited outside or done something else, but I also figured it was an experience to have that I might regret not experiencing later. Still trying to determine whether it was a good or bad experience, is all… Either way, Iza was grinning ear to ear and rocking back and forth in her stool with how jazzed she was about the whole thing.

I ordered some tea and something called the "Unrequited Love Parfait." Surprisingly aptly named. It begins as sweet and savory at the top, but becomes colder and more bitter toward the bottom. The heart says "suki" (すき) on it, which often means "I like."

 

Later that same day, we went to an area that just so happened to have the Tokyo Pokemon Center. As soon as I learned that we were in the neighborhood, I was willing to drop everything, including my friends, to visit this place. Luckily, David was game to join. Remember how I said that Iza was acting like an excited little kid in the maid cafe? Well, that was me in the Pokemon store. Talk about a nostalgia kick mixed with a healthy dose of adorable! You should’ve seen all of the Pokemon plushies and other nicknacks! If I had the money to spare, I would have been seriously at risk of spending hundreds of dollars. For better or worse, though, I did not have the money and managed to restrict myself to about $25. Not too bad, if I say so myself, considering how much of a fanboy I turned into the moment I walked through their doors. It also helps that goods and whatnot in Japan are relatively cheap, compared to New York or London. So now I’ve got a few new buddies to keep me company while I work and sleep in this tiny apartment!

They were essentially impulse buys, but I still don’t regret them. They’re too cute to regret.

What I do regret is how I cannot, in good conscience, chronicle my entire journey in just one blog post. This one one is getting lengthy as it is. Guess you’ll just have to check out next week’s!

Before I sign off, though, I’ve been thinking about writing a story online. Something that can come out in short, biweekly chapters or more frequently even. No attempts to get it published, nothing like that. Just for my own entertainment and the entertainment of whoever comes along and sees it.

You guys think this is something that I should try out? I was toying with some fantasy and urban fantasy story ideas. Even some D&D-based stuff has been floating through my head. My only concern is that someone will try to steal and publish my stuff for themselves. Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?

Eh. This is all predicated on the assumption that I will have time for more writing in the first place!

Anyhow, have a good one guys!

Song of the Week: Here’s a song that I came across some time this last summer or fall. I absolutely adore the music, but I still can’t figure out what the title means. Best I can figure, though, between Google Translate and my thoroughly inadequate grasp of the Japanese language, is that the title translates to “Ribbon of the Evening.” It is apparently a cover by an independent girl online who calls herself Kano (鹿乃). I'm going to check out more of her stuff!

Hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

P.S. A special “Thank you” again to Ryan Muther, who caught a mistake I made in last week’s post. In his words, “The government is not in control of the shrine, and hasn't been since 1946. There are some far-right nationalist groups, like Nippon Kaigi, who want to restore the shine to government control, but they haven't succeeded in doing so. Other things they want to do include removing the war-renouncing Article 9 from the constitution and bringing back State Shinto.”

I fact checked this, but it was kind of a pointless exercise. This guy’s right about 90% of the time!
The mistake has been corrected, but I thought he still deserved some more gratitude.

Culture Shock 2: Electric Boogaloo

You know you’re a foreigner when the first local friend you make is a cat.

Between my terrible Japanese, the Japanese’s suspicion of foreigners, and their notorious social awkwardness, I had the damndest time trying to find anyone to talk to or who will even tolerate my presence. As I said, many people move away from me when I sit next to them, even if I’m just reading a book. Besides, animals are very often better than people anyhow.

About two weeks after coming here, as I was heading up the hill to my apartment, I heard an insistent meowing. I stopped, trying to pinpoint the sound, and finally found a kitty hiding under a parked car. This orange tabby had a chewed up ear and was missing most of her tail, but none of that is terribly uncommon among cats here. I am wary of strays as a rule, as anyone should be, but I was so starved for animal attention (or pretty much any companionable interactions) that I put on a glove, crouched down, and put out my hand, trying to coax her out.

It really didn’t take much coaxing. She got up and trundled over the moment I presented my hand. She stalked me a little, circling and investigating, but only for a few seconds before she rammed her cheek into my glove for scratches. When it became clear after a few minutes that she wouldn’t take any swipes at me, I pulled off my glove. Taking the time to do that much, though, set her to meowing again and she did not stop until I resumed lavishing attention on her. Any time I stopped petting or scratching her, she would start meowing and rolling around on the ground, turning herself inside out for belly rubs.

I must have spent a half hour messing with that cat.

Worth every minute.

Unfortunately, I haven’t seen her since. I’m just going to assume that she’s moved on to another neighborhood or that a kind family has taken her in. Seriously, though, why are there so many stray cats in this country?! I see them everywhere!

Luckily, I found some good people to hang out with. They're not cats, but I'll take what I can get XP

Even more common than strays, though, are students in school uniforms. I knew before coming here that uniforms were often required for junior high and high school, but now that I’m here, I am noticing some rather unsettling things. The vast majority of uniforms are modeled after old British navy uniforms. Apparently this trend goes way back. By now, the outfits are just kind of cute. However, I wonder if the children or parents recognize that they are dressing up like soldiers. Again, that is not too alarming. However, every now and then, I see even elementary school children dressed in uniforms that are just a little too similar to officer uniforms from World War II. Just in case you need a refresher, that was a HORRIBLE time for Japan, both from how many of their people died and from how many they killed and brutalized. They didn’t exactly cultivate a positive image during that period.

From what I have read and seen, Japan seems to have a tendency to glorify its past and forget about the bad parts. I witnessed such just a few days ago when I spoke with a Japanese mother. She asked how I became interested in Japan and I mentioned a paper that I wrote in high school on the Russo-Japanese War in 1904. Her face lit up.

