I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve been thinking about returning to Japan as an English teacher. And while I consider a pros and cons list the sign of a mind too confused and weak to truly appreciate his situation (should be able to work it out in his head), I couldn’t help but turn my mental ramblings into a blog for any repatriated expats out there who might be considering going back to Japan.

Why would I consider going back? Teaching is a profession that allows one to see the results of his labors. And despite all the flaws of English education in Japan, it still comes down to the fact that I have information I can pass on to students. Not only that, but living abroad usually allows me the time to explore my other passions with greater fervor (running, writing, traveling) and discover new ones.

Pros

A Job
That’s right. Something as simple as a full-time job with benefits, which is not the easiest thing to find in the US these days. Ideally, I believe I’d want to be based in the US working as a consultant for a company involved in cultural exchange or travel to Asia. I have found a few of these positions, but in many cases, my fading Japanese skills have held me back.

Improve Language Skills
I know from personal experience it’s not as simple as landing in Narita and instantly recognizing kanji, but being fully immersed and understanding some of the pitfalls I encountered the first time I tried to learn Japanese will certainly help. Not to mention, should I decide to return to the states or pursue something more involved with Japanese culture, I’ll have a better grasp of the language.

Hosting Couchsurfers
Depending on my living situation, I should be able to host surfers and get more involved. I had only just discovered Couchsurfing when I left Kagoshima in 2008. By then, I had received a few requests, but my foot was already out the door. Hopefully, I’ll be able to form more connections with local groups and surfers.

Back out in the World
I don’t exactly look to Nomadic Matt as a travel or writing inspiration, but he did put into words something I’ve been feeling since my return.

I feel less connected to the rest of the world. I feel like I’m living in a bubble. That all the events happening outside of America aren’t even registering here. It’s like I can’t get anywhere whenever I want. It’s like I am cut off from the world.

I spent the last few months of my trip in Cambodia while I wrote my book. But even there, in one place, I felt like the world was connected to me. That at any given time, I could go anywhere. I don’t feel that here. I feel like the outside world is more than just a flight or bus ride away. That to get out I have to break free of this invisible barrier that doesn’t exist overseas.

I don’t know exactly what it is about returning to the US that has me feeling so disconnected, but when I’m situated abroad, I feel more inspired to check the news, get outside, and generally just learn more.

Feeling Special… Again
This one comes down to pure ego. In San Francisco, I’m just another 29-year-old white guy. In Japan, I’m that unique foreigner; there aren’t too many of us.

All the Weirdness of Japan
Manga, pachinko (similar to slot machines), horseback archery, Engrish, capsule hotels, etc. There’s always something to surprise me in the land of the rising sun.

Cons

The job
Teaching English isn’t challenging… to me, anyway. Teaching in Asia will not lead one anywhere except towards other teaching jobs in Asia. I thought careers were as cut and dry as “I don’t want to be doing THAT in (ten) years”… now I’m not so sure.

Delaying Life
I’m still a proponent of the idea that living in Asia is a way for expats to avoid life in their respective countries. Teaching English is usually an escape, not a career. Again, delaying developing a career, building a life, finding a partner.

Being an Outsider
Just as I feel special abroad, so too do I feel like the eternal outsider. I’ve written about how I didn’t want bitterness to rise up inside my chest after so many years abroad, but now I’m thinking this would be a result of my attitude, not my environment.

Lack of Food
I love my pizza, Italian, Mexican, baked, fried, tossed, whipped, covered with sugar, and a cherry on top. America has an infinite number of choices when it comes to deciding what to eat. Japan has a handful.

Same Salary
The exchange rate has decreased by 33% since I left Japan (currently 81-82 Yen/dollar; it was over 120 in 2008). While I can understand why this may have contributed to eikaiwa owners offering less than what was the standard 255,000 Yen/month when I was in Japan, it’s a little disheartening for me to accept the same salary after a few more years’ experience teaching in Asia. I can essentially make the same money working as a freelancer here in California, but I would enjoy a better lifestyle abroad.

What would you do?

When he’s faced with something of this magnitude…

The international media has practically forgotten about Japan. Remember that potentially dangerous nuclear situation over at Fukushima that no one could shut up about last year? Well, the reactors are still very much damaged, and the fuel rods did melt down. With the exception of coverage on how a typhoon might have affected the nuclear power plant, the land of the rising sun has been overshadowed by politics in the United States, and mounting tensions with Iran. I understand how news organizations can behave as though as they had ADD, but the population at large? We should know better than to simply jump to the next big story, giving the impression we only have so much empathy to pass around, and apparently, Japan had had its limit.

