Burning the Midnight Oil

One of the tough parts of working in Japan is that it is so very easy to rationalize things based on the surrounding work culture. To be honest, I am not even sure it is a Japan-specific issue, it seems like it is similar elsewhere too.

One gets lulled into a sense of complacency.

'At least I only do 1.5~2 hours a day of overtime, other people are in the office until midnight'. (No matter that it adds up to an extra full day of work per week in total hours)

'If I stay a bit longer each evening maybe I can get it done' (No matter that I am in fact holding two positions which should both be full time)

'Oh cool, only 1 extra hour today!' (No matter that my manager looks confused at my departure)

Comparatively speaking, I must admit my situation is much better than many of my friends. Matcha-kun has had weeks in which he came home past 11:00pm every night. 

I hear tales on the train, regaled with a certain inexplicable measure of pride and exhaustion, of working 3 days straight with only naps under a desk to keep going. It is almost like some people are proud of the amount of overtime they do, of the time taken away from their family, outside interests and required REM hours.

My job has many incredibly interesting parts, and I realize that I have a degree of responsibility and free rein that are unusual for someone my age (especially female and especially in Japan), but the culture of overtime just seems so destructive. There are certainly times when you have to cope with emergencies and will need to put in the extra time, but expecting this to go on for months (years!) is not conductive to employee health and well-being. It is a bit of modern machismo I despise and yet have to submit to.

How does one change this? Do we just have to wait for all the 'my-job-is-my-life' dudes to retire? 

Revisiting the Past: Kitasenju

Recently, spurred by the desire to try a great Thai place which appeared on one of our current drama obsessions (Kodoku no Gurume), Matcha-kun and I ended up at Kitasenju.

To tell the truth, I had tried to ignore this (admittedly blameless) area for a good long while. When passing through the station on my way to my koto lessons, I whisked from one line to the next, and never left the station.

The reason is silly, but not entirely. Several years ago, I actually stayed in Kitasenju for about a week. I was in Japan to job hunt and visit my then-significant other. As Kitasenju is out of the way, and home to a lot of Tokyo's day laborer population, the lodging was really cheap. 

This was not a great time in my life. I was in grad school in London, so doing the long distance thing with my SO, and having absolutely no luck finding a job that would take me back to Japan. 

As the SO was also busy, I ended up spending a lot of time running around for interviews, then walking around alone. My last 2 days in the city were spent rambling about, missing this person who had been 'forbidden' (!!!) to spend the evenings with me... mostly because his parents were afraid he would get plastered right before his first day of work. 

Eventually he did show up on the eve of my departure, after his first day at work. Drunk after a welcome party for new recruits... not a good state. One of my major issues with him was his inability to stop drinking at a reasonable point, so you can imagine how upset this made me.

All in all, the whole mess left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. And I guess it made me irrationally dislike Kitasenju.

How different things are now. Exploring the long shoutengai shopping streets hand in hand with Matcha-kun, I could literally feel my heart lift. This place now has new memories affixed to it, the dark aura it had in my mind is gone.

Perception is a funny thing. The things, places and people we thought were so perfect or pursued so assiduously actually turn out not to be what actually makes us happy.

The total shitamachi-ness of Kitasenju now can actually speak to me. The long street with colorful hand-painted shutters, the cute little cafes and bars, the calls of merchants purveying everything from snacks to futon. During that visit I couldn't even see it.

But now I can. Forgive me Kitasenju, let's be friends.

Of Planes and Trains (and food)

The writer Jan Morris once wrote that food eaten in movement, while travelling, is somehow more satisfying.

I agree wholeheartedly with this, except when it comes to plane food (*shudder*). If a flight is less than 7 hours I will usually not eat on board, unless they provide fruit or some vaguely healthy cracker/sembei. Unfortunately, for long haul flights, my metabolism does require food... if you can call vegetarian plane meals such...eeesh.

However, trains are entirely another matter. I have fond memories of munching through giant onigiri, local cherry tomatoes and mikan juice as I slowly wound my way around Northern Kyushu. I have stopped in Hiroshima for okonomiyaki, and sampled vegetarian oshizushi as I watched Tsuwano's carp-filled canals and tiny orange torii fade into the distance.

