K-overs III
What a cool cafe.
Samsung docks.
Yonsei really wants to be Yale.
I love this Korean family.
But the kids don't really like me. They said I was boring.
K-overs II
I'm artsy
I like the girl in pink dress
I forgot the name of this game. Help?
K-overs
Allegedly every new building in Seoul must have a statue in front of it. So, voila.
K-overs I
My Advice for Korean Teenagers who hunt a job: TAKE A CHILL PILL 
Buddha's Bday
CK: Corporate Korea
K-drama
Olympic Park
Korean Hats - by Mrs. Bae
Mrs. Bae and her friends design hats. Like this one.
Vogue Korea Photographer.
Korea makes the best plastic cups.
I wouldn't wear that hat.
There were many hats.
Keeping up with the Confucians
“You come from a country of great artists – Dvorak, Smetana, Kafka. You go to a great school.
So why did you turn out so immature, selfish, and stupid?!”
I have a fierce Korean friend. His name is Chan. He goes to Yonsei University, where he has perfect GPA. He plays the violin in the best amateur ensemble in Seoul. When he speaks English, he sounds like a human version of Google translate – a bit too perfect. He often scolds me.
I met Chan through Mrs. Kim, my Korean teacher. I asked her for a language partner, and she said Chan was immediately interested in doing a language exchange with me. On the day we met, Chan seemed very excited to meet someone from the Czech Republic who goes to Yale. Like many of his peers, he held some pre-fixed opinions about what a boy from the Czech Republic who goes to Yale should be like. For some reason, the Czech Republic – and Europe in general – seems to strike chord with the sensibilities of educated Koreans. It is associated with intellectual and artistic superiority. Likewise, Yale seems coupled with Korean image of schooling par excellence, the pinnacle of Western education.
I could tell that Chan was disappointed when he first met me. I mean it’s hard to match Kafka and Kundera but I am afraid I might have been very far from matching my fellow countrymen. On our first men-date, I asked Chan whether we could go to movies. “Movies? You don’t want to go to a gallery?” I told him I’ve seen too much art and preferred to relax in a movie theatre. In the cinema, Chan picked the King’s Speech, I chose “Fast and Furious: Unlimited.” On our way home, Chan wanted to stop by at a traditional Korean restaurant. I politely told him that I cannot really eat any more kimchi and asked if I could just grab a slice of pizza at Papa’s Jones. Chan seemed confused.
The next week, we met a few times to study Korean and English for an hour. Throughout our language exchanges, we were able to learn a great deal about each other. For me, Chan served as a great introduction to the Confucian conventions of Korea. His opinions and values deeply rooted in the tradition of Confucianism – respect for elders, veneration of established institutions, worship of education – and lack of fun. Having spent the past year in East Asia, I felt fairly comfortably with hearing Chan’s standpoints that were in many respects very similar to those of his Japanese peers. Not having had much interaction with foreigners, Chan, however, seemed awestruck by my attitudes and opinions.
Everything I said seemed to arouse either disbelief or anger. On the topic of parenting, I shared with Chan a story from my teenage years. When asked by my parents for “a bit of respect,” I told my mum: “I didn’t ask you to give me birth.” Chan got nearly hit by a car on the street after hearing how “disrespectful” I had been to my parents. In a restaurant, I ordered a bowl of cheap bulgogi but couldn’t really finish it as it tasted pretty awful. Chan scolded me for being “selfish.” “Why am I selfish?” I asked puzzled. “You don’t care about the effort of the old cook lady!” “Come on, Chan, I’m sure it’s not the first time a customer hasn’t finished this atrocious bulgogi.” “Excuse me!?!” Every time, I met Chan he scolded me. His anger climaxed two days ago. Somehow, I didn’t save his number in my phonebook, and so when I received a missed call from him, I did not know from whom the call was. So, I simply replied by a text message: “Do I know you?” Chan went crazy. He called me back and went on a manic tirade. “You’re so selfish! Instead of saying “who are you?” you center everything around yourself, you’re asking me to tell you whether YOU know me. You come from a country of great artists – Dvorak, Smetana, Kafka. You go to a great school. So why did you turn out so immature, selfish, and stupid?!” He hung up.
