Sept. 8

Today was just like yesterday, except it all took place at my second elementary school that just happens to be nestled waaaaaaaaaaaay out in the rice fields. So, that school is now dubbed the Boondocks School.

When Natto-sensei and Atsuko were driving me out there, they decided to take a “short cut” which in Japan means “backroads that only the Japanese could possibly navigate.” The roads here are impossibly narrow as is, and to have to learn where you’re going while driving these things is a recipe for flaming death. But I digress.

This was the school of the rowdy kids, the kids who love kanchos and water balloons.

Kancho. The kancho is the Japanese counterpart to the American wedgie, but with an up close and personal flare that totally betrays the standoffish natures of the Japanese stereotype. Here is how it is executed. Clasp both hands together with interlocked fingers. Then, point both index fingers out straight ahead. This is your kancho tool. With your kancho tool engaged, ram your index fingers up between the buttocks of any random passerby. Congratulations! You’ve just performed a kancho. Now, run, before they catch you, and wash your hands for goodness sake.

Like I said, these kids love them some kancho. It’s like…a rite of passage here. They tried to get me, but fortunately, missed the bullseye. So, I’ve been inducted. The kids are cute, though, and so very little. I was trying to read a map of the city, when the tiniest little girl I’ve ever seen walks up to me and asks,

“Wakaru?”

“Iie…kanji o wakaranai…”

“Daijoubu…atashi mo wakaranai. Issho ni naraimashoo, ne?”

TRANSLATION

“Do you understand it?”

“Nah…I can’t read kanji.”

“That’s okay. I don’t understand kanji either. Let’s learn together, okay?”

I laughed and let her grab onto my arm as I lifted her way up into the air. That made my day.

At home, I still began to wonder why I didn’t find Japan so mindblowingly amazing. It was just another place. Culture shock still hadn’t hit me. Neither had homesickness. Maybe it never will…or maybe I’m bound for something completely different…we’ll see. We will see…

D

Just a warning to you, my dear family. By the end of the week, you will be caught up to present. Be ready for a barrage of posts describing a lot of stuff. If you don't read it...well, I'll know.

D

Sept. 7^th

Today was a very simple day. I arrived at my first school, and…everyone welcomed me. I didn’t really teach today, but they wanted me to do a self introduction, which involved my name, my height, my age, hometown, my hobbies, my likes and dislikes, and stuff…very easy. The kids were absolutely amazed by everything about me. Especially when I’d move around. To them, I couldn’t possibly be real. They were thinking, ‘People don’t grow that big. Hair doesn’t do that. Skin doesn’t stay that dark. Clothes don’t come in those sizes.’ I was a giant imaginary friend, and they loved it.

I’d show a few pictures as well, just to mess with them and give them all the wrong perceptions of my existence. Ya know…like…all of Florida looks like the Keys. All my friends are silly. My hair is magical and takes on many forms. Stuff like that. They particularly enjoyed pictures of my roommate’s kitten, Stormy (yes, I know…we’ve been over this many times. The naming thing was a coincidence, we swear). One picture of that little gray furball resulted in high-pitched exclamations of “KAWAII!!!” which is basically…”cute”, in Japanese.

I made a few mistakes, though. The first was that when I said “It never snows in Florida”, I somehow slipped up and said “Crap never falls from the skies in Florida.” The kids froze. The teacher corrected me. I played it off like I got the verb forms mixed up. Another mistake was actually answering the question, “Do you have a girlfriend?” Yeah, after that was said, the teacher in the room with me, a woman, of course, seemed…a lot more interested in what I had to say. And the final mistake wasn’t realized until later on in the day.

Remember yesterday, I had no problem with natto. But, the kids asked me, “What food don’t you like?” and I had to come up with something they’d understand, and no Japanese person seems to know what cilantro is. So, I said the first weirdish tasting thing that came to mind.

“Natto.”

Harmless enough, right? Wrong. Within one hour the whole school thought I hated natto…and knew I didn’t have a girlfriend. One of the coaches made sure to show me every female teacher who was single. People were telling me that they would never serve me natto as parties they were going to invite me to. It was crazy. But then, I remembered…I told Natto-sensei that I liked natto. And the way word was spreading, oh, it’d get back to him, really, really fast, and then the coolest dude at the BoE would think I was a total liar.

I hopped on the internet as quickly as I could as e-mailed Atsuko, telling her the truth, and explaining that I didn’t want Natto-sensei to think I lied to him. She promptly e-mailed me back with laughter in her text, and told me she’d handle it. …I do hope it works.

But hey, lunch was fun and so was the rest of the day, so…as long as the natto doesn’t completely screw me over, I’m in the clear, right? …Right…

Sept. 6^th

There she was. She was cute in her own way, not at all what I was used to, but…still cute. I mean…back home, there was normally a little more curvature—better forms, ya know? Yep. I guess she was acceptable. I was in a rather desperate situation, anyway, so I really couldn’t be too choosy. A man can only ask so much from a Japanese car, anyway.

I figured I’d name her. She was white and black, like Stormy, but she was nothing like Stormy. But she still needed a name. I’d just put all my luggage into the poor car, without so much as a how-dee-do, so she deserved a name. If only it wasn’t raining, maybe I’d be able to think better. Wait…that’s it! Not quite Stormy… Okay, kid…your name from here on out, is Rain.

Rain and I had very little time to bond before I had to push her to her limits. She had to get used to me, and I had to get used to her…and Japanese traffic…all at once. Once I got out on the road, I realized that…walking to Trust School and driving o Trust School were two different things. Calm down, David, calm down. It’s just a road. Maybe some music will calm you down! So…I turned on the radio. Christina Aguilera?! Can I never escape this woman?! But, she helped me drive, so I can’t hate her too much.

