“You don’t like his face?”

After sumo wrestling, dating and talking about dating is the most popular sport for Japanese women. Considering everything is so private here, I was surprised when I was quizzed about my very (non) eventful lovelife. I often go through the whole explanation, well I’m only here in X,Y,Z for X weeks and I’m leaving then, so there’s no reason to think about any commitment to someone I only half-like. However, making friends is possible. I explained to a Japanese friend of mine that I’ve made friends with a few guys, maybe she would like to meet them. I was rolling into talking about my new male friend, that we went for dinner and clothes shopping together. This is often torture for me in the UK at the grand height of 5"2. It’s wonderful in Japan because I’m the average size. I also consider shopping a torture that girlfriends dish out to their boyfriends when something is not quite right or perhaps flattery is required. The public arena of the changing room is not the best space to answer your girlfriend when she’s fishing for compliments. “Does my bum look big in this?”, and quite rightly the male of the species begins to squirm for the right answer. Does anyone answer, “yes, of course it does”, with the exception of Jamaican men to their beloved. 

I normally take the male role of waiting outside the changing rooms and giving opinions on clothes, minus the flattery. I give very straight answers, I’m the human anti-serotone, those who fish for compliments are often sorry. Likewise, I don’t fall over swooning at a compliment, this makes me very difficult and stubborn to catch. I keep a pinch-of-salt on the radar for such occasions.

“Is he your boyfriend?” she asked. “Well he’s really cool and ....... “. But you don’t like his face”, she interjected. I spluttered at her bluntness, she’s Japanese so I didn’t expect it, but the language barrier was the probably the cause of the most accurate sentence I’ve ever heard. She’d managed to beat me at my own skill.
“O.K, who do you like? I found myself trying to retreat from the conversation, (I tried quickly making up a person), but I guessed she’d caught me there. “Well there’s someone attractive to me, but I’m not sure about the personality, so I don’t think about it seriously.” “Ah, it’s very difficult, you should switch the personalities and the bodies of the two men.”

If only I’d thought of that before!

A whole lot of hugging

I’ve had a lot of opportunities to get up close and personal with an obese woman and trees. Outside of Yoyogi park near Haraku a bunch of people were offering free hugs outside of their free hug hippy bus. Taking the opportunities for all expereinces, I just went for the first person, it’s clearly a British mentality that beggers can’t be choosers. It was a free hug! The comment from my friends was, “why did you pick the fat one?” “I didn’t select, I’m sure she doesn’t discrimate either when she offers free hugs”. Some people can be far too fussy. But, I now know that trees are less selective than humans.

A few weeks ago I climbed Mount Takao, I expected it to be difficult. My day began with an exercise to get back in touch with nature. The leader of the event was a very tall American. So tall, I wondered how he coped here in Japan, he must spend most of his life crouched or sloped down. I’m remain curious about men who are leaders, especially those in physical occupations, they require a lot of trust, which could easily be abused. My day began blind folded in the forest surrounding Mount Takao guided by two Japanese woman. The purpose of the exercise? To understand and feel the tree, so when I’m no longer blind folded, I can find the tree. I had touch the tree very carefully for every lump and hole, for moss and leaves, perhaps the spirits in the tree enjoyed it. In turn, I lead two rather exhuberant Japanese women around the forest. What kind of kicks does a man get watching twenty blind-folded women in the forest?

I had hoped for something more challenging, challenges or rather seeking them out seems to be a sport of mine at the moment. I was very sorry that it only took sixty minutes. I was expecting something challenging so imagine my disappointment when I reached the top so quickly. It wasn’t a mission for the A team. It seems when something is not a challenge I don’t enjoy it as much. I went on a taster sailing course in April. I had the pleasure to meet my skipper, minus a parrot and eye patch, but he had a black toe and a typical sailors thirst for alcohol.