I was really flabbergasted by Chan’s tirade. Am I really that culturally insensitive? Am I really such a shame to my country? Am I Yale’s admission’s mistake?
: NO. NO. NO.
It’s just in Korea, much more than in Japan, the greatness is defined under Confucian terms. To be great stands for extreme veneration of the elders and established institutions, and hard-work; it stands for the lack of self. In Korea, a great artist is someone who works ceaselessly on his craft, practicing every day for several hours without respite. In the West, on the other hand, a great artist is someone original, inspirational, Bohemian and often a bit crazy. Just think Oscar Wilde, Beethoven, or Warhol. In Korea, a great institution only takes students with best scores, the “most intelligent” kids. In the West, however, schools value extracurriculars, character, etc.
I am not Dvorak, Smetana, Kafka or Kundera. I am far from being great in the West – having been accepted to Yale for running a fun high-school blog rather than for having perfect grades. But I’m even further from the Confucian ideal. And that’s why I have been such a disappointment to Chan. He expected a great artist, a Confucian hero, but instead got a European male version of a Valley girl who wants to go to movies, eat pizza, hang out with friends, and have fun.
Recently, the Tiger mothers have been upstaging Japanese earthquake survivors and Libyan rebels. News about “lacking Western parenting” has been echoing throughout European and American media. Allegedly, Chinese economic success is due to the strict Confucian parenting. Respect your parents, and study hard to get into a good school. You can hang out with your friends on Sunday afternoon after you’re done with your Goldman Sachs job for the week. The issue is extremely sensitive. It does not assault Western politics (which we all know is corrupted anyway) or Western economy (easy talk, China, with undervalued yuan and wages). Instead, the Tiger mother invective is an assault on Western parenting, i.e. Euro-American dads and moms are no good. Ouch!
My adventures in Korea have, however, taught me that Western parents can stay relaxed. Tiger mothers might roar but they’re far from biting. Strict Confucian upbringing might work in an isolated, tempations-free environment, but cannot but fail in a world of TV, movies, playstations, and malls. Just like the Biblical Apple, fun is infectious.
Today, I got a call from Chan. He didn’t apologize – and neither did I think he would do so. Instead, he asked whether we could “grab a pizza” tomorrow. I said I was sorry I was not exactly what he had expected me to be. “Whatever. You’re kind of fun to talk to.” I didn’t know google translate knew to use “whatever.”
And so, Tiger moms might drill their kids as much as they want but it’s only a question of time before all the Chans start going to movies, eat pizza and hang out with friends. Girls just wanna have fun. And when the tiger moms start roaring, the Chans might just discount them with a nonchalant “whatever.”
Asian Gaze
“They will stare at you.” I had been told at every pre-departure meeting before I left for Japan. “Be ready. They’ll just keep staring and staring.” Every Light Fellow returning from East Asia seems to include the “staring” observation into his/her Top10 info about the “Asian experience.” The meaning of uninterrupted one-sided eye contact is fairly negative in the West. It stands for rudeness, lack of restraint to cover one’s curiosity, and sticking one’s nose into someone else’s business. To stare means to be childish and immature. Well-mannered adults don’t stare.
When told about the “Asian stare,” one is immediately reminded of the East-West borderline. The message at pre-departure sessions stood as a clear memento of the distinction between the starring (Japanese, Koreans, Chinese) and the being stared at (people with non-East-Asian features). The message contained a self-centered notion of “us” being more interesting, of us being stare-able. It highlighted the fact that those starring must lack life experiences (they haven’t had enough chance to meet non-Asians) and good manners. Otherwise, why would they keep flashing their infantile curiosity in such an unrestrained way?
Arriving to Japan, I surely felt the “Asian stare.” And although I might have gotten used to it over the past year, I am still more than aware of being looked at. On subway, in a convenience store, at school. There seems no escape for a white person in Japan. Starring makes me especially uncomfortable in Japanese and Korean bathhouses.
