Well folks, it's been two weeks since my last post.
The reason is simple. I have been kicked out of Japan. I didn't break any law or campus rule. I did not produce failing grades. The forces that lead to my expulsion are biological in nature.
Ever since I was a child, I have suffered from insomnia. At different times in my life, it has fluctuated in strength. The worst that my insomnia had ever been before going to Japan was such that it would take me 2-3 hours to fall asleep at night, with or without the aid of sleeping medications. For the first four weeks of my travels in Japan, my sleeping schedule was adequate for my needs. I of course suffered from jetlag-induced insomnia for the first week, but afterwards my sleeping patterns returned to normal.
However, for the last two weeks that I was in Japan, for reasons that I do not understand, my insomnia was worse than it had ever been in my entire life. I do not say this lightly. From the clock on my bedstand, I can accurately say that on average it was taking me 4-5 hours every night to fall asleep. Considering that I had to get up at 7:25 for classes, this resulted in me only getting about 2-3 hours of sleep a night for two weeks. This led to a severe state of sleep deprivation that exacerbated my other medical problems. Chief among them was my depression.
I have no problem speaking of this now. I have been depressed since I was ten years old. I have been undergoing treatment and medication for manic depression for five years. For the first four weeks in Japan, my depression was manageable. I sometimes got moody and tried to isolate myself from others when it got really bad. However, I still was able to take part in campus life and participate in my dorm's activities.
However, after two weeks of sleep deprivation, my depression became extremely powerful. It was the worst that it had been since before I started getting professional treatment for my depression five years ago. My dorm mates took notice, and suggested that I see the campus counselor. I did. I had three sessions with her before I was kicked out of Japan. I admit now that my behavior during these sessions was irritable and disturbing. But I must repeat, I was under severe sleep deprivation and under normal circumstances, I would not have acted as such. I was prescribed sleeping medication, but I was unable to get it filled before I was removed from the campus.
It has been a little over a week since I have left Japan. I understand now that what was done was done for my best interests. I thank those who were worried about me, and I regret and apologize if I mistreated anybody during my departure.
Despite these admissions, I still believe that I was unjustly kicked out of the International Christian University. I believe that I was not given proper consideration by authorities who had the power to prevent my expulsion. I would like to point out three reasons why I believe I was not treated fairly and was improperly kicked out.
1) At no time was I given a psychological evaluation by a certified psychiatrist. I did meet with a doctor, but it was only so I could get the prescription for sleeping pills. At no time was I determined by a medically trained professional to be a danger to myself and others. The decision to expel me was made only from the statements of the counselor and various teachers. If I had been given a proper medical evaluation, I believe that it would have been determined that the root of my behavior was my sleep deprivation. With treatment, it would have gone away and the depression would have become controlled and my behavior would have become normal again.
2) I was prescribed sleeping medication. However, to fill it, I would have to travel into downtown Tokyo where I did not know the way. A map and directions were provided, but I still was not able to locate where I was supposed to get it filled. In addition, if I had reached the pharmacy, I find it doubtful that I could communicate in Japanese what I needed filled when I have enough trouble indicating what I want to eat at a restaurant. The idea that I could have gotten the medication filled by myself is preposterous, especially considering that I was sleep deprived. I could have easily gotten lost or made a mistake at the pharmacy. In order to get my medication, I needed a fluent Japanese speaker to accompany me. I asked several people, but was turned down by everyone until Joey Stockerman agreed. We were going to fill it on Thursday because he was swamped with classes and duties as President of the Dorm on ever day before that. I had every intention of getting my medication filled. However, I was expelled and sent home on Thursday night, the night that I was going to get the meds. Therefore, I fault ICU with not making sure that I could get my medication. I believe that this led to the ICU staff to dismiss me before I had a chance to recover.
3) At no time was I warned that my behavior may lead to my expulsion. I received no prior warning. I literally found out about my expulsion about an hour before they expected me to vacate the campus. I feel that my rights as a student were violated. I should have been given a warning so that I could try and get my act together.
It is for these three reasons that I believe ICU unfairly expelled me. Despite all of these things, I do not begrudge anybody. I simply want to go back. ICU was my home. Well, that's wrong.
Second Men's Dormitory was my home. My dorm-mates were my family. I believe they were mistreated with the way that I was stripped away from them. Most of the agony that I felt when I had to leave Japan was the thought that I had to leave them. I want to return. It is too late for this semester, but I still want to come back for the Spring semester. I have already tried to contact the counselor who set the entire process in motion. I sent her a sincere apology for what I had done and forgave her for what she did. Still, I have received no reply.
I am being told that I may not be allowed to return to ICU. I find this unfair. I find it unfair because I was unjustly expelled. I find it unfair because it hurts me to know that my dorm-mates are worried about me. I find it unfair that I did not get a chance to defend myself.
But despite this, I want to return for the Spring semester. But I need help. I need help NOW. By December, if I have not been given the go-ahead to return to ICU, I will have to go back to my American university.
Please email me. My address is nahood@ursinus.edu.
I want to hear from everyone. My friends, the administration, my dorm mates. I can't do this alone. Please contact me. Do not think that I don't want to hear from you; I do. Even if you don't know what to say, please contact me and just let me know that you are thinking about me.
I will return to ICU this Spring.
But I can't do it alone.
This is Nate in America, signing off still as just another gaijin.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
October 10, 2009
Hello everybody!
I am pleased to report two things:
1) I finally left Mitaka!
2) Every picture in this entry will be a picture that I took!
I realize that I have not been taking enough pictures. It has gotten to the point where people are having a hard time distinguishing between pictures that I have taken, and pictures that I have taken from off the Internet. An example is how my mother thought that the picture of the performance of Wicked that I used in an earlier post was of ICU students. I fondly recall a recent skype conversation.
"It looks like Broadway."
"Um, Mom, that IS Broadway."
Well, anyway...
Yesterday, I finally left Mitaka-shi. Mitaka-shi is one of Tokyo's districts. It is not a particularly crowded one. In fact, I think the local Don Quiote (a brand of convience store) is the area's biggest attraction. So, I finally went out of Mitaka-shi with Joey.
We had a mission.
That mission was sushi.
REAL sushi.
The good sushi. The kind that you can only get in Japan. The kind that people dream about at night. The kind that drives people to go to restaurants staffed with Japanese servers and get the best raw fish that they can buy. But that's not real sushi. No, Joey and I wanted the real thing. We went to the station at Musashi-Sakai and waited for the train that would take us to Shibuya.
It was kind of surreal standing at the platform. You see, I have always seen pictures and movies of Tokyo where everything was unbelievably crowded. However, in Mitaka-shi, it is fairly quiet. It is never too crowded and things never feel to hectic. The platform at Musashi-Sakai was pretty much the same.
