To say the choice my parents made to raise me in Japan had a profound impact on my life is an incredible understatement. To say it has made me who I am today is putting it mildly. Total immersion into another culture combined with genealogical traits resulted in me having the unique ability to pick up on subtle nuances, the meaning behind what people meant to say. It should be no surprise then to reflect upon the fact even as a bilingual and bi-cultural child, I saw and heard things others may have missed. The easiest place to find these misses were in the mistranslations I saw around me--something said or written that wasn't quite right. That I turned into an interpreter/translator as an adult is really no big leap to make, under the circumstances.
My first real memory of seeing a translation that didn't quite cut it came at a young age. My parents had books. Some interested me, and those I would read or browse. One such book, the catalyst that perhaps turned me into a critic of language was 甘えの構造 (Amae no Kozo) by Takeo Doi. Translated by John Bester and titled Anatomy of Dependence, I remember thinking how the title did little to capture the spirit of amae.
Even back then, I had strong opinions. Not shy about voicing them, I probably spouted off to my parents about how "wrong" this translation was. My objection wasn't with amae. I took part in amae along with the many others I knew. Where I felt the translation did this concept little justice was to focus on the academic definition of the word. Surely amae was much more than "dependence"?
To be fair, it isn't inaccurate to translate amae as "dependence." Amae, however, much more than that. It's the child who whines to the parent asking for a new bicycle. It's the reliance upon others to cater to our desires. Selfish ones at that. It's trying to get others to do what we want. It's batting eyelashes. It's being able to be true. Using the word "dependence" to encapsulate all of these meanings, while linguistically and academically correct, misses a huge part of what lies beneath. This perceived mistranslation, the omission, was what I objected to as a child.
I remember thinking if I were translating the title of the book, it would read something like "What Whining is Really About" or "How Whining Works" with the caveat "in Japan" added with an asterisk at the end. This was the 12-year old me looking at the title, offering a critique my vocabulary allowed. The adult me would now put more time into what the title should be, but I would still focus on capturing the spirit of amae in a way I see missing.
These days there's very little amae around me. Those with whom I work in Tohoku don't have the emotional luxury to whine. There are too many still suffering, and there's a real sense of "keep it to yourself." To find myself lonely in Tokyo, missing my family and friends back home pales in comparison to what my friends up north are going through. This means I don't get to project amae I would otherwise. That I have very few people around me here who would tolerate any sort of amae coming from me means, yet again, I don't whine.
If there's any truth to amae allowing one's true self to come through, not being able to show that side to anyone implies a problem. That an entire region, en masse, is holding things in can't be good. That I can't and thus don't complain about anything to those around me can't be good either. There's a whole lot of "push it down" going on. With this, comes the hiding of one's true feelings, thoughts, grief, and wants. The stiff upper lip, the sense of perseverance, the spirit of "just keep going" has its merits. As does amae. This, many in Japan need more of these days. It's okay to depend on others. Someone else will always have it worse. But, it's still okay to whine. That not everyone has the emotional capacity to listen is a problem, yes. Certainly there are those who will push you away if you whine. Go find those who can and will listen. It's worth the search, and they're worth keeping.
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