I’m not quite there yet, but with the arrival of a check on Monday, I should have a $0.00 balance on a credit card I’ve been holding for five years. The conclusion to my entry on travel and debt.

Transportation

I don’t own a car, nor do I have any desire to buy one in this city (much to my Texas relatives’ disbelief). One of the reasons I chose SF was its public transportation system: Muni, BART, Caltrain. I can pretty much go anywhere in the Bay Area without having to worry about gas costs, insurance, parking, and inspections for under $100/month.

Learning to live with less

Don’t get me wrong, I do have some indulgences – my iPhone, meals at Whole Foods – but for the most part I’ve saved money by not going crazy on expensive dinners and nights drinking. It helps that I don’t have a strong affinity for cigarettes or alcohol. Although this has led to some less-than-social nights, there are always fun free events in San Francisco.

Employment

Here’s where my approach probably differs from many financial planners. You see, I haven’t worked a steady, full-time job since I arrived in October 2011. Yet I am making money. How?

I’m not opposed to full-time employment at all, but there’s very little incentive for me to take a job paying under $15/hr just to pay bills. For one, that’s ridiculously low. Two, it would lock me into a schedule and prevent me from exploring one-time higher paying opportunities.

How have I been spending my time?

- Corporate Spokesman

There are a lot of companies who present themselves at trade shows in SF. The problem is, they’re usually understaffed or unprepared to deal with so many potential clients. That’s where I come in: I learn the talking points, present myself professionally, and take home a hefty paycheck.

- Tutoring

Kids and adults. Math, English, science, Latin, Japanese, study skills. Simple as that.

- Executive Assistant

During one of these trade shows, I happened to meet a small business owner impressed by my education, maturity, and background. He asks for my help with random tasks from time to time.

- Usability Testing

I hadn’t even heard of this until November of last year. There are so many software and app developers out here they occasionally want feedback from iPhone users to their product. Easy way to get $50 on your lunch break. It all adds up.

- Ultrasound Modeling

I don’t really like to do this, as it’s invasive and requires little-to-no activity. Companies like GE which manufacture ultrasound equipment often ask for men in various states of healthy to demo their products at trade shows and medical seminars. Very decent pay, but I don’t really enjoy doctors joking about my insides.

Accommodation

San Francisco – I believe – boasts some of the highest rent and property values in the country. Even working professionals are forced into housing with roommates at times. How did I get around this? I didn’t. I live with four roommates (two of whom are respectful and clean) in a less-than-reputable area of town: Bayview. I have no complaints for $480/month ABP.

Ignoring other people

This task has been the most difficult of all. In a city with such a sharp class divide, I toe the line: looking like one of the middle class, but being as poor as the guys at BART stations asking for change. It’s frustrating to hear from even those I consider friends about dining at a great sushi place, upcoming travel plans to Thailand, even looking at something as simple as a nice pair of shoes I can’t afford. It’s easy to save money; it’s difficult to save when advertisements tell you you must buy something to be considered successful and everyone around you presents that image of success: a nice car, bigger apartment, Italian suit. I still struggle, but I have to remember few of these people have had the kind of life I’ve had, a life of living abroad, nor are they likely to experience it if they stay fixed in their routine of working their long hours, paying their bills, and seeing travel as a luxury that’s meant to be enjoying on special occasions. That’s not the life I want for myself or my partner, wherever she may be.

As of June 2012, I will be debt free.

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?

My friend Eddie called my all-in with a Queen Five. Hands still shaking with the rush that can only come from gambling, I confidently showed my Ace Seven, giving me two pairs to his queen high. He didn’t even seem to realize he was at a disadvantage. Victory would have been mine… if he hadn’t pulled a flush on the river card.

I was crushed at my loss, but, just as when I lose at the blackjack tables, I think to myself, “I couldn’t have played it any other way”. My life is like that at the moment. I’ve been back in the US for exactly six months, and not much has changed. I’ve gained some experiences, met a pretty girl, and thought about settling down in a city and just seeing what comes of it. But my thoughts are constantly returning to that life of travel, living abroad.