I didn’t have the luxury of forgetting about what was going on the Tohoku region; having lived in Japan from 2006-2008, I had friends in Tokyo and elsewhere, and I felt strong ties to the country, as my first experience living abroad. I had never known a people so giving and friendly, and even if this hadn’t been the case, I have a feeling there still would have been a drive for me to return to help, to see how those responsible were handling the situation, and to reconnect with the community… but, as selfish as it sounds, the main reason I wanted to volunteer in Japan was to see the disaster area. To make it real for me. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to use whatever skills I could offer to help the Japanese people, I wanted to connect with a new volunteer organization, I wanted to make friends with locals and show them I cared, and I wanted to remove all the misconceptions the media had placed in my brain following March 11th, but my intention was to see the wrath of this tsunami with my own eyes.

…

One thing you just can’t pull from the images of destruction on streaming video is the smell. The stench of dead fish was omnipresent, with the supplies of packing plants and boat cargo all washed ashore in the wake of a ten-meter tsunami. Instead of distributing fresh fish across Japan, as was the original intent, that day’s catch found itself scattered across most of the eastern shore. I had been working on getting floorboards removed from a traditional Japanese house – sliding doors, tatami flooring – since 8:30. A tatami room provides a soft walking surface and excellent place to set up a kotatsu, central floor heating. But whatever sense of warmth and security this house may have provided in the past, it seemed almost every board we violently dislodged from the structure revealed something new: an unopened bottle of green tea; an envelope with five thousand yen; photographs of different families; more dead fish. The owner, Konno-san, had been rather fortunate when the tsunami struck, as his house was relatively far from the coast and only hit by two meters of water. When it finally receded, debris and mud found its way into the open-air foundation of his house and most of the wood on the first floor was a lost cause.

In fact, nearly everything in Ofunato that had been within half a kilometer of the water was a lost cause. I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures: houses washed completely away, to find themselves intact but in a different town or more likely torn to pieces; fishing boats that had settled on top of three-story buildings when the water finally withdrew. I had a whole day to do nothing but scout out the damage to one town, and I barely scratched the surface. What stuck out most was a street sign, overturned and obviously displaced, stating “Estimated Tsunami Inundation Area”. Though I must admit, I felt a little more disconcerted at finding a Super Nintendo controller alongside a child’s belongings. What happened to this boy? Did he manage to escape? Or was he one of many fished out of the wreckage days later? I never found out.

I’m getting ahead of myself, leaving more questions than answers. Just as every American has his story of where he was when the towers fell, so too does every Japanese remember where he was on 3/11/11. Not quite identifying myself as Japanese or completely American, I was working as an English teacher on the rural eastern coast of South Korea last year. At the time residents of Tokyo realized this was not a simple earthquake, I was in a classroom playing Scrabble with 9-year-old Korean kids. I didn’t even learn about what had happened until I saw the news coverage playing over my butcher’s head that evening as I stopped to pick up some pork for dinner. And just like 9/11, I was glued to the TV (and Internet) for hours on end: Were my Japanese friends ok? Where had the tsunami hit? Was Tokyo safe? Was the shinkansen (high speed train) still running? You knew things were serious if the trains stopped running for a long time.

Before this had happened, it was my intention to visit Japan in May with a friend for some lighthearted fun: singing karaoke, taking pictures of cosplay teenagers, doing everything a tourist is expected to do. With recent events and CNN shedding light on a volunteer organization I could join, I changed my plans.

All Hands Volunteers had accepted me for a week in May, knowing my timetable was fixed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to provide decent skills as an interpreter. But I had the strength to get through a full day of labor. I had the endurance to last the week. And I had seen my share of disaster zones, having visiting Haiti the year prior. I had been assigned to work in Ofunato for three days, serving as both laborer and interpreter to the Japanese owners, who were on hand to help us help them. Many foreign-run organizations had trouble petitioning the Japanese government to allow them access to the disaster areas. This was not due to arrogance or some sense of xenophobia, as some reports indicated. Far from it. Japan isn’t Haiti. Japan isn’t a third-world country. At the time, it was home to the second-largest economy and, in my eyes, one of the most impressive infrastructures. The Japanese were certainly willing to accept help, but they didn’t need to be flooded with international volunteer organizations doing jobs locals were more qualified to handle, speaking the language and being familiar with the area and customs. They didn’t need religious groups coming in, trying to adopt orphaned Japanese children.

All Hands was fortunate to be one of the few foreign-run organizations allowed in so soon following the disaster, and I never saw them disappoint the people they helped. In their first few weeks, they found many homeowners and community leaders willing to let them clean the mud out of foundations and gut the first floors of homes and apartments to prepare for rebuilding.

I never expected to see such a variety of damage, for lack of better words. On the eastern front, as I approached the Pacific, the scene was very much as had been described in the media: roads covered in debris, nothing left to rebuild, the train tracks warped and torn from their embankment. Yet, at the fringe of this area, vending machines dispensed cold Coca-Cola for 120 Yen. A supermarket with glass display windows opened for business, its parking lot looking spotless, its shelves fully stocked. Farther and farther, the damage limited itself to cosmetic work: storefronts and walls were marked by thick brown lines where the water had finally settled. I could have traced the depth all the way to the edge of town, when it finally lowered to street level.

