Real Talk . . . Love in Japan

One of the main questions that I get from friends and family at home is . . .

"So do you have a Japanese boyfriend yet?"

My answer is always, "I can barely get a date in my own language." (Which of course, is not true at all . . . but I try to stay humble, you know? ;-) Regardless, finding a man is the furthest thing from my mind right now. I'm just trying to get through the day without beating up a child or running over little old ladies on my bicycle. (Ever see the TV show, "Locked Up Abroad"? That's my daily motivation to stay legit.)

Don't get me wrong, I am flesh and blood, I do have eyes and I am attracted to the opposite sex. In other words, a sistah be lookin sometimes. Occasionally a tall, handsome father will come to my job and drop off his child or a good looking business man will be walking down the street, but when this happens I am caught off guard and find myself sneaking glimpses here and there. I guess it's because I'm surprised and delighted. Regardless, I'm not looking for love (aaand I'm terribly shy) so I keep the "blinders" on and try to avoid all eye-contact.

I've been told by the ladies out here that Japanese men are not interested in any woman who is not Japanese. "Be prepared for a year of never getting hit on," one of the girls told me. I smiled and pretended to sympathize, but on the inside I was thinking "Speak for yourself sister . . . I will not only get hit on, I will get approached!" Sure enough, my speculations were correct. It took 3 months, a few flirty Konnichiwas and someone following me around in Tokyo, but I was finally approached "for real" when I least expected it . . . while I was getting my bike at the train station one day.

I had just come back from my Fuji/Tokyo Obon vacation. I was exhausted from traveling all day while lugging around a bunch of bags (as well as climbing up a whole mountain), and all I wanted was to get home and get out of my sweaty, smelly clothes. My face was super greasy and all of the bags that I carried were digging a hole into my shoulders. The sun beat down on my brow and I carried a permanent scowl on my face as each step on the hot concrete sent shocks through my flip flops and up to my pounding brain. Needless to say, I looked like . . . (fill in the blank - and be creative!).

I went to the bike parking garage. Up and down the aisles I walked, looking for my bike. I turned around and saw a guy (not bad looking) about my height, big Japanese hair, not skinny, not fat . . . looking for his bike as well. He was walking in my direction and then stopped suddenly.

"Hello!" he said, pleasantly.

"Hello!"

Him - English teacher?

Me - (laughing) Yes!

Him - (laughs) Okay. (pause) Give me your number!

Me - (laughing dies down) Huh-what?

Him - Give me your number?

Me - No (stops and tries to make sense of it all)

He asked if I was an English teacher, and then asked for my number.

Me - Oooh! I see! Do you want to learn English?

Him - Ehhto (long pause . . . thinking, thinking) . . . yes!

Me - (relieved smile) I can give you the number of my company.

Him - (laughs) no, that's okay.

Me - I can't teach you English outside of my company.

Him - You teach me English at you house?

Me - Um, no.

Him - Where do you live?

Me - Down the street, across from the McDonald's.

because apparently, in Japan I feel comfortable telling strangers where I live . . . Sorry Mom!

Him - Okay!

Me - How about, I take your number and call you later so you can find out about taking classes?

Him - Okay! 0-9-0-5-5-5-5-5 My name, Masako. (pause) call me.

Me - Yes, I'll call you.

Him - Now.

Now I know that trick from a mile away.

Me - (laughing) No! I'm not going to call you now.

Him - Do you have a boyfriend?

Me - Yes.

Him - (sad face) Oooh, okay.

Me - (smiling, "sorry for ya" face) Okay, Masako. Sorry!

Him - Sayanora!

Me - Sayanora!

And with that he walks out of the bike parking garage, which leads me to believe that this man was not looking for a bike at all. I saw Masako one more time at the 7-11 down the street from my job. He was very friendly and waved really hard to get my attention, (because my blinders were on.) "Heeyyyy!!!" I heard. "It's me, Masako!"

"Oh, hello Masako!" I said and smiled. I haven't seen the guy since, although sometimes I think about calling him just to see how the date would go and also, it would make for some good writing material. (But I would never waste someone's time like that, and I wouldn't want to waste my own time either.)