If there were an easier way to get back besides teaching English, I’d probably leave in a heartbeat. As it stands, I honestly just don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I know that’s overused and very cliché, but it’s days like today, when I have too much time to think and slow down, that the same thoughts keep coming back to me. I see my 30th birthday as the benchmark for a stable life as an adult, as unrealistic as that is; how many people could find a good job, get married (or at least engaged), and have a place to hang their hat within a few months? I’ve proven I certainly can’t.

Yet that is what I strive for, at the same time not being very content with the path I’m on. I want the end result without any work or consideration of what I do to get there, and it’s killing me. So I’m left with only one option: being happy doing what I do. Choosing a path I know I can stay on and waiting for the right opportunity to transition to a different kind of life. For me, that means travel and running, above all else. I’m sure I’ll find a passion with regard to a job eventually, but not yet.

I can’t play it any other way.

A lot of readers send me emails asking which country I think is better, Japan or Korea? Although I encourage questions, I have to say I’m a bit annoyed at the broadness of asking for such advice. How am I supposed to know which country is best for you? I could go on and on about the differences teaching English in the two countries, and how I think one’s personality is better suited for Japan or Korea. For me, it all comes down to good health.

Asia is a healthier option for me simply because there are fewer options when it comes to food: one has to try harder to find greasy, fatty food. Not that you can’t find a genuine, all-beef American hamburger with curly fries in Busan or Tokyo. Far from it. But you have to make a point of finding it, whereas in the US, twenty are on every street corner.

It’s perfectly possible to maintain a healthy lifestyle in the states, but it requires restraint and moderation, two things I don’t practice well when it comes to food. After all, that triple chocolate cupcake isn’t going to eat itself, is it? The only reason I don’t weigh 200 kg right now is I’m a runner, and a fatist; I’d hate myself rather quickly if I were to get any flab. Although Korea and Japan were certainly conducive to my lifestyle, there are marked differences between the two in terms of cuisine and luxury items. Let me give you a few examples.

South Korea

Korean food is huge on carbs: noodles, dukbokki, rice… and that’s to say nothing of the plethora of bakeries around the country. Paris Baguette offers nothing but carbs with flavoring (to break it down): bread with cream, bread with sauce, sweet bread, pizza bread, regular bread, and dessert bread.

Imports, especially American ones, are more widely available in Korea than Japan. Military bases and surrounding markets cater to soldiers, meaning one can find rice crispy treats, cake mix, frosting, and salty snacks (not that Korea is lacking in their own versions).

If there’s one thing both countries have in common with the rest of the world, it’s the abundance of sugary drinks and cheap soda like Coca-Cola. Family Marts in Korea stock Coke, Pepsi, and even Dr. Pepper in some cases.

This is to say nothing of the staple dinner, Korean BBQ. Thick strips of pork with tons of fat grilled at your table. And it’s so cheap; there’s an all-you-can-eat special in Sokcho for 9,000 Won (about 8 USD). Pork is a huge part of the Korean diet.

Japan

In my opinion, Japan is the way to go in terms of healthy living. How else could there be books published like Japanese Women Don’t Get Old Or Fat (which is very true, by the way)?

The Japanese diet is varied, but very difficult to eat and get even slightly overweight. If you’re a member of a large corporation, some even have mandatory aerobic exercises in the morning and afternoon. Not everyone eats sushi, and McDonald’s still has a large presence throughout the country (as does KFC… ugh), but very few indulge in unhealthy foods and tend to stick with a diet of fish, rice, and veggies.

Part of the reason expats tend to lose weight in Japan and Korea is the change in lifestyle. Most of us are used to driving cars to and from work in our respective home countries; in Asia, we’re usually walking everywhere to catch the next bus or train. In addition, teaching is a very calorie-consuming profession, especially with kids. Jumping around the classroom and singing really drains a person, as does making little girls fly.

Five months since my return to the US, and I find myself in somewhat of a holding pattern. It’s not as though I haven’t been up to anything – I recently had the chance to speak of my experiences volunteering in Japan at a Hosteling International event – but, for the most part, I think I’ve been surviving, rather than living. Certainly given me time to think about options.

