Holden Caulfield--age 32, in Japan

From 8-12-09

I survived yet another orientation this week (my third) and hopefully last for some time. Though I did sign up for an intensive Japanese language course that will run from tomorrow through the weekend, so I won’t be able to get away from the people that made me want to poke poke poke my (their) eyes out. They’ll all still be there. In all their absurdly genki glory.

I figured out the problem with this excursion so far, and I’m hoping that by identifying the problem, I’ll be able to find ways around it. It’s rather simple, actually.

There have been so many orientations and so many questions asked and answered, that there is no mystique whatsoever. There’s no excitement, nothing unexpected, no revelations, no inspiration, no self discovery. In fact, they told me and us through all these painful orientations how all of this would go. “Just call the hotline if you have a problem.” There are at least 25 people that could solve any problem for me that I might have, and I’m not ashamed to ask for help.

So, what’s left? I’m here; I sit in my apartment; I try to learn Japanese; I buy weird shit at the grocery and eat it (mostly); I go out on the weekend with Americans; I have painful forced interactions with Americans at orientations; I go to work and find ways to occupy my brain; I contact people back home; I take walks; I get shit done. This is fine for the first two and a half weeks—to be expected.

France—France was a major success, and I was very crabby and weird at the orientations there. I stumbled through my sentences not only in French, but also in English. I was the odd man out and didn’t make friends. I got drunk and got through it and ended up having the best time of my life (sometimes). So maybe I’m overanalyzing.

But there is something missing. The inspiration! I remember in France, I couldn’t stop writing and thinking. My brain was in overdrive. I was reading Henry Miller and drinking it up like communal wine. I was angry and overwrought with everything. Near tears, contemplative, drunk, lost. By this point, I had met a French girl and was consumed with Adriana. I think what I need most are some nights out by myself. Just me and my journal at the bar. God, I wish there was a place that had live music—even terrible live music is an excuse to hit the town at night. It doesn’t seem like it would be very proper to just wander up to some bar and sit there alone for some time. I have a feeling that plan would backfire.

I can’t compare this place to Strasbourg because Strasbourg had it all. This was my fear and is coming alive. The “crazy adventure” nights will have to involve the Americans in some way. This life I’ve accepted will be a shift in the Continental Drift. My favorite things are no more—I have to change.

I can say with assurance, though, that I’m going to become a far more smug bastard as a result of all this. I didn’t understand all the hate for JETs on the message boards, but they are truly despicable, at least upon entering their first year. I know for a fucking fact that they don’t like me much. I was the oddest man out of the group through this orientation. Problem was, I didn’t have anything I wanted to say to any of them, so I just stopped talking. People say that quiet people are either closed off with founts of things to say or simply have nothing to say. I know I can talk the balls off a rhinoceros, but I doubt I could to them. I’m not boring, but I’ll eternally be a boring JET. I’ve accepted that fate. Fortunately, I’ve realized I don’t have anything to prove to those assholes. Some of them are just so absolutely terrible.

On a bright note, I had fun talking to Jesse, Matt, and Joey while we were driving back from the orientation. Joey gave me some whiskey which made me instantly think highly of him. He also gave me an adapter so I can plug my hand held tape recorder into my computer. I want to make music with him badly. His apartment is totally incredible, and might provide an escape from the “quiet time” I’m forced to endure.

I think I got a noise complaint last weekend, but I couldn’t understand the phone call, and I couldn’t understand the note put in my mailbox. Ugh.

We talked about things that were interesting, and the whiskey helped me calm down. Jesse became really talkative which made me happy. He’s totally from the land of the misfit toys like I am, and I appreciate the fact that he sees through most of the bullshit too. I think I got at least slightly in his good graces on the drive home.

Matt and his wife Sam are really great as well. They’re sort of simple but rather kind. There’s no false pretense—they seem just rather calm and pleasant. I think there will be a good group dynamic, and I haven’t met anyone that I wouldn’t enjoy cooking a dinner for.

I saw all the cans in my apartment when I came back. Man, I’ve drank a lot of beer in two weeks. By no means is it out of control, but I do need to watch it some. Things like this are typical of me during transition times. I need to make my weary mind at ease. The problem that I see, though, is that I’m all fucking crazy in my head, then I’m totally cool and sociable when I have a few drinks. That’s a bad sign, but I don’t know how else I could be. After the first night of orientation, we walked to the convenient store and slammed some beers by the dumpster. God, I felt good after that. Didn’t last long, but it actually made me NOT hate everyone with an unbridled passion.

Ugh, so lather, rinse, repeat, and go back to college tomorrow. I dislike myself for being the guy that stands on the sidelines hating everyone. Why the fuck would I let that happen to me? I’ve been down that road so many times, and it simply doesn’t work. It doesn’t pay off at all.

But, there’s no avoiding it for me. Holden Caulfield has made his way to Japan—he’s still Holden Caulfield. And the assholes are still assholes. I’m sure we have a pretty clear idea of each other. I don’t want to talk to them and they don’t want to talk to me. We’re in harmony, like ebony and ivory. And I’d much rather have a deep rich ebony cloud over my head than be brainwashed by this fucking orientation bullshit. I’m not riding any curve of culture shock. I’m an individual with individual needs having an individual experience. I’m not in an army, and I’m not in a war.

It’s funny, this experience has changed from being the most important thing I’ve done in my life, than far less important than all the hype. I need to just take it in. I know once I start having fun, that it will be epic. The travel will be enlightening (MUST be careful with what I choose), and the friends will be close.

Hopefully, inspiration is around the corner. I’m dull and dead. Some time away from the knuckle-fucks will be good after this weekend. I really really don’t want to rely on them for “fun”.

Angry guy, out. Here are some goals for my time in Akita City:

Purchase my re-entry permit, so I can leave and re-entry the country.
Buy a guitar.
Buy a small amp.
Learn a lot and not be hungover every day.
Go out and mingle with Japanese women.
Leave a better impression on the other ALTs (ha!)
Read some Copperfield.
Karaoke?

I’m sure there’s more, but that’s a good start. Must look at the positive. Must find inspiration.