A mango is a mango. The price between two mangoes should not differ by a whole digit. In other words, the cost of a mango displayed on a neatly-typed card should not include a zero at the end of three numbers. I should be long past the shock over the price of fruit in Japan. I've grown up marveling at $100 watermelons, cube-shaped cantaloupe with $50 price-tags, and $10 apples with calligraphy shadowed onto the skin. So, why, on this particular day am I shocked by and scoff at a mango that costs 1980 yen (approximately US$20)? Perhaps because as a child I never had to worry about paying for such fruit. Now that I'm on my own, no parents to remind me they simply were not going to dish out that kind of cash I'm shocked all over again. It's a piece of fruit. Some food is worth the cash we dole out. Sushi, yes. For that, I'll pay. Watermelons, no.
There was no way in hell I was spending $20 on a mango. Which is why when I spied the orange balls on a shelf at my neighborhood grocery, I did a double-take at the price. The tag read 198 yen. That I assumed this was wrong, that the missing zero made me wonder whether it was pried correctly, this is what troubles me.
On a recent trip home, I stopped in at Whole Foods and seeing the chalked sign, "Five mangoes, $5" I did just about did a cartwheel for all to see. That's about right. A mango should not cost much more than a dollar in the US. In the country of cubed melons, there may be a reason a mango costs $20. In the States, a mango at that price better remove my wrinkles, add ten years of bliss to my life, and make chocolate a necessity in losing weight.
I bought two of the 198 yen mangoes. It's the principle of the pricing. That it was missing the elusive zero was cause for allowing myself to splurge. I brought them home and promptly dug into the orange fleshy sweetness.
Sadly, it tasted like it cost 198 yen. The color of the meat inside was more yellow than orange (never a good sign), and in spooning out the substance I so looked forward to I noticed it resembled something stringy and nothing the pudding-like softness I had assumed would be inside.
Sticking with principle (always a good excuse) I decide to splurge. The 1980 yen mango must justify the cost. Yes? I tell myself I'm doing this for science, or if that reasoning doesn't work, in order to have good writing material, and with these thoughts in mind make the trek back out to find this over-priced piece of fruit. I'm giddy as I anticipate. Its flavor must be magical. Delving into unchartered territory, I have never paid this much for fruit but convinced this all makes sense I plunk down my card. (Note: I'm confessing here my husband actually paid for this mango--credit card bills go straight to him and not me. Thanks, luv.)
Whether this mango warrants the price tag is questionable. Certainly, it was much better than the 198 yen piece I brought home. Good as it was, it wasn't $20-good. It was a mango. The one-dollar Whole Foods mangoes were better. I find myself bothered by the fact Japan's fruit-sellers can get away with charging these prices. I miss buying a bag of nectarines for $4.00, the box of blackberries I buy for almost nothing and then scarf down, fingers stained and teeth purple.
Alas, the price of fruit in Japan. A mango is a mango. One piece of fruit should not contain four or more digits in yen. With no reason to believe my objection will be heard, I wonder what must happen here in Japan for me to buy fruit without completely emptying my wallet.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Monday, May 27, 2013
When Size Matters
There is an international boarding/day school tucked away in the suburbs of Tokyo known for its strict and rigid rules. A decent number of alumnae live in Tokyo still, and every now and then a group of us get together to reminisce. This walk down memory lane usually gets tawdry very quickly, the telling of stories causing gut-, and side-splitting laughter; the restaurant we're at on any given night almost always regrets letting us in.
Last night was one such night.
Quite a sight, we are. I am the lone woman who goes to these evenings out--the consensus being I'm the only one who can handle the abuse and stories of completely inappropriate behavior from days long past--a compliment, I know, albeit cloaked. It's a good thing I can dish out similar libel, have thick skin and stories of my own, many of which include embarrassing moments my friends' memory has conveniently erased.
Our teachers would be surprised by the lives we lead today. Collectively, our reputations and grades would have led most to assume none of us would end up this successful. Proud of our accomplishments, we toast our teachers for being wrong. Very wrong.
As we made our way out of one eatery to another, over-staying our welcome at the first place, we walk down stairs leading into what can only be described as a present-day dungeon sans the torture tools. There are no chairs here. It's dark, cramped, and as we file past those already standing with their food and drinks, we all mutter our "excuse me"s pushing up against the already imprisoned. The hallway is that narrow and that tight. This place is small. Lamps hanging on the walls offer little light, and monsters and dragons could very easily poke their heads around any given corner. I feel like I'm in 13th century France. We file into the corner booth arguing over how much space my purse takes up, who stands where, who's claustrophobic. And here it begins. The Japanese man standing closest to us, clearly wanting to hang out with the "cool kids" comments on the height of one of the gang. Again. And again.
Which gets me thinking. We are a hodge-podge of sizes. There's the really tall one, the tall and thick one, the short and stocky one, and the medium-height thin one. And then me. We represent all sizes, makes and models.
I ponder this for a moment. Comments about height and weight fly out of the mouths of most Japanese I know with seemingly remarkable ease. There is typically some discussion of my weight when I get together with those who haven't seen me for a month. I've either lost weight or gained. A discussion ensues among those who have opinions on my weight. I'm usually not a part of these chats that take place as if I was invisible and unable to hear the result of the general consensus. Fascinating.
No one I know back home would dare, ever comment on my weight, but here in Japan it seems to be a free-for-all topic. I ponder this, too. Casting aside judgment on why it's okay to comment on peoples' weight here in Japan, I instead think about how the Japanese have changed.