The onsens of Japan and mogyokdangs of Korea are such amazing spots to relax! Several beautiful pools with mineral water, roman sauna, finish sauna, all surrounded in a beautiful setting. If only, it wasn’t for the staring… Asian spas are definitely not gender-neutral. Boys go to their section and girls go to theirs. No swimsuits are allowed. So, once you get over the fact that you’re completely naked in a pool with a bunch of other naked guys, everything’s alright, if only…
You get completely undressed, you leave your stuff in a locker, you take a shower, you enter the pool area…BANG! Everybody’s eyes are set on you. First head, then chest, then… And you want to shout aloud “Come on, guys! Really? Here too? I’m butt-naked! Hello?!” But bathhouse, no bathhouse, it’s business as usual. They just keep staring…
When relocating to Seoul, I became the object of primary interest once again. And, oh man!, the Koreans really do stare. Lacking the Japanese shyness, Korean stare reaches unimagined dimensions. In Japan, when you stare back, people usually wake up and try to pretend as if no staring had ever occurred. In Korea, you meet the eye of the stare-er, and he/she just keeps staring. “Oh, how cool! Now I can check out the white person’s pupils too!” Last week on subway, some old lady was so hypnotized by my grey hair that, as if unconscious, she moved from staring into actually trying to touch it.
When naked, when dressed, when nervous, when at rest, a non-Asian person gets stared at in Korea at all times. And so I started thinking about the nature of staring. Why does it bother me when people look at me fixedly? And does it bother me? Why should it bother me?! I started to stare back. First, I felt stupid and rude and too direct. But then I began to enjoy staring. What an interesting face! Oh, that lady looks really tired, I wonder why. What’s wrong with that guy’s eyelids? Single eyelids? Oh, for real? How exotic!
I realized that staring is awesome.
Staring at someone else is an expression of a child-like curiosity. Most people in East-Asia have grown up with a little or no exposure to other races, and so when they see a non-Asian person, they grab the learning opportunity. They stare to discover.
Staring is harmless. One is never hurt by being stared at. If you feel uncomfortable, just turn around.
Staring is an expression of genuine interest. When communicating orally with other people, there’s a great deal of ego involved. We all want to say cool things so that we could be considered cool people. Staring, on the other hand, is a purely selfless form of communication. You’re looking at someone else not to show your intelligence, but to learn about the person. A gazer does not want to actively communicate anything; they want to learn about someone else. The only active part is the decision to stare. The rest is the insight that comes out of observation.
Staring is a part of East Asia’s recent success. Staring is a genuine, harmless expression of the hunger to learn more. No aggression or force is involved. The Japanese, the Koreans, and the Chinese excel at observing and learning from other nations. Ever since the Meiji Restoration, the Japanese, in particular, have done an excellent job, scrutinizing the face of the West and implementing what they find appropriate in their own society. I find this process of cultural observation rooted in the omnipresent curiosity. It’s a regional phenomenon, just like the probing gaze.
Living in Japan and Korea, I am trying to study not only the languages of the two countries but also their respective cultures. I’m trying to discover what makes the Japanese/Koreans the way they are. And so, to learn why they stare, I stare. I realized that there is nothing wrong with staring. To stare is not to be rude but curious. Staring is not childish but childlike.
Born in culturally homogeneous Eastern Europe, I too grew up with minimal exposure to other races. I too find myself fascinated by being surrounded by non-white people. I too want to stare. And so I do.
Yesterday, I went to the bathhouse next to my house. I got undressed, left my stuff in a locker, took a shower, and entered the pool area. The old Korean man ardently washing himself stopped his bodily cleanup and starred at me – head to toes, toes to head. I stared back – checking his strange eyelids and spiky Asian hair. He looked into my eyes and I looked into his. I was young and white; he was old and Asian. We started staring at each other because of our differences only to learn that we weren’t that different after all.
Seoul Times
In front of Sogang University
studying of Cornell University
Dunkin Donuts Tofu Chip
Movies with my Korean mom
Leo!
Foods
Japan is a bento. A pre-packaged, always tasty, always clean lunch box. Korea, on the other hand, is bibimbap. A messy, spicy bowl of everything.
One eats bento on his/her own. It’s not a communal meal. Bibimbap is to be shared with others.
In Japan, students usually live in their own apartment. It is very tiny and very expensive but somehow manages to have all the amenities – a little kitchenette, a little bathroom, and a little closet. They rarely invite friends to their apartment. In Korea, most students live in the so-called hassukjibs, a boarding house with shared common space owned by a Korean auntie who prepares breakfast and dinner for everyone. Living in a hassukjib provides a lot of social bonding. People of the same age who usually go to the same school live together, and eat together practically every day. They share everything.
