WHEN IN ROME

Living in Japan, there's a cultural integration process.  Learning how to bow and when (10, 45 or 90 degrees), what to do with your shoes once you've removed them at an entrance (line them up neatly facing the door, so you can easily step into them when you depart), what form of "thank you" to use (present tense when someone is handing you something or in the middle of doing something for you, past tense after the action is completed), etc.  There are new gestures and body language to be assimilated.  Perhaps most confusing is the motion for "come here": extending the palm face down, then fanning the fingers in a move that we associate with shooing something or someone.  


My favorite gesture is "the shark fin."  When trying to move through crowds or past people, you bow at a 70 degree angle, with your hand held like a fin, which you then touch to your forehead as you move, muttering, "Sumimasen! Sumimasen!"

The shark fin at work

Conversely, here's a somewhat blurry photo of Western body language as decoded by an English textbook used in Japanese high schools:

As we all know, folding your hands over your abdomen with your elbows sticking out signifies "I'm bored."

Perhaps my greatest nemesis in everyday Japanese life is the trash.  There is nary a public trash bin for miles.  Furthermore, the Japanese trash collection system is as tortuous as the US tax code.  Rubbish is sorted into four basic categories: burnable (food scraps, paper, etc.); plastic; PET bottles, glass and aluminum; and bulk items, like broken crockery, old futons, piles of newspaper, etc.  It's difficult to know which bin certain materials go in, and to remember which days which things are picked up.  Burnable trash is picked up twice a week, recyclables twice a month.  Depending on how strict your local trash collection is, if you mis-sort your garbage, you can expect to find the bag returned to you in all its stinky shame.  The fabled bulk items day occurs maybe once a month; however, no one seems to know which day of the month it will be  Instead, it sneaks up on you like a surprise Christmas, with a mass exodus of old clothes, moldy blankets, and broken TVs and electronics.  If you miss it, you're forced to continue to hoard junk in your closets for another month plus.

Chart showing the different categories of trash, and which days they are to be picked up

If you're on time in Japan, you're late.  The Japanese make the most out of every minute of the day.  A Japanese acquaintance told me recently, "Let's meet at 6:40."  Not 6:30, not 6:45, but 6:40.  Or, more accurately, 6:35.  I showed up punctually at the predetermined time to find her waiting for me.  "I hope you have not been waiting long," I said politely.  "Oh, don't worry, I'm used to Americans being late," she replied.  Late, I thought.  I'm on time! Moral of the story: always show up 5 minutes early.  And even then, you'll probably find the Japanese person you're meeting waiting for you.



IT'S HOT UNDER THIS SPOTLIGHT
Small town life in Japan is pretty much like small town life anywhere.  Newcomers stick out, and everyone knows everything about everyone else's business.  If you bought toilet paper at the convenience store last night, one of your students heard about it from their sister's cousin's best friend's dog.  A JET friend who lives in a town 20 minutes away said to me recently, "I hear you ate peanuts for lunch last week."  I looked at her quizzically and she elaborated, "I'm friends with the woman at the post office, whose sister's daughter is a student teacher at your school."  The spies! They're everywhere!

Part of my self-intro lesson at school involves letting the kids ask me questions about myself, America, or anything that gets them talking.  Usually they ask what music I listen to and where do I want to visit in Japan, over and over again. However, one of my classes came up with:

Do you have a boyfriend? (A popular question in all my classes)
Why is purple your favorite color?
What other languages do you speak?
Is your hair color natural?*
Why did you want to be a teacher?

*They consider me a blonde here- huzzah! However misguided (or flat-out wrong) that may be, I'm looking forward to finally experiencing the perks of being towheaded.

On Friday, it happened.  After the seemingly obligatory "Do you have a boyfriend?," a female student asked the follow-up question of, "What kind of man do you like?"** I looked around the room in amazement to see one of my male students looking intently at me.  When I caught his eye, he immediately began wiggling his eyebrows at me in a suggestive manner.  Not to be outdone by a seventeen-year-old, I maintained eye contact while wiggling my eyebrows back.  I then ruined this moment of uncharacteristic aplomb by blushing deep crimson.


**One JET suggested later, "Choose someone older, manlier, and completely different from them in every way! Crush their dreams!"