Asian Fever

I have fallen victim to a very serious condition. Much like my Instagram addiction, I’ve been denying it for quite a while now…but I can’t hide it any longer. After two years of living in Japan, I believe I have finally been struck down with Asian Fever.

The Urban Dictionary describes Asian Fever (or the more politically incorrect, Yellow Fever) as an affliction where a westerner finds themselves inextricably attracted to those of Asian descent. It is shocking to learn then, that I have become a casualty of this fate…given my vehement claims that I had absolutely no attraction to Asian men…well, until this revelation.

So why am I only now, after 30 years without Asian Fever, suddenly a sufferer?! Is it all the flattery and attention I receive from the men I meet here (no, not just from Yuji)…the claims that I am ‘charming’, ‘endearing’ and ‘beautiful’ finally going to my head? Has it just been that long since I’ve had any action, things are getting desperate?! Or maybe it’s a case of Stockholm Syndrome…I’ve been a captive of Japan for so long it’s started to skew my view of the world…and men? Whatever the reason, I am definitely showing all the symptoms of a raging Asian Fever…

Symptoms

It’s no coincidence that my symptoms started to present during Ms. French Black Belt’s visit during spring break.  I have no hesitation in blaming her for triggering what was clearly a latent strain of the fever in my bloodstream. In her two short weeks here she had me changed…feeding me subtle comments like ‘Oh, look at him, he’s cute!’, until I was brainwashed and was checking out J boys at every turn.

I realised the fever had taken a firm hold when I almost fainted at the sight of around a hundred sumo wrestlers on the platform of Shin-Osaka Station towards the end of my spring travels. Not only was I attracted to Asian men, apparently I also found the notion of dating a sumo wrestler appealing too. What the…?!

The symptoms only worsened from there and I was at the point of needing hospitalisation when I gave my number to a J boy for the very first time a week or so after the sumo sighting (at the encouragement of Ms. French Black Belt, of course). It didn’t help that later text messaging with said J boy revealed that he is in fact a semi-famous soccer player…Asian Fever plus a strand of Starstruck could not result in a good prognosis…

Prognosis

Logically, one might think that catching Asian Fever would be a good thing for me (if you disregard all those rumors about Asian men…you know the ones). For starters, it should widen my pool of datable men in Japan considerably. Secondly, as a side effect of dating J boys, surely it might be an opportunity to improve my Japanese language skills? Lastly, what better way to get the full experience of Japanese culture then to date one of Japan’s native inhabitants?!

Well, logic does not apply here (it is Japan after all) and the prognosis is not good. You see, I may now be attracted to Japanese men, but that hasn’t changed the type of man I am attracted to. Since contracting Asian Fever I have been drawn to precisely four Japanese men. All tall, all heavily into sport and of muscular/athletic build. What I have just described rules out about 98% of the Japanese male population as my type of guy.

It’s not only the fact that I am twice the size of most Japanese men that is a problem with having Asian Fever (there’s good reason why Asian Fever usually applies to western men being attracted to Asian women). There are other factors that cause complications with this disease too…

Complications

Japanese people are workaholics. They work crazy hours, often working weekends and very rarely take vacations. This is complication number one of having Asian Fever…Japanese men do not have time for me in their lives. And that’s just those with normal jobs, like teachers. Imagine the grueling schedule of the aforementioned soccer player? Professional sportsmen (I have learned) come with their own set of unique complications…unscheduled training sessions, away games, injuries, public appearances…the list goes on.

One of the most disturbing complications of having Asian Fever is that…let me be very clear…in my experience, Japanese men can be very dishonest. A good portion of the male teachers at my school have declared their undying love for me…telling me they would happily cheat on their wives with me. Yeah…that’s what I thought too…even through the haze of alcohol. The majority of Japanese men I meet are married, betrothed or have long term girlfriends. Not that this is considered a complication for them…did I mention that the soccer player has a girlfriend of seven years who he intends to marry someday?!

So with these complications, the chances of me surviving Asian Fever has dropped to about 0.03%. With this dire statistic, what are my treatment options?

Treatment

I’m fairly sure a doctor would say at this point ‘there’s nothing more we can do, it’s time for you to go home‘. Which I will be doing…in a little over nine months. But what are my treatment options until then?

