What a cute water fountain! Wait... it's a WHAT?!

So you've enjoyed the sights and sounds. You've enjoyed learning about the history. You even have eaten your share of Japanese food at a tabehodai (all-you-can-eat) and chased it down with nomihodai (all-you-can-drink) at your local izakaya. It is time to visit the porcelain throne.

To pee or not to pee, that is the question. When nature calls, whether you are in Tokyo or in your home country, sometimes waiting is not a pleasant experience. But be fore warned. If there is a long line and you get motioned around people to go ahead of them, you may be ushered into the often only open stall... the one with the Japanese style toilet. What we gaijin refer to as "the squatter" because that's what you have to do; squat.        

     Better have those thigh muscles toned because not all of them have handles at the right height for you to grip and not fall over. Even most natives will try to avoid them if they can so if they let you cut around them in line, that may be why. You can do it if you must, its really not as hard as it looks, but be prepared to be intimidated at first. Things I learned quickly that you may want to know before hand: face TOWARD the hood/pipes/toilet paper, if you're wearing pants you should hike them up to avoid splashes, if you have long hair like myself you should not bend your head down to make sure you're not splashing, and aim for the center of the trough. 

     If you are lucky enough to have the Japanese version of the Western toilet with all the fancy bells, whistles, massage seats, blow driers, bidet, and deodorizer enjoy it. Take that puppy out for a test drive. As they all can very in amenities and button placement I can't give too much definitive advice on them. All I can say is when I first used one on my very first trip to Tokyo, after a very long 13 hour flight, when I woke up in the middle of the night to use it I just about freaked when I sat down and the seat was hot. In my haze I though that someone had been in my room and using my toilet (a'la Goldilocks and the Three Bears) moments before me, hence the hot seat, so it took me aback a moment until I woke up a bit more. Other than that, I quickly fell in love with these Japanese versions of Western toilets. 

Here is a picture of my own porcelain throne at home with its bells, handwashing station, UV/LED lights, whistles, and heating seat. 

Homesickness is not for chumps. It WILL happen.

Something people often warn you about when relocating to live in a foreign country is homesickness. For those of us who consider ourselves rather independent, emotionally strong, stoic, or even too in love with the new country's culture to miss our own be prepared for your "Pfft" and scoff to crumble.
     Homesickness is a real thing and it even happens to the best of us. Even the strongest can become weak when the wind blows just the right way or you have an off day. Any little reason like missing your train, taking a few extra seconds at the conbini counter because you are having problems counting out exact change, having to wait longer for the Western toilet, got caught rubbing your wooden chopsticks together (see last blog), etc can cause you to remember things fondly back home. An iMessage, email, FB post or something a friend or family member back home sends you could be the undoing of your composure. Especially if it has a pic. Or a video... verklempt. 
     My picture above was sent to me by my brother, Beau. It is a picture of two of my greatest loves, my niece Pippa and my cat Keats (aka Gumiho, aka, D.O.). They were just having a normal dinner barbecuing in the backyard and snapped a quick pic to send to me. When I got it on a Thursday morning with a message that said "Pippi is stealing your cat from you." I was a great big ball of emotions all day. I loved it was happy, sad, jealous, lonely, excited, cray-cray-crazy all day that day. Japan, I love you and all the cool things you give me, but you don't have my Pip and Kee.

Those are not large toothpicks, Billy-Ray Joe-Bob.

When I was very young my aunt used to call me Helen Keller because I would eat with my hands, like I was raised by wolves. Thank goodness my family nipped that behavior in the bud because nothing can ruin a good meal like bad table manners. (Yeah I'm looking at you people who chew with their mouths open and smack their lips.)

     Here in Japan having good table manners includes learning how to properly use hashi (chopsticks). If you haven't mastered it before you get here don't worry too much as it will be pointed out to you occasionally. While you can find the usual forks, spoons, and knives here to help you eat more comfortably, there is just something cool about eating with chopsticks. Plus once you get the hang of them you realize just how convenient they really are. 

     Although they don't mean to insult you, often at convenient restaurants they may ask if you would like a spoon or a fork. Don't worry they really don't mean to impugn you, they just want you to be comfortable. For those of us with the chops to use chopsticks punny it can hurt our feelers though. So by the time I hoist my hashi out of the hopper I'm ready to astound them with my skills. Okay, maybe not so much skill, per say, but at least decent ability. 

