Reverse Culture Shock: Acute Symptoms

Hey, baby pies! Hey from New York! How are you ? Where are you? What have you been up to? I miss you! How have I been? Oof. Let's talk about reverse culture shock -- short-term now, long-term next. I've made the trip between Japan and the U.S. six times, I think, so I know all about the acute signs of being stuck in Tokyo-mode.

OMG everyone's so LOUD

This hits you first, even if you haven't been away for long. At the airport, families shout to each other across, like, an acre of space. "JEFF! HEY JEFF! I GOT -- I GOT YOUR -- WHAT? I GOT YOUR BAGS! I SAID I GOT YOUR BAGS! NO I GOT IT!" I still remember waiting for my bags at SFO after one long summer in the Hyogo countryside and feeling tears prick my eyes because all the noise close to my head was stressing me out and I couldn't understand why everyone thought it was okay to scream around me.

Plus, you can understand all the petty bitching and mundane prattle going on in conversations around you, which makes people seem a lot louder and more annoying than in Japan, where it's easy to tune people out if Japanese isn't your first language. This sometimes hit me when I was still at Narita, waiting for my flight with groups of American military members talking loudly about gossip on the base or their plants back home or whatever.

Well this is a docile bunch, but...

And then, whoa, all the noise on public transportation! The airport shuttles are startling enough, but even after three months back in America I was still totally unprepared for the NYC subways. The first time I took the N train into Manhattan I was way overwhelmed. I sat all tense and skittish, my eyes darting around the screeching carriage at all the unpredictable animals packed in with me, singing songs and dancing and yelling at each other and smelling like hair gel and sweat and trash and perfume. Of course, I got used to this fast -- before long I was grinning and skipping from platform to platform like "America's a circus, this is so fucking cool!"

Not actually a stranger but the lovely Melissa

WTF why is this person looking at me and talking to me

I got a lot of attention in Japan. Foreigners who look different get stared at, and young white ladies who speak Japanese can cause a stir in lots of places. But Japan lacks the American tendency to interact with strangers in proximity, and you really feel this difference when you come home. A lot.

You'll be like, trying to pick out an onion at the grocery store and suddenly some random guy's asking you a question. And you're like WHAT WHAT WHAT'S WRONG WHAT'S HAPPENING WHAT -- conveyed, of course, with a look of total alarm and a stammered, confused mumble -- and it takes you several seconds to realize he's just a guy at the grocery store also trying to pick out an onion, and since you both happened to be picking out onions in the same bin at the same time, he cracked a polite little joke about how many choices there were. By the time you start to remember that this is a normal thing that happens here, the poor guy has hurried away because you made him feel real awkward.

Hey stranger 'sup how you doin' OK bye man

While this is something you notice and can get used to quickly, last year it took me months -- months! -- to remember how to banter with strangers again after living in Japan. And it is absolutely one of my favorite things about my culture. People here are so open with their personalities, moods, and senses of humor. Granted, there are plenty of times when I'm not in the mood for that, and I have many fond memories of being left alone in Japan; but basically, American sociability really warms my heart and makes me feel like everyone's in it together.

GIVE ME SOME SPACE! 

I had a hard time with this one when I visited after I'd been living in Tokyo for a full year and some months. I felt like everyone was standing so close to me. When someone touched my shoulder in a casual conversation, it was startling and weird. I can't even really explain this because, as we all know, it's not like I never touched people in Tokyo. But when I got back here I felt like everyone was jabbing my bubble all the time.

It'll be OK. It'll be OK. It'll be OK. It'll be OK.
I was deep in Tokyo for a long time, but I got over all of this stuff within about four months. Fortunately, I actually like my country and culture -- always have! So as much as I dig Japan, I was totally willing to be embraced by the United States again. This isn't the case with everyone, from what I've heard. I've met a lot of Americans who went to Japan and came back a few months later just moaning and sighing about how much better everything is in Japan and how they haaaate being back here because America is sooo this and soooo that. Maybe that's part of the process for them,  I don't know. Even when I considered staying in Japan for ever, I never felt ill toward my own country and never doubted I could be happy there. Of course, I'm from Oregon, the greatest land of all, but the point is! If you weren't born and raised in Japan, then chill out about it, okay? You can survive your own country. All this stuff fades away as quickly as you let it. Give it a few months.

