Toukyou Tower

Today is heavy on rest and light on sightseeing, but I do cross two important items off my list. Remember how I said I was going to gather a signature item from every Pokemon Centre in Japan? I wasn't kidding about that. What I didn't realise at the time was that every single item in the Pokemon Centres is limited. So by the time I actually collect all of them, they'll be from completely different sets. At first I thought that kind of ruined it, but then I decided that in a way, it kind of makes it better. It's a more personal collection; you could get the exact same stuff as everybody else who completes the set, but this way, it ends up being a representation of what each store was selling at the time that you visited. Sure, the result will lack consistency, but it will have character.

I also got bummed out when I thought this meant that I wouldn't be able to complete my Eevee doll collection, since they aren't being produced anymore. Guess what though.

Yeah, I spent a lot of money this day.

Jealous? I even pick up a sitting Efii to maybe replace the one that has trouble standing. Would have done it for all of them except that the sitting versions are an earlier run and so most of them look like shit. The only one I couldn't find was Showers, but...I still have hope.

With the important part accomplished, we head over to Tokyo Tower, just because it's conveniently nearby. Soymilk's lived here six months and he's never even been. He's worried we might not be able to find it. Think about that.

Once on the Main Observation Deck, we have to decide whether or not to advance another 100 metres skyward. Soymilk figures we might as well go for it. To be perfectly straight with you, I can't say I recommend it. It's great, sure, but it's just not 600 yen more impressive than the Main Deck.

But, pretty though,  not denying that.

Soymilk: So your Japanese is better than mine now, hey?

Rude Boy: Nah.

Soymilk: You keep using words I don't know. And not just Kansai-ben. 「同じく」

Rude Boy: “Likewise.” Funny you would bring that up here in particular, since I learned it from Sailor Moon.

I think this might be Sanchoume?!

Soymilk: If I were going to commit suicide, jumping off the top of Tokyo Tower seems like a pretty good method. Think I could get through the glass, or do they reinforce it so people don't try stuff like that?

Rude Boy: I don't think you could just defenestrate yourself, no. Maybe if you threw something heavy at it, like that lectern over there. Even regular glass is harder than you think, though.

Soymilk: I'm just worried the fall wouldn't kill me right away. Like I'd still be alive for ten seconds or something.

Rude Boy: Ten seconds to think about whatever you wanted to think about.

The staff told me it was probably this one. But I think they might have been bullshitting.

Rude Boy: Do you enjoy stuff like this?

Soymilk: No.

Rude Boy: But can you appreciate why I do?

Soymilk: Yes.

Rude Boy: I love cities, and I love people.

Soymilk: I love cities, and I hate people.

Rude Boy: They tend to go together.

Toukyou Tower is adorable because at least half the people there are couples.

Like this one!

Minutes after I took this photo, the reception girl went over and asked them to stop.

The journey down can take as long as the attraction itself. The elevator takes you up to the second floor of the Main Observation Deck, and you have to walk down to the second, where they have windows in the floor.

Guys guys look. If this glass and these bars suddenly disappear I'll fall to my death. How cool is that?!

The next elevator down leads you to another little area partway up. We trundle around behind a bottleneck of Kansai girls.

Even the security guard pointed out how pretty this lighting is and wanted to make sure we got a shot. Soymilk doesn't believe in photography, though.

There's a big display of miniature Tokyo Towers with the names of yuumeijin, but we didn't catch what they did to deserve it. Hey President, who's this?!

Soymilk: Why the hell are you taking a picture of that? Fuck these stupid Eiffel Towers.

And then we wind down our brief bout of kankou with a round of vegan ramen at Toukyou Eki.

Don't you mean "We eat vegetables to live?"

"Chikyuu" isn't exactly a T, but I'll give it a pass.