It was force six, nearly seven and I’d never been sailing before. The skipper said he was unsure if he should have taken me out as the only person without sailing experience. But he commented I was like Joan of Arc leading her army into battle. But I don’t think that Joan of Arc wore Ellen MacArthur Dungarees and a plastic mac. She probably had some cool chain metal armour too and thrilling weaponary skills to display. Even when the bough of the boat tipped up and smashed down onto the waves, I was without fear. The excitement only increased when it was my turn to steer the boat. On calmer days, my interest was subdued and I began to feel onset of sea sickness. I’m sure Joan of Arc wasn’t cut out for periods of peace and serenity. Likewise, I work better with an adventure on the horizon.

Tokyo city

Perhaps the most famous film about Tokyo city at the moment is ‘Lost in Translation’. They at least were lucky enough to be able to swan around in fancy hotels and see the city in limousine luxury. At the working end of life in the city, it’s very different. Trying being lost in the city hall to register as an alien to obtain an ID card. In spite of efficiency, everything takes that little bit longer than expected.

I have set myself various missions for life in the city.

Mission number one: join a gym.

Of course, I don’t speak a word of Japanese and there were various rules that had to be explained to me before I could join. I have a helpful friend in the city, thankfully!
I was asked the most hilarious question, “Have you ever been a member of Yakuza?”. If I’d ever been a member of any such group, I would be skilled enough to keep it a secret, so the question is void before it’s asked. Or, I would just bribe or threaten the management for entry in the sports club. The front line staff wouldn’t know a thing about it.

Mission number two: fit in

I don’t think that is ever going to happen. This has nothing to do with my nationality. I dance, sing, tap, hum and click my way to work, it’s easy to stand out when I behave like this. The route to work is always crowded and I feel like I’m playing platform game walking the distance between the station and work.

Mission three: Get to work on time and alive.

If there are nine million bicycles in Beijing, there must be nine and a half in Tokyo. The rules are quite relaxed, but I fear I will come home with tyre marks across my face. I’ve also invented a phrase for the commute to work, it applies to all countries with metro systems and travelling at peak times, ‘people jam’. Sometimes I’m pasted onto the train windows, sometimes I manage to get a seat. Then I often find people swaying into me, like ballasts at the side of a moored yacht. Now that rainy season is about to begin, I face one last challenge, dodging umbrellas. Usually this is not a problem for me as most places I visit, people are at least a foot taller than me. Now the danger exists at my height. At least the view is colourful instead of the usual sea of black. The view of the streets from above probably looks like sugar-coated-smarties.

Mission four: make some friends.

This was a very easy task in Moscow. I always had someone crazy and available to be crazy with in the city. Gay clubs, roller skating, film clubs, language exchanges, Lindy hop, it was all available. Aside from being miserable outside, it was fairly bustling inside, I never rested during the weekends, I used my time at work to do that. I’m lucky that I live with two amazing girls, one of whom has to be the Chinese-American version of Pink. So I decided to attend an international party and find out about the ex-pat scene. For a start, there were more men than women, more Japanese women than Western women. I have found out what it feels like to be positively discriminated against, they gave me a discount. Judging by the gender imbalance I thought it wouldn’t be easy to meet others to make friends with. Most of the women didn’t want to make friends with me. They’re too busy conducting interviews of prospective boyfriends and husbands, female company is redundant.

At least the Japanese guys said, “hello” and I managed to find out more about the city.  I was fortunate enough to meet the driest Canadian, as dry a cactus spine, in comparison to his Australian counterparts. I couldn’t take too much Canadian sarcasm, but I admire Australian spirit. An Australian I used to know was game enough to go to a gay male strip club in return for my services as cupid one crazy evening.

Mission five: return to my own body

I’ve travelled a number of places, and I class myself as well travelled. However, I’ve never sat in same place for 12 hours in a row, I normally prefer transfers. It took a number of days to feel like myself again. It was like a miracle one sunny morning when I woke and all of I sudden, I felt sexy. There is a fine line between wanting to have sex and feeling sexy. The latter can continue on it’s own all day, even a t-shirt rubbing against freshly washed skin feels exciting. I sauntered and sizzled around the streets of my little town that day and shopped for delicate second-hand items and books.  I began to make sense of my new surroundings. 

Be careful what you wish for….

You might just get exactly that.