Once I’d managed to park outside of Trust School, Atsuko came bouncing out, smiling brightly.

“Good morning!”

“…Morning.”

“Are you ready? Oh…the car is so small next to you!”

Ya know…you can’t fault people for stating the obvious in a second tongue. Until you master a language, you’re not quite as good at the subtle nuances of double entendres and the like, so…Atsuko got away with it. This time.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

After packing a few things into Atsuko’s car, since mine was filled to the brim, we started on our way. I made sure to stay RIGHT behind her the whole time, because…I couldn’t even tell which way was north, let alone read the street signs. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of grayish clouds, just how I like it, but…man, I really needed a compass in this place if I couldn’t at least see the sun. I had to resort to memorizing as many landmarks as possible during the drive, so that I could remember what looked like some cool places to visit.

Regardless of those setbacks, we made it to my apartment, even though my knees were killing me afterward. And ya know, when I first saw the outside of the place, I was terrified. It just…looked like a bunch of lockers. You step inside, lean against a wall, and fall asleep. And I’d seen video of Matt’s place. I figured I’d ended up with a place even smaller than his. But once Atsuko opened the door, all worries washed away. “Wooden” floors, high enough ceilings, lots of storage space…I mean it wasn’t huge, but man, considering what was expecting? This place was amazing! I had a TV, internet, a well functioning air conditioner, a clothes washing machine…basically everything Matt told me NOT to expect.

“He’s gonna kill me,” I thought. “He’s really…really gonna kill me.”

Atsuko walked around the room and made an “inspection” of the place, then briefly explained the appliances whose instructions were unfortunately written in Kanji.

“Okay…is this place good for you?”

I laughed. “Oh, yeah…this is fine.”

“Okay…at 1:30, be at the Board of Education Building. I pointed it, remember? And I’ll stand outside and wait for you so you’ll recognize it.”

“Sure thing.”

“Okay…um…then…s…see you later!” And with that, she awkwardly walked out the door and closed it behind her.

Two hours later, after unpacking and totally forgetting to eat, I walked out of that place and headed for the Board of Education. As promised, Atsuko was waiting outside, and escorted me in. There, I met Natto-sensei…cool dude of the BoE. Natto-sensei and Atsuko drove me around to all of my schools, telling me to remember as best as I could how to get there. Oh, they gave me a map, but…lemme tell ya. Japanese maps? Useless. No streets are named, only prominent streets can actually be seen on the map, and…well…the other streets look like they were drawn, erased, redrawn, erased, washed in a washing machine, redrawn and erased again. So, ya know…not so useful. So, every car in Japan has GPS. Oh, except for my car. AND, every single school in Japan looks exactly the same. No distinguishing features. So this was really helping my photographic memory.

BUT, we made it pretty well. Natto-sensei and Atsuko kept complimenting my Japanese (man…at first it felt good, now it feels like patronizing garbage) and every single school principle asked me my height, and if I could slam dunk. Oh, silly Asian people and your shortness.

As we made our way back to the School Board, Natto-sensei suddenly flipped out, because a bunch of his bosses were right outside the door.

“Atsuko…keep driving…let’s go to my house.”

Atsuko floored it, and we eventually made it to Natto-sensei’s house, where he gave us pears, oranges, drinks and a special dish called “natto”, where I just happen to be pulling his pseudonym from. Natto is a strange dish of fermented beans, mixed with soy sauce and mustard. Odd taste, odder texture, but I kinda like it. Except for the stickiness…blech. Note that I enjoyed it this time, though…

Eventually, we made it back to the BoE, and I had to introduce myself to the whole BoE staff…in Japanese…in front of everyone. That was…special. But they all loved me, and offered to take me out drinking some time. Atsuko seemed to enjoy watching me be utterly confused by so very much. Everyone kept complimenting my hair, my clothes, my personality…it was all a bit overwhelming. But, eventually, I met the BIG BOSS.

Now…this was a white-haired, suit wearing, stiff looking old Japanese man. And I had to go into his office to talk to him. Atsuko and Natto-sensei walked with me. He spoke to me in Japanese, and I replied as best as I could in Japanese, which seemed to impress him.

“So, David…how tall are you?”

“About two meters.”

“Really? Maybe you can help our basketball team. And how old are you?”

“23.”

“Well, isn’t that a surprise? So am I!”

I laughed, as did the head of the BoE…Atsuko and Natto-sensei laughed just a second afterward, as if they weren’t sure if it was okay.

“I like your hair!” said the Big Boss. “Can I do that with my hair?”

I chuckled. “Oh, yes. One day, I’ll teach you.”

We both laughed, and…well…that was it. Atsuko and Natto Sensei escorted me out of the building as I waved goodbye to everyone, and walked me to my car. Natto-sensei just bowed and walked back inside. But Atsuko hung around.

“So, did you have fun?”

“Oh yes, very much.”

“That was strange…Natto-sensei’s never invited people to his house like that. And the Board has never been so friendly.”

I just shrugged and smiled.

“So…are you okay?”

“Yep…just fine.”

“Oh, I want you to get your internet working tonight, so I can contact you.”

“You got it.”

“Okay then…I’ll…see you later. Yes. Bye!”

“…Bye!”

Atsuko’s goofy…but she makes me laugh, so it’s okay.