Only a few people populated the platform and even then Joey and I talked in hushed tones. He fidgeted with his cell phone and I fiddled with my Canon Powershot A480 as we awaited the train that would take us into the heart of Tokyo.
The first train only lasted a couple of minutes and we switched trains in Kichijoji. It was at the platform that I first realized that I was in Tokyo. As we were trying to get onboard the train, a flood of people collided into Joey and me. It seemed like a school of fish, moving and acting as one. It was impossible to see beyond the initial wall of people, so Joey and I blindly forced our way towards our train. Once inside, we endured a ten minute train ride that was rather uncomfortable. A second school of people had flowed into the train, pushing us against each other in a way that in any other country would probably have been deemed fairly inappropriate.
When we spilled out into Shibuya station, I finally felt for the first time that I was in Tokyo. It was unbelievably crowded. As we went up the escalators to the restaurant section of Shibuya Station (where our restaurant was located), I tried to take a picture of the crowded streets. The result was fairly impressive considering that I didn't use a flash, shot through a window, and was moving at the time:
When we arrived at the sushi restaurant, we had to wait in a line for about twenty minutes. It was about at this time that a classmate named Hikari joined us. I was in one of my classes, but we had never really spoken much before. In fact, we had spoken so little that I was shocked when he opened his mouth and a perfect British accent came rushing out.
Left: Joey, Right: Hikari
We spent the rest of our wait talking about one of my favorite subjects: movies. Oh, how we waxed philosophical about the world of cinema. Our conversations were made all the more poignant by the fact that we had to stand next to a gigantic Japanese advertisement that featured vintage photos of Audrey Hepburn.
Why Audrey Hepburn? Well, why not?
Ah, crap, it's really late.
I'll finish this story tomorrow.
This is Nate in Mitaka, signing off as just another gaijin.
I am pleased to report two things:
1) I finally left Mitaka!
2) Every picture in this entry will be a picture that I took!
I realize that I have not been taking enough pictures. It has gotten to the point where people are having a hard time distinguishing between pictures that I have taken, and pictures that I have taken from off the Internet. An example is how my mother thought that the picture of the performance of Wicked that I used in an earlier post was of ICU students. I fondly recall a recent skype conversation.
"It looks like Broadway."
"Um, Mom, that IS Broadway."
Well, anyway...
Yesterday, I finally left Mitaka-shi. Mitaka-shi is one of Tokyo's districts. It is not a particularly crowded one. In fact, I think the local Don Quiote (a brand of convience store) is the area's biggest attraction. So, I finally went out of Mitaka-shi with Joey.
We had a mission.
That mission was sushi.
REAL sushi.
The good sushi. The kind that you can only get in Japan. The kind that people dream about at night. The kind that drives people to go to restaurants staffed with Japanese servers and get the best raw fish that they can buy. But that's not real sushi. No, Joey and I wanted the real thing. We went to the station at Musashi-Sakai and waited for the train that would take us to Shibuya.
It was kind of surreal standing at the platform. You see, I have always seen pictures and movies of Tokyo where everything was unbelievably crowded. However, in Mitaka-shi, it is fairly quiet. It is never too crowded and things never feel to hectic. The platform at Musashi-Sakai was pretty much the same.
Only a few people populated the platform and even then Joey and I talked in hushed tones. He fidgeted with his cell phone and I fiddled with my Canon Powershot A480 as we awaited the train that would take us into the heart of Tokyo.
The first train only lasted a couple of minutes and we switched trains in Kichijoji. It was at the platform that I first realized that I was in Tokyo. As we were trying to get onboard the train, a flood of people collided into Joey and me. It seemed like a school of fish, moving and acting as one. It was impossible to see beyond the initial wall of people, so Joey and I blindly forced our way towards our train. Once inside, we endured a ten minute train ride that was rather uncomfortable. A second school of people had flowed into the train, pushing us against each other in a way that in any other country would probably have been deemed fairly inappropriate.
When we spilled out into Shibuya station, I finally felt for the first time that I was in Tokyo. It was unbelievably crowded. As we went up the escalators to the restaurant section of Shibuya Station (where our restaurant was located), I tried to take a picture of the crowded streets. The result was fairly impressive considering that I didn't use a flash, shot through a window, and was moving at the time:
When we arrived at the sushi restaurant, we had to wait in a line for about twenty minutes. It was about at this time that a classmate named Hikari joined us. I was in one of my classes, but we had never really spoken much before. In fact, we had spoken so little that I was shocked when he opened his mouth and a perfect British accent came rushing out.
Left: Joey, Right: Hikari
We spent the rest of our wait talking about one of my favorite subjects: movies. Oh, how we waxed philosophical about the world of cinema. Our conversations were made all the more poignant by the fact that we had to stand next to a gigantic Japanese advertisement that featured vintage photos of Audrey Hepburn.
Why Audrey Hepburn? Well, why not?
Ah, crap, it's really late.
I'll finish this story tomorrow.
This is Nate in Mitaka, signing off as just another gaijin.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
October 7, 2009
Well, I'm back. Sorry for the delay but I was overcome with an acute infection of the "lazies."
Anyway, back to the bathhouse saga.
As I mentioned, before you go into the baths at Japanese bathhouses, you are supposed to wash yourself off first at a row of shower heads. This picture will hopefully illustrate. And NO, I did not take this picture.
Afterwards, you go into the actual baths where you can soak. This usually lasts for about an hour, but there are many people who make an entire day out of the outing. Well, Joe and I tried out the different baths, each of which came supplied with its own temperature and chemicals. When I say chemicals, I don't mean things like fluoride or chlorine. No, I am referring to various salts and whatnots which are added to the water for various effects. There are baths which are supposed to help treat rheumatism, arthritis, and other bodily aches and pains. But my favorite was an indoor bath that had a somewhat unsettling color. Imagine if somebody took a pool in Joe Sixpack's backyard and dumped in a couple of metric tons of sugar. The result would resemble the bath that Joe and I tried last on our little trip.
The water was probably the coolest that we tried. The hottest was a comfortable 40 degrees Celsius (that's 104 degrees Fahrenheit for all my American readers...which is probably all of them...), but this one was around thirty-five (95 degrees Fahrenheit). As we sat in the murky water, we both looked around for a sign to explain what the bath was supposed to do. Finally, we spotted a bronze plaque (ironically) located right above our heads that offered an explanation that left us with more questions that answers. I will try to quote what the sign said, but seeing how it was a couple of days ago, I might smudge a couple of details. But I will try to capture the spirit of the original text. It offered four positive effects:
1) Makes the skin beautiful
2) Helps with diets
3) Reverses aging
4) Refreshes spirit
As I sat trying to figure out how a bath would help me lose weight AND ten years from my figure, Joe continued to read the plaque. After a bit of a pause, Joe mentioned that the pool wasn't murky because of chemicals. What gave the water its strange appearance were bubbles.
