This is one of those I-can't-make-this-up scenarios. Honestly, I don't know how I would handle being in a situation like this. I don't know how I'd keep going. It's bad. It's really bad. Let me explain.
Homeowners in Tohoku whose houses were either totally destroyed (washed away or deemed unlivable), or partially damaged (still livable but needing repair) have the following options: move into temporary housing (if they qualify), rebuild their home, or repair their home. This post is about the latter two.
Here are the facts. If a house was categorized as "completely destroyed" or "partially destroyed" but the owner has an outstanding mortgage, they are still responsible for paying that off. Not having a livable home does not mean the loan magically disappears. Now let's say they want to rebuild or repair their home. They are responsible for repayment of the loan they take out for that, too. That means they now have dual-mortgages.
There's good news. Sort of. Not really, actually, but there is an option pitched to these dual-mortgage homeowners that's meant to alleviate their financial burden. Let me break it down for you.
If Mrs. W owes 20,000,000 yen (let's just say $200,000) on her original loan (for the house that's now gone), she can have her debt forgiven. Again, sort of. She can keep up to 5,000,000 yen ($50,000) of her own money (savings, if she has it). Any other savings she might have goes to repay the original loan. The bank will forgive the remainder of the loan if she hands over whatever savings she has beyond 5,000,000 yen ($50,000). If she has land, say she owns the land the home was on, she must also give the bank that land. She can buy that back from the bank over five years. If she can't buy it back in that time, she loses it forever. Any other land she might own (place of business) also goes to the bank. She's left with the loan for the repair/rebuilding of the new house, plus the 5,000,000 yen ($50,000) she has in savings. That's it.
Here are some more stats. The government initiated this program with the assumption 10,000 Tohoku homewoners would be interested in taking part. To date 84 people have signed up. There are two things wrong with this picture. First, with hundreds of thousands of people displaced, the government created a debt-forgiveness program that would attract only 10,000 people? Why? Why not make it something that would appeal to 500,000 people? Second, only 84 people have taken part? Why? Here's why. Initially, the amount of money homeowners were allowed to keep from their savings was 990,000 yen ($9,900). Everything else they had in savings had to go to bank. Again, including land. How are people supposed to live on $9,900? Get a job? Where? What if they were fishermen or farmers? To say the program had a very bad reputation from the start is being generous. Add to this, most people don't know they are now allowed to keep 5,000,000 yen and not the originally reported 990,000 yen. Why? Many people, many people up north don't have a laptop, much less internet access. They use e-mail only on their cell phones. How would people who don't routinely surf the web ever find out about options available to them? Then there's the problem of farmers getting up the courage to sit down in front of a banker to negotiate. I'm most certainly not implying farmers are less intelligent. I'm saying bankers have a tendency (generalizing here) to use big financial terms, throw around numbers and "Here's Plan A" and "Here's Plan B" as if it's no big deal. Bankers are not knowing as the most empathetic bunch around. For those who spend their days on a boat or in mud, the prospect of sitting down in front of a finance person is intimidating.
There's so much wrong with this, the worst possible catch 22. I honestly don't know where to begin. Let go of land and cash to have one mortgage forgiven? Or, hold a dual-mortgage and work to pay it off (how?) over the remainder of their lives? How and why isn't there another more creative solution?
The Japanese Government created this option and then handed it over to the banks with a "You handle this" message. What's in it for the banks? They can write off the loan they're forgiving, but is that enough incentive?
I find this catch 22 the worst example of inability to think outside the box. Perhaps civil servants and bankers aren't the most creative group of people around, but the lack of empathy for those who have lost so much--even in a country as Japan with its rigid and strict adherence to rules--this is not okay. I listen to those around me who honestly don't know what to do next and I ache for them. I'm speechless all over again.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Flashback
None of us could have anticipated the events of that night. Our outing was meant to be a fun, casual dinner. The five of us were at a local ramen shop in Rikuzentakata. The two girls, my adopted daughters whom I love like my own, and mom and dad all sit around the table negotiating how many bowls to order.
"It's a big bowl," mom says to the girls. "I don't think you can finish it."
"Yes we can," younger sister protests. "Yeah. Mama, please?" Older sister chimes in.
"You never do," dad objects. "You'll have to finish what they don't eat," mom says to dad.
"Again?" We all laugh.
"Can we have gyoza, too?" The younger one is determined to eat tonight.