D

Man, let me tell y’all somethin’. Futons ain’t worth a single thing to anyone over 180 pounds. Oh, in case you didn’t understand, futons in Japan aren’t the same thing as the ones in America. Futon is a Japanese word that translates to “throw rug”, but apparently, the Japanese didn’t think to use it like that. I’ve slept on softer carpets than those dern paper thin pieces of crap. By the way? The Japanese do not understand cushioned surfaces. Even the places where you’re supposed to lay down your futon are pretty much hard, flat, wooden decks.

So, I woke up at 4:30 am for two reasons. The first was because futons suck. The second was jet lag, that wonderful phenomenon that I had never experienced until then. Even stranger? The sun was out…and BRIGHT. I swore my watch was wrong, so, I looked for my cell phone to confirm. And it was that moment that I realized…I had lost it. Not that it mattered, because I wasn’t gonna be able to use it in Japan, but…it would’ve made a very nice alarm clock. Dah well. I figure I’ll buy one later. But right then, I really needed some sort of confirmation on the time, because I really didn’t want to be late for my meeting with Trust School. So, I needed to find a clock. Especially since my computer said the time in Tokyo was…4 hours ahead of my watch. My only choice was to venture outside and find myself a timepiece that enjoyed being, ya know, right.

I didn’t have too many options when it came to clothing that day, since all my clothes were sealed up in vacuum bags and it’d be a pain to unpack anything for just one night. So, I put on the dress shirt I’d had on during the whole flight, threw on some jeans and went for a walk…totally not matching, and it felt great.

As I stepped out of my apartment, there was the little white car again. It had made it a complete chore to move my bags in since it was parked right on the walkway, and today it continued doing its job. Someone really needed to move that thing.

“Suzuki, huh?” I said aloud, knowing no one would understand me, particularly the car. “You’ll get yours!”

The walk was rather…painful. My “tuberculosis” was still messing with me horribly, making it rather tough to breathe, but my mind was also spinning from stress, so I really couldn’t tell if my chest pains were stress related or otherwise. Either way, it made the walk a bit of a chore. It was rather hot outside, too. If I wasn’t a Florida-blooded kid, or a Child of the Sun, it might’ve gotten to me, but really…wasn’t that bad. As I walked, several kids rode by me on bicycles, trying their best not to make eye contact with me. Grown men and women would look at their shoes as I passed them. Drivers tried their best to catch quick glimpses of me without me noticing, but come on, people. I’ve been gawked at since I was 13 and passed the six-foot line. That’s ten years of practice on your…what, two seconds of havin’ a Negro in your city? Please. I can catch a curious glance from a mile away. Thank you, America, for making me feel awkward everyday, or I’d never be prepared for this. Imagine how it must’ve been for the poor old woman I asked for the time. Ha.

Anyway, my walk took a lot out of me, so, I went home, and noticed the license plate on the little white car. 532. 5+3+2 = 10. Ten is my number. So, I couldn’t be too mad at the little car for being in my way. I inched my way past it, opened my door, kicked off my shoes, climbed up to my lofted futon, collapsed and fell asleep…again. And woke up late…again! Stupid jetlag…stupid watch…stupid lost cellphone that should’ve been my alarm clock. I would not be late. I could not afford to be late. The Japanese hate tardiness. So, I ran, in my suit, in the sweltering sun, the bustling city of Mito.

And arrived 1 minute late. Fortunately, the Japanese must’ve adapted to CP time, because they weren’t ready for my arrival.

“Oh! Mr. Williams!” said a woman who looked exactly like the driver from the previous night, but…wasn’t. “We are sorry, but the trainer is on the phone. Please…this way.”

She led me into a room with a blackboard and a dry erase board, and turned the air conditioner on full blast.

“You look hot,” she said. “Please, wait here.” She handed me a box of tissues to mop my brow, stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind her.

Minutes later, she returned. “We will handle your contracts now.”

This is the boring part, where I had to sign a crapload of paperwork swearing I wouldn’t burn down schools or leave the country suddenly, or declare jihad against Japan. Then there were car contracts, apartment contracts, bleh, blah, blee…a bunch of stuff that matters but doesn’t, all written in some of the most hilarious English I’ve ever seen. The l and r mix ups are beautiful.

“The signee must not free Japan without first notifying Trust School.”

Darn. I had my revolution pants on and everything.

Then came another woman to talk to me about my car. Here we go, the moment I’d been waiting for. See…Matt and I had been giggling like schoolgirls over the idea of me in a Japanese car, so this was like the punchline to one awesome joke for me. I sat there and wondered what micro car they were gonna put me in.

“Okay, Mr. David. We have your car all ready for you.”

“Right. It’s at my apartment in Chikusei?”

“No, no…it is here in Mito. We want you to drive it over to Chikusei.”

Oh, great.

“Sure,” I said, though I think my voice cracked. The woman turned a piece of paper toward me, that had all the car’s description on it.

“Okay, your car is a Suzuki We’ve.”

Ha. Funny name. Hey, wait…Suzuki?

“It is a little small.”

As expected.

“The color is white.”

…Wait a minute…

“The license plate is 532.”

Oh, you gotta be kid—

“And we parked it in front of your apartment.”

…@$#%! I glanced up at the ceiling and thought, ‘Oh…oh…oh…whoo, You’re funny, You know that?. You got me good. You and I? We’re gonna laugh at this for a long time. Yep, You are the king of jokes. At least this time, I know how to laugh.’

When all that garbage was done, my trainer came in. I was expectin’ the dude I talked to on the phone a month ago…a New Zealander with a rather powerful and persistent cough. But no, this was a little Japanese woman named Atsuko.

