Supermarket Pac-Man

Posted on July 3, 2012 | Leave a comment

She shot off like a flash, a whirring of stiffly lurching arms, frog marching, goose steppingly absurd helpfulness. A gust of misdirected efficiency whipping through the aisles of the store, drawn round bends by a microclimate of hurrying and scurrying staff members. Each one weaving around customers and obstacles alike at a pace that can best be described as akin to the one achieved when crossing the road as the green man begins to flash.

Welcome to the world of Japanese shopping. Not the crazy, department store sale shopping. I stay well clear of that. No this is the day to day garden variety where a simple request like, ‘Do you sell light bulbs?’ Can result in the transformation of an overly starched store clerk into a passable imitation of Road Runner. Off she shoots like a bolt of lightening, mostly because I’m never quite sure where they might strike.

There’s an element of Greek tragedy to it I suppose. If Zeus almighty, or in this case, a store manager, is directing said lightening bolt (or if they actually know where something is) then my misadventures as Wiley Coyote will draw to an all too early finish. But if not, then I enter the world of supermarket Pac-Man.

Well Pac-Man when he’s swallowed that pill thing and the whole screen starts to flash and the ghosts turn on the tail end of their sheets and scarper.

The magic pill in this case being, ‘I have a question.’

The first time I asked for help in a small town department store I was just looking for a light bulb. You see, upon entering my first apartment in Japan and flicking on the light switches two bulbs decided that the unexpected shock to their systems was clearly beyond the pale and subsequently blinked out of existence with a whimper. As signs go it perhaps didn’t auger too well for me.

Eventually after growing tired of living in the gloom, by which I mean my dimly lit apartment not England in general, I ventured out into a department store armed with a scrap of Japanese and attempted to track down a light bulb. Not finding it in plain sight I asked a store clerk where it was. A brief exchange of haphazard cross-cultural pointing and signing over and she was off, a blur into the distance.

It was at this point that I realized just how many things we never even consider in our day-to-day lives. For example, when the shop attendant helping you with your inquiry darts off like a greyhound in heat what exactly is the appropriate distance to maintain in your pursuit?

Are you supposed to jog along with her?

Is nonchalantly strolling behind going to result in you losing her?

Are you supposed to stay put until she eventual returns with the item you were after and drops it straight into your basket like a loyal labradoodle?

Will losing her result in this kind woman, in a fit of helpfully nervous panic, sending out an all channels bulletin across the store intercom imploring everyone in the store that if they see a lost and confused looking strange young foreign man to please escort him to the electrical appliances aisle?

It turns out that I needn’t have worried. Just like in Pac-Man when the magic, trippy pill thing wears off they inevitably track you down. Sometimes you win and they drop you exactly next to the item you need, other times you lose and they, ‘eto, ano…chotto’ (ahhh, ummm…well) and send you packing back to the Game Over screen.

One thing though; I’ve been here for over two years now. The mishaps, the confusion have all but disappeared so why has this image stuck with me?

Well, because… I can’t help but wonder… if I ask the store clerks one after another, asking the next just as the previous one zips off into the distance, could I complete the Supermarket-Deluxe-Department-Store-Challenge-JAPAN edition of Pac-Man? Or will I just crash the damn machine?

One day…

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Eastern Dragons and Yorkshire Terriers

Posted on June 16, 2012 | 6 comments

The number of Japanese students studying abroad has been in decline for many years now. I’m sure there are a variety of economic drivers at play here however, there is one thing in particular that I believe has had a significantly more profound effect on the desire of Japanese to leave the safety of home.

The Internet.

Japanese no longer need to leave the comforts of home in order to consume foreign culture. It’s already being packaged and sold to them at astonishing rate and now there’s the option of same-second delivery. Generally made via YouTube; a website my students on average believe to have existed for around fifteen to twenty years. And if not from there, well the rest of the social networking world is picking up the slack.

Twitter is booming, Facebook is gaining a foothold and Mixi has already been a firm part of the youth culture in Japan for sometime now having skillfully tapped into the long kept and stunningly well maintained school day’s, nostalgia coated friendships.