I write all of this to #1 - tell you a funny story and #2 - shut down any myths that people may have about Asian men and Black women. I understand that we are the two largest demographics that do not date/marry outside of our races, but that doesn't mean that we aren't attracted. Human beings were just not built that way.

I've heard some of the ladies out here sigh and say "nobody wants us foreign girls" and I even heard someone say about one of the other Black girls here (concerning the odds of landing a relationship), "she doesn't stand a chance!" My mind was blown when I heard this. I couldn't believe it. I wanted to ask, "Why doesn't she stand a chance?"

Sidenote: The "foreign" people out here can be a little strange. They say a lot of things based out of insecurity and fear.

Any woman that believes that a man is not going to look at a (human) female because of their country of origin or their race, is sadly mistaken and confused about the nature of men. Some of these men have never seen a foreigner before in their life, but I assure you, this means absolutely nothing when it comes to attraction.

I know a few (cool) girls out here who have dated and been pursued by "the natives" and the stories are pretty interesting. Maybe I'll have them do a guest post one of these days (hint, hint J and K - if you're reading).

Ah . . . I can talk all day about this, but I have to go to bed. I will conclude this by saying don't limit yourself. Don't limit others. This world is huge, but people are all the same.

Goodnight!

Gaijin

Gaijin (外人^?, [ɡuy-jean]) is a Japanese word meaning "non-Japanese", or "alien".^[1] The word is composed of two kanji: gai (外^?), meaning "outside"; and jin (人^?), meaning "person". Thus, the word literally means "outside person". The word can refer to nationality, race, or ethnicity.

If you are visiting Japan from another country, you can expect to hear this word. As noted in the above definition, it pretty-much means "outsider."

One thing that someone told me weeks before I boarded an airplane to go to Japan was that I will never fit in. They said you could learn the language, land a good job and even move up the corporate ladder but you can only get so far as a gaijin. "You will always be an outsider."

Now when this person "cracked that egg of knowledge on my head" (so to speak), I was not disappointed or offended. If anything, I thought it was fascinating (in my Spock voice). While I've always been interested in Japanese culture, my intention was never to become "Japanese" and I wouldn't think any less of myself if someone thought of me as an "outsider." For lack of a better term, I am an outsider.

But I guess this is a concept that can be a little hard for some folk (particularly Americans) to swallow. And when you look at a lot of our movies, it's easy to see why. As a TV/Film major, I have been forced to analyze the American mindset through the lens of a video camera and in so doing, I see that there is still a need to conquer be accepted into every country's culture. Not only to be accepted, but to be given the keys and permission to cross every boundary, gain access to their innermost circles, find out every secret and to be given a "pet name," which inevitably leads to becoming their leader and showing the culture how things should be done. Maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but do any of these titles sound like something that I've just mentioned . . .

Dances With Wolves

The Last Samurai

Last of the Mohicans

A Man Called Horse

Avatar (a.k.a. Pocahantas)

I'm sure there are more that I can't think of right now. But you get my drift.

I guess that's why I can appreciate Japan's approach to "gaijin." Sometimes I wonder if other cultures like say, the Native Americans or Africans had taken that approach, maybe their countries would not have been dominated and taken over by "outsiders." But then again, it wasn't that simple. Either way, given history's many tragic examples, I can't blame the Japanese for putting a limit on how much a foreigner can do.

However, as with every country's mindset in this world, I do think that there are a few flaws with the logic. First of all, if someone does not look Japanese, that doesn't mean they aren't. In other words, there are people who were born and raised in Japan that are of mixed race. It's not uncommon for these people (mostly school age children) to be told to "go home" to their country. It is unfortunate and really unfair for these people to be denied the same acceptance as their fellow citizens just because they don't look the part. Also, the whole "outsiders" and "them/us" mentality not only works to shut others out, but it also keeps a lot of Japanese people closed in. This mindset has (in my opinion) stunted the cultural maturity of these people. On a daily basis I watch grown men and women staring at me with the same wonderment that I've seen my 2 year old niece stare at people of a different skin color. And honestly, I think it's a little sad.

But those are just my thoughts. What do you think?

My First Trip to the Doctor

So yesterday, after a full month of my hacking, choking and coughing (on poor innocent babies), my manager became concerned that maybe I was sick. "Sensei," she said, "are you feeling okay? You have been coughing (on babies) and I think that maybe you should go to the hospital tomorrow."