Option 1: Believe in the impossible. This option calls for me to forget the odds, get out there and attempt to date J boys regardless of my chances of making it through Asian Fever alive.

Option 2: Look, but don’t touch (or even talk to). This is of course the recommended form of treatment to see out my last nine months in Japan. Even if I could somehow meet a nice, age appropriate, tall, athletic single J boy with time on his hands, I’m leaving the country next year. Hardly an ideal platform in which to start a relationship with someone.

Neither option seems entirely appealing right now, so I haven’t decided on which treatment I am going to explore as yet. For now I am still getting a handle on the fact that I have Asian Fever at all…

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Kanji

I love words, I always have (unsurprising to those that know me, I’m sure). I believe communication to be the fundamental basis of every human interaction and necessary every day life. I speak openly and frequently to anyone who will listen to my ramblings (that includes you, clearly) and I derive more pleasure from a good catch up session with a friend, than almost anything else in this world.

But entering into my third year in Japan, I can’t help but notice how often words fail me in day to day life here…and not just the Japanese ones. So many times, I am unable to conjure words in response to a situation. At these times (usually Only in Japan moments), the only word I can seem to articulate is ‘wow’…as my students well know.  Sometimes Japan leaves me speechless (difficult to imagine, I know) and a moment just cannot be captured with words. At these times, a picture is worth a thousand kanji…

The Karate Kid

My karate career may have just ended but for eight months of 2011, I thought of myself as The Karate Kid. True, my sensei was Takamura, not Miyagi and I wasn’t an American teenage boy lusting over the cute 1980’s version of Elisabeth Shue…but in many ways my karate experiences were just as bewildering and amusing as Daniel LaRusso’s were in the ’84 teen movie.

Like LaRusso, I’m tough and I am known for my (extremely) competitive nature. No one can say I shy away from any physical challenge. So it mortifies me that since moving to Japan, my fitness has taken a huge nose dive. Between the severe shortage of properly equipped gyms and a lack of netball and squash in this country, my favourite fitness fixes have been completely unavailable to me. So for a while, karate came along to patch up this great gaping hole in my life.

My friend (and personal trainer) asked me, ‘Why karate?’ Having had no prior experience with martial arts and no previous apparent interest in it either, I guess this was a fair question for him to pose. My answer…’Why not?’ I live in Japan, I enjoy Japanese culture…why not try one of their most famous exports to the world?

Miyagi: We make sacred pact. I promise teach karate to you, you promise learn. I say, you do, no questions.

Takamura: So you want to learn karate?

Me: Yes.

Takamura: Why?

Me: I like Japanese culture and I want to try karate.

Takamura: (unconvinced) Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays, 6-8pm.

Me: Ok, I can come Mondays and Thursdays. How much are the classes?

Takamura: (still unconvinced) For you, it’s free. I make the kids pay, but you don’t have to.

Pre earthquake I had discussed the possibility of trying out a Japanese martial art (there are a few…aikido, kyudo, judo, karate, kendo) with a friend…let’s call him Mr.Ex. Post earthquake, Mr.Ex called to say he had been invited to see a karate dojo…and asked if I was interested in taking a look too. One of Mr.Ex’s teachers introduced us to Takamura Sensei and we watched our first karate class. In the months that followed, each two hour class was different and I never really knew what to expect…from my senseis, from the kids I learnt with, or from myself…

Daniel: Well, where did you learn karate?

Miyagi: Father.

Daniel: But I thought he was a fisherman.

Miyagi: In Okinawa, all Miyagi know two things: fish and karate. Karate come from China, sixteenth century, called te (hand). Hundred year later, Miyagi ancestor bring to Okinawa, call karate (empty hand).

Daniel: I always thought it came from Buddhist temples and stuff like that.

Miyagi: You too much TV.

Daniel: That’s what my mother tells me.

Me: What kind of karate is this?

Takamura: (points to the jumble of kanji on the wall)

Me: Ohhhh…I see (clearly not seeing)

Takamura: (a week later, presents me with a Wikipedia article and the dojo-kun, complete with English translation) This is about karate. Please read.

