Remember when you were little and you had to stick your hand into a box and feel around to guess what the object was? We did that in 5th grade this week with scissors, tacks, a stapler, a metal compass with a sharp point, an open ink pad, and a box cutter.
Way to keep me my on my toes Japan.
I was just starting to comfortably stereotype Japanese people as being “safe.” Maybe it's the new generation. The students seemed to really get a kick out of screaming “DANGER!”
There have been other questionable developments too. There is a man with excellent English skills that works at the Shell station who likes to give me things. What started out as a lifetime supply of noodles has now escalated to shopping bags full of cheesecake, coffee and teas, paper decorations and sandwiches. I don’t know what to do because he is not even creepy.
Meanwhile, I agreed to be on a relay team for the island’s relay race festival. I am on the scuba diving team with 5 other men who are all middle age. Not only was it news to me that I am younger than their children, but that I am penciled in for running almost 2 miles in 9 minutes, half of which is uphill. HA. However my real question comes from just finding out from someone else that I am running in the men’s race.
On top of this, all of a sudden my co-workers are acting like they somewhat respect me. It’s completely bizarre. And the middle-schoolers have gone in one day from running away from me, to spooning me. There is nothing like feeling someone grab your hips and caress you from behind only to turn around and see a tiny Japanese girl.
I wish I knew what my secret was. It is kind of unsettling really. Not knowing what is going on or what I am exactly doing everyday can in effect lead me to question how well I know myself these days. Those of you that know me well, know I regularly do things to embarrass myself. Well, Japan is so awkward in the first place, any actions on my part go unnoticed or blend right in. This has been really disorienting. Luckily, this identity crisis was addressed last weekend when I pantsed myself.
I happened to be pulling off a scuba diving dry suit and took my pants off with it. Sensing something was amiss while standing in front of a few old Japanese men, I looked down to confirm I was indeed standing in my underwear. I started to laugh so hard that I couldn’t see, and I proceeded to crash into a rack of fishing poles. Somehow I didn’t hook myself, and found the whole experience to be comforting. However, after the old men laughed, they refused to acknowledge what had just occurred. Come on. We all know it happened. It was a loud disaster. Don’t deny me this.
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