“Oh! Suberashi!” she exclaimed. “I named my son after foreign diplomat of that time. His name is Kaoru! I want my son to work for global peace any happiness the way he did.” Now, I could not remember who Kaoru was at the time, but something did not sound quite right about that. Upon getting home, I looked up the name.

Inouye Kaoru was the Foreign Minister of the time and he publicly said that the people of China and Manchuria (northern China and the Korean Peninsula) had forfeited their rights to autonomy by failing to westernize. He was one of the politicians who helped to instigate the Sino-Japanese War (about as inhumane a war as you can get) and the Russo-Japanese War.

So he was working for global peace? Well, in some way, I suppose he was working for world peace, except that Japan’s version of peace at the time was terrible for its non-Japanese inhabitants.

Someone once said that each country has its own way of confronting the sordid parts of its past: Germany apologizes for it, America ignores it, and Japan pretends that it never happened.

I didn’t realize how true that was until I got here.

In the heart of Tokyo stands Yasakuni Shrine, which is largely dedicated to soldiers and animals that died during and before the World War II era. According to Ryan Muther, the shrine and the nearby Yūshūkan War Museum both portray Japan before the end of WWII as a reluctant combatant and something of a liberator for East Asia. In the museum’s catalogue, for example, Japanese historian Kobori Keiichiro says that “Japan had no way but to use force as a leader of East Asian civilization to confront Western civilization, whose true nature was to expand throughout the earth, and to fight for self-existence and self-defense.” Yes, the west was expansionist, but this was some time after Japan invaded China.

Within that same catalogue, Kobori calls the Nanjing Massacre the “Nanjing Incident” and portrays the imperial military as professional and organized. There is no mention of the hundreds of thousands of Chinese people that the Japanese killed, raped, tortured, and robbed over those months. There is even historical evidence from that time showing how several Japanese officers competed with each other to see how many Chinese they could each kill with a katana, after the Chinese military had been slaughtered. Yet even now, looking at the Yūshūkan Museum’s English translation of its brochure, the museum describes the soldiers they are portraying as “high-principled people… who devoted themselves to building a ‘peaceful nation.’” [page 1, panel 1, last paragraph]

Contemporary, mainstream Japanese historians reject such ideas publicly, but the shrine and museum still stand tall and its owners have done nothing to correct the image. Even though the government is not in direct control of the shrine, I question whether anything would change even if it was. Right now, for example, there is a movement in Japan to make its constitution more warlike again, as it was in the early 1900s.

So yeah. Denial isn’t just an American thing. It’s everywhere.

For a more detailed and eloquent analysis of this bizarre narrative, check out Chapter 3 of Muther’s paper, which you can find here! It’s a fairly quick read and rather enlightening.

Perhaps now you understand my more than mild alarm at such militaristically attired kids.
That alarm escalated on my first day of school, when the students were required to stand in orderly lines outside. Throughout the announcements and introductions, the vice-principal and other faculty barked such intense orders that even I jumped, though I was not on the receiving end.

Once in the halls, though, everyone became much like any other child or teacher. If anything, the students are far more rowdy in the halls than we were at my own school, a millennia and a half ago. These kids run, scream, and get to do as they please for the most part during their break periods… It’s pandemonium, but compared to the martial atmosphere I had experienced just an hour before, this was a major relief.

The school I attended just had a bunch of hard-asses, but we had to be silent in the hallways and walk single-file or else. Here? Just don’t run in the halls. Every day, I hear screaming, laughing, shouting… sounds normally reserved for once the final bell rings in America. Personally, I see little harm in it, so long as everyone is orderly during drills and emergencies which, guess what?, they are. So why not just let them be kids?

In addition, at least at the school where I teach, the teachers and students have SUCH a long time for lunch! Between lunch and recess, we have an hour and fifteen minutes! In my own elementary school, we were given twenty-five minutes, but a lot of that time went into getting into neat lines, waiting for the teacher to bring us to the cafeteria, and waiting to buy lunch. That often meant only fifteen minutes to eat. Oh, and remember those orderly lines? If we did not form them to our teachers’ satisfaction or were not quiet enough, the teacher would stop the line in the hall and make us stand there or even usher us back into the classroom to start from square one, all of which cut into our limited eating time. When junior high came around, it just got worse. If I did not bring my own lunch and I had to thus wait and buy one, I would be lucky if I had eight minutes to cram it all down my gullet.

Going to substitute teach at another school today, though, the students only got about fifteen minutes to eat, once everything was served and they were given permission to begin. I hear wildly different lunch schedules from my coworkers at other schools, so perhaps there is no set rule like there is in American cafeterias.

This is strange, since Japan seems to revolve around rules and uniformity. It is as though the schools (and those bizarre festivals I have mentioned before) are exceptions.

Speaking of exceptions and rules, there are no weapons to be seen anywhere in this country, which is a major relief. The only people I have seen armed with more than a stick are police officers in the most high-profile Tokyo neighborhoods. I’m not even allowed to carry my pocket knife, which I have done nearly every day since starting high school. It’s a Boy Scout thing. Even a month later, I still find myself reaching into my pocket for any number of tasks. It is such a useful tool and I miss having it on hand. It’s also not exactly a practical weapon, but when in Rome, right?

One of the benefits to being here, and I mean a MAJOR benefit, is the nationalized health care system. Even before I was fully employed, I was enrolled in the program. One of my coworkers got horrific food poisoning three days after arriving and had to go to the hospital for two days. After insurance coverage, though, she only had to pay about $65. That is INSANELY cheap compared to America!

Heck, one night, I had one of my frequent restless (often nightmarish) dreams and I savagely kicked the apartment wall. Being asleep, I had no technique and smashed my toe. THAT woke me up and I seriously wondered if I had broken it. However, instead of thinking “Oh god, how am I going to get to a hospital?,” I thought “Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got my national health insurance card now!
THAT’S how much of a difference the healthcare makes, just in my mindset!

