The following should be sung to the tune of "Hey, Hey We're The Monkey's" after you've had a few beers. It doesn't actually make the shoddy writing better, but at least you'll have a beer. As a reminder, the Japanese term "gaijin" literally means outsider, but is generally recognized as "foreigner". Gaikokujin, I believe, means foreign person."Here we come.
Walking down the street.
Get the funniest looks from
Everyone we meet.
(refrain) Hey, hey we're the Gaijin.
People point and stare 'round the town.
But we're too busy teaching
To put anybody down.
Just trying to be friendly.
Wantta sing, dance drink and smoke.
We're from a foreign nation.
That they pay us to speak is a joke.
Hey, hey we're the Gaijin.
You never know where we'll be found.
So you better get ready,
We're gonna live in your town."
(and fade out).
Okay. Stop singing now. No matter how dull and boring a person you are--don't worry, the Japanese probably think you are fascinating and exciting. It's almost an obsession, but like a horrible car accident, they can't look away when they see you. It's why they know everything about you and what you do. Little brother is watching.
Remember how you once went shopping wearing a shirt with a small rip in it? Well, everybody noticed. They may not have said a word to you, but they noticed and told all of their friends. Didn't you wonder why there were four new shirts stuffed into your mailbox? Creepy? Yes. But really, it's not a bad type of attention.
There is no such thing as an anonymous foreigner in Japan--especially for those of us who live in a small city, like Ohtawara. Fifty thousand very curious folk.
It's why I can say with great conviction that I am a G.O.D. That's right--a Gaijin On Display.
No matter what I do in my city, someone besides myself is taking notes.
The populace is not only used to seeing me fly down the street on my overly large bicycle, but they also see me crying helplessly in front of the ATM trying to decode the miserable Kanji (an alphabet officially consisting of 1,942 Chinese symbols) buttons on the machine.
Before becoming a G.O.D.--back when I was just your run-of-the-mill gaijin--people used to point, stare and shout "Gaijin". But, since achieving G.O.D.-hood, now they point, stare and say "Gaijin-san". Yes, they call me mister.
It's a subtle difference to be sure, but I think it's because they realize I'm not just visiting their city, I've becoming a part of the community.
I may not have mentioned it yet, but I love Ohtawara.
As a known entity, you can pretty much kiss your privacy goodbye--especially if you are going to hang out with me. That's what happened to Ashley.
In my circle of Japanese cohorts, Ashley was known as An-do-ryu's girlfriend. In her circle of cohorts, she was also known as Andrew's girlfriend, but she continually tried to downplay it to the natives by insisting that she had no boyfriend. She said she didn't want people to think we were sleeping together. They knew.
She had no idea that her bosses were talking to my bosses, and knew the real deal about our relationship. It was important that they knew the truth.
I asked Hanazaki-san if he had an opinion as to why the people of Ohtawara were so curious about my life in the city. He told me it was because I was a part of their community and they wanted to ensure that everything was all right for me. He also mentioned that at 25-years-of-age (it's still early September of 1990--and my birthday is two months away), I was at the perfect marrying age. It's why they wanted to know my dating situation, and why I was being observed. If I was single, they needed to know if I was good husband material. Really, I love this place.
Conversely, if Ashley was single, they would want to try and set her up.
Matthew? He was an enigma to me then (I'd only known him for a month!), and may have been an enigma to a fair chunk of the populace of Ohtawara, as well. I'm pretty sure he was already out chasing Japanese women, so he may not have been an enigma to them. I don't know how a 6'-3" strawberry-blond American can blend in and become invisible, but I think he did alright--in more ways than one.
I think that for the Japanese it was cool to: talk to, be friends with, or date a foreigner.
Ashley, if you will recall, taught mainly at the Ohtawara Boys High School, but also taught at the girls high school. I know that I had volunteered to do so, too, but the OBOE was too smart to fall for that one.
It's probably why I constantly had high school girls (and older) come up to me and shyly introduce themselves in English. They've been told by Ashley that she has no boyfriend, but Andrew in his self-introductions has said he does. Is the Intel. wrong? Could Andrew's information not be up-to-date? Better to be safe than sorry, the girls would press phone numbers into my sweaty hand.
Why doesn't this kind of stuff ever happen back in Canada?
Anyhow, for some reason (guilt) I never acted on any of these phone numbers.
To a nerd like myself, suddenly becoming popular--with women, men, dogs--is ego-blowing. But I wonder... would the Japanese still be enamored and impressed if they found out that I accidentally mailed my bankbook?
Somewhere G.O.D. has new shirts.
Andrew "Monkey-boy" Joseph
PS: The Photo above is from an AET retreat a year later in 1991: If you click on the photo to make it larger and look closely at the TV screen, you can see that we are singing Country Roads. (From left) The funny CIR (Coordinator of International Relations) whose name I can't recall but won't be appearing in this blog, Me, Jeff Seaman, Matthew Hall, Tim Mould. Matthew is wearing very nice socks.
PPS: I parodied the title from a song by The Monkees.
