Monkah! 

High on cuteness

As often as the words "I hate Japan" leave my mouth, it's easy to start wondering just what I'm doing here. As previously stated, it's partly because I've become attached to my captors, but that's not the whole explanation. As P put it yesterday, it's about the surface needs and deeper needs.

Japan is very good at making people content on the suface. Everything that surrounds me in my room or at school is decorated with a cute character. As P said matter of factly yesterday, "I mean, how many times a day do I use cute stationery? It's a lot more than the number of times I worry about my freedom." In Japan, we're constantly high on cuteness. There was a study released recently which reported that looking at cute things stimulates the same place in your brain as drugs, alcohol and chocolate do. I think that goes a long way in explaining my current situation.

On the other hand, many of the weightier things that people need to feel fulfilled and satisfied are missing or denied us. For example, it is difficult to stand up for yourself if you are unhappy with a situation. It may be for any number of reasons, from lack of linguistic ability to the fact that your concerns are not taken seriously because you are not considered a part of society. When asking my BOE for help furnishing my apartment (this is done for most JETs anyway), I faced both of these obstacles. I had someone translate a letter for me, but in the end it didn't matter that I was able to communicate in Japanese. The fact of the matter was that I was at the bottom of their list of things to be taken care of because I was only temporary (foreign) employee.

A friend asked me the other night if there was anyting I would miss about Japan when I left. The answer is, of course, yes. There are tons of things. At least some of them are tangible things, so I have a chance of getting them sent to me once I return to the real world. So without further ado, a list (in no particular order) of things about Japan that I will miss.

1. Matcha flavored things, specifically frapuccinos and ice cream.
2. Well-dressed people.
3. They don't speak English.
4. Cute things, specifically Ocha-ken, Monokuroboo, and Chibi gallery monkey.
5. People leave you alone. When I went to America, people were constantly talking to people they didn't know. If I was standing in line to buy something at a store, everyone in line would be talking to eachother about what they were buying, how long the line was, etc. I prefer the quiet of Japan.
6. The ceremony with which some things are done. I'm not talking about opening and closing ceremonies and other trips to unnecessary land. I'm talking about the things in everyday life that the Japanese have raised to an art form, like the tea ceremony or taking an onsen. It sounds so cliched, but when performing these rituals, I am relaxed and calm.

Stockholm Syndrome

Given how much I complain, most people are surprised I've stayed in Japan this long. What they don't realize is that I complain about everywhere I've lived; at least this place is "exotic" and they don't speak English.

The problem is, I'm running out of time. They're going to kick me out of here in a few months, and I have to go somewhere else. I'm pretty sure my next stop will be Europe, since going home is not an option. There are a lot of days, however, when I just can't imagine leaving, and I don't know why. I don't have many friends, I hate the weather, my grasp of the language is laughable at best... Guess I've just gotten kind of attached to my captors.

Overheard in the teachers' room

I am addicted to coffee. Tempting me everyday, there is a drive-thru Starbucks on the way to work. Usually I'm running too late to stop, but this morning I was actually running early for once. I decided to allow myself this one little treat to get me through the day.

I clutched my coffee in my hands during the morning meeting. My reasons were two-fold--I was trying to warm my hands while hiding from the other teachers what I was holding. The Japanese are a very inquisitive people, especially when it comes to what foreigners eat and drink. I used to bring a Nalgene bottle filled with water to school and set it on my desk. Even though the bottle clearly contained water, everyone, teachers and students, felt the need to stop and ask me what was in my bottle. Though it was tempting to fill it with sake, it always contained water--what I would logically guess to be in a clear container. Anyway, I knew that if they saw too much of my coffee, it would be all over the school in no time. Not that there's anything wrong with drinking Starbucks coffee, I just didn't see a need for it to be the talk of the school.

One man stopped and asked me what I was holding. I quietly revealed the logo on the cup thinking that this would answer all questions. He gave me an inquisitive look.

"It's coffee," I explained. "From Starbucks."

"Ohhh."

Later in the day, I ran into him again.

"So did you drink your coffee?" he asked.

"Um, yes."

"In Japan, Starbucks is thought to be a sign that a place has become a big city. Places in the country don't have Starbucks; only cities have Starbucks."

Hmm, that certainly explains why one of only two drive-thru Starbucks in Japan are located here, the capital of the deep countryside.

"Do they have Starbucks in America?"

I contemplate my move. Sarcasm is lost on the Japanese, so I supress my natural urge to give a witty reply.

"I think they do. Actually, I think Starbucks came to Japan from America."
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I'm always getting asked these kinds of absurd questions, and usually when I respond they are awed. For instance, I was once asked if we had pears in America, as if everything that exists in Japan exists only here and nowhere else. I've often wondered if I would react the same to a foreigner back home. I don't think so, but maybe that's just because Americans tend to think that everywhere is or should be like us, and Japanese want to see themselves as unique. All I can do is sigh and remind myself that this is the only way they know how to react to me and converse with me.

Trash Day

Today was the long-awaited trash day. A day that comes only once every two weeks, where I can lug my bags of plastic trash, aluminum cans and glass bottles (thus giving everyone in the neighborhood a view of how much I've drunk in two weeks) six blocks and throw them away. I had a modest amount of trash today; it wasn't crowding the corners of my kitchen as usual.

Hovering around the neighborhood trash recepticle were two trash monitors. Usually, I sneak past them and throw away my trash unmolested while they help others sort their trash. Today, unfortunately, I was the only one there, and my bag did not escape their discriminating eye. I handed one of them my bag of trash and started walking away quickly, hoping they wouldn't stop me.

"Chotto gomen," a voice called out behind me. Hold on just a minute.

"Hai," I turned around and walked back towards them. Yes.

He pointed to a sauce packet visible through the bag. "This is dirty. You can't throw this away with your plastic trash. You must put it with the regular trash if it's dirty." Then he opened the bag of trash and made me fish out the offending item.

Apparently I need to work on the cleanliness of my trash. Sure, you can throw plastic away one every two weeks, but only if it's clean. I still managed to escape better than some of my friends, who have had their trash returned to them and ther bosses at school called in order to humiliate them into doing a better job of sorting their trash.