Japanese Bureaucracy

A month ago I was nervously sat waiting at a Japanese government building.* The International driving permit I came with only lasted a year, so I had come to exchange it for a Japanese license. UK citizens just have to fill in some forms and show that we have the required paperwork. Even so, negotiations are famously tricky. Just to be on the safe side I had a whole folder of supporting documents: 3000円 translation of my UK driving license - check. Proof of residence, passport, and foreigner card - check, check, and check. I even had photocopies of old insurance letters,  academic transcripts, and letters from past employers all translated into Japanese. What could go wrong?

I Know You Know What Copy Means

Even though my appointment was for 9, and I arrived at 9, and there was no one else in the waiting room, I wasn't seen till 10:30. They like to make you wait and sweat it out. Puts the power in their hands. Lets you know whose in charge. Either that or they overslept.

Finally a little bald man shuffles out from the inner sanctum of the Bureaucracy and calls my name. It is instantly obvious he dislikes me. I give over enough information for even the most amateur criminal to steal my identity and he checks them off the list piece by piece.  Passport - check. Foreigner card - check. Academic transcripts... ah whats this? Only photocopies... chotto... dame. Useless. His face remains the mask of serious professionalism, but you can see a touch of sadistic joy creeping round the corners of his eyes. He knows hes won before I even open my mouth.

I'm disappointed but hardly surprised. My friend's had warned me this would be a fight. I decide to play the tried and tested "Confused Gaijin" card.

Me: "Sumimasen, watashi no nihongo wa chotto.. heta desu... mondai wa..? "
(Sorry, I'm gonna act like I don't understand till you give me an answer I like better)

The Bureaucracy: "Kore wa kopi. Kopi deshou?  Dame."
(I know you know what copy means. Your documents aren't worth the paper they're printed on)

Me: "Demo...."
(But..  I used one of my precious holiday days, woke up before sunrise, drove 2 1/2 hours and payed 3500円 on motorway tolls to get this sorted.. there must be another way..)

The Bureaucracy: "Demo nai. Muri."
(No buts. Through years of training I have become numb to human emotion - Its impossible to get a license with photocopies.)

I want to change gear from "Confused Gaijin" to "pissed off and aggressive" but I don't actually know enough Japanese to express myself in an angry way, and yelling in English would have been pointless.

Honestly, yelling at all would be pointless. Arguing with The Bureaucracy is like punching your computer when it stops working. You cant reason with, beat up, or sweet talk a machine. I settle for moody and passive aggressive. We re-arrange for 3 weeks time and I promised to collect less useless documents for the little bald man to peruse. I then had the 2 1/2 hour drive back (plus another 3500円) to dwell in detail on the bitter rejection.

When I arrived back in Joetsu I went directly to the store to get a tire pump, because for the next three weeks I'd be riding my bike everywhere. In the height of Japanese summer. And with no showers at school, that little bald man wasn't just punishing me.  The whole faculty had to deal with my new found odor problem. It was a toss up whether I'd die of heat exhaustion or social embarrassment first.

Japanese Bureaucracy

I get it,  bureaucracy is a necessary evil in modern society. Things need to be standardised. At the top there is some committee of old Japanese men sat in a room together. They don't really know whats going on either, so they quickly choose some arbitrary checklist of documents and go for an early lunch break. The little bald man who shuffled out to process me is just a small front-line cog in the giant churning mechanism. He is given the checklist, and if the criteria isn't met, you can't proceed. I can't blame him, or even blame the committee of old Japanese men on their lunch break, The machinery of bureaucracy grinds ever onward.

At this point the expat thing to do is blame Japan. Why Japan? Why do you torture us like this? Why is everything so arbitrary? Why do you need an official record of my university marks to give me a driving license? Why can't you treat me like a human being? It must be the culture of Japan. This is a Japanese problem.

Except that of course is a lie. All over the world there are little bald men with equally arbitrary check lists who take delight in informing you you've got the wrong paperwork. Its just there is an extra level of difficulty pasted on top when you're in a foreign country and cant workout what they want from you. Bureaucracy generally follows an arbitrary set of rules, and if you learn the rules, you can navigate the paperwork obstacle course to get what you need. In the end, the only person I had left to blame was myself for not finding out exactly what I had to bring. Thinking that didn't help me calm down though. There is nothing more rage inducing than knowing there is no one to blame but yourself.