"Okay," I said, even though at this point, my voice had finally recovered and the coughing subsided a little. What the heck, I thought to myself, I'll finally get to see what all the fuss is about. What I mean by "fuss" is that my coworker warned me to never, by any means, EVER go to the hospital. She said that it is a bad experience and that you will end up being there for hours and on top of everything, you may get over-diagnosed and even quarantined. In hind sight, this was the worst advice possible and those were some sick days that could have been put to really good use. Regardless, I was at work hacking up phlegm and coughing the words to "Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" with no voice, a migraine and a fever just to avoid something that I really needed . . . a doctor and a few days off from work.

So I arrived at work extra early this morning and my manager managed to convince the unsuspecting Japanese teacher (who happened to stumble into work early) to take me to the doctor and do some translating.

We walked 5 minutes down the street to the hospital. On our way, the JT decided to get a quick rundown of my symptoms so that she could accurately translate them to the doctor.

"Headache," I said.

"Headache," she repeated. "okay."

"Coughing," I said.

"Okay," said she.

"Congestion."

She paused. "What's that?"

"It's, you know, when your chest is uh, well . . . when your chest is full of . . . you know? Like, when your chest hurts," I said. Of course my Webster's dictionary definition of congestion didn't quite do the trick so we decided to cross that bridge later.

When we got to the counter, the lady asked us to fill out some forms. I wrote my name in Romaji (English letters) and the JT looked a little anxious. "Sensei . . . uh . . . can you write that in Katakana please?"

"Okay," I said, excited at the idea of being able to show off my skills. At that moment, my mind went blank and I couldn't think of the character for the sound "Eh."

"Eh - eh - eh" I said, repeatedly (like the intelligent representative from America that I am) until finally she made a mark in the air for what the letter looks like. 4 letters later (ri-sa-be-su), and she took the form out of my hands and said, "I'll do it!" We walked over to some chairs and sat down.

"Please take your temperature," the JT said, while handing me a thermometer. I grabbed it from her hand and laughed a little at how odd it is to take your own temperature out in the waiting room. Either way, I opened my mouth to insert the thermometer and the JT snatched it out of my hand with an impressive reflex.

"No!" she laughed. "Put it under your arm."

"Aaah," I said, relieved.

"What's wrong with you today?" she asked me. I looked at her for a moment, wondering where this bold line of questioning came from. She laughed and pointed at the form. "That's what it says here, 'What's wrong with you today?'"

We both got a good laugh from this and moved onto the next question which was "Why are you sick?" which was equally hilarious.

Now while filling out the forms, a man in a wheelchair was staring and pointing at me. Of course, this is nothing new so I ignored it. Regardless, he wheeled himself over to us and offered me candy.

"Does she speak Japanese?" he asked my coworker (in Japanese, of course - but I could get an idea of what he was saying). My coworker said, "No" and explained that she was translating for me. "Ask her if she knows about Deep Purple." he says.

"Do you know Deep Purple?" she asked me.

"No," I said.

"Oh" (pause) "Well ask her if she knows (some obscure name that I forgot to write down)."

"Do you know --?"

I shake my head.

He eeks out a few "Eh-toes" (which is Japanese for "uh") and then barks out "Sayanora" and wheels himself back to wherever he came from.

We got up, handed the clipboard to the nurse and fifteen minutes later, we were ready to be seen. Now my being in the hospital felt a little more attention grabbing than usual. I got a lot of stares and points, and nurse's heads poked from out of doorways and hallways all over the place. It was actually a little creepy. The nurses looked very 1950's with funny, paper hats, white uniforms covered by a pink smock and white, knee-high stockings and white sneakers that squeaked as they walked by with their clipboards. At one point, one of the patients (an elderly gentleman) that was getting his checkup was talking so loud and pointing at me so adamantly that he decided to hop up from off of the "check up bed" and walked over to me to get a closer look. It was really awkward.

A nurse came out into the waiting area and began asking about my symptoms.

"Do you have headache?" my translator asked me.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you have cough?"

"Yes."

"Do you have . . . eto . . . ehhh-to ne . . . green stuff? Stuff in your . . . eto ne . . . is your cough make yellow, green stuff come out?"