But...
What I didn't expect was the long-term version of reverse culture shock, the slow struggle to readjust as I start over in a new city in my own country. It's a sneakier feeling of disorientation, a sense of discomfort that comes and goes, a bleak confusion between your bones that you can't put into words -- and it drags on, and on, and on. That's another post. 

NOW I'M IN NEW YORK

I didn't know how to break it to you, but I did leave Japan.

Oh, man, it was hard. I can't tell you how hard it was. That's probably why I haven't been near this blog in so long. I mean that was an awful process, leaving Tokyo. I had so much to love there. I cried all the way to LAX. By the time I got to Portland, I felt fine. It wasn't the shock I expected. It was quieter and it took me awhile to realize, like I realize now, that my heart is still aching.

What is wrong with me? That's what I was thinking in those last few weeks. Why would I come to this place and work so hard to find these people I love so much and this life where I can do anything I want? Why would I do that and then force myself to leave it? Why am I hittin' myself? Why'm I hittin' myself?

I don't know why! I was so weary and grateful and devastated during those last days. On my date of departure, I drank coffee in Koenji with someone I cared about very much. When that person left the shop, my Tokyo life was over. There were no more friends to see and I was just waiting for my flight to leave. I couldn't stand that feeling, so I wiped my nose, cleared my table, picked up my bag, and walked across the street to get on the train.

And I'd go to Oregon and be with my family and my dog and my rivers and trees and bay, and I'd have a beautiful summer and I wouldn't cry for that other life much at all.

And a few months later it would be September and I'd be in New York and feeling lost. Here's now, and it's a strange moment to be in. I love being back in America. But nothing can take away this ache in my heart for the streets I walked, the trains I rode, the drinks I drank, the friends I loved, the city where I once said "I found myself in the white-hot nucleus of my youth!" Haha. Oh, Tokyo. You'll forget me and I can't help it, but I will remember our love forever.

Well, anyway. Now I'm in New York. Stay in touch and check back with my new blog here and/or on tumblr. Let's do it.

Shopping Arcade

After midnight in Kichijoji.

I'M BACK!

I am! I am SUPER back, because it's 2011 and it's MY LIFE, man! So I have two more months of tedious exams and stinky breath on trains, but to those things I say WHATEVS. I've got good bones for a good life and all the boring stuff can blow me.

Hey, fuck you, desk! You're not important! You didn't create me! You're not my life! I have better things to look at!

Like long lonely winter corridors, like long lonely walks under tracks at night with my headphones on and my boot heels in the background! That's better. That's what I want to do. Miles of that > hours of desk, DEF.

And SUNSETS! Over MOUNTAINS! Over BALCONIES! I'll take that.

And BOOZE? And TIGHTS? And FLORAL SHEETS? Yes, these are good.

Art museums, also welcome!

Oceans, bays, rivers, you are always number one. You are number one! Walks, nights, booze, beds, tights, bays, dreams, fits, trips, smoke, sun, AFTERNOONS, film, rock, and big yellow sweater. You are all number one. It's 2011, and I'm still 25, and I'm not gonna be in Tokyo forever. Hit it!

Golden Gai

Love this picture Amanda took of Yusuke and me in Golden Gai. Golden Gai is a famous block in Shinjuku packed with tiny little bars that used to be brothels. If you can't speak Japanese, it's not really worth the table fee most of these places charge you to sit and drink -- you can find similar 5-seat dives at almost any station in Tokyo. If you can speak conversational Japanese and like paying table charges, there are some really good places in here. Good luck finding them and then remembering them. I have lost two great bars in Golden Gai.