"Do you have any appointments tomorrow, Amya-san?" I'm taken back my mom's question.
"Appointments? Why?"
"The gyoza here is really garlicky," dad says.
"Oh." I think for a minute. I do have meetings tomorrow. How garlicky are they?
"I'll just have one," I reply, not one to pass up good gyoza.
We order, continuing to chat. When the bowls arrive I am shocked at the size. This is possibly the biggest bowl of ramen I've ever seen.
"Woooow," I say, looking down at what's in front of me. Turning to the girls, "You're really going to eat all that?" "No," dad says as the girls say, "Yes!" We laugh again.
Silent except for the slurping, none of us notice grandpa sitting at the bar. Suddenly, there's a buzz. The chefs come out from the kitchen, moving quickly. One of the servers is standing near grandpa, calling out to him. Grandpa is slumped over.
"What's going on?" The older girl starts to get up.
"Sit," mom says.
"Be right back," and dad jumps up heading towards grandpa and the small crowd.
Fast forward three minutes, we piece together what's happening. Grandpa is unresponsive. A chef is spooning sugar into grandpa's mouth. "Diabetic shock," mom says to me. I nod. Soon we hear an ambulance. Mom and I exchange looks. I see mom looking at the girls sitting on either side of me. I look down at them, first left and then right. The younger one is in tears, trying hard not to show how upset she is. The older one is pale. It's the first time I've seen someone this white in a long time.
"It's alright," mom says to the girls. The older one nods, trying to be brave. I sense the younger one on my left quickly wiping her tears. I touch her head and say, "Do you want to sit on my lap?" She nods. I pick her up, move myself in front of the television we've all been ignoring, and turn my back towards grandpa. "You sit on Amya-san's lap, too," mom says to the older one. I move younger sister onto my left knee, and pull older sister onto my right. She's shaking.
"It's alright. Everything is going to be okay," I say and turn them more towards the television, talking about the AKB girls we see.
The ambulance arrives, puts grandpa on a stretcher and quickly leaves. The girls try to sneak glances towards the paramedics, but I bring their attention to the television screen each time.
Once the restaurant is quiet again, we all sit around the table. The girls are no longer hungry. Mom says in a very soft voice, "I know it's scary for you to see ambulances. It reminds you of daddy being away with the fire brigade, right?" They nod. Dad is a volunteer firefighter, and was out for days following the tsunami, looking for survivors, recovering bodies. The girls don't fully understand what dad was doing, but were worried sick. Emergency vehicles now scare them.
How an unexpected incident can turn an otherwise happy outing into a traumatic experience is a stark reminder of the power of memories. In this case, the fear over a father's safety in the aftermath of a tragic and terrible disaster ruined not only our night out, but served as a trigger bringing back buried pain.
I hope for those in Tohoku we are all able to find a realistic and robust mental health plan that allows for lasting healing. In the mean time, I will keep hugging these girls. Mom and dad, too.
"It's a big bowl," mom says to the girls. "I don't think you can finish it."
"Yes we can," younger sister protests. "Yeah. Mama, please?" Older sister chimes in.
"You never do," dad objects. "You'll have to finish what they don't eat," mom says to dad.
"Again?" We all laugh.
"Can we have gyoza, too?" The younger one is determined to eat tonight.
"Do you have any appointments tomorrow, Amya-san?" I'm taken back my mom's question.
"Appointments? Why?"
"The gyoza here is really garlicky," dad says.
"Oh." I think for a minute. I do have meetings tomorrow. How garlicky are they?
"I'll just have one," I reply, not one to pass up good gyoza.
We order, continuing to chat. When the bowls arrive I am shocked at the size. This is possibly the biggest bowl of ramen I've ever seen.
"Woooow," I say, looking down at what's in front of me. Turning to the girls, "You're really going to eat all that?" "No," dad says as the girls say, "Yes!" We laugh again.
Silent except for the slurping, none of us notice grandpa sitting at the bar. Suddenly, there's a buzz. The chefs come out from the kitchen, moving quickly. One of the servers is standing near grandpa, calling out to him. Grandpa is slumped over.
"What's going on?" The older girl starts to get up.
"Sit," mom says.
"Be right back," and dad jumps up heading towards grandpa and the small crowd.
