授業: Classes

Japan is very much a system of predictable events in the foreigner’s perception of an endlessly outlandish world. We gaijin marvel at the machine wrought of punctuality and hardened in a logic that truly takes the whole before each individual piece. Japan’s methodologies are a river and the people within its borders are mere drops of rain. Sure, there are ripples here and there, but those are soon lost in the inescapable current pulling us all along. In the past couple weeks, several events have transpired that have made this concept of sameness all the more evident in my eyes. I have noticed a phenomenon where, for the sake of the machine marching forward, the value of individuality gives way to what is supposed to happen. There are no exceptions.

I have found my future being shaped by preconceived systems that are determined to tell me where I belong now that I have entered into this Eastern society. The first point of no return came while I was still lounging in the plush northern californian suburb of my stateside residence. In order to test my Japanese proficiency, I was required to take an online exam. While the reasons for utilizing a dynamic problem set in an internet based placement test are not lost upon me, each question’s being timed did not lend themselves to my answers being of the highest quality. Perhaps I should have conducted some more research on the JCAT, but I contend that at the very least, that number of questions, multiple choice vs. written answer, and amount of time allowed to complete the test are superficial qualities any student has a right to know before being assessed on their ability to do even the most rudimentary academics. Keep in mind that while I may have been displeased with the conduction of the test, I scored and placed above my expectations.

I am so focused on the unforgiving nature of the JCAT due to my host institution, Waseda’s, abusively taking the results of the test and etching them in stone. For the first time, adjustments to class level are wholly unavailable to students; the score one receives in the space of forty-five minutes determines the standing with which one enters the Japanese program on campus. Despite the likelihood that the majority of students are placed into their courses correctly, there is no failsafe for those who may have had a single bad test day for any number of reasons. The school claims students may take a more difficult one credit elective class to compensate, but that does nothing to ease the grinding seven and a half hours the misdiagnosed student will be spending in the wrong intensive Japanese class each week. Luckily, the process of delineating Japanese classes to non-Japanese students described above has few far-reaching effects beyond the chip found on several international students’ shoulders thank God.

Course registration, purchasing a cell phone and every single adventure through the maze of subway lines and stations are all unquestionable examples of the system for the greater good, but where so much faith is placed on a single system I have to ask how sure these people are that their system is perfect, but before that, the end towards which all these means endeavor must itself be examined. My experiences being limited to Tokyo, I see the sole purpose for the endless amounts of regulation found in this urban landscape as funneling as many people through the motions as possible in the quickest amount of time. Without prior knowledge, navigating trains and applying for (yes applying, not getting) a cell phone require one to bend over backwards to merge with Tokyo’s society for the first time. There seems to be a severe lack of trust on the government’s part as to whether citizens can fend for themselves if allowed to move freely outside the binding world of contracts. In the overwhelming amount of paperwork and number of applications to do anything, I cannot fathom the amount of invisible red tape operating behind the scenes or the sheer number of bureaucrats having a heart attack each time they see my name written in English letters and not their own.

An example for the imperfection of a Japanese system that I can provide is Waseda’s course registration. In applying for classes (again that damn application), I was denied from two of my six classes meaning that instead of the 17 credits I should be working on now, I only have 11. I understand that classes fill up or get cancelled, that is expected, but what does not make sense is the fact that I now cannot register for my replacement classes until a week after they have started and can only check prospective classroom locations from a single notification board. Without allowing individuals to make instant changes to their own lives and schedules the odds that the same issues will arise the second time I have to abide by the same rules in the same system are relatively high… and let’s not forget the several instances of misinformation being unintentionally distributed. It’s not the system’s job to work for us; it’s our job to work for the system: An alien concept.