On top of this plethora of gateways to the wider world stands sport, particularly football and The Premier league.

It’s inescapable.

One boy in my class who has never been to England, as far as I know, idolizes Steven Gerrard and even portrayed him in our speaking project this term. Somehow, from thousands of miles away this fifteen-year-old boy has made a connection with this club, even slipping in, “You’ll never walk alone” into his project script.

There may have only been the one Steven Gerrard in my class but there were more than a few Atsuto Uchidas, Nagatomos and Shinji Kagawas. I also expect that cohort to include Ryo Miyaichi by the end of the year thus precipitating an unusual Man Utd/Arsenal rivalry to break out within the fans in my town, especially amongst the football fanatic kids in my classes.

This fascination is driven by a Japanese media that never hesitates to follow its sporting stars around the world. Shinji Kagawa alone had a dozen Japanese reporters at every Borussia Dortmund game to cover his every move. Now that he’s at Manchester Utd it’s fair to say that interest in his career is only going to multiply.

And if Ryo Miyaichi were to become a stand out player at Arsenal to boot, resulting in some real competition between the two giants of the nineties? I’d never escape their faces plastered across newspapers and TV screens. Endless inquiries from my students would make my ears bleed through sheer repetition and Liverpool, Chelsea, Manchester City would all be swiftly forgotten by this generation of teenage fans.

With this kind of devotion to fandom, especially in Japan, it is of course no surprise to see clubs outside of the top flight of English football trying to get a slice of the pie.

The most famous and dramatic example of this has to be Cardiff City and their now confirmed rebranding.

In exchange for a total investment of around one hundred million pounds, with money being detailed for use in expanding the only recently completed stadium, a new training ground as well as a substantial transfer kitty for the manager Cardiff City will now be playing in red and their club crest has been redesigned to feature the figure of the Welsh Dragon far more prominently, with a tiny bluebird below as a small touch to placate the fans.

However, with the reasoning behind fandom in Asia apparently quite firmly established; historical success, TV exposure, academy presence in the countries and of course the presence of a national icon at your club such as South Korean golden boy Park Ji-Sung and Japan’s young hopes Kagawa and Miyaichi at Utd and Arsenal respectively, I was left to wonder how effective Malaysian billionaire Vincent Tan’s efforts would actually be in rebranding Cardiff City’s Bluebirds by donning them in lucky red and emphasizing the dragon.

Certainly the fans seemed to be pretty adamant about their feelings on the matter initially, though football being a money game seems to have swayed some opinions. This kind of thing after all, is simply a part of the modern game and when one man is willing to put a hundred million of his own cash up, then he can do what he likes by and large.

However, I couldn’t help feeling that my own team, Huddersfield Town, currently on the up thanks to our very own generous owner Dean Hoyle, might be missing a trick here.

Now I’m not for a second here suggesting that Town change anything at all. The trick being missed is that Huddersfield Town already connect to the Japanese market in an important way.

Sheer, unadulterated cuteness.

You see, the Japanese have for some reason in recent years, decided that they prefer to have pets rather than children. A tired economy, limited living space and a generation seemingly uninterested in sex has seen the number of pets overtake children. So while a young couple may not be able to afford kids and all the costs that go with it, a pampered poodle is well within their reach. (Evidently not quite so true…see below comments)

So will Huddersfield Town and Terry the Terrier one day tap into the Japanese market and begin to exploit the benefits of the Japanese adoration of all things kawaii (cute)?

It’d only take a single summer tour of a couple J-league teams and the gift of about half a million Terry the Terrier based omiyage (souvenirs) to sway this nation to the blue and white.

Maybe one day, when one of my students, stunned to discover that Yorkshire is a place and not just half the name of a fluffy ball of cuteness asks me once again,

“Is my dog English?”

I might be able to reply,

“More than that, he’s a Town fan.”

