In the distance, a child is crying.

"Ohhh, I'm exhausted. I've been on this street a thousand times! It's never looked so strange! The faces... so cold! In the distance, a child is crying. Fatherless... a bastard child, perhaps. My back aches... my heart aches... but my feet ... my feet are resilient! Thank God I took off my heels, and put on my... HIMALAYAN WALKING SHOES!" - Elaine Benes, Seinfeld episode "The Hot Tub"

As I sat in the middle of the Saitama branch of Tokyo Immigration, holding tightly to my number (at least ten numbers behind the one currently at the window), and waiting with documents in hand casually not watching the Japanese news show on the small TV at the front of the room, my mind wandered into Elaine Benes' Himalayan walking shoes moment. I was exhausted of documents. The faces were strangers'. I was cold--it was a rainy day--and I was wet. In the not so distant distance, a child was screaming bloody murder at its poor, frazzled parents commanding all attention of the room, getting louder the more eyes laid on it. My butt didn't like sitting some two hours on those cheap plastic seats, but at least I wasn't standing in line waiting to get a number. I already had my number, it was six hundred and sixty four. I said it to myself in Japanese over and over and over again so I would know when it was called. And I thought, where are my Himalayan walking shoes? Why is this so difficult and so scary? Where do I get to be resilient? My god, could someone tie that screaming child to a tree outside already!? 

Okay, so perhaps not all immigration offices are quite so intense, and I'm sure for most folks involved it was just a normal day at work. But there I was, with all kinds of documents I hoped were the right ones, wondering why I didn't learn how to deal with living in a foreign country when I was in school. I had only just gotten my passport this summer. I never knew what kinds of visas there were, which ones I could get in Japan as a U.S. citizen...if I had time, why the U.S. only let us on a 90 day visitors visa, how to deal with legal questions in a foreign language, if they'd turn me away and put me plane back to the states...I was so nervous I almost didn't know how to function as an adult in a world that wasn't easy, comforting dorm rooms and Minnesota nice. Yeah sure, Google had a lot of information, but did that information really pertain to me? Could I trust it? And this was just the beginning. 

I felt inadequate, for the most part, sitting there waiting for my number to be called, and extremely anxious. And I felt that way for two hours before my number was called and I walked up to the Japanese official behind the counter, who was incredibly nice and spoke enough English to calm me down. And I learned a lesson that I should have learned a long time ago, being an adult will be difficult and nothing can really prepare you for all of the forms you'll have to fill out and all of the lines you'll have to wait in, but usually (and I really mean most ninety percent of the time) someone's going to smile at you to let you know: yeah, you can handle it. Here, you can borrow my Himalayan walking shoes for a little while. 

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Relearning Feminism

            When I first thought about making the jump to Japan for a year plus, I tried to prepare myself for a lot of different things. I thought that the language would knock me out, that the bustle of the city would rustle me out, that Japanese food would be the next best thing or terrifying or both. But what shocked me the most, what challenged the way I thought and worked and breathed in the world, wasn’t anything to do with Japan—it was all about me.

            Suddenly I was very conscious about the way I looked and felt in my clothes, and in my body. The weather was hot, but I’ve always been uncomfortable in shorts, would rather wear jeans. The day was full of walking but my tennis shoes didn’t fit in. I was constantly uncomfortable and felt trapped in the heat, in a body that didn’t match the ones I saw. Back home, taking the time to put on foundation and powder was all it took to become girly. In Minnesota I felt that I competed both with women who knew how to style their hair like I wanted to but couldn't, and also with women that made it a point to boast about non-make up dogma. But I had a balance I could work with. I found a special nook where I didn’t have to think about it too much. After all, I had been navigating that competition for all of my twenty-two years as a female. I was free to be the Midwestern American feminist--or, what I had up until this point just called feminism, no limiters neccessary--in a t-shirt, in a hoodie, in sneakers or flats, or jeans, or sweatpants, or any variety of comfortable I wanted. But what I didn’t realize until Japan was that that nook was just as culturally defined as any other aspect of my gender—no matter how much I thought it was an expression of my nonchalance. Yes, I claimed feminism, but now I had to also claim my reliance on my culture in creating that comfort. And I’ll be the first to admit I wasn’t as accepting of that last part as I should have been.