The second floor of a new complex remained untouched, its appliances and fixtures looking like they had just been delivered from the hardware store.

Half of Ofunato was in shambles, the other half operating as though nothing at all had happened… though that’s not entirely true: there were emergency shelters. The volunteers and I were housed at a rehabilitation center on the north end of town; many homes here were at a higher elevation. But convenience stores were open, classes were in session, you could even enjoy a beer and fresh sashimi at one of many izakaya.

The Japanese weren’t pretending nothing had happened. Far from it. The residents of Ofunato knew all too well it would be years until they would have their town back as they remembered it. Some who had lost everything and fled might never return. Yet locals like Konno-san greeted us with a smile on his face as we came each morning to rip out another piece of what once had been his proud home. Everywhere, from bookstores in Tokyo to minimarts in the small town of Ofunato, signs were hung encouraging “Gambaru, Sendai!!”, “Gambaru, Nippon!!”, “Gambaru, Tohoku!!” Gambatte, as it’s also known in Japanese. Keep your chin up. Don’t let things that can’t be helped get you down. Stay positive.

…

There’s a certain numbness I’ve been carrying with me since my return from Japan. Similar to those feelings all must experience when faced with extreme poverty or, in this case, calamity: I have the means to escape. I can go home if I want to. My surroundings following that week in Ofunato could not have been more different: an air-conditioned classroom filled with children whose minds were focused on nothing more than playing English games; my stomach was full; the muscles in my legs were satisfied by a morning barefoot run; the streets were clean; the air was crisp. There was still a strong smell of fish in the air, but it was fresh from boats that are likely to never experience a tsunami.

I think about what that week taught me about Japan and myself. During the two years I lived there, I found myself getting increasingly angry whenever I was treated like an outsider, a tourist. Volunteering in rural Japan wasn’t about enjoying the best hot springs, or taking pictures of shrines. This time, when I was on my early morning runs before taking the van down to de-mud Konno-san’s home, I encountered high school students, in their freshly-pressed Prussian-inspired uniforms, just as I had five years ago. This time, instead of shouting “HELLO! HOW ARE YOU!” at me from across crowded streets with no regard to discretion, something I had always considered to be intentionally loud and attention grabbing, those students greeted me in Japanese at a reasonable volume, and delivered the appropriate bow for a youth respecting an elder.

Even in the aftermath of the second greatest tragedy the country has even known, there was order and stability. It’s one of the reasons I found myself so attracted to staying in Japan indefinitely: despite all our differences, I felt safer and more comfortable in those two years than I ever had in my life.

The blood from my knuckles was almost indistinguishable from the chips of red paint, a recent gift from the mailbox just outside my branch school. My fury was not directed at the postal system, but rather myself at failing to understand how my Japanese coworkers could remain so stone-faced going over everything I had done wrong in a children’s class. Raging, almost at the point of bubbling over, I excused myself for the day and pounded the first thing in my path.

Working in Japan definitely had its highs and lows. On the one hand, I was learning a new language, lifting the veil off all the misinformation The Karate Kid and Nintendo had taught me, and losing weight quickly with a healthy diet of chicken, fish, and rice. However, there were some days when I would have given anything to get a straight answer out of my AEON coworkers. In Japan, there is a term for the face one shows to the public: tatemae. Calm, collected, always in control, sometimes jubilant (genki). Honne describes one’s true feelings, never to be revealed (except maybe to close friends and family) for the sake of group harmony.

I had certainly encountered many faces exhibiting tatemae my first few months in Japan. My manager never appeared angry when I had made an egregious error in class due to my own ignorance of Japanese culture, but I can imagine she must have been livid. Yet, it’s very unusual to see a Japanese react to stress in the same way as my reaction to the mailbox, causing one to become so infuriated he would abandon cultural norms and disregard group harmony to act on inner feelings.

If you’re ever in the land of the rising sun and find yourself wanting a different kind of reaction from your Japanese friends, these methods might be good starting points.

Challenge the Japanese Identity

Despite the growing number of gaikokujin (foreigners) in Japan and its supposed “internationalization”, many Japanese, even younger ones, remain very nationalistic, concerned with bloodlines. The descendents of burakumin, a lower class in feudal Japan, are still often treated as such. For foreigners, the reaction can be a bit mixed:

Me: One time I told my girlfriend she looks kind of Chinese and she almost started crying…
Friend: Eeeeee! Never Chinese! Japanese people do not think Chinese are attractive.
Me: What? So if the staff person had said my student looked a little Chinese then…
Friend: Ohhhhh No! They never say that! Everybody knows it’s rude to say Chinese!
Me: Everybody?
Friend: All Japanese know!
Me: Why?
Friend: Muzukashii kore (this is difficult)
…
I learned early on in my time in Japan that a good way to get under a Japanese person’s skin (if you were so inclined) is to suggest that they looked like, behaved like, or reminded you of anyone Chinese.
Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist by Loco in Yokohama

In the same fashion as “accusing” a Japanese person of having Chinese blood, there are a lot of Japanese who choose not to associate with foreign cultures, and may react strongly when someone calls them on it. One of the challenges I faced teaching English in Japan was that many of my students, even those well beyond their university years and attending class of their own volition, chose not to improve. Telling a Japanese he speaks English well can be received as a compliment, but to some, it can be construed as an attack on his identity: “You speak English well, so you must not be very ‘Japanese.’” Even with a growing number of western trends in Japan, from food to fashion, there is a certain resistance to completely embrace what foreign cultures have to offer. The Japanese want to have their imported cake, but not eat it.

