Taking Shock

The written word has long let me experience life vicariously. Never mind seeing that hit movie; I know who's in it and the general idea from reading the newspaper. Rather than approaching a new band's CD with an open mind, I tend to first check out a review online. Yes, I even read cookbooks that don't have pictures sometimes because the writing is, well, scrumptious in its own way.

This background may give me a slight advantage in trivia games or light conversation, but when we move beyond questions for points or first impressions, I sometimes feel like the proverbial jack-of-all-trades: master of none.

I'd read a fair amount about culture shock, both in the pre-departure materials and through my Anthropology material, and took the time to read about the very different environment that lay ahead. From these, I falsely concluded that my experience would be different; having lived in a foreign culture already and stuffed my brain with factoids was supposed to grant me immunity after the initial adjustment phase.

For a long time, it seemed I had calculated things just right. Even as the excitement of getting by with a foreign language dimmed into routine, the excellent food and time with host families kept things interesting but not overwhelming. My English-language church and Internet contact with folks back home were safeguards against feeling isolated or marooned.

Even so, when school let out for two months in February and March, a thread of the blues snaked into my mind. The dorm quieted down as people went home and I settled in to enjoy the routine and pursue a few personal goals (writing, language study), but before I knew it those dreams had gelled into lethargic inactivity. And as the doldrums set in, my Japanese suddenly seemed totally inadequate given the length of time spent in-country. I began rewriting my time here in my head: if I had only joined this club or taken this opportunity...

Looking back on that too-long season, what scares me most is how in pride I assumed truly frustrating culture shock would never happen to me and didn't even let myself affix that title to what I was experiencing. Even anthropologists get homesick sometimes, but only the honest and humble ones admit it.

Break Amid Blossoms

About five weeks ago, this nation went through something catchier and more enjoyable than hay fever: marveling at the front of cherry flowers. Yes, I mean "front" in the same sense the weather report does, because an amazing amount of tourism cash depends on exactly when those buds open up in any given locale. In an apparently rare twist, Tokyo led the nation this time.

My campus is bisected by a long road deliberately lined with these trees, which bear token fruit but are of a separate variety specifically groomed for its profuse display of pink. Still, I saw quite a few vials of 'cherry blossom jelly' for sale as locals attempted to cash in on the yearly phenomenon.

The florified surroundings are merely the tip of the proceedings, however. To really enjoy the scenery, people are supposed to go out to parks and enjoy a meal with friends underneath the falling petals. As I did so, a gentle wind came and shook several blossoms off their branches, leading one of my foreigner friends to exclaim, "This is Japan!" At that moment, I didn't want to disagree; the suggestion of life's transience (James 4:14) and the mild weather were indeed just about ideal for our picnic.

This ritual is also a mark of democratization, in that so much which several centuries ago was only enjoyed by nobles (leisure time, disposable income, flavorings such as salt) are now regarded as basic to the average affluent lifestyle. When my grandparents & I visited the National Museum, the National Treasure on display was a wood panel painted with a scene of ancient courtiers and their boxed bento lunches taking in the flower view; I could only smile.