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Handily Divine

Posted on June 1, 2012 | 2 comments

As the shinkansen flashes by on the parallel bridge, a bullet blur humming and thumping like a taiko drum as it bursts forth from the tunnel I take a deep breath and smile, soak it all in. A clear night’s sky, a cool breeze whipping over the bridge and across the rice paddies below, drifting presumably upwards and towards the heaven like burst of light on the hillside that is otherwise known as the Gorilla Golf Centre. That bright beacon of Japanese culture nestled in small valleys and hillsides around Japan. A porch light to a nation of golfing moths.

After the first experience I had with it, I never expected that so shortly after I’d find myself feeling thankful towards it, even impressed by its speed, efficiency and ability.

Oh Japanese health system, who knew you had it in you to be those things?

Thanks to you I get to enjoy a part of Japan that had eluded me before. The beauty of the countryside and the city as I jog, amble, stumble and sweat up and down hills, across bridges and beside rice fields. Occasionally scaring the bejesus out of poor folks as a sweaty foreigner rounds the corner at the exact same instant. Getting them a second time by declaring my surprise in Japanese.

In stark contrast to my first experience of medical treatment going to get my knee fixed couldn’t have been simpler. After a few weeks where my lifelong dodgy knee, a family trait, had begun to play up far more than usual, (walking and driving, two things that had never affected me before made my old man knee flare up all of a sudden) I decided it was about time I got it properly checked out, rather than accepting the family defect for what it was.

So after strolling into the appropriate local hospital (Japan’s smaller establishments are separated by discipline so to some extent you have to diagnose yourself) ostensibly just to make an appointment, I was passing and it’d be easier than doing it by phone with my middling Japanese, I soon found myself snuck into the one gap in the day’s appointment list.

An hour later I found myself in the first doctors office where he recommended an X-ray to check this troublesome knee as well my back. I sighed. This story occured during my last job, one where free time was at a premium. Getting to this local hospital was a logistical nightmare that minus a car involved an hour and a half hour of travel by train and foot. The thought of trekking back and forth for tests didn’t appeal.

The doctor looked puzzled.

“Nah, we’ll do it now. Down the hall on the left.”

Outside an accident and emergency room in the UK this almost never happens.

So… two scans later.

“Your knee is fine.”

“Huh!”

“Your back however… this X-ray shows a normal spine, this is yours. It’s very straight and tight. It’s the source of your pain.”

Two minutes of massage later and my pain magically disappeared.

I asked, “What’s magic in Japanese?”

“Noooo.” He replied, “God hands!”

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Picture Perfect: Marshmallow Sensei is looking for artists

Posted on May 27, 2012 | 4 comments

Dear Readers,

This blog has always been rather lacking when it comes to the visual. I guess it comes down to a personal bias really. I’ve simply never felt like photography, specifically my attempts at photography, captured what it was I saw and felt at that moment in time. It never did justice to the memory I held. I just felt like it couldn’t capture the totality of what I experienced because that’s the limit of photography. It is able to capture a moment but not necessarily the feelings with that moment for me is imbued with.

That was always the point of this blog. It was never supposed to be an objective view of Japan. It was always my personal view. Nothing more, nothing less.

There are more than enough blogs out there claiming to tell the truth about Japan. I sincerely hope that if you read this blog that you don’t feel I have done the same. My niche in blogging is sadly, just little old me trying to work out what on earth I think is going on half the time and whether it’s funny enough, amusing enough or just about interesting enough to devote some energy to digitally scribbling it down.

However, none of this means I’m not aware of the power a picture holds. Two of my favourite blogs include artwork from a good friend of mine. Without his efforts Mind the Flash and Gokiburi: On Madness and Mushi wouldn’t be half as fun, or half as read for that matter. More importantly though, I enjoyed the collaboration. I loved seeing my words re-imagined, reinterpreted though the eyes of a reader. It reminded me of what I loved about writing in the first place; that once those words are printed they’re out of the author’s hands. They belong to the reader now and if as a writer you do a half decent job, then the reader can taker pleasure in filling in gaps, dreaming up a whole world to flesh out the skeletal framework you first built.

