Alienation and ill-effects
Right now I'm feeling like death half defrosted by a shoddy old microwave - I'm feeling sticky yet still cold in the core. I really need to wash my hair!!
I'm not long returned from my expedition to Miyajima yesterday with the 美術部(Art Club) and I'm trying to restrain myself from just going back to bed in an effort to get through at least some of my mountains of reading and assignments. I have read the paper for Japanese Society on Koreans in Japan but my will failed me and the lure of email was too great when I tried to hit the text for Internationl Relations . . . Thucydides also remains recently untouched in the corner.
I'm glad went with the art club. I'm sure it will be an experience I long remember, but it was the moment alienating and disenheartening I have had since my arrival. I must say now, that this feeling only lasted about 2 hours but was enough to evince a tear or two. There were most likely other contributors to this feeling, but the main event was waking out of an afternoon nap to go to the 'bathroom' by which, it became increasingly apparent to me, was meant a communal wash and soak. I'm fairly sure that I'm safe in saying a majority of young Australian women have issues with their body image; that I'm not alone in that category. I could probably count the number of times I've been naked with another person in a bathroom setting, since the age of 8 or so, on one hand . . . well maybe both . . . and I don't think one of them was with women of my own age (or any age, for that matter), that I recall. As I was told it was my turn to go in with two girls, apparently close friends, that have always seemed reluctant to talk to me, I was trying to explain to girl I talk to regularly, that I didn't know what to do and concurrently, was becoming increasingly perturbed.
One of them was already mid-wash as I girded my loins, so to speak, and stripped off. I was then rather perfunctory in my performance of the washing ritual, sitting on the little stool self-consciously using the mainly cold water from the taps whilst they happily chattered away to each other. They seemed to be helping themselves to the warmer bath water as well but I just wasn't sure of the finer details of the procedure and didn't fancy any more moving around and drawing attention to myself than was already occasioned. I think they were aware of my awkwardness, as they seemed to convivially inhabit their part of room as if I were invisible. I felt as if were separated by a million miles rather than less than a metre and not a stitch of material. Who knew that a cultural divide could feel so immense ? I think one of them hopped into the お風呂 (ofuro - bath) briefly, but by this point I had reached my limit of washing my hair without shampoo, not understanding equiette and trying not to make eye contact. The next lot of girls also seemed to be arriving so I grabbed my borrowed towel and got out as soon as was practicable.
I felt stupid for not dealing with my first crazy public bathing experience with greater grace, composure and decorum. They all seemed unfazed by the incident; I was annoyed at myself for appearing so ridiculously prudish. Yet if I had to nominate my greatest weakness it would be my hyper-criticism and awareness of my own body - thus making this one of the most difficult cultural differences for me to encounter. I tried to explain later that it was really just a matter of custom; that such things simply didn't occur with great frequency in Auslandia and as such I found my first experience a little disturbing but that I would probably handle any future occasion better - I don't think they understood. On our way back to the dorms they just kept saying '恥ずかしい' and stuff about 'even Japanese school students are sometimes 恥ずかしい', but in Japanese obviously. I couldn't recollect that word for the life of me but I looked it up as soon as we returned to our rooms - (Hazukashii) to be ashamed or embarrassed. Yep, thanks to my cultural upbringing I certainly was uncomfortable.
Not long after that we were called to dinner by those members of the group in charge of the meal preparations. They know I don't eat meat and they'd said they were doing curry, but with vegetables so I could eat it. I was reasonably satisfied with their reassurances and didn't have much recourse for any alternative action as they'd refused to let me help out. However, when I walked into the meal hall my heart sank as I saw bowls full of that sweet gravyesque, hearty-looking, steakstew resembling thing they call curry here. Another of the more vivacious girls (the one who has a tattoo and always wears punk t-shirts . . . the fav for the weekend proclaimed 'Jerk off') said 'oh, you don't eat meat!' and proceeded to pick out the beef from a bowl for me and put into her's, encouraging me to do likewise. This kind of thing has happened before and I usually pride myself on the way I've handled it; not being too much of arse about my beliefs and preferences, but it was the straw that broke this little camels back . . . It just reminded me too forcibly of those close to in Australia me who would, in no way, have deigned to eat it. I combed it as well as I could, swallowed it down because I was really hungry and got to my bunk in haste. I felt bad as it was quite nice really, the carrots and shimeji mushrooms, but when they asked me how it was I was too frozen by the afternoon to muster any great sense of politeness.
I'm sick of dwelling this now . . . I should get onto study, but I wanted to document the experience as best I could before it clouded with time.
The story does end happily because though I shed a tear or two on my bunk, it was whilst writing a letter about what had just happened and I felt all the better for it at the time. Then some of the guys asked me what I was doing, in Japanese, and I was able to answer likewise. Subsequently, we all went off and got really drunk playing drinking games and I discussed differing Japanese and Australian fashions of clothing and hair, and weird Australian animals with a group of people, in a mix of English, Japanese and drawing til the wee small hours. Thus was my faith in this entire Japanese escapade renewed and I went to bed feeling wide awake and contented. THE END.