Trillions and trillions of microscopic bubbles. The bubbles were only a couple of micro-millimeters (or some metric jargon like that) long. They're so small that they are supposed to be able to enter your pores and clean them out. "Ah," I thought, "But still, will they help me lose weight?"
As we left the bathhouse (frustratingly the same size as before we went in) we both mentioned that it was a nice place. Joe pointed out that it wasn't a "real" Japanese bathhouse. After regarding my puzzled stare, he clarified by saying that, yes, it is a Japanese bathhouse, but that it wasn't an authentic one because it used city water. It was then that Joe gave me the rundown on the different types of Japanese bathhouses.
There are two kinds:
1) Sentō (銭湯)
2) Onsen (温泉)
Sentō are regular bathhouses.
Onsen are the supreme bathhouses.
The big difference is that Sentō look like this:
Onsen look like this:
Yeah, hopefully now you get what I mean about onsen being better. The big difference between the two comes down to the water. You see, while sentō are legitimate bathhouses that are very nice, they use city water that has been heated up. Onsen, on the other hand, are the real deal. They use geothermally heated water. No added chemicals, no special salts. The water is all natural, coming from springs where it was heated by Japan's volcanic makeup.
The difference between the two is so important to the Japanese that even the law had to get involved. As my good ol' friends wikipedia points out:
The legal definition of an onsen includes that its water must contain at least one of 19 designated chemical elements, including radon and metabolic acid and be 25°C or warmer before being reheated.
So, there you have it. I went to a sentō, and while it was very nice, I left wishing that I could have experienced the real McCoy. Hopefully, I can talk Joe into taking me to an onsen . While there are several onsen in Tokyo, there is a certain one in Hakuba that I want to go to. You see, Japan has native monkeys, or "snow monkeys," if you will. And, there is an onsen in Joshin-Etsu Kogen National Park that is frequented by the monkeys in the winter.
Yeah, I'm not kidding.
The best part is that it is right next to another onsen where people can bathe!!!
Oh yes, there will be monkeys.........
I promise you........
This is Nate in Mitaka, signing off as just another gaijin.
Pictured above: Me after my first trip to a Japanese bath house.
Anyway, back to the bathhouse saga.
As I mentioned, before you go into the baths at Japanese bathhouses, you are supposed to wash yourself off first at a row of shower heads. This picture will hopefully illustrate. And NO, I did not take this picture.
Afterwards, you go into the actual baths where you can soak. This usually lasts for about an hour, but there are many people who make an entire day out of the outing. Well, Joe and I tried out the different baths, each of which came supplied with its own temperature and chemicals. When I say chemicals, I don't mean things like fluoride or chlorine. No, I am referring to various salts and whatnots which are added to the water for various effects. There are baths which are supposed to help treat rheumatism, arthritis, and other bodily aches and pains. But my favorite was an indoor bath that had a somewhat unsettling color. Imagine if somebody took a pool in Joe Sixpack's backyard and dumped in a couple of metric tons of sugar. The result would resemble the bath that Joe and I tried last on our little trip.
The water was probably the coolest that we tried. The hottest was a comfortable 40 degrees Celsius (that's 104 degrees Fahrenheit for all my American readers...which is probably all of them...), but this one was around thirty-five (95 degrees Fahrenheit). As we sat in the murky water, we both looked around for a sign to explain what the bath was supposed to do. Finally, we spotted a bronze plaque (ironically) located right above our heads that offered an explanation that left us with more questions that answers. I will try to quote what the sign said, but seeing how it was a couple of days ago, I might smudge a couple of details. But I will try to capture the spirit of the original text. It offered four positive effects:
1) Makes the skin beautiful
2) Helps with diets
3) Reverses aging
4) Refreshes spirit
As I sat trying to figure out how a bath would help me lose weight AND ten years from my figure, Joe continued to read the plaque. After a bit of a pause, Joe mentioned that the pool wasn't murky because of chemicals. What gave the water its strange appearance were bubbles.
Trillions and trillions of microscopic bubbles. The bubbles were only a couple of micro-millimeters (or some metric jargon like that) long. They're so small that they are supposed to be able to enter your pores and clean them out. "Ah," I thought, "But still, will they help me lose weight?"
As we left the bathhouse (frustratingly the same size as before we went in) we both mentioned that it was a nice place. Joe pointed out that it wasn't a "real" Japanese bathhouse. After regarding my puzzled stare, he clarified by saying that, yes, it is a Japanese bathhouse, but that it wasn't an authentic one because it used city water. It was then that Joe gave me the rundown on the different types of Japanese bathhouses.
There are two kinds:
1) Sentō (銭湯)
2) Onsen (温泉)
Sentō are regular bathhouses.
Onsen are the supreme bathhouses.
The big difference is that Sentō look like this:
Onsen look like this:
Yeah, hopefully now you get what I mean about onsen being better. The big difference between the two comes down to the water. You see, while sentō are legitimate bathhouses that are very nice, they use city water that has been heated up. Onsen, on the other hand, are the real deal. They use geothermally heated water. No added chemicals, no special salts. The water is all natural, coming from springs where it was heated by Japan's volcanic makeup.
The difference between the two is so important to the Japanese that even the law had to get involved. As my good ol' friends wikipedia points out:
The legal definition of an onsen includes that its water must contain at least one of 19 designated chemical elements, including radon and metabolic acid and be 25°C or warmer before being reheated.
So, there you have it. I went to a sentō, and while it was very nice, I left wishing that I could have experienced the real McCoy. Hopefully, I can talk Joe into taking me to an onsen . While there are several onsen in Tokyo, there is a certain one in Hakuba that I want to go to. You see, Japan has native monkeys, or "snow monkeys," if you will. And, there is an onsen in Joshin-Etsu Kogen National Park that is frequented by the monkeys in the winter.
Yeah, I'm not kidding.
The best part is that it is right next to another onsen where people can bathe!!!
Oh yes, there will be monkeys.........
I promise you........
This is Nate in Mitaka, signing off as just another gaijin.
Pictured above: Me after my first trip to a Japanese bath house.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
October 3, 2009
Well, MY COMPUTER IS WORKING!!!!
Well, anyway, I guess that this means that I can start to upload pictures of my quest to Japan. I won't upload them all right away. Some of them I already plan on using in further entries. But I guess I can give you all a taste.
This is a picture of me, Saumya, Megan, arriving at the hotel in Musashi-sakai. The two other girls are Miyuki and Ayaka. I particularly like this picture because it is one of the only times that I actually appear to be tall. It feels so weird to be constantly staring down at people in Japan. Well, weird in an awesome way.
