I have accomplished haircut

...after having been putting it off for too long. My days in the last week have been occupied by YouTube, K-blogs, 1Q84, complaining about how hot it is already, and enjoying the fact that it being so hot already has made Japan feel and smell like the Japan I fell in love with. But even with the help of a German-speaking friend, Cologne's initial shot at hair-cuttery had been, to put it generously, an unmitigated disaster, so we sallied forth in search of better luck.

Anarchy in the UK recommended a small place in Kitaouji, assuring us that “nearly all the staff spoke English.” This turned out to be a filthy lie, requiring a great deal of back-and-forth via me in order to communicate Cologne's corrections. His original intention had been merely to take a few inches off his rambunctiously flowing locks, but a series of fuckups on the part of his first barber had resulted in less William Wallace and more Skrillex.

Merely undoing the damage that had already been done took two attempts, but with the stylists' discerning eyes and commitment to quality, a subtle touch-up, and a dye-job, he was made mostly presentable again. I think if I could pull off that look I could totally rock the club girls, but I, you know, can't. Fortunately I anticipated this day and took plentiful photos following my final homeland haircut, and I'd recommend you do the same.

Cologne.

Rude Boy.

I lay back and immediately had a dishrag thrown over my face, but my stylist mercifully remembered that “they don't do that abroad” and adjusted it to cover only my eyes, averting suffocation. The conversation started elementary and hesitant, then became all too enthusiastic. Besides the usual battery of questions – Could I eat the food? What anime did I watch? Who was my favourite member of AKB? – she was also full of questions about Canada and Germany, the latter of which I was in no way qualified to answer. It transpired that she spoke some French, because she went to beauty school in Paris, a detail I include here only because I think it's damn cool.

She was also a total jukujo, so seriously, what the hell is it with me and jukujo lately? Have I been the beneficiary of a string of coincidences, or did the first one merely open my eyes to what's been there all along? Actually, every single employee and customer in the joint was quite attractive, and the whole place had an atmosphere of friendly familiarity. There could be a drama about that place. Except that Kimutaku already made a drama about a hair salon, and it was terrible.

Not the subject matter's fault, though.

My stylist: Mm, by the time we're done you'll be much more handsome.

Rude Boy: (translates)

Cologne: Let's go on a date.

My stylist: (chuffed)

Cologne: (smug)

Rude Boy: (annoyed)

Many Japanese hair salons include a massage as part of the package, and it was perhaps the most exquisitely excruciating experience I have ever been subjected to. The sensation transcended pain to become a spiritual revelation, like Kafka's penal colony. I've had horrible neck stiffness for years, but later on I was rubbernecking a hot girl and realised that doing so hadn't hurt at all, which kind of makes me think that that's something I should probably get checked out. Is it the way I sleep? The way I type? The way I dance?

If I weren't impressed enough already, they even provided a tray of cold tea, okaki, and some nuts, which tasted like unsweetened chocolate but were nothing of the sort, and which Cologne steadfastly refused to try any until I cajoled him into it, after which he begged and whined for more. This after hiding his hair for two days and moaning every five seconds about how he wanted to go to some Kitaouji restaurant but not today because blah blah blah some stupid reason. What a fucking princess.

My final bill came to 5900 yen, which was about 2000 more than I would expect to pay in Canada, but considering I got shampoo, conditioner, a massage, a cut, a snack, incredible service, and overall amazing results I think it was worth it. A haircut is one thing I can't bring myself to cheap out on. Besides, at least I was doing better than Cologne, who in the end paid more than a month's worth of rent for one haircut.

Cologne: (as we leave) So, when is our date?

My stylist: (less amused the second time) Uh, haha, anytime you want.

Cologne: (oblivious) So, your number!

My stylist: (now visibly uncomfortable) Right, I'll be waiting for your call.

(later)

Cologne: I can't believe she didn't go for it...

Rude Boy: Are you fucking serious?

Then he tried to brag about watching her the whole time, out of the corner of his eye. On the other hand, I got to have her touching my head for two hours. Pretty sure I win.