In Japan, people on subway use their gadgets to play games, to entertain themselves. In Korea, they use their portable devices to stay connected with others. In Nagoya (and Tokyo and Osaka), it is a miracle to find free wifi. And most Japanese universities don’t have wifi (for “security” reasons, as I was told at Nanzan…). In Seoul, the whole city is essentially one large free wifi zone. Sogang University’s wifi is speedier than its counterpart in Google, Kansas. The second thing a Korean friend asks you (the first being your age) is your “kakao talk” id. Kakao talk is an interactive chatting system for smartphones, and EVERYBODY in Korea uses it. Staying connected in Japan endangers an individual’s sense of “security.” In Korea, to stay connected is a cultural rule. You must be connected to be cool.
A bento is a well-put together, sanitary meal. Bibimbap is muddled, messy and spicy.
In Japan, people put on face masks in the morning and take them off before bed. Boys and girls, old and young, everybody in Japan is germ phobic. There are no towels in Japanese bathrooms, because everybody is supposed to carry a towel of his/her own. Japanese streets are spotless, and it’s impossible to find a trashcan. One is supposed to put his trash into his bag and recycle it at home. In Korea, the only people who wear masks are the ones recovering from a recent nose job. EVERYBODY is always spitting on the street. Seriously. Women, men, children, adults. All Koreans seem to accumulate some form of phlegm in their throats and have no reservations about spitting it out in any public space. I was going to spare you, but to illustrate my point… Yesterday, at a bathhouse I witnessed two guys accidentally spitting on each other bare feet. They didn’t seem to care whatsoever. Oh, and talking about Korean bathhouses, they really need a cleanup… Moreover, one interesting comparison lies in the striking contrast between Japanese and Korean convenience stores. Take 7/11 for instance. Same brand, same size, same concept. Japanese 7/11 is an epitome of an organized, clean, convenience store. In Korea, it’s hard to tell the food section from the stationary section. Beer cans are next to diapers, and vodka by the milk bottles. Korean clerks seem not to care at least; they’re usually too busy chatting on kakao. And by the way, recycling? What recycling?
A bento is a pre-packaged meal. Bibimbap comes in all kinds and varieties and can be hardly prepared in advance.
Japanese people really appreciate a set of fundamental values that are shared by all members of the society. Patience, refrain, endurance, respect for elders. Conforming to these values is more well-looked upon than being original. Of course these values exist in the Korean society as well. But the fact that one understands what these values are seems more significant than actually following them. For instance, in Korea, when you joke around by calling a younger person “older brother,” people think it’s very funny, because it’s preposterous in the context of an age-based social hierarchy. In Japan, they just correct your jokes, even if you show clear understanding of social norms and values. There’s a rule for everything in Japan, whereas in Korea people are much more willing to improvise. In Japan, you NEVER bargain at a store. In many Seoul department stores, the clerk often responds to “how much is it?” by asking “how much do you want it to be?”
A bento is a very Japanese a meal. Bibimbap is the ultimate fusion.
No one in Japan speaks English. I’m sorry Japan, but your English education is a joke. Even those Japanese who study abroad often come back having had no or little improvement. As a recent article in the Economist wittily described it – Japan’s the only country that’s going de-globalized. Japanese radios rarely play English songs, Japanese movie theaters show 70% domestic movies, McDonald’s sells sashimi burgers. Japanese cell phones stand as the pinnacles of high technology but they only work in Japan. Koreans, on the other hand, are obsessed with English. Mothers are willing to spend the entire family budget on private English tutoring. TOEIC score is the equivalent of one’s IQ score. Every college kid in Korea speaks trillion times better English than his/her counterpart in Japan. Korea loves other cultures to the extent that it often seems to forget its own. K-Pop might be popular across Asia but in Korean bars/clubs/ restaurants, US TOP 20 is on the shuffle. The strange fascination with the West metamorphoses into Korea’s obsession with looking “white.” Most popular surgery in Korea? Double eyelids and high-nose.