God Bless You

As far as I know, there’s no equivalent to “God bless you” in the Japanese language. People sneeze, and it goes without response. Though one may be sick in public (with face masks) and make all kinds of sniffing sounds, blowing one’s nose is considered downright rude.

Eating and Drinking in Public

Just like during Ramadan in the United Arab Emirates, eating and drinking in public is somewhat of a social taboo in Japan. The country has few public wastebaskets outside of train stations and convenience stores, which is why patrons tend to consume onigiri just outside the doors. Of course, this is hardly a rule; businessmen do take sake and beer to the park during the cherry blossom season, and many urban people have to squeeze in a quick bite on their morning commutes. Nevertheless, some Japanese might frown upon foreigners wolfing down a sandwich while walking.

Be Different

There is a proverb used far too often as a cliché by expats in Japan: “The nail that sticks out will be hammered down.” Although it’s used by gaijin as an excuse to not bother to learn Japanese or fit in at all, simply because we can’t fit in, there is definitely some truth behind it, for Japanese and foreigners alike.

Bullying, better known as いじめ, is still a huge problem in Japanese schools. Critics to those critics of the Japanese school system like to dismiss claims of bullying being unique to Japan. It’s not, but I believe it is definitely more pronounced. If you’re a slightly overweight or nerdy high schooler, you may very well be more prone to taunting by those in your age group in Canada, the US, Europe, Australia, and across the globe. But in Japan, it comes back to your cultural identity (exaggerated for effect):

“You’re fat? You must not belong here. Everyone around you is thin and athletic.”

“You can speak English well? Well, why don’t you go live in America? I don’t speak English well at all… I am Japanese!”

As white, black, and a multitude of non-Japanese faces start filling Japan’s borders, we’re faced with the ultimate dilemma: we will never fit in; we will never be Japanese; we will always be that nail to be hammered down. The same is true of Japanese who don’t fit the mold of what their society expects of them; if you’re an unmarried woman over the age of 25, don’t be surprised if you hear whispers of “Christmas cake” (a derogatory expression; a woman decreases in value after her 25th, in much the same way a Christmas cake would after December 25th); if you’re a man fresh out of university, you should be preparing for your life as a salaryman in a large corporation, working long hours, going to mandatory social outings, and sleeping less than five hours a night.

If you’re not part of what society says you should be in Japan, then your actions or mere presence can almost be interpreted as a slap in the face to those around you. Granted, once Japanese matriculate they have a bit more perspective, but being on the outs of social groups isn’t someplace you can stay huddled alone in a corner; you’re challenging the identity of those around you, and they don’t always take kindly to it.

Basic Manners

Be mindful when using chopsticks; passing food from one set to another is considered rather uncouth, nor does one leave them sticking out of the rice bowl.

Many homes, businesses, and bathrooms have special slippers for public use. Wearing them outside these areas can be an affront to the host, especially if one forgets to take off the bathroom slippers and walks around the restaurant or house.

Lie to the People

This is a fairly cross-cultural theme, which I only mention because I’ve never seen people in Japan so angry over misinformation from their government. Usually, one simply shrugs and mutters ”shoganai” (it can’t be helped). In this case, Fukushima residents forced out of their homes due to the radiation scare seemed ready to throttle the president of Tepco.

Disclaimer: Based on initial impressions, I realized I really should have been much more specific when referring to “expats”. In this scenario, I’m certainly not referring to the zainichi and those with Japanese citizenship, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t considering foreigners with permanent residency. In any case, this is mainly targeted at those 20-somethings who come to Japan and Korea with nothing but a university degree.

I had the chance to catch up on some of my Korea expat YouTube subscriptions recently and I came across a rather grounded one by CharlyCheer. In it, she discusses not having her TALK contract renewed and being forced to return to the US. Her experience reminded me of several similar announcements across the Korean and Japanese YouTube and blogosphere:

- BusanKevin, a Canadian who started teaching in Korea and eventually moved to Japan, got married, and had a son, has stated his intention to eventually return “home”.

- Chris in South Korea, who is NOT leaving, did still write an interesting article on how new arrivals should behave. He began it with “While coming to Korea is never seen as a permanent thing…”

- The author of Good and Bad Japan, which is now back up and running, wrote his thoughts in a new eBook, but I’ll come back to that.