Fast forward three minutes, we piece together what's happening. Grandpa is unresponsive. A chef is spooning sugar into grandpa's mouth. "Diabetic shock," mom says to me. I nod. Soon we hear an ambulance. Mom and I exchange looks. I see mom looking at the girls sitting on either side of me. I look down at them, first left and then right. The younger one is in tears, trying hard not to show how upset she is. The older one is pale. It's the first time I've seen someone this white in a long time.
"It's alright," mom says to the girls. The older one nods, trying to be brave. I sense the younger one on my left quickly wiping her tears. I touch her head and say, "Do you want to sit on my lap?" She nods. I pick her up, move myself in front of the television we've all been ignoring, and turn my back towards grandpa. "You sit on Amya-san's lap, too," mom says to the older one. I move younger sister onto my left knee, and pull older sister onto my right. She's shaking.
"It's alright. Everything is going to be okay," I say and turn them more towards the television, talking about the AKB girls we see.
The ambulance arrives, puts grandpa on a stretcher and quickly leaves. The girls try to sneak glances towards the paramedics, but I bring their attention to the television screen each time.
Once the restaurant is quiet again, we all sit around the table. The girls are no longer hungry. Mom says in a very soft voice, "I know it's scary for you to see ambulances. It reminds you of daddy being away with the fire brigade, right?" They nod. Dad is a volunteer firefighter, and was out for days following the tsunami, looking for survivors, recovering bodies. The girls don't fully understand what dad was doing, but were worried sick. Emergency vehicles now scare them.
How an unexpected incident can turn an otherwise happy outing into a traumatic experience is a stark reminder of the power of memories. In this case, the fear over a father's safety in the aftermath of a tragic and terrible disaster ruined not only our night out, but served as a trigger bringing back buried pain.
I hope for those in Tohoku we are all able to find a realistic and robust mental health plan that allows for lasting healing. In the mean time, I will keep hugging these girls. Mom and dad, too.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Hug, Bow, Shake, Peck, or Kiss?
Public displays of affection (referred to as PDA, not to be confused with PDAs--the techno-gadgets that you're supposed to use to remember your schedule) ... see, I'm digressing already ...
Public displays of affection in Japan have become more and more visible. I snuck a photo of a couple, early retirement age perhaps, who were walking down a sidewalk hand in hand. I've snapped others on the sly. Young couples cling. Even people my age, I passed two yesterday, walk around with open and public displays of affection. I don't remember seeing much of this growing up. And, that's putting it mildly.
I've long taught Westerners to bow when doing business in Japan. If you can bow and shake at the same time, that's even better. "Don't do the double peck-on-the-cheek thing," I've had to tell many Europeans.
Publicly showing affection, while more prevalent in Tokyo, in Tohoku is another story entirely. Most up north know from movies and television foreigners are touchy. "You gaijins hug a lot" I was once told by someone in Rikuzentakata. I laughed and replied, "I guess we do."
This makes it all the more interesting that eighteen months after I first set foot in the disaster zone, my friends, friends of friends, and family members of friends are now starting to explore the idea of physical expression. Not in a sexual way, mind you. The jabs I get in my ribs (literally) from one man up north happen only when he's drunk--this is the only uncomfortable physical contact I've experienced in Tohoku.
Men and women now want to say hello and good-bye with a hug. The first one is awkward. We stand there both with a mental message "You go first" but neither of us move. I don't want to be pushy by leaning into hug, and they want to but are shy (they don't hug anyone else in public) and yet still are hoping to connect. Once we get past that first hug, awkward moments and all, greetings are now more physical.
To be sure, there are those whom I will not hug (it's not appropriate), and those who are uninterested in hugging. I can just picture several of my male friends in Tohoku saying, "It's not manly." It's not. Where men are men, strong and stoic, there's no room for public hugging or pecks on the cheek. That's okay. For those who want to incorporate a more physical expression of affection, there's now a whole new method open to them. On my trips to Tohoku I hug children, men, and women. With big smiles and shy grins, they reach back.
Physical touch is a bigger deal in Tohoku if for no other reason, emotional healing is still a process many are going through. Hugging creates warmth. It bonds. It leads to a faster, deeper connection. The bonds of friendship become intense quicker and lasts longer, too. Just yesterday, I hugged a woman and she gripped back, not letting go. Touch is the fastest way to reach those wanting to feel whole, healthy, and loved. I think back to the sensation of my grandmother's hand on mine, a peck on the cheek from a niece, my son jumping into my arms. I smile. Of course this is good.