On the other hand, there were some other troubles in adjusting, as always. For one, my bank at home could not get its act together and I was broke for about two weeks while I waited for them to transfer money to my checking account. Toward the end, I had only two cups of instant ramen and three oranges to eat for about four days. One day, I found myself wandering through the nearby convenience store, trying to find some food I could buy with the 88 yen I had left.

That’s right, I only had 88 yen left. That’s 81 cents in American dollars.

I started salivating when I found a fish cake for 80. Mind you, I don’t like fish cakes. Hell, I hate the vast majority of fish, except for sushi! But I was famished. Literally. I found out when I got home, though, that it wasn’t even a fish cake, but rather something akin to a giant hash brown! Potatoes through and through. I was craving protein, but that just had to do for the moment. Can’t buy much with 8 yen. The next night, the bank came through with my money and I cooked myself a veritable stir-fry feast that I had a week’s worth of leftovers for! I have been eating like a king at home ever since, largely because groceries are so cheap here! That part of the culture I could easily get used to.

What I quickly decided to not get used to was airing my futon the Japanese way. Pretty much every apartment and house has at least a small veranda attached where people can hang their laundry to dry on a washing pole. Here, people hang their futons over the balcony railings just about every day. I thought it seemed a reasonable idea, so I cleaned the dust off the railing and followed suit with the locals!

I came back that afternoon to find that a bird had shat on it. Yup. Good system.

Maybe I just have bad luck with birds. I mean, another one managed to drop a bomb into my hair while I was in Kyoto last week, so maybe there’s a theme?

Oh yeah! I was in Kyoto last week! However, I have rambled on for long enough, so here’s the Song of the Week and a picture of my school lunch last Friday!

This is a full fish, deep fried all at once. I am holding it's head/mouth in this picture.

Song of the Week: The weather is taking a turn for the warmer, so “When The Seasons Change” by Five Finger Death Punch has been running through my head for the last couple of days. I know, way too literal reading of the song and they've got a crappy band name, but they’ve got some good music too! Anyhow, enjoy!

Culture Shock: Part 1

People keep asking me what kind of things have been a real “culture shock” for me since coming to Japan. Well, folks, fasten your seatbelts, because I have had a wild time of this.

Before that, though, I just wanted to apologize for the belated entry. For those who did not know, I have been sick for much of these past two weeks and spent the vast majority of the weekend (aka my “writing time”) knocked out like a boxer with a glass jaw. Seriously, no amount of tea, loud noises, or, well, anything could keep my eyes open.

Those of you who travel may be familiar with some of traveling’s many pitfalls, one of which is constipation. Between the vast distances I crossed, the stresses of getting from place to place, and the sudden dietary changes, well, I did not manage to escape. It had been several days, actually, since I had managed a bowel movement. I was still in a hotel, undergoing training for my new job, and this place was decked out with everything from a gym to a garden and waterfall feature in the center of the building. On top of all of this, the toilets were similarly overdone.

Japanese toilets have gained something of a reputation, between their various functions. They can be all-in-one toilets, bidets, music players, white sound generators (to allow some privacy), and a number of other things. I even heard one person refer to these things as “a gift from the future.” Well, the future knew my needs one way or the other. One evening, I thought I felt something and decided, for the sake of my health, I should at least give it a shot. Well, the toilet in my room was so heavily rigged that, the moment I sat down, I activated a pressure plate that started a loud and turbulent pre-flush cycle. The sudden noise and the unexpected gale beneath me actually scared me enough to loosen my bowels in an instant. So, I guess I should count that as a victory? I still find myself poking toilet seats around here, though, just in case they decide to erupt into geysers when I sit down.

That same evening, I walked to a nearby 7/11 (yes, they have those here) and saw that they sold alcohol! Not only did they sell alcohol, though, they sold cheap alcohol! Aside from wanting a little something to unwind and being something of a beer fan, I thought I would try the local flavor. Looking through the options, I saw some titles I had tried in the states, such as Sapporo and Asahi. Being the adventurous (and miserly) spirit that I am, though, I grabbed something new and almost half the price: a blue can that I think had the Suntory label on it.

A word to the wise: If you’re in Japan and see a beer in a blue can, don’t drink it, because that stuff is weird. I mean, really, it was salty! Who makes a beer SALTY?!?!

But the strangeness just kept coming! After purchasing the beer, I tried to use some of the little Japanese I knew to thank the store clerk.

The Japanese must think Americans are nuts.

When I did, this smiling, pudgy, unshaven guy about my age said “Oh! You are so gentle!”

I’m sorry, but the last time someone said that to me, it was from a girl and I had just made love to her for the first time, so excuse me if that comment set me a bit off balance!

Apparently, though, what he meant was that my “thank you” had been too polite; I had used too many honorifics. See, Japanese is an exceedingly polite language and is built around a whole system of etiquette. Just off the top of my head, I can think of six ways of saying “thank you,” each suited for a different context. The speaker and listeners’ relative social statuses, the action that elicited the gratitude, their familiarity, and a number of other factors all determine which version of “thank you” is appropriate. Thing is, I am terrible at Japanese, so there are probably another two dozen versions that I don’t even know yet! And that sort of linguistic etiquette permeates nearly the entire language.
I knew that before coming to Japan, but still, hearing a grown man softly say to me “Oh! You’re so gentle!” was not expected.

Speaking of expectations, I had anticipated that, upon coming to Japan, I would have left the religious crazies behind.

WRONG.