Rude Boy's Trip

Since yesterday we did something I wanted to do, today we're doing something Soymilk wants to do. Ever since the first time he visited Toukyou four years ago, he's wanted to take me to a maid cafe, and for just as long, I've steadfastly refused. But now I have a blog. Soymilk is determined that we look our best, because he “feels sorry for the girls when they have to talk to ugly loser guys all day.” He isn't satisfied with my clothes and makes me wear some of his. Then he does my hair. I look in the mirror and have to admit that, hey...I actually kind of look fucking good. I resemble a fashionable and fairly stylish Japanese guy. He goes for the suave schoolteacher.

Rude Boy: So are we ready for Akihabara? Or Akiba, as the uncool kids call it.

Soymilk: Or Seichi, as the even uncooler kids call it.

Rude Boy: Seichi?

Soymilk: As in “Sacred Land.” An actual Japanese otaku taught me that one.

My interests have broadened since high school so the impact has dampened, but Soymilk thinks it's the greatest place ever. Our first stop is a seven-storey manga shop next to the Taito building. The first two floors are mainstream, the next one up is doujinshi, and then everything after that is three solid floors of porn. So is the basement. It's a truly staggering number of volumes, shelved floor to ceiling in narrow aisles, organized by fetish. The clerks greet us with an unnervingly casual “irasshaimase,” and I really wish they wouldn't, because in a place like this, I'm pretty sure I'd rather be ignored.

Many titles are labelled “for adult only,” just in case you couldn't guess from the covers. Customers are of all ages and all walks of life, and Soymilk and I discuss what it must be like to run into, say, your teacher. There is also one couple, and the girl is quite adventurous about picking stuff up and flipping through it. She's pretty good-looking. So is the one girl working the register, which I would think would be a sales deterrent. Soymilk once left with two full bags of interesting stuff, and is convinced that we're not going to leave until I buy something. I don't.

With that done, it's time for the maid cafe. I almost die of humiliation en route. Basically, I can see no conceptual difference between maid cafes and prostitution. And I don't have any moral objection to either, but I the idea of doing either one myself makes my skeezes me right out. Soymilk assures me that embarrassment is normal, and maybe part of the fun.

We're handed a list of rules in English and Chinese, the last of which is “no asking for maids' personal information.” Makes perfect sense, but it raises some interesting questions. What constitutes “personal information?” No asking for mail addresses, sure, but how about whether or not they're originally from Toukyou? Their opinions on current events or cultural fixtures? What about their job? Obviously they'd say they love it, if they said anything at all, but what if I asked why they took it? What do their friends think? And, by the way, what do their boyfriends think? Cause Soymilk and I would both totally be ok with it. Also, how stringent is this rule? Will first-time transgressors be given a gentle reminder, or will the slightest intimation be met with the sole male employee leading them out by the scruff of their necks?

A maid appears, leads us to our table, and all but sits on the floor beside us, which makes me feel all gross again right after I'd pushed it down. Then she tells us to ring a bell when we're ready to order, and I nearly start formulating a graceful exit strategy right then and there. I take a look around the cafe. There are a few scattered tables, a single long one, a bar, and a stage. The customers, contrary to my imaginings, are mostly college-aged, with one rather smarmy older guy buying a ton of stuff and strutting around the place as if by winning the girls' attention he has accomplished something. On Soymilk's recommendation, I take the A Course, which includes a photo and a souvenir box of cookies. He gets a “furifuri shakkashakka” drink, which is made up of two random flavours chosen by the maids, then mixed in a cocktail shaker in front of you...with an accompanying song. That you have to participate in.

I'm handed a cork board of pictures that look like they were taken by a serial killer, and instructed to pick a maid from amongst them for my picture. It's a tough call, but one stands out, partly because she's kinda my type, and partly because in her photo she's kneeling on the ground, leaning slightly forward, and making an extremely sexual face at someone or something off-camera. Mortifyingly, they call my name over the speaker when it's time, and I have to go up on stage. My fears that she might be less hot in person are very much allayed. Pro tip: When they ask you which set of animal ears you want to wear, ask them to pick for you. They like it. Then you pose together and they write on your photo, which you treasure forever and keep in your wallet for four years. Or you do if you're Soymilk, anyway.

