Japan, what is going on here?

What kind of card game's happening here, bringing out all these poker faces? Everywhere I look, Japan, you're concealing something, hiding something, looking out of the corner of your eyes, checking, anticipating, making sure you're not revealing too much. Hearts rarely make it to a sleeve here and the things un-said and un-expressed hover above your city in a dense fog of inner-supression. I wonder: is my internal wiring different than yours'? Do you lack those connective chords that want to express, feel, and know? Perhaps you have them, but just don't see the point in using in them. And maybe you're right--the software of expression is complicated. But, I won't say it's not rewarding when functioning correctly. The questions you continually ask me,

"Can you eat Japanese food?"
"Can you use chopsticks?"
"Do you like Japanese girls?"
"Can you eat sushi?"
"Can you do laundry?"

point not to a desire to know the deeper ME, but rather a desire to keep things on the surface. God forbid you ever ask a question where you might get at ME (as opposed to, say, my eating habits), or possibly learn something about what I really think. From now on, whenever you ask me a superficial question, I will respond with a ridiculous, out-of-context, deep question, something that might go like this:

Japan: "Do you like Japanese sweets?"
John: "Yes. If you were to pick one memory from your life and re-live it over and over again, what would it be and why?"

That ought put a breach in the interaction, huh? What would you do if I asked that? Would you take the question seriously, or is that probing into too-deep-a-country that has "NO TRESPASSING" signs all over it?

You're like a yearbook inscription, Japan. Sometimes you're heartfelt and honest, a note that gets-me-right-here. But, other times, you're:

"Have a nice summer."

John

Japan, forgive me.

Forgive me, I have unintentionally become...a grandma killer. Not, as in a murderer, but, you know, as in a lady killer....but instead with grandmas. Don't worry, I've never killed anyone, let alone a grandma.

Japan, I'm a grandma killer, as in "real good with the ladies who are over 70 years old." As in, "a MacDaddy wit da senior citizens ." Yup, reeeal smooth with the grand-ladies, a prince with the oba-sans.

Actually, Japan, I'm not sure how I feel about this title yet. This is merely what the women members of my Tuesday Night english conversation class told me. They are, ironically, all Japanese grandma-swinging-foxes.

No, really, though: they love me, Japan. I'm a short young man, but I'm taller than all of them, and, in their eyes, I can do no wrong. My forearms are constantly in their boney grips, them shaking my arm as they grin from ear to ear at me and depart wordly advice on what I ought to do with my life. They bake me bread, bring me crackers, have a new comment on my appearance every week, and BOY do they love english.

God, they are all beautiful people, so full of experience and memories that young eyes like mine might never see. They've made it through wars, seen a country so rooted in culture and tradition undergoe drastic changes that would shock a chameleon. They know the harships of life and how successful they are to make it to the age they have, and thus talk comfortably to me about their eventual death. I say, No, don't talk about that! They grab my arm and say, here's some crackers for you, John. Thanks, I say, because I'm low on money and this is what I will eat tomorrow morning for breakfast, and, hell, if they can accept their death with such fluid wisdom, then maybe I can, too.

What makes your grandmas so wonderfully cute and wise, Japan? So warm, so willing to open up, so loveable? Just last week I had a Christmas party at my apartment with my english-lovin' Japanese grand-ladies. Of course, one of them--a short fire-cracker of an older women who insists on being called Kuma-chan (Ms. Bear)--brings her study-notebook to the party, along with enough fruit to last me at least four years. She brought her notebook so she could take notes throughout the party--she'd be damned if she missed a new vocabulary word. She asked me what "velveeta" meant. That's a tough one, I said. I think it means "over-processed." Anyway, we all had a blast listening to stories, talking circles around topics that on the surface might not appear to matter, but we all know they do. They went home, leaving me with enough snacks and left-overs to feed the animals at the Ueno Zoo. I had invited some of my same-aged American friends also, and Kuma-chan, bless her, was there with us until the the last dog was hung, laughing and sipping on her tea while we slurped beer and listened to her memory's greatest gems.

The next morning, around 7, as I'm slowing making my way into my morning coffee and contemplating my latest stack of dirty dishes, I gaze over to my window and see a black something silouetted against the orangey-blue morning sky. The steam from my hot-coffee had painted a blur on my window, so I didn't realize the silouette was a head until I saw two little hands cup themsleves around the eyes to squint in. Then came a sudden, loud banging on the window:

bomm bomm bomm "JOHN-JOHN!" bomm bomm"JOHN-JOHN!"

I open the door, and Kuma-chan coasts right in past me, mumbling something about a notebook she forgot last night and, oh, it'd be so bad--unthinkable-- if she lost it, and she goes over to the table where it's sitting, grabs it, and rushes back outside. I've never seen someone so purposeful at 7 in the morning. But, right before she closes the door, she reaches out, grabs my forearm, skakes it while she laughs, and says...something in Japanese that I didn't quite catch. But, the TONE was unmistakable: it said, "John, you are a sly sly grandma-killer, you devil, you!"