The first time I went into one of the main train stations, I found Jehovah’s Witnesses and various other evangelicals standing around handing out fliers and calling for people to listen to them. I suppose I wasn’t too surprised by that, since hanging around public transportation and harassing people is kind of their M.O. worldwide, what really hit me in the gut came a few weeks later in the form of a coworker. This Japanese coworker told me that he does not believe in the theory of evolution. I mean, seriously? There are even priests in the Vatican who have accepted evolution! I knew that ignorance and crazy were kind of human universals, but I was hoping to at least leave that particular brand of crazy behind me in the states! Looks like there are just some things that you cannot escape here.

Such as Pachelbel. You know, from Pachelbel’s Canon in D? Goes a little something like “Da da-da da da-da da da-da-da-da-da-da da da-da da da-da da da-da-da-da-da-da…” Yes? No? Well, you hear it EVERYWHERE. That same chord progression is in tons of pop songs, folk, country, even punk rock. You know, in stuff like “As we go on… We remember… All the times we… Spent together…”

That’s all Pachelbel.

See, I don’t have a personal beef with the man, but that song is so catchy and repetitive, it drives me NUTS!!! Now that I’ve written about it, I expect that I won’t be able to get the melody out of my head for the next four days.

Now, normally I wouldn’t complain about something like this. It’s so ubiquitous, what’s the point in whinging? It’s all fairly harmless anyhow, right? Well, some time ago, I found a kindred spirit on YouTube, so now I feel entirely justified in expressing my frustrations.

I didn’t expect to escape this composer completely and I was fine with that. I listen to songs that have the same chord progression, though disguised cleverly enough that I don’t notice unless I pay attention. However, the school I work at seems to take particular joy in tormenting me. During lunch period every day, they tend to play music of some sort and, guess what?, every couple of days, the original, true-blue Pachelbel’s Canon in D comes over the speakers and that’s it! Game over! Song’s in my head for the rest of the day! I’m starting to think that I would be listening to this damned tune even if I was doing Peace Corps work in Nicaragua.

If you’re curious and need a good laugh, here’s the Pachelbel Rant! It’ll give you an idea of my thought process.

Anyhow, it’s erring on 10:30pm here, I get up at 5:30am every day, and this post is long enough. Before the Song of the Week, though, let me just leave you with another little tidbit:

I went to an Okinawan restaurant with some coworkers a couple of weeks ago and accidentally ate a pig’s ear. I mean, it was food and was definitely meant to be eaten, but I didn’t realize that I’d just chewed up a pig’s ear and swallowed it until five minutes later. I just thought that it was octopus or something else comparably chewy and cartilaginous.

Whoops.

Song of the Week: I have been playing some songs for a few elementary school classes this week. “Hungry Like The Wolf” by Duran Duran happened to be one of them and, ever since I had the idea to play it in class, I have not been able to flush it out of my head. Still, it’s better than Pachelbel!

Parental Advisory: Explicit Content

Is there a better way to begin this week than with a penis festival? Yes? No? Well, either way, Japan has one.

Apparently a good number of my coworkers were already aware of this bizarre celebration. I, however, was not expecting an article (and picture) about a giant, enshrined dick appearing on the group chat. So, of course, I immediately made plans to attend the next day. What else was I supposed to do? Besides. It was only forty minutes away.

Apparently the Kanamara Festival stems from a local tradition and a couple of legends that go along with it. The first legend is that the Shinto goddess Izamani once gave birth to a fire god. This left her weak, injured. Two gods of mining and blacksmiths, Kanayamahiko and Kanayamahime, then healed her wounds. Because of this, local sex workers near this shrine would pray to these gods for protection from STDs, childbirth, and similar hazards of their trade. The other story claims that a demon fell in love with a local woman in the area. Instead of sending her flowers and chocolates, though, he decided to inhabit her vagina.

Yup. You read that right. Just sort of burrowed in and set up shop, apparently. To make matters worse, though, the woman was to wed and, during the post-nuptial activities, this demon bit off her new husband’s penis. Whoops! Sorry, honey!

So yeah, that marriage didn’t work out. However, she got married again, hoping that this was just a freak accident. Turns out it wasn’t and now there was a second eunuch hobbling around the village. The woman finally decided to make an unusual commission from the local blacksmith and ordered an iron penis from him. Once it was ready, she “presented” it to the demon, who, thinking it was another man, chomped down and smashed his teeth to pieces. The demon then fled in agony, toothless and frightened. The metal phallus in question was subsequently enshrined there. (Source: Tokyo Cheapo)

The [drag] Queen of the festival

Now, every year, the temple has volunteers, some in drag, “put benevolent spirits” into massive, enshrined dicks and then parades these things around town for a couple of hours! Performers, food vendors, and all the typical festival accoutrements appear and much of the proceeds go to STD research.

Schlong story short, my experience there was something of an overload. Aside from my unfortunate history with phallic objects, which left me walking on eggshells all day, everything just came so quickly! The heavy weight of the crowd pressing against me, the heat of the day, and the hard railing I was crushed against were a bit too much for me. You see, there was a rather long line waiting to get into the temple area where the penises and performers were. Although I could only watch, the people inside seemed to be having a ball.

Beyond the temple’s low walls, I could see three tall palanquins bearing phalluses, each larger than the next. The first was a serious bit of wood, about a foot tall, surrounded by smaller metal versions. On the far end of the courtyard was a big black dick, standing perhaps five feet tall, complete with veins. In between those two, though, was a towering, pink Godzilla of a cock. It must have been even almost as big as the snow penis that broke my leg freshman year!

After the priest and his assistants finished their ritual for putting spirits into the statues, various staff lifted these portable shrines into the air, bouncing and jostling the statues above their heads. I half expected white confetti to explode from their tips at any second.

Once the parade left the temple, though, and began its trek through the town’s streets, all hell broke loose.