     While here I have noticed some of my gaijin comrades doing some major chopstick no-no's that make me blanch when I see them. So please take not of these words of advice if you plan on using chopsticks here:

     *Please do NOT rub the chopsticks together when you break them apart to sand down the sides. It implies that you think their chopsticks are of low quality and can insult the hosts.

     *Please do NOT pick your teeth with the chopsticks or bite the ends of them.

     *Please do NOT put them in your hair. If you wouldn't do it with a spoon or fork, don't do it with hashi.

     *Please do NOT place them on the top of your bowl. Rather, if a chopstick post is given rest them on it, dirty parts in the air. If not, fold the paper they cam in and use it as a rest.

Okay, now you are ready so lets get to eating with them! 

Everybody is somebody so who are you?

Everyone on this planet of ours has value whether we see it or not. Everyone has a tale, and everyone knows at least one thing we do not. The poet Emily Dickinson once wrote "I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you - Nobody - too?" Although it sounds quite harsh in its word selection, the poem serves to illustrate that we all have the feeling of being outsiders to some extent. Living in a big city like Tokyo where I quite noticeably don't fit in I can relate to that feeling. I may quite obviously be an outsider based on being gaijin (outside person, green eyed white devil in my case) but I Imagine many others here who are not gaijin may also feel that way from time to time. 
     In Japanese culture, when meeting people and allowing them into an circle of familiarity or acquaintance, it is important not only to know their name but also the company they work for, position, their age, and sometimes even where they come from. To outsiders of the Western variety this may seem to be somewhat intrusive. Akin to asking someone their net-worth, savings account & ATM pin number, underwear size, date of their last period, or how much they weigh! 
     But this is by no means the reason Japanese ask this question. Rather it is so that they can figure out what degree of honor and respect they need to show you. Make no mistake it will almost always be much above the one they assign their own, but they want to make sure you are given your due laud. But before you scoff at the idea of treating people differenntly you must admit there is a difference in the way you would greet a chum, a professor, a President, Queen Elizabeth or the Pope. Otherwise, the next time someone not in your usual circle of pals comes over to your house I dare you to not clean your home. 
     Japan is a very hierarchical structured society which can be quite different from the horizontal one most of us Westerners are used to. But it works here beautifully. Even among peers they like to ascertain who is the oldest, in order, down the line to the youngest so that everyone can find the harmony to interact comfortably with each other. This is part of the reason why their business cards have so much information on them and why almost everyone (save maybe children) have them. 
     When meeting someone it is customary to exchange these business cards called meishi so that people can easily remember each other's names and to which groups they belong. There is even a cultured practice in the way you exchange them in a group of people. Also, if you receive one, accept it with both hands if possible and do not put it directly into your pocket. Keep it where you can see it and treat it with respect. 

Why yes please, I'd love another A with a side of gaman.

Addictions and vices can be quite tricky for some people and prove outright disastrous for others. I've considered myself rather fortunate to have avoided acquiring any nasty ones. Rather, I'm more possessing of the type of vice of giving an 'inappropriate naught joke from time to time' type of person. Innuendos are everywhere. I never in a million years would have believed myself to be one of those overachieving, studious types who put her everything into her work. Now that's not to say I haven't tried my hardest in the past, or have sacrificed to do well. But here in Japan for some reason I have found it in me to abscond from social events just to spend extra time perfecting my work for school. Let me repeat for those who know me and may have allowed themselves to believe their eyes to have just lied to them : Allyson in Japan puts school above all else including travelling and spending time with friends.
     There is just something about being here and observing the care and dedication the majority of Tokyoites put into their work that has rubbed off on me. Thanks to my mom's diligent and unceasing work-ethic I have inherited said ethic and have been in possession, for as long as I can remember, the dedication to things which help pay the bills. I am the gal who goes to work regardless of illness, injury, migraine, headache, GI distress, stress, anxiety, lack of sleep, no sleep, hangover, come what may.  However, school hasn't always been one of those things that work-ethic spilled over into historically. However since I have been here and committed to seeing this scholastic endeavor through to the end I have put all my effort in to it. And... it has been paying off. 
     I wonder if I am addicted to getting A's; of the respect from others and myself of an unquestionable job well done. I really think the perseverance and dedication of the sarariiman and Office Ladies walking in heels braving the rain, snow, and over packed trains each day to commute to work, putting in more than human hours of overtime has rubbed off on me in a very positive way. Also, I wonder if knowing how much my family has sacrificed to help get me where I am is a part of it? Japanese tend to have a more concern and respect for the people in their in-circles who depend on them for doing their best... Have I inherited the Japanese gaman?