On a side note, there’s also my awesome Twitter profile picture by Sarah Adams aka @speckledwords.  

So, here’s the point.

The blog has been about for about two years now. In that time I’ve written about fifty posts of wildly varying quality and popularity. I’ve received requests for help, fan mail (Thank you Switzerland!) and even had someone impersonate me on facebook (creepy). A couple stories have even been translated into German and Japanese for online newspapers.

Now, they’d always been a plan of sort, long before I came to Japan even, to write for a living if at all possible. Eventually it just became to write at all.

Now, as much as I enjoy blogging, the form is limited. So I want to put together an E-book; me and every other blogger in the world, I know.

However, if I do this I want it to be more than a couple new chapters and some extended essays and articles built from the foundations of well-read blog articles. I want that feeling of collaboration again.

So here it is, if you’re an artist, a designer, an illustrator etc. and you’d like to add your stamp to the book get in touch. Have a ramble through the blog’s archives and when (or if) you find a subject you can work with create something! You’ve read my opinions, my perspective and I’d love to see what you can come up with by working with the words on the webpage.

The deadline for these entries is July 31st because that’s when I’ll be getting started with my work holidays and my intent is that the additional material will hopefully, in part be inspired by the work I receive.

If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to get in touch.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

Yours sincerely,

Marshmallow

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Shifting Gears

Posted on May 20, 2012 | Leave a comment

In the course of my working life, particularly when teaching children, the issue of bilingualism crops up fairly often. There are more than enough parents out there who despite their own language difficulties are dead set on producing bilingual offspring. It may be more common in cosmopolitan cities like New York, but there are plenty of people here in small-ish town Japan who see bilingualism as something of a holy grail, something to be pursued but largely unobtainable.

Now, if you happen to be a multi-lingual set of parents with two native tongues between you and have the opportunity to immerse your children in two languages then good for you, you honestly should be aiming for that goal. Culturally it’s an obvious boon and from what regular pieces in newspapers suggest it may indeed have long-term health benefits.

More importantly you can go about that education in a positive and enjoyable way because it’s more than an extra tool, another line on the resume and all that for your child; it’s access. Access to another culture, another way of thinking and the chance to widen your child’s horizons so that whatever they may choose to be in the future, the world you came from is a possibility for them.

For those of us born with just the one native tongue at hand it’s usually a rather more expensive matter. Particularly so here in Japan; parents spend an absolute fortune over a child’s lifetime putting them through endless cram schools and English conversation schools with disturbingly little to show for their efforts much of the time.

However, I don’t want to get bogged down in where the industry lets people down and where students let themselves down. Been there already. I’d rather focus on the most popular question.

“How?”

How do you do it. That thing. Switching between languages like flicking channels on a TV screen. What is the reality of being bilingual (even in my rather limited fashion)?

Speaking to Japanese people, in particular English teachers, who speak a fluent or close enough level of English I generally get an answer that is akin to my own feelings. We shift gears.

In a land of automatic cars the metaphor doesn’t work quite as well as you’d hope but I can’t think of anything else that really comes close to encapsulating the nature and process of becoming bilingual quite like it.

When you first start to drive a manual you’re pretty much praying you’re in the right gear, the gear box isn’t making any unwanted noises, no screeching, grinding and churning of teeth. You inevitably stall the engine, curse yourself and angrily, and rather uncouthly shift the gear into the correct position with an unceremonious ‘geeeerunnk.’

Slowly you begin to get the feeling that this driving lark isn’t so tough after all. The gears change more smoothly, you no longer crawl up a too steep hill, race briefly and then sharply break before hitting a tree. Eventually you move on to an automatic car. On those simple long straight roads and run of the mill intersections where marks on the road, flashing lights and a line of other cars can direct you within the herd you suddenly find some pleasure in the activity (unless you’re in a traffic jam). Then, just as you relax a boy racer screeches past, all high-speed maneuvers, fast turns and necessary pinpoint accuracy in the manual shift.

