How A Lesson About Boundaries Left a Japanese Classroom Speechless

AI read this article and generated this art to complement it...starting to get a little spooky isn't it?

This being the last class of the semester and possibly the last time the senior kids will ever see me, the Japanese teacher thought it would be nice if I simply talked to them instead of playing a game.

“Give them some advice about how they can be, you know, subarashii (splendid) in the future, like you!”

Usually, I take all compliments here with a grain of salt. Most people will applaud the tenor for clearing his throat, as they say. If I’ve been told how great my Japanese is after only uttering “Konichiwa” once, I’ve been told a million times. But this teacher and I have talked about somewhat heavy subjects in the past, and I know she’s read my books and reads both my columns in English and Japanese (and has commented on each at one time or another), so I smiled and nodded my appreciation.

“But these kids aren’t at a level where they can ever hope even to follow a simplified lecture.”

JT: True. But it’ll be great, and I can translate the complex parts. They need to try anyway.

Me: How about we make it like an interview?

JT: I interview you? Hmmmm.

Me: Sure, it's like a talk show. You ask questions about the things you know the kids are interested in or think they should be thinking about, so I don’t have to guess.

JT: Good idea! Let’s do it!

And we did.

Aside from the handful of students for whom English is a barbiturate that makes sleep irresistible, the interview was going swimmingly…until I got a little too relaxed. With a captive audience, entertained by tales of my life at their age (15) in NY and some choice PG13 “fish out of water” anecdotes from my early days in their lovely country that never fail to please the Japanese crowd, I went a little deeper than I intended to.

The trigger was when Sensei asked me about my greatest challenge living in Japan.

Recently— as I promote my new book— I’ve been thinking a lot about the impact adjusting to life here has had on me, both positive and negative, and so the word just sprang out.

Me: Assimilation.

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JT: Assimilation? I know that word from something I read recently. It’s like similar, right?

Me: Yeah, kinda. It’s like trying to make yourself similar to the mainstream of society, or at least less unusual.

JT: I see. That must not have been easy…

At this point, with the teacher’s eyes brimming with sincere interest and the rapt, innocent eyes of the students, eager to know what it’s like to be truly unusual in a place that often aggressively shuns the unusual, locked on me, I started feeling a certain, I dunno, urgency. I felt like I was amid a pivotal, even decisive moment, and these kids' futures (as well as my own) lay in the balance.

Or maybe I had to piss. It seems I have to do it several times an hour these days.

Either way, Sensei must’ve noticed my distress.

JT: Are you OK?

Me: Yeah.

JT: I can change the question…

Me: No, the question is fine. It’s just…It’s the most challenging thing I’ve ever undertaken.

JT: Really? Tell us about it.

Me: Well, it’s a process, you know. And I can’t say it ever ends. Assimilation means making a new you. One that both you and the new culture you’re assimilating into can live with in peace. It requires all kinds of reassessments and re-evaluations and compromises and…

Sensei looked damn intrigued. So did the students.

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JT: Can you give us an example?

Me: Sure, but you gotta keep in mind that I wasn't a kid when I first came here. I was a grown man already. 38 years old. Fixed in my ways. And that’s not exactly the optimal time to go mucking around with the core aspects of your character.

Sensei laughs hard. She’s north of 38, so she got my meaning, but the teens didn’t, so she took a minute to explain the implications to them.

Me: Most people by that age, if they even live that long, are the person they are going to be until the day they die. But here I was, on the other side of the world no less, questioning everything I’ve ever held true. Crazy, right?

There were plenty of nods which cracked me up.

Sensei wasn’t nodding, though. She looked utterly taken, as if I were telling her the secrets of life. I looked genuine, too. Some people can give you that look but do not care a lick or even understand what you’re saying.

Me: I mean, you spend years figuring out where your line is, right? And then you draw that line, your boundaries. And you say to yourself and anybody who cares to listen: “This is my line! You see it?! Cross it at your own peril!”

JT: Peril?

Me: It means anyone who crosses my line, invades my space, is taking a risk and may be subject to my justice!

JT: Ah! You mean, umm, figuratively? Like an imaginary line?

Me: I mean both, real and figurative.

JT: Oh.

Me: Assimilation, though, it forces you to redraw that line. Bounderies that have been in place, in my case, for decades, drawn in blood and tears.

JT: Wow…

There was actually a collective “wow” once she explained it to the class.

Sensei wasn’t sure where I was going with this, but I could tell from her translation for the students that she understood the words at least and was all in—as were the kids.

So I went in.

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Sensei briefly huddled with the students and fielded their questions. Most of their queries were variations on this idea of boundaries.

JT: Could you explain what a line is? Students want to know what that means.

Me: Well, your line…how do I put this? Your line is about who you are, what you stand for, what you live for, what you’d die for, and even sometimes what you’d kill for.