This is a better picture of the two alpha females, Megan and Saumya. This was while we were still shacked up at Musashi-sakai. This picture was taken at a restaurant where we attempted to order and pay for our food in Japanese. Needless to say, I kept my mouth shut and let the ladies order for me.
Hmmmm......
Now that I think about it, that's all I am going to share for now. Truth be told, I didn't take any other pictures for a while because my computer was broken. Yeah, in hindsight that seems like a stupid reason for why I didn't take more pictures.
And that's because it is.
Well, okay, now for some stories......
Oh! I got one!
Today I went to a Japanese bathhouse for the first time!
To summarize it: I have never seen so many naked men in one place before in my entire life.
And I've been to the YMCA on Senior Swim Day.
But that's not to say that it wasn't a good experience.
I went with the dormitory president, Joey Stockermans. I have mentioned him before, but I can't remember whether or not I have described him in any detail. He is a lively fellow, originating from a mystical, faraway land called Novia Scotia. Or, more commonly called in the states, Canada.
Yes, the man who is in charge of the 2nd Men's Dormitory and all that it entails has been known to frequently enter people's rooms and say, "It's been quite a day, eh?" That kills me. Over the summer, my family traveled to Niagara Falls. Not ONCE did I hear a single Canadian say, "Eh?" Every time Joey says that, the little immature part of my psyche jumps up and down and squeals with delight.
That's not to say that he is always amiable. Joey has somehow figured out how to toe the line between being approachable and likable to being a stern taskmaster when the time calls for it. But those times are rare. Needless to say, he is a swell guy to work with. If there was one guy that I would want to go to a public bathhouse with for the first time, it would be Joey.
Okay, that's a lie. It would be Jean Gabin.
But given his current circumstances, what with being dead and all for a little over thirty years, I am glad that I could go with Joey.
You see, I have never been naked in a public place before. In fact, it was here in Japan that I first showered with other guys. Now I know the automatic thought that will occur to anyone reading this is to assume that when I was in high school I was one of those cowardly kids who always brought in a sick note on gym days so he wouldn't have to show with the seniors. Well, I wasn't. Somehow, the cosmic forces that be aligned in such a manner that I missed out on two very important high school rites of passage. The first was reading J. D. Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye." (Honestly, I don't know HOW I managed to be in the only literature class that didn't have to read it) The second was taking school showers. I guess it was all for the best. God knows that I had self-esteem issues back then that I did not need to aggravate with THAT ordeal...
So, here in Japan, there aren't shower stalls in bathrooms for residential buildings that are designed for a lot of people. You have a row of shower heads that you use to wash with while you sit on a plastic stool right next to several other guys. So, after a day or two of not washing, I bit the bullet and did it. I was surprised to find that it didn't really bother me. So, foolhardily thinking that I was superior to my American brethren who are internationally renown for not wanting to appear naked in front of other people, I jumped at the chance to go to a bathhouse. "Take that Melissa Pankake," I thought, "You may be in beautiful Scotland, but have YOU appeared naked in front of a crowd of Scots? I thought not! Haha!" Of course, as we biked towards the bathhouse, my arrogant pride gave way to a cowardly trembling that I bit my lip to maintain.
My fears were calmed when we walked into the bathhouse and saw a clean, bright reception area with a kind attendant at the register. "This is not so bad," I thought, "Nobody is naked out here...." My fears were gone when we then walked into the shoe room, where we put our shoes in a locker for safe keeping. We then grabbed our towels and went into the changing room where all of my fears resurfaced at once with devastating speed at the sight of half a dozen old Japanese men changing.
How shall I describe what I saw?
Hmmmmmmmmm.......
Maybe a reading from the Good Book will summarize the experience.
Ahem. We will now rise for the reading of God's Word. Thanks be to God.
Thanks be to God.
Our lesson today concerns man's mortality and his destiny to grow old, as is referenced in Ecclesiastes 12:5. Our translation comes to us from the New American Standard Bible. Yea, listen to the Word of the Lord:
Furthermore, men are afraid of a high place and of terrors on the road; the almond tree blossoms, the grasshopper drags himself along, and the caperberry is ineffective. For man goes to his eternal home while mourners go about in the street.
The grasshopper drags himself along.
This is the Word of the Lord.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Well, now that that's over, on with the story. We undressed, showered, and plunged into the baths. Hmmm, I probably should have mentioned that you are supposed to shower BEFORE you go into the baths...
You know, it's really late. I need to sleep. I think I will finish this story tomorrow. Stay tuned for part two.
This is Nate in Mitaka, signing off as just another gaijin.
Well, anyway, I guess that this means that I can start to upload pictures of my quest to Japan. I won't upload them all right away. Some of them I already plan on using in further entries. But I guess I can give you all a taste.
This is a picture of me, Saumya, Megan, arriving at the hotel in Musashi-sakai. The two other girls are Miyuki and Ayaka. I particularly like this picture because it is one of the only times that I actually appear to be tall. It feels so weird to be constantly staring down at people in Japan. Well, weird in an awesome way.
This is a better picture of the two alpha females, Megan and Saumya. This was while we were still shacked up at Musashi-sakai. This picture was taken at a restaurant where we attempted to order and pay for our food in Japanese. Needless to say, I kept my mouth shut and let the ladies order for me.
Hmmmm......
Now that I think about it, that's all I am going to share for now. Truth be told, I didn't take any other pictures for a while because my computer was broken. Yeah, in hindsight that seems like a stupid reason for why I didn't take more pictures.
And that's because it is.
Well, okay, now for some stories......
Oh! I got one!
Today I went to a Japanese bathhouse for the first time!
To summarize it: I have never seen so many naked men in one place before in my entire life.
And I've been to the YMCA on Senior Swim Day.
But that's not to say that it wasn't a good experience.
I went with the dormitory president, Joey Stockermans. I have mentioned him before, but I can't remember whether or not I have described him in any detail. He is a lively fellow, originating from a mystical, faraway land called Novia Scotia. Or, more commonly called in the states, Canada.
Yes, the man who is in charge of the 2nd Men's Dormitory and all that it entails has been known to frequently enter people's rooms and say, "It's been quite a day, eh?" That kills me. Over the summer, my family traveled to Niagara Falls. Not ONCE did I hear a single Canadian say, "Eh?" Every time Joey says that, the little immature part of my psyche jumps up and down and squeals with delight.
That's not to say that he is always amiable. Joey has somehow figured out how to toe the line between being approachable and likable to being a stern taskmaster when the time calls for it. But those times are rare. Needless to say, he is a swell guy to work with. If there was one guy that I would want to go to a public bathhouse with for the first time, it would be Joey.
