Month: September 2022 (page 1 of 1)

After the transfer of the property, I headed to the real estate agent to thank Yamada for his assistance. When I peeked in through the glass walls, a young staff gestured toward the narrow street. Before long I caught him smoking with his colleagues, middle-aged dudes, at the foot of the street in what seemed a hiding place. I could sense I was about to enter a quite different atmosphere—I was like an outsider―there may well had been confidential “information.”

That reminded me of the years I was going to the vocational school. Of the thirty-five or so student in my class, most of them were men. When recess came, mostly they were in the class room. A week later, I noticed most guys other than me disappearing from the room every single recess―I had been growing uneasy about where they were. But there were a few nerds left here. And the women, too, talked cheerfully together.

One day I asked a fellow where the guys were during recess. “We just smoke,” he said. Even though they were mostly minors, they went to the smoking area, where there was a heavy smoker, our classroom teacher who was an enthusiast eager to foster the students’ ability, and the guys, especially the teenagers, followed him to extract valuable “information” that would certainly be useful down the road. A recess is between classes, so they were there a lot. Rarely had I smoked, Rarely did I went there. It felt like I always fell behind the guys who puffed cigarettes.

It is the similar way in companies. Of course, it troubled me from time to time. It must have happened not only in smoking area, but in pubs and golf courses, where the men talk about their work relaxing, a kind of community like an old-boy network built up. I did not belong anywhere, and neither did most of the women. In the office the men behave like nothing happened, but those who did nowhere, every now and then, especially woman, become aware that something happened―in fact, some important matters had been made among the men, as though they were one step ahead of us, and besides I had never heard that the men in such a community could not get promoted. At that time what did the women feel?

I had an instinct that told me to keep out of a long talk with Yamada. They fell silent when I walked over them, and I could see a troubled expression on his face. I exchanged a few formal words with him, a smile coming over his face; I thanked him, bowing slightly and walking away. I was not interested in the middle-aged dudes who were confined to a little world of their own. Instead, I googled in English and learned the world.

It is ridiculous for the minors to imitate their teacher who smoke, but young men who want to go up have to adapt to their superior’s preference. I knew the outgoing middle-aged man being great at his job. He was a hyperactive. He hung out with his team member every day after work—drinking then playing slot machines at pachinko parlors. Plus he gambled on mahjong at his staff’s house until dawn and slept there. But many night they ended up going to kyabakura (men and women drink close together) in Nakasu. He enjoyed flirting with women, but at the same time he found opportunities to make sales.

Pachinko and mahjong―I can imagine―give off in dimly lit space a strong odor of the sketchy world. Cigarette and racket. Neither agree with me. On the other hand, I admired him for working with surprisingly enthusiasm every day, whether it was wholesome environment or not, while a nerdy person dallies over her work yawning because she watches the movie until the small hours, and as for me, I am not reckless―I was good at being alone. I would exercise, surf the internet, sleep by midnight and work as usual.

At some point, life forced me to get along with the new boss, who loved drinking with his colleagues. He went out for a drink with someone after work every day, so I kind of knew that my turn was coming up. He loves people and is easy to talk to; of course he treats us. Pretty soon I would been ordered out of the blue. “K. Let’s go for a drink today! Tell the others this.” I would see the excitement in his face and say: “Yes sir! we’ll accompany you.” 

I first I enjoyed the drinking party the way Japanese seemed to. Then, a week later, he asked us to again, but this time, after doing he took to a hostess bar only me. It is called snack, whose women relatively older than kyabakuras. It was well past midnight―there was something about convivial atmosphere around me that compelled me to talk with my boss and the lady of the house, or rather a portly man and an auntie. Pretending to enjoy myself, I was tired of the whole business for a sense of duty, and in the end, he said cheerfully, “K. Let’s have ramen to call it a night.” Screw you! I have to wake up at 6:30 a.m. while he dozes off at CEO’s office until noon. Let me go home, please. Please. 

Then, the next week we drank with my boss again. I knew that he just took advantage of me, as though I had been given a mandate: “Whenever I wanna drink, you must follow me.” That was the stint in the bar I hated the most―take a back seat, serve his drink, listen to his glory days, then say, bowing deeply “Thank you very much for today.” I hated it so much. I hated someone who flattered and sucked up to a person who had power. I never do that. I am never going to do. That is my pride.