Trying to get a closer look, I had inserted myself into the massive crowd crushing itself against the walls. When the parade left, though, the courtyard was left open and the crowd thrust forward, pushing itself through the temple’s archway and exploding into the space beyond. Even if I had tried to escape, I doubt that I could have. If I thought that rush hour on the Tokyo subway system was bad, this was worse. I have been caught in inexorable undertows while swimming and been swept away by rivers and currents that no amount of strength or skill could avail against. This crowd was much like that: A force of nature. Going against that tide would have been tantamount to a salmon trying to swim against a tsunami. Thankfully I don’t think anyone was injured and, hey!, I got to skip the line. I felt like a dick for it (see what I did there?), but didn’t really have much of a choice at the time.


Inside it was much like any other Japanese festival. People prayed at the main shrine for good luck, ate and drank beneath the cherry blossoms, enjoyed performances, and bought all manner of penis and vagina-themed goods. Oh, wait. Okay, not quite like any other Japanese festival. Parents were even buying genitalia-shaped candies for their kids to munch on!

Getting in on the fun, I bought the biggest candy they had, which was about five inches of hardened sugar in the shape of a red-tipped penis. It cost 500 yen (a little under $5.00), but I thought, “When in
Rome, right?” Let me tell you, I definitely got my money’s worth out of it.

That thing took almost three hours to eat. It was too hard to chew and, even with my entire mouth around the thing, it just did not want to dissolve! It eventually got to the point that my tongue developed sore spots from licking and sucking on it; even starting to bleed a little! Those things are definitely meant for sharing.

Meanwhile, I lost track of how many folks wanted to take my picture with that thing! I don’t know if I seemed approachable or if people were just entertained to see a white guy in leather taking dick, or at least taking part in the festivities. There were a ton of foreigners there too, which isn’t too surprising all things considered, but I seemed to attract cameras like a sailor attracts whores at the docks. 

Glad I lost my sense of dignity during high school theatre!

When all was said and done, and the phalluses had returned after their long, hard march, it was time to call it quits.

Ended up following this guy as I left.

Heading out, I decided to see just how long the line to get into the shrine was. I followed it out of the side gate, where people were supposed to enter from (whoops), and down to the street corner about thirty meters away. Then it turned around the corner and kept going until the next street corner. Past that, the line went down the street for almost a football field. Man I dodged a bullet, but wow did I feel guilty after seeing that. Just hope it wasn’t quite that crowded when I got shoved inside but, let’s be honest, it probably was. On my way back to the train station, the next performers took the stage. I know that American music dominates the global industry, but it was pretty weird hearing a Japanese man trying to sing Toto’s “Africa” as I left.







On a side note, remember that shrine I mentioned last time? The one I stumbled upon while running? I took the time to find it again last night! Many of the cherry blossoms have fallen now, but hopefully the pictures at the end of this blog will give you some sense of the serenity and ambience there. Unfortunately, I left my good camera at home because my computer’s SD card reader has suddenly decided to stop working. Sorry for the poor quality, but if anyone knows how to touch up iPhone pictures to balance lighting exposure, I’d be glad for some tips!

Anyhow, here’s the Song of the Week: “Whatever It Takes,” by Imagine Dragons. This song has been buzzing through my head all week and helping to keep me awake at my job, despite waking up at 5:30 every day for an hour and fifteen minute commute. Enjoy this while you check out the shrine pictures!

 

We Live In A Game

At long last! I have WiFi in my apartment! Haha! Get ready, internet!

This also means that, ta da!, I can bother people with my blog posts on a more regular basis! Gotta say, before this, trying to do anything at the local convenience store was not my cup of tea. Especially since I could only use their WiFi for an hour each day. An hour to take care of work, personal emails, and communications with my apartment coordinator was not enough. But yeah, now I can post blogs in my spare time, look into writing competitions, study Japanese, get in touch with friends and family, and otherwise better myself with my nearly limitless access to the web! (Read that all as “I will be browsing web comics and looking up cat videos every night.”)

Yet last week I promised more information on the move to Japan, did I not? I mean, this is technically a travel blog after all, by the furthest stretch of the definition. Well, first I would like to blame any grammatical errors, typos, or just plain bad writing on my apartment’s table, as it is the wibbliest table that ever did wobble. No, I can’t actually blame any of that on this crummy table, but I really want to. I’ve already spilled three cups of tea just by typing or turning book pages too enthusiastically.

The company I work for stuck me in a tiny apartment that, as a part of the lease, includes some “rental furniture” that I didn’t ask for and never wanted to pay for. While the refrigerator and clothes washer are nice to have, I could have gotten others for cheaper in the long run and everything else is either poor in quality or superfluous. For example, they “rented” me another induction stove when one comes built into the apartment itself. Why would I need two?! I don’t have any counter space to begin with! The wibbly-wobbly table pulls triple duty as my cooking prep area, writing desk, and dinner table. Definitely wouldn’t trust a TV on this thing, if I ever get one to play games with that is.

However, I have been so busy with the transition and settling in that video games have largely been a distant thought. I talk about them with coworkers and friends, but when I get home, I’m usually too preoccupied with feeding myself, laundry, and various other things. I’ve had the time, but I often find myself writing or reading or going out and wandering my new surroundings. Besides, I’m starting to think of this whole experience, if not careers and life in general, as something like a giant game anyhow. I mean, yes, people say “Life is a game,” but they each mean something different and often they never elaborate. For some, it’s about playing other people and out-planning them to get what you want. For some, it’s about competition and earning greater status. Me? I’m seeing this as something akin to an RPG. That means “Role-Playing Game,” for the less geeky and more socially and psychologically adjusted among you.

Even on my way over here, I could not help but think of traveling in terms of a video game. While flying over the Korean Peninsula, I thought “Huh. Between this and my flight over Russia, among other things, I have circumnavigated the globe.” I half expected to hear a “ping” at any moment and find a little achievement badge titled “Globetrotter” hovering above my head.