Living abroad is like escaping the Matrix

You begin in a humdrum, banal existence, allowing the system to shape you as it sees fit, yet always believing that somewhere out there, there exists something so much more exciting and profound; a deeper truth, perhaps. You long to escape, finally managing to do so with either the help of a mysterious stranger or of your own power, but either way, nobody can force you; regardless of your reasons, it's a leap of faith that comes purely of your own volition.

You emerge, eyes bleary with amniotic fluid, into a futuristic-looking world you've never seen before, and are likely only able to avoid instantly drowning thanks to the intervention of a small group of veteran operatives who then induct you into your new society. Some will be only too happy to share of the knowledge they have acquired over the years, most will be indifferent, and some will be openly hostile, viewing your very existence as an intrusion. All of them, however, will have long ago adjusted – with varying degrees of success – to the realities of your new home.

It will be composed largely of people who were born in this strange and alien landscape, and who will never see the place you came from outside of a television monitor. As a result, they'll never quite grasp what life is really like in your country, and may even distrust your explanations, lacking as they are in firsthand experience. It will be even harder for them to understand how jarring it is to have given up your entire world and been thrust into a new one. Instead, it's incumbent upon you to adjust to their thinking and way of life, even if you have difficulty understanding it. You'll always be counted among a minority anyway; after all, your ability to interface with that aforementioned parallel reality of which they know so little means that your employment will always place you in a special position in society.

In fact, you may find it difficult not to develop a bias of your own. You may grow to resent the people among whom you now live, who were effectively born without the opportunity to learn what you now know. Or maybe you'll go the other way, and scoff at the bluepills who spend their entire lives in a warm cocoon, never venturing outside it to see the real world.

As you advance, you're be amazed at the very skills you yourself acquire. You soon find yourself capable of feats you never would have thought possible, least of all from yourself. At times, you almost feel like a superhero, risking your life and undertaking missions on an almost daily basis. More important, however, is the knowledge you have acquired. It could almost be said that you've achieved a new level of understanding humanity, fallibility, the frightening proximity of human mortality, self-dependence, and the nature of struggle. With any luck, you're able to apply this to your own life and not only become a better person, but learn to better protect your loved ones as well. Perhaps, even amongst the craziness that has become your day-to-day, you begin to scrape out a measure of true...happiness?

On the other hand, you might grow to regret your decision. You'll wish you never left. You'll wish, in fact, that you could be reinserted, your memory wiped, and you'd all but make a deal with the devil in order to do it. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Once you know, you can never un-know. Some fever dreams never quite leave you. If you look to thrive in your new life, this is the enemy you must always fight.

That, and the army of robotic squid who are always trying to kill you.

Gaijin Tales! The taste of a woman

Kojak: If I could just sign a deal where I just smoke and drink everyday and suffer no consequences, but then I die at 40, I would just do it. 20 years of fun and then die! No problem, it's a good deal for me.

Cough Medicine: Wait, what?

Big Finn: Kojak's going to being an alcoholic and die at 40.

(beat)

Cough Medicine: (deadpan) That sounds magical.

*

Me: In Canada by now everybody's in winter jackets, gloves, toques...

Anarchy in the UK: What the hell is a toque?

Me: A toque? It's...well, you know. It's like...a toque! It's a toque! You know, like...it's like a winter hat.

Anarchy in the UK: Oh, a bobble hat!

Me: You've seriously never heard them called toques...?

Anarchy in the UK: Australzealand, have you ever heard of a toque? Like a hat for winter.

Australzealand: What, you mean like a teacozy?

*

Insufferable Dumbass: Is it ok if I write “20” in English? Like, Roman numerals?

*

Insufferable Dumbass: We have four kinds of sauces!

Rude Boy: Well, three. One's just salt.

Insufferable Dumbass: Salt's a kind of sauce.

Rude Boy: ...no.

Insufferable Dumbass: We could say we have four types of seasonings.