I picture the maids getting together on breaks and talking shit about their customers. “God I hate that guy. Have you seen the way he stares at us when he thinks nobody's looking? What a fucking creeper, no wonder he comes to us.” Soymilk is of the opposite view, believing that most of them probably have a sort of affection for their regulars. “They're so sad. That's why places like us exist. They just need someone to love them.”

As one final thing before we leave, Soymilk requests a game session with his favourite maid in the joint, and we approach the bench to play. The diceroll yields one where you have to steal bones from an electronic dog without it biting you. The two of us keep a razor eye on both the timer and the scorecard, and by the time it's finished it's terribly obvious that she's nudged her own significant lead into a tie. He wins a coin for his efforts, which she has him put into a machine and wins...a picture with her! And not a wallet-sized one, but one of the bigger ones that you normally have to pay extra for. Our chosen maids bring us our developed photos and chat with us until our time's up, and Soymilk pretends not to speak Japanese very well so that I can enjoy the attention. His follows us to the door to see us off. Pretty good service.

I got a "box of cookie" with my A Course, you'll recall. Fancy box. Let's open this up...

OMFG!!!! 

A package holding eight cookies, which are all also individually packaged.

Rude Boy: Good call on the clothes.

Soymilk: They seemed to be really interested in our ryuugakuing.

Rude Boy: Sure, they probably don't get too many foreigners they can actually talk to.

Soymilk: My maid was totally into me.

Rude Boy: That's what they all say.

Soymilk: I could just tell...it was in her attitude. Like it wasn't all fake like some of the others.

Rude Boy: Buddy. You're supposed to think that. It's literally their job to make you think that.

Soymilk: She let me win that game.

Rude Boy: Yes, but think about this, do you think she did that because she was into you, or because it's store policy to let first-time customers win? Or maybe even because we're foreigners and she cut us a break?

Soymilk: She was into me. I can tell.

He will spend the rest of the night bringing her up every fifteen seconds, and later find her ameblo.

Random foreign guy: Hey, excuse me, are you guys from here?

Rude Boy: Kinda. I'm actually from Kansai.

Random foreign guy: Oh, great. Do you guys know anything fun to do around here?

Soymilk: Have you been to a maid cafe? Or the arcade?

Random foreign guy: Yeah, we just came from there, actually...I'm pretty sure we've seen basically everything Akihabara has to offer.

Rude Boy: How about three floors of cartoon porn?

In case you were wondering.

Hey, it's Cool Old Dude! I thought they'd have taken this down when he was defeated.

Hey, it's Akiabaoo from Akiba's Trip!

Hey, it's the Sega Building from Akiba's Trip!

As our last stop before heading home, we hit the arcades for a bit, playing a couple rounds of MaiMai and then Pop.

Rude Boy: Is this song off?

Soymilk: Um, no...the whole game is off.

Finally, we locate a Gundam capsule machine. It looks kind of lame from the outside but if you like Gundam, trust me man, these things are fucking awesome. Basically Gundam is a large collection of loosely related anime series about various political factions waging war with giant humanoid robots called mobile suits. It's less stupid than it sounds. Although not by much. Anyway if you watch it enough it becomes very easy to imagine yourself as a mobile suit pilot, and this game lets you live out that dream. You can even connect to other people playing in totally different parts of the country and go on team missions together, acquiring better machines and stronger equipment as your infamy grows. You see? Arcades aren't quite dead yet.