According to the Wikipedia article Takamura gave me, I was a member of a Shotokan Karate Dojo. Shotokan karate is known for it’s three components: kihon (basic movements), kata (patterns of movements) and kumite (sparring). The first two ‘k’s’ I enjoyed thoroughly…kihon and kata appealing to the perfectionist in me. Every week, in and out of the dojo, I would spend hours trying to get the movements just right in a bid to earn an ‘umai’ (skillled) or ‘ii’ (good) from Takamura Sensei. I would often catch myself absent-mindedly practising kihon in the shopping isles or in the halls at school…much to the amusements of those around me.

Kata was absolutely my favourite part of Shotokan and while I only learned up to the second kata sequence (Heian nidan) I would quite happily repeat the first (Heian shodan) over and over. In some ways the movements remind me of Tai Chi which I practised for a brief time in high school. The combination of movements is somewhat meditative and if executed well, entrancing to watch. According to my trusty Wikipedia article there are 26 of these patterns to learn, so I didn’t make it very far into them.

As for the last of the three k’s…kumite (sparring)…it was my least favourite part of each class. Who knew it, but apparently I’m a lover, not a fighter?! I dreaded it when Takamura uttered the order to get our sparring gloves on as I knew I was about to get my butt kicked for the next 20 minutes by a black belt karate sensei. The only time I quite enjoyed kumite was on Thursday nights when Mr.Ex was attendance and Takamura encouraged me to hit him as hard and as often as possible. I mean who doesn’t want to beat up on their Mr.Ex?!

Miyagi: (showing Daniel around family dojo) Aha…here are the Two Rules of Miyagi-Ryu Karate. Rule Number One: Karate for defence only. Rule Number Two: First learn Rule Number One. 

Students: (line up and sit in seiza position)

Motoki: Quiet!

Students: (obey and become quiet)

Yoppi: (farts)

Students: (start giggling uncontrollably)

Takamura: (getting his angry face on) You must be quiet during seiza! No noises allowed. Not from your mouth, not from your butt! Karate is serious. It’s budo (a martial art).

Hikaru & Akari (twins): (looking confused) Budo? (which means grape too) Can we eat it?

Takamura: (starts giggling)

The rules of the dojo are embodied in the dojo-kun, which was read at the end of every class and is taken very seriously:

First. Seek perfection of character.

First. Protect the way of the truth.

First. Foster the spirit of effort.

First. Respect the principles of etiquette and respect others.

First. Guard against impetuous courage and refrain from violent behaviour.

Each two hour karate lesson follows the same pattern: one hour of kihon, cleaning time, kata, kumite then the reading of the dojo-kun and the giving out of omiyage (souvenirs from anyone who has travelled) at the very last. Aside from the dojo-kun, there are no strict rules. Everyone is encouraged to take the lessons seriously, idle chatter is generally discouraged and no unauthorised fighting is permitted. All rules which I saw broken every single lesson.

Daniel: Hey, what kind of belt do you have?

Miyagi: Canvas. JC Penny, $3.98. You like? Daniel-san…(taps head) karate here, (taps heart) karate here, (points to belt) karate never here.

Moika, Akari, Hikaru, Sora: (swamping me on arrival to class one day) Look, look, we all got yellow belts at grading yesterday!!!

Me: Congratulations! (heart sinking and ego deflating as I become aware I am the only white belt left in a room of people half my size)

The first time Takamura Sensei showed me some real respect was when I turned up to class in my karate-gi about two months in. I guess he figured if I had spent the time and money getting the uniform, I must have been someway serious about karate. The kids went mental too and got super excited when they saw I went to the extra effort of getting my name embroidered onto the gi…brownie points for me!

Despite Miyagi’s claims that karate isn’t about the belt…the first question anyone asks you after telling them you do karate is always ‘what colour belt are you?’ Technically I was of no colour…having not even taken the grading exam for white belt, so I was the lowest of the low. According the the progression of Shotokan Karate, the ladder to climb is this: white, yellow, green, purple, brown, black and then the levels of black belt that follow that…

One of the kids at the dojo, Motoki, is a black belt already at the age of 11. Most of the kids in Japan start karate (or any sport) from the time they are around four and are experts before they even reach junior high school. What I came to realise during my eight months at the dojo is that learning karate while young, supple and flexible is a far better option than starting when you are thirty, inflexible and injury riddled.