My friend Jasmine once described Korea as the unruly offspring of an American mum and a Japanese dad. I like the metaphor, but I also think that Korea’s a much more interesting fusion than the metaphor suggests. I actually think that Korea should be number one destination in Asia – the Korean society with its strong rooting in Confucian values but enough international communication skills provides a much more digestible introduction to East- Asia, rather than the self-centered Japan or the overwhelming middle kingdom. Bibimbap offers a refreshing break from bento dinners. Sure it might be a bit too messy and too spicy but that makes the culinary experience that much more enjoyable – I think. And if you happen to start missing the law&order of the manga land, write a short note in your diary and suck it up with a glass of soju. Or even better, you can take a picture of bibimbap and send it to your Japanese friends on kakao. Ups, I forgot – they may not have the internet for security reasons.
Kimchi Bowl Chronicles
Two weeks ago, the world shook. 9.0 earthquake struck Japan. Then Tsunami came. Then there was a nuclear blowout. Japan became a 4-D version of 2012. On Friday, two weeks ago, I got stressed out by earthquake news, so I went out with my friends. The next day I did the same. But no matter how hard I tried to ignore the post-quake reality, no matter how hard I tried to stick to my study-abroad fun plans, the effects of the disaster were omnipresent – friends fleeing from Tokyo, food shortage at supermarkets, fear of blackouts, fear of after-shocks. On Wednesday, I left for Seoul with my friend Caitlin on a planned spring vacation. On the way to the airport, we joked about not coming back to Japan….
Last Friday, US embassy started evacuating American citizens. I had to withdraw from Nanzan and was told to remain in Korea. The joke about not coming back was to become a bitter reality. Without saying bye to my friends and teachers, I left Japan. There will be no more Disney parties at Aratamabashi, no more complaining about DAGANE food, no more bento dinners at AEON mall. You might frown upon me saying the following – but for a 23-year old, one year is a very long time, it’s an era. And the earthquake definitely marked the end of an era for me. The era of being in Japan.
Now, I’m in Seoul. As usual, I am blessed enough to have found kind and generous people who have been willing to help me out. I’m staying with my friend’s family, the Baes, the paragons of hospitality. I could not be any luckier. I don’t have any plans. All my perfect planning (internship in Tokyo, research in Kanto, JLPT, etc) has been shattered by the quake. And so now, I’m just waiting for others to decide what I should do. Yale has been generous enough to offer me free housing and free food in New Haven, but considering the fact that I could not take classes for credit (after all there are no more than five weeks left), being housed and eating food would stand for my only two activities in New Haven. I guess I could read books at Sterling but trying to keep my mind on a single page might prove a bit hard…just like trying to keep the party going when the world’s been shaken.
I really appreciate Yale’s efforts. Somehow, however, before I dive into the world of New Haven craziness, I think that I need more time to reflect upon what had just happened, more time to think about Disney parties at Aratamabashi and bento dinners at AEON mall. And who knows, maybe I’ll realize that the DAGANE food wasn’t really that bad – after all.
J-Girls
MGs came to Nagoya. This week, a group of 16 Japanese girls from a woman’s college in Sendai flew to Nanzan to come hang out with us. They call themselves MGs (I am not sure what the acronym really stands for, but it surely makes me thing of a car company). They came under the premise to help us with our class projects. But since our class project is a joke (“find a place in Nagoya and talk about it”) and since these girls had to pay a significant amount of money to fly all the way from Sendai, I have been puzzled as to what the real motives behind the MGs’s visit are. Japanese people are very nice, for sure. But no one is let’s-spend-$1000-hanging-out-with-gaijins nice. Today, however, I finally understood what brought the MGs all the way to Nagoya…
For our class project we were divided into eight groups, each receiving two MGs as our peer advisors. Due to a lack of boys in my class, several groups were exclusively female. I noticed a strange aura of disappointment among the MGs who ended up in all-girls groups. There was something very tragic in their facial expressions. It reminded me of the time when I bought a very expensive laptop only to find out that the “L” key was missing. Not a worthwhile investment… Furthermore, I was a bit surprised by the fact that the MGs seemed to enjoy taking pictures of me. Snap, snap, snap. After each shot, they exclaimed collectively: Kawaiiii! I got really proud of my “cuteness” but then I noticed that they were, in fact, taking pictures of every male in our class. Hmm…. Today, during our presentation, I had a really hard time focusing – a group of MGs sitting in the first row starred at me with an odd, dreamy expression.