Rude Boy: Yes, sure, that's better.

Insufferable Dumbass: And sauce is a type of seasoning. Salt is a type of seasoning. So salt is a type of sauce!

Rude Boy: …

*

Girl who's recently started keeping a turtle: (excited) Every day I change his water, and when I get home I go 'Ahh, you must have been lonely!' so I tap on his glass to wake him up and say hi and he's like (slowly opens eyes, looks pissed off) 'What the fuck do you want?' He's so cute!!

*

Genmaicha: There aren't that many lesbians in Japan...

Me: I wouldn't be so sure. I mean I don't know, but I would guess that there's as many here as anywhere else.

Genmaicha: Could be...I do have a few lesbian friends.

Me: Really? They're open about it?

Genmaicha: Not to everybody. They mostly hide it except with people they know.

Me: Yeah, that's exactly my point! Lesbians and gay men are everywhere, they just don't talk about it. Especially in Japan. You probably know a lot more than you realise.

Genmaicha: Yeah, you're probably right...one of my friends became a lesbian when she got into an all-girls high school.

Me: Uh, yeah, she was probably always a lesbian and just didn't notice until then.

Genmaicha: No, I think going to that school made her appreciate girls more...before that she was normal.

Me: “Normal?” Watch your words.

Genmaicha: Ah, yeah! I guess to her, being a lesbian IS normal.

Me: …

*

Rude Boy: What class you just have?

Friend from English Club: Information Something-or-other.

Rude Boy: What'd you study?

Friend: No idea. I didn't really understand it so I just texted under my desk the whole time.

Rude Boy: Ok, so are there any cuties in that class?

Friend: Don't know, I've only been twice.

Rude Boy: We're ten weeks in.

Friend: Yeah.

Rude Boy: I think you might fail.

Friend: I think you might be right.

*

Head Teacher: But what if a girl you weren't interested in asked you to go somewhere on Christmas, and you said no, and then later she asked if you wanted to eat dinner together? Would you be able to refuse her a second time?

Rude Boy: Hey, even friends can eat dinner together, so I'd be ok with it.

Head Teacher: Even if you knew that what she really wanted was to make some progress with you.

Rude Boy: Well, I'd feel bad...

Head Teacher: So in the end you wouldn't be able to refuse her...interesting. You're very Japanese, Rude Boy-san.

Rude Boy: Haha, yeah, I get that sometimes.

Head Teacher: Although, come to think of it, when I was studying in America all the professors doing research on Japan were a little bit Japanese. And all the Japanese exchange students were really American. I guess in the end, everyone gravitates to the place whose people are the most similar to themselves.

*

*Cologne has a conversation in German*

*Rude Boy obnoxiously picks a phrase at random and tries to imitate him*

*cue five minutes of pronunciation adjustment*

Rude Boy: Ich habe ein Papagei auf meiner Schulter.

Cologne: Great! That means “I have a parrot on my shoulder.”

*

No “irasshaimase” as I enter. No acknowledgment as I file past you to grab my one chocolate bar. A solid 60-second wait as you dick around with whatever you're doing that's more important than the customer at the register. Barely being able to hear you as you announce the price without enthusiasm.

Here, asshole. Break 10,000.

*

Science & Technology class went on a field trip to the Miyako Ecology Centre in southern Kyouto. I realised once I got there that I'd already been, in high school, when me and Guy from Philadelphia went on kougaigakushuu every Friday. It's not bad. The place is itself a model of an energy-conserving building, in addition to being a kind of kid's museum, which is a fun concept. The staff were basically the cast of Orange Days. At the end the guy asked if we had any questions and I said I didn't, but that was a lie. Why did you take this job? What qualifications are required? Do you enjoy it? Do you have a girlfriend? If so, what's she like? If not, are you looking? If so, what kind of girl are you looking for? If not, why not? I always wonder these things about people.

*

Korean girl trying marzipan for the first time: It's...the taste of a woman.

*

Rude Boy: I mean I seriously never thought I'd ever be on the jukujo team...