When travelling around Japan by train I find the journey equally important as the destination. Watching the fields and mountains give way to beach, or the flat expanse of Aichi slowly turn to Mt.Fuji and then Tokyo.  All from the comfy seat of an unhurried train.

But planes... planes are unnatural. Squashed  into tiny, knee-bruising seats, without being able to walk about or watch the scenery pass by. The cold, recycled air drying out nostrils and any bit of exposed skin.

Every once in a while it can be cool. On a return flight from Singapore I got to watch a thunderstorm from above, flying over the US I briefly saw the aurora and the view of Mt. Fuji from the air is stunning. But, personally, I find that planes are not well-suited to rambling contemplation, while trains are.

I Quit my High-Powered Job... AND THAT'S OK

So, some people seemed to be wondering what the hell was up with my previous post about job hunting in Japan. After all, it wasn't so long ago I announced to the world that I was taking on a fancy new position, right? Was that post just a random thing, or a late compendium of thoughts?

Well...no.

I have actually accepted another job, my second in less than 9 months. I quit my previous company and then spent 2 months soul searching, job hunting and confronting a lot of my prideful demons.

Let me make it crystal clear: I adore my previous company. This is not lip service, I had fantastic colleagues (whom I am still in close contact with), great pay, nice corporate culture, and a lot of support. The product is amazing, and the technology truly top notch. It was because of all of these factors that I stayed on as long as I could, even past the point that was probably mentally healthy.

The only issue was, I hated the job: sales. Towards the Japanese market.

As someone who likes to speak to people and give presentations, I thought sales would be a good fit. I had done something related before, and was excited to dive into the tech world and prove myself.

But pure sales turned out to be a very different experience. Cold calls, pushing clients, constant back and forth over technical issues, pressure and late hours. All this done in Japanese.

I did my best, taking company-sponsored keigo classes, researching competitors, gleaning info from my sempai, calling company after company, mailing list after list. Eventually, I was waking up every morning with a cannonball of dread in my stomache, breaking down in tears of fear and frustration, and waking up at 5:00am in a panic. I ignored it for as long as I could, because I liked the company so much.

I have a huge sense of responsibility, and so whenever I saw my numbers stagnating or not rising as rapidly as predicted (even for reasons outside of my control), I felt horribly guilty that I was letting down the team. My self-worth attached itself to those numbers, and left me in a constant state of anxiety. What made it worse is that my teammates were all so kind and helpful, giving advice on how to resolve technical issues or boost results. It would almost have been preferable if they had been mad at me, thus reflecting how mad I was at myself for not being able to reach the level I thought I should.

Sales people, those who actually love the thrill of the chase and are motivated by bonuses and KPIs, are amazing. Watching my sempai in action was a masterclass, as he took hold of the power balance and brought huge accounts in again and again.

But it isn't for me. And that, I eventually figured out, is ok. No matter how much you may want to, you can't be good at everything, or make yourself like something you truly do not.

Now I have found a position much closer to my interests (travel), that uses my language skills, and that is challenging without making me an anxious mess. It is still IT-related (a must), venture-like and allows me to tell stories, which I love.

I have figured out what I can and cannot live with, although my pride took a giant hit in the process. 

The more you know, right?

Tradition: Behind the Snark

My affair with Japan is like a good relationship: I care for the darn place so much that at times I hate it. I can't pretend the bad sides don't exist (that would be denial, very unhealthy), but after cooling down remember once again why I fought so hard for so long to return.

Outside the new Kabukiza, glowing in Ginza's neon twilight, I can just make out the sound of the hyoshigi, the inimitable high-pitched wooden clappers, which never fail to make my ears prick up.

From my open window I watch a trademark Yokohama Pastel Sunset, and hear strains of far-off Bon Odori music.

Walking home I smell curry, unagi and ramen, laced together with a faint hint of summer rain on the wind.

,

Funny how it is smallest things that reassure us that all is well.

Nihonbashi to Ningyocho: Business in the Shitamachi

In preparation for the Olympics, Tokyo is getting major face-lifts. Nihonbashi, which used to be a shabby but well-beloved shitamachi haunt has now been invaded by the Coredo shopping centres. While they are tastefully wa, and house some interesting traditional shops (for example crafts made using gold leaf from Kanazawa), this is not the Nihonbashi I remember.