Dotting i's and crossing t's

3 weeks later I returned to the same waiting room. In the interim my fiery rage dwindled to smouldering resentment. Turns out I actually quite enjoy biking, and the exercise is an important counter to my current diet of fried things and rice. Although my appointment was for 9, and I arrive at 9, and there was no one else in the waiting room, I wasn't seen until 10:30. The same little bald man shuffled out of the machine. This time I'd dotted my i's and crossed my t's. Real documents, no photocopies.**

There was still the rest of the obstacle course to navigate. I moved to three different windows with three different queues to fill out 3 more forms, had my photo taken twice, payed multiple unexplained fees and prayed fervently for the sweet release of death. The real kicker of course was that they returned my original academic record. Turns out they take it round the back.. and photocopy it.

That's all behind me now. To mark my one year anniversary of surviving in Japan, I am now the proud owner of a Japanese driver's license. When I informed the office there was a general sigh of relief followed by the removal of medical masks.

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*I was going to start by apologising for posting so irregularly, but after looking back at old posts I've realised at least half of them start that way. Its time I accept that a) I'll never be good at keeping to schedules or creating habits; and b) There isn't actually anyone sat anxiously waiting for me to post my next self-indulgent monologue. So there's no reason to apologise. I've put this as a footnote rather than the starting paragraph, because apologising about apologising too much is about as self-defeating as complaining that people complain too much. In fact, just pretend I didn't say anything. Sorry I wasted your time.

** I'd hate to have written all this, only for some intrepid gaijin explorer to stumble upon this and still be none the wiser on what documents they need to bring to get a Japanese License. For those of you who will never apply for a Japanese license please don't bother reading the rest of this footnote.

So the full list is as follows:
-Driver's license of native country (and paper part if applicable)
-Official translation of driver's license (called a Gaimen Kirikae)
-Juumin Hyou from your local city office (Basically a proof of residence)
-Your foreigner card
-Passport
    -Here's the tricky bit. You have to prove you drove in your home country for at least 3 months after you got your license. Most nationalities can do this with their passport. However if you are from a country like the UK, they don't stamp your passport on departure or arrival. You therefore need original (no photocopies!) documents of some kind with an original signature on it to prove you you drove in your home country for 3 month. As far as I know, the following have been accepted:
        -Letter from past employer
        -Original academic transcript
        -Police Certificate
The following have been rejected:
        -Old insurance documents
        -Old pay checks or bills
        -Old council tax documents
The vital part seems to be that a) It is an original and b) it has an original signature on it
Godspeed.

Good Funerals and Nicotine Withdrawals

Last time I spoke to Grandma, she was already struggling to breathe. It was Mothers Day in the UK, so I took the hit and called her from Japan. I think we already knew at that point it was a case of slowing the inevitable rather than getting better. She was happy to hear from me, but couldn't speak for long as everything had become exhausting. That's when I realised something was really wrong, because Renee Poole would take any opportunity to tell you all about her latest trials and tribulations.

See, Grandma had smoked her whole life. The first time she was in hospital they actually gave her cigarettes to dull the pain and calm her nerves (which is the kind of irony that leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, rather than the kind that makes moody teenage girls swoon.)

I therefore always knew her as a smoker. Grandma's house always had that "ashtray" smell of stale cigarettes, and I've always associated it with her. When I first started smoking, I realised my clothes had started to smell like Grandma. When I started coughing and wheezing I recognized Grandma's cough. And when my fingers took on a yellow nicotine tinge I saw Grandma's hands - minus the rheumatism and nail polish.

So although I quit smoking 9 months ago when I came to Japan, the first thing I did when I heard my Grandmother had died of lung cancer was chain smoke half a pack.

Yoyogi Park

I have had relatives die before but this one had a real bite to it, for two reasons. First off, I had been really close to my Gran. Lots of memories I have were of just the two of us, making me the sole proprietor now. I remember long drives through Chatsworth park to see the deer, then up into the Derbyshire moors to pick heather. Rides on the back of her wheelchair to get a secret packet of sweets from the corner shop. Arguments about cricket, Margaret Thatcher, the NHS, and pretty much any other topic you wished to be educated on. We were friends as well as relatives, so it struck doubly deep.