Okay, that's a lie. It would be Jean Gabin.
But given his current circumstances, what with being dead and all for a little over thirty years, I am glad that I could go with Joey.
You see, I have never been naked in a public place before. In fact, it was here in Japan that I first showered with other guys. Now I know the automatic thought that will occur to anyone reading this is to assume that when I was in high school I was one of those cowardly kids who always brought in a sick note on gym days so he wouldn't have to show with the seniors. Well, I wasn't. Somehow, the cosmic forces that be aligned in such a manner that I missed out on two very important high school rites of passage. The first was reading J. D. Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye." (Honestly, I don't know HOW I managed to be in the only literature class that didn't have to read it) The second was taking school showers. I guess it was all for the best. God knows that I had self-esteem issues back then that I did not need to aggravate with THAT ordeal...
So, here in Japan, there aren't shower stalls in bathrooms for residential buildings that are designed for a lot of people. You have a row of shower heads that you use to wash with while you sit on a plastic stool right next to several other guys. So, after a day or two of not washing, I bit the bullet and did it. I was surprised to find that it didn't really bother me. So, foolhardily thinking that I was superior to my American brethren who are internationally renown for not wanting to appear naked in front of other people, I jumped at the chance to go to a bathhouse. "Take that Melissa Pankake," I thought, "You may be in beautiful Scotland, but have YOU appeared naked in front of a crowd of Scots? I thought not! Haha!" Of course, as we biked towards the bathhouse, my arrogant pride gave way to a cowardly trembling that I bit my lip to maintain.
My fears were calmed when we walked into the bathhouse and saw a clean, bright reception area with a kind attendant at the register. "This is not so bad," I thought, "Nobody is naked out here...." My fears were gone when we then walked into the shoe room, where we put our shoes in a locker for safe keeping. We then grabbed our towels and went into the changing room where all of my fears resurfaced at once with devastating speed at the sight of half a dozen old Japanese men changing.
How shall I describe what I saw?
Hmmmmmmmmm.......
Maybe a reading from the Good Book will summarize the experience.
Ahem. We will now rise for the reading of God's Word. Thanks be to God.
Thanks be to God.
Our lesson today concerns man's mortality and his destiny to grow old, as is referenced in Ecclesiastes 12:5. Our translation comes to us from the New American Standard Bible. Yea, listen to the Word of the Lord:
Furthermore, men are afraid of a high place and of terrors on the road; the almond tree blossoms, the grasshopper drags himself along, and the caperberry is ineffective. For man goes to his eternal home while mourners go about in the street.
The grasshopper drags himself along.
This is the Word of the Lord.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Well, now that that's over, on with the story. We undressed, showered, and plunged into the baths. Hmmm, I probably should have mentioned that you are supposed to shower BEFORE you go into the baths...
You know, it's really late. I need to sleep. I think I will finish this story tomorrow. Stay tuned for part two.
This is Nate in Mitaka, signing off as just another gaijin.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
September 26, 2009
A quick glance through my iPod will alert anyone to my musical preferences: blues, classic rock, and heavy wood. To many it may seem restrictive, but I personally adore it because it sums up what I love about music: rawnity. Before you scratch your head and wonder if my Microsoft spell check has busted, let me say that rawnity is a term that I have just invented. It can be defined as follows:
raw-ni-ty
-noun
1) a state of perpetual rawness
2) being imbued with ideals, techniques, or practices that are unrefined and unpolished.
In other words, rawnity is when something (in this case, music) is unperfected, dirty, and, um...raw.....
Raw music is when the musicians have little to no training, little to no mainstream appeal (at first...I doubt that the Grateful Dead are considered `alternative` anymore), and are not genetically designed and processed in a Disney laboratory ten miles below Orlando, Florida.
Pictured above: Test subject #321334-A43
Of all the musicians who excel at rawnity, probably my favorites are the old school Delta bluesmen. Some of the most infamous and influential Delta bluesman are:
Robert Johnson (a.k.a. The Man Who Sold His Soul to the Devil For His Guitar Skills)...
Son House...
and Robert Wilkins
I have not even mentioned my two favorite Delta bluesmen, Howlin Wolf and John Lee Hooker. I can confidently say that since I have come here to Japan, I have listened to those two artists more than anything else on my iPod. Hooker`s `Hobo Blues` has basically become my anthem while I am abroad. You can listen to it at this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYrVwGxlcFA&feature=channel_page
Yeah...I should probably figure out how to embed youtube videos....
Well, anyway...why do I love their music so much?
I love it because it is honest. The old delta bluesmen played their music almost everyday of their lives. They did not get paid by any big recording studio. They lived from gig to gig. Most of the early Delta bluesmen recorded material, but almost none of their records sold well. They sang with mouths decayed by tobacco and whiskey, played with fingers calloused over from work, and stared with eyes that could melt a hole in the wall even in eighty year old photographs. They played old guitars that were basically bits of wire nailed onto pieces of plywood. And yet, when they played they could create some of the sweetest music that man has ever conceived. I find more beauty in Robert Johnson`s `Crossroads` than anything ever written by Debussy or Schubert.
I am not the only one who thinks this way. The classic rock heroes of the sixties and seventies learned their chops from the old bluesmen. Eric Clapton got some of his first blisters trying to perfect Robert Johnson`s songs. So is it any wonder that I want to learn how to play the blues the way the masters used to almost eighty years ago?
One of the big problems that I have with modern music is that too many musicians try too hard to sound clean. One of the reasons that I stopped listening to modern rock music was because I got to the point that I could not even hear the guitar anymore. It all started to sound alike. What with twelve tracks for a song`s vocals alone, it is almost impossible to distinguish the instruments from each other. And do not even get me started on who seems to pass for `guitar experts` these days......
Urge to kill rising...............................................
Anyway, it just confounds me how musicians these days seem to insist on getting the `right` sound from the `right` instruments. It is almost considered a sin to appear onstage with a cheap guitar if you have made it onto the radio. Brands like Gibson and Fender have become sacred fetishes for musicians nowadays. And why? I`ll tell you why. The label. People are willing to shell out an extra thousand dollars for a guitar if it just says `Gibson` on it. Again I ask, why? When I was shopping for my electric guitar, I tried out some expensive name brand guitars. They were okay, but the best (and the one that I eventually bought) was a small dark-red Ibanez. Here is the kicker: It cost HALF of what the other guitars did and sounded TWICE as good!