Much of the shitamachi is home to traditional Japanese industry. By this I don't just mean artistic crafts (old style umbrellas, lacquerware, wood working) but also businesses that cater exclusively to the Japanese market. Walking from Nihonbashi to Ningyocho you find purveyors of those iconic OL uniforms, small workshops manufacturing a very specific part for kotatsu heaters, printers of promotional uchiwa fans.

The longer I live and work in Japan, the more I have come to realize that there are two business models that do very well here: either be extremely local or go completely global. The interesting thing is that the actual size of the business is irrelevant. Companies that deal with business globally are usually thought of being ginormous corporations... and yet there are tiny 3D printing specialists or app creators in Tokyo that have dedicated customers on every continent. On the other hand Japan Rail, the queen of the 'super local', is massive.

The old and the new coexist peacefully. Although I am often annoyed and flummoxed by how slow business can be here, it comes with some benefits. People will hang on to traditions for dear life, even if they are the last ones chugging along. Even when it is not profitable. Companies are often loath to leave their suppliers, who they have known for decades, in the lurch. While business-wise I fully understand this does not make sense, on a human level it is kind. 

Sometimes I think resistance to change, in Japan, can be a strategy of its own.

In Ningyocho there is a traditional sweets parlor called Hatsune. It has stood in the same spot since 1837, purveying old fashioned anko and jelly desserts, along with traditional kakigori (the type topped with green tea and red beans, or syrupy preserved apricots). They make tea in a cast iron tea urn, which is both time consuming and easy to burn oneself on while bustling past, just because it tastes a bit better.

Time does not stand entirely still at Hatsune, but their dedication to the old has served them well, as the competition for seats is fierce. Well-to-do ladies in expensive summer kimono (obviously regulars, from the chit-chat) smile benevolently at younger customers and the unusual Japanese/foreign couple at the table next to them.

The global and the local sit companionably side-by-side, over ice and tea.

Dating in Japan: Feminism and Being the Odd One Out

Dating in Japan as a rather fervent feminist is a constant education in boundaries. 

How far does one bend, to adjust to cultural differences? How to gently make your position crystal clear, when your significant other is trying to be kind, but missing the mark? When to make a stand, and when to save your comments for another time?

Having now been in a relationship with Matcha-kun for two and a half years (whoa!), I can definitely see how he has changed over time, as he has absorbed a great deal of information on issues that are important to me. An understanding of women's issues, accepting my strong views on vegetarianism, better knowledge of non-binary gender and sexuality issues... his willingness to learn about these often uncomfortable subjects is one of the many reasons we are still in a relationship.

Of the two, he is definitely the more easygoing one, a true grace for me, as I am very intense and stubborn. I know that I must drive him absolutely nuts sometimes, but nonetheless he doesn't run.

But surrounding cultural norms, and the opinions I hear from other people, often still make my (metaphorical) hackles rise.

However I look at it the issues seem to boil down to money, or rather economic independence.

When I was pondering a career move, which might mean that I would be without work for a bit, the various reactions I got were highly annoying. Matcha-kun, thinking he was being kind, kept on reiterating that it would be okay, he would support me economically. I tried to gently deflect this line of thought, until eventually I had to take a much firmer stance. 

He is not responsible for supporting me, I am in charge of me. Whatever decisions I make, I will take responsibility for them, and making a living is on the forefront of that list. It is very hard to explain to someone, who is obviously trying to be reassuring, why this ticks me off so much.

From the Greek chorus I live with, the comments seemed to focus on how, should I have any financial or visa issues, I should get married. Again, this bothers me. The concept of using someone for their money disturbs me, as does the idea of giving up all my independence (and hard earned skills) just because I might potentially have a slightly rocky couple of months.

I take great pride in fending for myself, and do not see economic dependence as something to aspire to. Being by myself is not frightening, and in this there is strength. I do not seek someone who will take care of me, but rather someone who will be an equal partner in crime. 

These stances make me (and others who have similar affinities) stand out among many of my circle of acquaintances. A belief in true equality makes one a bit of an outlier here, and sometimes it seems the breaking point is near. And other times you need to restrain yourself from slapping people.

But fortunately at least with Matcha-kun we both bend but do not break, like my neighbor's majestic bamboo during typhoon season.

