Friends come to visit

I don't remember this, but apparently a guy I met through English Club actually met me in Canada a year or so earlier. At that time I was very involved on campus doing stuff like interpretation for groups of students on month-long programmes, and I guess he was among one of those groups. Flash forward, and unbeknownst to me, he's spent the last several months living near Seattle, attending an ESL finishing school type deal. He has a month off, so he's swinging through for old times' sake.

“I don't think you went to America to eat Japanese food,” I tell him, “but there's a Japanese restaurant here I think you might find a little interesting.”

Like everybody, he likes my new ancient sports car, which will be getting its own post in due course (it's Japanese; don't worry, this blog hasn't entirely lost all focus). I take him to a Japanese-style burger joint. So like, there's teriyaki burgers, but then there's like burgers with yakisoba on them, shit like that. He's hand-rolling a cigarette with Turkish tobacco before we've even paid.

He wants to take a spin through the downtown area, after which I direct us through a green, sedate park on the river. All the way I'm monitoring his fatigue and levels of interest, mentally planning alternate routes and trying to get the timing right, and yeah now we're basically on a date. As we walk he remembers snatches of places he's been, intersections, storefronts. Phaedrus Moments, you might call them.

I ask him about his school, whose student body he says is predominantly Asian. We start to speak, as you do, of the future. His plan is to go back to Japan when he's done his Seattle thing and finally enter working life.

For me it's a little more up in the air, as we know. I've basically been working at securing Japanese employment for two years with no actual progress. President has long since departed for Koube, where she is teaching English. The distance, in the end, has only confirmed that I really, truly, want to be with this woman. He prods me, so, you think you'll marry her? Well, nobody knows the future. I mean I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it.

He's startled and even a little angry to learn that there are Japanese people who tell me that, as a foreigner, I will never understand Japan, or learn to speak Japanese. (I wrote a post about this, but can't find it.)

“But you already speak Japanese!” he fumes. “You practically are Japanese!”

When President jettisoned nearly all her physical belongings in preparation for Koube, I ended up with some items of clothing. When I accidentally moved in with her, I didn't really bring much, so I frequently wound up picking through her laundry for T-shirts and jeans to wear. (Lockup thinks this is hilarious.) I developed some favourites, including a pink Sailor Moon T-shirt, a not-pink Sailor Moon t-shirt, and a black one that simply says 「日本」 (“JAPAN”).

I'm wearing the 日本 t-shirt today, and when my friend saw me sitting there, wearing that shirt, in a Japanese restaurant, drinking a bottle of Oi Ocha, the sight struck him as so absurdly Japanese he burst out laughing and couldn't help but snap a photo.

Three weeks later, I'm strolling past the burger joint when I see my friend who works there, and stop in to say hi. She's a bit of an interesting story. She's going to my Canadian university, now, and her long-term plan is Canada. And of course, if you graduate from a Canadian university, that's a quick ticket to permanent residency. Her problem right now is money, because tuition for international students is exorbitant. I know another guy, a tourism student, whose dream is to do tourism stuff in Hawaii. It makes a lot of sense, if you know a bit about Japan and Hawaii. There's a lot of parallels between our respective dreams, a lot of commiseration – and mutual support – to be had.

Talking with the girl from the burger joint, it turns out a Japanese girl who lived here back in fall 2011 is in town for a visit. She was with a group all from the same university who were here for a semester each. Kinda weird how that worked out, but it was nice. I had them, I had Japanese Club, I had President – we were still just friends back then – and I was taking six classes (the standard being four), so I never wanted for companionship, entertainment, or purpose. And all the while of course, I was prepping for my ryuugaku the following year, so everything I did, every hour of laying groundwork or studying Japanese, took on added weight in my own mind.

My friend told me our guest wanted to see me if she could. I told her it probably made more sense for her to tell me so rather than wait for a random encounter, she promised she'd tell her so, I looked forward to hearing from her, and then completely forgot about it until two days later, when we actually did meet in a random encounter. She's doing well. Since I last saw her, she's graduated university and become a systems engineer at a decent company in central Toukyou. But, she wonders, will she be able to keep working there when she gets married and has children?

Lately it's hard not to feel like everyone I know is both younger and more successful than me. It's discouraging. Even most of the people from English Club are now getting job offers from desirable companies. Anyone my age who is still in school has moved on to graduate studies and will be well-positioned indeed once they wrap that up. Meanwhile I've spent approximately nine decades working on a degree that will be mostly worthless when I finally complete it, at which point I will have virtually no marketable skills or experience. Painfully, President is at this very moment living the life I've always wanted, without me. I'm not jealous – really. We're a team, we share in our successes. But I want so badly to be there doing it with her.

But I have tangible, achievable goals. For the first time in a while, I can almost see things coming together. And it was invigorating to see my old friends. You take whatever victories you can seize.

Sack of garbage is worthless, spreads hate speech

I wasn't gonna do this post. Wasn't gonna draw any more attention to it than it deserved. I'm not even naming that putrid little cockgobbler, because I wouldn't want to inadvertently give him traffic, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky. But I just have too much material now to not sling words at the Internet, because even if I don't have much to add to what more socially active bloggers and vloggers have already said, I could use the catharsis.

So we've gotten the revelation that he has recently been officially banned from immigrating to Japan for all poison-vomiting activities. (He also seems to have had several venues rescind offers to host him, although MRA rallies somehow seem to keep finding niches to carve into, so I don't know how much that means.) So he'll either have to give up on any Japanese endeavours, or lie about the purpose of his trip, which would then get lanced the second he set foot in a presentation venue, and his sexual assault-promoting ass would be ejected from the country for at least ten years, I'm guessing. I'm no expert in immigration law, but that's how long you're barred from entry if you overstay your visa. So kudos to everybody who stepped forward to try and take down a true real-life villain.

The premise of the lecture (if you can give such a puerile heap of human garbage such a dignified descriptor) is to treat women as worthless, which is an absolutely fantastic shortcut to not getting laid. He garnered the wrong kind of attention when a video of one of his sessions surfaced, showing him spewing bile that comes dangerously close to advocating rape. He describes the winning technique for getting women in Japan to be grabbing a woman's head and thrusting it towards your crotch, yelling “Pikachu!” It then showed footage of him doing this to a bunch of Japanese women that he then did not have sex with. Incredibly, he states that this is all a-ok because they just giggle. Which is what people do when they're uncomfortable, you insane fuckwad.