I am no longer the tallest or heaviest woman I know in Japan. Anywhere I go, I'm surrounded by women who are larger than me. Growing up here, for the most part, this was never the case. While in the US, I am shorter than the average woman and "normal" in weight, here in Japan, I've always been tall and borderline heavy. Today there are plenty of women who are taller (even without the four-inch heels) and who show the results of a diet rich in meat and milk. Japanese bodies are changing.
And then there are the men. Talk show hosts in Japan can often be heard discussing how young Japanese men prefer to remain single, living at home and interacting with the virtual world more than the real one, content to eat their mother's cooking. Relationships? Too bothersome. Jobs? Meh.
There is another crop of young men in Japan many find just as troubling: the beautiful ones. Arched and plucked eyebrows, coiffed hair full of product and seriously styled, clothes that make us all wonder who's credit card is being used, these men are elegant, beautiful, and thin. Called "the vegetarians" for their--what?--lack of interest in anything hearty? For the most part, boys don't grow up wanting to emulate this subculture of young men who personify nothing masculine.
The fifteen days of sumo, the summer bout, which ended on Sunday shows the exact opposite. Men meant to be large show off their strength and skill as they collide into each other. Here, too, their weight and size is a topic of discussion. Even in the world of sumo, the ultimate in sports where size matters there is evidently something to being too heavy. I continue to marvel at how "appropriate" size is defined.
In a world where size continually matters, where we are all but defined by our height and weight, and in a country where comments about both fly out of mouths way too quickly I wonder what lies ahead for the new Japan. Beautiful but seemingly weak men, women who are taller and larger than their mothers, and the ongoing commentary on observations regarding the size of gaijins (myself included) all make for interesting material for those inadvertently embroiled in the discussion over how size matters.
Last night was one such night.
Quite a sight, we are. I am the lone woman who goes to these evenings out--the consensus being I'm the only one who can handle the abuse and stories of completely inappropriate behavior from days long past--a compliment, I know, albeit cloaked. It's a good thing I can dish out similar libel, have thick skin and stories of my own, many of which include embarrassing moments my friends' memory has conveniently erased.
Our teachers would be surprised by the lives we lead today. Collectively, our reputations and grades would have led most to assume none of us would end up this successful. Proud of our accomplishments, we toast our teachers for being wrong. Very wrong.
As we made our way out of one eatery to another, over-staying our welcome at the first place, we walk down stairs leading into what can only be described as a present-day dungeon sans the torture tools. There are no chairs here. It's dark, cramped, and as we file past those already standing with their food and drinks, we all mutter our "excuse me"s pushing up against the already imprisoned. The hallway is that narrow and that tight. This place is small. Lamps hanging on the walls offer little light, and monsters and dragons could very easily poke their heads around any given corner. I feel like I'm in 13th century France. We file into the corner booth arguing over how much space my purse takes up, who stands where, who's claustrophobic. And here it begins. The Japanese man standing closest to us, clearly wanting to hang out with the "cool kids" comments on the height of one of the gang. Again. And again.
Which gets me thinking. We are a hodge-podge of sizes. There's the really tall one, the tall and thick one, the short and stocky one, and the medium-height thin one. And then me. We represent all sizes, makes and models.
I ponder this for a moment. Comments about height and weight fly out of the mouths of most Japanese I know with seemingly remarkable ease. There is typically some discussion of my weight when I get together with those who haven't seen me for a month. I've either lost weight or gained. A discussion ensues among those who have opinions on my weight. I'm usually not a part of these chats that take place as if I was invisible and unable to hear the result of the general consensus. Fascinating.
No one I know back home would dare, ever comment on my weight, but here in Japan it seems to be a free-for-all topic. I ponder this, too. Casting aside judgment on why it's okay to comment on peoples' weight here in Japan, I instead think about how the Japanese have changed.
I am no longer the tallest or heaviest woman I know in Japan. Anywhere I go, I'm surrounded by women who are larger than me. Growing up here, for the most part, this was never the case. While in the US, I am shorter than the average woman and "normal" in weight, here in Japan, I've always been tall and borderline heavy. Today there are plenty of women who are taller (even without the four-inch heels) and who show the results of a diet rich in meat and milk. Japanese bodies are changing.
And then there are the men. Talk show hosts in Japan can often be heard discussing how young Japanese men prefer to remain single, living at home and interacting with the virtual world more than the real one, content to eat their mother's cooking. Relationships? Too bothersome. Jobs? Meh.
There is another crop of young men in Japan many find just as troubling: the beautiful ones. Arched and plucked eyebrows, coiffed hair full of product and seriously styled, clothes that make us all wonder who's credit card is being used, these men are elegant, beautiful, and thin. Called "the vegetarians" for their--what?--lack of interest in anything hearty? For the most part, boys don't grow up wanting to emulate this subculture of young men who personify nothing masculine.
The fifteen days of sumo, the summer bout, which ended on Sunday shows the exact opposite. Men meant to be large show off their strength and skill as they collide into each other. Here, too, their weight and size is a topic of discussion. Even in the world of sumo, the ultimate in sports where size matters there is evidently something to being too heavy. I continue to marvel at how "appropriate" size is defined.
In a world where size continually matters, where we are all but defined by our height and weight, and in a country where comments about both fly out of mouths way too quickly I wonder what lies ahead for the new Japan. Beautiful but seemingly weak men, women who are taller and larger than their mothers, and the ongoing commentary on observations regarding the size of gaijins (myself included) all make for interesting material for those inadvertently embroiled in the discussion over how size matters.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Tokyo Reinvented?