White Tulle and Hard Cash

My recent reading lists and browsing history would make anyone who has known me for any length of time slightly suspicious, and perhaps worried that I left my personality and sanity somewhere on the Yamanote line, to continue revolving in circles until found by a kindly train conductor.

As a highly trained ethnomusicologist, and hence someone with a strong grounding in antropology and human ritual, I tend to pick up on patterns in my surroundings... which have now been artifically amplified by Facebook. And there is indeed a pattern which has, for a rather unusual reason, caused my ears to prick up and sustained my attention enough to devote quite a bit of research to the question it spurred.

My question, should anyone wish to answer it, is: 'What, truly, is a wedding for?'

I come from a line, on both sides of the helix, that has somewhat shunned the 'traditional wedding' (whatever that may be is another big question), and this distinct lack of interest has been passed on to me. I do not dream of a white merengue gown that extends two metres from my body, and am left unfased by the idea of wedding colors, chapels, rings with large clear stones and all the other paraphenalia that seem to be a requirement for these events.

It seems to me that the intense focus on the 'production' is more than a little dangerous.

After diving into the literature, I found that many other researchers who have researched the subject in infinitely greater depth than myself agree. The degree of mental energy required to plan a modern wedding is immense, and it detracts from the important fact that after the wedding you have a marraige, which should (hopefully) last much longer. Somehow it makes more sense to me to focus on preparing for marriage, and all the wonderful and difficult things that means, instead of spending half of your annual income (or, in Japan, your friends and colleagues' income) on a rigidly scheduled party.

Another aspect I find immensely troubling is the thinly veiled promise given by the industry that, if you have a 'perfect wedding' it will lead to a perfect marriage...

Huh?! How many huge, million dollar weddings have flashed across our computer screens, just to end a few months or years later?

Monetary investment does not produce a couple who can disagree civilly, support each others ventures and work well in tandem. Perfectly retouched wedding pictures (and engagement pictures, trash the dress pictures, day after pictures...) do not a perfect marriage make.

The obsession and, frankly, rather self indulgent affair of being a bride/groom is front and center, and the transition to being a good partner to your significant other is ignored. It is all flash and minimal substance.

 

I have a feeling the wedding industry is taking a lot of people for a ride.

Runner's High

Every once in a while, amidst the usual series of runs that range from the quite good to the downright awful, you get a glimpse of perfection.

One of those rare runs that remind you exactly why you lace up, despite the cold, despite the hour, despite the fact that all you feel like doing is curling up in a futon and getting scantily clad Oguri Shun look-alikes to bring you endless cups of Earl Grey tea (anyone?...oh, just me then).

These experiences sneak up on you. The first 10 minutes may feel unremarkable, if anything a bit on the sluggish side, but suddenly something else takes over. Call it what you will, the runner's high or divine grace, it is unmistakable. Your body takes control, each stride smooth, your breath quiet and regular, your thoughts Zen-like in their passing. Your feet flowing seamlessly, effortlessly, as if you could run forever and never stop, into the purple and pink ombré of the sunset.

12 kilometres, over an hour of constant forward movement, pass in an instant. You are almost afraid to stop, a little sad as the memory chips in your calves guide you back home, because you know this state of endorphin-ridden grace will have to end. And you never know when it will reoccur, no matter how you try to recreate the circumstances to catch it again. I can only imagine that the true, ultimate goal of marathon running is to experience all 42 km in this perfect state.

Through the green, tapir-shaped basin of the Tsurumi river, with the wind cooling my face and Brooks Glycerins armoring my feet, I will continue to chase it.

Linguistic Revivals

Recently, purely by chance, I came across a blog which has ever since been shooting thunderbolts across my brain. Sadly, as the author writes exclusively in Italian, I fear her work may be inaccessible to most of you who kindly read my ramblings.

My relationship with Italy and the Italian language has been filled with twists. Although bilingual and educated (for the most part) in Italian, since waving goodbye to my odd little highschool I have not used it much. At university I tutored those learning, and naturally sang  arias in it, but it was no longer the language of conversation or education. Italian literature, which had once filled my shelves and summers, was no longer a staple of my printed diet. Eco, Buzzati, Salgari, Levi fell by the wayside to make room for all the American literary pop culture I needed to catch up on.