Question: Doe he buy into his own bullshit? The attendees at these kinds of things are the loneliest, most desperate men on earth. They're looking for a cheat code for instant sex because they're either too chickenshit to go up to a woman and start a fucking conversation, or they're so atrociously bad at it that they legitimately believe that the only reason for their failure is that they haven't yet found exactly the right combination of insults and vulgarities that would push her buttons ooh just right, baby, call me a fat ugly whore again, it gets me so hot. I actually feel a little sorry (but not too sorry) for the guys who go to stuff like this, because it's a pretty shitty business model. I don't mean shitty as in it's ineffective, it actually seems to work pretty well unfortunately, I mean shitty like “that's a shitty thing to do,” in that it openly preys on the deepest insecurities of the weak.

Iirc, the guy who invented invented peacocking – always pictured surrounded by a crowd of adoring men but rarely any women, for some reason – privately admitted to this, and said that he knew there was no way it would work in real life. This guy (trying to avoid naming him, I want to call him the Beast, which would suit him, but I don't want to associate him in my own mind with anything as high-quality as Transmetropolitan) might be the same. Or he might actually fully believe in every vile piece of rancid fungus that sloughs out of his mouth. I'm not sure which is worse.

One more thing, this footage was shot in Toukyou, right? Like Roppongi maybe? Cause there are definitely parts of Japan – certainly in Oosaka, and even then the rowdier corners of Kyouto – where doing that shit will get you fucking stomped. Or maybe I'm wrong. Go try!

There is one thing I believe I can contribute to discussions of this instructive failure, which is to mock him further. He does most of the work for me, but I can't resist, so here's my reactions to some quotes from his Twitter, now removed but thoughtfully archived by Tinder's Finest Bachelors.

“I like my women like I like my cell phone. Broken.”

What? That's not how you do that. Take the joke, “I like my women how I like my coffee: Black, hot, and all over my junk.” It works because it makes sense for both women and for coffee. I get that if you're a loser, an emotionally broken woman sounds like a ticket to an easy lay, but why would you ever want a broken cell phone? Because you know you're a poison to society and wish to expose yourself to as few people as possible?

“I always just assume that any girl who sleeps with me is a slut and any girl who doesn't sleep with me is a cunt.”

As far as I'm concerned there's nothing wrong with being a slut, but I guess the logic there is that she'd damn well have to be a slut to sleep with you.

“My favorite sexual position is the one where I cum and she doesn't.”

When it's with you, I'm guessing that's all of them.

“I'm too in love with myself to love my girlfriend.”

Is that why you don't have one?

“That warm load of sweet cum you just viciously gulped down has a thousand calories. In case you're wondering why you're still single.”

Take note, ladies, he's encouraging you to not swallow his cum. In case you needed convincing.

Also, fucking is pretty good exercise, so the joke doesn't even work.

“Girls, could you please save me the effort and roofie your own drink? #JustKidding”

Just kidding, he'll do it himself.

“No means no. #JustKidding”

What the fuck.

“Dear girls, you should be blowing me every time you change positions. #JustSoYouKnow”

For most men, this would be considered too time-consuming.

“I'm running out of reasons to wear a condom.”

The number of women willing to sleep with you is shrinking even further?

“Show the back of your girlfriend's throat just how much you love her.”

Oh, please; never mind the back of her throat, you couldn't even reach the tip of her tongue.

“#LOL at guys who need to use roofies...”

Like you, a few Tweets up?

“Vodka and cum. #MyGirlfriendsDiet”

Are you trying to mock her? Because that's kind of hot.

“Sometimes you fuck them, other times you jack off on them.”

You may someday find one willing to do it for you.

“Safe sex but without the condom.”

What? It's not safe sex then.

“You had me at: 'My last three boyfriends were assholes...'”

So you figure you'll fit right in?

I can't imagine fitting in has ever been a problem for you.

Yes, that was another dig at your penis size.

“A relationship with me might only last a night but the emotional damage will last forever.”

Now you're just stating obvious facts.

“My favorite sex toy is my girlfriend's mind.”

I.e. sexual satisfaction for a woman is heavily mental, and that the key to satisfying one is therefore all in her head. But I don't think he has this much knowledge of sex. Though it's not his fault, he just hasn't had enough of it yet.

“When does no mean no?”

TFB says: “EVERY.SINGLE.FUCKING. TIME.” To which I would add, “Obviously.”

“Another girl, another infinite amount of lies.”

Well it's obvious you'd never get one on your own merits.

“The hottest women are often the most insecure, so don't forget to treat them like trash. #JustSoYouKnow”

He not only summarizes his own lectures so you don't have to spend the time or money to go, but at the same time helpfully explains why everything he expounds within them is completely wrong.

You get the point. This isn't a man, this is a child, one who desires women so badly that he's come to hate them. Either that or he's a cynical bastard making bank on misery. Doesn't matter. Japan's banned him, Canada's Minister of Immigration has promised to do everything he can to block him, Australia kicked him out, Brazil and the UK are working on it, probably a lot more by now, I can't keep up with this story, I'm too worried I might get infected. But we're off to a good start, so I'm hoping that the matter can be settled quickly and this motherfucker forced to seriously reevaluate some things.

Attitude

I originally wrote this way back when I was still toying with the idea of starting a blog, after a particularly frustrating incident left me needing to vent. That was over two years ago, so the writing is a little amateurish compared to my more recent stuff. Next post, I'll tell the story that inspired it.

*

When most Japanese people I meet find out that I'm interested in the language and the culture, they're delighted. They're flattered that I'm trying to participate and pleased that I'm trying to understand. They're forgiving when I make mistakes and wonderfully supportive of everything I'm trying to do. This has overwhelmingly been my experience, and I'm grateful to all the people who have helped me, been my friends, and invited me through the door.

Some aren't like this.

Some are of a very different opinion. Because I'm not Japanese I can never understand Japanese culture. Sometimes I screw things up when I talk, therefore I don't speak Japanese at all. My goals are messed up, or else they're a waste of time because I could never possibly achieve them as an outsider. I'm just a sad hanger-on, a skinny obsessive little weeaboo, and would I just knock it off and go wallow in my own ignorance with my little white friends who, like me, also speak only one language but fetishize Asian girls and sit alone in our rooms by ourselves all the time.

And it pisses me right off. When I encounter stuff like this elsewhere in my life, I can pretty much let it be. Because I've made a point of surrounding myself with people who like me, and will call me out if they think I'm wrong but mostly just make me feel good about myself. Anybody who tries to go against that, I don't need. But this is a little different. A handful of magic words can make my blood boil.  "You can't X." "You don't know what you're talking about." "Your Japanese doesn't make any sense." I can and I'm going to. I've been looking into the topic for YEARS of my life now and I've earned the right to put forth an informed opinion. It does make sense and you goddamn know it, it's just not perfect. It's the attitude, the condescension. It's the dismissiveness.