Governor Inose of Tokyo has a plan: Make Tokyo into a 24-hour metropolis. In a recent visit to New York City--the city that never sleeps--he sought out what New York has that Tokyo doesn't. The list is long: subways and buses that run all day and all night, a vibrant entertainment industry (e.g. Broadway), and an economy that benefits from continual consumer availability. On a Sunday morning television talk show he spoke about how making public transportation available to everyone all the time, businesses will flourish and the Tokyo Metropolitan Government as well as the private companies that own various subway and bus lines will also benefit. To all who watch the governor from afar it's clear he's struggling to fill the giant shoes left behind by his predecessor, the infamous Mr. Ishikawa. Perhaps his attempts to make Tokyo into a truly global city is his way of leaving his mark. My personal opinions of the governor aside, during this one show he made his points well.
Except there's a problem. (Of course there's a problem.) Take the idea of running trains 24 hours a day. Tokyo subway lines run two rails, each heading a different direction. Maintenance on these lines happens at night, continual operation of railways being key. Taking this a step further, continual operation and availability of prompt railway services is important because any disruption is meiwaku to the passengers.
Herein lies another problem. Any English equivalent I've heard of this word, my translations included, simply does not do this word justice. It's laden with cultural context. You simply do not, in Japan, cause meiwaku.
The loose translation is "inconvenience." Your inability, capability, or refusal to do the obvious, the right thing, and what is expected causes inconvenience to others. There's no simple way to explain how wrong, bad, inappropriate, unappreciated, and unacceptable this is. If trains were, on the off chance, late or worse yet, unable to run as smoothly as they do here in Tokyo, all because proper maintenance did not or could not take place the night before, then the idea of a 24-hour Tokyo is moot. Causing Tokyo residents meiwaku far outweighs the economic benefit of an always-available subways system. Let's say the governor does get his way and trains and subways do run all night. Somewhere there will need to be maintenance done, as quality and safety is of paramount importance. There would need to be routine work done on these lines--except the act of shutting down a train line to conduct routine repairs is also not acceptable if it means that line or station is inaccessible. It's meiwaku to those needing to travel. The number of people affected by this inconvenience is problematic enough that it kills any thought of 24-hour rails.
How does New York do it? I don't know. I can see, however, how Americans would be far more willing to accept a certain train station being inaccessible for a few hours every other week in order for any preventative maintenance needing to be done. It's the price you pay. Walk. Take a taxi or a bus. Drive. You adapt to your surroundings. I can't see New Yorkers flooding Mayor Bloomberg's office with complaints about how this inconvenience is unacceptable.
On another political pundit talk show, the "problem" of baby strollers on trains came up. Again. It seems mothers who ride trains, pushing their babies in strollers simply take up too much space. I've heard this before. Mothers my age and older say, "In our day, we folded our strollers and held our babies when we rode trains. Young women these days expect people to make room for them." The idea here? Young mothers are causing other passengers meiwaku by taking up valuable real estate in rail cars. Certainly, there's a generational difference in perspective. The sense of entitlement my generation allotted onto our children has come back to bite us in the butt. Point made: Our children think it's okay to cause other passengers meiwaku. No one says this, of course. Much less that we raised a entire generation to think this way. Is there a cultural shift happening in Japan? Most definitely. Should fingers get pointed? Yes. There's a reason for this change. It lies with parenting.
My take on the governor's dilemma--how to make Tokyo global and continually competitive--is that anything he proposes has the potential to collide with cultural expectations and what is now the norm for Japan. He dare not inconvenience his constituency, but if he is to take leadership in keeping Tokyo relevant globally, changes have to be made. The subway/train problem is just one example of where he will have to ask commuters and tourists to cooperate, tolerating the meiwaku.
I'm all for Tokyo going global. Rather, more global. I like the idea of not having to worry about catching the last train back to my apartment. As Governor Inose pursues his goals on reinventing Tokyo I conclude with this thought: Perhaps we just take a taxi or a bus, like New Yorkers presumably do, when any particular train station is going through construction or maintenance. Maybe it's not that big of a price to pay, and the whole meiwaku thing is a bit blown out or proportion? I think it's worth considering this idea.
The stroller issue? That's a whole other can of worms and one I don't see a quick resolution happening any time soon.
Except there's a problem. (Of course there's a problem.) Take the idea of running trains 24 hours a day. Tokyo subway lines run two rails, each heading a different direction. Maintenance on these lines happens at night, continual operation of railways being key. Taking this a step further, continual operation and availability of prompt railway services is important because any disruption is meiwaku to the passengers.
Herein lies another problem. Any English equivalent I've heard of this word, my translations included, simply does not do this word justice. It's laden with cultural context. You simply do not, in Japan, cause meiwaku.
The loose translation is "inconvenience." Your inability, capability, or refusal to do the obvious, the right thing, and what is expected causes inconvenience to others. There's no simple way to explain how wrong, bad, inappropriate, unappreciated, and unacceptable this is. If trains were, on the off chance, late or worse yet, unable to run as smoothly as they do here in Tokyo, all because proper maintenance did not or could not take place the night before, then the idea of a 24-hour Tokyo is moot. Causing Tokyo residents meiwaku far outweighs the economic benefit of an always-available subways system. Let's say the governor does get his way and trains and subways do run all night. Somewhere there will need to be maintenance done, as quality and safety is of paramount importance. There would need to be routine work done on these lines--except the act of shutting down a train line to conduct routine repairs is also not acceptable if it means that line or station is inaccessible. It's meiwaku to those needing to travel. The number of people affected by this inconvenience is problematic enough that it kills any thought of 24-hour rails.
How does New York do it? I don't know. I can see, however, how Americans would be far more willing to accept a certain train station being inaccessible for a few hours every other week in order for any preventative maintenance needing to be done. It's the price you pay. Walk. Take a taxi or a bus. Drive. You adapt to your surroundings. I can't see New Yorkers flooding Mayor Bloomberg's office with complaints about how this inconvenience is unacceptable.