This all comes back to turning 30 in June. The big 3-0. I’m excited by the prospect of finally reaching one of those benchmarks that accompanies adulthood, but I just can’t shake society’s expectations of where I’m supposed to be by this age… which, according to my parents and the media, should be in a house with a mortgage, married with a kid on the way, and working a stable job with a 401K.

I’m not as ignorant as I come off: I know there are other options to someone like me, who knows how easy and affordable it is to live abroad. And maybe I’ll even meet that special girl on the road. I know that I should work smarter, not harder in my quest for success, whatever that word means to me. And I should listen to my friends who’ve already hit 30 when they say there’s nothing monumental about it. Life goes on as it did before.

As it did before… my life since graduating UT has been nothing but living day by day. No grand plan. No ambition for the future. Just getting what I need to survive to make it out the day: money for food, money for rent, money for frivolous things. Even with yearly contracts in Japan and Korea, I never really thought I’d be going anywhere in my career. Teaching English is many things, but it is not the way to advance yourself personally or financially; you could be working the same job at the same hagwon or eikaiwa for years. I’ve seen it happen to guys in Japan in their 40s.

On the other hand, I’m starting to realize I’m not going to be able to do everything I want to do in this life, as I have only one to live. I still have plenty of time, no doubt, but I don’t see myself becoming everything I’ve ever wanted to be in the next thirty years, when the physical toll may finally catch up. The only way I know to push forward is to know what I want to do, rather than who I want to be, and see if I find a path that suits me along the way.

I want to run marathons.
I want to travel the world.
I want to write.

I’ll still probably be spending the next two months in San Francisco getting rid of the last of my travel debt before celebrating my 30th with friends and going off on another adventure. I don’t plan to teach English in Asia, or to go anywhere I’ve been before. I feel Japan calling me back, but I’ve tried that route, and found it wanting. Maybe Europe…

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.

This is a subject I’ve been shying away from for some time. Frankly, even my immediate family doesn’t know the full extent of my finances. I’ve also been afraid of hearing feedback like, “How could you be so stupid, spending money like that?” True enough, but everything seems simpler in retrospect. Let’s start at the beginning, which as far as any debt is concerned, is university.

I didn’t and don’t have any student loans. My parents covered my university tuition, while I dealt with incidentals like food and gas. Yes, I know I was spoiled. At the time, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I had attended a private high school consisting of 99% affluent children. I was the 1%, whose parents earned a decent living, but it all went into my education. Paying for the University of Texas at Austin was actually cheaper than my kindergarten classes.

Although my parents had warned me of the evils of credit cards and how their greatest wish was that I never know debt, I didn’t really understand what all the fuss was about. I had seen so many credit card companies on campus offering swag in exchange for just filling out an application: “No commitments! No fees!” Looking back on it now, they’re despicable people, preying on a demographic that doesn’t know any better. The world would be better without them, especially in light of the current state of the US economy.

I resisted the swag for most of my higher education years, but when the time came to apply for an apartment off campus, I realized the flaw in our credit system: you have to have a credit rating to do almost everything you need to do in life: get a house, rent an apartment, buy a car, even use a cell phone (in some cases). I couldn’t just apply with no credit history. That was the first time I tasted the power of credit, and I didn’t even realize the hole I had started digging for myself. My VISA cashback rewards card served me well for the next two years; I usually spent $500 for the month, paid it off in full, and thought that would be the end of it. What’s the problem with credit cards anyway?

My first big mistake: I charged my first Macbook Pro before I left for Japan. $2200, all in credit, all money I knew I didn’t have. My reasoning? Well, I did need a new computer, and I just assumed I’d be able to pay off the balance with my AEON teaching salary. Let me stress this point: I could have paid off the balance, but I chose not to. I was having such a grand time in Japan that nearly all my salary went towards travel and food. That’s how it went for two years: my balance didn’t increase by more than the monthly interest rates, nor did I make any significant effort to pay it off. On occasion, I would wire some money to pay the minimum monthly payment. Fortunately, it never occurred to me to use my card in Japan. The whole country is so cash oriented I only made a withdrawal from my American checking account once, and never used my credit card.