John

Japan, you've been on my mind...

... as usual, of course. Kinda hard for you NOT to be on my mind when I see you everyday. Japan, in consideration of you: I want to know what's in your bones, will you tell me?. I want to know what makes you tick and take, the mechanics of your inner-workings, the flux-capasator in your Doloreanesque soul (forgive the "Back to the Future" reference). All I can do is offer a loaded guess. And I will.

You say a word a lot, Japan, that word being "GAMAN." Translated into english, it means "patience, or "endurance." Now, add a "SURU," to the end of it, and now we have a verb, an action word: GAMAN SURU = TO ENDURE. GAMAN SHITE! (the command form) becomes ENDURE! and GAMAN SHITEIRU (the gerund form) is I AM ENDURING. Japan, you are constantly enduring--enduring your job and the endless work hours, enduring your relationships, enduring your poor economy, enduring the weather, enduring your crowded trains and stations, enduring yourself...enduring life, getting by, being passively patient. Endurance is noble, and you treat as such in your vast collection of valued-norms and personality traits:

Employee: "I"m sorry, boss. I know I must endure more."
Boss: "Yes, you MUST."

But, allow me to get semantical, Japan. Although "endure" is indeed a verb, the way you use it hardly implies a proactive "action" (although I know not ALL verbs can be proactive). I feel YOUR use of the word weakens any purchase it might have on "activity," and quietly slips it into another category: a reaction...a noun. Or, to take it just a little further, a reactive lifestyle.

Endurance is defined as "an ability to suffer difficulties or pain with strength and patience for a long period of time." An ability: I like that part because endurance is truly something that requires dedication, determination, and volition. I admire people who practice endurance. Long period of time: that part is O.K., too, because greatness rarely happens overnight, practice makes perfect, if at first you don't succeed, tr--you know the rest. BUT! But, but, but, what if that "long period of time," slowly becomes an entrie life-span?

ME: "What did you do with your life? Were you successful?"
JAPAN: "I was an endure-er!"

In this case, endurance ceases to be an action; it implies a life-style (which is a noun), and thus represents your perpetual state of "getting by" throughout the 80-some-odd-years of your existence. But, why strive to "get-by" when you can strive to actually succeed? Is that any way to treat your existence, Japan, as something to react to? As something to be...endured? When you are done..."enduring"...then what? Endure your enduring?

You have another word at your finger tips, Japan, a wonderful, beautiful verb. I actually hadn't heard it until two days ago, perhaps implying that this word does not hold as much moral water in Japanese society as GAMAN does. I got it from a friend of mine, whom ironically is making life-decisions right now--you know, in which direction she should go next, what should she do, that sort of thing (that same sort of thing I'M doing, too). The word is "SUSUMU." It means to "ADVANCE," or "TO MOVE FORWARD." Now, this word, Japan...this word is a gorgeous reprensentation of verb-ness, of action. SUSUMU brings to mind a proactive choice involving a conscious movement in a forward direction. It seeks to leave behind the notion of "toughing it out," and encourages one to "go out toughly," to promote the idea that life is not a treadmill to run on until your years, your minutes, your SECONDS are up. SUSUMU is a back-road to run on, a new neighborhood to jog through, an un-visited park to walk in, a mountain to climb on (a dangling preposition to swing through the jungles of language on)--bascially, SUSUMU is moving to anywhere where there is a possibility for a change of scenery, a dip into the unknown. Where GAMAN waits and watches the world happen to it, SUSUMU goes out and happens to the world.

HOW and WHY can I say all this, you must be thinking? Is this typical, un-reflective bullshit written by an overly-optimistic American 24-year-old, reeking of irresponsibility and naivety, who has yet to taste the bitterness the world has to offer? Perhaps, but I was not born into your in way of thinking, Japan. I was never taught to treat ENDURANCE as a reaction to life, and thus have never come to believe that being patient--in the way that you so diligently are--is productive. But I guess it's all about what you want, Japan. Maybe you want to just "get by," maybe you see that as the most noble course of action. And, in all honesty, maybe it is. I don't know--I'm a 24-year-old fond of bullshit and irresponsibility! That makes me unable to apply any accurate values to your interpretation of "GAMAN," for it's unfair of me to say something is "good" or "bad," without fully understanding the situation. Thus, I digress into a subjective conditonal: IF it was me, I would choose MOVE FORWARD WITH ENDURANCE rather than ENDURE WHILE THE WORLD MOVES PAST ME any day of the week. Even Sundays!

John

P.S. Japan, sorry this letter is so essay-like!


*This letter was inspired by a conversation with some Japanese friends on a crowded train, on a late Tuesday night. They are no longer students, they are full-fledged members of Japanese society, working from 9 a.m.-9 p.m. everyday in big companies or firms in the heart of Tokyo. They are a year younger than me. They wear suits everyday, they have business cards. BUSINESS CARDS! These friends had studied abroad in America for a year or so in 2001, and I asked if they wanted to go back, maybe travel or something after they saved up some money. They said, OH YEAH! But we can't, we don't have the courage. We must stay with our companies for they do not smile upon those who constantly change jobs. This lifetstyle is comfortable for us, this lifestyle is our path to the future, this is stable. We must GAMAN...