I wished to sing a full set of jazz songs. Well later this year, I’m going to embrace that opportunity.  In January; I went to a lunch time 1940’s concert at the National Concert hall in Dublin. I was of course the youngest person there; at least I have something in common with my few grey hairs. Whilst I enjoyed it, I did happen to think I could do a better job. Justice has now been served and I’m required to put my money where my mouth is. Beware of being critical of others is my lesson of the month.

I used to sing freely and with some confidence, but sadly studies and work sapped all my time and I stopped singing. I sang for a group of friends in New York and ever since then my best friend has bullied me to sing publicly. She bought me some singing lessons from a very good teacher in London as a gift, perhaps the best gift I’ve ever received. It took some thirty minutes before I was relaxed enough to sing in front of her. By the time I left, I was cotton high and strawberry red. Nonetheless, it provided the push I needed and I took some singing lessons whilst I lived in Moscow.

A married couple, both of whom were very talented opera singers taught me. I felt a bit guilty asking such talented singers to teach me. They must have really lost their temper with me a number of times when I didn’t understand what I was required to do. Of course the language barrier didn’t help. I was eager, but I had absolutely no interest in singing opera. I really struggled with the technique as well as trying to sing in a language I’ve had limited exposure to. In the end they let me sing jazz songs and I started to enjoy what I was paying good money for.

Since Moscow, I’ve had rather few opportunities to sing. So for once when my friend bullied me, I decided to just sing. After all, I often tell people to be brave, and I’m at fault here. After dinner another guest asked me to sing at her 1940’s show. In short, without trying, I’ve got my wish, even if it is only two songs. I’m not going to be cowardly, and change my mind even if I’m already nervous. I’m now frantically trying to find the perfect two. I’m taking all suggestions from anyone musical.

The place to say no.

After another stint in Austria, this time Vienna, I attended the most bizarre stag night. In fact, there was a distinct absence of the bride-groom. It was probably the wisest choice he ever made. It was a tacky and playful affair; I walked in at an apt moment. A colleague of mine was demonstrating how to look like a lady, from the front at least. He also had the worst porn I’ve ever seen playing in the background. I must be getting old(er), as I couldn’t keep the pace all night. Returning to the hotel was the best choice, at least until another colleague returned and started to drown his insecurities about his physical appearance at the top of his voice. Mostly he lamented his lack of height, I’m so glad I’m a woman, I only have the practical disadvantages to care about. I banged on the wall and shouted, “Sophie Dahl and Jamie Cullum” in sympathy, but I think he only heard banging.

Earlier today, I received a phone call from Russia. I’m very proud of all my hard work and effort that I put into most things I do. Sometimes I regret it, I should learn to do a terrible job, join the slackers club for once. Now my number is being passed around like a hockey ball. I shouldn’t complain in the current economic climate and it’s nice to be thought about. However, I seem to have a fear of turning professional work down, especially via personal recommendation. In this case, I don’t need to think too long about it. With yet another wrinkle and about ten grey hairs, another one year stint in Russia will delay finding a place to call home.  I haven’t planned anything, but I’m certain that finding a place to call home will open other avenues for me. I don’t want to be too passed it when they present themselves. I’m certain that these avenues don’t exist in Russia.

There are other occasions whereby “no” is said rather hesitantly, the only person at a loss is me, but for the right reasons. I had to respond with some tenacity to a renewed offer, lest I should be considered schizophrenic. OK, so the physical part of me declares, yes please! However, just to be a bore, I like to let people know where they stand with me, particularly if it involves the word ‘no’. I’m too stubborn to swayed by a few pretty words used for X, Y and Z. I prefer examples, a flight to the UK, making good of many opportunities to be in such and such, for X days, until then, certainly a friend. So, I’m a bit of a tease sometimes, I’m very clever with the word “maybe”, but not “no”.  As a result, I’m able to say “yes” elsewhere, when I’d previously said “no” to some contract/ activity and most importantly, someone. It doesn’t take me too long to sketch out how to make a few ambitions and fantasies occur. I will kill two birds with one stone from my rather morbid list ‘Before the chop’ in about two weeks.