The puzzle seems complicated, doesn’t it? Well, not until you plug in the last piece. Everything becomes sparkling clear. Seeing the MGs in action served as this very last piece of the J-Girl puzzle. I entered the dining hall only to find my dear Sendai friends to be laughing in the most effortful way at a table of random white boys. The boys had no connection to either our class or project. Their Japanese was terrible. And so was the MGs’ English. But somehow the communication seemed smooth. The puzzle was complete. The MGs were on a manhunt.
Whether I ( and the other white boys) were cute or not was of no significance. What mattered the most were our marriage-properties. I understand that the above statement might potentially be very offensive but bear with me. Here are four reasons why a non-Japanese man is of high interest to the J-Girls.
a. Most Japanese guys consider girls marriageable until a certain age.
b. Japanese guys just don’t seem that interested, to be a single man is ok. To be a single woman is not.
c. It’s very hard to have a career as a woman in Japan, the wage is bellow 50%, companies are not willing to invest into female employees because they know they’ll leave sooner or later; till 1969 a woman had to leave work after she got married. Legally obliged, to be precise. So if a girl wants to improve her life-prospects, the only thing she can do is to improve marriage prospects. Becoming a housewife is the ultimate goal – and in fact 60 % do.
d. Japanese guys suck. They have too much choice so they don’t put in any effort; plus they know that the girls are desperate. When they eventually marry they never come home before 11 PM; on the weekends they play golf with their clients. And this is not just a bunch of stereotypes. Ask anyone who ever did homestay in Japan, how often did they see the dad?
Alright. So a Japanese girl needs to marry quick, and Japanese guys suck. What does she do? She goes West (in direction of Nagoya). She tries to break the vicious cycle of getting more desperate as her marriage-ability decreases. A non-Japanese man presents an immediate solution – he grew up with mommy and daddy sharing equal roles; he does not expect her to stay at home; he actually likes playing with kids; and the only time he’d consider overtime is when he gets his hourly rate times two. He’d rather gossip with his wife than go drinking with his colleagues every day. He cares. He’s not a bigot. He’s perfect. And so westward J-Girls go.
And so, all of sudden, I’m being taken pictures of, I’m being admired even on my bad days. I’m being pushed into the role of the perfect prince charming who’s going to save the MGs from a desperate housewife’s destiny. Plus, I go to Yale….
Wait. I’m being stared at by a random woman from across the Starbuck’s. Wait. She’s fixing her hair, standing up, walking in my direction. She puts on the so-effortful-so-well-known smile. She starts talking to me. “Sumimasen. Excuse me. But where are you from? America? No? Europe? That’s ok too! Do you wanna get coffee together?! Let’s go!”
Little does she know that I just want to talk.
Influenza
Starting in mid-November, everybody in Japan begins to wear a mask – just in case. Nagoya’s subway looks like a scene from a cheesy post-apocalyptic movie, everyone wearing a mask, everyone staring at their portable gaming consoles. Despite the fact that the whole Japanese race turns into a wedding version of Darth Vader, everybody in Japan seems to get sick sooner or later. At Yale, I rarely see people wearing masks, and if I do, I usually step on the other side of the street. They must be really sick! I tend to think. I am not a doctor to tell you why the Japanese, at least in my experience, tend to turn sicker despite the precautionary measures they take. One reason might be their fruit-less diet – which comes as no surprise considering the fact that one piece of banana costs $2.50, an apple $4, and an orange $3.5. Wouldn’t you skip your five-pieces-of-fruit-a-day, too? Moreover, there are no flu shots. At least not at Nanzan. At Yale, getting a flu shot is the easiest thing ever. You go to Commons, PINCH, and there you are! Vaccinated! And so, I am more than surprised that in such a virus-conscious country, getting any form of flu vaccination is so inaccessible.
Well, long story made short, two days ago, I got sick, too. Starting in early January, our IJ600 class lost a student a day due to diseases of all sorts. On Wednesday, we lost our teacher. On Friday, IJ 600 lost me. I woke up that morning feeling like P Diddy. I called Nanzan, trying to figure out what do with my newly acquired disease. After five minutes of Japanese-like introductions – “it’s so nice to hear from!”; “you never stop at our office”; “I haven’t seen you for so long!” I finally got to the point. I’m sweating, I have fever, my head hurts. What should I do? The Nanzan lady: “Oh, in order to get excused absence, you will have to print out form 1024xxxx, get it signed by your doctor, teacher and advisor…” I don’t care about excused absence! But of course, the first thing a Japanese person thinks of when it comes to procedures are the rules that one has to follow. Well, I just wanted to get better, so finally I got the name of the best hospital in the hood.
