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