(Wikipedia defines it:"gaman(我慢^?) is a Japanese term of Zen Buddhist origin which means "enduring the seemingly unbearable with patience and dignity".^[1] The term is generally translated as "perseverance", "patience", tolerance, or "self-denial".^[2] A related term, gamanzuyoi (我慢強い gaman-tsuyoi^?), a compound with tsuyoi (strong), means "suffering the unbearable" or having a high capacity for a kind of stoic endurance.^[3]

Gaman is variously described as a "law,"^[4] a "virtue,"^[5] an "ethos,"^[6] a "trait,"^[7] etc. It means to do one's best in distressed times and to maintain self-control and discipline.)

Italy... by way of Tokyo? You don't say.

And on that note, lets keep the food bolus moving!

Food culture in Japan is like no other place. Chef, cooks, and food servers here take great pride in their work to make sure food is not only flavorful & delicious and well portioned, hello waistline but also beautifully prepared or plated. Whether you are buying food from an outdoor food cart at a matsuri (festival), stopping into a standing ramen shop, or purchasing a quick bite at the nearest conbini (convenience store) you can be sure that your food will be good and look 'good enough to eat', pardon the pun. (Sorry, not sorry.)

     So, you may ask yourself what does that have to do with my mention of Italy in the title? Well, i took those pictures of some delicious Italian food on Christmas Evening while dining at my firends' home, the Kikuchi family. Mr. Kikuchi had arranged for Chef Ochiai (of La Bettola di Ochiai fame) to prepare an amazing dinner for us. Now everyone who really knows me knows how much I love Italian food. In the words of Shakira, my hips don't lie. Especially when it comes to carbs like pasta. I can say with all honesty that yet again what I ate in the company of the Kikuchi family was the best Italian food I have ever enjoyed. Ever. And I have eaten a lot. Because we were able to have the dinner in the lovely Kikuchi home I got to help plate things for us so they were probably more quaint looking than the food would be in the restaurant due to my untrained hand's un-platewortiness. But none the less it was another culinary trip to heaven. Who would have though I would taste the excellent perfection of Italian food in Japan? 

Sushi by any other name would not taste as sweet.

"Now THIS is what I'm talking about!"

If someone were to ask me today if I'd like to get some sushi, the picture collage above of photos I took this fall is exactly the stuff I would have in mind.

     Having been living in Tokyo now since early January 2014 I have come to appreciate what real sushi takes like. I'm not talking about my former San Diego gal mindset of a various California rolls, uniquely constructed or deconstructed in "Asian-fusion", with all sorts of different things on top. (Although those are nice and I wouldn't turn them down if I was starving.) Thanks to a friend of mine, I was lucky enough to meet some great guys who own a sushi restaurant in Nishiazabu. This business has been in operation for over 30 years and you can taste the love and experience in every wonderful serving of their sushi. 

     Theirs is not the average sushi. Rather, it is great leaps and gigantic bounds above the average decent sushi even by Japan's strict standards. It is HEAVEN! We are talking some serious, top notch, high quality sushi fit for royalty. I consider myself quite fortunate to have had the opportunity to dine there several times and each time was culinary treat of amazing proportions, likened to a truly religious dining experience. Sushi Kan is the stuff of Bucket List necessity. Everyone should make the effort necessary to eat there at least once in their life. 

     However I have become jinxed! My taste buds once awakened to perfection can not be satiated. Now whenever I eat sushi in Tokyo not only does it not measure to the wonders that were Sushi Kan, they don't even deserve to be mentioned on the same page, book, or even library for that matter~ Once I am back in the states, visiting (or living or what have you) how will I ever be able to eat sushi there? How can one eat swill once they have tasted the heavenly manna of the gods? Nothing will ever taste as good again, most certainly not the hybridized California rolls my home has to offer as its version of sushi...