The Internet doesn't have much in the way of instructions, and it's heartbreaking to lumber around stupidly not knowing how the hell to control your ZAKU II (or GM, if you're lame), even if it does have the effect of making you feel like a real pilot slowly learning the ropes. So here's a few pointers if you've never played: The hand controls operate your machine's feet (obviously!). To shuffle sideways, move both left or right; to turn on the spot, move one forward and one back. The right index trigger fires your primary weapon and the left one swings your melee weapon. The thumb buttons are for your special weapons. The right pedal boosts – maintain steady pressure because the boost ends immediately and becomes unusable for several seconds after disengaging, so you can't cheat the metre by feathering. The left pedal jumps, and a midair depression will fire up your jetpack, allowing a brief hover. It can be frustrating to start but it's rad once you get it down!

Shibuya

A throwaway joke quickly morphs into serious plans. My longtime friend Soymilk, who by complete coincidence ended up studying in Toukyou for the exact same term as I was invited to Kyouto, had always had the idea in mind, but last week we realised that with the way our academic schedules are likely to work out in the wake of this coming semester, if I didn't go now, I probably never would. So it's decided. Try to cram in as much Toukyou as possible in five days. Go time!

Because of my stupid-ass sleep schedule, I wake up at 6 in the evening on Friday but have to teach from 10 to 12 am on Saturday, at which point I should reasonably be sleeping. By the time I get home and make ready for my journey, I've only managed an hour's worth of recharge before I have to pack up my laptop and head out. I steal away in the late evening without telling anyone I'm leaving, or where I'm going, or how long I'll be gone. Just to be a prick. Laden with everything I've ever owned, my pack weighs more than I do. I look like a goddamn tourist, which, I guess, I now am. At least I don't have one of those stupid hiking backpacks.

Travelling alone always manages to make me feel capable and mature. No one else can guarantee my successful arrival; I have only my own skills and knowledge to depend on. Even if I have to ask someone, it was still me who had to parse the Japanese, and me who had to remember the information. Heading towards Kyouto Eki at night feels somehow sublime. There are only a handful of people to be found, which makes it feel somehow more momentous. Some of them have suitcases; fellow adventurers! I hope I don't need my passport. No passport as long as you're not crossing international boundaries, right? But then, this is Japan. You can't even buy a cell phone without your passport. I imagine them refusing to let me on the bus. 10,000 yen, burned. I'm detained incommunicado for 28 days on suspicion of terrorism. My possessions are seized, my Internet search history plumbed, and I'm deported as a sexual deviant.

Instead, they don't even ask for ID. Because this is Japan. I'd expected a permanent wicket somewhere inside, but instead, a battery of informal ones have been smashed together on shoddy school desks out front. I easily locate the departure area by the completely massive crowd of university students thronging around it. The night bus is notably cheaper than the daytime one, for the small tradeoff of being almost intolerable, making it naturally quite popular with those who lack the means to afford something better but possess the endurance to survive the indignity. I've also garnered a small discount for being a student, and another one for booking less than seven days from the date in question (a measure designed to tip nearly full charters through to completion). Pretty damn affordable, considering the distance. Shinkansen would have been twice the price, and I might not even have gotten a seat for that figure.

I've ridden the Greyhound before, so I have a pretty good idea of what I'll be up against. It turns out to be completely wrong. If this one experience is any indication, seats on highway buses in Japan are like seats in coach on an airplane, except not nearly as spacious and luxuriant. My backpack occupies an absurd amount of space; I have to take up contortionism just to fit. The entire vehicle rattles like a machine gun. The drivetrain sounds like human screaming. My plan is to sleep through the night to be ready for the day ahead, but it turns out it's kind of difficult to do while aboard a roiling murdercage. I somehow get in two hours, but then I'm too well-rested to fall asleep again, but too luckily not so alert that time seems to hold any meaning. Instead, I'm drawn into a netherworld built of my own repressed thoughts. My mind ranges to bizarre topics, a postmodernist pastiche of lucid dreaming, thoughts of the days ahead, and music I listened to ten years ago.