Where rules are still rigid with predetermined expectations on who bows lower and raises their heads up first, hugging, holding hands, and kissing is still new. Combine these, especially all at once (i.e. hug and peck, shake hands but then turn it into a "whassup" grip, bow and shake, etc.) and it's challenging to those here who want to experiment but don't know what to do with whom, or how, or when.
Except they're trying. With more freedom to show love in public, old rules are changing with new ones being made up as life unfolds. It's really fun to watch. It's even more fun to be a part of.
Public displays of affection in Japan have become more and more visible. I snuck a photo of a couple, early retirement age perhaps, who were walking down a sidewalk hand in hand. I've snapped others on the sly. Young couples cling. Even people my age, I passed two yesterday, walk around with open and public displays of affection. I don't remember seeing much of this growing up. And, that's putting it mildly.
I've long taught Westerners to bow when doing business in Japan. If you can bow and shake at the same time, that's even better. "Don't do the double peck-on-the-cheek thing," I've had to tell many Europeans.
Publicly showing affection, while more prevalent in Tokyo, in Tohoku is another story entirely. Most up north know from movies and television foreigners are touchy. "You gaijins hug a lot" I was once told by someone in Rikuzentakata. I laughed and replied, "I guess we do."
This makes it all the more interesting that eighteen months after I first set foot in the disaster zone, my friends, friends of friends, and family members of friends are now starting to explore the idea of physical expression. Not in a sexual way, mind you. The jabs I get in my ribs (literally) from one man up north happen only when he's drunk--this is the only uncomfortable physical contact I've experienced in Tohoku.
Men and women now want to say hello and good-bye with a hug. The first one is awkward. We stand there both with a mental message "You go first" but neither of us move. I don't want to be pushy by leaning into hug, and they want to but are shy (they don't hug anyone else in public) and yet still are hoping to connect. Once we get past that first hug, awkward moments and all, greetings are now more physical.
To be sure, there are those whom I will not hug (it's not appropriate), and those who are uninterested in hugging. I can just picture several of my male friends in Tohoku saying, "It's not manly." It's not. Where men are men, strong and stoic, there's no room for public hugging or pecks on the cheek. That's okay. For those who want to incorporate a more physical expression of affection, there's now a whole new method open to them. On my trips to Tohoku I hug children, men, and women. With big smiles and shy grins, they reach back.
Physical touch is a bigger deal in Tohoku if for no other reason, emotional healing is still a process many are going through. Hugging creates warmth. It bonds. It leads to a faster, deeper connection. The bonds of friendship become intense quicker and lasts longer, too. Just yesterday, I hugged a woman and she gripped back, not letting go. Touch is the fastest way to reach those wanting to feel whole, healthy, and loved. I think back to the sensation of my grandmother's hand on mine, a peck on the cheek from a niece, my son jumping into my arms. I smile. Of course this is good.
Except they're trying. With more freedom to show love in public, old rules are changing with new ones being made up as life unfolds. It's really fun to watch. It's even more fun to be a part of.
Monday, October 8, 2012
A Quick Note to American Voters
My Facebook friends are and have been fighting over who is better suited to be US President. For months. Nasty words are posted. Tea Partiers think Liberals are evil terrorists, ungodly, and love to kill babies. Liberals think Tea Partiers are ignorant, narrow-minded, gun-loving people who stand around at funerals holding signs condemning gays and lesbians to hell. I might be exaggerating. Then again, you haven't seen my Facebook page.
I have a simple point to make. Japan is discussing the pros (not as much the cons) about changing prime ministers. Again. If this happens, Japan will have had eighteen prime ministers in 24 years. Read that line again. This is reality in Japan.
Here's the kicker. The public doesn't get to vote. Read that line again, too. None of the regular voters go to the poll to cast their ballot for prime minister.
I was asked over the weekend for my thoughts on Japanese politics. I decided to be honest. "If Great Britain had seventeen prime ministers in 24 years, would Japan take the British Government seriously? Wouldn't the press mock them each time they brought in a new person? What do you think people overseas think of Japan when you can't seem to keep a person in office for more than a year?" We didn't end up having much of a discussion. I don't think they were too happy with my statement.
So, to all my American friends, if you don't vote in November I don't want to hear any crap about who gets into office. At least we have the option. Take it. Use it. Try living in Japan where everyone I speak to is embarrassed about the revolving door of politicians who seem to, at the end of the day, get very little done. And, while we're at it, let's please cut the nastiness, the mocking, the accusations, and the making fun of what the wives are wearing.