While at the hotel where my company was housing us for training, I thought “This is a lot like a tutorial in a video game.” The training was fun and supportive, the setting cushy, the stakes minimal, and everything about what I am supposed to be doing in the next year was more or less explained. Oh, and there was a silent, intimidating threat in the form of my new job looming over the entire thing. Company employees even showed us how to navigate the public transportation, which is unfortunately as close to a Fast Travel mechanic as I’m probably going to get in this life. Once they got us to our apartments, though, we were more or less on our own: Welcome to Level One, kids.

Like an RPG, I found myself surrounded by other characters (also known as “people”) with lives of their own, various skills, and story lines independent from, but similar to mine. Some people had been playing for longer and had managed to achieve one goal or another, be that to get a better job or start a family or whatever.

Living here, though, I find a lot of things are unavailable to me as a foreigner, which makes my own goals seem distant. For one, I am illiterate. I can enter a bookstore and browse their selection, but I can’t even read the titles. If I buy something, there goes some precious money and there goes even more precious space in my shoebox apartment. All the while, I gain no benefit from the purchase because I lack the skill required to utilize it. Furthermore, there are also various restaurant and store owners who will not serve “Gaijin” (foreigners, esp. those of Western descent) because we cannot read the menus or otherwise communicate. They also anticipate that we will be rude, loud, messy, and sometimes do not want to serve foreigners simply because we are not Japanese. I imagine that those last people account for relatively few of those who have refused me service. Or at least I hope so.

Either way, though, if I invest more time in “training” my Japanese Reading “skill” then, like a game, I will have more areas and resources available to me. If I invest time into buffing up my Japanese Speech “Skill,” then I will have more access to services and I’ll hear about other interesting places and resources I might never know about otherwise. More points in my Teaching “Skill” would mean fewer complaints in my job report, less exhaustion, and hopefully a better recommendation when all is said and done.

Also, very much like the start of an RPG, I am making very little money. Aside from only receiving a little more than what counts for minimum wage in my home state, I have to wait two MONTHS before my first paycheck. Think that’s crazy? Yeah. I do too. We were told something about Japanese laws requiring foreigners to work at a job for a whole month before we receive any payment. Perhaps this is to prevent migrant workers from flitting about and destabilizing the job market? Beats me. I’m just speculating. The real kicker, though, is that my company also has a policy on only paying for the work done the month before, or something along those lines. So, in short, even though I have been working billable hours since March 17th, I won’t get a paycheck until mid May. They did warn us that startup expenses would be steep, but it was not until we were practically on our planes for Japan that we found out it was because we weren’t getting paid. Guess that’s why they were so insistent that we set aside at least $5,000 for when we got here. That’s the money we need for rent, commuting, and food until nearly June. We get reimbursed for transportation costs, luckily enough, but, once again, those don’t come until our paychecks do.  When that first paycheck hits, though, it’s going to feel like a sledgehammer of cash. It won’t be very much, really, but it will feel like a lot.

So these next two months are going to be rather lean. On the bright side, contrary to popular belief, food in Japan is SUPER cheap. I mean, yes, the average pay is lower than in the states and minimum wage is lower, so that drives the prices down, but seriously? A dollar for a box of tofu? A dollar for half a liter of soy sauce? Less than a dollar for a whole daikon radish or a head of cabbage? Wow. That almost offsets the pricy rent and utilities bills.

I’ve also made a little game of finding where I can get the best deals. While exploring the area, I have found a multitude of stores. Some are national chains, some are family owned. There’s even a little grocer not five minutes from my house. Each has different prices for their products, though, so I’ve been keeping tabs and figuring out when I will be in each area for business so that I can buy the cheap goods while there. It’s an efficiency and resource management game! It sounds bland, but it’s entertaining! It also gives me an excuse to wander and fill in those shaded-in parts of my World Map. Again, Fast Travel would be super convenient, but you take what you can get, no? Such wanderings have also earned some interesting local finds!

Yesterday, for example, I went on a run, as usual, but got completely lost for about a half hour. Not so normal, for me. Much like the vast majority of places built before urban planning, my town has a bunch of winding streets that snake through the cluster of hills that it is built on. Aside from getting turned around at every opportunity, I encountered one dead-end after another and then night fell. Again, normally my sense of direction is pretty solid, thanks to years in the Boy Scouts and how I just enjoy this sort of thing, but man does this place look different at night. While trying to find my way back, I noticed some soft pink and red lights floating above the hill before me. Break lights from cars? They weren’t moving though. Shop lights? Kind of spread out. Once I gained the summit, sweating and panting, I looked around, wondering what I had seen. From the top of the road, though, I could detect no hint of the lights and ran on.

Until I caught a glimpse of them as I passed the next street.

I doubled back, peeking my head through a simple stone gateway that marked a small parking lot. Within stood a dozen or so trees, with cars carefully nestled amongst them. Hanging from lines suspended between the branches hovered paper lanterns, lit from within by small electric bulbs. Through the pink and red paper, diffuse, soft colors illuminated the gravel and the leaves, staining everything in rosy hues. Tip-toeing in, I scanned the area, half expecting a cross Japanese local to shout at me for trespassing. I found a stone path and followed it for a few feet before I noticed the house set on the property. Through a frosted window, I could see a sink faucet, sponge, and other domestic objects. Convinced that I had stepped into someone’s yard, I nearly turned around before I realized that the “house” was actually the back of a small temple.