            I guess what I mean to say is I had a very clear idea of what it meant to break out of gender roles by the time I finished with undergrad, but that was just because I had a clear idea of what those gender roles were. In Minnesota I saw women wearing jeans daily, sneakers daily, running the farm daily, but I also saw them being housewives and mothers and making less money than their male counterparts. So for me, the look of a woman was all wrapped up in the idea of feminism. It could be a good or a bad thing, or a weird combination of both. What I put on my body had as much to do with my feminism as what kind of genitals I had. But even still, I felt perfectly liberated in what I was wearing, and I've recently learned that that liberation might not have come from feminism but from culture. My culture was comfortable with women looking like I looked, and I felt it was generally accepted that I have whatever opinions I had, because I was the middle ground--I could blend in. And over the years I had been able to draw the line between certain kinds of femininity as bad or as good. I could tell, like some kind of futuristic fem-dar whether a girl was accepting of the term feminist by what she looked like. Hipster-pretty-fairy-girl, feminist. Queer-rocker, feminist. Victoria's Secret Pink brand-casual-country-chic, not feminist. What I’m really talking about is a phenomenon of privilege but also of ignorance where one feminist says to another that your feminism is wrong. It’s like me trying to tell another woman that she shouldn’t wear a hijab or a tube top or a binder, that she shouldn’t shave or stay at home with her children. And if one version of this phenomenon is easy to resist to me, other versions tended to be a little less obvious. So when I felt out of place sitting on a train in jeans and a t-shirt, make-up half melting off my face, staring at tall, thin, gorgeous women in floral skirts and high heels, unfortunately my first reaction was incredibly negative. I disliked these women because they beat me in the competition, but also because I thought that somehow I knew better. And that's what made the failure so hurtful. I felt pressured to be more feminine, and I attributed this to a society that held tighter to oppressive gender roles. Sound familiar? I had tried to use my Midwestern fem-dar on people who weren't Midwestern, and eventually I had to learn that the fem-dar just didn't work period. It was really just a judgmental lie I had told myself to make me think I was smarter than other women. It was a crutch I used when I wanted to justify why I felt uncomfortable in my own clothing and why it wasn't my fault I was uncomfortable.

            I admit that it took me a while to really let all of this new information set in and I had drafted more than one blog post about various topics ranging from the strange, conflicting ideas of sex and women in Japan, and how I felt sad or ugly under new, but mostly familiar ideas of gender, to wanting to criticize the unique, crazy fashions of some Japanese as not all that unique and perfectly predictable. But as I dwelled more on what I was writing I realized that I knew almost nothing about these subjects and was only offering a half-assed blog about my hurt feelings and fears. So instead I wanted to offer my readers the sources I that I think do this subject much more justice and have sparked interest in me, as well as leave you with the promise of an update on feminism in Japan and body image once I’ve spent more time here and really nailed down important ideas and thoughts.

            But really, what I want most as I share my experiences on here is the opportunity to do my part in bringing feminism out from its place as a dirty, negatively charged word. Feminists everywhere are being criticized as man-haters and extremists in ways that completely reaffirm the need for feminism. I cannot begin to imagine the hell that the world would be were all strong, public feminists successfully shut down for voicing their opinions by the people out there right now trying to do so. And if I can at least share the simple idea that feminism is not something to be used to put down others, in the way that I learned I couldn’t use feminism to express my unrest in a new culture, then I will have started to do my part. I know that for a lot of us it’s hard to navigate our way through a very political landscape when it’s riled with definitions we don’t understand or worse, meanings that are misused and misrepresented, but I wanted to start the discussion, I wanted to at least document part of my journey through that landscape. Being transported into a different culture with different ideas of gender norms, self expression, and liberation will challenge what you think you know—and now it’s time to learn what four years at Morris didn’t teach me. I still haven't learned what gender and liberation is here, so I guess, bear with me.