I guess what I am trying to say is that usually the best instruments are the ones in the back rack that have gathered a fine layer of dust because they did not have a label. Sometimes, to get the best sound, the cheaper something is, the better it will be. Another example is the infamous guitar slide. I have purchased TWO guitar slides in the past, one glass and one metal. Neither of them gave me a very satisfying sound despite the fact that they carried heavy price tags at the music store. It is probably just as well. I do not think that factory made guitar slides should even be used. Guitar slides are commonly referred to as `bottleneck slides` for a reason: the first ones literally were the necks of bottles!! Other than empty bottles of whiskey, the first slide guitarists also used KNIVES for their music. Just for kicks, a few nights ago, I went into the dorm kitchen, grabbed a dirty, miso-covered cooking knife, and slid it on my guitar strings. The sound was angelic.
So why have I mentioned all of this? I am sure my parents want to know how this has to do with my trip to Japan. Well, it goes like this...
On Wednesday, there was a national holiday in Japan. Do not ask me which one, not even my Japanese friends knew which one it was. Well anyway, we did not have classes that day, so I decided to go fishing with four other guys from my dorm. We went to a second hand store to buy fishing poles when I saw...Her.....
She was a beautiful old Legend acoustic with scratches on her body and chips on her head board. She had an old set of strings (at least I think they were) and made a truly heart-breaking sound when plucked. It was the guitar that I had been searching for ever since I first started to learn how to play the instrument. It sounded old enough to play the blues, and yet crisp enough to manage Bach. It was almost one of the best moments of my entire trip. I say almost because the actual moment that I will remember as one of the best of the entire trip was when I looked at the price tag and saw that it was marked for 3,000 yen.
That translates to $30.
Needless to say, only four fishing poles were purchased. Only four men went to the lake. And only four men returned to the dorm later that day, only to hear Howlin Wolf`s `Killing Floor` come echoing from the rooftop where a young musician deepened his relationship with his new love.
raw-ni-ty
-noun
1) a state of perpetual rawness
2) being imbued with ideals, techniques, or practices that are unrefined and unpolished.
In other words, rawnity is when something (in this case, music) is unperfected, dirty, and, um...raw.....
Raw music is when the musicians have little to no training, little to no mainstream appeal (at first...I doubt that the Grateful Dead are considered `alternative` anymore), and are not genetically designed and processed in a Disney laboratory ten miles below Orlando, Florida.
Pictured above: Test subject #321334-A43
Of all the musicians who excel at rawnity, probably my favorites are the old school Delta bluesmen. Some of the most infamous and influential Delta bluesman are:
Robert Johnson (a.k.a. The Man Who Sold His Soul to the Devil For His Guitar Skills)...
Son House...
and Robert Wilkins
I have not even mentioned my two favorite Delta bluesmen, Howlin Wolf and John Lee Hooker. I can confidently say that since I have come here to Japan, I have listened to those two artists more than anything else on my iPod. Hooker`s `Hobo Blues` has basically become my anthem while I am abroad. You can listen to it at this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYrVwGxlcFA&feature=channel_page
Yeah...I should probably figure out how to embed youtube videos....
Well, anyway...why do I love their music so much?
I love it because it is honest. The old delta bluesmen played their music almost everyday of their lives. They did not get paid by any big recording studio. They lived from gig to gig. Most of the early Delta bluesmen recorded material, but almost none of their records sold well. They sang with mouths decayed by tobacco and whiskey, played with fingers calloused over from work, and stared with eyes that could melt a hole in the wall even in eighty year old photographs. They played old guitars that were basically bits of wire nailed onto pieces of plywood. And yet, when they played they could create some of the sweetest music that man has ever conceived. I find more beauty in Robert Johnson`s `Crossroads` than anything ever written by Debussy or Schubert.
I am not the only one who thinks this way. The classic rock heroes of the sixties and seventies learned their chops from the old bluesmen. Eric Clapton got some of his first blisters trying to perfect Robert Johnson`s songs. So is it any wonder that I want to learn how to play the blues the way the masters used to almost eighty years ago?
One of the big problems that I have with modern music is that too many musicians try too hard to sound clean. One of the reasons that I stopped listening to modern rock music was because I got to the point that I could not even hear the guitar anymore. It all started to sound alike. What with twelve tracks for a song`s vocals alone, it is almost impossible to distinguish the instruments from each other. And do not even get me started on who seems to pass for `guitar experts` these days......
Urge to kill rising...............................................
Anyway, it just confounds me how musicians these days seem to insist on getting the `right` sound from the `right` instruments. It is almost considered a sin to appear onstage with a cheap guitar if you have made it onto the radio. Brands like Gibson and Fender have become sacred fetishes for musicians nowadays. And why? I`ll tell you why. The label. People are willing to shell out an extra thousand dollars for a guitar if it just says `Gibson` on it. Again I ask, why? When I was shopping for my electric guitar, I tried out some expensive name brand guitars. They were okay, but the best (and the one that I eventually bought) was a small dark-red Ibanez. Here is the kicker: It cost HALF of what the other guitars did and sounded TWICE as good!
I guess what I am trying to say is that usually the best instruments are the ones in the back rack that have gathered a fine layer of dust because they did not have a label. Sometimes, to get the best sound, the cheaper something is, the better it will be. Another example is the infamous guitar slide. I have purchased TWO guitar slides in the past, one glass and one metal. Neither of them gave me a very satisfying sound despite the fact that they carried heavy price tags at the music store. It is probably just as well. I do not think that factory made guitar slides should even be used. Guitar slides are commonly referred to as `bottleneck slides` for a reason: the first ones literally were the necks of bottles!! Other than empty bottles of whiskey, the first slide guitarists also used KNIVES for their music. Just for kicks, a few nights ago, I went into the dorm kitchen, grabbed a dirty, miso-covered cooking knife, and slid it on my guitar strings. The sound was angelic.
So why have I mentioned all of this? I am sure my parents want to know how this has to do with my trip to Japan. Well, it goes like this...
On Wednesday, there was a national holiday in Japan. Do not ask me which one, not even my Japanese friends knew which one it was. Well anyway, we did not have classes that day, so I decided to go fishing with four other guys from my dorm. We went to a second hand store to buy fishing poles when I saw...Her.....
She was a beautiful old Legend acoustic with scratches on her body and chips on her head board. She had an old set of strings (at least I think they were) and made a truly heart-breaking sound when plucked. It was the guitar that I had been searching for ever since I first started to learn how to play the instrument. It sounded old enough to play the blues, and yet crisp enough to manage Bach. It was almost one of the best moments of my entire trip. I say almost because the actual moment that I will remember as one of the best of the entire trip was when I looked at the price tag and saw that it was marked for 3,000 yen.
That translates to $30.
Needless to say, only four fishing poles were purchased. Only four men went to the lake. And only four men returned to the dorm later that day, only to hear Howlin Wolf`s `Killing Floor` come echoing from the rooftop where a young musician deepened his relationship with his new love.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
September 20, 2009
On the morning of September 20, 2009, on the second floor of a small administrative building located in Mitaka-shi, Tokyo, three men, one young, one middle aged, and one old, sat in a triangle and awkwardly shuffled through the pages of three small, black bibles. Skimming through line after line of tiny print, their search continued until all three of them had located the same text: The First Letter of John.