I would have loved to work my way up to black belt level in karate, but I’m just not sure my body would have allowed me. In no reality (this one or any other) did I expect to get to black belt in the five or so years these kids can. My lovely friend Ms. French Black Belt informed me that it has taken her the better part of the last 18 years to get to her recently acquired black belt. Judging by this scale I could have been a black belt by the time I’m around 50. With that in mind, I think Miyagi was onto something saying it’s not about the belt…

Daniel: Hey, you got a name?

Ali: Ali…with an l. Hey, what’s your name?

Daniel: Daniel…with an l.

Akari: (playing with the hairs on my arm) White hair.
Me: Yes.
Akari: (looks at me earnestly) Are you a rabbit?
Me: (rolling my eyes) Yes, I’m a rabbit.
Akari: (face innocent) Can you be my rabbit?!
Me: (sighing) Ok.
Akari: Rabbit (resuming her play with the hairs on my arm)Depending on the kid and their mood, I gained a few of different names at karate class. Hinata and her older sister Haruhi are racist and refused to call me anything other than ‘that foreigner’, while refraining from talking or looking at me as much as possible. I treated them with the same reciprocal detachment.

The rest of the kids are far more affectionate and aside from the twins (Akari and Hikaru) ocassionally calling me ‘Rabbit’, towards the end of my karate days I was mostly referred to as ‘Nene’. This term pretty much means ‘big sister’ and it gave me a little kick of pleasure every time I heard the kids say it…which was often. ‘Nene, look at this’ ‘Nene, pick me up’ ‘Nene, let’s play tag’ ‘Nene can I play with your hair?’…

Miyagi: (makes circular gestures with each hand) Wax on, right hand. Wax off, left hand. Wax on, wax off. Don’t forget to breath, very important. Wax on, wax off…

Students: (butts in the air, wash rags poised in position on the floor)
Kota: GO!!!
Students: (race from one side of the dojo to the other, screaming with glee)

Just like school, I wasn’t exempt from cleaning time during karate class. During the mid-lesson break, Takamura would utter the word ‘souji (cleaning)’ and Kota was off to get a bucket of water while the rest of us grabbed our cleaning rags. Unlike the famous ‘wax on, wax off’ scene in The Karate Kid though, cleaning time is not for the furthering of karate skills…I’m pretty sure it’s just so Mrs.Takamura has one less room to clean every day.

John Kreese: Sweep the leg. (referring to Daniel’s injured leg)

Johnny: (stares in shock)

John Kreese: Do you have a problem with that?

Johnny: No Sensei.

John Kreese: No mercy.

Sora: ‘ich, ni, san, go (1, 2, 3, 5)’

Takamura: Idiot, you missed 4! (flicks him on the forehead)

Punishment is the area of karate class where Takamura has taken lessons from John Kreese and not Miyagi. He is brutal and I pretty much witnessed at least one child cry every class during my time at the dojo. Unlike in other developed countries, Japan has yet to jump on board the ‘no physical punishment’ band wagon, so if you mess up in class you are fair game.

The punishment always fits the crime…so Sora, Yoppi and Minso (as the youngest kids) are often the recipients of the forehead flick…mostly issued for the misdemeanour of counting infringements. The severity increases from there…a light face slap will be issued for excessive talking, or distracting the other kids…two kids will find their heads being knocked together for non authorised fighting and the worst I have seen is a full strength face slap or kick to the stomach, usually issued if one of the kids continues to play up after having already been dealt a few other warnings.

Thankfully (either because I am an adult, because I am a girl, because I am a foreigner…or all of the above) I was exempt from these punishments. Having said that, Takamura still derived a great deal of pleasure from hurting me too…he just did it during sparring time. It was typical for me to have bruises along my left forearm and my shins after most classes and I was reduced to tears on a few occasions from a good head hit too. The worst was a few months back when Takamura laid a John Kreese style leg sweep on me and I took the full weight of my body on my right elbow as I hit the floor. This physical pain is nothing on the injury to my ego though, knowing that a 68 year old man had knocked me to the ground.

Official: Hold it. Only teachers and students on the competition floor. I’m sorry.

Daniel: Oh, but he doesn’t speak English and I can’t understand his instructions without her (Ali). She’s his translator.

Miyagi: (Says something in Japanese)

Official: What did he say?

