walking through the gate

during the times i lived in japan, i stayed with host families. this was smart, as i worked for an international exchange company, and we helped japanese students prepare to go overseas, as well as helped with all sorts of incoming international students. i learned first-hand about japanese families, children, language, culture...and myself. nothing could have ever taught me more than living with these families, and i thank them from the bottom of my heart.

living with my first host family, in tokyo, was a life-changing experience.  from my host mother, i learned the grace of the culture, as well as how to notice and fit into a social and cultural mileu - that form is everything.  from my host father, i learned the importance of saving face. 

the mother was amazing - smart, accomplished, gorgeous, thin, athletic, skilled at all sorts of traditional japanese things. the daughter was smart and funny, but had to study so much that i hardly got to know her. the father - well, he was probably a traditional japanese male, and we had clash after clash, when i came to live with them. in my youthful ignorance, i felt empowered to be my brash young self, and not learn as quickly as i could have the japanese mores that would have smoothed my path into this family. i wasn't used to being challenged, put down, dictated to - he dictated who i talked with, what i ate, what i read, when i was allowed to leave the house, what route i had to take to work, how i could spend my money. naturally, i rebelled. my poor host family. i caused more waves than i think they could handle. but when the father wasn't around, everything was smooth.

in my time off work, my host mom and i went on excursions to famous places around tokyo and japan. tokyo was quite the experience for me. there were the crowds of extremely well-dressed people, each one wearing clothing i'd never seen before - hermes scarves, armani suits.  no one had glasses that weren't designer. no one wore shoes that didn't cost a mint. as i have since seen in other cities (paris, dallas), you can't leave the house until you look like a million bucks.  this was new to me. teen fashion in a small, rural midwestern town is not something that can even compete with the likes of tokyo (nor would one want to).   being with her was a learning experience in fitting in.  although i completely stuck out - being tall, white, and redheaded in a sea of japanese - i felt some of my host mom's glamour rubbing off on me.  i dressed better, learned to carry myself straighter, felt more confident and womanly (all at the tender age of 19).  i learned about name brands - gucci and louis vuitton were key to any sort of public appearance by her. i learned that you have to fully dress up to go to the grocery store. she boxed up my sweats and t-shirts and put them away. i learned to wear hats, fashionable skirts, flattering outfits.  this was really something, to a rural girl taking a sabbatical from attending college. i was still studying, independently, for my degree while i was there, so she also helped me with learning the intricacies of the tea ceremony, flower arranging, her japanese garden, public and private selves and the language for them.

we went shopping together, and since i was so much larger and taller than the average japanese woman, we had to go to a larger size woman's shop. we laughed riotously, and she made the remark that the skirts that fit me were short, but very youthful and fashionable. to commemorate that day and our loving, laughing relationship, she bought me a diamond chanel necklace. my head was spinning, to say the least. nothing could have prepared me for the extreme importance of dressing well in tokyo, where looks were everything.

at home, i learned how to cook japanese food in her tiny kitchen. she was always patient and described everything to me in english, and then again in japanese, so i could learn it both ways. late at night, my host father would come home after doing the rounds with his office-mates. we'd have to hurry to serve him the dinner we'd reserved for him, with hot tea, cold beer, and plenty of subservience. i'd be grilled as to my day, who i talked with, what i was learning. i think he was hoping to assert his authority (he had an amazing job, i am sure his authority was never questioned before i came onto the scene) as a parent to me. i chafed at this, and the results were pretty spectacular. at the time, i thought i knew everything. but i knew nothing, really -  in hindsight, i would have been more respectful of the culture i was living in, as well as the home i was staying in, and submersed part of my self for a while, to nurture relationships as well as myself. the japanese have a concept of saving face, which means not embarrassing or challenging anyone, in order to live smoothly together. if i had learned this a little more quickly, i would have been a much better guest and family member.

finally, one day, my host father took me out to eat with him and a few of his buddies, at a neighborhood sushi bar. i felt somewhat apprehensive, as the last time we'd gone out together, he'd taken me to an exclusive club and introduced me to his mistress. cultural differences were never highlighted during my stay there as they were that day.

at the sushi restaurant (a 6-seater), we took our stools at the counter.  once everyone got over the fact that i was a gaijin (foreigner) and female, the atmosphere settled down. no one made eye contact with me. i was ignored.  i tried to listen as my host father and his cronies talked quickly, using the gutteral male language amongst themselves, instead of the more polite male language form for public use. i intently studied the sushi chef, and he was truly remarkable. i got lost in his knife action - how deftly he sliced fish, thinly or thickly, mixed the wasabi paste, put the gourmet feast together with spare, economical movements.

my host father said a few words, and the place went silent. even the sushi chef swiveled his head and looked at me. surprised to be the center of attention, i tried to regroup and figure out what was going on. it seemed that the cronies had placed a challenge, and my host father had accepted for me. silently cursing him, for i had no idea what i was getting into, i smiled and nodded. the race was off.

i watched, amazed, as the chef reached in a tank, retrieved a live amenome, and 'prepared' it. it was as large as a softball, with tentacles that waved in the stifling air. the preparation consisted of him rinsing it off slightly, and placing it on a small, square plate. eyes huge, i double-checked with my host father. his slight nod was barely noticeable, but i had experience in this man's moods, and knew that something larger was on the line - his pride. in japan, this is no small thing. so i checked my complete revulsion and set about saving his face. 

the chef carefully and respectfully placed this plated, wiggling anemone in front of me. i looked around, hoping for a clue from any one of these men. none were forthcoming. i picked up my chopsticks. my host father hurriedly intervened, and poured me a wooden box (used as a glass) of cold sake. i think that was to numb my tastebuds (or make me not care). i picked up my chopsticks again, and picked up the squirming mass of sealife.

moving it toward my mouth, i experienced a moment of panic - how was i supposed to eat this? if i chewed it, i would feel it squirm and die in my mouth. if i didn't chew it, i would feel it squirm in my mouth. choice: death in the mouth, or death in the stomach?

i quickly put the live anemone in my mouth and swallowed it. truly, this was the most disgusting thing i've ever eaten. it wiggled all the way down my throat, and i had to keep swallowing in order to get it down. i almost had it come back up, several times. only the proud look on my host father's face kept me at it. eventually, when i felt it hit my stomach, it stopped moving.

i gasped a request for another box of sake. the faces around me were incredulous, genial. i didn't get the pat on the back, my host father did. he smiled, a real, true smile, at me. we were in accord. he whipped out his wallet, settled the bill (the anemone alone was $250.00), and we left, arm in arm. we sang all the way home, and from then on, his attitude changed toward me. my saving his face changed our whole relationship. he took me golfing (a very expensive proposition, in land-scarce japan), out to eat, to business functions. i had more freedom than i'd had before.

i would much rather have been at home. however, the essence of cross-cultural sensitivity and understanding is knowing when to bend with the wind, to acculturate, to integrate something new into your self.  we'd forged a gate between us, and had to walk through it.  this small slice of cultural understanding was hard-earned, and we both knew it.

Word count: 1,634

Copyright 2006, jessica voigts