“K. Drinking!” he said out of nowhere, feeling elated, like it was the natural thing. I was not the kind of person like him, nor was I a slave to the company. “I’m truly sorry, sir. I have things to take care of,” I said, politely. For a moment he looked both bewildered and a little bit smug. “Oh, I see,” he said, soberly. However, I could see a forlorn figure on his back, as if to feel betrayed. Sure enough, since then, I had never ever been asked to. 

I was telling you that I was left out, so you will understand what a stretch it was. 

December 2019

This was the first time I went to the office of the bank. A representative of the agency politely ushered me into a corner room. There were books, files and documents everywhere, stacked on shelves, piled on the rectangular table. In the room were a rep of the agency, a judicial scrivener, a seller, a bank employee and me. Yamada was absent because he was a sales rep. The seller is Dutch. He ran an investment company in Tokyo, spoke fluent Japanese and behaved like a Japanese.

The rep handed me a clean white paper bag, as if to give an expensive gift. Some pudgy files I took out from the bag and laid them on the table. He sat down across from me, and he picked up one of them, opening it to the section. The Dutch was sitting next to him crossing his legs, while my posture had become upright to make me look good. The rep started to read important matters about the property. Of course I just knew what to do the next. It was a lot to handle, learned in Japan where I had done many procedure at public office, banks, car dealerships, school, workplace, etc. 

At that time, the IT Minister of Japan was the chairman of the diet members supporting inkan: name seal. It is also called hanko, which is equivalent to Western signature. He was seventy eight years old. Maybe he managed to use Twitter. Ironically, that of Taiwan was thirty eight; he was a genius programmer, Audrey Tang.

I was ready to put my seal somewhere, holding my inkan. He turned a page; I stamped my name neatly where I have to do so. After doing the same thing about five times, I caught a glimpse of the Dutch cocking his head slightly with a stern look. The rep spoke a lot and I continued to stamp the pages, almost without thinking. Then I glanced up at the Dutch, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes as though dozing. He could not help. I was jealous of Westerner being free-spirited, but can not the same way he did, because I am Japanese.

When I had been sitting tensely I found myself recalling a certain occasion, the client visit. At the entrance I took off my shoes, which I properly put together. Then, I walked slowly down the hallway into the living room, trying not to make my footsteps. For a second, I just stood aimlessly waiting for her to say something.

“Please have a seat,” said the client, a middle-aged woman, palm up, pointing her fingers at the couch―we Japanese would be urge to be humble―“No, no. I’m fine. Thank you very much,” I said. “I’ll bring you some tea.” “Please don’t bother.” Hesitating for a while, I slowly sat down with my hands on my knees, keeping myself upright. It is not like a Westerner talk with someone. No leaning. No crossing your legs.

She brought me a wooden tray holding a cup of green tea and Japanese sweets such as dango (rice dumplings) and set it before me. “Please help yourself,” she said. “I’m kind of sorry,” I faltered, bowing. Then, we got down to business. Maybe I took a sip of tea, or maybe not, until finally I ended the conversation with her. That’s all. Rarely had I touched them. It is just formality, but is the manners in Japan.

The rep still spoke something and I did not listen. I stamped the pages, and it seemed to go on endlessly, however, the Dutch was playing with his smartphone. I thought he was right. Just sitting here. Wasting his time. Feeling crappy. 

In Japan, it is ordinary to have many meetings like the report on the current situation, although they can be done by email. I always knew that they would be futile and I do not have potential to waste my time. Fortunately, it was great that smartphones had come into the world. It was two years ago (winter 2017)―I attended the meeting that seemed to be significant for everyone to gather. No purpose. At that time, the price of Bitcoin exploded, so I checked the movement of its price on my smartphone during such fucking conversation.

Of course I paid attention to what they talked about, trying not to lose their trust. After a while I sensed that an ugly woman glaring at me coldly―I wimped out and hid my phone instead, only to find myself having no courage to defy her. But you might want to do that as I did―in order to get your tasks done efficiently. If you could do so, I am just a wimp.

When Japanese language peeked out from the Dutchman’s phone, I filled with something awe, and at the same time someone said to me: “Please listen to him, sir.” “Sorry,” I said submissively, flinching for a moment and pretending to stare at the page of the file, and I stamped and stamped and stamped. Really nobody gave a shit. I felt stupid, because I did as I was told, as so many Japanese do.

