Re-Define: A Culture

Please Just Stop

I was warned, during training, not to expect that I could change an entire culture.

What does that mean?

That means that an American, in Japan, is liable to face inevitable frustration at dealing with an unfamiliar culture. That means that, at some point, unwilling to change ourselves--the only possible solution--we turn and face an entire culture and expect that it will change to accommodate us. That is an impossible situation. One cannot--and let’s just forget Gandhi and Jesus for the moment--change an entire culture. And even if we toss Gandhi and Jesus in with the rest of us, one certainly cannot change an entire culture in a single year (the length of my contracted stay in Japan).

So, no. I don’t expect that I can change a culture. I have barely, after a lifetime, figured out how to change a few things about myself. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t get frustrated.

What has brought about this line of thinking in me?

Well, dealing with the handsome businessman, of course.

When we spoke on Friday, I wanted very much for him to suddenly stop being Japanese. As I sat and watched him try to bring himself around to making a very forward suggestion to me, I thought some version of: Please be more forward in a way that I understand. Only later did it occur to me that, translated from the language of desire into the language that we use to define reality, what I was really thinking was: Please, just...not be Japanese anymore.

Ah, chigao. Wrong.

Later, I asked someone if they had seen us (the handsome businessman and me) talking. This person had. I asked if it was “obvious.” I purposefully left what was obvious unsaid just to, you know, see if it was obvious. The person who had observed us said, “Mmm-mmm-mmm. I wondered if I should come over and, you know, rescue you. Some students just don’t want to stop talking. But at least you, you know, didn’t look that bored.”

Ah, chigao, I thought. Wrong.

But at least it’s not obvious.

Are You Bored Yet Of My Agonizing Over The Handsome Businessman?

Yes, I imagine that you are.

So here is a bit of miscellany to chew on:

Miscellany

I just returned from a dance party. Stop laughing. The dance party was at a studio owned by one of the part time teacher’s husband, a professional ballroom dancer and teacher himself. No, I don’t dance, but I went and danced and had fun. Okay, so the only guys who asked me to dance were older than my grandfather, but it was still fun. And I only stepped on one foot and only had my foot stepped on once. Oh, stop laughing. It was fun. Honto.

I shocked a group of students the other nght by telling them that I have eaten rabbit. “Rabbit?!”, one woman asked. She put her hand to her mouth, shocked. Let me remind you: This is is a country where they eat horses and whales (and natto), but tell them you’ve eaten rabbit, and you get a look of shock and disgust.

The office staff has taken to calling me “O-ne’chan.” It comes from O-ne’san, the honorific title for older sister--but with overtures of...how can I explain? Here, an O-ne’san is someone you have to obey because they are your older sibling and that relationship carries some responsibility. However, chan is the suffix that means “little,” and is commonly added to children’s names or with very familiar others (not children). O-ne’chan means “Little older sister.” That title--which is not, incidentally, used to my face (because I refused to accept the title of O-ne’san to begin with)--is a construct that, to me, shows that my role at work is a problematic thing for others, difficult to define. I want to keep it that way.