Small decisions can have lifelong consequences

Manila, that teeming mass of happy, colorful, friendly people, was my first destination upon moving away from the US way back in 1976. In my youthful idealism and naivety, I had set off to “help people.”

I loved my years in Manila. The bustling traffic seemed to have no rhyme nor reason — or any consideration for traffic rules or safety. The colorful, open-backed jeepneys. The overcrowded buses, some wooden-framed built on the chassis of surplus WWII-era trucks. And the loud motorcycles with sidecars that seemed to be held together by nothing more than twine and a prayer.

This was where I would live out my days, I imagined, working in small mission schools. I could influence children for the better. I could make a small difference in the world.

I met a man I loved. I gave birth to two children.

It was a happy life, for the most part — even in a country under the iron rule of the notorious Ferdinand Marcos.

But then everything changed.

Revolution

The controversy surrounding the results of the February 1986 presidential election grew, and turmoil spread throughout the country. Although Ferdinand Marcos claimed victory, the election was plagued by accusations of vote rigging, and the results were contested. His opponent, Corazon Aquino, was wildly popular among the common people. She was the widow of one of Marcos’s staunchest critics, Benigno S. Aquino, Jr., who had been assassinated on the tarmac of Manila International Airport in 1983.

Marcos and his family soon fled to Hawaii, having been advised to leave the country by one of President Reagan’s close associates, the then General Chairman of the Republican Party, Senator Paul Laxalt. They left from US Clark Air Base, north of Manila, taking with them crates and crates of cash, gold, jewels, and other valuables — so much that the Guinness Book of World Records awarded the Marcoses the nefarious award of the “Greatest robbery of a Government.”

During this time, Manila’s main thoroughfare, EDSA, the commonly used name for Epifanio de Los Santos Avenue, was the stage for the public to air their grievances against the Marcoses’ oppressive regime. This highway, filled with over a million protestors, was just blocks from our house.

That in itself was not troubling. The protests were largely peaceful. Yet, a bomb had gone off in the shopping area we frequented. Then, one morning just after dawn, outside our front gate, we discovered the body of an unfortunate man who had had his throat cut.

Helping a friend

Meanwhile, my dearest friend who was suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum, a severe form of morning sickness, needed to move to Tokyo. She asked for my help.

Without giving it much thought, I agreed. Who wouldn’t want to help their best friend in such circumstances?

So my husband, our two young children, and I traveled with her and her brood of small children, arriving in Tokyo in 1987.

Immediate illiteracy

To say I was ill-prepared for such a move would be an understatement. I knew three Japanese words — dōmo, dōzo, and ohaiyō, “thanks,” “go ahead,” and “good morning.”

I landed in a country that seemed to be the polar opposite of the cheerful, colorful, and friendly Philippines.

There were no smiling greetings on the streets or people wearing bright, flamboyant clothing.

There were no colorful Jeepneys — in fact, I saw no colored vehicles at all. Black or white cars cruised through clean streets with narrow lanes. There were no honking horns nor bus ticket punchers calling destinations. The city was eerily bereft of sound.

Trains slid in and out of stations filled with busy, austere, black-suited men. Sardining into one of the cars, I noticed no seats offered to women, whether pregnant, babe in arms, or even to the elderly.

On the sidewalks of the city, women wearing bland conservative clothing carried shopping bags, shuffling a few steps behind their imperious husbands until rushing ahead to open doors for them.

What rude men, I couldn’t help but think, comparing them to the Western gentlemen I had become accustomed to in the first 30 years of life.

Adding to my sense of alienation, I was instantly illiterate.

Due to English being used in all schools with local dialects spoken at home, the majority of the Philippine population were bilingual. Not so in Japan, where the highly nuanced, contextual, and culturally enmeshed Japanese language is so difficult, it takes nine years of education just to be able to read the newspaper. Teaching English in schools was minimal, at best.

No one spoke to us in English. I could read no signs. I could understand nothing at all.

Time passes

One year added to another. I focused on raising my many children and educating them in English to complement their education in Japanese public schools.

My family moved away from the big city of Tokyo to Kagoshima, a city in southern Kyushu, surrounded by idyllic natural beauty.

As the years passed, I slowly learned more about this unusual land with its long history, its many traditions, and its unique customs. As with a person we are just getting to know, understanding them is the first step to love. The more I learned about Japan, the more my love and appreciation for this extraordinary land grew.

