I’ve been in Japan for 97 days. Almost to three digits! I was told by fellow coworkers who have also
been on overseas assignments that 3 months is when it Feels Real. I’ve so far found that to be true, but that has
also laid in front of me an entirely different homesickness than I had just recently
become accustomed to. I went from “I
miss the feeling of home” to, “I’m in Japan, but I feel at home – and that is
really f*&^ing weird.”
Let me share a couple of examples.
My coworker from Portland accepted a job offer here in Japan
around the same time I did, and he and his family arrived this week. I was their sponsor, meaning I coordinated
some of the logistics of moving abroad and shuttled them around taking care of
business for their first few days on base.
They have a tribe of four inquisitive children who – more power to them –
are embarking on a very unique journey in a foreign country.
This afforded me the gift of being a total expert about all
of the Japan shit. Their kids asked how
to say “thank you”, and I KNEW THAT!
“Arigato gozaimasu” for DAYS! I
told them how to get to the arcade because my husband and I got drunk and
battled on MarioKart there (I won and he is ashamed). They asked me questions, and I knew the
answers like I live here or something! I
am attempting to not break my arm while vigorously patting myself on the back.
This theme continued when my husband and I journeyed out to
see the Tokyo Auto Salon, the world’s largest custom car show. It involved 3 train transfers, each of which
we navigated without even needing Google Maps.
I LIVE here! I know things! That is so neat!
Then we were walking from the train station to the car show,
and there was a small group behind us with one man and two women, all of them
Japanese. He was helping his female
companions rehearse how to say “Good morning, how are you?” in English. Of course it caught my ear because it is not
often that you hear English spoken in Japan.
My ears pick up on the English language like a homing pigeon. I often have to resist the temptation to tap
on an English-speaker’s shoulder just to ask them how much they want to eat
some Wendy’s and whether or not they miss Daylight Savings Time.
Anyways, they caught my ear and put a grin on my face. After their fourth or fifth iteration of
practicing, I turned around and said, “Ohayo gozaimasu, genki deska?” which I
know to mean “Good morning, how are you?” because I am level a million Japan
professional. They instantly started giggling
and said a few things I didn’t understand but they were clearly delighted that
I understood what they were saying in English.
We had a moment. I’ll probably be
the godmother for their first born children.
So I was feeling pretty hot to trot, and breathing a sigh of
relief that my home was starting to feel like Home. Then I entered the Tokyo Auto Salon and was
promptly bitch-slapped with a version of Japan that is so stereotypically
Japanese I was tempted to Tokyo drift my way to the bathroom lest I piss my
pants. Tiny women in tiny outfits! Insane cars!
Vans painted with 24K gold that have achieved sentience and ask you how
your day was! Body kits for DAYS! Blinkers synced to roof-mounted sound
systems! More LED lights than I have red
blood cells in my entire body! Take
everything mainstream media told you about Japan, and slam your face into it
like 3 times, in quick succession. That’s
the Tokyo Auto Salon.
I suddenly did not feel so at home. Shit was weird, yo. Awesome, but weird. Gaggles of photographers would congregate
around certain stages, and I’d say – “hot damn, there must be a sick ass car
over there, let’s check it out!”
Nope. Mediocre car, skinny girl
in a racing-flag print miniskirt. With a
ton of men taking pictures of her. The
most awesome cars were free-reign for photo-taking when the girls weren’t
posing in front of them. At first it was
funny, then I just started feeling bad.
However, I was the only Western female taking pictures of them, and I
made a point to smile and wave to them when I was done getting my shots which
they all broke character to reciprocate.
Again, I’m going to be the godmother of SO MANY Japanese babies one day.
So we Japaned pretty hard that day. I enjoyed every minute of it and will never
forget the experience, which was unlike anything I could ever experience in the
states. We headed home on a familiar
route where I actually recognized the stop names written in Hiragana because I
achieved level nineteen million Japan professional when I peed in a
squat-toilet at the Auto Salon and didn’t even get urine on my tights.
The next morning, I woke up and I said to myself, “Self, I
am going to make some f&*%ing pancakes this morning because AMERICA!” I Japaned really hard, and had a straight-up
Tokyo hangover. This was around 8am, and
the commissary – which is the grocery
store on base, and the only place where labels are in English in the entire
country of Japan and also the only place you can find Velveeta – doesn’t open
until 10am. So I hoofed it all the way
up to the train station grocery store in search of syrup, only to find they didn’t
open until 10am either. I truly wanted
to summersault into traffic because it was cold and I forgot my gloves and WHY
DO YOU OPEN LATER ON SUNDAYS, Y’ALL AIN’T EVEN CHRISTIANS HERE. “It’s okay, Self,” I said to myself. “Just put on internet radio and kill time
until you can buy some Butterworth’s.”
I’m sure you all have songs that bring you back to a certain
place and time – music is wonderful that way.
You can truly shuttle back through your life and experiences just based
on a melody and some lyrics. This
morning, I put on internet radio and a song came on that I didn’t quite
distinctly remember. It sounded
familiar, but it was no “Billy the Kid” by Billy Joel, or “One Day More” from
the 1987 Les Miserables cast album – each of which make me nine years old again
just by existing. But, this song caught
my ear – much like those girls reciting “Good morning, how are you?” did. Something familiar. Something from… Home.
It was a spooky enough feeling that I settled into a random
side-alley and cranked my headphones to full blast. I closed my eyes, and listened to the rhythm
and the lyrics. I felt the oddest
sensation – I was completely transported to another place and time, which I’ve
experienced plenty of times with certain songs that I associate with different
times in my life. But this one, I couldn’t
put my finger on it. It felt familiar
and foreign at the same time. I couldn’t
pinpoint a single time I’d ever heard the song before, but it took every cell
in my body to somewhere else, sometime else.
At some point in my life, I heard this song, and whatever neurons were
on duty that day were trying to pull me back.
It was such a bizarre feeling, especially considering it happened in a
back-alley in Sagamihara in the Kanagawa prefecture of Japan. Like, what?
Did I mention what the song was? “And She Was,” by Talking Heads. After listening to the song over and over
in that back alley, these lyrics really stood out.
“She was glad about it... no doubt
about it
She isn't sure what she’s done
No time to think about what to tell them
No time to think about what she's done
And she was
And she was looking at herself
And things were looking like a movie
She had a pleasant elevation
She's moving out in all directions
Joining the world of missing persons
Missing enough to feel alright”
She isn't sure what she’s done
No time to think about what to tell them
No time to think about what she's done
And she was
And she was looking at herself
And things were looking like a movie
She had a pleasant elevation
She's moving out in all directions
Joining the world of missing persons
Missing enough to feel alright”
Couldn’t have said it better myself. “Missing” enough to feel alright.
Cheers.
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