This is my last morning in Japan.

And yet, I still have so much to tell you; the stories that I have acquired over the past several weeks perhaps will do no justice to the actual experience, but over the next week or so, I will do my best to try to emulate that feeling through writing. Sitting here, on top of the most comfortable comforter in the world and thinking about the events that led me to this point feels rather surreal. It’s unnatural to be back here and not follow the routine that always led me to the train station by 8:02 a.m. and to Doshisha by 8:45. Even on a Sunday, waking up to two large pieces of luggage that I had stored away in the closet for four months leads me to wonder if they really belong outside of that closet at all.

Of course they do, but leaving Japan will infect me with a new homesickness (lovesickness?).

I just want to tell you everything sometimes, but even “everything” cannot do this justice.

For the last two weeks, I traveled within Honshu with three friends from my program plus a friend from Doshisha who came with us for the first few days. Kanazawa (+1 one more friend), Tokyo, Hakone, Hiroshima, Kyoto.

Superficial tourism was beneath us and we ended up having more fun talking to and getting to know new people (and charming them with our Kansaiben—everything is now “ya kedo”; “chau”; “yuutteru”; “siten”; “sit-oru”; etc. and now I’m worried that I will sound bizarre when going back to America and speaking Japanese with professors and classmates) than actually going around to famous sites in most of these places.

Tokyo, in particular, was a relatively friendly expedition. 

In the end, it all felt as if it was a quest to make it back to Kyoto and, eventually, home (wherever that place may exist).

The night of my return to Kyoto, I went out with a med student that I met at a farewell event for KCJS and KCJS-affiliated students. Adventures galore. We went to a small izakaya near the Kamogawa River and met an Indian man who had been born in and lived in the Kansai region for his whole life. He had been sitting with two close friends and turned out to be the owner of a restaurant nearby, where he later invited us for chai, wisdom and garlic naan. But I feel like this description of the night is far too superficial to do anything justice. In less descriptive terms: I am really glad that I was able to meet up with that new acquaintance again and hope to see him again the next time that I am in Kyoto.

I have too many people to thank.

I tell myself one should not be afraid of the miraculous side of the whole adventure. One should not turn one’s back on on the mysterious and the unknown…. - That Beautiful, Cray Cray Victor Segalen

In René Leys, Victor Segalen proposed a  China with multiple personality disorder. For Confessions of an Eggie, I wish that I could propose something similar about Japan. Doing so, though, would transgress a number of cultural, literary and possibly social canons that are my responsibility, as a student of Japanese language and culture, to present in an enlightening and realistic manner… During times like this, I like to remember that this “eggie” blog intends to debunk the conditions of what one should or should not say; it should not discourage observation or reaction regardless of conventions and sentimentalities. I don’t think of Japan as a fairyland of mystery and toys, but I also don’t feel that I’ve reached the point (or will ever reach the point) where my observations of Japan are completely translucent (and, really, who has?).

This blog is a medicine to my study-abroad student syndrome. To call this a syndrome in itself (like bronchitis or something) does seem somewhat… problematic… 

“One should not turn one’s back on the mysterious and the unknown,” writes Segalen. One should not, I suppose, ignore that inexplicable and mysterious atmosphere engendered within, say, subways and other communal spaces here in Japan. This side of my relationship with Japan (the “underground” Japan) has left me with a sense of ambivalence toward how I feel about public transportation mannerisms and rituals. This is to say: for me, at least, commuting in Japan has, in a way, a set of understood rules and expectations that one ought not breach for the sake of avoiding an embarrassing level of gaijin-status. (mine is already embarrassing as it is). 

Commuting through train and subway in Japan, in a way, serves as meditative experience: stand in one place, focus your eyes on a point that is neither a person’s face nor any other unreasonable point to stare at, remain silent and insular. 

Such is the way of the commuter.

Small talk is for losers. I go out of my way to not make too-meaningful eye-contact with unknown Westerners sometimes to avoid being that person. Breaking the aforementioned tacit regulations could very well mean losing the game. 

To master the art of idle, polite and intelligent commuting should be a rewarding experience… 

But beyond this exist more pressing matters––more pressing experiences—to discuss. 

おやじ

Oyaji.

Generally considered a rather impolite, if not negative term, Shiga’s oyaji population has taught me to embrace the term and appreciate the demographic. Honestly, I really have to admit that some of the most awesome people that I have met outside of KCJS have been, indeed, these wonderfully easy-going oyaji with whom I had the honor to interact this past Saturday at an おやじ会 (an おやじ飲み会, essentially). 

Eventful recollections

• Preparing salsa and guacamole for the occasion (the main course was nabe, but my host mom thought that it might be a good idea for me to make something typical to Mexican cuisine if I could—with the lack of access to ingredients here, I settled with making salsa and guacamole).
• Attempted set-ups with a fellow 若者at the oyajikai. (being asked about six times if I had a boyfriend—always with the hand gesture).
• Being laughed at for extensive use of keego (apparently, people my age should not speak that way?)
• Discovering that I have more in common with oyaji than with people my age. I had an extensive conversation with one particular Oyaji about Suzuki, Ozu, Teshigahara, Kurosawa and, my favorite, Oshima. (“Isn’t Oshima エッチ?!?!”)
• Learning and applying Kansai-ben to conversations with the oyaji. (”なんで言って（ゆって）るね〜何でやねえ。。。ぼけ。。。おっちゃん。。。）

(As for the last bit: I’ve recently become determined to learn and use the Kyoto region dialect as much as I can while I’m here. This past weekend, I also had the opportunity to meet my lovely language partner, who kindly (and indiscriminately) supplied me with a fair repertoire of Kansai-ben and waruguchi. )

Seeing as hanging out with oyaji has become my “thing” as of late, it might be necessary for me to become as fluent as possible in Kansai-ben—otherwise, I might miss out on understanding something deserving of much more than the standard, “Soo desu ka.”

“…this conjurer up of shadows.”