One of
the hardest things about living abroad, I think, is deciding on your
presence. It isn’t a one and done kind
of decision. It’s a daily choice and
more often than not it’s one we make multiple times throughout the day,
sometimes without even noticing.
For
most of us this isn’t our first time living in another country. Orientation is more of a light buzzing in our
ears than a reassuring guide to living in Japan. We’ve been through our fair share of
embarrassing blunders and somehow made it to the other side, so we ignore the
gentle reminders about cultural fatigue.
It’s not that we aren’t susceptible to it but we’re well acquainted with
the healing properties of Netflix and red wine (insert favorite
pastime/beverage here).
And for
those who are newly inducted into the life of a nomad, you’ll notice that
despite all the advice there really isn’t any magic cure for what we experience
here. Because living in Japan is much
like living in our home countries and it’s hard not because Japan is so
different but because living is a constant struggle.
On top
of that, living abroad is littered with dangerous potholes of guilt. That guilt can show up in many forms – guilt
over lack of language ability, over lack of studying, over misunderstanding a
situation, guilt over taking up space that isn’t yours.
The JET
program recognizes this and even tries to gauge our reaction to that
guilt. During the interview phase most
of us probably received a question concerning awkward encounters in the workspace
and though the prompts varied the purpose was the same.
Would
we prioritize our own comfort in such a situation? Or would we prioritize the culture of our
guests and bite our tongues? Under the
harsh fluorescent light of the Japanese embassy the answer was obvious and we
all chose the right answer because we’re mature adults. At least that’s what I used to tell
myself.
A few
weeks ago I stumbled upon a festival in Arao, Shich-Go-San (7-5-3). I’d
heard of the festival before but I’d never had the chance to go nor, to be
honest, the interest. My idea of Shichi-Go-San was akin to parents in
America dragging plastic combs through their children’s hair in a JC Penney’s, praying
they get that Christmas card shot.
But
driving by the road blocks I realized how wrong I was. The backdrop for the event was an impressive
shrine with an equally impressive torii
beckoning families forward. On the other
side was a giant stage featuring a dazzling display of acrobatics moving in
time to the beat of a taiko drum. Surrounding
it were the usual festival trappings; rows of stands offering everything from
fire engine red candy apples to sticks of glistening chicken grilled to a
crisp.
And
then something caught my eye. Standing
to the side was a beautiful white horse with colorful tassels tied to its thick
mane and an elaborate bridle decorated in a similar motif. Along its back was a blanket imbued with rich
yellows and reds and though it was gorgeous it looked stifling in the humid
weather.
Despite the attire and the chaotic drums
beating in the background, the horse was a tranquil moment frozen in time. In fact it took more than a few glances to
confirm the horse wasn’t a perfectly crafted statue.
It
wasn’t until I spotted the crying child being swung over its back and the two
pieces of rope leading away from its bit towards stone posts that I realized
what was going on. Family members stood
opposite the scene with their iPads raised high, cooing at their children to
look their way, intent on snapping the perfect shot.
For all
intents and purposes that horse was a statue.
All they wanted from it was the promise of immobility so their precious
son or daughter got their chance atop its back.
The only discernible movement, the only thing it was allowed to do, was
lift its back hoof off the ground. Every
so often it would adjust its weight and carefully rest its hoof at an angle in
the hard dirt. I was instantly reminded
of my own posture while teaching, one foot lifted up to give the other a rest,
knowing I still had three more classes to get through before I sat down.
I was
angry. I was angry with the attendants
in their colorful garb lifting child after child onto this poor horse’s
back. I was angry with the parents for
laughing at the scene in front of them, I was angry with the children screeching
directly into the horse’s ears and I was angry with myself for becoming
implicit in this circus by taking pictures.
I
thought about attempting a half-hazard jail break. It involved feverishly cutting the ropes and
thwarting off would be saboteurs. At the
very end there would be a Free Willy moment with the horse and I connecting
eyes before it charged through the crowds and out to freedom. At the very least I considered glaring at the
parents but in the end I settled with grumbling loudly in English to my
companion, though I’m sure the nearby performance drowned out my feeble protest.
In that
moment I made a decision about my presence.
I chose the path of mature adult and I made myself smaller so as not to
offend my hosts. I prioritized the
comfort of the country I was in over my own and that of the horse. I don’t know if it was the right choice to
stay quiet but I do believe I made the only choice available to me. And I guess that makes me a mature
adult.
I’m
sure there are some who would tell me in that moment that I simply didn’t
understand. If I brought it up with my
old eikaiwa students they might tell me, gently smiling so as to soften the
blow, that it was a Japanese tradition and I misunderstood.
And
maybe they would be right. The truth is
I will never fully understand Japanese tradition because I didn’t grow up with
it. I can appreciate the cultural
significance of Shichi-Go-San but I
will never know what it’s like to have my gangly adolescent body coerced into a
kimono for a shrine visit. I will never
have the memory of chomping down on a Chitose
Ame and struggle with the rice paper sticking to the roof of my mouth. I will never pass around a plastic container
of yakisoba amongst my friends and laugh at the children throwing
tantrums.
But
that’s the problem with simply chalking up moments of frustration to ‘cultural
misunderstanding’. That phrase is tossed
around so much that it becomes internalized within us as a guilt we begin to
carry. Any problem we have then becomes
a problem borne of our own ignorance and thus no one else’s fault but ours.
The difficult reality is that no
one is really in the wrong. The truth is
that horse holds a significant cultural importance to the Shichi-Go-San festival that I will never understand. The truth is that horse suffered discomfort
that day and people were responsible for that discomfort.
In that situation there wasn’t
anything I could do and you might find yourself in a similar predicament were
there’s no outlet to express your frustrations.
That’s why accepting them as valid is so important. As immigrants to Japan (travelers, expats,
interlopers, adventurers, whatever terminology you prefer) we might not always
have a place in the conversation and our opinions might not matter to anyone
else. And that’s fine. But, at the very least, you can recognize
your discomfort as valid even if you have to keep it hidden.
After
all, whether we live in Japan or we return home, there will always be times
when we feel out of step with the world.
This isn’t particular to
Japan. Wherever you find immigrants,
expats, nomads, travelers – whatever terminology you want to use, I bet
anything you’ll find a similar sentiment.
Every day we are affirming our presence and influencing how we are
perceived.
Some
days it’s easy to walk freely with our ‘other’ identity stamped firmly on our
foreheads. Some days we make ourselves
small so we can slip by unnoticed and count the minutes down until we get home. And then there are the unexpected situations
that force us to reaffirm those decisions.
There
are times we have to make ourselves small to fit a situation and it cuts into
us. It’s not a large cut but it’s there
and after a while they begin to add up, festering deep down inside us.
So next time you feel guilty, next time you think you aren’t doing enough or your own shortcomings are responsible for a misunderstanding, just remember this – your frustration is valid. Your anger is real and thus you shouldn’t ignore it. There might not be able to voice that frustration but at the very least you shouldn’t blame yourself for it. It’s simply the hazard of living.