Me - Mucus? (pause) Phlegm? You mean phlegm?

Her - Eto ne . . . (pulls out electronic dictionary)

Me - Phlegm . . . yes! There is phlegm.

Her - Ehhto ne . . . (pushing buttons on electronic dictionary - points to word) this? phlegm? Do you have phlegm?

Me - (sigh) yes.

Her - That's probably why you have congestion in your chest.

Later on, they called me into a small room that looked like the nurse's office at my middle school, to get my height and weight. The nurse had to climb on top of a stool to reach the top of my head.

Everyone got a kick out of this but I didn't really feel like being a "happy" human-spectacle today, so after they finished, I rolled my eyes, mumbled "Arigato gozaimas!" and sat down to wait for the doctor.

When they called me into the room, a man who looked like a younger, Japanese version of Walter Matthau was sitting at a desk in a small room. There was a chair, embedded into the floor, right in front of him. I sat down, feeling a little too close for comfort. He asked me a bunch of questions, with the JT translating and then he reached for a metal tongue depressor and stuck it in my mouth. Now what bothered me about this was that the depressor was, first of all, not disposable and number two, it had just been sitting in a cup with other instruments. He didn't clean it beforehand and he didn't clean it after he finished putting it in my mouth. He just returned it to the cup on his desk without so much as a second glance. (I'm shivering right now, just thinking about it!).

So after all of the normal line of questioning, he prescribed some cough syrup, a packet of antibiotics, a packet of fever pills and a packet of stomach pills to subside the side effects of the antibiotics and fever pills. Receiving all of that medication was a bit overwhelming. Especially since all of the directions and precautions were written in Hiragana and Kanji.

Regardless, I shrugged my shoulders and gave the nurse a warm smile. It'd only cost me $12.50 and one hour to survive my first visit to the doctor, but the experience of bringing a little bit of excitement to my local hospital by just being me . . . priceless.

The Little Rascals

So before Mt. Fuji took over my blog, I mentioned that I wanted to feature another age group to talk about in my posts. This week, it will be the kindergartners.

I have a bunch of classes in this age group but one class in particular is very special to me. I won't say that I am always super-excited to teach these students, but I can tell you that this is the one class that makes me feel like a real life Ms. Crabtree. I call them my "Little Rascals." There are four of them and every week they file into my classroom, each bringing their own brand of cuteness and humor.

The Smarty Pants

Let's start with the smart one. First off, I'm going to be honest with you. I'm partial to intelligent children. And on top of that, this child looks like a little monkey. He has big, full cheeks and ears that poke out awkwardly. His eyes always look slightly closed and his spikey hair-do completes the look. When I do races or test the vocabulary with the children, he is almost always the first one to respond with the right answer. And I can tell he is quite sensitive. He tries to keep up with the trouble-maker in this class, but it always leads to his feelings getting hurt. Which leads to the . . .

The Trouble Maker

He's the tallest one in the group and (to be honest) I think he's the one with the most potential to grow up and be a real "looker." But I also think he's going to grow up to become a real jerk and I already feel sorry for his future ex-wife. Isn't that always how it works, though? The tall, handsome one is always the one with the character flaw . . . but I digress. He is the most talkative of the group, always wants attention, always tries to get the other students into trouble and he always ALWAYS has something nasty to say. The other day, he called me a "gorilla" and I had to hold back every muscle in my body from getting up and giving him a quick slap to the mouth. But the redeeming factor was when I told him not to say that. I held my hand against my chest and said that he'd hurt my feelings. The whole class got quiet, and everyone's face became sad.

The next is my personal favorite . . .

The Little Princess

As a good friend would say, "don't let the smooth taste fool you!" This little princess can hold her own in a room full of rough-necks 5 year old boys, so she's definitely got some spirit. She is absolutely adorable. Every week she comes into class wearing a pink tutu, a glittery pink t-shirt and a string of pink and purple beads around her neck. She has a big, round head, that almost doesn't fit her tiny, chubby body. She wears a single, long braid and smiles so hard that her eyes turn into two small slits and all you can see are eye lashes poking out. I try to watch out for her to make sure that she doesn't get trampled on by the little boys, but she seems to do pretty well on her own. Her voice is soft and sweet and she often wanders around in her own little world. I try to be more delicate with her and always give her extra high-fives when we do activities.