As soon as I can, I'm going to move back to Japan and then I'm going to live there for the rest of my life. I decided that a very long, long time ago. This is the primo goal I'm working towards at all times, to which all others are subordinate. So when someone tries to tell me that all the energy I'm putting towards this – the hours of study I put in each day, all the work I do, both as Japanese Club Vice President and on my own time, trying to make sure the Japanese students on campus are taken care of and feel comfortable and welcome, without agenda, simply because I love Japanese people – is basically worthless, I get angry, because they're making me feel like my identity is being invalidated. Not as some loser white guy trying to 'be Japanese,' but as a proud Canadian who has decided to make Japan his home.

What really gets me is the double standard they apply, a sort of Japanese exceptionalism wherein it's totally possible for them to grasp Canadian culture (and yes, there is such thing as Canadian culture, but we're not going to talk about that right now), but I can't do the reverse, and when I point this out they just wave it off as me just plain not understanding. Can you imagine if I went around telling foreigners in Canada that they'll never be able to learn English? People would think I was a complete asshole! That's not  really material, though. And I've done some things in the past that people had every right to get angry about, and from time to time I still do. But I think that's a separate issue, too, and when that stuff happens it's usually an honest mistake, or at least not because I'm trying to make waves.

I really believe that the good I do outweighs the bad, and that I take more flak than I deserve. The only thing I can think to do is refuse to give in. Try to show how I earnest I really am, that I mean business, and maybe, every once in a while, get somebody to rethink their view of me. I don't expect to change many minds, but I really shouldn't let the naysayers upset me, either. Keep studying Japanese, keep trying to learn about the country, and keep making Japanese friends. Then surround myself with the ones who get me.

I have the package

Shortly before I temporarily left Japan, I shipped a big box of stuff to Canada. The postman came right to the dorm for his regular deliveries, helped me fill out the form, and departed with my stuff crooked under his arm. Five years ago, at the conclusion of my high school exchange, I sent a couple of packages as well...but it was a very emotional time, and I couldn't bring myself to open them at first, because I felt like in some way it would officially signal the end to a time I'd treasured. And then days turned into months and then it was just kind of a thing.

Today I opened all three. I barely remembered what I put in the one I shipped two months ago, never mind five years.

 Ok then, U-Pack. What have you got for me?

 Pokemon, the jinbei from English Club, some books, more Pokemon. All right, sure.

 Ah! FF for Jugs, Tales for Goku. Picked these up at Kyouto Animate. They were well-received.

 Here I have tried to arrange my Pokemon charms into the shape of Japan, their positioning corresponding to the region they represent. As you can see, I failed.

Enough of that. Time to jump into nostalgia in the worst way.

 It looks like I stuffed as many papers as possible anywhere they would fit. Right on top are the slightly crumpled lyrics to a song my class did for a contest. In Japanese high schools, you stick with your homeroom class, and the teachers come to you. Obviously this means that a Japanese high school student has nowhere near the course choice or autonomy of a Western one, but the main advantage is that the class becomes a family, and I really mean that. My class was the best part of my previous stay. It was full of wonderful, energetic, kind people who were not only quick to welcome me into the fold, but continually proved their willingness to help me survive in the school and not only endure but actively help cultivate my tottering and unsure Japanese.

Homeroom classes do a lot of activities together, one of which was a...I don't know what you'd call it. A singing contest, is what it was anyway. The more proactive students selected a few songs, we narrowed it down to two, thought up a little skit, and then competed with the other classes in our year. I gather it was a nationwide competition so the winners must have advanced to the intramurals and so on. We didn't win, but practising with everybody is one of my fondest memories from that time. This video from 1rittoru no Namida should give you an idea what it was like. As you can see we performed a half-English, half-Japanese rendition of “A Whole New World” from Disney's Aladdin. I can still recite parts of the Japanese lyrics from memory. My class also did “Oh Happy Day” but I wasn't part of that group. Remember that one pretty well too, though.

 On the first day we were required to do a test. Looking back I have no idea what the point of that was, since everybody there had already written an entrance examination, but I guess it was just to assess our abilities. Of course I was hopelessly lost, and though my teacher said I should ask if I wasn't sure what to do, I didn't want to take up time that would be better spent on my classmates, who, unlike me, were actually expected to perform somewhat acceptably.

Of course I was able to do the English section with no problems, even without being able to read the instructions, but the rest was impossible. I barely attempted the Kokugo. I was later placed in a Math class since that's pretty much the same in every language, but not only is Canadian Mathematical pedagogy woefully inadequate, I was pretty damn horrible at even that.

Hey, somebody check this and tell me if my math's correct. It probably isn't. On another page I adorably wrote “FOIL” in the margin, as if it was too abstract and complex an idea to hold in my head without having it in front of me.

 A, uh, pamphlet that's been scrawled all over with marker and shot to hell with a hole-punch. I can no longer recall its origin but it clearly must have meant a great deal to me at the time. Jesus but I'm a sentimental bastard, aren't I?

 I didn't spend every class with my class, as it happens. Some of them, like Kokugo, would have been too far beyond me, and the school's administrators thought (as did I) that it would be beneficial to experience a wide range of topics and classroom settings. So, for four blocks a week, I would trek over to some other class and sit down with them. One was Sekaishi, with a class that I always felt I would have loved to have been a part of every bit as much as I did my own, if it had shaken out that way. Hero of another story and all that. This paper was clearly from my Nihonshi class, where I first learned the word “bakufu.” There were a couple of girls in that class who sat near me that I always enjoyed talking to. They were hot.

 Whoooooakay then. No, I wasn't foisting my nationalist pride on everyone around me. These were supposed to be gifts. Obviously I didn't end up distributing them all, but they're good to have.

 Hey, I remember buying this! Seems I had halfway decent taste in high school. Still in ok condition, too. Never did know who DJ Honda was, though.

 ...yeah ok.

 Oh, right. I used to be kind of a nerd.

 Ah, Hagaren! Book-Off has always been good to me.

 They don't quite jive with the rest of the collection, though.

 An...empty plastic bag. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with me?

