the importance of being there: japanese work ethics

It's eight o'clock on a Wednesday night and I see on TV hundreds and thousands of people standing outside the ticket gates of a big train station in Tokyo waiting for the trains to start running. The big typhoon that has been attaching Japan for the past few days has just passed through Kanto and is moving toward Tohoku. The people on the TV screen all look tired, some terribly soaked carrying broken umbrellas. I wonder why these people came out when it was clearly warned on the morning news that the typhoon would be in full swing later in the day. I wonder why their companies let them come.

It reminds me of the days that followed the earthquake in March. The air was, reportedly, increasingly getting radioactive, and trains were running only sporadically due to shortage of electricity; yet, many just left home in the morning as if nothing had changed to get on commuting trains that were even more packed than usual from the unsteady schedule.

A friend questioned it on Facebook, expressing how terrified she was being in such a catastrophic situation: "Why don't companies tell their employees to stay home for a few days? Is work that important?"

Another answered: "I think it's important to carry on as usual because things are really crazy now."

I got his point. I was touched by all those workers who try to be in the office and carry on their regular tasks. It was simply noble and respectable. At the same time, I saw her point, too. I echoed her question in my head many times: Is work that important?

Work is important. If we all stopped working for good, society would not function. But then, to the questions Is work the most important thing in our lives? and Does only being at work mean working?, I say, with much determination, no.

While it is really admirable to continue working as usual to keep society functioning, that is not-should not be--the most important thing in our lives. Instead of stuffing ourselves into packed trains to get to the office knowing another long and exhausting journey is waiting at the end of the day, spending time with our family at home for a few days could benefit society by easing the people's fear and anxiety. Besides, not a few tasks we do in our offices are possible to be done by telecommuting in this technologically advanced era and country with emails, instant messengers and online file sharing.

So--again, was it really necessary to force our already stress-and-fear-ridden bodies to endure long and suffocating commutes when there was a possibility we might again get stuck somewhere unable to get home?

I don't know. Well, to be honest, I don't think so. I really think the government, prefectures, cities or companies better tell people it's okay to stay home--or, rather, they should stay home to avoid possibly unsafe, confusing and exhausting situations especially after an event as grave as the Great Earthquake.

Some companies did, but many didn't, because in the Japanese work ethics being there really matters. Whether it's a completely meaningless meeting or a shaking office building on a terrible typhoon day, being there at your own desk is the important thing. And that I believe is why many companies didn't let their employees go home early enough today, forcing them to stand there waiting for the train to move, soaked and terribly terribly tired.

I know it happens sometimes. Sometimes, we just can't help ending up soaked and terribly tired to do what we need to do. Sometimes it is necessary, and I see diligence as one of our culture's greatest values; and yet, watching the exhausted commuters helplessly looking up at the electronic display for any positive news for their long-awaited return home, I can't help but feel a bit frustrated with the strong belief in being there equaling working that is so rampant in our society, and it pushes me to consider leaving the country again just a little more seriously on this typhoon night.

japanese love

Last month, on my mom's birthday, I posted the following as my Facebook status:

Happy Birthday, Mom, once the biggest enemy but always the biggest support and inspiration. I love you.

I had already wished her a happy birthday in the morning before I left for work, but a hint of sentiment that crept into my mind on my lunch break made me post this. There also was an urge to express my feeling in English, for, strange as it is, I sometimes feel it easier to express my feelings in this second language than my own.

People "liked" it, and it made me happy; but then, I realized there was no point in writing something like this on a semi-public place without sharing it with the person it was addressed to. So I forwarded this to her, saying, "This is the message I put on Facebook."

When I came home, she told me she didn't understand it, reasonably, for she hardly speaks or reads English. I translated it for her.

"Uh-huh," she said.
"Yeah, I just thought it would be only fair to share it with you because it's to you."
"You're right. There's no point just showing it to strangers."

We laughed and the talk ended there.

The thing is that I didn't include the "I love you" part in my translation. I assumed she would know, which she most likely did, but I also didn't know how to translate it. Sure, I could have translated it literally or chosen a phrase with similar meaning that is more commonly used in Japanese, but that wouldn't have conveyed what I meant in the English "I love you," the casual yet meaningful expression of affection.

So I just opted out not to include it in my Japanese translation, and my mom, clearly aware of the fact I did, also left it unmentioned. "I love you" floated around for a little while in the somehow comfortably awkward air between us and dissipated as my mom went back to folding clean laundry and I turned to go up to my room to put my backpack down, first feeling a bit sad we seemingly couldn't exchange words of love directly but then realizing that it was how love always had worked between us most of the time; unsaid and sometimes hidden, but constantly floating around us like the sweet scent of orange osmanthus in autumn so we notice only if we pay attention.

