Just another great human

Have just returned from a wonderful afternoon with one of my sensei's, Tahira Sensei.

Today, I'm on campus taking care of some jargin and decide to stop by Tahira's office because I haven't seen him since summer vacation started. I knock on his door and hear, "Douzo" Come in. I step inside, saying, as all do when they walk into someone's room, "Shitsureishimasu" Literally, "I'm being rude", but doesn't feel like that in Japanese.

I remember the first time I stepped into his office a few months ago. The first thing I noticed was the shot dispencer hanging up over his desk. The next thing was ash tray on his coffee table. We sat there, drank some coffee, smoked cigarettes in his office, then went out for drinks. Today would prove to be no different.

I come in and sit down on his sofa, and we talk about Japanese economics, Japanese culture and the like. Then I remember how he brought me to this amazing traditional Japanese style bar earlier - in Japanese a "Tachinomya" which means "stand and drink bar". It's completley unknown by most of the community, and the only people who go there are the elderly who still need a home away from home. I ask in Japanese, "You remember that bar we went to a while ago? We should go there again some time."

"Immediatley" he responds., reverting to English.

"What?"

"Let's go immediatley."

How can I argue? Nor would I want to, anyways. So, after he helps me correct one of my papers, we hop on the bus and cruise over to the bar, surrounded by a mob of high school kids who have just got out of class. A blur of sound and images: high pitched laughter, gossiping, blue and white uniforms, all of us swaying in unison to the movements of the bus.

After the unexpected intensity of the bus ride, we arrive at the bar, "Kita" (means north, but can also mean to come), and I step into a time warp, the "real" Japan; the Japan I'd like to experience all the time. But most of it is gone, lost in the earthquake or through modernization.


We order a couple of beers. I go to the bathroom, and after returning pick up my beer and take a sip. I look at Tahira's beer, which is already gone. 2 minutes flat. He's practiced.

We drink a couple more, eat some of the most inexpensive, freshest fish I've had in Japan, and then I hear, "Welcome to Japan." I turn, and an old man, drunk and swaying, stands staring me down. "Arigatou gozaimasu. Doko de sundeimasu ka?" Thanks. Where are you from? He stares for a long 10 seconds. I glance at Tahira whose smile says - My apologies on behalf of the Japanese people. Back at the man, still swaying, eyes locked on mine. Then, abruptly, he turns and walks out. Tahira laughs, and we leave.

He suggests that I come see his place, to which I very quickly reply, "Excellent idea." We sit down in his impressive living room and he brings in another beer. He's already beet-red, but he's a drinkin' man. His wife brings in sushi wrapped in elegant leaves, snail, and pickeled squash like a good Japanese wife. I eat it, complementing her all the while on how delicious it is.

Tahira sensei suddenly stands and walks across the room, "I want you to have this." He hands me a beautiful Shodo set (calligraphy), and after some miscommunication, I graciously take it with both hands, bow, and place it into my bag. Not missing a beat, he then brings over a giant wooden carving and hands it to me. "I'd like you to have this."


I hesitate for a moment and stare at what's sitting in my hands. I put on my Gaijin smile. What can I say? After his wife wraps it in 3 layers of bubble wrap and tissue, he ushers me out of his place. I thank his wife again, and Tahira walks me to the bus.

As we're walking, I ask if he misses Olympia at all, if he plans on going back anytime soon (in the past, he was an exchange faculty at Evergreen for 8 months).

"I miss the bars." I laugh, and explain why I think Japanese izakaya's are superior. "Oh, I know..." he pauses. "I miss my friends there though. I miss the students and teachers." A shallow half-smile on his face. He's aging, growing old. He's thinking about his friend down the street who owns a second-hand goods store, lying in his death bed. He's thinking about whether he'll ever see those friends in Olympia again. I think about growing old. I think about how after I leave Japan, I may never see Tahira again.

But, luckily he's Japanese and the Japanese tend to live for a long ass time.

I shake his hand and jump on the bus carrying my piece of art and shodo kit.