 Aha! Cardcaptor Sakura was what I was using for reading practise back in the day, and it was every bit as difficult for me then as 1Q84 is now. However, I never quite completed my collection. Each volume, you see, was originally packaged with a bookmark in the form of a Clow Card. My ambition was to obtain a complete set of Clow Cards, so I always vowed to gather the rest whenever I returned to Japan. Unfortunately, since I refused to open up the box and check I had no idea which ones I was still missing, so I couldn't do it this time. Guess that just means I have to get back as quickly as possible.

 Actually, as you can see I was tantalizingly close to getting them all. Damn!

 A T-shirt, which I bought in 2008, that celebrates the Rolling Stones tour of 1981-82, which I was unable to attend because I was too busy not having been born yet.

Aaaaand here's all the Gundams I acquired over the course of a semester (along with two other still unbuilt ones that I bought in Canada). I seem to have packed them first and then jammed everything else in around them. In total, it looks like I bought twelve. I'd often arrange and rearrange them on my bed or a table, simply admiring them, glowing with pride every time another machine or two joined their ranks. Yes that's both a regular and Char Custom Zaku, and yes that's two versions of Freedom. Shut up.

I find it really rather unbelievable that I ever thought that this was a good use of money, or that I'd be able to find space in my room for them, or, most of all, that I'd ever, ever have the time to build all these fucking things. Amazing how priorities change.

There is one thing I didn't find amongst this clusterfuck. Over those five months, I kept an incredibly dense journal, filled with reams of completely unnecessary detail, that I'd hoped might turn up. The fact that it did not means that I felt it was precious enough to carry it with me in my backpack, and that it is most likely now lodged deep in some other box, in the bowels of my parents' basement, possibly on another plane of reality. If I ever come across it again, or just get the itch to reminisce, I'll share some of the stories from that period – and there are some good ones. For now, I hope you've enjoyed the snippets. Looking through this stuff has given me some perspective on my most recent ryuugaku, as in a lot of ways, they were really very similar: Joyous, painful, thrilling, and ultimately transformative. That is, everything a ryuugaku should be.

A Kind of Homecoming

There have been all the expected changes. New buildings have been thrown up as if overnight. Partially completed community initiatives are now farther along. Zellers has transformed into Target. Improvements and expansions have been made to my university. Television shows have all progressed another season, so I have a lot more material to enjoy of the few that I watch. And apparently we've stopped using pennies. I find the whole concept utterly baffling and have to pause for like twenty minutes every time a price comes up as like $9.57 or whatever, totally unsure what I'm supposed to pay. Never mind that the numbers are all ridiculously small and I'm not even sure what things should cost.

My uncle asked: “So, are you happy to be home?”

What a weird-ass question! And I don't just mean the “home” thing. I don't expect most people to understand what Japan means to me, that as far as I'm concerned I'm only visiting Canada, or how deeply it irks me when people imply that Japan isn't my home. That part I get. But what the hell good can come of that question? Yes. God am I glad to be home. Japan was awful. What a waste of a year of my life. Or, and this one is closer to the truth: No. I need to get back. I hate it here.

When I arrived at my parents house, I breathed a heavy sigh. I don't want to be here. And as much as I want to be in Japan, I want to not be in Canada nearly as badly. Even if it were a place I had no interest in, like Stockholm or something, at least it'd be an adventure, an experience, and a chance to learn something new. Rather than rediscovering it, I'm finding that my hometown, and all the places I used to frequent, are all too familiar. The only way I've kept from lapsing into full-on Reverse Culture Shock Mode is by reminding myself that if I work hard and play it right, this will be only a stopover, and I'll be on my way soon enough.

For the first few days, I tried to keep a low profile. It worked reasonably well. Oh, I was spotted at once – President saw me walking past her Starbucks, trying to be incognito, my very first day out. But every time I encountered someone I asked them not to tell, so I got to see startled reactions over and over again, which was basically all I wanted. Just hanging out, doing stuff, what are you talking about, I've been here the whole time.

I dropped in on a couple of the Japanese restaurants I used to frequent and reconnected with the staff. Everybody was very excited to see me. Shit, it's like I never left. How the hell has it been a year? They were all at my farewell parties and I remember those so clearly.

More importantly, although I missed out on volunteering for my beloved International Orientation, I at least managed to swing an invitation to the Welcome Lunch, where I touched base with a few of the new Japanese students.

Rude Boy: So I was just talking with a few of them, and I thought, I'm really enjoying this conversation, but there are a lot more students floating around, I really ought to go and introduce myself so that they at least know who I am, and what Club is. And then I realised...

President: “I don't have to do this anymore.”

Rude Boy: Exactly! So I just stood there with them and kept right on chatting like I had no other responsibilities!

President: Isn't it nice?

No longer Japanese Club executives in any official capacity, she and I will both be dialing back our contributions from here on in. For one thing, I already sweat, bled, and cried for this club, and I feel I've earned the right to let someone else take over the heavy lifting. Who knows, maybe I'll even get to relax and enjoy an event. Not that running them wasn't enjoyable, itself, but it was tough work, rushing the fuck around and making sure everything was in place and providing social lubrication and watching the clock and being prepared, at any moment, to throw out the entire plan and craft something new on the spot to ensure people were enjoying themselves.

Certainly I'm not going to excuse myself entirely. Where before I likened myself to a former President of the United States receiving daily CIA briefings (that is, wistfully keeping an eye on Club through its Facebook feed), now I more think of myself as a retired Hells Angels chapter president. I'll have no official association with the organization and may not even be involved in its day-to-day activities, but I'll still show my face occasionally, attend and help with events, provide mentorship, order a hit on my cousin's abusive boyfriend, whatever. And I'm happy to do translation or interpretation, seeing as I'm the only one who can. President has adopted basically the exact same attitude.

President: I mean, Club is still my baby—

Rude Boy: Our baby, President.

President: Right, our baby, and he's gradu—he? She? Is it a girl?

Rude Boy: She's definitely a girl.

President: She's graduated high school, she's ready to go off to college, and now it's time to let go...

Rude Boy: Like, we'll still be there for her when she needs us, but we've gotta, like...

President: Let her out into the world, she has to learn for herself now, make her own mistakes...

Rude Boy: Exactly.

President: Learn to survive on her own.

To paraphrase Ezio Auditore del Firenze: “I built this Club to last...with, or without me.” Unlike President, I don't have every confidence that the new people will do a good job (well, definitely not as good a job as we did. Obviously!), but what the fuck do I know, I haven't even been around for the last year. Maybe they'll do awesome. I mean I certainly hope so. It doesn't matter either way; they were the ones who stepped up, the membership ratified their succession, and now the pirate ship is theirs to either steer towards fortune and glory or mismanage straight into a lethal encounter with some shoals.