Just a few steps forward and I could see a traditional, Shinto-styled temple. Cherry blossoms fluttered in the branches above me, the occasional petal tumbling down as a breeze shook the boughs. Looking down and following the path, I found the shrine itself standing at the end. The wood was dark with age or artificial staining; smokey in the dimness, with paper talismans hanging from the front entrance’s archway. I stood at the edge of a small courtyard, it seemed, with the shrine at the far end and other structures framing the gravel-covered space, including the building that also served as a house.

Sudden, acute awareness of my foreignness kicked me back to my senses. The terror of accidentally trespassing and the knowledge that I was still lost at night with a dying phone sent me back on my run. I wish I had taken pictures for you guys. Thing is, when I finally gave up and opened Google Maps a few minutes later, the app said I was only seven minutes from my apartment. The shrine could not have been that much farther!

With that in mind, I tried to find it again tonight, hoping to see the lanterns and the cherry blossoms. Problem is, the shrine I found on Google Maps was the wrong one. This temple, far nearer my place, is called Komagata Tenmangu. Again, no idea what that means, but this was a far more foreboding locale. Almost entirely unlit at the top of nearly fifty stairs and guarded by stone hounds, whose pale fangs and wide eyes gleamed in the gloom, I was tempted to turn back right then. It did not help that I was also, once again, surrounded by houses. I did not want to seem a trespasser or look like the clueless foreigner/borderline tourist that I am, so I took a couple quick pictures and went on to try to find my original goal. No luck, I’m afraid. Went wandering around for a good hour, but to no avail.
Returning to my apartment, I opened Google Maps again (thanks to my WiFi!!!) and I think I’ve found the right place, finally. It’s called Shirahata Jinja and it is almost equidistant from my apartment to the furthest I explored tonight. Damn, but it is hard navigating this town at night! I’ll try again tomorrow.

Until I get those pics, though, here’s a little preview of what I’ll write about next week!

In the meantime, I have some studying and other work to do. If I’m going to thrive here, I really need to work on my language proficiency and I also hear other writing projects calling my name. Gotta level up my fiction and other works if I want to make a living as a writer some day soon!
I’ll talk with you all soon. Have a good week!

Song of the Week: “Shell” by NateWantsToBattle is but one song from an entire album inspired by one of the great video game classics: “The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.” If you enjoy this tune, you might want to check out the rest of his album!

Don't Wake Me

Hey guys! You miss me?

Yeah, it’s been a while. And by “while” I mean almost five years. Because of that time gap, this post is going to run a bit long, since there’s a lot to catch up on.
For those of you who didn’t hear, I kind of quit this blog while at school because the university hired me to write weekly blogs for their honors college! It was a fun job and did enough to air the random junk tossing around my mind that this blog kinda fell to the wayside. Not gonna lie, it felt great to be paid for my writing for the first time ever. Minimum wage, sure, but it still registered as a milestone in my head.

If you’re curious, here’s a link to all of my blog posts from UMass Amherst’s Commonwealth Honors College during my undergraduate career. I had fun writing them and I hope more people have fun reading them! https://www.honors.umass.edu/category/blog-column/taxonomy/term/718

So I guess it’s catchup time. Without writing a novel for you to tackle, here’re some highlights from what you missed:

• That leg injury from Freshman year (remember the ten-foot tall snow dick?) turned out to be a benign tumor that someone FINALLY drilled out of me toward the end of my Junior year. Before that, I spent my college career in and out of a medical boot. Fun… If you want to know what that was like, check out the posts from March 15th 2015, June 5th 2015, and July 15th 2015. But it’s done now and I’m trying to build some muscle back into these chicken legs!

• I studied for a summer at Trinity College in Oxford with some other UMass students! That was weird, fascinating, hilarious, and mesmerizing. Easily one of the best summers of my life. Man but I could probably write a novella on that experience by itself…

• After twenty-one years, a handful of torrid relationships, and countless bum dates, I finally managed to get a stable girlfriend! This one thing that I had wanted so badly ever since middle school finally happened and I was only too glad to spend much of the last two years with this weirdo, nerdy, semi-goth girl. Coincidentally, we started dating only a couple weeks after my surgery and Zuzu had to put up with me hobbling around on crutches and a boot. That kind of patience was a good sign. 
  

• I graduated with dual degrees in English (with a specialization in Creative Writing) and Western Laws & Ethics. The latter is a self-made major with the university’s BDIC program in which I synthesized, history, philosophy, psychology, political science, legal studies, classics, and religious studies. The idea was to better understand why various people and cultures think certain behaviors, actions, etc. are okay and others are verboten, how those cultural sensibilities change, and how we’ve codified them into law. Honestly, a lot more about people makes sense now. That being said, I have NO clue how to apply this knowledge to a career. It was just really fun and interesting while I was doing it.

• I applied to (I shit you not) 178 jobs between Christmas 2017 and November 2018. Despite three internships and other jobs on my resumé, couldn’t even get interviews for more than five. Now THAT’S a bad job market.

• Which brings me to my most recent point: I got a job in Japan and just moved into my new apartment.

So yeah. Big change, right? I’ve been hired as an Assistant Language Teacher (ALT) by a company called Interac. Unfortunately, according to my contract, I can’t give you many more details than that. No talking about the school I’m teaching at, no badmouthing or even criticizing the company (for fear of them seeing that as badmouthing), and absolutely NO mention of the kids I will teach. Apparently Japan is exceedingly strict about privacy, so even mentioning the school’s name on public media while an employee is an offense. Yikes.

That being said, I have yet to begin work there, so there’s nothing to talk about regarding the school or students anyhow! Heck, so far all I know is that I have an hour-long commute into Tokyo to teach in some super ritzy part of town. A middle-class white boy American about to teach a whole bunch of rich kids in a foreign country? What could go wrong?