Ali: He said you reminded him of an uncle of his in Tokyo.

Official: (flattered) Well, I guess it’s all right.

Miyagi: (Says something in Japanese again)

Official: What’s that?

Ali: He says you’re very kind.

Official: Thank you.

Miyagi: Welcome.

Hosogai: So I hear you are an English teacher in Omiya?

Me: Yes that’s right.

Hosogai: Do you enjoy teaching English?

Me: (sensing a trap forming) Yes I do, it’s good fun.

Hosogai: So you were a teacher before you came to Japan then?

Me: No actually, I was an interior designer.

Hosogai: Oh (taken aback slightly, but undeterred). Well I was wondering, if it’s not too much trouble, if you are able to, I was thinking maybe, if it’s ok with you, it would be a great chance for the kids, do you think you might be able to, would it be alright, if maybe you could, just for ten minutes, just at the end of the class, just a short time, if you would be so kind, could you maybe, please teach the kids some easy English?

It’s a universal truth, known to all foreigners living in Japan that it is in fact impossible to say no to a Japanese person. Especially when they spend the better part of 20 minutes building up to a request using their very best, over flowery, politely flattering language. So when Hosogai Sensei (one of our occasional, fill in Senseis) asked if I could give the kids a ten minute English lesson at the end of each karate class, I was powerless to refuse.

Secretly I dreaded the thought and feared that the kids would hate me for the forced schooling they were about to receive. I had very low expectations going in, considering that any time Mr.Ex and I even said hello to each other in English, the kids erupted with screams of ‘Eigo kinshiiiiiiiiiiiii (English is banned)’.

But, bless the little mites, they approached those ten minute sessions with more gusto than they give the two hours of karate that precedes it. In our very first lesson I discovered that there are two native English speakers in the class. The revelation came when Minji answered ‘I don’t like high places’ to my question ‘what do you like?’ Slightly taken aback by such an articulate answer from an eight year old, I questioned him about his English. Turns out he and his brother Minso had been flying under my radar for three months…failing to mention to me that they were born in Australia and lived there until last year when they moved here to Japan.

Aside from this astounding discovery, the English sessions were the best entertainment of my entire week before I quit. I got to watch 16 crazy kids beat themselves and each other silly all in the name of learning English…and trying to impress me. With body slamming, nose dives and tears standard procedure during English time, it was fast becoming one of the most dangerous part of the karate lessons each week. Luckily the kids get to continue their English lessons even in my absence, as Mr.Ex is now taking over the role for me.

Daniel: I know you don’t believe in fighting, but tournament karate isn’t exactly fighting.

Miyagi: Not exactly ping pong either.

Takamura: Are you coming to the tournament next week?

Me: Yes, I want to come.

Takamura: Do you want to participate?

Me: (starting to panic), Err, umm, sure…

Takamura: Yes, you want to?

Me: (with more conviction) Yes, I want to.

Takamura: (wanders away and starts pouring over some papers in the corner and mumbles to himself)

10 minutes later…

Takamura: There’s a problem.

Me: Oh?

Takamura: (pointing to the tournament draw) There are no other adult white belts competing, so you can’t participate.

Me: Oh, what a shame (relieved), I’ll just watch this time then.

As I finish writing this entry three months after starting it, much has changed for me in regards to karate. Over the course of winter break I thought long and hard about my future karate career and whether I could dedicate myself to the art long term. It was a difficult decision to make, but as my goals and aspirations for my final year in Japan take shape, I realised that karate does not have a place amongst them.

Takamura Sensei and the kids were graciously understanding about my resignation (the ANZAC biscuits helped soften the blow) and I have been told I am welcome back any time for a visit. I have every intention of taking Ms.French Black Belt to the dojo for show and tell on her upcoming visit to Japan and I will pop in on the kids from time to time just so they don’t forget who I am. It was great fun being a Karate Kid for a while, but I think I’ll leave the serious stuff to Miyagi and Daniel.

Miyagi: Lesson not just karate only. Lesson for whole life. Whole life have a balance. Everything be better. Understand?  

Japanification

I live in a black hole. A vortex. A bubble. A land mass almost completely cut off from the rest of the world. There is an invisible shield around this country and it is impervious to outside influence. Somehow I made it in, but now I feel like I have been abducted by The Borg and they are trying to make me a clone…a part of the collective hive mind that is Japan.

