Third Culture Kid(s)

In 1992, I went to work in a small town in rural Japan - and when I say “rural,” I mean the Japanese equivalent of, say, South Dakota. The kind of place that no one outside it quite gets, with its own special personality (in this case, it has a reputation for being dark, cold, and where people drink to pass the time).

It turned out that, job aside, I loved living there. Being rural, there were only a handful of people who spoke English, and they did so aggressively enough that I quickly learned to disappear when they were approaching. I made friends not through my abilities to further their English-speaking skills, but through shared interests and similar outlooks on life. It probably helped that I was exceedingly visible, being - at that time - the sole Western resident of the town; but, even then, most of the people who I became friends with befriended me in spite of my foreignness, not because of it.

Being alone* and youngish, a couple of people took me under their wings. One was the manager of a town-owned inn, who let me loiter in the main office during lunchtime, after work, and on the weekends (fortunately, I was friends with all the office staff - one woman is still probably my closest friend in Japan), eventually gave me odd jobs to do when it became clear that I wasn’t going anywhere and that my real job was driving me crazy**, took me to dinner with his family on a semi-regular basis, listened to me whinge about problems, allowed my visiting sister and me to accompany his family on a summer vacation one year, attempted to arrange a marriage for me***, and generally made sure that I was looked after and cared for.

It could be argued that he went overboard a little; I wasn’t the only person he was this generous to, and he always did have a thing for younger women (both of which eventually led to his finding employment elsewhere - he’s not perfect by any stretch of the imagination). But I always liked him as a person, I liked his (fairly long-suffering) wife, and I liked his three daughters. And I figured there was no way in hell I’d ever be in a position to repay the kindness he’s shown me over the years.

Until I had an email several months ago announcing that his middle daughter - who, I think, is maybe finishing up high school this year? - wanted to come stay with us in the US for a little while. Now, even if I had wanted to say no, which I didn’t, this is where the notion of “sewa” kicks in. There is one reasonably good way of fitting in - as much as possible, if you’re foreign - in Japan, and that’s to accept the kindness of others. BUT, having accepted it, you’re pretty much obligated to reciprocate if you want to ingratiate yourself in your community. Ever lifted the suitcase of a skinny young Japanese girl at a US airport? Chances are - and I know this from several years of chaperoning skinny young thangs to the US and back - it weighs at least as much as the girl herself, and it’s completely filled with little jelly jars and other small, but heavy, items intended for gifts back home. The woman I worked next to for several years in this town came with me to the US one Christmas, and she had to bring a whole extra bag just for omiyage. All because she was entrenched in sewa - both giving and receiving.

If there’s anyone I’ve been on the receiving end of, it’s this guy. There is absolutely no way I could have said no to his daughter’s request. So, in a couple of weeks (they seem to still be finalizing flights, although I do not know how this is possible at this late date), we’re getting a teenager. M. and I have been wracking our brains trying to think of fun things for her to do; her father wants her to have a lot of time roaming around by herself, picking up English in her adventures, because her father has never been to the United States and thinks it’s every bit as safe as where he lives (where everyone knows everyone else AND their business). She may get dropped off at the mall once or twice, but otherwise we’re keeping tabs on her.

I’m looking forward to her visit, but I worry a bit about how she’ll take everything. We have an early-waking toddler and I have comparatively limited energy right now…hopefully we won’t be too dull for her. I have no idea what to cook while she’s here; I’m not a great cook on a good day, but when I do cook it’s usually pseudo-Japanese things that go well with rice…and I think she wants “American” cooking. I dunno, maybe casseroles. I haven’t seen this girl in several years - winter of 1991? Maybe 92 or 93. I don’t know what she’s like these days…I’m just hoping things go well. Or at least smoothly.

*I wasn’t ever really alone, of course. Being the town’s most visible resident, next to the mayor, I was pretty much on the radar all the time. But there was a perception that I must be lonely, being so far away from my family, and people did their best to fill in the emptiness.

**It was mostly a difference of opinion about what the job was, and what I should do to fill my days. Things improved significantly when we had a personnel change-up and my supervisor changed. My new supervisor was - how to put this charitably? - special, but the real benefit came from getting new upper management who had no idea what to do with a foreigner. It opened the way for me to pretty much define my job as I liked, and I managed to accomplish one very cool project that’s ongoing to this day.

***Oh yes. I was almost in an arranged marriage, and all because I didn’t take a phone conversation with my friend seriously enough. I was lonely in Osaka, and I’d always had a very, very small crush on this one guy, but my friend decided that that was good enough reason to contact the guy AND get a former colleague of mine involved as a potential go-between. I didn’t realize just how serious things had gotten until after I had coffee with the guy in question, who let me down gently, and then had to accompany him to my colleague’s house, with cakies in hand, to formally decline their conscription as go-betweens.

I’ve taken every conversation seriously ever since.