Equally as bitey was the fact that I was in Japan when it happened, miles away from the twelve or so people whose lives had also just come to a crashing stop for the next week. I got the news on a sunny day in one of the most beautiful parks in Tokyo. At this point I didn't even know what I was feeling other than panic. You know that feeling when you left it too late to do your homework at school, or three uni essays and two days to write them? Well that overwhelming feeling - that the task at hand just seems too big to handle - came sweeping over me. How was I getting back? Could I get flights? Could I get time off? A million and one other questions which can be summed up with "What the fuck am I doing in Japan right now?"

I started crying under a tree, and all I could think was that the Japanese couldn't see me like this. They'd never approve. Thankfully the park-goers averted their gaze, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Except of course for a burly dog dragging his owner round the greens. Dogs are the same everywhere and assume everyone is there to play with them. He was more than happy to get right up in my personal space. Even in times like these, I couldn't resist petting it and make doggy-talk-noises. Something other than mainlining nicotine was happening. I attempted a grin. Nan sai desu ka?

I made some key phone calls, had a couple ice coffees, and a couple more beers. Everything was gonna be OK. Work gave me the time off no questions asked, and I had flights booked days later. I'm still shaking the cigarettes though.*

Classy Lager

"Funeral" and "Good" are two words that don't particularly go together very well. Its not quite an oxymoron, but these parts of our language are at odds with each other from the moment they leave our lips. "British cuisine" suffers the same affliction. Or "classy lager."

Last Monday was as close to a good funeral as the English language allows. The family rarely gets all together like that, and usually finds a reason to hate each other by the end of it. For once peace reigned and it was cathartic for everyone. My Mum and Dad (who are quite religious these days) got everything they needed from the service, while my Uncles and Cousins (who are decidedly irreligious) got everything they needed from a family curry and trip to the pub. I took part in both with equal vigour, waking up with a sense of well being and a hangover. Turns out everyone in my family can drink me under the table.

The only regret is that I now probably wont be able to get back to the UK for another year or so. I had forgotten how much I missed temperate weather, proper curry, drinking full pints, understanding what people are saying,  and getting on a train without everyone noticeably tensing.

Its not all bad being back though. Today I had my first lesson in three weeks with my 2nd years, and one kid started cheering when I came into the classroom, He'd been asking me for about half the year to shave my beard, and assumed I had gotten rid of it for him. He was far too happy for me to correct his mistake, and I don't know the Japanese word for "Funeral" anyway, so I just let him have it.

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*For the mildly concerned out there, please know that I could never smoke full time in Japan. Yes, the cigarettes cost pennies here, but:

a) I teach children
b) People judge you if you smoke on the street instead of the designated little smoking boxes. Those little smoking boxes are hell on earth. Only spending Sunday evenings alone and certain parts of the Grimsby high street fill me with more dread.
c) I've built a non-smokers life in Japan, so it would actually be harder work to start smoking again than going through four days of wanting to kill all my coworkers. Im on day 2.

Ryo Makes Me Hungry - Spring Holidays pt. 1

At first I thought I was just getting used to the cold, but there is now no doubt that we have crossed over from the hibernation of winter to the groggy hangover of spring. The birds are chirping, the snow is melting, and the rice fields - well they aren't green yet but they are a very promising shade of brown. Japanese schools run from April to March, so we are currently in the transition period between academic years. I say transition period rather than holiday because Japan is allergic to free time.

Spring Transition Period

In the UK, I used to wander about with my friends, play video games, and watch way too much day-time TV. In Japan, holidays are not days off. They are an opportunity to train. To contribute to society. To develop oneself. The students come in everyday at 8am for 4 hours of club activities. It's basically government run daycare.

On rainy days, they cant go out onto the field, so the Baseball and Athletics clubs run laps around the corridors, chanting over the sound of the Brass band practicing scales. 　I imagine an army barracks has a similar feel to it, except soldiers occasionally have some down time. And they aren't children. Everyone loves it because at least they aren't studying, which is what the large majority will be doing when they get home.

The teachers of course have no holiday at all and are expected to work regular hours. So when I leave at 4pm after a day of studying Japanese* and browsing text-heavy websites, everyone is still in the office toiling away, and will continue to toil until gone 7pm. Thank god I'm not a real teacher. One has to wonder what they are doing with all that time. I'm thinking of writing a post about it and calling it either "The Ancient Japanese Art of Pretending to Do Work", or "Boredom: A treatise on Japanese Work Culture."

Watch this space.