Dearest Japan,

Oh, hello, Japan! Japan, it's been a while, and there is a question on my tounge, long past the point of loomage. Forgive me if it seems like my western logic leaves me naive, or ill-equipped to understand this seemingly simple device of you and your people. You will scoff at my cute little confusion, I'm sure. But, really, this question must be purged, eradicated...asked. Japan. Dude. What is it with the way you ride your bicycles?!

It is my basic understanding that a bicycle, as a form of transportation, offers a mechanical advantage over walking. One can--conceivably--ride a bicycle faster than he/she might be able to walk, thereby allowing you to make it to your destination at a faster rate than if you were on foot. But, herein lies the problem: why is it that many a times I find myself walking faster than you when you are riding a bicycle? Why is it, also, then when moving so slow, so painfully slow, that you insist on riding in the middle of the road or sidewalk, always subtly swerving from side to side, unintentionally blocking my passage?

And, hey, Japan; where did you learn those wonderful tricks? You know, like, the one where when confronted with a blind corner you simply trust that there will be no one riding by and you simply push your way past the corner and out into the street without a second (or even a first) glance to your breaks? That one is breathtaking, really it is. Or how about the one where when retreiving a parked bicycle from the side of the sidewalk you thrust it out into the pedestrian traffic for every unsuspecting person to dodge before mounting it? Yeah, that one is good, tricky. It never fails to get me.

Hey, what's the deal with your high school boys, Japan? Why is it that, when on their bicycles, they MUST ride as though they were a giant pod of orca whales, taking up both lanes of traffic? Is that a national law or something? Could they get arrested for riding on the side of the road, in any formation less than 6 by 6? OH! And regarding your oji-sans (grandpas): MUST they always ride inebriated? I've come to suspect that that, too, is a some sort of regulation-- any man over 70, when riding a bicycle, must be completely smashed out of his gourd.

But, most of all, Japan, why is it that I continually fail to see that I ride my bicycle just like you? Why do I ignore the follies of my own riding-style? I seem to forget the fact that I, too, ride my bike slow, in the middle of the sidewalk, past the blind corners, and with friends side by side as opposed to single file (although, I DO think it was unfair of your country's dutiful policemen to stop me and my cousin that night at 10 p.m. when we were riding side-by-side down a back-alley and then you asked to see our passports and made me sign a bunch of stuff that I had no idea was about).

Japan, I get frustrated when I ride my bicycle behind you, past you, or in front of you. By that's not to say that you don't get frustrated with me also.

John

The Theory Behind the--da da da-- BLOG

Hi, this is John Harnetiaux, and this is a BLOG. I decided to start this BLOG because there's like a thousand things that happen to me each day in Japan that I don't write about simply because a.) I'm lazy and/or busy, and b.) no one, or nothing (like a BLOG, or something) is holding me accountable to write about such things and experiences. So, that's why I started this BLOG. This BLOG's (why is it called a BLOG--that sounds like a name of something I would pull out of my nose) use is for me to "process" or at least record some of the thoughts and things I come across in Japan (or come across me) for my own personal benefit. But where you, the reader, come in is that, in a very abstract way, you are helping me to validate the experience. It's the age old chesnut: if a tree fell in the woods would anyone here it? Likewise, if John was punched in the crotch today at elemenatry school, would it still hurt if he didn't tell anyone about it? The answer is: YES. Of course it would... and IT DOES, believe me. However, when he writes about it or tells someone about it, then it still hurts, but he is better able to see the humor in it, although, for the record: there is nothing inherently funny about getting punched or hit in the crotch. Unless it's someone else taking the hit.

I feel, also, that I must comment upon the style that I choose to write these entries in. I have chosen a letter-format, addressing all my letters to Japan. Obviously this format, these letters to Japan (as though Japan were a person able to recieve letters, field questions and answer them) will contain generalities, both postive and negative impressions and opinions of the country and it's people, and subjective experiences...and run-on senetences... but--and here is my excuse--being here, living the everyday lifestyle, and also having been here for two years already excuses me from any sort of objectivism some people might require when making international observations, as it were. The fact is, some days I wish I could wrap my arms around Japan in a great cheesy big bear-hug of grattitude and thank it for all it's done for me, shown me, and allowed me in the way of experiences. Annnnnddd, in other moments, my less-than-great moments, I wish could I bend Japan over my balcony and beat it with the little racket thingy I use to beat my futon with to get all the dust and dirt out of. And, on the topic of english grammar, and the language as a whole: I shall be excused from the normal grammatical and and aesthetic conventions that bind the normal writer within the electric chair of language, as I'd have to say that I go days here sometimes without having a REAL english conversation, one with particles and verb conjunctions, and vocabulary that fits, and PRONOUNS, yes pronouns! I love pronouns. I'm getting hungry.

That said: enjoy, and do comment from time to time. OsewaninarimashitaNE!

John