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Sleepy Trains and Talking T-shirts

Seen on the t-shirt of a middle-aged man walking through Kobe: “Sophistication is a word for: Three Cheers for Nothing.”

I marveled at the people sleeping on the trains when I first arrived in Japan. So many slumped bodies and closed eyes despite the noisey racket and the press of bodies. Now I relax fully on the plush green velvet bench after a long day. I rock and sway with the rhythmic lurches of the train along the tracks and marvel at the people who can stay awake.

Everything in Japan is compacted, crowded. Buildings and apartments are congested. Trains are full up. Sidewalks are crowded; the sky is crowded. Even my life is compacted, crowded. My days and my nights are heaving with people and places and the-next-thing-after-this. My mind is choked full of plans for classes, the directions to the pharmacy, the Japanese word of diaper rash ointment, what my daughter didn’t eat today, forms I need to get translated and that sideways look my husband just gave me. My heart is overfull as well. I miss the family we left behind. I miss the friends I cannot see.

Monday is a holiday, and then I work for almost weeks straight. The weekend will not bring a reprieve, but rather the task of helping with an overnight English camp for the first years – intended to get them “psyched” about learning English. Joy. Truly. It wears me out just to think about the long weeks ahead. I will still get Thursdays off as my research day, but I spend those entire days with Kiomye to make up for all the time I spend away from her at work. While enjoyable, those days could never be described as relaxing.

There is great fun to be had in Japan. The cities are crowded with entertainment as well as work and people. I experienced my first round of karaoke the other week with Dan and Abby. I got over my mortal fear of singing in front of others surprisingly quickly, mainly due to Abby and Dan’s complete lack of self consciousness and the relative privacy of our little karaoke room. The other gaijin (foreigners) that live in our apartment often go out on the weekend evening to the traditional Japanese bars. When I go along with the fun-time crowd I blindly order cocktails in Japanese and hope for drinks that don’t taste like dog sweat. The foreign teachers are from America, Australia, Canada and England. We talk politics, bash Bush and gossip about our students. It’s a nice release form the week. Even the commercials in Japan are fun. The actors (dressed as businessmen or housewives) sell things like life insurance or cube shaped mini-mini-vans by doing happy little dances involving jazz hands and high-pitched squeals of ecstasy. The fun in Japan feels somewhat desperate and urgent. Have fun! Smile! Laugh! NOW! I feel bulldozed by cheerfulness wherever I wander. The demand for genki (lively) joy may be meant to counter the drab jobs and endless work days the Japanese spend in these concrete cities. It is hard to tell what happiness is sincere and what is forced. The fun here can be a little bit frightening.

I am compelled to go stand on my balcony to listen to the rumbling trains and contemplate the lights. At least the warm night air feels real.

posted by Scribbler @ Sunday, September 19, 2004