JT: Does everybody have a line?

Me: Good question. I think so, but I can’t say for sure. (I say to the students) Do any of you have a line?

A handful of hands rose.

Me: Sensei?

JT: Ummmm…well, of course, I mean, I think I do. I would never, er, kill anyone, but…

Me: Really? Never? Not even to protect your loved ones or to save your own life? OK.

JT: Ah. OK. I get it now. You mean for real. Like real life.

Me: Exactly. In the real world, your line is essential, right? So, I can’t imagine being a person without one.

There were still some confused faces as Sensei simultaneously translated my words.

Me: I mean, we’re all the products of our experiences. Right? As we have more and more experiences, we begin, or at least I began, to develop a kind of belief system that is personal to me. My own philosophy, my own private religion, if you will. My own code of ethics and conduct.

I lost a few, then. Some of the students even looked bewildered, like the idea of having their own ideas, of living by their own rules, just didn’t sit well with them. Maybe, here, 15 is still too tender an age to start figuring out things for yourself, I surmised. Certainly wasn’t back in NYC. Maybe even a little late for that.

But the Japanese teacher nodded in agreement.

Me: Most of the time, it’s in line with society or with your parents, and sometimes not so much. In my case, I picked up a little from here and there: family, friends, teachers, role models, heroes, books, and even films.

JT: For example?

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Me: Let’s see. Well, from my teachers, I learned not to respect people who don’t respect you in return. And from my older brothers, they showed me that fear is more useful than respect with some types of people. My mother told me trust must be earned; you can’t just give it away. Even the Bible dropped a few jewels, such as the one about treating people the way you want to be treated. James Baldwin, he was a a brilliant and quite famous writer in the US, a hero of mine...well, he taught me one of the most important, that my humanity is sacrosanct. These were just some of the basics, though.

JT: Sacro…?

Me: Sacrosanct. Means it has the highest value. No exceptions. Anyone who views my humanity as less than equal to their own is a danger to my and my loved ones’ survival. At least, that was my understanding of an article he wrote once. Anyway, to me, these were fundamentals. The basic requirements for survival.

JT: I see.

Me: Unfortunately though everyone is not on the same page. These ideals have been challenged numerous times. Painfully, and in every way. It seems some people thrive on treading on other people’s convictions. But they have served me well.

The Japanese teacher nodded thoughtfully and conveyed all of that to the students. Once she had there was a buzzing. Students conversing with one another about it. Once it died down Sensei turned back to me.

JT: They are very impressed! One student asked is having a line what made assimilation here more difficult?

Me: You might say that.

I laughed aloud, and contagiously apparently cuz many students joined me.

Me: I’m not sure how to say this. Ummm…when I came here, well, I found myself forced to set some of my values aside. Even some core values were questioned.

JT: (aghast) Oh my god! Why?

Me: Best answer…They were not shared here. Some were, of course. But some were not. At least, not that I could see.

JT: What do you mean?

Me: For example, when I came here and encountered Japanese “shyness” my first response to it was…let’s just say it wasn’t a desire to assimilate. I mean, I had a working definition of shyness. It was simply someone who got nervous in the company of other people.

JT: Yes that’s true. Japanese people are very shy.

Me: See, that’s the thing. Here, I realized that, for some reason, I was always the “other people”.

JT: Well, you know, Japanese are not used to foreigners. We are an island nation and…

Me: I know. (I snapped this a little too peevishly, so I smiled to soften it.) So, to me, at least in my early years here, assimilation became about making myself less like “other people” and more like the “people” because if I couldn’t get people to stop being so, er, shy around me I knew I wasn’t ever going to make it here. I figured if I spoke the language and aped the mannerisms, and…

JT: Aped??

Me: Yeah. It’s like mimicking. You know, bowing and slurping ramen loudly and other stuff you giggle at when you see gaikokujin do it.

JT: Ah!

Me: But I learned something, learned it the hard way, that here, shy is not an adjective; it’s a verb, an action, and a euphemism.

JT: You for…?

Me: Euphemism. It’s like an indirect or nice way to say something unpleasant or ugly.

JT: Ah. I see. (But the more he thought about the word, the funnier it got, because his humor rose to a crescendo and then it burst out) We have a lot of euphemisms in Japanese!!

Me: Y'all certainly do! (I joined his laughter. After a moment, he explained the joke to the students, who were looking on patiently.)

JT: So, shy is a euphemism for something?

Me: Yes. (I said, still laughing at the understatement of the day.)

The teacher and the students didn’t look as puzzled as they should have if they had been totally in the dark, but there were some quizzical expressions.

JT: For what?

I wasn’t sure how to put it—caught myself looking for my own euphemism. And almost started laughing again. Been living here too long. Nah, I told myself, I gotta give it to them straight. Maybe no one else will in their entire lives.

Me: You see, here's the thing...

The End