Homage to the 3rd Grade

Spring is also the season for change in the Japanese education system. I have mentioned before the unavoidable heartbreak of letting students go. Earlier this month the 3rd grade left to make room for the swarm of brand new seito that will descend on the school in April.  After a painful 2 hour ceremony, the students walked out the front door for the last time. The gathered crowd cheered. Tears were cried, photos were taken, and heartfelt words were exchanged. Not with me of course. I stood awkwardly in the corner trying to look like I fit in.

To top it all off, a flock of white cranes flew by in formation. The symbolism was not lost on the Japanese, who love a vague unexplained metaphor.** Something to do with moving on to new rice fields.

In all the hustle and bustle, the strange foreigner that played badly planned out English games with them once a week was not particularly the first thought on the graduates minds. I left the crowds to watch on from a distance and grieve in private.

Most of the students will be forgotten, melding together into the Japanese stereo types. The baseball boys. The class clown. The noisy obnoxious girl that is too cool to do the worksheet. The moral saint that gets visibly annoyed when other students are talking over the teacher. The quiet girl with two pigtails and glasses that is hardly paying attention because she's halfway through her book and cant wait to get back to it as soon and the bell rings.

However, two boys have done enough to separate themselves from the crowd. Writing about them here will hopefully give me the kind of closure the closing ceremony could not.

Japanese names are superbly difficult to remember, but I know Daiki's name - mainly because he was constantly being told off for talking at the back. Some classrooms in Japan are quiet because everyone is afraid to speak and look like an idiot. Daiki made a career of it, and as a result gave the class a relaxed atmosphere I am yet to recreate elsewhere. In one exercise he shouted out "Ryo makes me hungry" (Ryo being the coolest boy in class). When I tried to explain his mistake, he said "nonono", got up, walked across to Ryo, and mimed eating his arm. I taught Daiki the word "Cannibal" and he taught me that although Japanese 15 year olds seem very serious, they are in fact still children. And occasionally hilarious.

The second is a boy from up in the mountains, which was fitting because Riku towered over the other boys. I saw him at the elementary school one day helping the youngsters dig up yams from the school field  (you know you live in the inaka when there is an actual field full of crops attached to the school.) He had the rare habit of trying to genuinely communicate with me, rather than do the bare minimum to finish the exercise. Quick to smile, he always greeted me in the hallways, and knew how to say "We call it <Insert Japanese Word Here>", which effectively turned him into a walking dictionary. All the students wrote fair-well advice for the remaining students. Most copied directly from the model they were given, but he wrote

.

Which is so funny I don't need to write any more jokes. 

March 25th also happens to be when I was born. I told my teachers last week and no one remembered, so it meant a lot to get happy birthday messages throughout the day. Thank you to the center.

I didn't have room to talk about the teachers that are leaving or the end of term drinking parties, so stay tuned for part 2.  If the amount of actual work keeps up at this rate, I might just beat my usual post output of once in a blue moon. Remember to eat.

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* In other Japanese Language news - I was translating an Elementary school lesson plan into English when I stumbled upon an extremely dangerous Kanji mix up. Turns out "sex maniac" (shikiki) and colour tag (a Japanese children's game iro oni) are written with exactly the same kanji -色鬼. The Japanese are truly a fearless breed.

**For instance, the Japanese adage
"見ぬが花" (minu ga hana) - Not seeing is a flower

I much prefer the straightforward
"猿も木から落ちる" (saru mo ki kara ochiru) - Even monkeys fall from trees.

**-Disclaimer-**
So yeah, spring vacation ended about one month ago and I still haven't gotten round to writing a pt.2 - sue me. The lack of work did not in fact keep up at all, and I predictably kept to my usual tactic of writing only when absolutely necessary to chase off boredom. C'est la vie. You will never hear about the social studies teacher glued to his camera that I said goodbye to, or that funny thing that happened at the work party. Trust me, it was really funny.

The Wild Abandon of Live Music in Japan

Two weeks ago I went to my first Japanese music festival. The name, The Tokyo Hostess Weekender, may have mislead my friends to think I was going on a two day tour of strip clubs, but after going I can confirm there were far more guitars and far less seedy men singing Karaoke.*

"Festival" is also probably a little strong, considering it only had one stage, everyone didn't smell like a field, and no one was throwing beer. So maybe more of a concert. Or a two day gig. Anyway there were 10 bands playing, and I hadn't seen live music in 6 months so I was bubbling with enthusiasm. I mean, Radiohead and Sonic Youth** were playing. Even the 7 hour bus journey through countryside and Tokyo traffic didn't dampen my spirits.