On another political pundit talk show, the "problem" of baby strollers on trains came up. Again. It seems mothers who ride trains, pushing their babies in strollers simply take up too much space. I've heard this before. Mothers my age and older say, "In our day, we folded our strollers and held our babies when we rode trains. Young women these days expect people to make room for them." The idea here? Young mothers are causing other passengers meiwaku by taking up valuable real estate in rail cars. Certainly, there's a generational difference in perspective. The sense of entitlement my generation allotted onto our children has come back to bite us in the butt. Point made: Our children think it's okay to cause other passengers meiwaku. No one says this, of course. Much less that we raised a entire generation to think this way. Is there a cultural shift happening in Japan? Most definitely. Should fingers get pointed? Yes. There's a reason for this change. It lies with parenting.
My take on the governor's dilemma--how to make Tokyo global and continually competitive--is that anything he proposes has the potential to collide with cultural expectations and what is now the norm for Japan. He dare not inconvenience his constituency, but if he is to take leadership in keeping Tokyo relevant globally, changes have to be made. The subway/train problem is just one example of where he will have to ask commuters and tourists to cooperate, tolerating the meiwaku.
I'm all for Tokyo going global. Rather, more global. I like the idea of not having to worry about catching the last train back to my apartment. As Governor Inose pursues his goals on reinventing Tokyo I conclude with this thought: Perhaps we just take a taxi or a bus, like New Yorkers presumably do, when any particular train station is going through construction or maintenance. Maybe it's not that big of a price to pay, and the whole meiwaku thing is a bit blown out or proportion? I think it's worth considering this idea.
The stroller issue? That's a whole other can of worms and one I don't see a quick resolution happening any time soon.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Mr. Hashimoto, Sexual Slavery, and Fort Hood
Let me lay out the facts I've heard them on Japanese television over the past 24 hours. Mr. Hashimoto, the mayor of Osaka, a young and articulate Japanese politician and the co-leader of one of Japan's new political parties just made one of these "you did not just say that" major foot-in-mouth comments. It's a new low for Japanese politics that unfortunately needs repeating. And blasting.
He said this: "American servicemen in Okinawa need to release their sexual energy by taking advantage of available prostitution services," and "There are no facts to support the mass rape that took place of Korean women in World War II." For those that need to understand why neither comment is acceptable nor appropriate let me break them down for you.
Here are the facts. There's been a history of rape, assault, and sexual assault by American servicemen in Okinawa for too many years. We hear of these crimes because these men are caught, put on trial, and imprisoned. This is where the "release for sexual energy" comment comes from. Or, so Mr. Hashimoto says. Rather than attacking Japanese women in Okinawa, just go see a hooker is how his point is taken. As in, get it out "legally."
Except, he didn't actually (supposedly) say "prostitution." He used the word that is can be construed as prostitution, because the Japanese word used does technically include paying for sexual favors. He claims he meant "releasing sexual energy" by taking part in "things of the night" including drinking, clubbing, and all acts encompassed by the word he chose. So, in my book, he's saying, "Go out, drink, get drunk, dance, hang out with women, and see what happens."
As for the whole issue of "comfort women" (a more insulting combination of words I don't think I've ever heard), while there's plenty of evidence in the international academic world confirming there was mass rape conducted with the blessing of the military of Japan during World War II (to release sexual tension), the Government of Japan has yet to acknowledge this as fact. Make no mistake: what the Japanese servicemen did is sexual slavery. I get that the mayor is not saying American servicemen in Okinawa should go out and rape. This doesn't change the fact continual denial of these historical acts condoned by Japan's military is galling. It's especially hard to understand why thee two statements were made back-to-back; Americans have a real problem but the Japanese never did. Imagine the outrage in Seoul, and the women in Japan who have enough courage to call him on this statement. This is one of the government's worst positions they've taken in recent history. It's like saying, "We said it didn't happen so it didn't." The evidence is not hard to find. I've seen it. I've read it. Google it.
Mr. Hashimoto has had a lot of explaining to do today. He held another press conference apologizing for "anyone's feelings I hurt" with the denial of mass rape, and acknowledging he has limited international experience and understanding, and that his comments made to the US Military were "possibly inappropriate." I especially like the "possibly" in his statement. By all means cover yourself, dear man. God forbid you'd actually say you misspoke. On the scale of "how bad was that" you're in the negative. I feel like pulling an Alec Baldwin and saying, "If you ever become prime minister, I'm moving to Canada."
The story on the 5pm news tonight immediately following the Hashimoto snafu was the sexual attack by an officer at Fort Hood on one of his subordinates. This evidently came from the person in charge of preventing sexual harassment in the military. The reporters were all over this, saying just in the past year there were 3374 sexual attacks within the military, and over 26,000 unwanted sexual advances. The report ended with a "Mr. Hashimoto's comments were problematic, but clearly the US Military has a serious problem with sexual misconduct. They really should do something about this."
I find this combination of stories and the reporting thereof fascinating and disturbing. The reporters and the station covered themselves by making a point of saying Hashimoto was wrong, but then went on to essentially say "but American servicemen really can't keep it in their pants." Go easy on the commentary and work on the order in which stories are reported. Please.
While I'm no fan of superimposing western ideals onto another culture, it's times like these I find the lack of a real women's movement in Japan troubling, disappointing, and frightening. The role of women in Japan is still woefully and embarrassingly antiquated. Too few women cry foul when necessary, and those who do are marginalized as feminist spinsters. Without more women, "normal" women at that, calling those that make outrageous and nefarious comments to the carpet, holding them accountable, I see little change. What needs to happen in Japan for women to speak up and for (some) men to not?