When I re-emerge into the real world (or once more descend into the illusion?), it's because we've arrived. So this is Toukyou. Though this is my fourth time in Japan, I've somehow never been. First impression is good; the surrounding buildings slap Kyouto and its dumbass construction ordinances right in its stupid face. I anticipate intimidating complexity from the Toukyou train system, with its intertwining lines and plethora of stations. (Not that Kyouto mass transit is underserviced. It's just that making full use of it requires taking the bus, and that's just not something I tangle with, ever, anywhere in the world.) As it turns out, once I figure out where the hell I'm supposed to go I find that the layout of the transit network is exquisitely clear and intuitive. The only thing that throws me is that their tickets are orange and their train interiors look like carseats. I quickly and easily find my way to Soymilk's station, well ahead of schedule, and contact him by loitering in front of Starbucks and stealing their Wi-Fi.

Rude Boy: I've slept 3 of the last 38 hours and my entire body hurts.

Soymilk: I told you not to take the night bus.

We head to his dormitory, where I will be illicitly staying while I'm here. Following another couple hours' respite, he asks me what I want to do first, because planning is for the weak. In my mind, there's no contest. The one place I want to visit in Toukyou, more than any other, is Shibuya. For Soymilk, this is the most boring possible choice. It's not just that he's been here for six months already and the charm has worn off, he never saw the appeal in the first place. For him, it's just a bunch of streets...with some people...and maybe one or two interesting shops. But he's a great sport about it, and dutifully leads me through the district, even helping me locate some of the most important landmarks from The World Ends with You, which is the main reason I want to go.

Scramble Crossing, the Times Square of Japan! And the place where Neku wakes up at the beginning of TWEWY!

Hachiko. Not as cool as Dougezazou, but it's where Neku first meets Shiki.

109, Shiki's favourite store. Damn but I love that design.

Tower Records, where new ambient and battle tracks are available for purchase.

Meiji Jinguu is on my list as well, and he half-remembers having seen a big shrine somewhere near Yoyogi Kouen. Bingo! It's, um, smaller and less interesting than I'd been led to believe. Does feature some beautiful long paths through the forest, though. Yoyogi Kouen is similarly underwhelming only because its 90% dirt right now. Really, it's goddamn massive. We pass some dudes doing their rockabilly stuff in the middle of the plaza, which I hear is a thing that people do. I'm also pleased that Toukyou, much farther to the north, hasn't yet succumbed to the hellish heat that's been brooked in my area the last few days. When I return to Kansai I will probably instantly die.

About time to head back. He remembers that there's a station just outside the park, which transpires to be...oh hi there! Harajuku Station!

Not much in the way of lolita or anything like that, but everyone around us is cuttingly fashionable. Soymilk repeatedly gives me hell for wearing a plain green shirt to Shibuya. We're both underdressed, he complains. And maybe if you dressed better, you wouldn't get rejected as much! Look at the Japanese guys around you. Start copying their style. You'll do so much better.

Condomania.

Soymilk: So do you feel like you could live here?

Rude Boy: I was just thinking that! I still prefer Oosaka, but yeah, I could really enjoy living here.

Soymilk: Oh, that's good.

Rude Boy: Mock if you want, but I really like the Scramble. Walking away from it, I feel like I've just seen the centre of the universe.

Soymilk: That sounds like something Murakami Haruki would say.

Rude Boy: Thanks!

Toukyou sojourn

As I mentioned in my last post, I will be taking a trip to Toukyou for most of this coming week. I hope to be able to post tales of adventure throughout this period, but various factors might make that impractical. So if I end up going radio silent for the next little bit, rest assured that I will soon be back with a bunch of enticing material.

Also, a quick PSA: my blog buddy Stupid Ugly Foreigner is entering a Big Blog Exchange contest. I guess the winners from each region get to trade lives with each other? I'm not totally clear on the details. Anyway, you should totally click your way over there and then, when you see what an insightful, articulate, and generally entertaining blog he's got going, you should vote for him. Or maybe even not bother with reading him and just vote for him on the strength of my recommendation. There's a link in his sidebar.