My relationship to the country itself has also been problematic, especially since experiencing Japanese society. While Italy is a land of unspeakable beauty and other delights, it can also be loud, confrontational and aggressive. Thinking of those around you is not as common as it is in Tokyo. Being an introvert in Italy can be absolutely exhausting, as I feel I must be on my guard. In a way I turned away from my own country.

Then upon my virtual doorstep arrives Giappone Mon Amour, and shocks me into remembering how absolutely beautiful Italian writing can be.  A language replete with adjectives, highly specific verbs and turns of phrase, it is a delight to the reader. With the  exception of the occasional Benni book it has been years since I have surrounded myself with such a rush of latinate words. 

Italian writing, like speaking, has an unmistakable torrential cadence, as you can often read for half a page before finding a period. Like all deluges, a lengthily  elaborated  thought will break off sharply and go into another, tenuously related direction. It feels like being wrapped in the wafting smell of deeply roasted coffee and lashings of sugar.

After so many years of spending each day pushing at my ignorance of Japanese, reading her work and fully understanding the references, quotes and literary tradition she links to is like sinking into a warm onsen.

So here I am, sitting in a Tokyo train, falling in love again with Italian, thanks to a woman I have never met (although I hope to, as she has a really adorable corgi) and her impressions of Japan.

The universe works in mysterious ways.

甘え、甘え

Amaeru (to depend on the kindness of others, or in a sense to be spoilt) is a concept I run across far too often. It often commingles with male privilege as well.

'Because I am Japanese, I am not good at learning languages'. Nope, sorry. Where there is a will there is a way. I know tons of non-native speakers who have excellent English skills. Have you ever heard 'oh, I'm Swedish so I am bad at languages'? Seriously, you should expect more of yourself.

'Hey, there is this networking group where Japanese salarymen chat with foreign women in English'
*sputters in disbelief*
'No Ms.Godzilla, it isn't weird at all'
Nope, sorry. I am not up to being exoticised, fetishized or viewed as some kind of cheap thrill. Frankly, as this discussion came up with a really good friend, I was left kind of sad by his placid acceptance of it, although after explaining it in reverse (a bunch of international guys all meeting up with exclusively Japanese women) he seemed to get my point.

Amai, amai.

'I want my husband to support me, so I don't have to work ever again.'
Whoa, majorly unfair. Why should he pay for everything while you lounge about and play tennis?

'I want to work in Japan, in a regular job, but I only know conversational Japanese. English should totally be enough.'
Wrong, so wrong. Some people, who usually have worked hard in a very specialized, useful field (aka science) can do so. If not, work your butt off.

Or my particular favorite from the last weeks: 'Comfort women were necessary, so that the soldiers could 'satify their urges'. Oh ho ho, Mayor Hashimoto, what an a** you are. Women were not put on this earth just to satisfy men's desire for sex. Also, how is rape ever an acceptable thing?

And yet other politicians, including female politicians, just say: 'Oh, well that is just his opinion'.

Hmm

On my way to and from work I have been distracted by the televised ads for a certain English conversation school (which will remain nameless). There are a couple different versions, so it took a few views for it to finally hit me.

Basically, one of the ads shows a man going into a one-on-one eikaiwa session thinking: 'Me, alone with a foreigner?!'  (and yes, it is written out exactly like that)

Sincerely, I find it rather annoying, bordering on the offensive.

1- I hate the term gaijin/gaikokujin. It still smacks of that 'everyone over there, who isn't us'. As if other countries are all the same, lumped together by their non-Japaneseness. I can deal with oubeijin,as I know it is very difficult for non-EU/US citizens to distinguish between Western countries. Nonetheless, I never use those terms, usually saying 'non-Japanese' or indicating someone's nationality specifically.

2- What is with this 'omg, I will be alone with someone from another country! What will I do? Will he/she try to eat me?!' mentality. Others have written extensively (and far more eloquently) on the subject of (especially non-Asian) 'gaijin' not truly being viewed as actual people.
And this is the problem. Because most people would not say 'Me, alone with another person?!', unless said person was a recognized axe-murderer, known flasher or other dangerous critter.

No matter what my boss says on the subject, it is subtle discrimination, from what I can imagine very similar to that African Americans face in the US. The constant 'oh, your Japanese is so good' comments. They are fully acceptable if you are a student. Not if you work full time for a Japanese company, and still occasionally get the keigo wrong in your frequent e-mails. The questions like 'are foreigners ever shy?'. Who? Everyone outside of Japan? 10 people, 10 colours ya'll.