- Sean Smith’s article for Groove Korea titled “Why my family and I must leave Korea” is pretty self explanatory.

I know plenty of expats who make lives for themselves abroad, getting jobs outside of teaching English, finding a significant other, pursuing their passions in Asia. Granted, it’s rare I run into a 70+ man with a Japanese family who has spent and is going to spend the rest of his living days outside his home country, but we’re not likely to socialize in the same circles. Even considering this, I think the experiences of a long-term expat like Kevin and a recently arrived one like Charly present evidence of a pretty solid theory: we always go home.

Despite my frustration back in my Japan days about others constantly assuming I would eventually leave “their” country and go back to my wily US ways, I have to say, having seen and heard everything in Korea, Japan, and the states the last six years, they were right to say so.

When I made the decision to leave Japan, I initially assumed it was an unique one: feeling like an outsider; no opportunity for advancement in society or at work; longing for the familiarity of home. Of course, it was rather ignorant of me to believe thus; nearly all one- or two-year expats go through the same motions. We’re young, immature (at least in terms of living abroad, sometimes just in general) and seeking adventure, not a life. But Japan intrigues us, grips us, entices us to stay a second, third, maybe even forth year. And then reality sets in:

1. The bitterness comes, and it’s difficult to erase without throwing in the towel.

2. We want to see more, do more, get outside the bubble.

3. Perhaps most important is the question posed by those left behind: “Ok, you’re enjoying teaching; that’s great. What are you going to do when you come home?

When we come home. Not if. WHEN.

There’s a cutoff point in any expatriate’s experience abroad when he or she knows this is no longer a gap year, but a life. For some, it comes when he marries a local. Others, buying property or simply letting the years teaching get away from them, i.e. no thought into looking for other work, just renewing contracts. I used to think that these lifers would spend the rest of their days in Japan or Korea. Now, having heard from so many long-termers… I’m not so sure. It seems like the breaking point for these expats is just simply further down the road than most of us can handle. I could be wrong; it might be due to raising kids, securing a job back home, or tending to family left behind.

In any case, for most of us (I include myself in this group) who let the years abroad get away, we simply forget how difficult it is going back. A gap year seems like a great idea fresh out of a college, and it is. But three? Five? Would you still want to be teaching English at the same eikaiwa when you’re 33? 45? What if you think that’s what you want, only to get tired and try to go back?

I arrived home full of optimism but without any real plan about how I would find a job. I wasn’t worried, though. I had previously been a lawyer and although I knew I didn’t want to get back into that field of work, my intelligence and personality would somehow see me all right. Of that I was misguidedly cocksure.

The girl at the recruitment agency looked at my C.V. and said she could get me some temp work in a call centre. I laughed and said, ‘Right. No, seriously, what have you got?’ and she looked rather grim and said, ‘That’s where we could place you. Probably. The thing is, if you really don’t want back into law, you’re not actually qualified for much. I mean, if you don’t know what you want, we can hardly help you.’ And then she explained that they weren’t careers advisors but rather that companies were their clients and they found people to fill the vacancies they had. ‘i.e.,’ she said, ‘we find people for companies, rather than companies for people.’

‘So…,’ I said.

‘Call centre,’ she replied.

For reasons of pride I knocked back this opportunity, a decision that seemed a tad hasty when I found myself accepting a job in an all-night cafe whose primary perk was an ill-fitting t-shirt which failed to conceal my pre-middle-aged spread. That was bad enough, but I also had to work with lots of students who felt sorry for me having this as my real job.

The pay was less than four pounds an hour. I could feel people looking at me and hear their internal voices saying, ‘Oh look at that poor soul. What a shame! He’s a fat, bald man and he works in an all-night café.’ Worse, was that within two weeks I had suffered the ignominy of serving both a girl I’d gone through university with, who was in having coffee with her mum, and then a girlfriend from my school days.

The girl from university greeted me warmly but she was smirking more than smiling when she asked what I was up to these days. It was difficult to see how I could pretend I wasn’t working in a café serving her coffee. The ex-girlfriend was too polite to ask if this was all I had amounted to, but even with my stomach sucked in as far as it would go it was clear she wasn’t in any way ruing the day she let me get away!
Lifer – How to be a bald middle-aged eikaiwa teacher in Japan

The author goes on, but sufficed to say, that situation doesn’t really figure into expat brains when we first make the decision to live abroad. The job market is tough everywhere, and giving up a year, especially one right out of university when you’re supposed to be laying the foundation for your career, can often result in the above… or worse.

So am I recommending you just don’t go abroad in the first place? Not at all. I think a year or two is one of the best decisions you’ll ever make, even more so if you’ve already gathered some experience in your field and are considering a new company or a slightly different path in life. But fresh out of college graduates, just keep in mind: teaching English is not a resume builder by any estimation. I know, you’ve been reading articles about how travel can be used on your resume, and while this is true to some extent, long-term travel only hurts you when it comes time to find your place back in your home country. Your worldview may be widened, your personality may be humbled, but you shouldn’t ever have to live in your parent’s basement while things come together on the job front. Just one man’s opinion.