I was also keen to observe the Japanese in the more relaxed setting of live music. Maybe they let their guard down. Maybe they get drunk and go wild. Maybe I would find the one.

Hats are In

First of course I should explain what this event really was. It took until we saw Caribou, a dancy housy electronic act (think 10 minute songs with one line of lyrics), followed directly by Belle and Sebastian (who often cut the choruses out of their songs to cram more words in over the top of jangly twee guitars) that I realised. The gig was a two day taster course of everything the western music biz were giving the coolie Tokyo-ians*** to lap up. None of the bands had anything in common musically. They all just happened to have popular albums coming out when they booked the venue.

So in the end I did not get to see much of the Japanese knee deep in wild abandon. Most of the crowd were not there to cheer on their favourite bands. They were instead window shopping. Some people of course were jumping about a bit at the front, and a couple of fan boys tapped their legs really enthusiastically, but the large majority watched with the disimpassioned gaze of a critic at an art gallery. There was a disproportionate number of berets. No one had their top off. People apologised for pushing past. I could have slid all the way to the front, but it felt too rude.

In between sets people put their medical masks back on and pulled out books rather than rushing for pints. And if you did sneak out for a beer, there was no free-for-all to get to the bar. There were just 3 huge lines of well behaved people snaking through the room. People waited their turn, drank their half pint, put the cups in the designated recycling bins, and went back for the next exhibition.

It's Real

The feel was best encapsulated by the early sets featuring the least know acts. As each song ended, there would be a polite moment of applause followed by silence as they waited for the next song. No laughter, no chitter chatter, no hustle and bustle. Just a sea of expectant faces wondering what the crazy gaijin were going to do next.

I am possibly being slightly unfair. Caribou, due to their lack of words and dancy beats, were perfect for the Japanese crowd to groove to and really got them going. The guy next to me even started yelling "Sun!" periodically and "Kakkoii!" as the music built. Real Estate were also amazing. I've never had a band make me feel so nostalgic for a place I've never been before. Like you've spent all day at the beach. The sun is going down so you slip a hoodie over the day's sunburn, then take the first sip of a fresh new beer. There is a fire of course, and all your favourite people are there. That's how the Real Estate set felt. With a mellow vibe like that, the whole crowd started swaying to the ripple and swell of the lilting guitar melodies. Suddenly I was in love with everyone and everything. The 4th beer helped.

Lovely Lips

Then during Temples I finally saw what I'd been hoping to see. I noticed a Japanese girl in the crowd entranced by the spectacle in front of her. As they started their final song, her eyes lit up. She then preceded to sing every word , one hand thrown in the air, the other clutching her book. I had never even heard of Temples, but this girl from the other side of the world had spent hours upon hours memorising lyrics. So I didn't quite see wild abandon, but definitely caught a snapshot of genuine fandom. She also happened to have a lovely looking pair of lips. I fell in love for the 100th time that day. Maybe I'd found the one.

I got back onto the bus, happy in the knowledge that Japan is full of beautiful women. While I fought the guy next to me for control of the arm rest, I resolved to study Japanese doubly hard so I can talk to them one day.

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* The Japanese version of a strip club is called a Hostess Bar. The target, I think is to simulate some kind of personal intimacy, rather than the western counterpart which is about seeing skin. Instead of dancing, they generally act flirtatiously, sing Karaoke songs for you, and ask for money. I know this because some friends and I accidentally wandered into one once and awkwardly sat their while the hostesses poured our drinks and tried to whisper sweet nothings into our uncomprehending gaijin ears. We very quickly realised our mistake, but had already paid for an hour long all you can drink, so had to stay. Truly awful. I'm sure no one enjoyed the predicament at all.

** Well, the drummer from Radiohead and the guitarist from Sonic Youth. Its basically the same.

*** Tokyo-ites? Tokyo-nin? Tokyo-kko?
I googled "What do you call people from Tokyo?" and the best answer I got was "Their first name if you know them, last name if you don't." And I know that the gig was aimed at the coolies because everyone was wearing hats. Coolies like hats. Hats are in.

