Tuesday, January 9
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From what I understand, I'm home.
 Goodbye Japan. I will miss never understanding you.
I remember my first week in Japan and how I couldn't understand what anyone said. Oh my! What a difference a year makes! Now, I still don't understand what anyone says -- but I'm accustomed to it. It's something I just accept like how everyone has that one crazy uncle, except it's like having all your uncles crazy.
Not knowing has almost become a language itself. I feel that I can walk into any store and although I would not understand anything being said, I'd be able to speak English and have them not understand me as well, yet... understand me. Do you understand me? Understand? To me using the context combined with their facial expressions was a game to hypothesize the most likely meanings. For example if entering a restaurant and I'm greeted with something, I'll just assume it means "How many?" and if presented with another string of sentences I'll just assume it means "Smoking or non-smoking." One time, eating at a curry restaurant, with our faces sweating and our glasses empty, as the waiter came with a large jug of cool refreshing water, he said something just before refilling our cups. His outstretched arm was about to tilt as we both nodded eagerly, smiled and answered yes to his question, then the waiter, after hearing our answer, retracted the jug, the near fallen water droplet vacuumed back into the jug, and he courteously walked away. We never figured out what he could have possibly said ("Would you like me to not refill your glass?" "Do you enjoy having no water with spicy food?") It's a fun game most of the time, but the understanding is on a superficial level and one could never make a good friend from this, which is something I'll look forward to in Canada.
Most of the time, I'm mistakened for Japanese because of my face and this assumption often overrides the fact that nothing out of my mouth is ever in Japanese. My roomate has been studying Japanese for months and he's getting good enough to know survival phrases, good enough for directing a taxi driver to our house. Although he addresses the taxi driver, telling him where we live and what to do, the taxi driver would answer back to me, making eye contact with me, not him -- the white gaijin speaking Japanese. The taxi driver would look and listen to my housemate and then turn his head to me to respond. I usually try to put on a stern japanese salaryman face and nod very slowly and knowingly as though I understand everything, but I'm letting my peon white man servant speak for me because I can't be bothered. In retrospect, I should have snapped my fingers each time before my roomate spoke as though I was training him to speak for me.
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