Four years ago I was doing pretty much the same thing I am now: staring at my computer screen and contemplating life abroad. The difference is, I was fresh from wrist surgery at Imakiire Hospital in Kagoshima, having shattered my distal radius in December 2007. How could I possibly feel nostalgic for such a time, when I was facing my own mortality for the first time ever…?

That cycling accident had been my first serious injury and the first time under the knife, and yet, I saw it as an opportunity (not just in retrospect, but at the time). I took the chance to slow down, read some running books, and blog on Japan more often. In doing so, I finished the majority of texts that had been sitting on my bookcase for many months, discovered barefoot running, and took the time to reflect on my days in Japan.

The truth is, I do miss Japan now… and I don’t. I don’t miss the bureaucracy of teaching at AEON, and being pointed at and ogled. But I miss the hot springs. I miss the safety of the country. I miss finding new adventures. Sadly, even if I were to fly back into Narita, it wouldn’t be the same. There’s only one first-time Japanese experience for everyone, and I’ve had mine. It was delightful, but the awareness it produced stuck with me, and I’m now more world weary than I was in 2006.

One thing I do miss about Japan is teaching. Not the steady paycheck or the simplicity of the job, but the students. Just like Loco in Yokohama, my soul is healed by children. It’s impossible not to feel better about yourself standing in front of a group of ten wide-eyed ignorant minds whose loftiest goals are to laugh and eat dinner. When I left AEON in 2007 I wanted something more professional, more stable. I found SNBL in Kagoshima, and it worked out… for a time. I missed the classroom, and the interaction. So I left for Thailand to try educating some different nationalities.

I’m tutoring children in San Francisco too, but it’s just not the same. My kids here are so distracted, so angry, so unconcerned about what I have to offer them. For me, it all comes back to Japan, when I was faced with that first group of Japanese college students and got a taste of what it was like for them, facing an unknown foreigner. I reveled in it.

Is this all one massive ego trip I’m describing? Perhaps, but don’t I have the right to choose a profession that would allow me to feel better about myself? Teaching in Asia does that more often than not.

More of my time has been spent checking out new Japan expat blogs and remembering what it was like, to be fresh off the boat and new to the world of the rising sun. Truthfully, Japan may be my favorite place in the world to live, even as an eternal outsider. The safety, the job, the food, the people, the adventure, and the language… all are factors pulling me back across the Pacific. I just hope I can find circumstances that will allow me to go back.

Recently, I asked a friend living in Portland to do some shopping on my behalf and ship said items to Korea. Nothing too fancy: Reese’s, apple sauce, gingerbread, etc. Some things that are next to impossible to find here. As far as my taste buds were concerned, it was a wise decision. My wallet thought differently; it cost 76USD to deliver 40USD worth of product overseas. You don’t need an accountant to tell you just how stupid that purchase was.

So why did I do it? I’ve always been a sucker for food. Even before I started living abroad, I made frivolously expensive choices about where to eat, what to buy. I regularly drove 30 km to get Rudy’s BBQ in Austin. During my time in NYC, I took the subway with two transfers just to get some of those Magnolia cupcakes. Through all of this, I knew I wasn’t getting out of the food the money I was putting in. I just couldn’t seem to make myself act responsibly in this regard, because, let’s face it, food is so delicious. And when you’ve got a craving and the means to satisfy it, what else can one do?

Here are some of the more ridiculous distances I’ve traveled and money I’ve spent for the sake of food:

• Walking for two hours, including one kilometer through a dirty highway tunnel, to reach a mountainside restaurant in western Japan.
• Using my lunch break for an editing position in Austin, Texas to drive north for 20 minutes to the nearest Whole Foods, grab an overpriced lunch and wolf it down in 20 minutes, and drive back.
• Disembarking the shinkansen at Okayama, en route to Hakata, just to stock up on Dr. Pepper at Jupiter Imports.

“Fine”, you say, “let fluency be someone who is fluent to a native speaker in ALL situations.”

Son, Take A Seat…

That is a fine, and unimpeachible definition of fluency. It only has one, tiny tiny flaw. By that definition, particularly in languages with complex cultural aspects like Japanese, NO ONE is fluent, not even native speakers.

We all presume that as native speakers, we are all fluent. After all, most of us only know one language. How can we not be fluent in the only language we speak? An 8 year old native speaker might not have a huge vocabulary, and might not always express everything completely correctly, but no one would suggest that she is not fluent in her own language.

The point I’m making is that strict definitions of fluency are all well and good, but most people don’t realize that a majority of native speakers of a language will find situations where they struggle to be fluent in their own language – for example in conversations about topics they are unfamiliar with, and in areas with unfamiliar protocols.