* Sources to check out on feminismmmmm

Emma Watson’s UN speech and the He For She Campaign: http://www.upworthy.com/her-voice-might-tremble-but-emma-watsons-message-is-strong-and-clear

A Story from The Moth on feeling beautiful: http://www.upworthy.com/they-were-friends-but-she-was-in-love-when-she-tells-the-crowd-what-he-said-they-go-silent?c=hpstream

Emma Sulkowicz’s story and how colleges need step it up: http://time.com/author/emma-sulkowicz/

** Up Next on Gaijin Kid: The trials of the Immigration Office……

             

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At Least it's Not American Idol, Amiriiight?

            It may be that Japanese TV shows are, in general, more colorful, more enthusiastic, more lighthearted than American ones, but also they’re no Real Housewives of Orange County. It’s been hard to give that one up, I’m not going to lie to you, and if honesty is the game…not totally sure it’s been all that great gaining these new fascinating, exciting, and ultimately mind boggling replacements for entertainment. I mean, am I being entertained? Language barrier aside, Japanese TV is certainly an experience. So here is a rundown of my understanding of it all. Let us start with the dramas, my usual favorite.

            Hero, a Japanese drama currently airing after the completion of Buzzer Beat (an equally engaging but also confusing drama about the semi forbidden love of a basketball star and a violinist, maybe)…

            What I think is happening: Hero follows the surprising adventures of a group of goof ball albeit well dressed lawyers, cops?, as they complete quests handed down from their super duper serious boss, mob leader?, who is kind of handsome for an older guy in a suit. But the hero, of course, is an off the wall guy who refuses to take part in societal norms, like business professional clothing (you go glen coco), and kind of looks like Judd Nelson. Hero, as he’s secretly called by the other, somewhat inferior lawyers or cops always finishes his quest first and is all the more closer to winning the heart of his lady, who was the violinist in Buzzer Beat and is actually really awesome.

           

            What is actually happening according to several online wiki sources*: Kohei Kuryu, the HERO (the show, and his role, is so famous that the only picture of that actor on his wiki page is of his outfit on the show) of our story, works as a prosecutor in Tokyo. But what’s special about him, ala Sherlock style, is that he approaches cases (and wardrobe) differently than all other prosecutors—and he has been doing so for a while so suck it up boss man. He takes his job to the streets, investigates the crime scene, and works hard to find the truth. He does this because once he was a suspect in a felony and a humble city prosecutor was the only one who believed he didn’t do it, since then he’s been paying him back for his kindness by giving back to OTHERS. How charming. An assistant in the office, Chika Asagi, is often stuck working with this nonconformist guy and learns from him in the process, and plus side, she’s beautiful. I mean, I was pretty close. Fun fact, Hero’s first season aired in 2001, was followed by a miniseries and a feature film, and has come back in 2014 for season number two. Like, damn, make your fans wait much? Just try and beat that one Sherlockians.

            Next on the plate (heh) are Japanese food shows, which are literally always on and have worked themselves into parts of other shows, too.

            What I think is happening: Some cruel, cruel producer (or god) picks random B-list celebrities to compete in a variety of challenges that test the strengths of their stomachs and their wits to keep down concoctions of seafood and vegetables I don’t know the name of and then makes them guess some fact about the price or the cooking or the history of the dish. The loser pays for everyone else’s food. Sometimes there’s really fancy stuff that still looks kind of not that tasty, but at least it’s fancy, and all the time there’s outbursts of surprise and OISHIII that make your head spin. You thought Japanese people were quiet and super polite right!? Ahahahahaha. It’s a cruel world forcing people to eat small portions and then showing them food shows like this 24/7.

