Some Kind of Warp

I apologize for not informing you sooner, but I have enabled anonymous comments on my blog. If you do not have a Blogger/Google account, you can still comment on my entries. Click the "Anonymous" tab that appears somewhere after the text box for comments; just sign your name (or not) at the end so I know who you are. Thanks to those who already went to the trouble to make a Google account just for my sake. Hopefully now I'll hear from even more of you!

Onto whatever else. Since I have been in this unfamiliar place for a couple months now, I have gotten somewhat used to being uncomfortable all the time. Still, there have been a few moments where I experience something that snaps me back to home. Last week it was the bagpipes I heard being played beyond the park by my seminar house. It was so jostling, for the rest of the night I could not shake that puzzled, bittersweet feeling of random connectedness to something I could never explain.
This week it was at the mall in downtown Hirakata. We passed by the children's clothing section after an unsuccessful DS hunt and I heard Corey say, "Hey look." Well:



There's home, on a headless child's figure on the 4th floor of some mall called "Vivre" in Hirakatashi, some relatively tiny, dirty prefecture of Osaka, Japan.

Rainbows and Peace and Ponies and Japanese Anti-Terrorism Efforts

One of the true reasons I wanted to study in Asia was to (attempt to better) understand what it feels like to be a racial/ethnic/cultural minority. I am of course a white American attending an overwhelmingly white school in an overwhelmingly white city of Ohio, yet as a part of my major I have studied in-depth the various types of issues regarding the experiences of racial "others" in America.

In light of recent terrorist threats on a global scale, Japan's government (undoubtedly encouraged by their buddy, the US) has added another precaution at their borders dealing with the permission of foreign-born persons into the country (fingerprints, even). Even people who have given up their lives in their native countries and have become permanent residents of Japan are not recognized as true Japanese citizens. Only native-born Japanese people can vote, for instance, but I won't even begin to discuss Japan's so-called democracy right now. Anyway, the borders have tightened even more so, and foreign-born residents face no lighter treatment than foreign-born visitors when it comes to entering this country. We are all suspect, basically, but I'm not sure this has anything to do with terrorism. Sounds familiar.
Link to article.


Foreign residents (gaikokojin) in Japan make up about 1.5% of the population and seem to be clumped into very apparent categories. There are Koreans, Chinese, and...everybody else. The Koreans and Chinese are distinct because Japan has an ugly history with such countries and the effects are lasting. Even though the "everybody else" category is generally treated with respect, even admiration, even as some spectacle...as a part of it I have still felt a great sense of unbelonging. The stares and whispers overwhelm me, as I am usually comfortable with "blending in". I feel like a burden, stumbling over their language, stumbling with the customs. I feel like there is never a way I could adapt or even feel apart of it. My professors, residents for more than a decade, are still "foreigners"; they will never be Japanese.

A couple of times a group of us gaijin have been denied entrance to a bar or restaurant, though they don't say why. It is humiliating, yes, but I know this is on such a low scale compared to the daily harassment, discrimination, or even physical violence against many nonwhite Americans, foreign-born or not. They may be called Americans, perhaps with some hyphenated term stuck on the front of it, but many of these people are not treated as they should be by law or, well, morals. I am not suggesting that such treatment is always personal or always intentional, as much of it is most definitely not, but it exists everywhere. We are all devoted to the idea of our nation-state, so even in such a melting pot as America, we develop this commitment to the protectionism of "our" culture and "our" people. Immigrants threaten this, maybe. We struggle with it more in the US because we don't quite understand what is our culture, our people. Our Constitution is based on these open-arms ideals, but how effective is it?

Japan, however, just refuses to open its arms. They let me in because they know I'm going home.

Drunk cows and empty wallets.

Only in Japan...

I slept for 12 hours last night. I'm still a teenager at heart.

Yesterday was a big travel day, meaning we spent more time in train/subway stations than anything else, or so it seemed. Even so, we eventually reached Kobe, another major city of the Kansai region that sits on the southern coast. There is no real distinction between Osaka and Kobe as the buildings and concrete stretch on and on and on... I did, however, see the Pacific Ocean (briefly) from the train and also from atop a mountain. I still have never touched its pacified waters, which seems to be one of those things I would get emotional about.
Did you know that 60% of Japan's entire coastline is paved over in concrete? Ah, those beautiful Japanese beaches...


We rode the ropeway to the top of this here mountain. They let us off at the top, where we could explore a "European"-esque fake village covered in potted flowers.

This is Kobe, or a small section of it. See the ocean back there kind of?



If you are an expert of fine meats, as most of you are, you will have heard of Kobe beef. They treat their cows pretty well here in Japan, feeding them only the finest of beers and giving them daily massages--before, you know, slaughtering them for our benefit. Anyway, supposedly that is why their world-famous steak is so world-famous. Truly, it was the best steak I have ever eaten. I paid about $64 for the combo meal of steak, rice, potatoes, beans, soup, salad, and one half-glass of white wine. A plate of Kobe beef has been known to run at about $150, so we lucked out with our "deal", which was still the most I've ever paid for food. Worth it, though, I'd say. The picture is of me looking awkward in my baby bib.

The rest of today will be spent learning how to conjugate my Japanese adjectives. Muzukashii desu yo!

Safety, trust, and Marci.

Happy birthday, oniisan, big brother.

It's most remarkable how safe I feel here. I feel more comfortable walking down dark corridors alone at night in Japan than I do even walking to Masonic Home in Louisville at night, with my ferocious dog. Last weekend Corey and I were trapped in Kyobashi prefecture of Osaka after we narrowly missed the last train home. We snaked through shady alleys of closing businesses but never once did I feel any threat like I would in an unfamiliar area at home-- even with a muscle machine like Corey at my side. Nobody even threw a strange remark in our direction. Last evening I wandered around Hirakatashi but hundreds of other young women were out alone on the streets as well, immersed in their cell phone activity, oblivious to their surroundings. It must be nice to grow up in a society that doesn't implant that "gitchy" feeling in everyone (Remember: if someone grabs your ankles from under your car... Remember: if you're not careful with the coin return slot... Remember: if you make eye contact with anybody...). Japanese people have other kinds and degrees of trust issues, of course, but at least they can trust each other in that regard.

In any case, I miss my dog terribly.

That hasn't happened for the longest time.

To express more digressive, if not obnoxious, insights:
Some of the best moments of life occur when nobody mentions it. Maybe I'm a sap, but I love getting that sense, that overwhelming appreciation for where and even who I am--but only when it comes out of simple, even mundane, moments. I'm not talking about being at an exotic festival or 5-story arcade or New Years Eve bash, with people exclaiming, "Isn't this awesome?" or "What a great place/party/time!". I'm talking about such moments as hitting the key change of Billy Joel's "For the Longest Time" at a karaoke bar in Japan. It's not just that song and the memories tied to it, or just the foreign country, or just the neon lights and monstrous echo of the microphone, or just the new friends, or just the successful feat of hitting the right notes after a couple beers... it's all of it, and more. Really, these moments are few and far between and I could probably jot down a short list of them, but such things are far more valuable in the archives of my brain.

Fall has sprung, and the weather feels perfect. I tell people I love when it's in the 70s, only to get blank stares in response. I then remind myself to learn rough equivalencies of the Fahrenheit to Celsius scales. America is a part of the larger world, but in its development, it forgot that.

Decipher this--written everywhere on the walls of a multi-tiered arcade/bowling/roller rink/karaoke/mini golf extravaganza center--if you dare:


Seriously, by any means, stay tasty. Sports play will probably be enough.