Always

To get myself hyped up for my impending trip to Toukyou, I decided to re-watch the Always series. Consisting of Always 三丁目の夕日、Always 続・三丁目の夕日、and Always '64 三丁目の夕日、the first two feel more like one longer movie that's been divided into parts for convenience, while the third takes place six years later and serves as a sort of “and then more stuff happened.” Also, they're great, and you should watch them.

The story is timeless and for the most part could happen anywhere, in any era, but the films take place in Toukyou in the late 1950s and early 1960s. That gets major bonus points from me, and they make good use of the asset, showing a country on the precipice of a new era. Sundresses cross paths with kimono, and bulbous cars race alongside electric trams, down streets lined with pagodas and primitive neon. The titular 3choume is just a few blocks from Tokyo Tower, which ends up a recurring sight throughout the series, proving particularly effective in the first of the three, in which the landmark's construction matches pace with the film's progression.

It's hard to pinpoint a single “main” plot, as they're all fairly mundane, slice-of-life type storylines that intertwine with and support each other. The action opens with Mutsuko (Horikita Maki), nicknamed “Roku,” arriving in the big city from provincial Aomori, fresh out of high school and having signed onto a one-year contract with a car repair shop. Mistakenly believing she's bound for secretarial work in a big automotive company, she's distraught to find that she'll be a live-in wrench wench. The misunderstanding creates some initial friction between her and her new benefactors, but she toughs it out and ultimately comes to find her place in their home. She doesn't get nearly enough screentime, but she has pluck and sweetness to spare, and her attendant Tsugaru-ben is delightfully endearing.

Her employer, whom everybody addresses as Suzuki Auto after his business, is a loving husband and father, and enjoys the respect of much of the neighbourhood. His amicably antagonistic friendship with the old lady from the tobacco shop is especially pleasing, and she always seems to show up at exactly the right moment, just in time to deliver the coolest lines. (“If you're really a man, gamble on your talent!”) She's ever ready with a biting quip, she listens to contemporary music, and she's quick to coach young love through its first hesitant steps. Basically, she's the kind of old person I hope to become: Old, but not old.

Suzuki Auto's gradually growing friendship with struggling novelist Chagawa Ryuunosuke is equally believable. Like everyone else, he initially dismisses him as a disinherited Toudai washout, but comes to acknowledge his kind heart and his commitment to taking care of Junnosuke, an abandoned youngster whom he takes in and starts to care for as his own son. Though meek, mentally scattered, and hilariously awkward, Chagawa turns out to be genuinely talented, and it's Suzuki Auto who most fervently pushes him to be his best, his earlier bullying notwithstanding.

Plenty of moments gave me chills, but if I have one single favourite, it's the sequence in which Chagawa decides to buckle down and seriously contend a prestigious literary award. If he wins, his future as a writer will be cemented, he'll be assured of his ability to support Junnosuke, and he'll be united with the woman of his dreams. Moments after hearing of his resolution, Suzuki Auto's wife Tomoe pledges to take Junnosuke into their home and even cook Chagawa's meals for him, so that he can give the work his full concentration. Word spreads and soon the entire neighbourhood is behind him, giving him their sincerest support and fervently praying for his success.

Just about the entire story takes place in what looks like a roughly one-block radius, with the various characters working side-by-side, stopping to chat when they cross paths in the street, and hitting up local haunts for an evening drink. It's possible I'm overly romanticizing it, and maybe the situation presented in these films doesn't reflect the real 1950s, but I feel like the characters inhabit a moving, breathing place that I would like to live in myself. I love the fact that when everybody I know has a working cell phone, I'm in constant contact with them to the point that it's almost like never being alone. But there's something to be said for the human feeling of value that must have come from having everybody you know be just a short stroll away. To me at least, it's that visceral, unapologetically positive humanity that serves as the story's centre.