He said this: "American servicemen in Okinawa need to release their sexual energy by taking advantage of available prostitution services," and "There are no facts to support the mass rape that took place of Korean women in World War II." For those that need to understand why neither comment is acceptable nor appropriate let me break them down for you.
Here are the facts. There's been a history of rape, assault, and sexual assault by American servicemen in Okinawa for too many years. We hear of these crimes because these men are caught, put on trial, and imprisoned. This is where the "release for sexual energy" comment comes from. Or, so Mr. Hashimoto says. Rather than attacking Japanese women in Okinawa, just go see a hooker is how his point is taken. As in, get it out "legally."
Except, he didn't actually (supposedly) say "prostitution." He used the word that is can be construed as prostitution, because the Japanese word used does technically include paying for sexual favors. He claims he meant "releasing sexual energy" by taking part in "things of the night" including drinking, clubbing, and all acts encompassed by the word he chose. So, in my book, he's saying, "Go out, drink, get drunk, dance, hang out with women, and see what happens."
As for the whole issue of "comfort women" (a more insulting combination of words I don't think I've ever heard), while there's plenty of evidence in the international academic world confirming there was mass rape conducted with the blessing of the military of Japan during World War II (to release sexual tension), the Government of Japan has yet to acknowledge this as fact. Make no mistake: what the Japanese servicemen did is sexual slavery. I get that the mayor is not saying American servicemen in Okinawa should go out and rape. This doesn't change the fact continual denial of these historical acts condoned by Japan's military is galling. It's especially hard to understand why thee two statements were made back-to-back; Americans have a real problem but the Japanese never did. Imagine the outrage in Seoul, and the women in Japan who have enough courage to call him on this statement. This is one of the government's worst positions they've taken in recent history. It's like saying, "We said it didn't happen so it didn't." The evidence is not hard to find. I've seen it. I've read it. Google it.
Mr. Hashimoto has had a lot of explaining to do today. He held another press conference apologizing for "anyone's feelings I hurt" with the denial of mass rape, and acknowledging he has limited international experience and understanding, and that his comments made to the US Military were "possibly inappropriate." I especially like the "possibly" in his statement. By all means cover yourself, dear man. God forbid you'd actually say you misspoke. On the scale of "how bad was that" you're in the negative. I feel like pulling an Alec Baldwin and saying, "If you ever become prime minister, I'm moving to Canada."
The story on the 5pm news tonight immediately following the Hashimoto snafu was the sexual attack by an officer at Fort Hood on one of his subordinates. This evidently came from the person in charge of preventing sexual harassment in the military. The reporters were all over this, saying just in the past year there were 3374 sexual attacks within the military, and over 26,000 unwanted sexual advances. The report ended with a "Mr. Hashimoto's comments were problematic, but clearly the US Military has a serious problem with sexual misconduct. They really should do something about this."
I find this combination of stories and the reporting thereof fascinating and disturbing. The reporters and the station covered themselves by making a point of saying Hashimoto was wrong, but then went on to essentially say "but American servicemen really can't keep it in their pants." Go easy on the commentary and work on the order in which stories are reported. Please.
While I'm no fan of superimposing western ideals onto another culture, it's times like these I find the lack of a real women's movement in Japan troubling, disappointing, and frightening. The role of women in Japan is still woefully and embarrassingly antiquated. Too few women cry foul when necessary, and those who do are marginalized as feminist spinsters. Without more women, "normal" women at that, calling those that make outrageous and nefarious comments to the carpet, holding them accountable, I see little change. What needs to happen in Japan for women to speak up and for (some) men to not?
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Kiki's Meltdown
The call I received from Yuta several months ago warning me about Kiki not only resulted in me going off on him, it cooled off our relationship for several weeks. The "Kiki's wild," and "Kiki doesn't take care of her kids properly, going out with her friends at night instead" irked me and I told Yuta as much. Pitting woman against woman is never a good idea. He knows that now. Never mind she was only doing what men in Japan do without being questioned--out late drinking, partying, letting off steam--when women do this, they're stigmatized as being irresponsible. I lashed out at Yuta for having double standards and for not backing Kiki up. Our chat ended badly.
Kiki and I hadn't seen each other in several months. Both busy (such a terrible word), we'd wave at each other as we passed in our cars. Facebook was our mode of communication, with a lot of "How are you" and "I haven't seen you in such a long time" messages flying back and forth.
Which is why when she called and said, "I have to see you" I dropped everything and made the time. Something was up.
I never thought I'd be celebrating the acknowledgement of a borderline breakdown. On this particular Friday night, however, I find myself doing just that. This woman sitting across from me is recounting her days, openly telling me of her emotional collapse. I try not to show how happy I am for her while looking for the words to help her realize this was in the making.
Kiki starts out by telling me how difficult the second memorial of the tsunami was for her this year. "Last year was tough, yeah. This year, though....I cried for days. I didn't know what was happening to me." Through sips of beer she continues. "Here," and she points to her face, "I was all smiles. But, here," pointing to her heart, "I was screaming. I couldn't take it any more. All this pressure to be 'up' and 'perky' and 'positive.' It was eating away at me. I couldn't fake it. It all came out around the memorial."
I choose to let her do the talking tonight. There will likely come a point where I can inject my opinion, but for now, I know this is therapeutic for her. I've been trying for years to get people to talk out their post-tsunami pain with little success. Especially true for women, that Kiki, a local leader of young women and one many here look up to, that she broke now allows for others to follow suit. I wonder if she knows this.