I was back in the states in the fall of 2008, and of course, my credit followed me there. I even applied for two more cards, with a total limit of around $14,000. My balance at the time was approximately $4000, and yet I still did nothing. I had a steady job in Austin that paid $2500/month, a cheap room, and I didn’t even try to pay off my card.

Fast forward to New Zealand, where I was living and working on Vimutti Buddhist Monastery in exchanging for room, board, and $400/month. Although New Zealand isn’t as credit friendly as the US, it’s certainly still possible to use foreign credit cards in bigger cities and gas stations. Which is what I did. Every time I visited Auckland, I ended up accruing more debt, from cookies on Queen Street, to booking my stay at the X Base, even indulging in the occasional massage. I even charged my incoming and outgoing flights. Debt was up to $6000, split over two cards. One of which was an Bank of America American Express card with a terrible APR. This was the beginning of the end for my carefree lifestyle, as I realized I had a serious problem.

When I returned to the US for good (seemingly) in January 2010, I knew I had to work in order to get my debt under control. I had to consolidate my debt onto the one card. It would have been a great idea, had my credit not been so lousy that I couldn’t get a limit increase and was unable to combine balances from three cards into one. At its worst, and I stress this, because I know people have had to deal with much more than I have in their struggles with debt, my debt reached $10,500. Ten thousand dollars, for a kid who had no permanent employment and desired nothing more than to travel. I even had to ask my brother for a loan of $600 just to make minimum payments. That’s when I knew I was in serious trouble. So what to do next?

Well, I worked. And I worked some more. I didn’t cut back on my obsession with Whole Foods’ lunches, or my love of the finer things in life, but I was able to at least pay off the balance of one VISA, a paltry $2500. That left me with about $8000 going into South Korea. I’ve blogged about my finances over there, but I never mentioned what it meant to my debt. When I left the country, I had $2000 in debt on one card, and $3000 in cash.

Seems straightforward, doesn’t it? Pay off the credit card right away? Well, not exactly. That certainly was an option, one that gave me no savings, no means to pay for a deposit on an apartment, and I was trying to get a fresh start in San Francisco. So I charged a little more to my credit card, if only to keep that stockpile of cash available for apartments. I’m a little more mature when it comes to debt now; I know how easy it is to just swipe that card, forget about the money. If all goes according to plan, I should be debt free by June. Before my 30th birthday.

So what have I learned from all this? Credit cards are just as addictive as any narcotic, even worse, as you have to deal with their repercussions far into the future. It’s been six years since I made that major purchase of a Macbook Pro, and I haven’t been debt free since then, always dealing with scraping enough to get the minimum monthly balance. Part of the reason I went to Korea was to send money home and pay off that lagging number. If I had to do it over again, I’d still buy the computer, but I’d have made more of an effort saving money in Japan.

I don’t know how my thinking is going to change once I see that balance reduced to zero. Everything will be changed. It’s still weird for me to think that I have less money than that man begging for change on the street. We’re born into different circumstances, and sometimes I think he got the better deal.

I could have saved money while traveling. My expenses were and are significantly less on the road. But it’s also easier to spend when you think you’re an invulnerable tourist.

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.

Why do white people always ask this? They have this obsession with heritage: “I’m part this! I’m part that!” Who gives a shit?

One of the advantages of being back in the US is the ability to blend into the crowd. As a white, brown-haired, green-eyed, 20-something man with no physical abnormalities, I can walk to the corner store, pick up a bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola, ask the clerk in English to open it, and be on my way without making a lasting impression. It sounds simple, but it’s a luxury I lacked 99% of the time I spent in Korea and Japan. There’s no official name for this phenomenon as far as I know, so I’ll call it the Moviestar and Reverse Moviestar Effects: in Asia, you instantly gain celebrity status just by looking different than the masses; when you return home, you have to deal with the fact you’re not as special. Sometimes Japanese people even thought I was a real Hollywood actor… how I ended up at the head of their classroom is a question best left for the ages.

However, there are certain initiated pet peeves I associate with memories of my race and nationality, American white people, whatever that means. We just don’t know when to shut up about heritage.

I was a corporate speaker for an engineering firm in Sacramento last month, and had the fortune of working under a great professional who would later provide me freelance work in San Francisco. He happened to have been born in India, but moved away when he was a baby.