Okay, enough from me. I shall go have a cup of tea and stop being crabby.

Dating in Japan: Differences

One of the interesting/infuriating things about dating someone from another culture are the differences.  Once you have been dating someone for a while, inevitably bits of reality and issues start to crop up. And we analyze (or at least I do) each thing, trying to figure each other out.

Are these differences culturally based? Is it personality? Both? Neither? Does it even matter? Are the issues actually even about the person, or just me projecting onto them? (I am currently going with the last theory). When relationships are cross-cultural, it is all too simple to blame any dearths or 'defects' on differences in norms and upbringing.

Some differences are indeed cultural. Affection shown less in words and more in gestures and acts. A tendency towards modesty and reiteration in conversation. Others are personal. The decision to dress formally at all times. A quiet nature.

Cultural differences can be difficult, if both parties are unwilling to budge. Some are deeply ingrained, and only show up unconsciously, which can be the scariest to deal with. I think talking about things is the only way forward. People are not mind readers (as I often tell two of my 'unsatisfied' sharemates), and while some conversations are harder than others, it is better than simmering in silence.

But mostly it requires a journey inward. I am not one for 'new-agey' stuff, but I have become more concious that what we dislike in others tends to be what we dislike about ourselves. It is easier to focus on those traits in someone else, rather than accepting and dealing with them in ourselves. For those who tend to keep others at a bit of a distance, a relationship with someone from a different culture can start out feeling very 'safe', as cultural differences do have the effect of a mental wall. However that wall does not remain there forever, and you find yourself wondering again.

My apologies, this post ended up being more introspective than intended, but I would love to hear what others think about the subject.

どうしょもない

Definitely one of my favorite expressions in Japanese, it perfectly encompasses the uselessness of trying to change/help a situation/person.

Since I am mostly aquainted with people who have a strong interest in broadening their experiences, learning new things or taking on new challenges, I am not sure what to make of those few who drift along and complain without trying to fix their situation.

Conversation this Sunday:
X-chan: 'Omg I am so bored... what am I supposed to do? Is it like this for all people who work?'
Me: 'You could take some kind of fun class? Yoga is great and not too expensive'
X-chan: 'But that costs money'
Me: 'Go for a run or a walk?'
X-chan: 'But it is sunny out, I might get burned'
Me: 'Well, if you want to make more money and are bored, why not get an extra job one day per weekend?'
X-chan: 'Mendokusai...'

Okay, I get it, you don't actually want a solution, how unfeminine of me to not get that...

And every time I am preparing to go off on a trip all I hear is 'iinaaa, I want to go somewhere toooo'.
Then go! But no, it always goes back to 'my boyfriend doesn't wanna' (as if it is impossible to travel with friends or *gasp* by yourself) or 'you make more money than me' (false, actually you make more, I just manage it better).

If you want to have fun, you need to be proactive about it. Admittedly I may have taken it a bit far, with running AND koto AND yoga AND freelancing AND traveling, along with the usual nomikai and other stuff that pops up. I would love to take drawing classes, and am thinking of taking a course in real estate too. This kind of lifestyle may be busy but hell, you meet a lot of people and have a lot of fun!

I have also recently been dealing with several clients who have little to no life outside of work. Some say they play a sport or do an activity once a month. Others say that playing with their kids is their hobby (no, sorry, that is called 'good parenting'). Seriously? You only get to live once (unless you believe in reincarnation), and you are okay with spending that life at work?!

Such as waste... perhaps in their previous lives they were ants or other such industrious critters?

Food, Writing and Inconclusive Thoughts

And once again I find myself at the counters of my regular kaiten sushi in Saitama, observing my thoughts marshal by, in time with the little plates. I wonder what it is about movement and noise that make a conducive writing atmosphere.

While I am a regular customer and big fan of Lu's Cafe (which I have written about before, and where I recently had French toast with a friend) I simply cannot write there. As welcoming and relaxing as it, or as my room or Shinjuku Park are, all I want to do is chat or curl up with a book.

But put me in a busy, crowded cafe, kaiten sushi or, better yet, train or plane, and my hand automatically reaches for a notebook or (more recently) smartphone.