So, my trainer began to talk to me about the workings of Trust School. Eventually we were joined by two other people, a man and a woman, all seemingly about my age. I think they just wanted to see the black guy, because they really served no purpose. But within ten minutes, I had everyone laughing, even with my broken Japanese. I kept derailing their sincerest efforts to do their jobs, because they really didn’t want to. They were good people, though. Turns out, Atsuko was my supervisor, who made sure to point out where her house was in relation to where mine would be…and offered to drive me somewhere to get an alarm clock…and muttered under her breath to her female co-worker that I was cute/cool/handsome. You see what kind of trouble I can get myself into in this country? But I’m not stupid enough to pull something like that. But still, it is funny. During that training session, I was called handsome, cool, “nice guy” (which in Japan, means a combination of “cool” and “hot”…what is that, “lukewarm”?), “nice face”, “good character” and “ideal ALT”. Hey, nothing wrong with an ego boost from time to time, as long as you have pride on your “arch nemesis” list.

After my three new friends left, I met with a guy from Canada, who was EXACTLY like my boss from my Resident Assistant days…who happened to be from Canada. He was even more laid back than the first three folks.

Captain Canada and I joked around while trying our best to focus on the task at hand…explaining the company handbook, but oh, man did we fail. Eventually, we finished. I was on the express training schedule. Two days of training in 4 hours…2 hours of jokes included.

When all was said and done, I went to the main office, where Atsuko comes running up to me and grabs me by the arm.

“David! How are you? Was the training okay? I wasn’t boring, was I?”

“No…no, not at all.” Okay, this is just silly. Japanese women aren’t this keen to physical contact…according to the legends.

“Good, good…oh! Who is that for?” she asked, pointing to the rather long, blue box I had under my arm.

“Oh, this? It’s a gift…for The Boss.”

Yep. Before I had even left for Japan, Matt told me, “Dave…if you want to get in good with the Japanese, buy ‘em gifts. Particularly big ol’ bottles of hard liquor. They love that stuff.” So, I had picked up a bottle of Macallan’s Twelve Year Scotch for The Boss.

“Ohhh…you’re so kind! You want me to put your name on it?”

“…Sure!”

She took the box from me, looked at it rather longingly, and showed it to everyone else in the room. “Look what David bought for The Boss!”

…Now I wasn’t sure if she wasn’t treating me like a three-year-old or not. The tone in her voice was pretty much, “Aww, lookit what the special ed kid did!”

Then she came running back, just as Captain Canada walked up. “Otsukaresama deshita,” he said. Basically, “Thanks for workin’, folks.”

I repeated it, slowly, but surely and Atsuko slaps me on the arm. “Your Japanese is good!” Yeah…I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Man, I don’t get that when I say it,” said Captain Canada.

“Jaa!” I said.

Atsuko just giggled and replied, “Remember, be here at 9 am, and we’ll drive to Mito together, okay?”. …Yeah…

Captain Canada drove me to a 100 Yen store…a dollar store…in his Mustang. That’s right. A Mustang.

“Got it for 2,000 bucks, man. As long as you don’t mind older models, cars here are cheap. ‘Shaken’ is a beast, though…”

At the 100 Yen store, I used a note that my other female interviewer had given me, that said “Where are the alarm clocks?” The lady at the store thought it was cute.

So, I walked back home, alarm clock in hand, stopped by the grocery store near my apartment for a bowl of do-it-yourself ramen, and called it a day. Yep, I was feelin’ pretty good…and then I remembered: I had to drive 90 km the next day…in Japanese traffic…and face a bunch of old Japanese men…as a big black dude with dreads.

…Can’t…breathe…

D

The Boss. That’s what I’ll call him. He’s a good guy. Not his fault he learned French before English and his pronunciation is now rather jacked. I have the same problem in Japanese, thanks to Spanish.

The Boss met Matt and I at the Trust School office. There’s a strange feeling to Japanese workplaces. Imagine the offices you see in 70s TV shows and movies, and then outfit them with some of the latest technology, but then…make that technology look really, really old. That’s a Japanese office. Wires and papers everywhere, people bustling in and out of narrow hallways, poorly designed layouts and precarious cubicle placement…. Yup, that’s Japan. Not the sleek Art Deco world of the American office by any means. The Japanese make more use of the wonderful art of stacking. Because of the size of America, we’re always used to growing outward. Expanding. Giving ourselves some breathing room. In Japan, there isn’t so much space, so…they grow upward. Pile things on top of each other. If you ever live here, you must make that paradigm shift, or you might go insane. Problem is…for someone my height, stacking just means more stuff to accidentally knock over.

But I digress, again. The Boss greeted us at Trust School. He’s…I can never tell the age of Asian men, but I’m guessing he was 45, short (compared to Americans), slightly balding, and a little wide about the midsection. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, as it was rather warm, even in the evening.

“Ah, David-san. Very nice to meet you finally. Ah, you are very tall! You play basketball?”

Matt fights back his laughter.

“Yes…I did in high school,” I say, calmly.

“Ha…I bet you can slam dunk quite easily, ne?”

Matt is turning beet red.

“Yes…with some warm up,” I manage.

“Very good, very good…ah, but Japanese children, they are not used to tall men like you, so when you go to class, you kneel down to talk to them, okay?”

Understandable. I’m freakishly tall even in America. So, here…I don’t know what’s beyond freak of nature, but, uh…that’s me. “Sure, I can do that.”

The Boss smiled. “Ah, and maybe when you talk to teachers, you bend down to make them feel less comfortable, ne?”

Wait. I’m supposed to bend down like I’m talking to a four year old…right…that’s gonna come across REAL well.