I came to appreciate the philosophies of Shinto and Buddhism, and the adamant beliefs of my younger years were left behind. I woke up to the reality that volunteer work would not pay the bills, and undertook work as a private English teacher and editor.

When most of my children left home, I started work as a tour guide, and that was a turning point in my life.

Seeing Japan once again from the viewpoint of an outsider — vicariously through my foreign guests — deepened my interest in Japan’s fascinating past, folklore, and culture. I wanted to learn as much as I could about this country that had become my home, and I undertook years of study which continue to this day.

Living in Japan today

These days, I do my best to share my love of Japan, its history, its hidden treasures, and its many stories with curious people through my writings, tours, and presentations.

I hike along ancient highways and mountain trails, and even in my beautiful rural neighborhood, and I travel to explore new wonders in other prefectures.

Thirty-five years after first setting foot in this country, I have become an old woman. Reflecting on that seemingly insignificant decision in 1987 to help a friend, I now know it was momentous, hugely affecting my life and that of my eight children.

I will never know what would have happened had I continued my life in Manila, but I am happy for the life I have in this beautiful, safe, and clean country of Japan.

The post Living in Japan—The Unexpected Path that Brought Me Here first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

I Still Cringe Thinking about the First One

The Japanese language has been a constant challenge since first moving to Japan decades ago. Over the years I have made mistakes on a daily basis, and no doubt will continue to do so. I hope that by sharing a few of my biggest, I might save you from the troubles I had.

Thinking that all polite words work both ways

Ever-cautious about courtesy thanks to my mother’s diligent teaching, one of the first words I learned in Japanese was the polite word itadakimasu, or rather, its simple verb form, itadaku, “to receive or accept.” 

This word is commonly used before meals, but it is also used as a humble way to say thank you for a gift.

Great, another word down! The verb “itadaku” is a polite word for “receive/accept.” I make a mental note.

Fast forward 20 long years. 

I am giving my Japanese teacher a gift, and I say with all humility of tone and manner, “Itadaite-kudasai,” which I am thinking is a very polite way to say, “Please accept my humble gift.” 

Itadaku = polite word for “accept,” right? 

After smiling and thanking me, my elderly teacher rubbed her arms and said, “You know, when you said “itadaite-kudasai” it made the hair on my arms stand on end, it’s so rude.” 

What?! I’d been saying that for years! The horrors!

She explained that using itadaku in that way was, in effect, putting myself far above her. 

“Here, lowly one, accept my magnanimous gift.”

Now I know.

Itadaku is only used in humbly receiving. It does not work both ways. It is not used when giving. Other verbs in Japanese work both ways, but not anything having to do with giving or receiving.

The subject of gifts brings me to my next faux pas.

Thinking that Japanese is anything at all like English

As an American, when giving someone a gift I would say something like, “I picked this out especially for you. I hope you like it!”

Or in Japan, the land where outrageously-priced fruit is given as gifts, “Here’s a $100 box of strawberries. I hope you like it!”

Just kidding. I wouldn’t really mention the price. But I did use to say, “I hope you like it.”

Wrong.

The correct Japanese approach when giving someone a $100 box of strawberries would be more like, “Here is a mediocre gift that I know is unworthy of your greatness or refined tastes. I know I am far beneath your lofty status, but I hope that you will forgive my impertinence and accept this gift from me.”

Thinking Japanese is straightforward

Years ago, I was setting up a bank account with the help of a Japanese friend. The teller had me fill out forms. So far, so good.

Then the teller asked me for my inkan. 

What’s an inkan? 

An inkan is a stamp, often made of bamboo, wood, or stone, and carved with the family name of the bearer. This stamp is to be registered at the city office and serves as an official “signature” on all legal documents in Japan.

At that time, I did not have an inkan.

Through my friend’s translation, I asked the teller, “Can I open a bank account without an inkan?”

The teller sucked air through his teeth and replied, “Muzukashii desu,” which I knew meant, “It’s difficult.”

Through my friend I asked, “I understand it’s difficult, but can it be done?”

Again, air was sucked through his teeth and the teller replied, “Muzukashii desu.”

Yet a third time I tried, determined to get my bank account opened that day. And for the third time I heard the word for “difficult,” muzukashii.

I looked inquiringly at my friend.

“‘Difficult’ means ‘no’.”

And that was the day I learned that saying a direct “no” is just not done.