Go home Mr. Tie, you're drunk.

Sometimes you've got to party till the wheels fall off. Other times, moderation may be best. Especially when you are here as a student and have put it all on the line to make it here and to this point. But when in Tokyo you should do as the Tokyoites do, right? At least as far as euphemisms go. However if you value your liver, stomach, intestines and sleep try not to do as the sarariimen do.

     In my advanced lifetime, I have had various times where my need and endeavors to celebrate to Keith Richards leveled proportions have outdone my ability to do so and function usefully the next day. Heck, in my heyday I could outdrink circles around most of my peers and still be up for anything the next day. "Go big or go home" would have easily been my motto. However those days have come and gone as I've gotten older and hopefully more mature/responsible. Here in Tokyo though, more than any group of young 20-somethings from my school in party mode, the sarariiman go hardest of all. Their motto may be "turn down for what"!

     Here in Tokyo, more than any other place I've traveled (including Tijuana) I've seen more things culturally ingrained geared toward drinking throughout the regular work week. Every night beginning after about 7pm, the ambient scent of my train lines change from varied degrees and varieties of body odor to the scent of alcohol as sarariiman cram the trains and head home after nomikai (drinking party) with their co-workers. However here being that drinking with bosses and coworkers is more of an institutionalized practice there is less negative stigma, sideways glances, and surliness regarding drinkers. Rather a stronger sense of camaraderie and respect-of-sorts exists. 

     More times than I can recall I have noticed neckties left along walkways and in trains and wondered what the story is behind them. Also, I noticed that at train station newsstands and conbini they sell plain, nondescript packaged neckties and oxford shirts. No doubt for people who have lost theirs or those who missed the last trains and have to go directly from party-mode into business warrior mode. For me seeing the abandoned ties on the street was intriguing at first. Now however they just blend into the background, as much a part of Tokyo as vending machines.

"Good fences make good neighbors"... or so they say.

There is a saying back in the U.S. which goes, "good fences make good neighbors"... which you really come to appreciate once you are living here in Tokyo. In a tiny cramped place, infested with millions of people, and very little if any personal space, the residents of Tokyo have developed ways of assuring that they don't impede on other people's coveted-yet-few private spaces. It has taken a considerable passage of time but it has become a way of life so ingrained that it comes as second nature, innate, intrinsic. This is not always the case for every resident of Tokyo however.
     As a result of my travels in this beautiful country thus far, I've noticed there seems to be a much more concentrated amount of foreigners living in Metropolitan areas like Tokyo and Osaka. With them come a whole host of their own intrinsic behaviors, ideologies, and mores from their respective home countries/cultures. This can be good for adding a richness of variety about the world usually. However, it can be one helluva difficult (read: out right meiwaku - problematically troublesome) experience in the cramped confines of personal spaces in the shoe-box sized living spaces of Tokyo. Enter in the rental living sharehouse situations for foreigners.
     Trying to find reasonably priced living space to rent in Tokyo as foreigner that aren't too ghettofabulous or slummy can be akin to finding a unicorn. Companies like the one I rented from for a year take advantage of the great need in the market. For the sake of somewhat anonymity, lets call the company I rented from "Ume House". 
     Ume House has very strict rules for living in their properties so as to try to maximize harmony among people living in their run-down, mostly dilapidated buildings. At least 5 times on their rental contract they have you sign and mark with initials, before handing over your keys, is their very strict policy about not smoking inside the buildings. As a non-smoker I appreciate the rule and was only mildly irritated the gazillionth time they mentioned it to me because it inferred they would be very diligent with this for their smoking renters obviously. Cool! Or so I thought.

     Fast forward a few weeks after moving into my shared room when my new roommate from China moved in. (I should preface this story with the fact that I knew my smarmy room was a share room but chose it not only on its economic factor but also because it was only classified as a shared room based on the shared entrance which was on my side of the room. It was conveniently separated by a sliding glass door and curtain between both living areas which assured some modicum of privacy for both inhabitants.) The far part of the glass door which was on my side of the door track was always closed as it served as a sort of wall. The part on her side she could close after arriving home and thus allow her the privacy of having her own room. Which for the record she only closed one time while we were living there.