Clearing his throat, the young man offered a sincere, if somewhat stumbling, prayer, asking for blessings and offering thanksgivings for the Christian fellowship that the three of them were about to experience. The stumbling was not the result of being unprepared; the young man had attended church his entire life and had grown used to offering spontaneous prayers in front of large groups of people. No, the stumbling was the symptom of a fever of nerves. Not a fever, mind you, of the body, but a fever of the mind and spirit. The young man was about to lead his first bible study. But it was not any ordinary bible story. It was a bible study done in English led by an American transfer student for two native Japanese men. Needless to say, the thought of misrepresenting the gospel due to a communication breakdown weighed heavy on his mind. However the study went on as the young man looked down at a sheet of paper covered in scribbles written the night before that contained his talking points.
`One of the biggest problems facing modern Christians concerns taking passages from the Bible our of context. Verses that may have been directed to one person or for only one situation can be taken out of context and lead to drastic misinterpretations. Therefore, whenever you read the Bible, it is always important to understand the context in which it was written, such as who the author was, who the audience was, and why it was written in the first place. This is especially important for readers of the New Testament, since the majority of its books are letters or messages sent to individual people, groups, and churches during the early history of the Church. Today we are reading from the First Letter of John.`
From there the young man summarized the history of 1 John. He explained how it was not a letter, but a sermon sent to the Christian churches in Ephesus around 100-110 AD. He explained how it was written for two main reasons:
1) To warn against those who were spreading heterodox teachings such as the belief that Jesus never was a human, but just a spirit, and that he did not die for our sins.
2) To serve as a manual for how to live as Christians, how to identify other Christians, and how to protect oneself from false prophets and teachings.
The middle-aged man and the old man listened respectfully as he carefully laid out his lesson. They turned in their Bibles so they could read along with him, they waited patiently as he lost his place halfway through the lesson and scrambled to recover, and they asked him questions.
The middle-aged man, named Yuji, asked the young man about the concept of love.
`Should we love God the same way we love our families? Is it the same kind of love or a different one?`
The young man blinked, looked at his notes, looked back up, blinked again, and, with the aid of some linguistic gymnastics, tried to explain his view on the subject.
`Yes, and no. The love we feel for God is a fatherly love, but it is also a strong love that we reserve for Him alone.`
He then tried to explain that this was his view and not the official view of the Church. Yuji nodded, sat back in his chair, and crossed his legs. At this point the old man, Todeki, chimed in and said that Japanese and English both only have one word for love, but Greek has three. Each one applies to a different kind of love.
He then stopped talking and looked at the young man. Expecting some kind of a follow-up question, the young man stared at Todeki for about twenty seconds, laughed, and explained that he had no idea which one it was.
Todeki then mentioned how the concept of `love` in a Western sense had only been recently introduced to Japan about two hundred or so years ago. The young man asked what term they used before that. Todeki struggled for a minute and said, `Jihi.`
An avid kanji enthusiast, the young man excitedly asked for him to write it out so he could learn it. What followed was a heart-warming spectacle as Yuji and Todeki leaned over a sheet of paper and argued as to how the kanji was properly written. The debate led to laughter, the laughter to friendship, and the friendship to fellowship.
After the study had ended, the three men lingered for a bit, sipped paper cups of hot (black) coffee, and talked. Todeki pulled out a journal and explained that he is currently reading Victor Hugo`s `Les Miserables.` He talked about how he cried when he first read it in English and how he now spends his days in the library trying to read it in French. Opening the journal he showed how he had written the text down in French and compared it to the English translation. The young man quipped that he had only seen the musical on Broadway. Yuji mentioned how it was actually performed on campus last year.
The conversation continued until 10:30 when they threw the paper cups away, shook each others hands, and walked to church for Sunday services. The young man sighed in relief that he had survived his first lesson. As he walked to church, he wondered if he had done a good job. Happy that it was over, yet anxious for next week`s lesson, the young man settled down into the church pews, stuck a translator in his right ear canal, and joined in with the congregation for the opening lines of `For the Beauty of the Earth.`
Clearing his throat, the young man offered a sincere, if somewhat stumbling, prayer, asking for blessings and offering thanksgivings for the Christian fellowship that the three of them were about to experience. The stumbling was not the result of being unprepared; the young man had attended church his entire life and had grown used to offering spontaneous prayers in front of large groups of people. No, the stumbling was the symptom of a fever of nerves. Not a fever, mind you, of the body, but a fever of the mind and spirit. The young man was about to lead his first bible study. But it was not any ordinary bible story. It was a bible study done in English led by an American transfer student for two native Japanese men. Needless to say, the thought of misrepresenting the gospel due to a communication breakdown weighed heavy on his mind. However the study went on as the young man looked down at a sheet of paper covered in scribbles written the night before that contained his talking points.
`One of the biggest problems facing modern Christians concerns taking passages from the Bible our of context. Verses that may have been directed to one person or for only one situation can be taken out of context and lead to drastic misinterpretations. Therefore, whenever you read the Bible, it is always important to understand the context in which it was written, such as who the author was, who the audience was, and why it was written in the first place. This is especially important for readers of the New Testament, since the majority of its books are letters or messages sent to individual people, groups, and churches during the early history of the Church. Today we are reading from the First Letter of John.`
From there the young man summarized the history of 1 John. He explained how it was not a letter, but a sermon sent to the Christian churches in Ephesus around 100-110 AD. He explained how it was written for two main reasons:
1) To warn against those who were spreading heterodox teachings such as the belief that Jesus never was a human, but just a spirit, and that he did not die for our sins.
2) To serve as a manual for how to live as Christians, how to identify other Christians, and how to protect oneself from false prophets and teachings.
The middle-aged man and the old man listened respectfully as he carefully laid out his lesson. They turned in their Bibles so they could read along with him, they waited patiently as he lost his place halfway through the lesson and scrambled to recover, and they asked him questions.
The middle-aged man, named Yuji, asked the young man about the concept of love.
`Should we love God the same way we love our families? Is it the same kind of love or a different one?`
The young man blinked, looked at his notes, looked back up, blinked again, and, with the aid of some linguistic gymnastics, tried to explain his view on the subject.
`Yes, and no. The love we feel for God is a fatherly love, but it is also a strong love that we reserve for Him alone.`
He then tried to explain that this was his view and not the official view of the Church. Yuji nodded, sat back in his chair, and crossed his legs. At this point the old man, Todeki, chimed in and said that Japanese and English both only have one word for love, but Greek has three. Each one applies to a different kind of love.