Always is all about family and hope. How family can mean a lot of different things to different people, and who your real family is, and the power that it gives you. And also how to rebuild after setbacks, and facing the future with a sense of community. Although the circumstances are sometimes contrived, and these aren't themes that typically resonate with me, damn if it doesn't put them out there with skill, grace, and an utter lack of pretentiousness. It's a truly feel-good story in the best way possible.

Confronting my discomfort with small children

It's 8 am, and I'm walking through the morning snow-shower with a battered issue of Aquaman cradled under my arm in a gigantic manila envelope. A Slavic-looking young woman in a wreathe of furs and a two-inch skirt is arguing with an Indian guy in heavily accented Japanese. The Kiyamachi mornings can be just as hilarious as the nights.

Herp derp, going to work!

I've always contended that everything you really want from the world, you have to go out and take, because nobody's going to give it to you. Actually though, this isn't always borne out in my real life. A little while ago, my Japanese Politics teacher held an end-of-semester party for everyone who'd been in the class, also inviting a couple of her personal friends. One happened to be an English teacher who was planning to be out of the country for a bit. Bang, part-time job.

As near as I could tell, it was basically a low-pressure juku. I had little to no interest in teaching English, and I had my reservations regarding children (for whom my loathing is matched only by old people and dogs), but I don't have the luxury of turning down a job. And anyway, it might be fun. Plus, if it turns out I absolutely hate teaching English or something, now would be an excellent opportunity to find that out – rather than, say, after signing a one-year contract.

For a harrowing moment it looked as though I would be inexcusably late, but some A-level train tangling puts me at my destination a solid ten minutes ahead of schedule. Instead, it's my co-teacher-to-be who's late; I wondered if a guy standing near me, also clearly waiting for somebody, is the man in question, but reminded myself that there couldn't be too many young white guys roaming around the asshole of Oosaka on a Saturday morning. Eventually I did get to meet the boss, or the “real” teacher as I can't help but think of him, a middle-aged, slightly weird guy who delivered us to the school by van.

I've taught a few lessons in the past, TA'ing Japanese in high school, and I've also spent years fielding grammar questions and tidying up essays. Obviously, this was a totally different game, due mainly to differences in level and format. Unsurprisingly (I remember being that age), the majority of the students' energy was spent trying to derail the lesson as frequently and as distantly as possible, and the real teacher humoured them to an almost alarming degree. Not only did he spend huge amounts of time speaking in Japanese on interesting but completely unrelated topics, he actually allowed them to address him in kougo. And not just familiar kougo, either, but explicitly rude kougo. It was a little jarring to see them get away with that, even knowing that they were mostly joking. I mean, I don't even let my kouhai get away with that shit, never mind little kids. Nobody tried it with me, which was wise of them.

I tried not to let on that I spoke any Japanese, because I figured that would kind of defeat the purpose. It was a lost cause, though, because they were all so hilarious I was left stifling laughter the whole morning; the smartest girl of the group figured out what was up right away, and I had to gently steer the discourse away from a Japanese explosion. My sudden monolingualism, however, also meant that I was frequently left with not much to do but sit on my cushion for minutes on end. I introduced myself and talked a little about Canada, ran through a couple of exercises, and provided pronunciation, but really, I'm tasked with incredibly little. It's actually kind of disconcerting; for being present in a room and occasionally speaking my native language, I made 7000 yen. What the hell? Isn't making money supposed to be hard? I shouldn't complain, but if “real” English teaching doesn't turn out to be more challenging, I don't think I'm cut out for it.

As for teaching children, I needn't have worried. Well, one kid delivered a detailed analysis of my apparently fascinating stubble, one tiny girl accidentally (?) called me her boyfriend, and another little boy tried to touch me inappropriately (triggering my co's single and only Serious Hat moment), but nothing worse than that. I'm sure elementary school teachers get all that and more on a daily basis. They're all so adorable and sweet, I barely wanted to vomit at all. In one hazy, distracted moment, I had actual visions of myself running into them, years later, and marveling at how they'd all grown up. Damn, maybe there's a teacher lurking inside me somewhere after all.