Peaks and Troughs on the Sea of Homesickness

At the start of the month I came back from a holiday in Malaysia. As much as I enjoyed going away to see my family, I was pleasantly surprised how good it felt returning to Joetsu. Before I left I'd been getting a little tired of the endless process of adapting to a new culture. Its fun and exciting to be greeted everyday by new challenges - today I had Shark for lunch, and yesterday I got in a snowball fight with 8 year olds while trying to leave school. However sometimes it gets a bit exhausting trying to fit in. Like cleaning time* at school, where my internal monologue runs something like this:

"Who is in charge here? And what is this useless cleaning utensil consisting entirely of a torn up silk handkerchief tied to the end of a stick? Maybe if I just hit things with it with purpose, no one will notice I've got no idea what's going on. Why cant I have a brush like everyone else?"

Or the eternal quandary of the ex-pat: Is everyone staring at me because I'm foreign and scary, or because I'm doing it wrong? Most of the time the answer is both.

The Peaks

Getting out of the day to day for a while makes you not only appreciate how much this new way of life has grown on you, but also how much you've changed in the process of adapting to it. From my time in Malaysia I discerned the following: My sister now knows the terms "Naru Hodo" (I see/understand) and "Daijobu" (no worries) because I say them instinctively without thinking now. I bumped into an American tourist, and rather than say "Oh, sorry", "Ah, sumimasen" escaped my lips, before I bowed and shuffled on my way. Sometimes I wear a mask when I've got a cough. Bile rises to my throat when I see rubbish in public places. I feel hungry if I haven't eaten rice that day. I wave at children I don't know. Seeing foreigners makes me feel nervous because they are scary and generally doing it wrong. Live in Japan long enough and it can't help but rub off on you.

The effect of the trip away can be summarized in the sage words of a wise, not so old, woman**: a place doesn't quite feel like home until you come back to it. And Joetsu was there waiting for me with open arms. Returning felt less like bracing myself for the rest of a cold and unforgiving winter, and more like sliding into a warm bath after a day of snowboarding. Which is excellent by the way. Even better if you do it with your friends and 20 Japanese people that you don't know. And then of course there is warm sake, watching Cowboy Bebop, Katsu-don, Karaoke and occasionally even teaching. I really have no right to complain.

The Troughs

Sometimes though (for lack of a better word) Homesickness strikes. You're loving the challenge, the culture, even the weird Gaijin you have to hang out with now, when suddenly something hits you out of the blue. An invite to a party you obviously cant travel 5,713 miles to go to reminds you of all your friends back home who are getting along with new things, building new memories together, still in relationship, still in a place they know and feel comfortable. I-tunes shuffle sticks on "Bridge over troubled water" and suddenly you're tearing up in the car and you don't know why. You miss your cue and mess up a Japanese conversation you thought you'd mastered. You see Britain mentioned in the news, or hear a song you don't know, and realise there's gonna be 2 years of shared pop culture references you will never quite understand.

And its not specifically sick for home in the sense that you want to go back to Britain right now, or even "I miss roast dinner and normal pizza". It isn't missing things or a place. I'm an adult (supposedly), so I can go without chocolate orange for a year. Its more like you miss the feeling of fitting in easily, almost subconsciously, without having to try. I used to know how to shop and talk and interact like people do. I swear I remember a time when I was normal.

Sometimes in Japan it can be difficult to feel comfortable in your own skin. No matter how hard you try, you aren't gonna do it right.

What gives homesickness it's bite is the possibility that the "home" you are missing is no longer there when you get back.*** And when you get there you can't fit back in. And everyone is staring at you because your foreign, scary, and doing it wrong.

Peaks > Troughs

It should of course be noted that 99% of the time I feel more like the first half of this post than the melancholy (and slightly melodramatic) second half. I really should have swapped the sections and ended on a happy note. Yes, I stick out like a sore thumb, but to be honest its kind of nice being special by default. I'm instantly more interesting than I've ever been before just by being me. All I have to say is "I like shishamo" or "We have chopsticks in the UK you know?" and minds are blown. In a small Japanese rice-growing inaka town called Itakura, I'm a famous celebrity and everyone knows me. For being that weird scary Gaijin that is doing it wrong, but a celebrity none the less.

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* In Japan, there is a grounds keeper, but no cleaning staff. It is the responsibility of the students to clean the school everyday. In theory this is an amazing example of how fundamental community and working together are to Japanese culture. In reality the students perfect the art of doing nothing while looking busy, and everything is dirty.

**My mother...

*** Which is why I think "homesick" is the wrong word. A better one is maybe the Portuguese word Saudade, which has no direct translation but roughly means a deep nostalgia or longing for something or someone that may never return. Or for the Philosophy buffs among you, Heidegger's moments of Angst where one no longer feels like he belongs to the world he finds around him.