I have a simple point to make. Japan is discussing the pros (not as much the cons) about changing prime ministers. Again. If this happens, Japan will have had eighteen prime ministers in 24 years. Read that line again. This is reality in Japan.
Here's the kicker. The public doesn't get to vote. Read that line again, too. None of the regular voters go to the poll to cast their ballot for prime minister.
I was asked over the weekend for my thoughts on Japanese politics. I decided to be honest. "If Great Britain had seventeen prime ministers in 24 years, would Japan take the British Government seriously? Wouldn't the press mock them each time they brought in a new person? What do you think people overseas think of Japan when you can't seem to keep a person in office for more than a year?" We didn't end up having much of a discussion. I don't think they were too happy with my statement.
So, to all my American friends, if you don't vote in November I don't want to hear any crap about who gets into office. At least we have the option. Take it. Use it. Try living in Japan where everyone I speak to is embarrassed about the revolving door of politicians who seem to, at the end of the day, get very little done. And, while we're at it, let's please cut the nastiness, the mocking, the accusations, and the making fun of what the wives are wearing.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Mayor Dad
I'm not one to shamelessly plug anything, but I'm always willing to make an exception. If you have a moment and $9.95 to spare, please considering logging onto Amazon.com and look for Mayor Futoshi Toba's (Mayor of Rikuzentakata) book about the days and months post March 11th as he experienced them. Entitled, “Let’s Talk About It: What Really Happened In The Disaster Area” this is book is brutally honest (at times painfully), emotional, real, and a must-read for anyone (politicians especially) who need to understand disaster prevention, relief, and management. That yours truly translated the book isn’t the point. Mayor Toba’s humanity, the decisions he made and now questions, his resolve, and dedication are something to behold.
But this is not why I’m writing about him. At least not solely. In a recent conversation we had, he shared the following story with me. Again, it’s one of these I-can’t-make-this-up vignettes. This one will make you love him all the more.
“So, my son, the older one, comes to me the other morning and says, ‘Dad! My uniform is still wet!’ Not knowing what he’s talking about, I wander into his room where he’s packing for his basketball tournament that he has to leave for in about 30 minutes, and he’s holding up this clearly wet uniforms. I don’t know what to do with this. How do you dry something quickly, as in 30-minutes quickly? Clothes dryer, right? I’m annoyed, but I go into dad-mode, and take the uniform tops and shorts and stick them in the dryer.” He looks at me here. I nod. Yeah. What’s the big deal? I’m not seeing where the drama is in this story.
“Except, I didn’t hit the ‘dry’ cycle. I hit ‘wash’ and not just any ‘wash’ but the ‘long wash.’” I laugh. “Hey!” I stop laughing. Sort of. “It’s not funny!” I swear that’s a mock pout I’m seeing.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not funny,” I say and know I’m not the least bit convincing.
“I didn’t know what to do. My son’s standing in the bathroom looking at me with this, ‘Daaaad!’ look, and I know I’ve screwed up, and I know I can’t drain the washing machine and get it to spin and dry and all that in 30 minutes. Rather, I don’t know how to.” I’m grinning, but don’t say anything because after all, it’s not funny. Right?
“So, I make some calls to get suggestions on how to dry this right now. The consensus from the mothers I trust not to repeat the story,” and now he’s grinning too (sort of) “was that there’s no way to dry the uniform in 30 minutes. I tell my son to get on the bus, that I’ll deliver his uniform before the game. He’s annoyed with me, but shuffles off and now I’m in pretty much serious panic mode. Can I microwave clothes? Iron them? I mean, they’re soaked. I’ll end up with some major steam bath if I do that, won’t I?” I’m not being asked so I keep grinning. Smiling. Not grinning. Just smiling.
“Long story short, I ironed them. I got all the tops and bottoms to him in time, too. I called the mothers to thank them.”
He pauses. “This is when I miss my wife.” Then, quickly correcting himself, “It’s not just that I miss her when I don’t know how to run the washing machine.”
“I know. I know that’s not what you meant.”
“ I relied on her so much. It’s hard being both mayor and dad.”
We’re both silent for awhile.