Learning Japanese is difficult, and I expect to continue learning — and making embarrassing mistakes — for the rest of my life.

The post 3 Big Mistakes I Made in Learning Japanese first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

You Really Don’t Know until You Live There

I’ve lived in Japan over half of my long life, and for the most part, I love it. But, if I am really being honest, there is one thing I hate.

Things I Love About Japan

The Food

Japanese food, called washoku, has been added to the UNESCO List of Intangible Cultural Heritage for a reason. The Japanese emphasize eating a wide variety of fresh food, with seasonings added to enhance, rather than to distract from, the food’s natural flavor.

Vegetables, fruits, and fish are only available when they are in season and they are some of the freshest and most delicious that I have ever tasted.

And who can fault the impeccable presentation and attention to detail?

Nature

Japan is a magnificent and beautiful country. Hiking is popular, and there are many opportunities to walk surrounded by the ever-changing beauty of nature.

After all, this is the country where shinrin-yoku, forest bathing, originated.

Safety

I do not worry walking around my neighborhood or on city streets after dark, nor do I worry if I lose something.

I can leave my cell phone or bag on my table at a cafe to keep my place when I go to order my coffee. It won’t be stolen.

Efficiency

If the train schedule says the train will arrive at 11:03, the train will arrive at 11:03. And the train will be clean.

The post office is just as reliable. Mail is delivered with promptness and care.

Health Care

Positive steps are taken to ensure a healthy populace, who all must be enrolled in the national health care system.

Nearly everyone in Japan has a yearly health check. If perhaps, someone has put on a little weight, the doctor will advise them on how they should eat and prescribe their daily walks or another exercise. The patient is to return every two months until they reach their ideal weight.

Health care is reasonably priced, too. For example, last week I went for cancer screening tests at a clean, modern hospital. I was there for about an hour and a half. The checkup and doctor consultation cost me $10.00.

The One Thing I Hate

Othering

Since I live in a rural area where there are few foreigners, I stand out like a giant sore thumb. When I dare to step into an area where people are not used to seeing me, I am likely to be treated like a creature from another planet who cannot use chopsticks or speak even rudimentary Japanese. Toddlers cry. Children point, jump, and cry, “Gaijin! Gaijin!” (Foreigner!)

Shock is shown when I can do such amazing feats as writing my own address or speaking a few words of Japanese. Imagine the advanced skills those take!

If I were to live in Tokyo, Osaka, or another large city in Japan, I doubt I would encounter this othering. It does seem to be fading here, or perhaps I am just getting used to it after all these years.

That said, I am always gratified when I walk into a shop to meet the anxious faces of clerks looking back and forth at each other, exchanging worried glances that communicate, “Who will talk to the foreigner? I can’t speak English!” then their tangible transformation when they hear my accented, yet understandable, Japanese. Utter relief!

Ah, the joys of life in Japan.

The post 5 Things I Love about Japan, and 1 Thing I Hate first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

“Thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.”

It was a morning like any other.

I was driving along the winding and narrow country roads to take one of my sons to his prefectural high school. Early morning mist rose from the empty rice fields.

We passed small groups of children walking to school in their navy blue uniform shorts and blazers, legs pink from the wintry cold, regulation randoseru packs filled with books bouncing on their backs.

I dropped off my son, and after a quick goodbye, he joined the other uniformed students changing their shoes in the entranceway of the school.

On my way back home, I stopped at the one lone traffic light along my route. An elderly lady stood near the intersection. She hobbled up to my car. I rolled down the window.

“Can you give me a ride?” she asked.

Before I could answer, she had opened the car door and gotten in.

Woah! This was surprising on many levels:

• Hitchhiking in Japan is virtually unheard of.
• In my experience, such forward behavior is not normal.
• This woman is really old!

The hardy woman told me she is 98 years old — and she lives alone.

“I missed my bus. Could you take me to a bus stop on the main road?” she asked. “I need to go to the hospital.”

I can do more than that, I thought.

I asked her where she was going, and I took her to the hospital entrance.

Before she got out, and in spite of my continual refusal, she stuffed 3,000 yen (about $25) in my purse, saying, “I would have paid that much for a taxi anyway. Take it.”

Driving home, this time from a completely different direction, I marveled.

You really never know what will happen on a perfectly normal morning.

The post The Unlikeliest of Hitch-Hikers first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.