Brighteyes: I thought you were just on the “women” team.

*

Cologne: I'm so tired...when we get home I'm going straight to bed. I'm not even going to drink a beer.

Overtime

Formal class time wrapped up yesterday, and for us that meant our final exam in Reading Comprehension. As I've mentioned, reading and writing is my greatness weakness by far, so I think it's safe to say that I maybe didn't do so well. Or at least, I definitely didn't do so well on the recognition. The actual comprehension component, in which we were made to read a simplified news story and then report back on its content, might have been ok, because I know how to dress up my answers while still being honest. My kanji knowledge may be lacking, but my test-taking skills are tops.

Everybody else in the house then immediately celebrated their impending two months of freedom, but I had one more day before I was done. The examination period is stretched out over almost three weeks, so naturally I had two exams on the same fucking day. Fortunately we were given our Nihon Shisoushi questions in advance, so I was adequately prepared. The first essay required us to pick one among ten or so topics, of which I meandered through several. I started with Hounen, and then quite reasonably contrasted him with his disciple Shinran. These two are kind of the Plato and Aristotle of Japanese philosophy, in that they were master and student, the student is somewhat better-regarded in modern times, and they're about as fundamental as you can get. I then added a brief discussion of their differing views on nenbutsu, which was yet another topic entirely, and finished with a discussion of egoism as a basis for ethics, which existed up to Hounen but was mostly abolished with the rise of Shinran, and which, also, was never at any point discussed in this class, even once.

The second essay was on the Juugyuuzu, a series of ten pictures depicting a person's metaphorical journey from layman to master of Buddhist wisdom. At this point I was running slightly behind, because, if you can believe this, the exam was only an hour long. Before now I don't think I've ever in my life sat an exam that was less than three hours, and to make things worse there was no clock in the room, making proper time apportionment a bit of a challenge. I ended up just listing off each of the pictures (from memory!) and explaining what I supposed their deeper meaning to be. Then the chime sounded, so my conclusion ended on quite a lame note, coming off as something like “and then he went back and shared his new wisdom...with...uh, people.”

It's one thing to fail, but it's quite another to think that you could have done better, and I'm happy to report that I have no regrets. Even better, I don't feel that the content would have been substantially different had I written it in English; it would have been more eloquent, and better organized, and wouldn't look like it was written my a ten-year-old, but I didn't feel like I was leaving out anything significant because I didn't know how to express it. Besides, Philosophy claims this teacher is happy if we ryuugakusei can just write something halfway coherent, so it should be good.

Really though, it's amazing how living abroad can make you feel like a superhero. You can get pumped from accomplishing mammoth tasks like riding a bus, or buying something from a store. Today I located a classroom, interpreted a seating plan, figured out some instructions, and wrote an exam!! As did 200 other people!!

My Kyouto Culture Discussion exam was much less successful, mainly because it was multiple choice, and thus asked far more of my reading abilities than they could give. Many of the questions were kind of stupid and unfair as well, like “what station is closest to this landmark?” and “of the following four temples and shrines, name the one that is slightly more significant.” There was even one which read, “One class, I brought in two objects to show you. What were they?” Which I guess is sort of a curveball for those afflicted by chronic absenteeism or narcolepsy. It's also the only question that I'm 100% sure I got right, so I'm not complaining. Mostly it was a matter of the standard techniques of elimination, great concentration of common denominators, and picking B if all else fails (it doesn't matter what letter you blindly guess, as long as all your blind guesses are all the same – if the correct answers are evenly spread out over all letters, and they never are, but if they are, then you're statistically hedging your bets.) Who cares, I don't think I'm not sure I'm even getting credit for this class anyway.

Next week I have my Foreign Policy exam, in which I will make insightful observations about Japan's relationship with South Korea with respect to comfort women, Takeshima, and the future of the Korean War. And then I'll be free until April, with no responsibilities and no money to spend. Something tells me I'll be getting a lot of studying, writing, and walking done.