            What is actually happening according to Yuu sometimes**: People don’t usually get to eat those kinds of things (high end seafood dishes, or Kobe Beef, for example) because it’s expensive and lavish, so they do these shows to teach people about the areas of Japan or even the world that make those dishes, and have fun because the celebrities are funny. The problem is, I can tell that they’re funny because everyone laughs but I can’t understand the joke in A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE. My life is difficult, obviously. Overall, I’d probably not eat most of those foods anyway, so the repetition of oishii and EHHH just, omg, just stop please. This is the experience I was talking about earlier.

            And finally the news?, or talk shows?, or what?

            What I think is happening: A group of about ten news anchors, who have subsequently become very famous in Japan, go about the day talking about the news. But there’s only about fifteen minutes of real news worth talking about so they have to fill the hours with trips across Japan—during which they send out a news anchor in a funny outfit (like overalls and a bandana necktie?) to do things like walk a dog and talk to people, or ride a bus and talk to people, or EAT FOOD and talk to people. Then the audience goes back to the studio where someone is standing by a large board with writing on it and they go through the board to peel away stickers hiding surprising information as the anchors try to guess what it is before they reveal it. Like the food shows there’s quite a lot of EHHHH and OOOOOO and laughter. But hey, those board things are super colorful and I’m starting to recognize the anchors enough that I think if I bumped into one in Tokyo I might actually be excited. At some point, I think they go back to talking about the news again, or politics, or business, but most usually they just go out and talk to more people.

            What is actually happening: I may never know.

* But mostly I used this one: http://wiki.d-addicts.com/Hero

** I used to ask Yuu to translate for me, but I started to realize that I don’t really care anymore.

Up Next on Gaijin Kid: Why women feel like they’re drowning here, or probably.

           

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Extra Ketchup Kudasai

            Survival instincts tend to kick in after a handful of exhausted hours in a new place, like being transported to the shores of Homo erectus where food—yummy comfort food especially—is never certain. If science is to prove anything, it’s that where generations of a population have adapted to specific food availability, Midwestern individuals, basically, do not. What I would give for Don’s grilled cheese or my dad’s sausage alfredo anything, a side of potatoes, and a reasonable amount of ketchup for any reasonably sized American—which is stereotypically obese by the way, let’s just clear that up. Consider for a moment that large pops at Japanese McDonalds’ are assumed to be shared between two people.

            Or is he smiling because I kept him all to myself?

            And then there’s this shining specialty item that Liz has dubbed double-gaijin-size:

It was definitely shared, but was distinctly lacking ketchup. Seriously Japan, you don’t have to keep condiments out in the lobby if you don’t want to, but don’t think you can replace America’s open ended supply with one measly little packet. Please extra ketchup! Ketchupo oomeni kudasai!

But I haven’t been eating all my meals at fast food chains. Japan has this way of making you feel like you want to be healthy, or at least balanced. Sometimes the only things that taste normal are the vegetables, and that’s OKAY! And the thing with rice is that it does fill you up at the very least. That must be the secret guys, Americans just eat too much of the wrong grain.

So here goes…a quick and dirty tour of my gaijin eating habits, with fewer of my generalizations of our two countries and their food. 

Yuu's mother has made for me many comforting meals, oishii!

Much rice has been consumed since I've come to Japan, but going on my fourth week and I no longer feel ashamed to eat a smaller portion than everyone else. There are times, though, that rice is absolutely necessary, like when it is added to a curry dish, or the only thing you can pick up with your chopsticks. 

            The actual hardest thing to eat with chopsticks is this dish from a Chinese restaurant (distinctly not American style), and fun fact, this was the only dish on the menu that did not contain seafood:

            And finally, where would Japan be without iced milk tea (NEW FAVORITE OMG), and cat-esque donuts? She was as delicious as she was kawaii ^^

* Up next on Gaijin Kid: Japanese TV, or What the actual fuck is happening right now!?, or Accepting that I may never know what is happening right now.