I somehow managed to drag myself out of the bed. It was pleasant to realize that Kitamura-Hospital was in fact a block away from my house, which is one cool thing about a nation that’s slowly turning into a retirement community: there are clinics and hospitals everywhere. At the hospital, I was a bit struck by the fact that the average age of all the patients in the waiting room was close to 100 years. Nevertheless, before I could ponder my ephemeral youth, I was given a mask and a thermometer. When the nurse discovered that my fever was reaching the boiling point, she escorted me to a “very very sick person” room. There I had to wait for further instructions. I usually don’t mind waiting, but I do mind when I am being made to wait in a freezing room for an hour while having a high fever….Finally, the doctor came and started shouting at me, which is usually what the Japanese people do to increase their chances of being understood by a foreign person. I never really grasped the rationale, though. Let’s use more complicated language and SHOUT it. That’s the way to do it. Doctor Kitamura told me to lie down; he took out a super long stick and ruthlessly stuck it in my nose. It was the strangest thing that ever happened to my body. He told me to wait for ten minutes.
Forty-five minutes later, Doctor Kitamura came to tell me I have influenza. He didn’t really offer any recommendations as to what I should do to get better. Instead, he gave me a set of instructions of what I should do in order not to infect other people. Of course, Japan does not want a bunch of infectious foreigners running around spreading viruses. He told me to wait for medication. I asked him whether he could tell me what kind of pills he was going to prescribe, as I’m allergic to antibiotics. He said not to worry…
Thirty minutes later, an older nurse came. (At that point, my body temperature was three times the room temperature).
Warning: if you are a high-brow reader, please skip this paragraph. Everybody else just keep reading.
The nurse started to explain what to do with different kinds of pills in broken English. I told her that Japanese was just fine. She gave me three kinds of pills – one against common cold, one against influenza, and one that I had no idea. I asked the nurse what the third pill was about. It was too awkward for her to explain in Japanese, so she, as expected, switched into English again. Blushed and rosy, the old nurse-lady said in a charming Japanese accent: “Keep it cool in your fridge, then put it into your anus.” What?! Really?! Please, don’t tell me I’m being prescribed suppository!? In disbelief, I started making strange faces. At that point, I remembered the most traumatic experience of my childhood- the suppositories. I could not believe I was supposed to relive the trauma again. I called my Japanese friends, only to discover that allegedly, suppositories are the most common form of medicine in Japan. What?! Really?! Why?! I started feeling sicker than before. The first thing, I did when I got home was to google-wikify-yahoo-answer suppository: “suppository-what’s-the-point,” ran my Internet search. I found the best suppository-related thread on yahoo answers – advantage: quick release; disadvantage: you’re sticking a foreign object into your…
Despite the harrowing experience of being sick in Japan, I think I have learned many new things. Most importantly, I have learned about the samurai principle in Japanese medicine. I have learned the Japanese version of “fake-it-till-you-make.” The best way to get better is to make yourself worse. When you have fever, go freeze yourself in a limited-edition patient room. Does your nose feel uncomfortable? Just wait till we’ll put a long object through it. Oh, and not to forget, what about sticking another foreign object into your…
Sato-kun (さとくん) Does Europe
A few days ago, I read an article in the Economist about the Chinese Grand Tour of Europe. In describing an increasingly popular trend among Chinese tourists, the author artfully portrayed the values and beliefs of China’s rising middle class. For the past two weeks, I have been taking care of my Japanese friend, Sato-kun, who came to visit. Traveling side by side with Satokun, observing his reactions and witnessing his behavior abroad, allowed me to uncover yet another layer of the Japanese mind. And so just like the author of “A new Grand Tour,” I shall try to make a few comments on the Japanese values and beliefs that I observed when Sato-kun did Europe.