"Then in April, I finally collapsed. I couldn't get out of bed. I didn't want to. I didn't care any more. I stayed in my futon, bawling, crying, hyperventilating. I didn't want to see my husband or kids. I felt like everything around me was broken. I felt broken. I just wanted to be alone."
Kiki goes on to tell me she spent the whole week in bed, getting out for the occasional bath and for bathroom breaks. Her husband brought her food and kept the kids away. She ignored the calls, e-mails, and Facebook messages asking if she was alright.
"Clearly I needed it," she laughs uncomfortably. There's nothing funny about fighting to keep a mental breakdown at bay. "I knew I was in bad shape. I mean, I really didn't care anymore. I really couldn't get out of bed."
I listen and say very little, asking only a question here and there. "I knew I needed help when I saw a poster somewhere about a suicide hotline and thought to myself, 'I actually know how they feel. It would be really easy to die right now.'" Here, I decide to speak. "Did you call the hotline?"
"No. I decided I wasn't suicidal. I didn't actually want to die. I just realized I knew how these people felt." I nod.
"Yes!" Suddenly Kiki is really excited.
"How did you know?"
For the first time tonight I add my opinion in full. "Your breakdown, if I can call it that, gave other women permission to follow your example. You're a leader. If you can break, if it's okay for you to break, then other women know it's okay for them to break as well. You're lucky you're solid enough to work through it on your own. Now you can help other women who might not have that network--a supportive husband like you have--so they can come out safely on the other side."
"Yes! I've had so many women say that to me. That they also stayed in bed for days after they heard about my little breakdown. I didn't realize I was keeping everyone from releasing all this pain."
"Think of it as giving permission, and not that you were keeping people bottled up. The important part is that you let it out."
While Kiki is indeed lucky, to have had the skills necessary to work her way through her grief, there's now a buzz through town about how "all these women are dropping like flies." The men in town don't know what's going on. There are suggestions the women are faking it, asking for attention. Some recognize it's the women who have had to remain strong for the past two years with no outlet. Alcohol helps the men by giving them a space where they can spout off, let out their complaints, cry, and in general cut loose. The women in Tohoku don't have that option. The kids look to mama to see if today is a good day. Grandpa and grandma rely on the daughter-in-law for stability in the household. With no source by which they can let out their pain, grief, stress, and trauma, it's no wonder Kiki and her friends started collapsing. This breaking point has been long overdue.
The good news is with Kiki's self-imposed hibernation and reemergence comes permission for other women to say, "Me, too." Kiki and I agree we must take care of ourselves first, cliche or not, because no one else will do that for us. We talk about how to safely allow for these "breakdowns" as each woman's case is unique. We acknowledge we aren't experts and that some women may require hospitalization. We talk about the consequences and stigma of what it means to break.
Ultimately, this is good news--if a nervous breakdown can be considered good. I will participate when asked in helping with the long walk back to being whole, and I will also watch from the sidelines, cheering my friends on if that's what they prefer. A night out with Kiki left me with a mixture of hope, relief, sadness, and happiness. Do I dare hope for more breakdowns to come along? Do I dare ask for such a thing?
Kiki and I hadn't seen each other in several months. Both busy (such a terrible word), we'd wave at each other as we passed in our cars. Facebook was our mode of communication, with a lot of "How are you" and "I haven't seen you in such a long time" messages flying back and forth.
Which is why when she called and said, "I have to see you" I dropped everything and made the time. Something was up.
I never thought I'd be celebrating the acknowledgement of a borderline breakdown. On this particular Friday night, however, I find myself doing just that. This woman sitting across from me is recounting her days, openly telling me of her emotional collapse. I try not to show how happy I am for her while looking for the words to help her realize this was in the making.
Kiki starts out by telling me how difficult the second memorial of the tsunami was for her this year. "Last year was tough, yeah. This year, though....I cried for days. I didn't know what was happening to me." Through sips of beer she continues. "Here," and she points to her face, "I was all smiles. But, here," pointing to her heart, "I was screaming. I couldn't take it any more. All this pressure to be 'up' and 'perky' and 'positive.' It was eating away at me. I couldn't fake it. It all came out around the memorial."
I choose to let her do the talking tonight. There will likely come a point where I can inject my opinion, but for now, I know this is therapeutic for her. I've been trying for years to get people to talk out their post-tsunami pain with little success. Especially true for women, that Kiki, a local leader of young women and one many here look up to, that she broke now allows for others to follow suit. I wonder if she knows this.
"Then in April, I finally collapsed. I couldn't get out of bed. I didn't want to. I didn't care any more. I stayed in my futon, bawling, crying, hyperventilating. I didn't want to see my husband or kids. I felt like everything around me was broken. I felt broken. I just wanted to be alone."
Kiki goes on to tell me she spent the whole week in bed, getting out for the occasional bath and for bathroom breaks. Her husband brought her food and kept the kids away. She ignored the calls, e-mails, and Facebook messages asking if she was alright.
"Clearly I needed it," she laughs uncomfortably. There's nothing funny about fighting to keep a mental breakdown at bay. "I knew I was in bad shape. I mean, I really didn't care anymore. I really couldn't get out of bed."
I listen and say very little, asking only a question here and there. "I knew I needed help when I saw a poster somewhere about a suicide hotline and thought to myself, 'I actually know how they feel. It would be really easy to die right now.'" Here, I decide to speak. "Did you call the hotline?"
"No. I decided I wasn't suicidal. I didn't actually want to die. I just realized I knew how these people felt." I nod.
"But, realizing I understood that feeling was a wake-up call. It was several days after that I didn't and couldn't get out of bed. Scary."
I agree with her that it's scary. An hour or so has passed since she's been talking, Kiki recounting her various emotions, her analysis of how and why she let herself get this "out of whack."