“Sure,” I said. “Not a problem.”

The Boss continued. “Ah, David-san. I called the schoolboard in Chikusei yesterday, an told them about you. I say you’re a very nice boy, very nice, because you are. But when you go there tomorrow, you must understand, these are older men. Very conservative. And your hairstyle is very extreme, you know? So, is there any way you can…fix…because your headband, it makes them stick out, and you might scare the men.”

Uh oh. Now, they told me the dreads were okay. But, if the schoolboard doesn’t like me, they can reject me, even if Trust School accepts me. Then I’d have no schools at which to teach. No school means no contract means no money means…probably gonna have to go home. And it’s kinda hard to pull back dreads that are too short to really grip. “Well, I don’t know if I can do…maybe if…the headband could…”

“Yeah, he can do it,” said Matt. “He’s done it before. His hair is just a little messy from the plane ride.”

“Y…yeah, I can do it,” I added, trying not to sound nervous.

The Boss nodded and smiled.

“Well, sir,” said Matt. “Just wanted you to meet my friend. We’re gonna go get some dinner, okay?”

“Ah, yes, yes, I’m sure you are very tired and hungry. David-san, please be here at 3 pm tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes,” I said. Tired of words for some reason.

“Well, you have a good night, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and went back into the office.

I just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out if I shouldn’t just shave off my dreads that night.

“Lesson two, Dave,” said Matt. “In Japan, when someone asks you if you can do something, the answer is always yes. Even if you can’t. Don’t rock the boat. No surprises.”

‘Well, that’s gotta cause problems,’ I thought. “Right,” I said.

Matt smirked again. “Come on, let’s get some food.”

We walked to a small restaurant, where Matt tried to order some food, but we ended up getting only half the order. Simply because he missed a few relationals in Japanese. I sometimes had to step in and repeat/complete sentences for him, so that the cook could understand. I hated doing that, though, because it felt like I was telling Matt, “Step aside, buffoon! You haven’t the lingual skills for ordering foodstuffs and ales!” But, hey…we got two plates of gyoza, two big bowls of real ramen, and two huge bottles of beer. Good times.

We walked back to my apartment, and Matt opened the big bag he’d brought with him. It was a “transitional pack”, chock full of all the things I was worried about. He’d gotten me cleaning supplies, toiletries, work supplies, cups, glasses, silverware…the guy had covered all bases.

“I…thanks…man…I don’t…thanks.” I’ve never been good at expressing thanks, mostly because I’m too busy feeling bad because someone went to the trouble of doing me a favor. I guess I’ve always been Japanese.

“It’s all yours, man,” said Matt. “Should keep your brain from exploding for the next few days.”

“I…yeah…”

I walked Matt back to Mito Station, where he was to catch a train aaaaaaaaaall the way back to Saitama, in a completely different prefecture. I fronted him the cash for his ticket back, which I owed him anyway. And thus, we parted ways.

As I walked back from the train station to my apartment, I realized that Japan really felt no different from any other part of the world. It was strange because it always felt like, just beyond the tallest buildings, West Palm Beach lay nestled in a valley somewhere, right where I left it. Home wasn’t thousands of miles away, it was right around the corner. I wasn’t homesick, I wasn’t alone. I had friends here. I…didn’t feel any culture shock.

“…I’m in Japan.”

I was in…Japan.

“We just see Trust School, and then we go to your apartment,” said the driver, barely making a right turn in time to avoid serious repercussions.

“Apaato?” I asked. “Hoteru ja arimasen?”

“No, no…not hotel,” she replied. “You stay apartment.”

I looked back at Matt, bewildered.

“You think I know?” snickered Matt.

Had these people relocated me to Mito? You see, my contract had me assigned to a city called Chikusei, which had recently been created by merging four smaller towns. City merging is all the rage in Japan. I was supposed to stay in a hotel in Mito for one night, and then get shipped off to Chikusei. But now, the driver was telling me I had an apartment in Mito.

‘Aaight,’ I thought. ‘You said you were gonna have to learn to adapt, so…let’s adapt.’

We pulled up to a small apartment complex in front of which was parked a small white car. I laughed at the thought of whoever drove that thing. It was just…so little. Kind of cute, actually. Well, until I realized it was totally in my way. Someone had parked it right next to the building, in the walkway that we were using to get to my apartment. There wasn’t enough room for a person AND absurdly heavy luggage, so I had to kind of support my bag…my heaviest bag, mind you…on my knee and walk with it in front of me. VERY painful.

The driver walked me to the apartment door, while I carried my bag as best as I could. She opened the door, and all I could think of was getting the bag inside and setting it down. And so, I committed Japan Foul #1.

“Oh! No! No shoes in apartment!”

…Lady…I’m carrying 70 pounds on one arm, and you’re expecting me to take my shoes off?! Good lord, how to the Japanese move in and out of apartments? Do…do they just form a chain of shoed and non-shoed…shod…people and pass the baggage in? What about second story apartments? Do they use catapults? How in the world do you move a refrigerator into an apartment if you’re trying to take off your shoes? How do you have fire drills, escape earthquakes…shoot, run from homicidal maniacs if you’re always concerned about proper footwear?

…But I complied. “Oh, so sorry! Er…gomen nasai!”

But, eventually, even with the shoes on/off crap, I got all my luggage into the room…but trust me. That’s the last thing you wanna try and do in a suit. Matt collapsed in a corner, and I just leaned up against a wall.

“Okay…you stay here tonight,” said the woman. “Then, you come to Trust school tomorrow…3 pm. Okay? Training.”