One Big Drop

p.s. little bit of a vent here, course scheduling is frustrating


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飲んでいる：Drinking

Commence Nomikai

A man of class in whom I have found an interesting friendship has never shied away from any bottle in the states. If the luxury of choice is not available for financial or opportunistic reasons, the bottom shelf rums and very special brandies may give him reason to wince at the point of ingestion, but as anyone would contend, these crimes against humanity are acceptable in the pursuit of drunk. Hooch, as he prefers to call this chosen vice, is being mistreated and abused in ways I could not have begun to fathom in America. Until making my first real foray into the Japanese drinking methodology, I simply had no concept of what real drinking is supposed to be. My apologies to my fellow compatriots if you disagree with me in this post, and believe me when I say that I do, in fact, maintain a continued enjoyment of American drinking as well, yet class, it seems, has escaped even the best of us Yankees. Chugging? A healthy portion of inebriating one’s self. Shots? There is certainly no stigma around those. Getting hammered? Well, that stumbles hand in hand with alcohol.

At Asakusa

The funnels and shot-guns are not to be found though, as well as any external drinking apparatus aside from glass, can, bottle, or sake cup which leaves me wondering if therein lies the key to the real difference between the American and Japanese practice of inebriation. There is a severe lack of competition in Tokyo drinking that very subtly surprised me in its absence to such an extent that the thought did not strike me until two days later. Drawing purely on observation, my mind forever American and unable to think Japanese, here, a man’s inability to continue consumption does not lend itself to his emasculation as it would in the States. There are no jeers at the refusal of the next shot or beer. Not to say that there is no disappointment between drinking partners, but through understanding that a line has been or will be crossed, all parties know to be true that it is far better to keep the contents of one’s stomach than to showcase it on the table, floor, or even your own Prada shoes.

At Ueno

The other key incongruence between my culture and the Nippon practices here lays in the mentality behind drinking parties dubbed social gatherings by my esteemed school’s rule book. While oftentimes it seems that the night does not start until after the pregame in the West, in the East, the concept of drinking before you get to the party is backwards in every sense of the word. Here, the idea is not, “Let’s get drunk and see what happens,” but, “Let’s get together for the night and by the end of it we all know we’ll be drunk,” which is why last night’s nomikai (literally drinking party) was such a great experience。Our day started with freshman lead tours of Asakusa and Ueno which are both stunning in their beauty and proximity to metropolitan areas. Asakusa’s traditional temples and entertaining vendors were a reminder that being Japanese is not all sardined subway cars and sushi while the park at Ueno was a welcome escape from the roar of bus engines and flashing traffic lights. We walked for hours reveling in our foreignness before coming back to Takadanobaba station and venturing over to the izakaya, a specific genre of restaurant with a vast variety of small plates to be shared and an equally choice selection of (here comes some class) adult beverages.

Nomikai

Stepping into the establishment, we were greeted with the roars and thunderous applause of other organizations already well underway in their merrymaking. Shoes off, we picked our way through the pillows littering the tatami floor until we found spots at one of the nine or so tables being occupied by the Waseda international club, Nijinokai (directly translated: Rainbow Club). On the tables sat fried chicken, fried potatoes, raw squid and perspiring forties awaiting the night’s celebration, and around them, Japanese and foreign eyes alike grinned in anticipation. The purpose of the gathering was purely to get to know people from other cultures so we did. Amidst shots of whisky, endless glasses of beer, games of call (everyone chants at you while you drink) introductions were made and pacts formed between the French, Italians, Germans, Russians, Chinese, Koreans, Canadians, Japanese and the smattering of Americans populating the crowd. I cannot help but bask in the memory of an evening sadly passed, yet no amount of words on a page can do these events justice. Our time up, we made our exodus out into the night air. Some walked, more tripped, but everyone smiled as we gathered in the neon glow of Tokyo knowing that this was how things worked in Japan. Truly drunk but managing a straight line, I began the walk paced by the tunes of Lupe Fiasco, that lead to a karaoke pit stop and hour long train ride at the end of which I managed a few hours of shuteye. The next morning I woke up to go see a castle reminding me yet again, I do not know the depth and breadth of Japanese culture. I do know, however, that I am here and a part of something to which anime inspired dreams cannot hold a candle.

Moé and Parents in front of Castle

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