Understanding the position she holds among young women in this community, I ask what is to me, the obvious question. "Have other women followed your example?"I agree with her that it's scary. An hour or so has passed since she's been talking, Kiki recounting her various emotions, her analysis of how and why she let herself get this "out of whack."
"Yes!" Suddenly Kiki is really excited.
"How did you know?"
For the first time tonight I add my opinion in full. "Your breakdown, if I can call it that, gave other women permission to follow your example. You're a leader. If you can break, if it's okay for you to break, then other women know it's okay for them to break as well. You're lucky you're solid enough to work through it on your own. Now you can help other women who might not have that network--a supportive husband like you have--so they can come out safely on the other side."
"Yes! I've had so many women say that to me. That they also stayed in bed for days after they heard about my little breakdown. I didn't realize I was keeping everyone from releasing all this pain."
"Think of it as giving permission, and not that you were keeping people bottled up. The important part is that you let it out."
While Kiki is indeed lucky, to have had the skills necessary to work her way through her grief, there's now a buzz through town about how "all these women are dropping like flies." The men in town don't know what's going on. There are suggestions the women are faking it, asking for attention. Some recognize it's the women who have had to remain strong for the past two years with no outlet. Alcohol helps the men by giving them a space where they can spout off, let out their complaints, cry, and in general cut loose. The women in Tohoku don't have that option. The kids look to mama to see if today is a good day. Grandpa and grandma rely on the daughter-in-law for stability in the household. With no source by which they can let out their pain, grief, stress, and trauma, it's no wonder Kiki and her friends started collapsing. This breaking point has been long overdue.
The good news is with Kiki's self-imposed hibernation and reemergence comes permission for other women to say, "Me, too." Kiki and I agree we must take care of ourselves first, cliche or not, because no one else will do that for us. We talk about how to safely allow for these "breakdowns" as each woman's case is unique. We acknowledge we aren't experts and that some women may require hospitalization. We talk about the consequences and stigma of what it means to break.
Ultimately, this is good news--if a nervous breakdown can be considered good. I will participate when asked in helping with the long walk back to being whole, and I will also watch from the sidelines, cheering my friends on if that's what they prefer. A night out with Kiki left me with a mixture of hope, relief, sadness, and happiness. Do I dare hope for more breakdowns to come along? Do I dare ask for such a thing?
Saturday, May 4, 2013
On Mascara, Empty Nest, and Terrorism
It's no big deal really. Having been home a week and having had to go into various pharmacies to pick up incidentals, I've noticed my brand of mascara of choice, the one I've used for decades is nowhere to be seen. The take away from this is that my lash-wand been discontinued. Sad, I will look for a suitable replacement. On the emotional Richter scale that measures my pain, this is a mosquito bite.
Then comes the announcement from our son he is moving into an apartment after graduation. Growing up we made it clear to him repeatedly he "can't move home" once he finishes university--our way of gently forcing him into the real world so he thinks of how to move forward. It's not that we thought he wasn't listening. The realization he's really not coming home, that we are now permanent empty nesters, this is bittersweet. Our baby has truly grown up.
When a Japanese friend here in Boston showed me an article on her iPhone with a "read this and tell me what you think" I went into one of those rare silent modes. I didn't know what to say. I've pondered the article for awhile now and this is what I've come up with. Pain is pain.
Written by an African-American woman about how she was sick of the lack of news coverage on issues surrounding people of color, my friend asked me, "Is her point about the Boston Marathon bombing 'whatever'? Am I reading this right?" I had to agree. The author seemed to be saying, "I don't care." No. That's not quite right. I read into the author's words, "The white media doesn't cover stories about people of color so I can't find myself caring about something that happens to white people." I don't remember the author's name, and I only read the article once, but the connection to the the fact there was so much coverage of the bombing because of "white privilege", and running being a white person's sport (or something of the like) had my friend and I cocking our heads with a "really?"
The concept of quantifying pain has been on my mind of late. Comments made to me both in Japan and back in the US about how Boston Marathon bombing really wasn't "that big of a deal" fills me with a great deal of discomfort. I'm bombarded by questions I cannot answer. I argue and ask for caution as we compare disasters. True, there are portions of any crisis that are measurable: loss of life, property destroyed, cost of clean up, etc. Emotions, however, are not. No one can assign a number to pain. The degree of pain may wax and wane; we may have "better days" but it's impossible to actually measure what these "better days" mean.
I agree the media (white or not) covers whatever they want. More than that, coverage depends on the drama affect: is it sexy, does it sell ads, how bloody is it? I urge us to go one step further: we're looking at this whole "white privilege" subject from a very US-centric point of view. On April 16th in Japan (a country of color by all accounts) there was very little coverage about the Boston Marathon. Bit by bit there were news reports in the days following, but here is a classic example of a non-white country caring little about issues less relevant to the lives of their media constituents. Just because it's "American" does not warrant coverage. Just because it's "white" does not mean guaranteed air time. White privilege in Japan? Don't make me laugh. (All this for another blog posting.) I've had plenty a taxi driver not stop for me, and it's not because they didn't see me. There are plenty of examples of incidents I and others have experienced where being white means exactly the opposite of privileged. Here in the US and the west where there's been historical oppression by whites I see how and why the word "white privilege" emerged. This concept, however, does not translate to all countries of color. My problem with "white privilege" is that it assumes: white is good all over the world. Sorry. That's just not the case.
Measuring pain is a dangerous exercise to undertake. Those who do immediately open themselves up to an argument injected with heat. "I hurt more than you do," is a statement that essentially shuts down a discussion. Should the media cover stories--domestic and international, art and politics, white and of color--with equal word count? Of course. Will they? Of course not. Is this white privilege? You're asking a white person. Does my answer matter?