Ok seriously, you guys, don't fuck up my pirate ship. Worked on her for years. I will fucking murder your face right off if you so much as scratch the paint on this pirate ship. Be home by 11.

A touch of typhoon

Rude Boy: You and I haven't had a class together since like spring 2011.

President: Wow. Sounds like a bad omen.

Rude Boy: Mm?

President: Spring 2011...?

Rude Boy: Oh. Shit. Well...I'll just withdraw if it looks like anything bad's about to happen.

I guess I'd better get on that.

If you're not aware, a typhoon hit large parts of Kyouto, Shiga, Hyougo, Ayamane, and also apparently Toukyo, though much less directly. Kyouto and Shiga seem to have been the worst-hit, being inundated with powerful rains and flooding. I sort of shrugged it off at first – typhoon, big deal. It happens. But then I was cruising Facebook and I saw this picture:

Yeah, I flagrantly ganked this from a stranger's FB feed. Sue me. Actually no, don't.

If you live in Kyouto, you should recognize this spot. Or maybe not; it took me a good ten seconds. That's Sanjou Oohashi in the background, Sanjo Keihan Eki further in the background, and, directly in front of us, a pedestrian footbridge. It's one of the most popular meetup and hangout spots in the city, and I was pulling through there once a week at bare minimum.

It's difficult to describe, now, what I felt in the moment I saw that photo, and over the following day. Of course at that time I was a little more uncertain of the situation. Last I read, only eight people have died, several of them rather elderly, and the news reporting all seemed to focus on evacuation efforts and property damage rather than loss of human life. But without being there, I had no way of knowing what things were actually like on the ground. I couldn't read the mood, and know whether Kyoutoites were bonding and powering through or despondent over the destruction. Most of all, I felt like I should be there. Not even that I should be doing something to help, just like I should be in the thick of with everybody. I didn't have any information, I couldn't do anything to help, maybe there wasn't even anything to do, and I felt thoroughly cut down to size.

I thought: Can forces of nature stop destroying my adopted homeland now.

And also: Please God, don't let this be a day that we remember for years.

Because I still recall with great clarity exactly what I was doing when I found out about the Touhoku Earthquake. Hell, I remember every detail that came for the next month, because of everything we were all doing. I didn't want this time to be like that. Let it wash away like so much water, a non-lethal non-event.

Of course I feel a little silly saying this now, knowing as I do that everything was pretty much ok. Udon is fine. Shiga is fine, English Club people are fine. But there was about a 48-hour period there where I was checking in and nobody was responding, which, rationality aside (they're busy, they might not have power, some people suck at texting), had me concerned.

It's weird that this typhoon could be even a fraction as affecting as Touhoku was, despite being a grain of sand in comparison to a beach, just because it's a place that I know well, and have developed a certain affection for (even though I still maintain that Kyouto is kind of shitty). I wondered if this is what it feels like to live in New York, and be watching a movie, and have it depicting scenes in places you could walk to from where you're currently sitting watching the movie. Actually, you probably get used to it.

So I tried to imagine my Canadian hometown undergoing a similar crisis. Try as I might, I couldn't make it real. Because these things could never happen to you, right?

Lonesome Road

As soon as Udon sees me off, I'm alone. From here on out, it's all strangers and solitude. I'm riding to Umeda, but instead of the excitement I would normally feel at a day or night of fun ahead, I just feel drained. Fuck it. Here we go. I really am leaving Japan. Well. Fuck.

I get hung up at Umeda because I fail to realise that I need to make my transfer at Oosaka, and spend over an hour wandering around like an idiot, but it's so hot and I am so goddamn tired, I just kind of go with it. Important point is, at no time do I feel nervous. Concerned, yes, but it's all purely intellectual. I've grown.

I'm riding the express but do not realise that there's an additional cost associated with this until a guy comes around to check my ticket. He addresses me in Japanese and does not bat an eye when I speak it back to him, I pay the difference and he gives me a ticket, and I slump back against the wall, not at all embarrassed about having made a mistake. The train pauses for a while for seemingly no reason; the old ladies near me speculate that it's either regular maintenance or a suicide. One of the two. I reach my station and disembark. I have to say, it has been my experience that carting luggage around the major transit centres is no big thing, but as you wind away into the local stations it becomes increasingly burdensome, in this case requiring a series of confused elevator rides just to reach the opposite platform.

Easily locating my hotel, I have a lengthy and detailed conversation with the guy at the front, and not once does he remark on the unprecedented multitasking of my speaking Japanese while being foreign. I appreciate the compliments, I really do – but from time to time it's nice to have my ability to communicate in the language of the country I live in not be pointed out like it's a fucking UFO sighting. I head to 7-11 to print off my electronic ticket, which seems to contradict the whole “electronic” idea, but I accomplish the deed while barely paying attention. I am so in control.

It's late and the train ride took hours. But I've arrived! At least now I can relax. Well, I've misplaced my fucking cell phone charger, but nothing I can do for the moment. Fortunately, Jugs is online, so my final sad, lonely evening doesn't devolve into a totally self-congratulatory emo wankfest. But then...

[5:56:13 AM] Rude Boy: OH WOULD YOU FUCK RIGHT OFF. the documents i printed at 7-11 i now cant fucking find

[5:56:46 AM] Rude Boy: WHAT

[5:56:47 AM] Rude Boy: THE FUCK

[5:57:57 AM] Jugs: :c

[5:58:29 AM] Rude Boy: im leaving japan

[5:58:34 AM] Rude Boy: im leaving a lot of things

[5:58:47 AM] Jugs: bb, i can' even imagine how hard this is for you

[5:58:53 AM] Rude Boy: i am so. incredibly. fucking. tired.

[5:59:07 AM] Jugs: but i can promise you lots of hugs in canada

[5:59:27 AM] Rude Boy: it is SO MOTHERUFCKING HOT JUST FUCK RIGHT THE FUCK OFF THREE MONTHS LAREADY SERIOUSLY FUCK. OFF. JUST FUCK. OFF. no more plz. no more of this fucking heat. i am so fucking tired

[5:59:46 AM] Rude Boy: i cant even

[5:59:48 AM] Rude Boy: i cant do this.

[5:59:57 AM] Rude Boy: i am actually just

[6:00:02 AM] Rude Boy: WHJERE THE FUCK ARE MY DOCUMENTs

[6:00:47 AM] Jugs: you totally can do this

[6:01:18 AM] Rude Boy: i actually am almost breaking down right now

[6:01:33 AM] Jugs: you not being able to do it isn't even an option in anyway

[6:02:05 AM] Rude Boy: it is so fucking hot

[6:02:07 AM] Rude Boy: where are my documents?