You look on and smile, if only I could manage that… safely.

Well… maybe.

The truth is slightly less fun to write. I grew up and learned (very slowly) to drive in Yorkshire. The whole county, unlike Japan, is an endless stream of winding roads, endless roundabouts and utterly random inclines and cambers. I’m sure a decent automatic car can handle it but most people learn to drive manual, simply because people generally respond faster than automatic gearboxes to the lay of the land.

I can’t do that yet. I can’t play with language. I can’t see an odd turn in the road coming a mile off, I can’t adjust naturally to sharp bends in the conversation and an unusual camber might send my car rolling off the road and down the mountainside.

With proper guidance I can choose the right phrase but in the absence of signposts and road markings I lose my way. It’s certain I’ll never go off road in Japanese, but if I’m honest I’ll happily settle for automatic (cruise control too if it’s available); until Google invents the self-driving language at least.

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Love, Hate, Coffee, Kanji and Repeat

Posted on April 16, 2012 | 14 comments

I was struck when listening recently to a Radiolab podcast interview with Malcolm Gladwell about his book Outliers that Gladwell and many others attribute a large proportion of genius, or lower down the scale for the rest of us a talent or ability at any given thing to be based on love. A love of the subject that allows an individual to devote endless hours to the pursuit of a goal and in the process put in that magic 10,000 hours that seems to be part and parcel of those world defining successes.

He spoke in particular of the example of Bill Gates, who aside from being the beneficiary of a great deal of luck in regards to his personal circumstances had the unusual desire to log in that 10,000 hours of programming time in the wee hours of the morning simply because it was there, he could and more than anything he simply loved doing it.

When I hear that example I’m envious. Not because I’ve never experienced it, literature as an undergrad felt to me much the same. It came easy and I could never quite understand how the passion I felt for it, the joy of discovering how the engine works, so to speak, could keep me tied to a desk with such ease and yet send others fleeing from the library before a page had even been turned.

Japanese isn’t like that for me. There’s enjoyment there but nothing close to what was hinted at in the interview with Gladwell. It’s not love like the movies. It’s not romantic. I don’t strive on endlessly for love of the brush strokes in a new kanji (Chinese character) or the discovery of some fascinating etymology. I do it because I hate it and love it in equal measure. In truth, the line is rather more fuzzy than all that.

It feels to me like an unhealthy pursuit. This love, because in some fashion it must be something I feel for me to keep on going back to it, isn’t so much unrequited as manipulative, even cruel. It lets me in a little bit at a time, gives me a sense of elation upon understanding even a tiny fraction of it only to swiftly turn its cheek to me and ‘hmmmph’ like a girl in a Ghibli movie.

She’s a stubborn little thing the Japanese language.

She’s not always like that though; sometimes she relaxes and smiles upon me. The hate, the frustration at having mastery of a language below that of a toddler from time to time subsides. I forget, for just an evening how many long hours it has taken to get here. The conversation with non-English speaking friends flows like wine (often alcohol flows in a concurrent stream), jokes pass back and forth and all seems well with the world.This mountain of a task before me feels like it has been at least partially scaled. The base seems far away and the peak is actually in sight. For once the summit is not hidden behind clouds and wisps of fog. It’s a target as clear and crisp as morning air. I can almost touch it.

Inevitably though, the thought always returns. I was foolish to feel competent for even a moment because as soon as I feel that way she turns and drops me on my arse again, surrounded by myriad forms and compounds, a gaggle of laughing school kids rolling around, sides split from the sheer hilarity of my efforts.

And just when I think it can’t possibly be worth it anymore more, that some mountains are too painful, too perilous to climb, she hands me a coffee and leads me back to my text book. She tells me one day it’ll be better, I’ll understand her moods, how she likes to play, how she acts in times of sorrow and stress, the subtleties at play when she’s conflicted. When that day comes she might even introduce me to her parents.

When I meet them maybe I’ll finally understand why she’s such a jumbled, beautiful and infuriating mess.

I still won’t understand why I keep going back to her though.

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