I nodded. Not like I could do much of anything else, what with the “tuberculosis” cramping my lungs.

“Good, good. You rest. Get sleep. Futon in loft.” She pulled a remote control off the wall. “Here is air conditioner. See? Hot, cold, on, off. Okay?”

That’s right, people. The air conditioners in Japan are remote controlled. Slicker than you realize. Oh, I hear you all. “Why would I want a remote control for my AC?” But when you can sit and watch TV, think “It’s kinda hot” and then turn down the AC without walking to the thermostat? You’ll know why I find it so awesome. Only drawback is…there is no other control. Not even on the dern AC unit. So, ya know…if you lose the remote, you’re pretty much screwed. So, they’re not geniuses. Just…lazy at true laziness.

“Okay,” I panted. “Arigato gozaimashita.” And with that, she left.

“Dang,” said Matt. “This place uses space a thousand times better than my apartment. You lucked out…for one night at least.”

“Yeah…I hope my actual place is this nice.”

“The rural places are usually pretty big, man. I think you’re gonna be alright.”

“Well…as long as I don’t have to take my shoes on and off to move in…”

“…Holy crap, she called you on that?”

“Yeah, man…almost bit my head off.”

“…Dude, the customs don’t apply to you yet. Don’t worry. You could intentionally set fire to them and they’d apologize for getting in the way of your match…blowtorch…flamethrower…whatever.”

“Tell that to her.”

“Whatever, man. Tell you what. Put on some more comfortable clothes. We’re gonna visit the Trust School, so that they know your face.”

“…I’m like…the only non-NBA signed black dude within 6000 miles, man.”

“Right, well…whatever. Get dressed. We’s out!”

…Yep. That’s Matt for ya.

To Be Continued…

“This doesn’t look anything like any part of Tarpon Springs I’ve seen,” said Matt, half snickering.

“It’s not the look, man…it’s the feel.”

We’d been on the bus for an hour or so, and the sun was setting. I was hurriedly trying to take pictures from my seat, while Matt just…relaxed. I watched the driver wield the bus through impossibly narrow turns and alleys, while pedestrians and drivers of much smaller cars didn’t seem to mind how close we were coming to killing all of them. Then I remembered: I was gonna have to drive in this.

Unlike Matt, whose schools were within walking/biking distance, my schools were as far as 10 km away, and the company I was going to work for pretty much forced me to have a car. Not for my convenience, I imagine, but so that I wasn’t a liability. Being that late just does not cut it. Even more wonderful—I actually had to rent the car FROM them. Oh, I could turn it down…and you better believe I was waiting for that chance.

“You driven here before, man?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” replied Matt, munching on some chips.

“Was it…difficult?”

“Nah. Just…follow the lights, man. Green means go, red means stop. No other rules. None.”

“…Right…”

Yeah…this is gonna be fun.

The bus stopped at Mito Station, where Matt and I got off. Mito is the capital of the Ibaraki Prefecture…like a state. The state where I would be teaching. So, this was a bigger city with tall buildings, faster cars, but…the station most definitely didn’t look like a station. Everything in Japan is so crammed together that it’s hard to find where one thing stops and another starts. This bus station looked like a demolition derby between department stores.

After helping me lug all my baggage to a better spot, Matt called the company for which we’d be working, and they offered to come and pick us up, but I didn’t know how anyone could possibly find us in all the confusion. Cars were flying everywhere, taxis were parked on all inches of the streets. And what really creeped me out was that there were Japanese school girls EVERYWHERE. No guys. All girls. And seeing those uniforms just….

“So, you still terrified of Japanese girls, Dave?”

“It’s not right, man…just…not right…”

Fortunately, our driver soon showed up, in the form of a very small, very confused, Japanese (what else?) woman…whose name I still don’t know. We hurriedly crammed all that baggage into the car and leapt inside, as the taxi drivers were quite perturbed by our presence.

After a few minutes of absolutely insane driving, we had arrived… Now…in all my imagination, I expected an office on, say…the sixth floor of a huge building with other offices. I forgot that my image of a gleaming Japan was dead wrong.

There it was, Trust School, on the second floor of a normal building, above a dry cleaners’, in the middle of an area that looked like the ghettos of West Palm Beach.

Yeah…I was in Japan, alright…

To Be Continued…

The Rewind Continues!!!!! And don't worry, I'm writing journal entries for the recent days to. Yeesh. Give me some credit.

“Be very careful in customs, man. If you piss ‘em off, they will send you right back home.”

“Don’t wear anything metal, or they’ll send you to the strip search room.”

“Dude…considering all that just happened? Youre pretty much screwed when it comes to customs.”

Can ya see why I was terrified when I was getting of the plane? All I could think was ‘Don’t look suspicious, don’t look suspicious,” which of course…made me look suspicious. I walked slowly, to match what people might expect from a man of my stature. And I smiled at everyone. Me? Smile? Do you see the problem? Anyway, I carefully grabbed my bags and went to customs. Deep breath.

“How long are you going to be here?”
“Deh…two…no…one m—no, yeah, one month and…twenty…six—er, seven. One month, 27 days.”
The customs officer chuckles. “And to visit friends?”
“…Why am I here?”
“Yes.”
“Y…yeah, to visit a friend…for a while.”

Yep. First words in the country = total LIES. But ya know, that’s how it works with this stuff. …Yeah. I’m hocked the dude didn’t lock me up on the spot, I was so jittery. But, he gestured me on through.