[6:02:11 AM] Rude Boy: where?

[6:02:13 AM] Rude Boy: where? :(

[6:02:17 AM] Rude Boy: where are my fucking documents? :(

So far I've concealed my emotions, but that one little thing has made me snap. Thankfully, Jugs is an awesome person and stays online to talk me through it even though it's already morning in Canada. And I do eventually find the fucking things, thank fuck. Unfortunately, I can't reply to the message that Udon has almost certainly sent. I feel pretty bad about that.

In the morning, I catch the shuttle to Kankuu. From this point forward, the idea that I might speak anything other than English does not occur to anyone for the rest of my life. At Immigration, an old man punches a hole through my gaijin card, but then he gives it back, an unexpected souvenir.

I'm staring down the barrel of 25 hours of continuous travel; a duo of pointlessly long stopovers have conspired to try and make me kill myself. More than anything else right now, I wish for a companion. Not even to help me work out my complicated transfers and baggage dickings-around; it's cool, I will do all of the thinking, I will make all of the decisions. I will be the grizzled world traveller. It's only that it's going to be fucking boring. I want someone to bullshit with. Seriously, I'll take almost anybody. I'd even take a particularly calm and astute child at this point. Well, maybe not Insufferable Dumbass. I'd leave him at home. It defeats the purpose to bring someone who will make the trip feel even longer.

At Incheon, I find that I'm actually remembering many of the areas I passed through the first time around. Is this what it's like to be a capable, experienced international plane person? I'm sorely tempted by the “Experience Korea” souvenirs, but decide that it's a little tacky to buy something from an airport gift shop without ever having actually seen the country. Maybe if Korea still sparkled...

An Indian guy about to begin studying in Canada gets cornered by one of the dumbest people I have ever heard words slough out of. He asks how long he's lived in Korea (five hours), and why he didn't go visit the ocean if he had so much time between flights (are you...really?). He then inquires as to why he didn't just take a flight directly from Mumbai to Vancouver, all at once demonstrating that he knows absolutely nothing about international travel, or geography, or humanity, or the laws of physics. I try to bury myself in the book that I started reading at YVR a year ago – The Sun Also Rises, turns out it's pretty great – but his exuberance bores itself straight into my brain. Oh hey! Looks like I did bring Insufferable Dumbass with me! I am finally saved when he convinces the Indian guy to go line up for the plane shortly after it arrives at the airport. Eventually I follow in their wake. Some guy has tried to take my window seat. Haha, no.

I watch Iron Man 3. It's bad.

Setting right my mistake of nearly a year ago, I order the bibimbap. The flight attendant asks if I've ever “tried” it before, which seems a little condescending, but how is she to know that I'm not a moron. Good luck I didn't pick JAL. I'd Kansai-ben their ears off and then we'd ALL feel awkward. Still though, you take everything they give you and mix it together, it's not fucking hard. The meal is quite tasty. In my experience, Asian food survives the transition to “airplane food” most intact out of any cuisine.

I watch a Chinese movie called “Finding Mr. Right.” It's surprisingly good! It's about a young Chinese woman who goes to America to have her sugar daddy's baby so that the government doesn't force her to abort it, but then she meets people there and plot ensues. You should watch it. Also the main girl is gorgeous.

All the Korean movies are action movies and supernatural thrillers. Why can't I just watch a silly romanticomedy? I want to learn “You had me at hello,” not “Make him an offer he can't refuse.” The only Japanese movie heavily involves dogs, so that's out, too. Luckily I'm tired. My strategy was to stay awake as long as possible in order to sleep as deeply as possible, because I know that once I fully wake I'll pretty much stay that way. Time to make out with the cabin!

I stir from my slumber and crack the window. Still dark outside the plane. The moon is reflected against the wing, and I crane my neck to peer up at it. This high in the atmosphere, there's little between us but space. Crazy.

When I wake again, the people beside me are eating breakfast. A small sign has been attached to the seat in front of me: “While you were resting, we were unable to serve you. Please let our service staff know your preference.” It earns points for saying “resting” rather than sleeping, but then immediately loses them all by making it sound like I'm causing problems for them. How about “It is our policy not to disturb passengers while they are resting. Our staff would be happy to serve you at your convenience.” See, I could totally be in marketing. A guy comes by and asks me for my choice, with an attitude suggesting that his job would be so much easier if it weren't for all these fucking people trying to fly to places. His pronunciation is frankly terrible and the only option I understand is “omelette” so I take that even though I know it will be an abomination. I can't finish it.

Then I'm in Canada again, somehow. White people everywhere. Negotiating yet another labyrinth of signage, and then Immigration – I don't like the bullpen style of YVR. Kansai and Incheon are a little clearer and more streamlined. They've installed a new “electronic border guard” system since I was last here. Did you guys know about this? You scan your passport and then your paperwork, greatly speeding up the process and, presumably, lowering the airport's overhead (no pun intended). An automated female voice even warns me that border services will have some questions for me.

A young, blonde woman frowns at my customs paperwork and, not unkindly, asks, “You have unaccompanied baggage with you?”

Well, no, ma'am. If I had it with me, it would be accompanied baggage.

Anyway, I end up getting a customs receipt so that I won't have to pay tax at the post office (as what I'm importing is within my exemption), so it turns out that it pays not to lie to the government. Very, very occasionally.

At Tim Horton's, I fumble with the coins, barely recognizing them.

Final 10 seconds

I feel low. Empty. In a few short hours I will leave the dorm, and this time tomorrow I'll be on a plane. I wonder if this is what a person feels on the morning of their execution: Resolute in my hopelessness, resigned to the fact that one way or another, it's all over now. I've done everything I can. I've spent a year of my life, incurred massive debt, and I'll probably never know for certain if there was any meaning or value to any of it.

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Chinese hookers off the streets of Koube. I watched drunk gyaaru glittering in the morning light near Kiyamachi. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.

I never got to see Udon. We were going to meet one more time, but she got called into work at the last minute. I was crushed. Can't be helped though. We'll see where we're both at next time I'm in town. Whenever that is...

Jesus, it's been a whole year already? Christ, it's only been a year?

I wonder what they'll say about me, when I get back. I barely recognize the person I was when I got here. I've always felt I was a confident person, and a patient one, but that's only gotten stronger. I've gained new skills, of course, and – well, I hope my Japanese has improved, anyway. My curiosity has in no way lessened, but I no longer feel anxious when I don't understand every little detail. I've gotten better at asking for help.