Brush with a jukujo

There's a small Chinese restaurant less than five minutes' walk from the dorm. It's small in that wonderfully Japanese way, frequented mostly by neighbourhood locals and less spacious than most public bathrooms, with about ten seats and even fewer menu items. I can only assume that it survives on the patronage of its regulars, because I don't think I've ever seen more than two or three people in there at the same time before.

Tonight, though, the place is comparatively bouncing. Cologne and I take our seats at the bar, squeezed between a couple of lonely twenty-somethings, who sit silently, as if contemplating all their life's mistakes. I wave to a group of guys from our university, sitting at the corner table.

My reading's gotten better since I was here last. I order the tonkatsu teishoku. Cologne just picks something at random. “If I try something new, then I'll know what it is for next time!” he reasons happily. It turns out to be gyouza nabe. We watch TV while we wait. The water tastes off. There's a twenty-year-old photo of the owner pasted to the back wall.

I hear a woman come in with two small children in tow. I steal a glance over my shoulder, and – oh my god. Now, I catch a lot of flack for my taste in women, but this is a MILF if there ever was one. Normally I don't do the whole jukujo thing...in fact I usually say that 28 is probably my upper limit...but I think, in that moment, all you guys who rave about them may well have gained a convert. This is the kind of woman I want in my bed. This is the kind of woman I want raising my children, and I don't even want children.

For a moment, I can't take my eyes off her. Then her husband comes in with their oldest daughter and I quickly avert may attention. The stragglers sit at the bar, a few seats down from myself.

Our food arrives and, shortly after, so does Philosophy, come to grab some takeout. A group of young guys come in after him, see that every seat is taken, and wait just inside the door. Philosophy and I chat about what a tasty and convenient little restaurant this is, and then I point out the siren seated immediately beside us. From where he's standing, he has a perfect angle to drink her all in. I watch him look her up and down. He cracks a smile. He doesn't often go for what I go for. But she's won him over. The chair on Cologne's other side opens up and he takes a load off. The two of them chat in German.

A voice jostles the atmosphere: “Hey, what the fuck are you looking at?”

It's the father – the jukujo's man. He looks about ready to stab one of the young guys standing by the door.

“I'm...not looking.”

This has the opposite of the desired effect. In a few swift strides he's right up in the young guy's grill, spewing a stream of obscenities in his most castigating old man growl. He's by no means large, but he's 90% muscle. I start to watch, but then I catch myself. I have no desire to convince him that I'm the next problem he needs to solve.

“What university do you go to?” he demands. The lady behind the counter's gone to take out the garbage or something. The boys don't answer, which is just as well, because it's not like he was going to do anything useful with the information. That's the thing about testosterone-fuelled bullshit that's always gotten to me the most: Pointless questions. What's your name? Where you from? You think you're tough? I picture my strategy if he does zero in on me. I'll just stare him in the face, pretend not to understand Japanese, and not back down. As long as I don't move he won't do anything.

Now he's going on in that way of speaking where Japanese men lose the ability to use vowels and tack korrrrra onto the end of every sentence, which they think is extremely intimidating but really just makes them sound like they never graduated junior high school. I can't understand a goddamn word he's saying. Eventually his target talks him down and he stalks back to his chair, where he resumes his verbal assault.

At this point the old lady bustles back in and immediately tries to defuse the situation.

“Ara, is something the matter?” she asks.

“It's those punks waiting over there!” the crazy guy yells.

“Ah, I'm so terribly sorry, do you think I could have you wait outside?” she asks, to which they're happy to comply.

“Fucking cocky bastards!”

“I'll have you not talk like that, yes, thank you.”

The source of his ire has been removed but he just can't contain himself. In under a minute he's stormed out to continue the argument, slurring idle threats. I lean over to confer with Philosophy, whose listening is better than mine.

“He thought they were staring at him?”

“Yeah, he was like 'my daughter can't eat with you looking at her like that!' Which, you know.”

“Right, she must feel very reassured now that her father is trying to pick a fistfight with a bunch of strangers.”