Stop, and ask yourself: what is this man, based solely on what I’ve told you? Is he Indian, American, neither, both, a third culture kid?

The short answer is he’s American. He can’t remember what it was like in India; growing up in this country is all he knows. Obviously, he speaks English fluently and without trace of an accent.

The problem is, some Americans, even those with open minds who are proud of the fact our country is a cultural melting pot, have some pretty stupid ideas about what an American should look like. There is no answer to that question: we’re yellow, brown, black, white, mixed-raced, every combination to every race and nationality you can imagine probably exists somewhere in this country.

So why, why, WHY do some people assume it’s impossible for my brown-skinned friend to be a “true American?” He must have had three people walk up him, complement his English, and ask where he was from. I have to say he took it better than I would have under similar circumstances, probably used to it by now. In Asia, it’s not exactly a ridiculous question to ask a foreigner where he’s from (ethnicity doesn’t usually come up, unless you’re not white), because it’s obvious he hasn’t been born in Korea, Japan, or Thailand based on his lack of understanding of the language and sudden appearance in ethnically homogenous cultures.

I know this happens all the time, and it’s not exactly the best reason to get upset. In my humble opinion, we Americans, even those I wouldn’t consider to be racist, want to compartmentalize other nationalities and races: “You look brown, you must have been born in India”; “You’re not really all that black – do you have a white grandmother?”. Even being white is necessarily a deterrent: I’ve had plenty of strangers ask about my heritage. The question is just as ludicrous for me as it would have been to my friend. And when the question of race is resolved, state heritage becomes an issue.

Who gives a shit? I’m American.

Full disclosure: I am receiving a stipend for writing this blog entry. Not on the topic itself, but just for using one of the links you see below. However, it is still an interesting subject, one I have wanted to put out to the blogging community for a while.

When I first started my Japanese blog, Keeping Pace in Japan, it looked nothing like it does now. In fact, I didn’t have too many aspirations at all concerning the material; it was just my thoughts about living in Japan and teaching English. As time went on and I got a little more creative, I started tweaking with the design and adding graphics. Eventually the consistency and quality of writing reached such a level that I noticed I had a significant ripple in the blogosphere of expats in Japan: people emailed me asking for advice, spread my stories with social media.

Then two things happened, and I’ll be honest, I’m too lazy to check up on the emails to see what order they happened in. I received an offer from New Balance to review a pair of their ultralight shoes in exchange for a pair, and someone in Tokyo emailed me asking if I could incorporate permanent links on my site for a few Japanese companies.

I was on a teacher’s salary, and going through it without fail every month with expenses like travel and food. What do you think I said? Send the shoes, and I’ll add the links. I assumed it would only get better from there, with offers of sponsored travel (hotels and flights covered) to exotic destinations in exchange for a simple article. Isn’t that what every travel blogger dreams about?

I did hesitate a little, because I didn’t really like the idea of selling out: giving my blog content over to the highest bidder. But there were only two offers out there, and both consistent with the subject matter of Keeping Pace in Japan: running and Japan. So why not? I can understand the need for full disclosure, as people surfing the web for the best travel destinations might stumble across my blog and think “Wow! New Balance ultralights! Why would he give them such a shining review?? Oh…”

Sadly, I still haven’t exactly decided where I stand on monetizing my new site, Once A Traveler. I’m certainly not going to turn down press trips, but I am desperate enough for cash that I might be tempted by the email promising a couple hundred dollars for very little work, i.e. just posting a link. The problem I now face is the links they want me to promote have nothing to do travel or running.

A link in exchange for cold hard cash. Let the free market decide. I might have compunctions over where this will eventually lead, but I can’t imagine any kind of sponsorship would result in a decrease in readership. The question is, as every artist who has ever existed has had to face at some point: when will I value revenue over substance? When will I be so concerned about how an entry appears to potential buyers that I forget why I started blogging in the first place.

It was never about money. For me, now and always, it is always running and travel. Read on, my friends. More will follow.

e simply ask that you write a new blog post on your site – it can be about anything. Once you have written the new post/article you just need to find a section/word in the content and then link it to http://www.hostelworld.com/