Walking Backwards in Japan

by Tiffany Young

A couple of summers ago I had the amazing opportunity to travel to Japan for two weeks of culture, learning, fun, and freedom. What transpired easily exceeded my expectations and opened my mind. I didn’t know exactly what to expect, only that I anticipated the unexpected. I remember filling out my profile—17 years old, 4-year Japanese student, allergic to fish but partial to shellfish, a carefully chosen picture of me attached—and receiving my host sister Chihiro’s profile. I was incredibly excited on the day of travel: I was about to embark on my dream trip—a homestay with a real Japanese family in the quiet countryside. All throughout the year I thought that June couldn’t come fast enough, though when it did, it went by too fast.

During those first few days of the homestay period, when I spoke, I did so almost exclusively when I was spoken to, and with the guidance of imaginary cue cards flashing through my head to ensure I was using the polite forms of the Japanese verbs. I tiptoed around gingerly, so afraid that whatever I did would be offensive. I practically tried to be invisible.

But then, during one of those first nights, I remember sitting down for dinner to a plate of perfectly cooked scallops and smiling internally at the reality that my anxiety had deprived me of: Chihiro and her family were just as nervous as I was, and just as eager to please as I was, as shown by the fact that they had obviously studied my profile and gone through the trouble of making everything perfect down to the smallest detail, including serving my favorite foods. Those were the best scallops I have ever tasted.

I realized that I had mistaken nerves on their part for indifference, shyness for coldness, and that to continue to let that happen would be a waste of our time. I had failed to recognize their kindness, the universality of human feelings, and the fact that, usually, situations aren’t as bad as I perceive them to be.

After that, I didn’t waste any more time. At first, the language barrier was daunting: conversations were halting, shy, hesitant, each girl embarrassed that she couldn’t articulate herself as well as she would have liked (try articulating what “gusto” means in Japanese—needless to say, I didn’t have any luck using hand motions). But we encouraged each other against giving up, and through pantomime, an electronic dictionary, and sheer force of will, we managed to connect very well. I told her my background and interests, she told me about her dreams to study sports therapy in college and that, yes, her grandmother was indeed appalled upon learning that I was allergic to fish. We enjoyed getting to know each other better; I remember showing her my high school yearbook and presenting her with an omiyage (a gift for the host), and her wanting to take puri-kura with me (those candids you take in a photo booth with friends). So the conversations got smoother, and although both of us still suffered from nervousness, I could see that there was no real reason for it. I was touched when she gave me a friendship bracelet, and when I returned to California, I mailed her a letter with a homemade bracelet in return.

At times, Japan was oddly surreal: here I was, physically and mentally miles away from my normal, everyday life. The experience was nothing short of exhilarating and liberating because of the mixture of emotions I underwent. The trip gave me a heightened sense of awareness through a perfectly formulated cocktail of adventure, independence, validation, and self-gratification. I was so proud to be able to interact with people, or even to recognize the words on signs and packaging—what I had learned was relevant and I could see my knowledge “working” before my eyes.

Trying to communicate with the Japanese people—even if I know my host sister must have been merciful and only pretended to understand me at times, bless her—was especially satisfying after seeing the eventual, relieved smile and spark of recognition in my listener’s eyes, knowing then that I had successfully tapped into someone else’s understanding. Even when I got frustrated, I realized that disappointment had no place in this journey and would only spoil the memories of this time for later. I understood that it was all a matter of taking advantage of the moment. Traveling and interacting with people native to places I admire creates a sort of “culture shock” for me that forces me out of my comfort zone so much that I get a singular, sensational, significant experience in return.

1. 

   Jeff says:

   April 26, 2010 at 10:45 pm

   This is a great post, I stumbled across your story while looking for new lyrics. Thanks for sharing, I’ll be sure to return regularly.