I wonder if we should do something, but I also know nothing's going to come of it. The whole time, nobody in the entire store has so much as shifted in their chairs, or, really, given any indication that Mr Yakuza Wannabe has disturbed their meals or, in fact, done anything even slightly out of the ordinary. We pay up and leave.

They're having it out in the middle of the road as we jaywalk home. His wife comes out and I get my first glimpse of her full-on. She really is heavenly. She's wearing a pleasant smile that says, “I really don't want to deal with this shit, but let's see if I can't act all coquettishly innocent and Yamato Nadeshiko our way out of this.” Although to me, it says, “Get over here, Rude Boy, and bend me over the table right inside the store, because I need a real man who can satisfy me.”

Day in the life

January 15^th, 2013

08:26

The screech of my phone's alarm jerks me awake. I stayed up past 5 am rushing through the last of the leftover homework for today. Easily avoidable and my own stupid fault, but I did get everything finished. No time to shower, but at least I'm not in danger of missing my exam. Thank fuck for that.

Cologne has taken to kicking my bed as hard as he can when he knows I have to be up. Actually, it is quite effective and helpful. Today it's my turn. It's nice how roommates help each other out.

The sky is overcast, the air uncharacteristically crisp. It puts me in a good mood. I'm amidst a gradual migration towards the school, like a Japanese Exodus, except only ten minutes long, and people are going to class instead of fleeing Ramses II. I see that I have enough time to go the long way, which means I get to take the escalator, which means I get to appreciate the hot girls riding it.

08:54

Of the other six students in my class, only Hecate has beat me to class. We barely acknowledge each other as I enter and I go stare out the window. All told, Hecate is one of my closer foreign friends.

Today is Grammar. Although I already know the majority of the patterns we're being taught, I actually find this class the most helpful, as it focusses on usage. Conversation is fun, but a joke, and Listening Comprehension is just meh for everybody. My kanji deficiencies make Reading Comprehension a battle at best, but at least I'm improving.

09:00

For our group, both Grammar and Conversation are taught by the head Japanese teacher, a woman in her early 30's. As always, she arrives almost exactly as the chime sounds. Unfortunately her contract was not renewed, which is nonsensical and stupid, as all students from every level agree that she's the best by far. Arzenchia arrives several minutes late, prompting a tongue-lashing before the exams are distributed.

I haven't studied at all, but I'm not nervous. As I work through the exam, I'm finding it's so easy that I actually go back and read the instructions just to make sure I haven't misunderstood something. I finish the hour-long exam in just over half an hour, so presumably I did either very well or very poorly.

09:41

Huh. Ordinarily I'd be spending all day on campus, but today I guess I've got some free time. I rush home to shower. The weather is all like, “Maybe I'm gonna snow, maybe I'm gonna rain. Haven't decided. We'll see how I feel.” A city truck is parked in the road, blocking an entire lane of traffic. Cones are laid out in case the workers milling around aren't enough of a clue, and one guy's job is to direct cars around the truck, in case they aren't sure whether they're supposed to just drive into the back of it or what.

10:31

I run into a guy from English Club. Actually, he kind of annoys the shit out of me. We make plans to hang out.

10:39

I've arrived at 日本思想史 or “History of Japanese Thought,” my legit class for the day, because Philosophy major. I never realised just how much of Japanese intellectualism was influenced by Buddhism, but of course it makes total sense that religion would inform philosophy. Right, Descartes?

Philosophy and Hikikmori Girl are always ten to twenty minutes late. The teacher, at least five. A sternly comedic academic, his Japanese is easy to follow, but his lectures range from concrete and example-filled to incomprehensibly abstract. He isn't afraid to exude a little teacherly intimidation when he starts to get pissed off, but he'll also sometimes, for example, scold an inattentive student and then start laughing. Once, he stopped in the middle of the lecture to gravely announce that we would now hold a small, impromptu rock-paper-scissors tournament to determine who would read the next section of the text. He's equal parts serious and silly as the situation demands.