And last but not least . . .

The Funny Guy

He can't just say, "The ball is blue" he has to stand up, dance around the classroom, make a funny face, do a kick in the air and stretch out the words in a silly voice. "The ball is bluuuuuueee!" he says, imitating me. I don't mind it so much. His jokes are not mean-spirited and actually, he makes me laugh with his goofy-ness. The interesting thing about this character is that he gets very serious at the oddest times. Everyone else will be jumping around the classroom like frogs or crawling around the floor, pretending to swim and this kid is standing against the wall just watching. And when it's time to say the language, he's often the one letting everyone know what they should say. What makes him especially funny is, he looks like a cute, little old man. When he smiles, his face creases up in a strange way. His lower jaw juts out as if he has dentures. His hair falls over his eyes and (I hope no one takes offense but . . . ) he looks a little like Jackie Chan. It especially makes him hilarious when he is making funny faces and doing kicks in the air and/or striking karate poses. I could totally picture this kid in a movie as a stereotypical Japanese character.

All right, that's all I got. Hope you enjoyed. Next group . . . the "inbetweenies." (8 to 11 year olds).

Goodnight!

Fuji Part III - Without further adieu . . .

(First off, I apologize for taking so long with this. I've been having some issues with blogger. Very frustrating)

But without further adieu . . .

So there was a point when our group was moving way too fast. I think this is what contributed to the altitude sickness that was taking everyone out one by one. But after the last (miserable) stop, something strange happened. Gradually (and thanks in part to my nagging) our group began to make baby steps. And this, dear reader, was the key to conquering "the mountain." We took small steps, shuffling along slowly, dragging our feet and plopping down on every rock and hill that we could find. Through the darkness, cold and rain we stopped every five minutes and rested without saying a word.

It was during these times that I would look up at the sky. By this point, we were very close to the top (which in "Fuji terms" means, about 4 hours away) and I really wish that I could have taken pictures, but then again . . . I also wish that a camera could have possibly captured what it was that I was actually seeing. Huge, dark clouds of brown, gold, black, gray, silver, purple, etc, etc, etc. Humongous formations that would make you . . . well, make you feel like you have to "relieve yourself" very quickly. At times, I would look up at the sky and just get dizzy. To say that I felt "tiny" would not do it justice. I felt like a micro-organism, standing on a pebble of sand . . . on the beach. This picture isn't really close to the real thing . . . but it gives off the same kind of eery-ness that I felt whilst standing near the top of Mt. Fuji.

At times, the clouds would part and you could clearly see the moon and the stars, pulsing like heartbeats. It was like a dance going on in the heavens. Some of the thinner clouds moved quickly while the mammoth clouds stayed put, taking on large dark figures like horses or birds (and those of you who know about my phobia, know how I felt about that!). Sometimes, it got so overwhelming to look out at the sky that I would have to turn away out of fear. Now, please, allow that to marinate in your brain for a moment.

(I'm all veclempt . . . talk amongst yourselves!)

(sometimes there was a little bit of this going on . . . and yes, the clouds would take on funny little formations like that. It was really strange!)

****

So anyway, we trudged along stopping at maybe 1 or 2 more cabins. At times, we wrapped ourselves in plastic and tinfoil to keep warm. There was wind, and rain, and the kind of bitter coldness that permeates through all protective layers and grips your bones. And through this, there was pain and exhaustion. But we were close . . . only 3 hours away.

The funny thing about climbing this mountain (and I guess any mountain, for that matter) was whenever you were close to getting to a landing, you always felt like quitting. Your whole body would begin to weaken, every step grew harder, your heart pounded at one thousand beats a minute and you just wanted to sit down. Two more steps and you'd be there, but those two steps would always turn out to be the most excruciating steps you would ever take.

So I reached this point. Mentally, physically and emotionally, I just wanted to sit down and never get up. I knew that it would be nearly impossible to get help going back down the mountain and that there was no shelter or relief from the extreme conditions but I couldn't go on. So I looked around for a place to sit and die but at that very moment the guy from our group says, "That's it! The summit! . . . Over where that lion is!" Despite the fact that I couldn't see anything, I took off running. I started hopping over rocks, twisting around corners and climbing up anything that I could grip onto and when I was finally able to stand up, I started hobbling jogging toward a figure of a lion. I collapsed at a large wooden, shrine-like post and just laid there.

