Game Over
I’m renewing my contract; it will now terminate on August 1, 2013. I’m not sure when I will go home again.
Up until this point, my time in Japan has been… Well, I don’t know. Fun, sure. But it’s not all puppies and rainbows. There have been some crappy times.
Some really crappy times.
But through all that, there’s been some sort of glitter on my life, some sort of haze. Like everything was new again, even bad things. It’s like life was a game again. Fun, even if something bad happened.
I’m renewing because that feeling of newness is gone. I see things around me like I haven’t seen them before. Most of all, I’m hit with the weight of my own life. I told a friend recently, “I feel more alive and more alone than I ever have before.” Here, all accountability is on my own shoulders. And if something is wrong in my life, no one is coming to save me. It’s all up to me to fix it. It’s a weight and a freedom at the same time.
This isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t some fun job where I learn some Japanese phrases here and there and then my co-workers exclaim, “Oh wow! Your Japanese is so good!” Where I’m a guest-star in a classroom. Where I’m some funny foreigner that people look on the train. This is my life. And for better or worse, I’m here for another 18 months.
It’s game over. I’m playing for keeps now.
healthcare 2
[Reminder: No updates for awhile? Check twitter, right-hand side.]
This past weekend I went to Mt. Koya, a huge destination for all things buddhism. Buddhist temples, history, museums, even graves. I thought the trip would be highly enjoyable. Unfortunately, though, I was sick. I thought it was just a simple cold, so I went anyway. But as the trip progressed, things got worse until I told my companions I was heading back.
I meant to go to the grocery store and gas station (my heater needed gas) on Sunday when I returned. But I was feeling so bad, and shaking pretty bad, so instead I just went to bed.
I dragged myself out of bed on Monday morning, convinced I was well enough to go to school. Soon, though, I asked to leave early with sick leave.
A little while later, I took myself to the doctor. My supervisor said she couldn’t go with me, but she also reminded me that the doctor spoke excellent English. “Why didn’t I think of that?” I thought to myself.
I walked into the clinic at 5:15 and, after some broken Japanese with the receptionist, sat down and waited for my turn. I wasn’t seen until 6:00, which was a little unusual, but hey- being seen at all, without an appointment, is pretty good.
The doctor asked about my symptoms, then took a nasal swab to determine whether or not I had the flu. Attendants processed the test there, and the doctor called me in a few minutes later to confirm, yes, I did have the flu. He then spent some time explaining the medicine routine he planned for me, along with how to take the meds. (There was an unusual inhaler, or at least one I’d never seen, that he explained to me.) In all, he gave me 3 routines: one for the flu virus, one to keep my fever in check, and one for my sore throat.
The total came to 2600 yen, about $30. They filled the prescription there, and then another nurse or pharmacist (who also spoke excellent English), made sure I understood the medication.
All of this for a registered alien.
Keep in mind I pay Japanese taxes. They’re taken out of my paycheck. But still- imagine the big stink that politicians in the US would raise over insuring aliens in the US- whether or not those aliens pay taxes.
I’m not a politician. Or doctor or pharmacist. All I know is…
… I’m starting to feel a hell of a lot better.
Homogeneous
A lot of people complain about the US being so isolated. We don’t understand other cultures, we’re ignorant, we’re arrogant, we’re isolated. I got news for you, world:
We ain’t that bad.
I want you to imagine a country filled with white people. Not only that, but white people all from the same country. No immigrants. Everyone’s local. Everyone has exactly the same cultural background, no variations. You look around, and everyone is
just
like
you.
That’s Japan. Does Japan have culture? Absolutely. It has Japanese culture. It knows Japanese culture. But aside from that, that’s really about it. It is a truly homogeneous culture.
Yeah, I guess America’s not Europe with all those cool countries smashed together and so many opportunities to travel. (Which, by the way Americans, is blown out of proportion. Travelling inside Europe is still pretty expensive.) But we’re culturally aware. We have a variety of religions and religious holidays. We enjoy tons of food. And we like to experience other cultures. The average American can explain Ramadan, the secular celebration of Christmas, Hanukkah, Passover, tattoos, piercings, how different Christian sects differ, where different breads come from in the world, how to use chopsticks, and the origin of Santa Claus. That American has probably also been inside a cathedral, a synagouge, and maybe even a mosque, no matter what the person’s religion is. Additionally, you can probably ask the average American what his/her favorite food and drink is by major country.
Japan, on the other hand, knows only Japan. I get that. What I don’t get, though, is the experience part. I don’t get why it’s so fascinating to Japanese people that I can use chopsticks, sleep on a futon, eat and cook Japanese food, and like to play Go. It’s as if Japanese people expect me to know what those things are, instead of doing them. I love to experience Japan.
Shallow
There’s a strange feeling that comes over me when I run into foreigners (i.e., non-Japanese) people in Japan.
In the beginning, I’d be curious. Depending on the situation (bar) I might even go up and introduce myself to them. Finding a foreign person, someone you could actually talk to, was like finding the one kind of jellybean you want in a bag.
But then something interesting happened. I realized that, despite having moved halfway across the world to be here, despite having a similar job or age, a lot of us didn’t really get along.
Go figure.
I was talking to a friend of mine about it one day.
“I don’t get it. We’re all adults. But sometimes there’s a lot of drama in these foreigner circles,” I said. “We’re all alone here. In this together. Shouldn’t we band together and make this experience like the greatest thing ever?”
My friend had a good explanation as to why my foreigner utopia does not exist.
“When you have a relationship for shallow reasons, you have a shallow relationship,” he said. “Speaking English is a shallow reason.”
It made me think of all the Japanese people I already have connections with. I’m better friends with some of them than I am with the foreigners. Because we have similar hobbies or beliefs. And yeah, there’s a language barrier. But there’s an unspoken belief that we get each other, more so than a lot of people I know who speak English.
In a way, the language I don’t speak with my Japanese friends says more than the English I do speak with some foreigners I know.
My friend’s comment makes me reflect on what my relationships are based on. Something meaningful, like appreciating the same things?
… Or something shallow, like speaking the same language?
The Pain
And so it is that my trip back home has come to an end. I begin to feel something all-too-familiar.
It’s the catch 22. The snag. The hook.
Or the cost. It’s the cost of the adventure, the travel.
Lots of people say they love to travel. They love to experience another culture. This is only partially true. It would be more accurate if these people said, “I love to be a tourist.”
There is nothing wrong with being a tourist. I’ve been a tourist in several countries. You learn from being a tourist, and it’s also a lot of fun.
But there is a difference between being a tourist and an alien. The biggest difference is this catch 22, this pain that most aliens know. We never talk about it. Maybe because it’s understood- we all know it, and we all know that it is what it is, and there is nothing to be done about it. It is not heavy, but it is always there. It is our silent passenger. It is the weight in each of our hearts that we hide in every snapshot of us doing something cool.
It is the pain of leaving our families and homes. The price of the adventure is high. But you get what you pay for.
I miss Japan. I miss my Japanese friends, my apartment, speaking Japanese. And when I’m there, I miss my American friends, my home, my family.
But I do love to travel. And this is the cost.