“Your sons love you. They respect you. They get it. They may not always like it, but they get it.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
With that, we’re both quiet agian. I bring up another topic in another minute or so, and we spend the rest of our time together working through projects, strategizing, and getting things done. The Mayor or Rikuzentakata, of the city essentially wiped off the map, is an incredible father and dedicated mayor. For his friendship and trust I’m grateful. I hope you can meet him some day, through his book if not in person. He’s one of the good guys.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
The ramen dilemma
Having eaten ramen since I was a child, my version of macaroni and cheese in Japan, you'd think I'd know how to eat it by now. Not so. The problem? Broth, the cheese equivalent, part of what makes or breaks the meal, this I manage to spatter all over my shirt. I've long since given up wearing white when I eat ramen. I leave the restaurant with little brown stains all over myself. I honestly don't know what I'm doing wrong.
Or, perhaps I do. A simple answer would be the fact I don't slurp the noodles. Any type of noodle in Japan--ramen, pasta, soba, udon--these are eaten with a loud slurp. I just can't bring myself to do this. I get away with it because I'm foreign. People who don't know me assume I don't know the rules. People who do know me often ask, "You don't slurp? It's considered bad manners in America, right?" I nod and sneak a glance down at my shirt. Have I stained it yet?
I decide to ask for advice. I'm with two men, one the owner of a restaurant, another a friend. I bring up my dilemma.
"What am I doing wrong? I notice all these businessmen in crisp white shirts eating ramen over the lunch hour and I never see stains on their shirts. I know I don't slurp, but doesn't slurping actually make the noodles wiggle more? Why don't you guys have stains on your shirts?"
They contemplate this for awhile and decide women decidedly have a more difficult time with noddle-based meals because surely breasts must get in the way.
"Hang on," I protest. "That can't be right."
"You're right," the restaurant owner says. "If this were true, we'd have stains all over our stomachs." We all laugh as he pats his larger-than-average Japanese gut.
"I don't know," my friend says. "Clearly you're doing something wrong. Maybe you need to slurp."
Now we contemplate Japanese slurping methods. I argue the noodles must flip back and forth as they get sucked in. "Doesn't that make the noodles jiggle, and doesn't that make them spatter the broth?"
"No," my friend argues. "You slurp straight up." Ah. Straight up. I mentally picture this and wonder to myself how much my mouth can hold at one time. I decide to put it out there.
"I think my mouth is smaller. I don't think I can put that much into my mouth at one time."
"Oh, come on," the owner isn't buying this.
"Try it sometime," my friend pushes.
I will, but until then I vow to wear black until I master the art of stain-free slurping.
Or, perhaps I do. A simple answer would be the fact I don't slurp the noodles. Any type of noodle in Japan--ramen, pasta, soba, udon--these are eaten with a loud slurp. I just can't bring myself to do this. I get away with it because I'm foreign. People who don't know me assume I don't know the rules. People who do know me often ask, "You don't slurp? It's considered bad manners in America, right?" I nod and sneak a glance down at my shirt. Have I stained it yet?
I decide to ask for advice. I'm with two men, one the owner of a restaurant, another a friend. I bring up my dilemma.
"What am I doing wrong? I notice all these businessmen in crisp white shirts eating ramen over the lunch hour and I never see stains on their shirts. I know I don't slurp, but doesn't slurping actually make the noodles wiggle more? Why don't you guys have stains on your shirts?"
They contemplate this for awhile and decide women decidedly have a more difficult time with noddle-based meals because surely breasts must get in the way.
"Hang on," I protest. "That can't be right."
"You're right," the restaurant owner says. "If this were true, we'd have stains all over our stomachs." We all laugh as he pats his larger-than-average Japanese gut.
"I don't know," my friend says. "Clearly you're doing something wrong. Maybe you need to slurp."
Now we contemplate Japanese slurping methods. I argue the noodles must flip back and forth as they get sucked in. "Doesn't that make the noodles jiggle, and doesn't that make them spatter the broth?"
"No," my friend argues. "You slurp straight up." Ah. Straight up. I mentally picture this and wonder to myself how much my mouth can hold at one time. I decide to put it out there.
"I think my mouth is smaller. I don't think I can put that much into my mouth at one time."
"Oh, come on," the owner isn't buying this.
"Try it sometime," my friend pushes.
I will, but until then I vow to wear black until I master the art of stain-free slurping.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
What chivalry?
Not all women like, want, or appreciate the sentiment of "ladies first." I can appreciate that. Antiquated, sexist, implying women are the weaker sex, I've heard women say they don't need doors held open for them, to enter/exit the elevator first, or have chairs pulled out for them. I can appreciate this, too.