If you CAN'T speak Japanese, go walk through Golden Gai at night anyway. The atmosphere is awesome if you're a sucker for time-warps. Probably one of the funnest walks you can take on the planet is from Shinjuku Station, out the East Exit, amble through the smoker's island, cross over to ALTA, pass through the red gates, swim through the river of hosts, and head south to Golden Gai. This walk is the best. Just pay attnetion and don't do anything I would do.

TOGA

It was my birthday. I'm 25 now.

NI-CHOME PART-NI

Probably the most accurate so far in this series. I had been up for about 24 hours and was running on a pint of whiskey mixed with like, fruity Calpis or something? I know. Believe me. It took some serious peer pressure to choke that shit down in the middle of the street.

Special thanks to this guy for stopping with his posse to fab up the occasion. Free publicity for you, my fleeting friend:

That night was fuckin crackers.

Abridged Version

I woke up the other day in my kimono with screaming blisters on the tops of my feet.

Learn from my mistakes! Tatami-burn = 10x worse than rug-burn.

Hanako was sleeping on the kitchen floor, which I can't stop apologizing for. How appalling!

Plus, this road construction barrier was in my bed. I still haven't put it back because I'm not exactly sure where it came from. Is this gonna get me deported?

Saturday

I like Miku looking all sci-fi but I might also like a better camera.

be right back

I really do take a lot of photos of myself in restrooms. Maybe I kind of love restrooms on nights out. Especially the first time you go in once you're in the place and you can hear the people and music outside kind of muffled, and you don't know who your friends will be talking to when you come back out and you're checking your look in the mirror. It's a great moment. Am I right? Plus after I took photos of myself in like three different restrooms I decided I might as well make a habit of it. Here's last night.

dance dance dance dance

I don't know these two but I snapped this picture of them dancing and I love it so much. They're too lovely. If I see them again I'll be all shy because I took a picture of them and put it on my blog and daydreamed of being their third musketeer.

THE FUTURE

Holidays in Japan blow! My Japanese friends always go back to their hometowns, leaving me to drum my fingers against my lips in peace for about two seconds before I dive for tights and mascara and head out on my own. Danger danger danger.

Good thing Amanda's in town this time. As you probably know, New Year's in Japan is for hanging with the fam. Well! New Year's in our world will always only ever mean disco makeup and party girl behavior. After a shopping trip, a few hours of Gaga and half a bottle of liquid liner, we were on the train.

Everything is closed in Japan around New Year's, especially the kind of bars I like, but my favorite place was somehow open. Unfortunately, as soon as we settled in with drinks and started grooving, this army of meatheads lumbered in and ordered a round of Jaegerbombs.

We barely had the chance to snicker any bitchy remarks before they sent drinks over. A minute later one of the guys swaggered over with a bra on his head (that's weird, someone must have left it on the ceiling last time she was here). Before long they'd worked themselves to a fever pitch and Bra-man was tearing his boxer shorts into pieces, pulling them out of his pants and shoving them down my dress.

Believe me, friends, this all lasted much longer than it was funny, and we spent the next couple of hours ducking and dodging. Amanda ended up passing out, and I ended up followed into a bathroom stall. Dude, I am not in the habit of turning down free service, but these people were really too much. I may vaguely remember drunkenly patting/shoving his face and bellowing, "NO NO YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, you CAN'T HAVE A GIRL LIKE ME, I'm TOO FILTHY and AWESOME!"

Thus Amanda once again wins the evening's prize for dignity. She held this elegant pose for nearly 5 hours! Brava. I shoved ice cream in her face for awhile as I fended off my drunken suitors, and that was basically my New Year's! We left Shibuya around 8AM, our hair and makeup impressively intact.

When we got up around 5PM, I pulled out of my dress a scrap of flannel, a note saying "YOU NAME IT, I'LL DELIVER," and a post-it with some girl's email address -- containing the word "bizkit." Yuck. But anyway -- It's 2010! I'm 24! I live in Tokyo. These days it's miniskirts, music, drinks and cigarettes, boys, blogs and breakdowns, poetry, pick-ups, parties, walks in parks, hotel rooms and hosts, waking up at 2 and getting dressed at 9, a few brilliant friendships, good books and a lot of long hours thinking scary thoughts. I don't think I'm wasting time.