I was like, “That’s enough. I’m tired. Don’t read. I read home.”  How long are you going to let me do this? These stupid persons around me, except for the Dutch, would just think it make a lot of sense to do that―I was sick not only of Inkan but also of their mind that they took it for granted.

Maybe twenty times or more I would have stamped the pages. Once everything was done, these dude left me behind and sucked up to the Dutch, who discussed business on the phone: “Hai. Imakara Tokyo ni modorimasu.” “Yes. I’m coming back to Tokyo now.” They huddled around him, whispered to each other: “Who wouldn’t think he is Japanese?” But he completely disregarded them and gave me a quick handshake and disappearing.

Two months after going back to Japan, I went to the real estate agent in Fukuoka city. Luckily, I had a knowledgeable middleman, Yamada who helped me purchase a resale condo that was likely to rise property value. After a few days, I walked with him to the condo to view it. I enjoyed talking to a man who was doing what he loved. He loved architectures, so he worked there. On the other hand, he took heavy losses in his previous business and his company went bankrupt.

Failure is an answer. I respected Yamada for having faced the challenge and learned the consequences. At that time, I was thinking of starting my own business, where there was a lively town with opportunities for growth. Fukuoka city seemed to be a fresh challenge ahead of me. I wished to make a virtue out of my limitations.

The real challenge was finding what l really wanted to do. I love English. It is one thing and quit another to teach English as a business. I knew that the basis of business is to imitate successful people, however, I did not like banality, wanting to build a blue ocean where I can reign supreme. I was having a hard time, a negative current, doing that since I left the company.

Japanese would say to those who try something new: “You can do it. I wish you the best.” This is “Tatemae”: showing what he is supposed to say in public. But I knew that in the back of their mind they mocked: “Life is not so easy,” “You’re going to screw up,” and “I’m not foolish like you.” Of course, they never say that to avoid hurting you by telling Honne: your true feeling. After the years, they would say in whisper: “See? I knew it.” “Yeah. He is over.”

Basically, Japanese is afraid of failure. Let’s say a few women, to release their stress, goes out together for dinner after work. Being pointless stories endlessly, their conversation would become lively: seeing who and who are a couple, grumbling about her husband or boyfriend, complaining her co-workers and small pay. There is a way to make it work. And then that is the most fun part: wanting to know who reprimanded who, who will take responsibility for what, who will get an ignominious transfer where. They would say: “Really?” “Incredible,” “How come?” The one thing they have in common is that they are glad it is not them. As the result, they unite and cheer up.

That is like some heartless act, only nobody support you. Trying new things is that we are bound to make mistakes Japanese are not tolerant of. For that reason, I did not dare tell Yamada that I might start my business. “I’ve yet to decide what I am going to do,” I said. “First I will live here. Fukuoka airport is near, so I can easily go overseas. If I found another place to live, I would rent out this room.” “I knew a person who lived on passive income,” said Yamada.

You would first invest in small property, a room for one person. Over time, you would save up money from the rent. Then, investment in a second one, a small room. Now you had two room, from which you receive the rent. You would save up and add a third one, a slightly larger property. Over years, you would figure that you broke even for the first one, which you can sell for money. You would keep trying to research good properties that you benefit from. Maybe four. And five. Yes! You do not need to work anymore.

“I think it is reasonable,” I laughed a little. “It’s a big decision. You should sleep on it and talk to someone. It is possible to change your mind,” he said soberly, never having tried hard sell on me. I supposed most sales representatives would not say this. They would say with a modest smile: ”What would you like to do? If you don’t decide as soon as possible, it will sell.” Like they try to unsettle me. They want me to purchase anyway.

Yamada wanted me to be happy by offering a property that met my needs. He stressed the ties with landlords having a lot of information that you should know before you buy another property. It was creeping me out even though I found it inevitable. I do not like attending work shops; exchanging business cards, smiling, talking, smiling, talking, smiling and bowing. I must pretend to be a gentleman. Then hovering, I would get nowhere and find myself alone. Ugh. That sucks. But I will have to do better. I did trust Yamada and wished to be on good term with him from then on.