True, a part of me still prefers straightforward exchanges of "I love you"s and hugs, but now I can say, no, the Japanese way of love isn't bad, either. Not at all. Because it's there, if you're willing to breathe it in.

body, space and purpose

I've been sneezing and sniffing a lot, and don't know if it's a cold or allergy (oh my beloved kitty, I know I'm allergic to you). My skin is also suffering, and so is my stomach. I often catch myself holding breath. My shoulders are always tense, and I need to loosen up, making a conscious effort to breathe in and out deeply.

My body is trying to adjust, and I wouldn't say it's because I'm in Japan. I always go through this period of tension with an environment change. A move, a new semester, a new job. It's probably natural, to some extent at least, because after all changes come with some stress, wherever you are.

But one thing I miss being in Japan is space to stretch out. Grass fields and beaches to lie down and do nothing. Japan is so small that space has to be used efficiently, so it feels as though you always have to have a purpose when you are out. You can lie down and relax at home, but once you step out the door, walk toward your goal, no stopping, or stopping only for a purpose such as tying your shoes, buying train tickets and lighting your tobacco. 

So instead of wandering out the door with a paperback and some money for coffee in my purse as I would do in San Francisco, I spread my arms and legs on my bed and relax, and then, when I feel I've wasted enough time, I shake myself up to put on a make-up and change, getting ready for a purposeful outing.

reverse culture shock: "irassyaimase" at the store

Coming back from the States, I now find it odd when I go to the store and the clerks say, "Irassyaimase! (Welcome to the store!)", without looking at me. It's as if they were in a musical; when one of them says it, it's the clue. The others, each of them, say it (or sing it, almost, in this particular Japanese-store-clerk intonation) while not stopping whatever they are doing even though they haven't even seen the customer who just came in. Once I was at a store and a clerk started blurting out while putting out some stuff onto a shelf, "We offer a variety of gift ideas for Valentine's Day. Please do take a look!" It bewildered me, as it only seemed as though she was talking to the shelf. That's what she was looking at. The shelf. She didn't even glance at me for one second. But because there was nobody else around her except me, I understood she was talking to me.

The problem is that when someone talks to you without really talking to you, you don't know if or how you should respond. It was much simpler in the States. Clerks greet and talk to you, if they want to, and you know they are because they are clearly looking at you. "Hi, can I help you find anything?" they say. "Oh, no thanks. I'm just looking." Somebody talks to you. You respond. Done. Clear and easy.

But maybe it's not the case in Japan.

I go to another store and walk up to the second floor. It's deserted on a weekday afternoon, but they somehow have five clerks hovering around. They see me and say, one by one, "Irassyaimase!", and--out of habit--I respond, to each, by nodding and mumbling, "Oh, hi." Then I see their puzzled faces and realize it was, if not inappropriate, unexpected. I think of what would be most appropriate and decide most people probably just ignore the greetings, or maybe simply just acknowledge but not really respond.

This avoidance of direct interaction slightly bothers me, though I understand this is deeply rooted in our culture. There's the traditional notion of customers being superior to store clerks; thus the superior need not bother to respond to words from the inferior. But more prevailing than that here, I believe, is the Japanese tendency to avoid conflict and confrontation. Rather than directly staring into eyes and throwing messages at each other, we prefer to look sideways and mumble off, almost to ourselves, euphemistic words that imply what we want to say. This often makes it difficult to get points across, but it's also a virtue, a wisdom to cooperate peacefully in small communities in this small island country. It's about being polite and respectful. It's about keeping enough distance not to step into other people's territories before getting permission. You know, like cats looking away, trying to make peace, and, after some time, softly sitting down beside you without you noticing.

I leave and walk into the next store, and when the clerk welcomes me, I curl my lips into a smile without a word, trying to keep the balance of ignoring and acknowledging. I don't know if I managed the task of juggling those two together. I couldn't tell, for I didn't really look at her face--just a brief glance, half a second. If I failed, well, she just let it pass. After all, that's the whole point of this ambivalent communication, not to cause conflict, right?

culture shock

Visiting is one thing, living is another. I've visited Japan several times for the past years, but all that time I lived in California. When you are a visitor, you don't mind differences in lifestyle, those little "inconveniences" here and there. They only start to annoy you when you know you are going to live in the place for a little while. That happened when I moved to LA. And now, after six years, it's happening again in Japan.

I shop around and see everything neatly packaged. I see a crowd of people waiting at a red light in my small hometown even though there's absolutely no car in sight and you can cross the street in ten steps. I hear all those announcements and signs telling you what to do and how so that everything will go smoothly.

Ah, Japan. I feel a bit desperate. Though I know all this makes my country a clean, safe, nice place to live, it's also something I kind of wanted to escape from. Or maybe I feel desperate because there's this sense of responsibility that I have to follow all the rules because I'm a native and understand everything. One thing about getting culture shock in your own culture is that you don't really get to have the excitement of acquainting newness, the feeling of a fresh start, that you would get in a new environment (well, if you desired to come to the place in the first place, at least).

With your own culture, it's different. You know it all too well, and you expect it to be the same. And then it presents itself as quite unfamiliar.

I feel Japan is cheating on me.