Ni-chome

Shinjuku Ni-chome is Tokyo's gay entertainment district. There are like 300 gay bars and clubs packed into like a five block area. In the last 20 years it's been maturing as an LGBT social and cultural hub, with pride parades, an LGBT community center, and other events and hot-spots for queers in Tokyo.

I finally made it out to Ni-chome a couple of weeks ago for an electro party at a small club I liked a lot. Like most such neighborhoods, Ni-chome isn't exclusively LGBT. It's got a festive reputation and attracts a wild, open-minded crowd. The area is compact and it felt like a block party, noise and movement in the narrow streets all night until dawn. But all I have to show for my first night in Ni-chome is this creepy restroom photo. I take an awful lot of self-portraits in restrooms, you don't have to tell me.

I Went to a Host Club

It was inevitable. I've always been intrigued by hosts, but I never really cared to go to one of their clubs. I love all things shady and beyond the fringe, but the thought of paying boys for attention never sat well with me because I am vain and uptight. Plus, I wasn't confident with my Japanese, so I thought I'd say something wrong and buy a $20,000 bottle of champagne or something. Anyway I ended up dating and befriending so many hosts and former hosts that after awhile there didn't seem to be any point.

Buuut I knew I had to go at least once. So the other night, a friend and I got dressed up and set out for the part of Kabukicho where the hosts prowl. We sauntered around conspicuously, making eyes in all directions. The first few advances came in broken English and dissolved into quick retreats. Whatever, wimps. Still, it didn't take long before a boy from Club Joker spotted us. He was the only one who came on energetically and checked our Japanese. Once he realized we could communicate, he turned on the charm full force and we followed him back to his lair. We were super nervous but he kept us talking and laughing with quick, flirty conversation and smooth moves. By the time we got to Club Joker we had gone from "We're just doing this to get it over with," to "OMG and after this one we can go to ANOTHER ONE!"

I'm wearing a kimono, writhing in the name-cards I received from hosts. It's like THUG LIFE translated to GIRL IN TOKYO. Hahaha. Anyway, for two hours we sat in a cushioned corner while a couple dozen boys came two or three at a time to entertain us. Apart from the first ten minutes with a couple of totally incompetent, presumably newbie guys who barely said anything to us, our experience there was flawlessly fun. It didn't feel phony or weird at all -- it felt like a fabulous party with extremely witty, glamorous hosts whose only concern was to keep us in the best mood possible. And now, in those terms, I completely understand the appeal of host clubs.

The most interesting part was seeing each host's angle. Some boys were lighthearted and cute -- one had a medley of perfectly honed adorable faces and poses just to make us go AWWW! Some were all jokes and wicked grins and kept us laughing. Some flirted and flattered and swooned over our beauty and charm. Some were just clever, friendly and easy conversationalists. They knew how to work together, too, and I think their chemistry and familiarity was largely what kept the atmosphere from feeling phony. I hadn't expected that. My favorite host was a blond who sat down near the end. As soon as I met his deep, concentrated gaze, my very tested and reliable instincts said this guy is sooo in love with me... The magic of hosts!

The best part was the bill. Host clubs always have a first-time special, usually 3,000 - 10,000JPY for 1-2 hours depending on the club. We thought we were paying 3,000 each for a two-hour, all-you-can-drink visit, but in the end, that was the cost for both of us! For the price of one expensive cocktail, I spent two hours guzzling booze with a bevvy of pretty boys bending over backwards to entertain me. Best deal ever?

IN CONCLUSION, I think host clubs are fab. I love that there's a place catering to female vice/desire that's clearly way more awesome than the sports bars, strip clubs, etc. that men have for refuge/comfort. If you speak at least conversational Japanese and are not a lonely person with an addictive personality, you should go to a host club. I'm pretty sure you can dig it.