Winter Teething

I broke a filling about two weeks ago eating a bowl of muesli. A kindly Japanese dentist very competently fixed the problem on Boxing Day and refused payment. What can I say for such kindness?

I would like to mention her name but I have been censored by my wife, as usual. The creative process aint what it used to be.

But I'm grateful all the same.

This and That

I think most non-Japanese living in Japan for any length of time reach a point (I believe it's usually around the three year mark) when they start to become a little cynical about their circumstnces. Yes, and especially, somewhat critical of their adopted home.

We all breeze through the first year, thinking that the sun shines brightly from every orifice here. Even the staring seems interesting. Are we not the centre of attention? Are we not exotic? We are like swans in the duckpond.

Year Two is a consolidation of this process, though a few things start to rankle. Why does it have to be done that way? Why this absurd rigmarole? And what about that obaasan who snuck ahead of me in the train queue or the one who pushed me out of the way to get discounted bread? And why are those men sitting when there are older people and even pregnant women standing on the train? Hmmm. But still, it's a great place to live. And anyway, there are plenty of problems back home much worse.....

It may well be that familiarity breads a kind of contempt, or just the onset of reality over the Disney state of mind, but Year Three, for many foreigners here, seems to present a fork in the road, or perhaps, a roundabout. Some, feeling that its unfair that they are still 'foreigners', become disillusioned, cynical, even aggressive. They have tried to learn the language, they have adapted to many of the customs, they pay their taxes, so, why, this continued arbitrary classification. For such people, personal slights can be found in the simplest of daily transactions.
Most will probably return home. Or, at least, they should.

Others less afflicted wander in a cultural no man's land, never really belonging, always somewhat disconnected. They too, should go home. But they tend to stay.

I'm not sure where I am. Being a father has presented a different situation for me in this, my third year. About halfway through I'm enjoying it more than, say, six months ago. My criticisms for the most part have been tempered. And one should never bite the hand, as they say.

Winter

How long since my last post? I'm afraid that it's indicative of the amount of time I can spend at the puter these days without interruption. No thinking time permitted. No space to make the sentences in any coherent order. This is fatherhood. Or at least, it's earliest stages.

The days are closing in rather quickly now. The cloud is thinner and streaked like a thin paste across the sky. If I had a huge knife I could scrape it up and spread it over a cosmic sized piece of toast. And the redness of the sunsets! I don't like winter but it has its beauties.

We all have colds so there is cough syrup and mandarins and all manner of natural and synthetic medication about the place. All, of course, safely stowed from he who is now eight and a half months old. The same he who can now stand with the assistance of a chair or sofa, and yes, the same he who wakes ten times at night. Joy and despair in one wriggling bundle.

But mostly it's joy, when I think about it.