He then stopped talking and looked at the young man. Expecting some kind of a follow-up question, the young man stared at Todeki for about twenty seconds, laughed, and explained that he had no idea which one it was.
Todeki then mentioned how the concept of `love` in a Western sense had only been recently introduced to Japan about two hundred or so years ago. The young man asked what term they used before that. Todeki struggled for a minute and said, `Jihi.`
An avid kanji enthusiast, the young man excitedly asked for him to write it out so he could learn it. What followed was a heart-warming spectacle as Yuji and Todeki leaned over a sheet of paper and argued as to how the kanji was properly written. The debate led to laughter, the laughter to friendship, and the friendship to fellowship.
After the study had ended, the three men lingered for a bit, sipped paper cups of hot (black) coffee, and talked. Todeki pulled out a journal and explained that he is currently reading Victor Hugo`s `Les Miserables.` He talked about how he cried when he first read it in English and how he now spends his days in the library trying to read it in French. Opening the journal he showed how he had written the text down in French and compared it to the English translation. The young man quipped that he had only seen the musical on Broadway. Yuji mentioned how it was actually performed on campus last year.
The conversation continued until 10:30 when they threw the paper cups away, shook each others hands, and walked to church for Sunday services. The young man sighed in relief that he had survived his first lesson. As he walked to church, he wondered if he had done a good job. Happy that it was over, yet anxious for next week`s lesson, the young man settled down into the church pews, stuck a translator in his right ear canal, and joined in with the congregation for the opening lines of `For the Beauty of the Earth.`
Friday, September 18, 2009
September 19, 2009
Well....My computer still is not fixed.....
I am not sure I can sufficiently express my combination of anger and frustration....
So, I will let these pictures summarize it.
Whew, well, now that I have that out of the way, time to blog.
Yesterday, as I sprinted to class after waking up late, I discovered much to my dismay that my flip flops do not have much traction. After greeting my classmates with an impromptu performance of `Gaijin on Ice,` I settled down and realized that I had made quite a spectacle of myself. But this feeling is nothing new to me. After a few weeks of living in Japan, I still feel somewhat out of place.
Unlike my dormmate Jin who is Chinese, I cannot blend in with Japanese people. I can keep quiet, follow the rules, and be polite, but I will always be an outsider because of my race. This is of course completely opposed to my previous experiences abroad in Belgium, England, and Canada. I am reminded in particular of when I was visiting La Grand Place in Brussels (or Bruxelles, depending on how pretentious you want to seem) and I walked into a chocolate shop. Since it was in one of Europe`s biggest tourist traps, there were employees there offering free samples of chocolate. One of them walked up to me and politely asked me in French if I would like some chocolate. At least in hindsight I think that is what she said, because I promptly stared at her as people who are suddenly confronted with a foreign language are wont to do. She paused, stared at my quizzical look, blinked, and then asked again in perfect English.
`A-ha!` I thought, `They think I am one of them! Now I can do whatever I want!`
Gleeful with this knowledge, I then proceeded to do what anyone in my situation would do....Walk around the city with my hands in my pockets and my mouth shut.
Well, I have no such luck here in Japan. But, contrary to what is commonly believed, the Japanese do not freak out at the sight of a gaijin riding their subways, walking in their parks, or eating at their restaurants. I guess that it is because there are so many foreigners in Tokyo now. I am curious to see if the same holds true when I tour the countryside...
Of course, I want to do anything that I can to not draw unwanted attention to myself. But that can be difficult at times considering that I do not always remember all of the ground rules of Japanese society. For example, last Thursday, I had to drop off my instant dinner at my room and then go to class. The entire maneuver should have lasted only thirty seconds. Unfortunately, due to an uncooperative refrigerator door, it lasted for much longer. The whole ordeal was frenzied enough to attract the attention of my roommate, Hiroshi, who looked at me, looked at my feet, and literally screamed. I had forgotten to take off my SHOES!!
Sigh....
Well, I will get it eventually.....
This is Nate in Mitaka signing off as just another gaijin.
PS: I know that I have not mentioned anything about my dorm, roommate, classes, or dormmates yet in any detail. I am waiting for my computer to get fixed so that I can upload pictures of them.
I am not sure I can sufficiently express my combination of anger and frustration....
So, I will let these pictures summarize it.
Whew, well, now that I have that out of the way, time to blog.
Yesterday, as I sprinted to class after waking up late, I discovered much to my dismay that my flip flops do not have much traction. After greeting my classmates with an impromptu performance of `Gaijin on Ice,` I settled down and realized that I had made quite a spectacle of myself. But this feeling is nothing new to me. After a few weeks of living in Japan, I still feel somewhat out of place.
Unlike my dormmate Jin who is Chinese, I cannot blend in with Japanese people. I can keep quiet, follow the rules, and be polite, but I will always be an outsider because of my race. This is of course completely opposed to my previous experiences abroad in Belgium, England, and Canada. I am reminded in particular of when I was visiting La Grand Place in Brussels (or Bruxelles, depending on how pretentious you want to seem) and I walked into a chocolate shop. Since it was in one of Europe`s biggest tourist traps, there were employees there offering free samples of chocolate. One of them walked up to me and politely asked me in French if I would like some chocolate. At least in hindsight I think that is what she said, because I promptly stared at her as people who are suddenly confronted with a foreign language are wont to do. She paused, stared at my quizzical look, blinked, and then asked again in perfect English.
`A-ha!` I thought, `They think I am one of them! Now I can do whatever I want!`
Gleeful with this knowledge, I then proceeded to do what anyone in my situation would do....Walk around the city with my hands in my pockets and my mouth shut.
Well, I have no such luck here in Japan. But, contrary to what is commonly believed, the Japanese do not freak out at the sight of a gaijin riding their subways, walking in their parks, or eating at their restaurants. I guess that it is because there are so many foreigners in Tokyo now. I am curious to see if the same holds true when I tour the countryside...
Of course, I want to do anything that I can to not draw unwanted attention to myself. But that can be difficult at times considering that I do not always remember all of the ground rules of Japanese society. For example, last Thursday, I had to drop off my instant dinner at my room and then go to class. The entire maneuver should have lasted only thirty seconds. Unfortunately, due to an uncooperative refrigerator door, it lasted for much longer. The whole ordeal was frenzied enough to attract the attention of my roommate, Hiroshi, who looked at me, looked at my feet, and literally screamed. I had forgotten to take off my SHOES!!
Sigh....
Well, I will get it eventually.....
This is Nate in Mitaka signing off as just another gaijin.
PS: I know that I have not mentioned anything about my dorm, roommate, classes, or dormmates yet in any detail. I am waiting for my computer to get fixed so that I can upload pictures of them.
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