First of all – technology is the alpha&omega in a life of a young Japanese person, and that is to the extent when it ceases to serve to facilitate communication and becomes an end of its own. Sato-kun came to Prague with two smartphones – an iphone and a sony-ericsson, paying over $25 a day to stay online even when abroad. The first thing he wanted to do was to a buy a Czech pre-paid phone, just for kicks. He took pictures of his “funny” new phone with both of his smartphones and the newest model of Cannon’s digital camera. He posted the pictures on Twitter immediately, sharing the phone’s details with his “followers.” The pictures were in 3D. He bought a special pair of gloves so that he can use the touch screen even in arctic temperatures. I got a bit annoyed by the fact that I learned more about Satokun’s impressions of Prague from his facebook wall than from Satokun himself, and so I told him that in Europe, it is considered fairly rude to play with one’s phone while spending time witha REAL person. He just smiled the way only a Japanese person can and kept twittering.
The Japanese love of technology is not limited to personal gadgets. During the rare moments when I got to have a conversation with Satokun, we mostly talked about modes of transportation – comparing the European trains and subway to that of Japan, discussing cars, etc. To be completely honest, I don’t really care much for cars and trains and that kind of stuff, but with Satokun I was happy I got to have some kind of REAL conversation, so I went with the flow. Often, Satokun would completely skip a unique UNESCO monument, only to take a picture of a passing streetcar, that he considered very “retro.” And based on his facebook and twitter comments, it seems that his Japanese friends also shared his passion for technology of any kind. A few days ago, Satokun asked me if we could visit a local car dealer’s shop, and so we did. I wished he had just kept twittering.
Another interesting feature that I have observed is Satokun’s desire to be distinguished from other Asians who visit Europe. He makes constant comments about groups of “tacky” Chinese and “loud” Koreans. The first thing he says after he introduces himself in broken English is “I’m from J-A-P-A-N.” He learned a few Czech words, such as thank you and goodbye, but stopped using them immediately after I told him that people probably think he’s Vietnamese as there’s a significant Czech-speaking Vietnamese community. When I told him that in Japan people confuse me for an American all the time and asked him why cares so much to be distinguished as “Japanese,” he just smiled the way only a Japanese person can and kept ignoring my question.
Furthermore, traveling with Satokun made me realize the full extent of Japanese “gaman” mindset, the value of patience and self-control. I took Satokun to see Madame Butterfly at the State Opera, and a Strauss concert at the Municipal House; he fell asleep at both events. First, I thought he was still jet-lagged but then I asked him whether he even likes classical music, after which he just smiled. Without ever sharing his preferences, he simply followed my plan with patience and self-discipline. At my house he ate loads of sausages and drank gallons of beer with my dad, and we so all thought that he was really enjoying himself. Too bad, the next day I learned (from his facebook) that German food gave him stomach ache. Ouch!
Japan’s not just about technology and self-control, it’s also about “人間関係“ – the so valued human relationships, and the compassion for others. I consider Satokun to be fairly “westernized” in the way he can sometimes put his own interest above others. Yet, he’s still much more considerate of other beings than boys of his age in Europe and America. I took him to see a hit exhibition of “Decadent Art” at the National Gallery. It was a wonderful collection of Robert Mapplethorpe’s most scandalous (and famous) photographs. When I asked Satokun what he thought about the art, he frowned and said he had felt sorry for the old ladies who guarded the exhibition halls. I asked him why, to which he responded: “At their age, they must be greatly confused by ugly pictures of naked bodies.” All of sudden, it was less about my or Satokun’s impression of the “great” art and more about the feelings of the gallery staff. First, I reacted aggressively, thinking I had been spending time with an illiterate, casting pearls to swine’s. But then I realized that the old ladies, indeed, must have been kind of confused…
Satokun left two days ago to spend the rest of his Grand tour in Vienna with my friend Adrian. I have checked his twitter and it seems that he’s having a swell time, taking many pictures with his fancy camera, and staying away from German food. My friend Adrian said that he tried to take Satokun to an art gallery but the Ja-pa-nee-su boy was too busy taking pictures of the cars passing in front of the museum. He took the pictures with his new smartphone that he bought in Austria. I got a bit upset and skyped him, wondering whether he deemed it really necessary to waste his time in Vienna with my art-loving friend by getting new phones and taking pictures of cars. But he just kept smiling.
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