And from there, I ran into Seamus…Matt Shannon, the man who for whatever reason, keeps savin’ my butt over, and over, and over again. I almost didn’t recognize him; the guy had lost a lot of weight. But really, he was the only 6’4”, bushy eyebrowed Irishman within at least…a mile or 80, and I was the only black guy in the whole airport, so…wasn’t too hard to get past changing appearances. The whole scene was like the closing to Shawshank Redemption, where Morgan Freeman, after following the cryptic directions of his closest friend during a horrible, yet necessary imprisonment, finds himself on new shores, only to be greeted by his old friend, Tim Robbins, who looks happy as all heck to be where he is. I’m Morgan Freeman, by the way. In case you were wondering.

Matt stood there with a huge grin on his face, and a big black bag by his side. I probably should have been tired, but I wasn’t. There were no real greetings, since we both expected this to happen.

“Yo.”
“Sup, man. Where do I go now?”
“Right over there.”

I walked over to the currency exchange counter, switched all my money to yen, and went back to Matt.

“Alright, man…let’s get some food and drink in ya, then we’re taking a bus to Mito.”
“We? You’re going with me?”
“…I’m not lettin’ you freak out, I told you that.”

I just nodded. Matt bought a bag of chips and two drinks. A C.C. Lemon for himself (“70 lemons’ worth of vitamin C in every bottle!” it boasts) and a Pocari Sweat for me. Yes, I know the name sounds disgusting, but it’s pretty much Gatorade. Get it now? Replenishes…whatever. We bought our tickets, and ran outside.

I’d brought enough luggage to kill a pig…whatever that means…and knew I’d regret it. The bus attendants had a fun time putting my bags on the bus.

Matt and I boarded, laughing, but suddenly Matt quieted down. Not me though. Nope. Not crazy ol’ American me.

“Matt…we’re in Japan. …Why’re we in JAPAN?!”
Matt smirks. “Dave…first thing you’ll learn. Indoor voices, man. Indoor voices.”

It’s true. The Japanese are quiet people, and don’t have the gumption to tell you to shut your big mouth. So, Americans are always deemed as loud, when…we just don’t realize that the bus isn’t the place for the social stupidity we’re used to. I quieted down immediately.

“I knew you’d ask that question,” said Matt. “But you’ll see…Japan isn’t what you think it is…”

And as the bus pulled away from the station, I soon found out what he meant.

To Be Continued…

Let's REWIND. From the beginning, people. Hopefully, we'll catch up soon.

Okay…I promised that I’d keep a decent journal on this place once I got here, so, as I sit at my desk in my junior high school for the first time…here we go.

The trip here was interesting, as I’m sure most of you expected. I was left with the task of cleaning up an apartment in which four people had lived, yet none had bothered to tidy up before they vacated. I’m proud to say I failed spectacularly at my task, and ran out the door with a sweaty brow, but a huge smile on my face, knowing that I’d just cost someone else a huge chunk of their deposit. Har.

Thus began the final day in Orlando. I slept over at my friend Matthew Pena’s house, and then rushed to work, carrying three computers on my person. The final day at FullSail was odd, because I really didn’t feel like I was leaving. Just…saying “see you later”. Besides, I hadn’t been there long enough to warrant much emotion from my co-workers, but even that felt like a bit of a disservice to them. Didn’t feel like I’d given them enough of my time.

My co-worker Lionel had talked to me the day before, saying “I know I’m not one of your close friends, but your one of the few people who gets my jokes…” blah blah blah…. The thing my co-workers didn’t understand is that they HAD reached the level of close friends. It’s why I liked coming to work everyday…even after throwing newspapers for three hours everyday. These were awesome people, and rival my old RA staff in coolness levels. Problem is, I was still painfully guarded throughout the last year, since my depression had just begun to wear off. So, though Lionel thought I was keeping everyone at a distance, they’d gotten as close as they could. As close as I’d let anyone get, and that’s saying a lot. Because of this, it was all a bit weird. I’m sure they all felt like they barely knew me, when my closed-off natures made me feel like I’d shown them too much.

But, I digress. After saying goodbye, and realizing that my co-workers were actually going to miss me, I hopped in my car, and drove the fastest 162.4 miles I’d ever driven in my entire life. I only had one day at home, and dang it, I was not going to waste any time in my car.

The one cday at home was just as weird. My family acted completely…normal. Like I wasn’t going anywhere. No tears or “Oh, my God, I’m not gonna see you for a long time!!!” The most my mother did was hug me because “I’m not going to get to do this for a long while.” My sister hung out with me a bunch, but she and I have a connection where planets can’t separate us. So, it was just going through the motions, mostly. I ate pizza and ice cream, visited my aunts and uncles, had a rather painful encounter with my senile grandmother (who remembers my sister, but not me) and…went to sleep.

And woke up 40 minutes late! Whoooooo!!! Never moved that fast in my life. We drove my car, Stormy, to the airport, to give me one last ride. I was breathing rather heavily, but I’m not sure if it was from the “tuberculosis” or from nervousness. I still didn’t act as if anything was out of the ordinary. Bags checked. Still normal. Stood in front of the barrier. Still normal. Hugged everyone goodbye. Still…normal. Walked away. Still……..normal. I have some of the greatest emotional blockage I’ve ever seen. I felt myself saying “I should cry, or something…yeah…should be crying. Why aren’t I at least feeling bad?” Like I said, emotions ain’t got nothin’ on me.

Complete and utter lies.

On the plane, I made sure to get a window seat, and the person next to me apparently bailed. So, it was two people in three seats. The man in the row with me was Jim Dyer, a name I want to remember, so that when I come back, I can drop his name somewhere so he’ll know it’s me. He gave me a little advice which I’m gonna try and follow through on, but…no promises.