To these women, I'd suggest a trip to Japan. Certainly, chivalry here is an anomaly. Sorry guys. It's the truth. While many would argue the role of, and the rights that come with change have improved the lives of women in Japan, there's more truth that women here rank second to men.
Arriving in Japan yesterday, I'm hit with this reality even before I get off the plane. The flight attendants fuss over the man sitting next to me. Fuss is absolutely the right word here. I, on the other hand, am not fussed over. Is he a celebrity? Is he special? Perhaps. Or, perhaps he's male.
No one offers to take the bag down for me from the overhead compartment. It's more rare in the US that I get no offers for help from men to drag down my carry on. As we exit the plane, I'm assuming we'll file out zipper-like, letting people in the rows in front of us exit first. Nope. Men push past me, no space for me to cut in. None of them stop and offer to zip the zipper.
Dropped off at my apartment, I maneuver (and not well) my two suitcases and two carry on bags up the stair case while two men stand nearby and continue talking. I'm this close to saying, "Really? No help whatsoever? Am I making this look easy?"
The gods and stars, making sure I thoroughly understand this is not an isolated incident, point me to a news show last night where two men, an expert of some sort, and a well-known television host discuss why women with strollers should ride the train less. Simply put, they're in the way. Presumably, to make sure they're not perceived as being completely out of touch with reality, they pepper their statements with, "But of course they do need to be able to leave the house." The conclusion the two men come to is this: women with strollers shouldn't ride the train during rush hour. They take up too much space. The rest of the time, the Japanese should be more sensitive to the fact that these should be allowed to leave their homes to run errands. To run errands. Right. Got it.
Try running this segment on television in another country. I know I'd be on the phone to the news outlet saying, "Did your guys really just say this? You're okay with this?" How many groups can you name that would never let this go by without pointing out its absurdity? Women should stay home during rush hour because baby strollers get in the way of commuters? Really? Japan has to ask people to have good manners?
And, food for thought here, people: Tokyo wants to host the Olympics in 2020? Good luck with that. You don't have a chance, especially if women and foreigners start spreading the word tourists and athletes with bags and gear aren't welcome on trains during rush hour.
To these women, I'd suggest a trip to Japan. Certainly, chivalry here is an anomaly. Sorry guys. It's the truth. While many would argue the role of, and the rights that come with change have improved the lives of women in Japan, there's more truth that women here rank second to men.
Arriving in Japan yesterday, I'm hit with this reality even before I get off the plane. The flight attendants fuss over the man sitting next to me. Fuss is absolutely the right word here. I, on the other hand, am not fussed over. Is he a celebrity? Is he special? Perhaps. Or, perhaps he's male.
No one offers to take the bag down for me from the overhead compartment. It's more rare in the US that I get no offers for help from men to drag down my carry on. As we exit the plane, I'm assuming we'll file out zipper-like, letting people in the rows in front of us exit first. Nope. Men push past me, no space for me to cut in. None of them stop and offer to zip the zipper.
Dropped off at my apartment, I maneuver (and not well) my two suitcases and two carry on bags up the stair case while two men stand nearby and continue talking. I'm this close to saying, "Really? No help whatsoever? Am I making this look easy?"
The gods and stars, making sure I thoroughly understand this is not an isolated incident, point me to a news show last night where two men, an expert of some sort, and a well-known television host discuss why women with strollers should ride the train less. Simply put, they're in the way. Presumably, to make sure they're not perceived as being completely out of touch with reality, they pepper their statements with, "But of course they do need to be able to leave the house." The conclusion the two men come to is this: women with strollers shouldn't ride the train during rush hour. They take up too much space. The rest of the time, the Japanese should be more sensitive to the fact that these should be allowed to leave their homes to run errands. To run errands. Right. Got it.
Try running this segment on television in another country. I know I'd be on the phone to the news outlet saying, "Did your guys really just say this? You're okay with this?" How many groups can you name that would never let this go by without pointing out its absurdity? Women should stay home during rush hour because baby strollers get in the way of commuters? Really? Japan has to ask people to have good manners?
And, food for thought here, people: Tokyo wants to host the Olympics in 2020? Good luck with that. You don't have a chance, especially if women and foreigners start spreading the word tourists and athletes with bags and gear aren't welcome on trains during rush hour.
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