     One day after arriving home on the last train following a very long day at school as I walked into the front door, square in the genkan, I was greeted with the smell of cigarette smoke. The further I walked into the house and its common areas the stronger the smell got. When I opened the room to my bedroom I encountered the highest concentration of smoke smell. Smoke can trigger my migraines so I opened my window to the outside and went to bed. The next day a few of my flatmates asked me if I smelled the smoke last night, quite angry about it. I concurred and told them I thought it was my roommate. I didn't make a big deal about it, figuring maybe she had also had a long day the day before and thinking it was a fluke. A few days later while I was sitting at my comp and working on a 10 page paper due the next day she came home, went into her room, did not close the dividing door (as usual) and began to smoke. I was floored!! Oh no she did not! 
     
     Trying not to be "THAT American" and knowing I have a bit of a short-fuse at times when people are being inconsiderate/rude/careless I though better of confronting her on it. Rather I took the wa, peaceful, yet passive-aggressive high road and opened the door between our bedroom and the rest of the house. Certainly one of them would smell it, come to inquire about it, then I could point them to her direction. I also texted my neighbor and told her about it hoping she would come say something about it. No luck. All of my clothes, towels, and linens smelled of smoke and being a non-smoker I was quite angry. I had to wash all my things to remove the smell. a few more times I came home late and the room smelled. Finally I'd had enough. Out of respect for others including my roommate (who clearly had not thought of ours) I didn't confront her. Knowing I may end up jailed or kicked out of the country if my temper got the best of me I opted for another passive-aggressive means and wrote a letter to the management company questioning them about their no-smoking policy in light of my roommate's several smoking in a shared room violations. I thought this method was a more "Japanese" way of handling things. I believed it would be more diplomatic and peaceful to let them handle it.

     What the company did was very un-Japanese in my opinion so again I was floored. They sent me a letter saying they would call and write to her to ask her to stop smoking. They said if she had been smoking she would be kicked out. I didn't want all that but I did want the smoking to stop. Well, when my roommate got home she came to the kitchen where I was eating dinner with my flatmate and told me Ume House had told her that I wrote a letter to them complaining about her smoking and that she needed to apologize so she was. I was embarrassed, caught off guard, and trying hard to ebb my anger at the company throwing me under the bus like that. I muttered something like "its ok, no worries" and returned to eating my meal. 

     Here I was in Tokyo when something so un-Japanese happened. I wonder if my roommate had been Japanese if something like that would have happened. The smoking or the confrontation. I doubt it, but I still wonder. None the less, it all could have been avoided if she had taken the time to consider someone other than herself. Maybe it is my bad for not considering her desire to smoke... but it was in our shared room and the rules of the place were clear on that measure. If only she had closed the dang door in-between us on her side. Maybe it's my fault for not closing it but had I done so, I feared it would have seemed rude and I'm trying to be less rude-American. Here I have come with my own upbringing, ideologies, customs and mores to Japan where I have tried to adapt but clearly not all those here are doing the same.

DISCLAIMER: This blog is a class project for my Visual Anthropology -of Modern Japan-  class; as such it is for educational purposes only. All photos (or videos) posted here are taken by the blog author unless otherwise noted. If any problem with the posting of a particular photo (video) is brought to my attention, I will earnestly review the problem and review the photo if necessary

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

What remains...

A couple pieces of dishes. So what? Sure, some of them are pretty, maybe even decorated beautifully and intricately. What's the big deal? Hmm. . . I wonder why they're here?

Those were some of the thoughts I had when I first happened upon this collection of fragments. However every second I stood there staring at them, the more exponentially my interest in them grew. Also, the more the answers to those questions came from a place of knowing, of relating, of camaraderie. Knowing where I was and the events of my own personal life that led shortly up to that point make, or rather I believe make, this photo even more beautiful and substantial. (And, not just because I was the photographer.)