After 15 months of living in Japan I have begun to assimilate. The cultural differences that began as novelties have slowly infiltrated my life and like a tap dripping over time…they have gradually filled up my existence. As my purikura obsession reaches epic proportions, rivalling that of any 14 year old Japanese girl, I realise I have been subject to ‘Japanification’.

Wikipedia describes Japanification as ‘the process of ex-pats becoming members of Japanese society because of a feeling of isolation or desire to conform’. Isolation. To say I am part of an isolated minority in Japan is a gross understatement. When 80 year old Ken Tanaka at the corner store stares at me for the whole 20 seconds I feature in his life, it is for good reason. Because it’s highly likely that he has never before seen a blond haired, blue eyed woman. ‘Why not?’ you might ask…since we live in a global society where travel is readily available to first world citizens and immigration is common practice worldwide.

The answer? Again…I live in a bubble. Japan is unique and has strict immigration policies to supposedly ensure the ongoing welfare of the Japanese economy. To punctuate the point of just how strict these policies are, here are some statistics for you: Japan’s population today falls just short of 128 million people. Of these 128 million, a mere 1.5% (1.92 million) are immigrants. Now compare that to Australia, where the population is 22 million people, but 24% (5.28 million) are immigrants (yes, we let any old riff raff in). This low immigration rate, compounded with fact that very few Japanese people have the time or desire to travel only exacerbates this ‘us and them’ divide with the rest of the world. So it’s really no wonder with such little connection to the outside world, I have begun to emulate the habits of my captors.

The other aspect of Japanification that Wikipedia mentions is ‘the desire to conform’. I’ll be very clear on this point, I have no desire to conform. It was never my intention to ‘become Japanese’ living in Japan…beyond respecting the day to day customs and courtesies Japanese society requires of me. I refuse to wear stockings to school in summer, I make it no secret that I have no desire to get married and even my tattoo is making more appearances in public these days. Yet lately many of my teachers have commented on how I am more Japanese than them. How did this happen?!

The first clues that I had become Japanified surfaced post earthquake, when I flew back to Australia for 2 weeks. It seems that time spent outside of the bubble is what I needed to notice that I had unwittingly been sucked in by the inextricable forces of Japanese culture. I’m not sure if it was the hysterical giggling from my little sister when I bowed to fellow motorists while driving, or hearing myself say ‘hai’ to a sales girl that gave it away…but I knew very quickly after arriving in Australia that I had changed.

I began to notice other subtle differences too as reverse culture shock set in…why were people wearing shoes inside? Why could I not survive the day without my 3 cups of green tea in the morning? And why could I not start a meal until the phrase ‘itadakimasu’ had crossed my lips? It was all so confusing…who had I become?

It got me thinking…all these little changes have added up to a substantial shift in the way I live. I now eat with chopsticks every day and I eat 10 times as much rice as I ever have before. Sometimes Japanese words come to me before the English ones, I swat away compliments with a wave of my hand in front of my face and I automatically use food and weather as staple conversation topics. I now peel my mandarins meticulously so that the skin can be removed in one whole piece and all my rubbish is neatly folded at the end of a meal for disposal. And these are just the involuntary actions that I have taken on in the last 15 months. I have also willingly partaken in taiko lessons, these days I make misanga, origami is a daily hobby and I have recently taken up karate too.

This makes me wonder…how far will it go?! I live in a country where scrunchies, 3 stripe tracksuits and floral print overalls are deemed the height of fashion. A pop group consisting of 48 girls singing about vegetables captures the attention of the entire nation and Johnny Depp, Prince William, David Beckham and Lady Gaga are the only celebrities to enjoy notoriety in Japan. Surely the line has to be drawn somewhere? I refuse to become completely assimilated to the point where can’t answer a question without first checking with my best friend that he agrees with my answer. I may not be able to stop the Japanification process, but I swear I will never wear a bum bag, eat natto with a smile on my face, speak in katakanised English or play tennis with a soft ball…

My 3 years in the UK gave me cynicism, an appreciation of the colour black, an appetite for big cities and a love of world travel. The question now is, what will I be left with after Japanification?