I think I'm turning Japanese

When you live in a foreign country, there eventually comes a certain time where you realize that you have long passed the initial culture shock, and have more or less adjusted to the daily rhythms, expectations, and societal norms of the people around you. On an intellectual level, you may still regard the local customs as curious, quaint, or any number of other things, but on some level you have begun to internalize the unspoken assumptions, expectations, and even speech habits of your neighbors, which helps you get by. You may never truly “fit in” or “pass” as a local, but you have nevertheless been indelibly marked by the place you have made your home. (Then, if you ever move on, you get to experience the whole process of acculturation all over again, starting with a fresh round of culture-shock.)

I suppose it’s inevitable; stay anywhere long enough, even in the same country, and you begin to take on something of the local color. My parents, raised and educated in New Jersey, have spent the last twenty-five years or so in Clayton, and now their accents are much more North Country than Garden State. And while I may not have been here in Japan for nearly as long, I’m definitely exhibiting signs of having absorbed some Japanese habits.

Two recent incidents in particular have drawn my attention to this development. The first happened just the other day in class, as I was demonstrating a conversation with the Japanese-native English teacher. But at the end of the skit, as my character was about to say goodbye, turn, and walk away, I did something entirely unintended: I bowed. In Japan, it’s not out of place to do so at that particular moment; in fact, it’s expected. But the gesture is – from the standpoint of Anglophones – entirely unnecessary, and at any rate, it was completely involuntary on my part. I had simply become so used to bowing at that particular social cue that my spine, as if obliging some innate need, dutifully curved forward for me. As you can imagine, this was embarrassing, to say the least, and it drew some unsolicited laughter from the student audience. I just grinned sheepishly and told the students they didn’t need to imitate that part. But somewhere deep inside, I was thinking, “I just know I’m going to be that guy who bows to the pizza delivery boy years after I’ve gone home.” If, years later, you do see me deferring a little too much for any sensible American, please be kind.

The second incident happened just the other day at Mister Donut, as I was sitting, drinking coffee, and reading (as per my usual custom). My coffee was just about to run out, and I intended to avail myself of the free refills. But when I looked over at the counter, they were swamped. A big crowd of people had just come in, and the staff were evidently preoccupied. Now here’s where a funny thing happened: I actually caught myself thinking, “well, I don’t really need another cup of coffee right now, do I? They’re obviously busy enough as it is; far be it from me to bother them about some trifling need.” For an instant this seemed perfectly rational, but then I remembered, “waitasec, you’re the customer here! It’s their job to serve you! And what are you hesitating for, anyway? You’re an American, aren’t you? Just go up and say something, already.” I did just that, and the staff were happy to refill my cup even as they juggled multiple customer orders at the main counter. A little American directness goes a long way, but that I had to remember how to use it caught me off-guard.

And while I’m ashamed to admit it, there are even times where, walking down the street, I’ll spot someone who isn’t Japanese and think, “Hey, a foreigner. That’s something you don’t see every day,” before regaining my senses and reminding myself that I’m a foreigner too. I don’t think it’s entirely my fault, since Japan tends to be extremely homogeneous – the society tends to promote sameness in whatever isn’t inborn – to the point that anyone who bucks the trend becomes a visually interesting novelty by comparison. Nevertheless, it’s embarrassing to be caught staring, especially when more than a few Japanese people have been guilty of staring at me while I go about my business, for no other reason than the fact that I look different. Luckily for me, resident aliens in Japan share a secret code for when they pass by one another on the street: a flash of recognition, followed by a knowing nod. It’s not much, but it seems to suggest, “I know what you were thinking, because I just thought the same thing. We’re in the same boat, you and I.” It’s conspiratorial, subversive, and in an odd way reassuring. Lots of foreigners in Japan have had similar experiences to mine, and that one look tells me that I’m not the only one on whom Japan is slowly, almost imperceptibly, working its strange magic. I may be turning Japanese, but at least I’m not the only one.