The day I took this picture was June 20, 2012. A sunny although unusually cool summer day in Tohoku Region of Eastern Japan following a Typhoon. So the vast areas of land, foundations of former homes, piles of rubble stories high, and nearly everything was saturated with standing water. On this day it was easier for me to imagine what it must have been like in the days immediately following the horrible tsunami that had ravaged the land a little over a year prior. The group I was travelling with from the Terasaki Foundation out of UCLA were mostly second, third and fourth generation Japanese-Americans. As such, for them this was a chance to connect with their homeland: to learn, to meet, to offer help. On this day a camera crew filming a documentary was following us around recording our reactions. Well not so much mine, being straight gaijin (aka: outsider and not Japanese), but the other kids. I didn't mind this though as it allowed me to experience my emotions and process what I was seeing in privacy and un-canned.

While walking around the area I came upon this collection of ceramic/porcelain fragments and something about it stood out to me. I had to take a picture of it. It was something small and really unremarkable given the other things in the area, but it completely captured my attention -- and continued to do so for probably 10 minutes.

So lets look again at my first picture. What do you see? What do you notice? What do you think? . . .  I thought several things: all of those shards look pretty in their own individual way. It didn't appear that any of them matched. On some of them were placed small pebbles. Some may have been from platters, dishes, vases or pots although there is also an intact, glass drinking container. These particular items were not scattered there by the wind or rain or that horrible tsunami a year before; these were placed there on purpose, by humans, in a sort of simple but beautiful and peaceful arrangement.

Here is another view, a different angle of what I originally saw.

Notice the repeating horizontal cement bars similar to the one the pieces were resting on. These are boundary demarcaters separating either rooms in a former home or possibly even home from home before March 11, 2011.  It should be said that these pictures I've shown are actually out of sequence. The first photo on this blog was taken after this one, after I had dwelt on it for some time. After I had made an addition of my own on it after standing and looking at it for some time.

Look back at photo 1. It differs from photo 2. See the piece of green (my favorite color) decorated ceramic off to the left hand side, trying not to impose on the others but standing as a marker that someone was there, that someone saw the others, that someone found it beautiful, that someone believed she understood the meaning and wanted to pay her respects and share her sympathy. . . ? That was mine. That is how I felt.

Imagine standing in the rubble, ashes and remains of what used to be your home before a tragedy, possibly the greatest in your life, took everything away from you: items, photos, and most sadly people. Standing amid immeasurable items that barely survived the disaster, that were unusable and only slightly unrecognizable in their current state, imagine having to sort out "garbage" from salvageable items of things that had emotional value greater than any treasure trove of jewels, gold and finery. Decide what now had actual wealth and usability amid items who also had been broken and damaged in the disaster, guilt on top of the other emotions in a full boil under your surface, tasked with cleaning the remains up to standards of sorting refuse, and once sorted what you would do with them. It's hard to imagine, tough to imagine, maybe even tough to relate to. That's exactly what my family and I had to do following March 8, 2010 when my grandparents' house caught on fire destroying our family home and killing my grandmother in the process.

My tragedy was just a drop in the bucket compared to what the people in the town had gone through. I lost only one home, one family member, one family's lifetime of memories. Times that by tens of thousands and that's what the community had suffered. However mine was as emotionally murdering, heart fracturing and devastating to me. Yet these people had a large collective burden to the umpteenth power greater than just mine and still managed to rise again as a community. They found the strength to pick up the pieces and go on; the fortitude and perseverance to charge at life as it had been prior, unhindered. . . well maybe just a little. 

I was there only a year after the tragedy yet so much had been sorted through and cleaned up. Of course it was done so in uniquely Japanese fashion: burnables separated from recyclables separated from non-burnable (which in this case included automobiles by the thousands), to help begin the process. However the gathering of fragments I happened upon were placed in arrangement and not thrown out. Why? I could only use my own emotional experience to come up with an answer that after much thought didn't turn out to be 'uniquely Japanese' but perchance more of a universal reaction and understanding that victims of this sort of tragedy possess. They were placed there to serve as memorial possibly, too destroyed to keep but too precious to throw away, done so out of respect for the people who lost everything, to signify that their emotional value had been recognized, done from empathy.

One question I was unable to answer but still would like to know was who left each fragment behind? Were they family members, neighbors, or strangers like myself? I wonder if these fragments of life are still there serving as sentry or if they have been cast out.