SO363: Most Striking Aspect of Japan thus Far

When Americans are asked to think about Japan, their views have surely came a long way from just ninja, samurai, geisha, and kimono- based a whole deal on globalization, America's fear of the Japanese economy becoming stronger than our own, and the rise in popularity of anime and manga. Typically, most stereotypes about a people are erased from mind and opinion base once one knows first hand- and I had expected that I myself would serve as no exception. Having been to Japan before, I had worked through a lot of my initial shock already- the tendency to skirt around answers, the constant need for conformity, public area cleanliness, extreme kindness, and perfect work ethic. Upon arrival here, I was greeted with things far too familiar to be shocking- whilst everyone else's faces lit up with extreme awe and wonder, I sought desperately to find my memories again.

My retrace started when I first entered Tokyo again, my heart throbbing at the sight of people packed tightly, the endless and chaotic mess of the city that I had waited so long to return to. Nothing could have contained me, as my heart was beating too loud as I stepped off the train in Shinjuku, a station I had came to everyday for a month in order to get to school. I left the station and found myself on the other side of a nearly unrecognizable Shinjuku and, with my falty, crumbling memory, I began to look so desperately for the building where my classes were held. After hours of wandering, I finally stood in front of a complete perversion of what had appeared in my mind- an old, plain, graffiti covered building in what had to of been the most dangerous area I had seen of Shinjuku. My chest felt tight, my heart heavy- it was as if the soul had been sucked out of my childhood. Still, the largest blow to my memory was dealt when I went to stay Silver Week with my old host family, whom I had loved so much.

There were so many things that were the same about them- in fact, there could never have been any mistake as to them being the same people. Rather, what had changed so much was my perspective of the world and what I noticed chilled me straight to the core. At the Odaiba beach, my host sisters ran around with childish spirit, my host father took pictures of Tokyo Bridge, and my host mother pointed out ships, buildings, bridges, and people, teaching me about them. I was surprised when she turned to me and caught my eye, saying "Is Steve kind?" I smiled softly, I barely had to think on such a thing- of course my boyfriend was kind. When her eyes caught my smile, they drifted back to the water of the Tokyo Bay, her voice becoming soft, "He's so cold to me... he is kind to others, but he is so cold to me." Suddenly, I finally saw what had been hinted at through her actions for years- my host mother was lonely, subservient, and trapped- she had been stripped of her soul. To an American, their soul is there personality, their livelihood their own individuality, but my host mother has but a glimmer of it left. Any desires she had held outside of what society deemed as appropriate were gone, only fragments of memories, not so far from mine crushed so easily at the sight of new Shinjuku. Then again, by no means was it only her. No, society had stripped Japanese adults of their souls and filled the hole with labor.

I once read somewhere that Japanese people are mechanical- that everything was so stiff and regimented, soulless. Always a large fan of anime and manga, I could see the soul in Japan- the beautiful emotions through its media. However, the majority of anime and manga, in retrospect, only grant such emotions to people younger than 30 and- the majority of the time- under 20, far before work should become the focal point of one's life. Americans occasionally get caught up in their jobs as they become older-- but they don't become their jobs. Faced with this new feeling I have, it pains me.