Surprisingly, only one guy was bed-stricken this morning!
I'm not long returned from my expedition to Miyajima yesterday with the 美術部(Art Club) and I'm trying to restrain myself from just going back to bed in an effort to get through at least some of my mountains of reading and assignments. I have read the paper for Japanese Society on Koreans in Japan but my will failed me and the lure of email was too great when I tried to hit the text for Internationl Relations . . . Thucydides also remains recently untouched in the corner.
I'm glad went with the art club. I'm sure it will be an experience I long remember, but it was the moment alienating and disenheartening I have had since my arrival. I must say now, that this feeling only lasted about 2 hours but was enough to evince a tear or two. There were most likely other contributors to this feeling, but the main event was waking out of an afternoon nap to go to the 'bathroom' by which, it became increasingly apparent to me, was meant a communal wash and soak. I'm fairly sure that I'm safe in saying a majority of young Australian women have issues with their body image; that I'm not alone in that category. I could probably count the number of times I've been naked with another person in a bathroom setting, since the age of 8 or so, on one hand . . . well maybe both . . . and I don't think one of them was with women of my own age (or any age, for that matter), that I recall. As I was told it was my turn to go in with two girls, apparently close friends, that have always seemed reluctant to talk to me, I was trying to explain to girl I talk to regularly, that I didn't know what to do and concurrently, was becoming increasingly perturbed.
One of them was already mid-wash as I girded my loins, so to speak, and stripped off. I was then rather perfunctory in my performance of the washing ritual, sitting on the little stool self-consciously using the mainly cold water from the taps whilst they happily chattered away to each other. They seemed to be helping themselves to the warmer bath water as well but I just wasn't sure of the finer details of the procedure and didn't fancy any more moving around and drawing attention to myself than was already occasioned. I think they were aware of my awkwardness, as they seemed to convivially inhabit their part of room as if I were invisible. I felt as if were separated by a million miles rather than less than a metre and not a stitch of material. Who knew that a cultural divide could feel so immense ? I think one of them hopped into the お風呂 (ofuro - bath) briefly, but by this point I had reached my limit of washing my hair without shampoo, not understanding equiette and trying not to make eye contact. The next lot of girls also seemed to be arriving so I grabbed my borrowed towel and got out as soon as was practicable.
I felt stupid for not dealing with my first crazy public bathing experience with greater grace, composure and decorum. They all seemed unfazed by the incident; I was annoyed at myself for appearing so ridiculously prudish. Yet if I had to nominate my greatest weakness it would be my hyper-criticism and awareness of my own body - thus making this one of the most difficult cultural differences for me to encounter. I tried to explain later that it was really just a matter of custom; that such things simply didn't occur with great frequency in Auslandia and as such I found my first experience a little disturbing but that I would probably handle any future occasion better - I don't think they understood. On our way back to the dorms they just kept saying '恥ずかしい' and stuff about 'even Japanese school students are sometimes 恥ずかしい', but in Japanese obviously. I couldn't recollect that word for the life of me but I looked it up as soon as we returned to our rooms - (Hazukashii) to be ashamed or embarrassed. Yep, thanks to my cultural upbringing I certainly was uncomfortable.
Not long after that we were called to dinner by those members of the group in charge of the meal preparations. They know I don't eat meat and they'd said they were doing curry, but with vegetables so I could eat it. I was reasonably satisfied with their reassurances and didn't have much recourse for any alternative action as they'd refused to let me help out. However, when I walked into the meal hall my heart sank as I saw bowls full of that sweet gravyesque, hearty-looking, steakstew resembling thing they call curry here. Another of the more vivacious girls (the one who has a tattoo and always wears punk t-shirts . . . the fav for the weekend proclaimed 'Jerk off') said 'oh, you don't eat meat!' and proceeded to pick out the beef from a bowl for me and put into her's, encouraging me to do likewise. This kind of thing has happened before and I usually pride myself on the way I've handled it; not being too much of arse about my beliefs and preferences, but it was the straw that broke this little camels back . . . It just reminded me too forcibly of those close to in Australia me who would, in no way, have deigned to eat it. I combed it as well as I could, swallowed it down because I was really hungry and got to my bunk in haste. I felt bad as it was quite nice really, the carrots and shimeji mushrooms, but when they asked me how it was I was too frozen by the afternoon to muster any great sense of politeness.
I'm sick of dwelling this now . . . I should get onto study, but I wanted to document the experience as best I could before it clouded with time.
The story does end happily because though I shed a tear or two on my bunk, it was whilst writing a letter about what had just happened and I felt all the better for it at the time. Then some of the guys asked me what I was doing, in Japanese, and I was able to answer likewise. Subsequently, we all went off and got really drunk playing drinking games and I discussed differing Japanese and Australian fashions of clothing and hair, and weird Australian animals with a group of people, in a mix of English, Japanese and drawing til the wee small hours. Thus was my faith in this entire Japanese escapade renewed and I went to bed feeling wide awake and contented. THE END.
Surprisingly, only one guy was bed-stricken this morning!
posted by Eleanora Martinez at 8:12 AM
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