To be honest, the adjustment has felt like someone introduced me to the wrong side of an angry mule. Even in the months before I flew over here, I wondered time and again if this was the right choice. A friend had gotten into the same program and I thought “Hey! This seems interesting and I’ve wanted to go to Japan ever since I was in elementary school! Let’s do it!” Yet, because I applied to the job that same day, I find myself wondering if I filled the application on a lark. I have had plenty of time since then and the interview to doubt myself and reconsider, yet here I am. Even so, I wonder if it was a mistake. I wonder if being accepted for an interview made me feel obligated on some level to see this through, especially since I could not get a job elsewhere.

Before I even left the United States, I had to do one of the hardest things of my life: Say goodbye to my girlfriend. That experience nearly broke my resolve then and there.

I know that sounds sappy and melodramatic, but it’s true. I have never had a romantic partner actually care for me that much or for that long, nor had I held such feelings for someone else. The pain was comparable to whenever I lost a pet, but worsened by the fact that I chose to do this. I chose to leave and place us on opposite sides of the world. And I don’t even know if I’m ever going to see her again. I am not ashamed to admit that I cried; the night before I left, the night before that, and when we shared our last kiss at the airport. Every time I turned in the security line, I looked to see her watching me, savoring every last chance I had to look at her. Then, one turn later, she was gone.

I spoke as little as I could to security or anyone else as I went to my flight. The last thing I wanted was for everyone in the airport to see me break down in tears. It was everything I could do to keep my emotions in check, but even so I had to dry my face again and again. By the time my plane to Detroit took off, I was more or less recomposed. My throat and chest still ached and I found myself staring at the seat in front of me, but I suppose that’s the best I could have hoped for. I even managed to doze off for a few minutes as dawn crept through the windows.

I awakened when the flight attendants came around. An older man asked what I wanted from the food and drink service, joking that I couldn’t pretend to be asleep anymore. I asked for orange juice and whatever food he was willing to part with, as a joke in turn. He handed over the orange juice and then gave me two of everything. That in itself was a surprise.

“Do you want some vodka to go with that orange juice?” Maybe he asked it as a joke. I don’t know.

I waved him off. “No thanks. I don’t have any cash. I’ve got this rule that I only use cash to buy alcohol, otherwise it’s just imaginary money.”

He laughed. “We can only use cards now anyhow.” He made an exaggerated grimace and pout. “They don’t trust us with cash anymore.”

“Ah, that figures.” I rolled my eyes, running with the joke.

Then he slipped me a nip of vodka.

“Here,” he said. “Have one anyway. Mix it with the orange juice.”

I was stunned and laughed again. “Thanks. It’s a bit early, but I’ll definitely save it for later. Flying to Japan after this.”

“Oh boy. You’ll need this then,” and he handed me another nip. He asked if I had ever been to Japan before, how long I was staying, and mentioned how many people sitting around me were going to Korea. We kept chatting for a few minutes, just like that. Almost every time he came past after that, he took the time to talk to me.

I don’t know why he was so attentive. I had ensured that my tears were dry and my eyes clear before I got on the plane and I was confident that I had not let anything slip. He had no reason to suspect that I’d had a horrible morning. He was just friendly, generous, personable, and that made all the difference. Those little things helped put me back together. For a while, anyhow.

I still feel bad, as I did not get his name and I really had no cash to tip him with. All I managed was to shake his hand on the way off the plane and thank him again for his kindness.

The next flight, by comparison, was rather different. The flight attendant was a real pill of a woman and one of the other attendants was on the verge of shouting at some Japanese passengers to put their luggage away and sit down, as if talking louder and angrily would help bridge the language gap. You’d think that Delta would have put all of the real nice Americans on that flight to leave a better impression.

Their demeanor kind of put a damper on my mood again. Furthermore, about halfway through the flight, I thought “I can’t even understand the Japanese attendant’s announcements! How the heck am I supposed to survive in Japan?!” I was sleep deprived and hungry, both of which compounded my anxiety, regret, sadness, and everything else. Thing is, sleep would not come either.

I tried time and again, but the moment I fell asleep, I dreamt of Zuzu, just to wake crying in mere minutes. I couldn’t help but think of that Skillet song “Don’t Wake Me.”

Don’t wake me,
‘Cause I don’t wanna leave this dream.
Don’t wake me,
‘Cause I never seem to stay asleep enough
When it’s you I’m dreaming of.
I don’t want to wake up.

It hit just a little too close to home.

I wondered just how much I was giving up; whether I’m surrendering a chance to really be happy. I’m wondering too, though, whether Zuzu and I would have stayed together if I had remained in the States. Already, we had been going in different directions. She was still at school, I had graduated, and I was lucky to see her twice a month. The chances of us staying together after I got a job and after her own graduation? Who knows? Maybe this is a pain that I would have had to endure one way or another eventually. Still, it’s going to be much harder, I think, now that I am essentially alone and in a foreign country.

Soon after that thought, I discovered that I could text on the plane. Chatting with Zuzu made everything a lot more bearable, at least until she needed to sleep. Lacking WiFi at my apartment, it is difficult to stay in touch with her, since I have to walk fifteen minutes to the convenience store to mooch off of their network until my landlord gets their act together and restarts my system on April 5th. Time at the convenience store is limited, though, so I have to use it primarily to answer emails and take care of matters for my job and other pressing issues.

I know, I sound like a complete sob story and that I am just wallowing in misery. I mean, yes, it hurts, and this transition period has been nearly devastating (at least to my bank account), but there has been plenty of good too! The company’s training was fun, I’ve met some great people, and it turns out I live almost next door to some coworkers, though I cannot say as I am especially close with them yet.
I guess next week’s post will be more about the transition to Japan itself, training, and various other things. Again, I also promise that future entries will be shorter.

Until then, though, here’s the Song of the Week, just like old times.

This one goes out to you, Zuzu.

“Don’t Wake Me” by Skillet