I’ve talked about my lack of desire to learn Korean in previous video blogs. What it all boils down to is being accepted. Before living in Japan, I (some would say naïvely) believed that learning the local language is a major step towards cultural integration. To some extent, I still believe this to be true. But NOT in Japan or Korea. Why not?

The perception of language, that is, how native speakers view outsiders speaking their tongue, is incredibly important. Sure, I can see how one could learn Korean at a Canadian university from a non-native speaker, and become relatively fluent without ever having spoken to a Korean. But more often than not for language learners there’s at least some contact with someone who grew up with it. You can imagine how nervous one might be when first attempting to use these new skills to communicate.

Think about how non-native English speakers are considered in America. With little empathy and cultural awareness, I would say most Americans treat non-native speakers like complete crap. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I grew up in Texas, and the number of times I overheard things like “Damn Mexicans, if they’re going to live here, why don’t they learn the language?” Putting aside the fact the US has no official language, I’d say the perception of non-native speakers of American English is that of lesser intelligence:

We might bother to consider the people behind the language travesty, this illusion we put up in our minds. Where do these travelers come from? They’re obviously here for a reason, and maybe they’re trying to learn the local language. They could be fresh out of university and brimming with ideas, people perfectly capable of eloquence. But what do we associate with them? Lack of intelligence: you can’t speak properly, so I must be smarter than you. An assumption so far from the truth it’s laughable.

This perception, while insulting and completely unfounded, doesn’t even begin to match how I’ve seen non-native speakers treated in Korea.

If I DO try to speak to you in Korean, please respond to me as an adult communicating in your language. Being told “You’re cute when you speak Korean” is frustrating and patronizing.

I’m speaking Korean to communicate with you, not to entertain you: your language is a language, not a party trick, so please stop responding to my attempts to speak your language as if I’d just performed a really great party trick. Listen to what I say, and answer. Don’t congratulate me as if I were a six-year-old who just tied his shoes for the first time.

Unfortunately, based on my experiences in Korea, being treated as a six-year-old is really giving the listener too much credit. I want to clarify: my Korean is laughable. But obviously I know how to say things like “Hello!” and “How much is it?” after a year in the country. Yet, even when this information is available to people I’m talking to, I’m treated as Roboseyo suggests: less than human, almost like a monkey that’s been trained to spit out a few Korean words.

This could not be more obvious when I use Korean in the classroom. I know kids will be kids, and I’m an anomaly to them as a foreigner. But still, you’d think after being at the same hagwon for years (some of them have been there for all of elementary school) and seeing foreign instructors use simple Korean in and out of the classroom, that the amazement would wear off. As it stands, whenever I discipline a student in Korean for not paying attention by telling him to sit down, be quiet, or simply stop, instead of actually listening to my angry tone and what I’m saying, he or she just giggles and claps, amazed that I was able to speak.

I haven’t had too many experiences speaking to my adult students in Korean, but I can comment on what I’ve seen on Korean TV when foreigners pop up. Take the couple from Eat Your Kimchi on a popular show called Running Man. I had been following their videos for some time and was really excited to see their TV appearance. But… and I mean this with no disrespect to Simon or Martina, or any of the other foreign guests on the show, I really wish they hadn’t done it. Take a look first.

Could you spot the not-so-subtle ways the hosts treated any Korean skills on the part of the foreign guests as a parlor trick? They couldn’t even hold off until someone spoke: the first commentary is “무슨 말…?”, making fun of the fact that a few of them didn’t seem to acknowledge what they had said with a head nod. And when one of the cooks gave his instructions to spread the sauce in Korean, the laugh track kicked in, as if to say: “Yeah, right. Like the foreigners understood that!” I don’t want to give a blow-by-blow account. Watch, judge for yourself.

I know this perception isn’t true of everyone, but it is certainly true for the majority of native Korean speakers. I’m not really frustrated about it anymore, just depressed. Well, just plain sad. Sad at knowing there are so many foreign English speakers out there, wet behind the ears, believing their Korean language skills may someday be used for insightful conversations, when in fact they will be seen as little more than dogs taught to bark on command. Sad at my own realization of this perception; if I had taken Japanese classes at university (i.e. before I lived in Japan), I firmly believe I’d be more fluent right now. Not because I’d have had more experience speaking the language, but because I’d have less experience seeing how native Japanese speakers treat non-native ones.

And so, sadly, that’s where I stand on my Korean. I can learn more and open a few more doors, but ultimately they’ll lead to the same place: amusement for native speakers. That’s not why I want to learn a language, and why I don’t intend to pursue Korean or Japanese after I leave.

As a constant traveler, there are many things I miss out on, but stability is probably my biggest regret. Not financial stability, or even physical stability (staying in the same place). No, I miss mental stability. Yes, I said it: I am mentally unbalanced. In the way that only someone spending the majority of his time in an undetermined location can be.