          

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Welcome to the Desert of the Real, or Japan: The First Week

            I’m not yet sure if my writing is smart enough to rip off Žižek, but this is a blog and I do what I want. But, really, he was a safety net—as if the suffocating language of his cynicism is something most people hold onto to keep them afloat (not yet sure, like I said). His name did, however, sparkle up at me in the middle of the sixth floor of a bookstore in Tokyo. I had never been inside a bookstore with more than one floor, and I had thought for more than one irrational second since I had landed that I’d never see another book written in English again, that I’d be rereading forever the small selection I’d brought with me, that until the very end of my days I’d have to forsake my love of collecting books; learning Japanese be damned. Not true of course, that bookstore had all kinds of things, and I’m now the proud owner of A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki, which I will enjoy shamelessly in my native language. Nor am I ashamed to say in that moment that I needed Žižek, and I’m certainly not ashamed to say that since then I have tossed around several stupidly Japanese variations of that essay title of his for my first blog post to try and prove to you how smart I am. But let’s cut the crap shall we? This isn’t cheap gas station sushi, this is the real thing, and it’s kind of hard. I needed Žižek in that bookstore because even if he is, and the most of our critical theory oeuvre for that matter, dense and purposefully difficult to understand—I understood him a lot more than most things in my life at that moment, and probably even now, a whole week later.

            Since I’ve been in Japan I’ve learned a lot about the Desert of the Real: that place in the Matrix that is the shitty realization that the real world is not real, not where you’ve been living, that you haven’t really been living at all. This, perhaps, is getting overly complicated. What I mean to say is that I’m living in a world where there is no diet coke* and spam is kind of expensive. In other words, I’ve been unplugged, like Neo, from where everything was normal and—more importantly—where everything was easy, but yet also where everything was overly idyllic. And I’ve struggled to adjust.

            Okay so pop and spam aren’t uprooting me, but when enough little things change, and the weather is hot, and you have to give up ideas of going to school for the rest of your life and find a real job—now that it’s actually important you do so soon—it feels like you’ve been transplanted and that maybe possibly it was too soon for your little roots. Wilting in the land of the rising sun. I don’t mean to be dramatic of course, as my time here has been dotted about with wondrous things.

Take for instance this view of Tokyo:

Or this one:

            But I do mean to tell the truth. And the truth is, it’s been all too real. Desert real. Žižek real. I don’t have wifi, like ever, (that’s not completely true because yes you are reading an online blog, but in terms of actually communicating with your friends you had add you on all kinds of new apps, it’s quite unfortunately true). And that communication, that closeness I felt to people who may have been a hour, four hours, or half a country away, that’s what had always kept me going. To be without that, it’s like being truly alone. I’m telling you all right now, I miss you like crazy, and you know that I’ve always been one to cultivate online relationships like it’s nobody’s baby-boomer bullshit business—and that is a button you should probably not push…

            Sure a few tourist daytrips and a week later, and I’m in a much better state of mind, but if you’re itching to get out of where you’re at and it’s the first time or the second time but for longer or you still think of the world as perfectly real and non-Matrix-y, then I don’t want to pretend for you that it’s all adventures and Hello Kitty and city lights. You should probably learn more Japanese than you’ll think you’ll need. You should definitely try sustaining yourself on rice, just in case, and don’t think that it’s really not that different. Because it is different. And it’s going to take time. But hey, I’ve always been told I’m pretty good at being pretty darn well patient. I mean, didn’t the Matrix teach you anything?

* So Japan has Coke Zero, which, if you ask any serious pop drinker, is not the same as Diet Coke. Also, stick deodorant is apparently not a thing?

** Up Next on Gaijin Kid: all the weird things I’m eating.

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