Landing in Dallas was simple enough. Especially because my next plane was leaving from the same gate where I arrived. Called my folks, said bye again…still no real reaction, and hopped on the plane. And again, the person sitting next to me had bailed. My "luck" was frighteningly good. And as a cynic…it was all starting to scare me. Regardless…I was on the plane. I was in the air. I was leaving America.

Matt Shannon explained to me that there was one point on the flight the might creep me out. This one point was the Rubicon, a word I use often, which is basically the point of no-return. Or, well, in this case, the point of slightly more difficult return. I slept right through this point without even realizing it, but when I opened my eyes, the panic hit me momentarily. I was closer to Japan than I was to my own home. That may seem normal to travelly folk, but for a kid who had never left the country, and RARELY left his own state…that was huge. I looked out my window, and could see Russia. Russia. The Russia I’d seen on the news. The Russia I’d studied in class. Oh, sure, I knew it all existed, but there ha always been this curtain of shadow around my world, kinda like a video game map that you haven’t explored yet. And the farther I flew from home, the farther that curtain withdrew. Russia. That was frickin’ Siberia. SIBERIA.

A giggling Japanese soccer player broke my decent into masked panic. I thank her for that. No one would have ever guessed that I was freaking out, but…I was. Fortunately, I had Nacho Libre to keep me calm. I mean, come on…watching Jack Black prance around a wrestling ring 5 times in one flight has got to help calm a person’s nerves, right? Ha…ha ha…ha…… Jack, we’re cool and all, but, man…don’t ever mention that movie around me. Fortunately, just as I was about to punch the screen, the movie flickered off.

“We are now descending into Tokyo Narita Airport.”

…Well…here we go…

To Be Continued…

Well, family...I'm here, sitting in Japan, and suddenly realizing how much I like it. Before, it was a huge cloud of uncertainty that loomed over my head, and man, I wasn't sure if it was gonna hit me with acid rain. But I'm good! Still solitary as always, but at least I have a reason this time.

Japan is not as "amazing" as most people say. I think most white people say that because, despite all their arguments to the contrary...they are used to being the norm. So when they get here and get gawked at or treated differently...it's a mind opening experience! Meanwhile, to me, it feels like every new place I've ever entered. People don't know what to think of me, they're strangely enamored by my oddities, and...some of them fear me. Normal day in America for a 6'6" tower of goofy blackness.

And no, Japan is not pretty at first. In anything but the largest cities, Japan is actually quite ramshackle. It reminds me of the trips I would take between West Palm Beach and Tarpon Springs, Florida. Farmland, old houses, bright lights, ghettos, broken streets, stretches of shopping plazas and liquor stores. Strange vending machines and factories littered the journey. But this was spaced out over 224 miles. Imagine all those things crammed into 20 miles…and then duplicated for 400 miles. That’s Japan. The biggest hodgepodge of bad civil planning I’ve ever seen. It really looks like a ghetto where no one gets shot, sells drugs, or…well, no one’s black. It’s beautiful in that sense (no, not the lack of black people...so shut up) It has the strange charm I’ve always felt from the ghetto, but without the broken beer bottles, stench of gasoline or the rhythm of gunshots. I feel like I’ve been here before…

But what made it prettier was this: Today I started at my junior high school. And...tell Daddy this...I helped coach the basketball team. Everyday since I've gotten here, I've gotten the same questions, in this order.

"How tall?"
"You tall as Michael Jordan?"
"Basketball? You basketball?"
"Can you dunk shoot?"

Yes, in Japan, it's "dunk shoot". And yes, I can...with a little warm up. The knees are still a bit...messed up. But during school today, I wandered into the gym, and happened to make a leap for the rim...in my work clothes. The entire gym froze...and the cheered.

"Dunk shoot! Dunk shoot! PLEASE!!!!"

I just chuckled and told them I couldn't. Not now. Wrong clothes. But later, the basketball coach asked me to come out and watch the boys basketball club. So, seein' as I happened to have my basketball clothes with me...I went out there, and sot around for a bit. Daddy...nothing you've taught me has worn off. Nothing. I was sinking three pointers with ease.

But, as I looked over at the sidelines, there was one kid with an injured hand, dribbling rather awkwardly. Something about his stance and demeanor reminded me of...me. He was a kid who wanted to play, but no one seemed to take him seriously. So, I walked and showed him three things.

1. Dribbling drills. Simple crossovers and figure 8 dribbling through the legs.
2. How to always watch your opponent while dribbling.
3. The proper shooting technique that my father taught me, and wrist strengthing drills.

I stayed with him for a while, because he was having a hard time with it. But he was improving...quickly. And was very happy about it. I left him to his own devices for a while, until the coach challenged me to a free throw contest...which I won. But, I then looked at my new friend, and told him to take a shot. He looked at me with a lot of fear in his eyes, but complied. Nervously, he walked up to the foul line, and mimicked my preparation bounce for bounce. And then...he shot. On his first try, nothing but net. The whole team went crazy. They were asking him to teach them how to shoot and dribble. Teachers were cheering and patting him on the back. I've never seen a kid smile that big before, and I don't think I've smiled that big before either. We beat them. I don't know who we beat...but we beat them.

After practice, I returned to my test, worn out, only two find that the staff had given me two huge muffins and two small cartons of milk to thank me for my actions. Two champions left that school that night, and to both of us, Japan seemed a lot prettier.

Thanks, Daddy...I don't know if I would've been able to feel that good without ya.

D

AAAAAAAAAHH!!!!

Just testing.