Perhaps it is the coming and going of other people that is inspiring. I see my thoughts projected on other people. Odd for an introvert, you would think.

But perhaps a silent room leaves too much space for all my thoughts, which all come to quickly and then dam up, leaving me with an empty or doodled page. Perhaps the act of writing in public is a kind of escape from the busyness around me.

As a lover of great food, I nonetheless cannot write in its presence. I am far too busy enjoying it, and doing little seated dances of glee. But I do not need to feel that enryo about kaiten, train onigiri or (kami forbid) plane food, which I usually don't eat anyway. Writing replaces food, perhaps?

I am currently reading an odd little book, published in the 90s and found in a delightful used bookstore in Kagurazaka, called 'Tokyo Kitchen' (which is unavailable in translation, I fear). It is rather fascinating, as I often wonder how people think about day to day things, if they think like me, or I am unique in my weirdnesses (unlikely). Food being so intrinsic, it is interesting to hear what others think, what dishes speak of home, comfort and love, how one eats alone or in company.

It becomes obvious that those who chose their surroundings well are often more settled and likely to cook. Others seem content to eat pancakes or conbini udon everyday, usually in a cramped, noisy usagigoya. The presence of a stable, welcoming home is comforting, and the act of writing is a 'home away from home' for many.

Hmm. Kaitenzushi musings.

Summer Grand Finale

You can't have a Japanese summer without fireworks. And usually, in Tokyo, you cannot have fireworks without crowding, loooong lines in the train stations and standing about waiting.

However, the all-knowing Wave-chan recommended a fireworks festival near her home, on the Seaside line.

Showing up a mere hour before the start of the show, we were stunned to be able to saunter down the beach and get some space right by the water. I went to get takoyaki (managing not to drop them on my yukata) and only had to wait in line for a few minutes. Mind boggling.

It is great to spend an hour with your eyes to the heavens, watching burst after burst of flame and colour. Although the heat of summer will not relinquish its grasp on the city for another month or so, the end of summer is nigh. As soon as September rolls around work will pick up, along with musical performances, the number of queries I receive on a daily basis, and other responsabilities.

But for now we can sit in the cool sea breeze at night, running in the surf and laughing at ghost stories.

Dating in Japan: Expectations

Last night I was stranded on the Toyoko line for an hour, waiting for the worst of the typhoon to pass, after the last of a series of long days and nights of work events. While listening to the wild winds buffet the train, my thoughts turned philosophical (perhaps aided by the rather large G&T which one of the attendees foisted on me).

One of my friends here has a boyfriend (although I am not sure if that is the best term to use for him) she only sees once a month. He lives 20 minutes away, but is always 'too busy' to meet and doesn't want to come by the sharehouse. Personally, these sound like incredibly lame excuses, but she swallows them whole.

With long work hours and commutes, I understand that meeting once a week may be the max for many people, especially if you want to maintain a decent social life. But unless you are in a long distance relationship, once a month sounds kind of silly...can you really consider someone who does not call you or try to meet with you a boyfriend/girlfriend?

However, this seems to be a common arrangement. A couple of my sharemates are in the same situation, and one of them is male! Is it that meeting once a month is enough for them, or are they afraid to be hated if they ask for more time? I cannot help but remember what my mother once said: If you really care for someone, you will do anything just to spend a few hours with them.

Strange how a few words can influence one so deeply, especially as she was speaking to someone else, but I took those words to heart. I have flown to another EU country when the object of my affection was passing through there, and been visited on less than 12 hours notice by the same person. Flown back and forth between Japan and London, taken night buses and shinkansen between Kobe and Tokyo. I do not regret any of it.

I am not willing to settle for someone who 'allows me' (as my friend said) to meet them, and is not willing to put in work and effort. I analyze everything to death (thank you, liberal arts education), but still feel that knowing that someone will drop everything to come be with you or help you ranks much higher than money, looks, status or even attraction.

Enough pondering now... thankfully there is a Hash tonight, nothing like a 8k run to relieve one of overly convoluted thoughts!

Body Image in Japan

Conversing with my flatmates can be really interesting, particularly the girl who has never been outside of Japan (Korea does not count, since many people speak Japanese) or, really, ever seemingly thought hard about anything besides boybands. Usually I can take almost anything in stride, but one tiny little comment while watching a show on TV about personal trainers really, really got to me.