When I left Japan in 2008, I was connected to that world. I knew the top blogs to check for the latest insider news. Vlogging wasn’t quite as big then as it is now, but I still monitored YouTube for the latest updates. I had English-teaching and Japanese friends I left behind with whom I assumed I’d stay in touch. But, as so often happens in the vagabonding experience, we just slowly forget. Not that I can’t remember every moment, every highlight, of my time in Japan. But it’s not a part of who I am anymore. It just can’t be: I don’t live there; I don’t share in their pain, their joy (I try to, but it’s a shallow effort).

This is especially ironic as most of the things that connected me to Japan – YouTube, blogs, news sites, Facebook friends – are still completely accessible from my computer in Korea. I’ve just lost touch with what it means to be a part of that world, and I don’t try anymore.

The same is no doubt going to be true when I leave Korea. Oh sure, I’ll follow Eat Your Kimchi and check for updates on Monster Island, but eventually, there’ll be more and more references I just don’t understand. The time difference will become an issue. I might even stop saying “나이스!” on instinct.

The truth, as I see it, is our surroundings define our reality. And in no circumstance could that be more obvious than among fellow travelers. I hear from people all the time saying “Sure, we’ll keep in touch, we’ll stay friends; our relationship is strong enough to last even when we’re apart for months.” I don’t believe that. Not in the least.

Just as two high school sweethearts find themselves drifting apart – even when Skyping, talking, and tweeting each other – when they attend different universities, so too do friendships and relationships weaken without physical closeness. Maybe this is rather cynical of me to say, but I can only judge from my own experiences. I have kept in touch with high school friends, friends I’ve met in Thailand, even ex-girlfriends, but it’s limited to Facebook and the occasional Skype call. I have a feeling if we were to meet face-to-face, there would be nothing to talk about after catching up.

Our worlds are just too far apart. They’ve been in one place, attending fundraisers, dating the same people, starting families, moving their careers along, building a future. I’ve been adjusting to life in foreign countries, finding the best way to get turkey into my refrigerator, writing about travel, discovering hidden hot springs.

If I were to stop everything right now, fly back to the states, and start living the life they had been living all along, I might find we soon have more in common. I’ve seen it happen before, as I get overwhelmed with the American media and start focusing on celebrity gossip over Japanese politics, which kind of Greek yogurt is best vs. understanding my friend’s problem with corruption in Thailand. It’s no secret travelers come back to their home countries and can’t help but toot their own horns, spouting every single thing that happened to them over the past six months. Some are fascinated, but eventually they wish you’d stop talking about yourself so much. It’s no different than living abroad and having locals ask you about life in your home country: the fact that you have experienced someplace completely different than anything they may ever know sets you apart.

I got a bit off track there, but my point is this: as a traveler, as a pretty lonely person at the moment, nothing but physical closeness will really make me feel a connection with anyone. I’m all for connecting with people online, but eventually you have to meet. And stay in one place to let that relationship flourish.

Oh, I’m just asking for trouble with this one. My final thoughts after visiting the disputed island of Dokdo. Xtranormal format, of course.

I was reading over hikosaemon’s Japan blog not too long ago and came across a very interesting entry on fluency in foreign languages:

You see, it is quite plausible for someone to be fluent in some situations, and not in others. This is particularly the case in Japan, where even vocabulary customarily used can vary dramatically between different companies, meaning that you might be completely fluent at one company or in one job, and struggling for a time after you change. The change from college life to the business world is even more dramatic, where most people have to use honorific Japanese for the first time, which is completely different, and where a foreign exchange student was completely comfortable sitting in Japanese lectures and drafting term papers in Japanese, they are struggling for correct termination to address customers and superiors in a company.

Although the Korean language doesn’t exactly have honorific like Japanese, I found his argument over situational fluency to be right on the nose. After all, on a given day, in a given situation, I can fool quite a few people into thinking I’m completely fluent in Korean (not just foreigners, either). Take a recent conversation I had with expats on my trip to Ulleungdo.

“It just seemed like your Korean was a lot more fluent that mine.”

“Oh no, far from it. I’m not very good at Korean, but I am very good at knowing the key phrases to fake fluency.”

And that’s exactly what it comes down to when learning a foreign language outside of the classroom. Hikosaemon calls it situational fluency, I call it faking complete fluency, but the progress of someone’s language skills is determined solely by experience: you can repeat phrases in your apartment until the cows come home, but until you test them out in the world, they won’t be added to your language skills.

In that sense, I was fluent at Pusan Airport ordering some bibimbap, in that I was able to communicate my order and answer a question the cashier had for me (“Can you speak Korean?”). I’m fluent at my neighborhood supermarket, Home Mart, in that I can say “hello”, ask for a bag, understand how much money my purchase costs, and thank them when I leave. I’m fluent at the bus terminal by being able to pronounce the name of my destination (though I still have trouble with 강릉) and understand the departure time.

But in most situations? My Korean is laughable. I still struggle with some given names.