Inter-semester Period

Rude Boy: So what's going on?

Kojak: Nothing. Just “oh I love you, I'll miss you so much,” and then in two weeks nobody cares.

Rude Boy: Sounds like a metaphor for life. You're here for a while, and then one day you're not.

Kojak: And things carry on.

With the semester formally ending in just a few short days, most would be off gallivanting about Japan, Korea, and whatever other spots they'd blocked in before their ultimate repatriation. Tutors and other friends were scattered around, there was (predictably insufficient) food and drink, general chatter, and the walls lit up with constant camera flash. All very expected.

One table had been set aside with some posterboards set out, that we might submit a message to the outgoing owner. Over the years I've gotten pretty good at dredging up some suitably inane scribblings. But as I stood there, I came to a somewhat dispiriting realisation: I don't know these people.

There are some that I like. Kojak, Little Italy, Hecate, Philosophy, the Koreans. But even for them, what the hell could I write? Kojak and I shared little more than the occasional conversation and a love of Boss cafe au lait. The rest of them? We talked, sometimes. We never went anywhere together. We didn't study or even hang out.

I don't really try to be friends with anyone in this house because I've reserved that energy for Japanese people. They've cottoned on to this, and I think some of them resent it a little. Maybe they think I think I'm better than them. I don't know; I don't even care.

There was a casual ceremony in which people were given certificates of completion and, afterwards, asked to make a speech. People said the kinds of corny things you can only say out loud when you really, really mean them. There were hugs. There were tears. I was hit with a slight rush of concern, like when your car's suspension falls out from under you. I was hit with the urge to cement my place among the remainders. I worked the room, chatting up the handful of people that I like who will still be here next semester. Like maybe we can be actual friends, you know?

After a while I got bored. When I'm not the centre of attention I tend to get tired and moody. It's why I hate not being in charge of anything. Which, incidentally, is why I decided to get everybody to write some messages for the outgoing head teacher, as well, partly because she deserves to know how grateful we are, but also to give myself a project to manage.

I sat by myself for three hours, as the rest of the party whorled around me. Nobody sat down to talk with me. I contemplated a lot of things, but mainly what I should do in relation to the new students next semester. Should I be taking more of a leadership role in this house? Maybe I owe it to them. Maybe I really do need to just get off my high horse.

It's inspired a lot of self-reflection regarding my own position and how best to move forward. Lately I've been feeling pretty isolated, not because of anything that's happening over here so much as I've started feeling a quiet anxiety over what's going to happen between me and my Canadian friends as the years go on. I've made it clear that I'm making Japan my home; everybody knows that. And I also know that afer throwing out all the “casual acquaintances” and “people whose existence I am aware of,” the people I truly love and trust are friends for life. Next time we share a continent, we'll be sure to meet up, and in the meantime we'll chat electronically. That was the case even when I could stand on my balcony and look through President's living room window. Inevitably, I'm going to lose contact with some people, but that's just a consequence of the choice I've made. Priorities. Everything has an opportunity cost.

More immediately, I'm realising that I've undergone a huge social transformation since I landed. In Canada, I was like goddamn Edmond Dantes, except I helped people instead of destroying their lives. I had a strong core of people rallied around me. When I needed something to get done, I knew I had the influence and the authority to make it happen.

Logically, I should be able to move in much the same manner here. I've spoken before about what a lone wolf I've been lately, looking after pretty much just myself. Next semester, the new students will look to us for help. I have no doubt that Anarchy in the UK will be a social rallying point, but I'm beginning to wonder if my hands-off approach might be a bit of an injustice. I have no real desire to participate in dormitory life, and I'm quite happy being ancillary to all of its goings-on. But the thing is, maybe I should, because maybe my capacity to help also confers an obligation. I don't know what I'll actually end up doing, but I'm pretty sure that for once, both Kant and Mill think that I should.