Since
returning to Japan, I’ve been reminded how this culture can destroy your
personailty. I think I see it most clearly in restaurants. It never really hit
me till now just how mechanical the servers are. Almost everything they say is
completely scripted. “Is that all for your order?” “Thank you very much, please
come again.” Japanese equivalents of those kinds of phrases. Their faces betray
no emotion.
It’s
like someone has replaced all the people with robots. Very polite robots that
give the best customer service you ever imagined and don’t require tips. In
Japan, that’s what good and polite service looks like. To really understand
this, you’d have to be here and see the young men and women working these
minimum wage jobs.
But it’s
a bit dehumanizing. It’s like there’s a perfect way to be a server, a perfect
set of statements to say, and you’re trying to live up to that model. And that
model excludes your personality. I mention this cultural tidbit because it’s
far deeper that minimum wage jobs. In Japan, the culture tells you to stuff
down and hide anything unpleasant about yourself. Any sin or rudeness or
offence must be hidden, and your exterior must be perfect. If you secretly hate
your parents because they never hugged you and showed affection after you started
elementary school... well, pretend it’s different and don’t talk to anyone
about that. You can see why loneliness and depression are so rampant in this
great nation.
There’s
nothing more wonderful than seeing a Japanese person in Japan with a heartfelt
smile. When I arrived, I hit off a short converation at the airport with two
middle-aged ladies, and I loved talking about silly topics like where I’d lived
before in Japan, the cold weather (a welcome refresher after Bangkok), and how
kind the Japanese people are. And I said to myself, “Praise Jesus, I haven’t
completely forgotten Japanese!” We enjoyed our little talk.
Out in
the countryside or in a mom and pop shop, you can actually see these beautiful personalities.
I still remember fun conversations with old ladies in their restaurants in
Kagawa, how they were surprised to see me and loved to talk. A man in his fifties
who owned Shiruba Roodo (English translation: Silver Road) never realized that
he was actually my Japanese teacher whenever I visited his restaurant.
No comments:
Post a Comment