Let's go back to the marathon for a minute. Acknowledge what it was: an act of terror aimed at killing many. Don't trivialize this. Someone from Japan tweeted, "The US has set itself up as a terrorist magnet." This is an example of diminishing pain. Nothing about this is helpful, and in fact, the writer is allowing me to read into that line, "you've asked for it." You're welcome to your opinion, but it would behoove us to accept the fact when we say an act that results in collective pain is "no big deal" we allow others to do the same about whatever is important to us. You want empathy? Show some.
None of us have the emotional capacity, time, or energy to care about everyone everywhere all the time. We triage which issues matter to us. How we define what matters is of our own choosing: geography, race, sexuality, or the type of disaster all affect the degree to which what happened hits home.
Broad brush strokes dismissing pain creates more distance than not. While the disappearance of my favorite brand of mascara means nothing to you, there just might be one person out there who will say, "I know! I loved that brand! Why would they discontinue it?" and here, we would form an instant bond over a trivial item. Similarly, I will now connect with those whose children have "left home for good" as we wonder if it's okay to call them to catch up ("are we hovering?") and how we ask whether they're coming home for the holidays.
Pain is pain. Mine is not bigger than yours, and yours does not matter more than mine. It's all relative and it's all personal. Allow your measuring stick to be just that. Yours.
Then comes the announcement from our son he is moving into an apartment after graduation. Growing up we made it clear to him repeatedly he "can't move home" once he finishes university--our way of gently forcing him into the real world so he thinks of how to move forward. It's not that we thought he wasn't listening. The realization he's really not coming home, that we are now permanent empty nesters, this is bittersweet. Our baby has truly grown up.
When a Japanese friend here in Boston showed me an article on her iPhone with a "read this and tell me what you think" I went into one of those rare silent modes. I didn't know what to say. I've pondered the article for awhile now and this is what I've come up with. Pain is pain.
Written by an African-American woman about how she was sick of the lack of news coverage on issues surrounding people of color, my friend asked me, "Is her point about the Boston Marathon bombing 'whatever'? Am I reading this right?" I had to agree. The author seemed to be saying, "I don't care." No. That's not quite right. I read into the author's words, "The white media doesn't cover stories about people of color so I can't find myself caring about something that happens to white people." I don't remember the author's name, and I only read the article once, but the connection to the the fact there was so much coverage of the bombing because of "white privilege", and running being a white person's sport (or something of the like) had my friend and I cocking our heads with a "really?"
The concept of quantifying pain has been on my mind of late. Comments made to me both in Japan and back in the US about how Boston Marathon bombing really wasn't "that big of a deal" fills me with a great deal of discomfort. I'm bombarded by questions I cannot answer. I argue and ask for caution as we compare disasters. True, there are portions of any crisis that are measurable: loss of life, property destroyed, cost of clean up, etc. Emotions, however, are not. No one can assign a number to pain. The degree of pain may wax and wane; we may have "better days" but it's impossible to actually measure what these "better days" mean.
I agree the media (white or not) covers whatever they want. More than that, coverage depends on the drama affect: is it sexy, does it sell ads, how bloody is it? I urge us to go one step further: we're looking at this whole "white privilege" subject from a very US-centric point of view. On April 16th in Japan (a country of color by all accounts) there was very little coverage about the Boston Marathon. Bit by bit there were news reports in the days following, but here is a classic example of a non-white country caring little about issues less relevant to the lives of their media constituents. Just because it's "American" does not warrant coverage. Just because it's "white" does not mean guaranteed air time. White privilege in Japan? Don't make me laugh. (All this for another blog posting.) I've had plenty a taxi driver not stop for me, and it's not because they didn't see me. There are plenty of examples of incidents I and others have experienced where being white means exactly the opposite of privileged. Here in the US and the west where there's been historical oppression by whites I see how and why the word "white privilege" emerged. This concept, however, does not translate to all countries of color. My problem with "white privilege" is that it assumes: white is good all over the world. Sorry. That's just not the case.
Measuring pain is a dangerous exercise to undertake. Those who do immediately open themselves up to an argument injected with heat. "I hurt more than you do," is a statement that essentially shuts down a discussion. Should the media cover stories--domestic and international, art and politics, white and of color--with equal word count? Of course. Will they? Of course not. Is this white privilege? You're asking a white person. Does my answer matter?
Let's go back to the marathon for a minute. Acknowledge what it was: an act of terror aimed at killing many. Don't trivialize this. Someone from Japan tweeted, "The US has set itself up as a terrorist magnet." This is an example of diminishing pain. Nothing about this is helpful, and in fact, the writer is allowing me to read into that line, "you've asked for it." You're welcome to your opinion, but it would behoove us to accept the fact when we say an act that results in collective pain is "no big deal" we allow others to do the same about whatever is important to us. You want empathy? Show some.
None of us have the emotional capacity, time, or energy to care about everyone everywhere all the time. We triage which issues matter to us. How we define what matters is of our own choosing: geography, race, sexuality, or the type of disaster all affect the degree to which what happened hits home.
Broad brush strokes dismissing pain creates more distance than not. While the disappearance of my favorite brand of mascara means nothing to you, there just might be one person out there who will say, "I know! I loved that brand! Why would they discontinue it?" and here, we would form an instant bond over a trivial item. Similarly, I will now connect with those whose children have "left home for good" as we wonder if it's okay to call them to catch up ("are we hovering?") and how we ask whether they're coming home for the holidays.
Pain is pain. Mine is not bigger than yours, and yours does not matter more than mine. It's all relative and it's all personal. Allow your measuring stick to be just that. Yours.
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