'Eeew, look at that girl's muscles....I, like, want my bones to show'.

The brief look on my face, before I managed to recover control, might have scared her. I had to make an excuse and leave the room.

I know for a fact she lacks the will to actually accomplish that ideal, so shouldn't let it worry me.

But what makes me so incredibly angry is that here (as all over the world) the goal seems to be skinny. Not fit. Not healthy. Just skinny. God, lets just make ourselves even more powerless, shall we?

My flatmate asks me all the time why I don't get colds, am full of energy, and can walk around the city for hours. How I can run 10k, have good skin and attract nice Japanese guys (who supposedly all want skinny girlfriends... right).

She is not at all overweight, but shopping with her is difficult, as after two hours she is tired. Her acne bothers her a lot as well, but she still keeps on eating food from the conbini everyday. No exercise either (as it is either 'mendokusai' or there are not enough hot guys at the location).

75% of the food I eat is either home-cooked or unprocessed/raw. I run as often as possible, including long evening runs with the Hash House Harriers, and walk at least 30 minutes everyday. Weight-training and full stretching sessions (a remnant of my competitive fencing days) whenever I can fit them in.

She was shocked to hear that I work out and control my diet not because I hate my body, but because I respect it.  Long, strong muscles. Endurance. The glorious feeling of running with the sun and wind on your back. The beauty of a perfectly timed disengage, and the power of a lunge. A plate full of fresh vegetables. These are joyous things!

I know a lot of expat women struggle with feelings of being 'fat' in Japan, and it takes a lot of strength to continue reminding yourself that you are healthy, strong and have a different body structure entirely.

Okay, rant over. On a more useful note, I recently found this  little chart, and wanted to share it.

There is something in the air...

The night air is still cold, but now it holds a hint of something else, that smell of greenness to come, all the plants preparing for the sudden spurt of growth that is spring, and the overnight appearance of the fluffy pink sakura, currently being introduced by their more garish, hardy friends, the plum trees.

Spring coats (and in my case, a new awesome faux-leather motorcycle jacket from Uniqlo) make their appearance, as we all try to hurry spring along, and get to the warmer days spent under cherry trees, the long vacation of Golden Week... but it is still a bit too chilly, and everyone shivers and wishes they had kept on their now far too familiar winter coat.

But perhaps this feeling in the air is something else.. a kind of tension? The anniversary of March 11th passed, with much remembrance from people, but little movement of techtonic plates. However, for the past few days, there have been some tremors.

While riding on the usually rather subdued Toyoko line, suddenly everyone's cellphones starting to ring and buzz, as the train screeched to a halt... earthquake. I was woken up by a stronger tremor early on Friday morning. However, at least when at home, I can judge whether this is worth worrying about or not. You see, if a tremor reaches more than 5.5 magnitude, my koto's strings start to hum... if it is quiet, then things are ok.

The joys of globalization

Saturday I got to spend a long leisurely dinner with a good friend, one of the few people who actually does me the kindness of correcting my Japanese (as I do for his English). It is great to switch back and forth between the two, occasionally detouring through random bits of Italian or Chinese. We both have an imperfect knowledge of the others' language, but the point is not about attaining perfection, but rather true communication.

I truly believe everyone should learn another language, and if possible live in a different country for a while. It doesn't have to be English, although it may be the most useful choice (whether this is positive or not is another discussion entirely). I have a huge amount of respect for the young women I met as a researcher, who went to Russia, Thailand or Vietnam to study the language and culture. I am grateful to be part of the process of bringing Japan to the world, thus also bringing a greater understanding of other countries and cultures back to Japan.

Whenever I hear someone here say 'my Italian friend', 'my German tutor' or 'my sempai, who is originally from Taiwan' it gives me hope, as even in Japan we slowly move away from that all-encompassing word 'gaikokujin'. I love it when I hear people speaking a language that is obviously not their native tongue, whatever it may be. A small voice inside of me goes 'yes!' and fist-pumps in glee, because it means they are open to learning something new and sharing their own knowledge with others.

If you think about it, isn't it amazing that a European person and an Asian person can sit in an Israeli restaurant in Tokyo, drinking French wine and discussing their shared experiences in the US? Not so many decades ago this would have seemed impossible, if not treasonous!