He studied in Germany in his own college days, an experience from which he often draws examples. As a helpful side-effect, it means that he is well aware of our unique needs, which is helpful. He will also sometimes reference us three when making a comparison to support the point he's making, though he has the unnerving habit of doing so without looking at us.

Now he's going on and on about Dougen. I struggle with the handouts for this class, on account of I can't fucking read them. I don't even have the energy to try to follow along with the readings today, so I just listen.

12:19

Another long break now, so I make spaghetti, chat with Anarchy in the UK, and then contort myself into the confines of the common room couch and catch up on some sleep. If I go to my bed I'll sleep too deeply, and either miss my next class or interrupt my REMs, which will actually make me more tired.

15:03

Eyes open. Well, my class started three minutes ago, but fuck it. I take my sweet time getting ready and making my way over, taking the escalator once again.

15:21

Science & Technology, baby. The one 18 roped me into. Passing this class requires little more than a pulse. The teacher is a middle-aged Scottish guy with a ponytail who dresses like a hippy. Today I just have to describe a TED talk, which I watched shortly before writing a 1000-word essay in literally five minutes and then sleeping.

15:45

Released into the wild. Early, again. Hamburg and I stop at the on-campus Family Mart, where we run into a friend of his. She's damn cute but I quickly deduce that she's taken. Unprompted, she starts telling me that I should get a girlfriend, and trying to give me advice on how to do it. Uh, thanks.

At the dorm, they meet up with some guy from France or Borneo or something, who lived here a semester ago and was very popular with Korean girls. Myself, I've got another class.

16:43

Of the 11 (!) classes I took this semester, Japanese Literature may be my favourite. Today we are not only handing in an essay and a journal of notes we took on each reading, but also doing a presentation on a Japanese literary work of our choice. I deliver a flawless five-minute dissertation on Sei Shounagon, every word of it straight off the top of my head. It feels fucking badass. Not that I sucked at it before, but VP'ing Japanese Club back in the day taught me how to talk on my feet, that's for sure. Finally we have a brief exam. So you can see now why I only slept two hours.

18:09

I wait for the bus with one of my friends from Literature and History. Consider asking if she wants to get some food, but I'm too tired.

18:55

Home. Finally. Hamburg and his buddies are still lingering around the dormitory lobby bullshitting about the old days. I head upstairs to spend my evening dicking around on the Internet, as I spend every evening.

20:22

...which brings us to the present moment. Time for some sleep, 'cause the exams don't stop.

Seijinshiki

So everybody has the day off because it's Seijinshiki. All the Japanese kids who turned 20 sometime between now and this same day last year are now recognized by the law as real live grown-ups, and they get a whole festival to seal the deal. They will wear the fanciest of kimonos, attend a morning ceremony, run around in kimono-clad crowds, and, in the evening, probably have a night out with their families, where they will pretend to be trying alcohol for the first time.

The official tradition is actually less than a hundred years old, yet, but the “20” comes from the daimyo days, when that was pretty much the halfway point. Which is a bit of a morbid thing to celebrate having reached, actually. When her own seijinshiki came, back in the 90s, the booming economy meant that it was customary to gift your child with either a new car or a kimono, which commands about the same price if you do it up right. (Fun fact: In her university days, it was also common for girls to have several boyfriends, based on the commodities they offered: One gave you rides, one bought your meals, one was interesting...) But at the time, she didn't especially want either of those things, and wasn't feeling like an adult yet in any case, so she decided that at 30 she'd start doing all the “proper” things like developing her career and finding a husband, although she hasn't married just yet. Then she paused.

“Yeah...my parents are kind of worried about that.”

Speaking of seasonal stuff, for reasons that escape me strawberries are in high demand right now. I'd thought it was only a Christmas thing, but the convenience stores have been flooded with all manner of variants on strawberry chocolate, sweets, breads, ice creams, and beverages, and I have no idea why. But if it means a strawberry Kit-Kat is coming down the pipes, I can't complain.