It was 4:50 am and we'd reached the top of Mount Fuji.

It's a little difficult to describe the summit. There was not much to see really. It was dark, cloudy and rainy. (By looking at the picture of the lion, you can get an idea of what I mean.) There were benches everywhere, and some vending machines. In the middle of everything was a large cabin. Being that the whole mountain was now under us, there was absolutely nothing to shield us from the wind and rain. Our group walked around a bit, looking for a place to sit along with the rest of the people who'd made it to the top. One of the main objectives when people climb Mt. Fuji is to see the sun-rise, so everyone sits out waiting for the big moment to arrive.

We planted ourselves on some wet benches near a group of rocks along the edge of the summit. I was exhausted and laid down beside two of the girls in our group. We huddled together to keep warm and the gentleman from our group put a foil blanket over us in an effort to help us. This did very little and the wind continued to whip at us for twenty minutes as we faded in and out of sleep. Being that we were not moving, the cold began to stiffen our bones and I started to shake uncontrollably. And then suddenly the foil blanket ripped itself from our grasp and flew off the edge of the mountain, disappearing into the darkness in a very ghostly and surreal way. I cannot describe the amount of devastation that I felt at that moment. It was like that foil flew away and took a piece of my heart with it and I just wanted to fly off of the mountain after it. The next thing I know, I was standing up. "I - I - I ca-ca-can't take it any-ni-ni-more!" I said, "I - I'm going to-to-to wa-walk around and tr-tr-try t-t-to get warm."

"Me too," I heard a small squeaky voice say behind me. The rest of the group looked at us with grim, hopeless looks. We walked around the corner and I saw some light shining from the large cabin in the middle of the summit. When I walked closer I saw that there were people inside this cabin, eating soup. Closer still, I was able to feel heat emanating from the building. "Oh my god!" I shouted. "They're letting people inside. We have to go back and tell the others!" I said and turned around.

We rounded up the other members of the "Fuji-Gomi" crew . . . the name we'd began calling ourselves after having slept out in the rain like homeless people and getting laughed at by the Japanese. ("Gomi" means trash by the way.) We sat inside this large cabin, literally thawing out. We missed the sunset, but I was told that it was too cloudy to see anyway. In another 2 hours we would be making our way back down Fuji-San.

Now (as you can expect) the journey down was way easier than the journey up. However, that's not to say that it was easy. We walked, sometimes ran down a path of red dirt, that gave way easily. Most of the time, we were sliding and trying to keep our balance. Falling here and there was inevitable. If you have bad knees, this part of the journey can be torturous. I don't have bad knees, but after about an hour into our journey, I felt the pain of all of the shock that my knees were absorbing.

For a while we just walked without thought. Despite it being brighter outside, it was still cloudy and misty and we couldn't make out how far we'd have to go so we didn't think or talk about it. We slid, and walked with the large group of people that were also making their way down the mountain. Although, we were used to not knowing how much progress we'd made, there were times when we'd just stare hopelessly out into the mist and wonder when this journey would end or at least wonder where we stood in the grand scheme of things. And then 2 hours into it, this happened.

The clouds opened up and we were able to see this beautiful view.

The path ahead was clear. We walked along, getting faster and faster, motivated by the fact that we were going to see grass again, and knowing that soon we would see trees and then we would see familiar landmarks, and so on and so forth. All in all, our journey down was about 4 hours, including the 45 minutes it took to wait in line for the (really disgusting) bathroom.

We reached the bottom of the mountain at around 10am.

We took this picture . . .

Relieved, exhausted, proud, disillusioned, angry, enlightened.

(And as Jeannie would put it . . . unmarriable. LOL) There we are . . . the bums of Fuji-Gomi. We conquered the mountain, or it conquered us, rather. I can't say if I'll ever do something like this again, but to say that I've done it once means a lot to me.

There is a million and one things I have left out of this post, but really . . . there is nothing more to say.

So, I hope you enjoyed reading about my adventure climbing Mount Fuji.

And finally . . .

THE END