There's nothing left now. I slowly finish the last of my packing. Begin to tidy mine and Cologne's room, taking my time about it. I am so very sad. I--

Holy shit a message from Udon.

“Well, I'm free this afternoon (lol)”

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit.

I kick into high gear. Oh god. Room check, we have to get ready for it right fucking now. Udon confirms that she is available until 4. It's goddamn 1:30. Ok. Ok ok ok. Toss that shit right the fuck into the suitcase. Shove it in good. It's all crumpled and fucked up! Never mind. Vacuum. Jesus Christ fuck cocks gotta run up and down the fucking hallways and oh god damn it there are no vacuum bags have to run to the first floor and borrow their vacuum. Vacuum vacuum vacuum when did our room get so many corners. Cologne woke up obviously and now he's showering, please oh god oh please for once in your life don't take an eternity in there. Ok ok shove the rest of my clothes in. Um, backpack! Electronics! Ok hopefully that's everything. What if it's not?? Fuck it. Gotta take a chance every once in a while. Can't live your life cloistered in your fucking library. Check all the drawers oh fuck right off I forgot some stuff oh fuck it don't even look just throw the whole pile into the garbage. Oh good he's out of the bathroom ok vacuum the bathroom ok is that good enough? Yeah I'm saying that's good enough. Ask to do my room check two hours early; luck out and get the go-ahead. Dormitory lady pronounces room is spotless. Please god faster. Need to surrender keycard and room keys. It is so fucking hot out and I'm so tired my hands are shaking so bad I can't even slip the key off the ring oh fucking finally there we go.

And...we're done?

I skitter back upstairs. Mother Russia isn't in; I will probably never see her again. Goodbye Lithuania! Goodbye French! Goodbye Tiny Korean Girl! Goodbye Korean guy! Goodbye Cologne! Goodbye assistants! Oh fuck that's right – I hurriedly entrust a bag of coffee, one final parting gift for Mother Russia, to one of the assistants. A few people, startled and confused by my leaving ahead of schedule, rush downstairs to see me off, wondering what could have precipitated my haste.

“Take care of Mother Russia,” I request of the dorm staff.

And I'm off and running down the driveway, suitcase rumbling ridiculously in my wake.

I'd envisioned this moment a hundred times, but it never looked like this. Sometimes it included one pensive, final walkabout of the dormitory; perhaps a ceremonial final usage of the keycard that had made so many midnight 7-11 runs possible; and most definitely an overly long, possibly wailed set of goodbyes. Not so here. In a way, it's actually better. I'm afforded a clean break. At the train station, the tears claw at my throat and beg to be released. I ignore them.

I've rushed like fucking nobody's business. And at 3:20, I finally meet up with Udon.

I'm exhausted and incoherent and I look like shit but she doesn't even mind. We sit in Starbucks and we talk until 4:30, when she finally admits that she really does have to get to work. Of course I wish we could have spent more time together, but it's just about the perfect length of time for a goodbye. We have a lot of fun. We have a fairly frank conversation about what might happen between us when I come back to Japan, and although a million things can happen in even six months (the absolute minimum time I'll be away), we leave the door open.

I do realise that I'm kind of fixating on a girl that I've only actually met three times, but there is something there. There is definitely something there. If we'd met in, say, March, I'm positive we'd be dating by now. But then, even such a short time ago, I was a completely different person, so – although I don't believe in any conspiracy of God or “the Universe” meddling in human relationships – in a way perhaps it had to happen now.

As we're walking to Hankyuu Kawaramachi so she can see me off, I realise that she is the last person I'll see this year. How fitting, I remark. She laughs. It's really just about the best sendoff I could have hoped for.

Dormitory farewell party

When last semester's farewell party rolled around, I wasn't particularly enthused. I'd been keeping on the fringes of dormitory life, after all, and while I certainly had some “friends,” I'd never felt especially attached to anybody there, so I didn't have any difficulties letting go. Life is full of goodbyes. My advice: Get used to it early. Never stop making connections, but understand that no relationship, romantic or otherwise, is going to last forever. You don't have to like it, but you do have to accept it, because if you don't, you're in for crippling pain.

So I went in this time with much the same attitude. Basically, I thought, I don't want to do this. Mill around for a couple of hours, make idle conversation with people I either don't care about or actively hate, and pretend to be sad? What a downer. And of course I'm obligated to go, which is even worse, because I can't even pretend that I had the choice but decided to be a good sport and come show my face. The only saving grace, really, was a couple of English Club girls and other assorted associates joining in the...festivities.

And then there were those fucking cards again. All departing ryuugakusei got one, and you had to go through them all and write some kind of heartfelt message for them, regardless of whether or not you actually knew them well, or even liked them, or had ever spoken to them. I sat down, grabbed the first card I could see, and sat with my pen poised over it. And I sat. And sat. And after five minutes I still couldn't think of anything to say.

I left, schmoozed, and came back. Ah – Tiny Chinese Girl. I've had class with her the whole year long, surely I can think of something nice to say to her. 「1年間、お疲れ！」One year, over – that's reasonable enough. Ok, now something about having fun together in class. And, erm...she loves rollerskating. She almost joined the Chinese national team. So, good luck with rollerskating, and uh, studying Japanese and...“other stuff.” Boom. Done.

I pick up another and continue in the same vein. I gather steam, and start coming up with increasingly creative and off-the-wall ways of saying basically the same thing over and over. The trick, I'm remembering now, is to think of some small hook, any little shared experience or kernel of information about them, and pull on it. And after a while I start to notice a theme: I actually kind of do know these people. And I like a lot of them a lot more than I thought.

Eventually we gather to each make a short speech. As each person shares of their memories and emotions, I realise the party's true purpose. I thought it was so that our achievement could be recognized. I was wrong. As a bubble of sentimentality wells in my chest, I understand that it's to give us the opportunity to say goodbye.

My turn.

“Everyone, congratulations on one year!”

Applause. As always, I speak off the cuff.

“But even saying that...I can't think of it as a year, eh?”

Much has transpired, but I remember the day I arrived with alarming clarity. I feel like a different person, yet the intervening time is a blur. Time is all fucked up, that's what it is. My heart grew heavy.

