Zōkyō

Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we’re kids? If you’re less than 10 years old, you’re so excited about ageing that you think in fractions.

“How old are you?” “I’m four and a half!” You’re never thirty-six and a half. You’re four and a half, going on five! That’s the key.

You get into your teens, now they can’t hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.

“How old are you?” “I’m gonna be 16!” You could be 13, but hey, you’re gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life . . . you become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony . . YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!

But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There’s no fun now, you’re just a sour-dumpling. What’s wrong? What’s changed?

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you’re PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it’s all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50

and your dreams are gone.

But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn’t think you would!

So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60.

You’ve built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it’s a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!

You get into your 80s and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn’t end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; “I Was JUST 92.”

Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. “I’m 100 and a half!”

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It’s so often a pissing contest with some gaijin here. Who lives where, who’s lived here the longest, who speaks more Japanese, who’s been coming to this place for longer, who has a better job, who allegedly doesn’t distinguish themselves from Japanese, who’s an English teacher, who’s a model, who’s a DJ. Sometimes the shallowness feels like high school.

How pretentious is it to deliberately ignore another gaijin on the basis that “you don’t greet everyone you meet when you’re walking down the street at home”? I don’t know where you’re from but it’s certainly considered rude to not reciprocate a simple hello to someone where I’m from.

When I was a kid, there was a couple who took an afternoon walk around my block everyday, and every day that I was outside playing in front I would say hello and they would simply ignore me or anyone else who attempted the same. Not totally understanding the sarcastic nickname my parents christened this couple, I too would often say, “Here comes Mr. and Mrs. “Friendly” again.”

Later in life I heard a story once from a friend who was in a Deli in NYC. While waiting in line he made eye contact with the guy next in line and said “How’s it going?” The guy turned to him and barked, ‘Do I F*@kin’ know you?’ My friend just started laughing and soon enough the guy started laughing too.

I don’t really see how these scenarios play out all that differently over here. I smile at the same gaijin who I see all the time all over Tokyo, and sometimes offer simple “how ya doing?”s to perfect strangers sitting next to me on trains. If you’re too cool to say hello or exchange a smile because you lived in Tokyo long enough to become characterless, then just keep your headphones on and don’t worry, we’ll just keep laughing at you, Mr. and Mrs. Friendly.

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The other day one of my four year old students asked me if I was a foreigner. I said yes and she said ‘hmmm, I thought so.’ Pretty freakin’ cute.

The sun has chosen to shine on this lovely Saturday morning. I wish I had Saturdays off. Its such a wake-up-and-drink-drink-coffee-and-mozie-around-town kind of day. But alas, Im here at the daily grind, yet hardly grinding. I may have found an opportunity to do some writing with a cool magazine but its just sort of unfolding at the moment.

Last night, against my better judgement, I accompanied my best friend to his girlfriend’s ‘kabakura’ (Japanese English for Cabaret Club). Essentially it was the PG version of a strip club. Its not totally uncommon for Japanese men to spend much of their hard earned cash at these innocent houses of mildly ill repute, tete-a-teting with young Japanese who laugh at their jokes and light their cigerettes, pour them drinks. It wasn’t at all that amusing for me as the young women are just that, young women, yoooung women. Although I did realize that it is not completely different from the service I offer teaching English. Giving fifty minutes of somewhat worthless entertainment at a premium price.

Ah, Japan never ceases to be Japan for me. Endless morsels of fat to chew, uncountable mirrors inside a kaleidescope, an infinite foreigness.

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After I finally found a used copy in an obscure bookstore, I started reading Jitterbug Perfume for the 5th time. I can usually read it all in one or two sittings. Its about Perfume.

Everytime I get off a plane at Narita, I always take in a wiff of Japan’s national smell, Nori. I heard that Korea smells like Kimchee, if you know what that is.

You know something, you really do get accustomed to this food over here after a while. In the beginning intestines really freaked me out. Last night I ate wonderful horse sashimi. Some of the more interesting foods I’ve had here include the intestines, liver, throats, eyeballs, gonads, brains of any number of animals or fish, both cooked and raw, crab brains (which I am apparently allergic to), whale, candied crickets, barracuda, shark fin, fugu or blowfish (the poisonous variety), Fish heads, fish heads, rolly polly fish heads, Shrimp/corn/mayonnaise pizza is pretty standard, aloe vera, which is ‘vera’ delicious in yogurt, 50 dollar cantaloupes and 30 dollar apples, numerous types of ocean plants, and some still very alive sea creatures. I ate a potato and cod roe sandwich for lunch today.

Sometimes when I ask people what they do for a living they say they work in contents. I don’t know what that means but I pretend like I do.

I wrote my girlfriend a letter today that said that although we dont speak the same language, Im happy that we can communicate our feelings. She said (I think) that the fact that we dont speak the same language in fact makes our relationship stronger. I’m still digesting that.

Team America sucked the first time I saw it, but it was great the second time. The Big Lebowski was the same. I cant listen to Darkside of the Moon anymore. Give Magnolia another watch.

I’m homesick…Am I?

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