After what I consider a good attempt to learn Japanese for close to six years, it is pretty embarrassing and painful to admit how terrible my Japanese really is. Unlike English, where my strong trait is talking and never listening, in Japanese I am SO much better at listening. When I hear people talk, the words easily and pleasantly flow through my ears. One of my big motivators for learning Japanese in the first place was how entrancing it is by how few yet simple sounds the language manages to produce. Simplicity and beauty in everything it does, I think, could be Japan’s motto. Of course it could just as easily be, if it’s broke don’t fix it.
I have to cut myself some slack because I spent approximately 1.5 years in high school learning the Japanese alphabet and watching anime with my weeabo friends. In college, I spent all 2 years of it actually studying Japanese 4 days a week. I wrote essays, studied grammar, gave presentations when I was forced to. I felt that I was getting a deeper grasp of some of the complexities of the language and the grammar. But I never ever spoke.
I’m not saying my shyness to speak to strangers is a Japanese language thing, because I can’t even order at a Taco Bell in America without accidentally introducing the drive-thru guy to my dog out of sheer awkwardness and panic (that’s another story for another time). My mom has been making my phone calls for me for years out of sheer frustration of watching me sit there trying to plan a script of what to say while calling the store to see if they have a certain item in stock. I don’t like talking to people. Unless of course you’re part of my fave 5 (the 5 people I actually enjoy being around in the whole world), we’re not going to communicate a lot unless you do most of the talking. I don’t know why this is, but I have a sneaking suspicion that some of this has to do with me having stray cats as friends as a child. But I mean, didn’t everyone?
Last year, my three months in Japan improved my listening skills by a landslide. But I still avoided putting myself into situations where I knew that I would be faced with difficult Japanese. Now, about 3 days into my part 2 journey of Japan, I was forced to go to the local government building to get my affairs in order. No one spoke English. While pointing to my residency card and repeating “jyusho” (Japanese for address) over and over again was not the highlight of my life, I got through it. I also enrolled for health insurance without understanding a damn thing the woman told me. Yes, it would be nice to understand these things. I understand that I have dropped the ball in many ways, and I’m not studying 4 days a week like I used to. But I would like to take small steps this year towards depriving myself of the English hungry self who feels safe and unashamed speaking her mother tongue.
First off—English menus have to go. The first thing people do when I enter a restaurant is reach for that English menu. While I would like to politely decline, I have no idea how to do that in Japanese, so I take the menu, but I turn it over to discourage myself from looking. Then, I order in Japanese. Despite my avoidance for English and my constant attempt to try to use as much Japanese as possible, people still speak English to me even when I am using Japanese. I don’t think my conversational Japanese is that terrible, but rather, I feel like it is a Japanese custom to cater to “tourists” even though I am technically a resident of Japan.
Today I went to buy myself a plant. Plants are a good substitute for friends and my mom told me that plants thrive off of people talking to them. Sounded like a good deal to me. In Kami-Itabashi, where I live, there is quite a few quaint flower shops. I surveyed the main street of Kami-Itabashi looking for a nice plant shop. I chose one with an old man standing on the porch having a smoke. I knew this would be another situation where I wouldn’t be able to ask much. How do I say, “Hi, I’m looking for a plant to fill the void where friends should be in my life, do you have any that are good for that? Also, low maintenance and can survive when I will undoubtedly go days without watering it.”
He notices me staring at plants and screaming on the inside, so he approaches. He remarks about how hot it is, which is child’s Japanese, so I can understand and reply. He’s not wrong, it feels like humid hell outside. He tells me the Japanese names of some of the plants because he can clearly see the struggle deep inside. He then shows me some succulents. How did he know that I need a low maintenance friend? He must be a mind reader. He tells me they are a cactus, which they are not, but like every Japanese person I have talked to, he is trying to comfort me with English. While the efforts are appreciated, it possibly makes me feel more stupid to speak English with a Japanese person who cannot speak it then to speak Japanese and make mistakes.
I finally decided on some plant. I have no idea what it is. I just didn’t want a succulent and I didn’t want a flower that I would inevitably kill. The plant only costs me around 100 yen (approx. one-dollar) and he asks me if I have a planting pot and tries to sell me some French soap. I decline both, but comment on the nice smell of the soap. That’s as far as my Japanese takes me. He kindly wraps my plant and tells me thank you before sending me off with a smile. While not much communication happens, as with many of my interactions with Japanese people, he is kind and his shop smells like fancy French soap. I don’t interpret any ill-will and his patience makes me feel at ease. Luckily, these are how most of my interactions feel. I am grateful for their patience. I know many Americans who think that yelling louder somehow makes it easier to understand English. News flash: that doesn’t help, you’re just an asshole.
My only exception for speaking English is meeting other foreigners in Japan. And I don’t just mean white people. There are a lot of Indian restaurants in Japan with staff that speak English, Japanese, and their own native tongue. I went to grab lunch at one of these places, and while we start the conversation in Japanese, the second they offered up English I grabbed onto that thread as if I were drowning. I don’t know what it is about having that safe-space with other foreigners, but I don’t feel ashamed speaking English with them. But strangely, we still follow the Japanese custom of bowing to other another after they hand me my take-out bento. We are kind of trapped in a cultural no man’s land where we don’t know what customs to follow or what language to speak. People are weird.
In short, I want to keep turning down the English menu. I want to struggle at more flower shops with old men who smoke and sell me soap. I want to reassure myself that there is no validity to the fear I feel when I enter a new space because the outcome will be okay. I will get through it, and I will come out of that experience feeling a little bit better about my Japanese. Here’s the middle finger to fear due to language barriers, because this time I won’t deprive myself. I’m going to eat at all the restaurants, buy all the plants, and do all the adult things. So save the English menu Japan, I’m coming at you with terrible Japanese.