Suddenly, in that moment, everything I've been feeling for the last couple of months hit me like a jazz piano. I don't want to leave Japan. I don't want to leave my English Club people. Even if we've fallen apart, I don't want to leave Mother Russia. And as much as it's tried my patience, as much as I've gritted my teeth against the drama and the immaturity and the Jesus Christ would you all stop screaming all the fucking time, I'm realising that I don't even want to leave this house. The practised manner in which I swipe my key-card and swing open the back door? Soon that won't be a thing anymore. My near-daily ritual visits to Cologne's mom's house will be behind me. Some new resident will start keeping his stuff in my room and sleeping in my bed, as if he owns the place. Hey, asshole, get out of there!

I try not to count my blessings, because what the hell is the point in being satisfied with what you already have? That's no way to live. But having spent so much of my life often feeling out of place and unwanted – I partly blame my parents – it's good for me, sometimes, to take stock of the people I have, and I've been one lucky motherfucker in that respect. When I want to achieve something, or I've been beaten down by something, I feel them swell beneath me. The rest of the time, I can see them form a circle around me. Even when I'm alone, I'll never be friendless.

Goodbye English Club

There's another month or so of classes left, but with exams and other obligations bearing down on us, it's not really practical to continue English Club activities any longer. Instead, we're gathering for one last “normal” katsudou before we (mostly) break until after summer, though I'll be gone by then. We've already undergone a fairly intensive discussion about how to continue improving the section, so now we're going to congratulate ourselves on a semester well done with some snacks, drinks, and wistful conversation. Everyone has crowded around the table, itching for the OK to dig in, because we've pretty much been waiting for this moment all night.

“Oh, but before we eat, I have some Information,” says Super Junior, Information being the standard note on which to end daily katsudou. My heart jumps. “The first is that the deadline for the last nomikai is tomorrow, so contact me by then if you want to participate. The second is the thing that I posted on LINE earlier, so everybody please look at that.

“And the third is that...Rude Boy is leaving in August, so we have a present to give him!!”

“There it is,” I say, shielding my eyes. “How embarassing.” But I'm smiling.

I'm called to the front while most of the rest of the section gathers in a semi-circle, and I'm presented with a couple of gift-wrapped items. Everybody pitched in. I'm too shy to open them right there, but one is a jinbei, and the other is a small album filled with pictures and handwritten messages. I have a couple of jinbei already (you eventually just start to accrue this stuff, somehow), but this one is much nicer. And it's wonderful, but it's the album that really gets to me. I've had to write these notes any number of times myself, so I appreciate the difficulty in coming up with something to say, and I don't begrudge anybody who only scratches out a few words and their name. But something like this really lets you know who really liked you, and who you touched. When I read through it tonight, I'll hear the voice of each author in my head, as scenes from the past year drift across my mind, like the overly sentimental denouement of an overly sentimental movie.

They ask me to say a few words. I have some prepared. I'd suspected this might happen.

“Before I came to this university,” I tell them, “I checked it out on Google Maps. And I thought, What the heck? There's nothing here! But, no. Surely if you actually walk around, you'll see, oh, there's this shop here, and this restaurant here, it can't be that bad. But then I got here, and...there really is nothing around, is there?”

Appreciative laughter.

“So to tell the truth, for the first few days after I arrived, I was very depressed. I wondered if I'd made a mistake, if I should have gone somewhere else. I thought, Can I really enjoy a year in a place like this? Am I really going to be able to meet anyone? It was a little bit painful. But then I came to this English Club, and this section, and everyone was so kind to me...”

My voice falters and I have to close my eyes and look away just to keep it together. I smile sadly. It's a deflection.

“...was so kind to me, and taught me so m...any things, and uh...I was, uh, very happy about that. So uh, yes. To tell the truth, this week, I've been confused. I uh, I've been thinking...you know...right? Like...I had some goals for this year...and some I've accomplished, but, some I haven't. And that was good, and I had some good experiences, and I improved myself, and I hope I improved my Japanese, but I've kind of been wondering if it was worth it. If the world, I guess, even in some small way, is at all different because I came here. And actually, just now, in this moment, standing here, I felt...that...it was worth it. So tha...

“Thank you.”

Tanabata party

Tanabata was on Sunday, so obviously we celebrated it last Wednesday. A little over a hundred kids from the campus's International Club, whose membership is entirely Japanese, gathered in our dormitory foyer amongst a two-storey bamboo tree. Or maybe not so much a tree as a long branch that had been stood up and set in water to act as a tree. I didn't much feel like socializing when I woke up, but I forced myself to make idle conversation with strangers who constantly exhibited utter shock at my ability to speak their language, talked to the like three club members I did know, ate some soumen, and sat down to scrawl out a few wishes. At that table an adorable 1kkaisei, who claimed to be 18 but couldn't have been more than 14, somehow attached herself to me and stayed that way for the rest of the afternoon, and seriously omfg so adorable.

“That I may come back to Japan quickly.” The first one was easy; I've made this wish at many a previous Tanabata party, in both Japan and Canada, and I long for the day when I don't have to anymore. Second, my sister is getting married in September, so I wished “That my sister may have a happy home life.” Moving to do another, I was jokingly cautioned that none of my wishes would come true if I made too many, so I said, fine. Just one more. And I wrote: “That the person (people) important to me may live in happiness.” I'm sure you can imagine who I was thinking of.

These really are my three most fervent hopes right now. I'm getting soft. I strung my tanzaku up among those already there, displaying such inspiring desires as:

“Lose weight”

“Money, food, women”

“I want bangs!!”

along with a handful asking for no rain, that Orihime and Hikoboshi might meet. Speaking of which, it was a good thing I'd managed to drum up some enthusiasm, because I'd been drafted the previous day as a last-minute replacement for Hikoboshi in a skit. Orihime was some guy from the club, and Hikoboshi was originally supposed to be Tiny Korean Girl, which would have been...interesting. I managed to attention whore it back and forth across the stage, high-fiving Orihime when we were reunited, pulling umbrellas out on occasions when it was too rainy for us to meet, etc. Everybody had a good time being ridiculous.

We also had a few rounds of bingo, with those cards where you punch holes into the board with your fingers, the ones they always use always. Seriously they always use the same ones, do they just sell them at the konbini? Also I swear I have never won a single game of bingo in Japan ever. Afterwards they laid out some tarps and a few watermelons and did the thing where they blindfold somebody and try to make them smash it open with a stick. Except that they tried to direct them towards it, and they were allowed to thrash around at it as many times as they wanted, so I guess we were playing by Special Gaijin Rules. I've never actually witnessed this practice except on Beach Episodes, but I've always condemned it as a waste of perfectly good food. Turns out, though, we ate it, so I guess as long it's not full of sand, it's actually still edible after being bashed to bits. Did you know that? I didn't know that.