Yes, I had high hopes for myself when moving to Tokyo.
And, so far, I have learned many new things. For instance, I have spent a considerable amount of time trying to learn a new language. To be honest, I am still trying to memorize and differentiate similarly-sounding subway lines, train stations, streets, and shops.
“It’s Akasaka,” I said to my husband.
“No,” he said. “It’s Asakusa.”
“Really?” I said. “I thought that was Arakawa.”
“No, that is the name of our apartment manager.”
“Ahhhhh!”
Similarly, I have spent significant amount of time learning the currency—the exchange rate, the number of zeros, the best point card deals, not to mention, the pronunciation.
“Where have you been?” my sons asked me last week.
“Well,” I answered. “I went to the bank to get money and I decided to show off my Japanese skills. Big mistake. There was definitely some kind of miscommunication. I said yon-sen and ended up in a hot spring bath with nothing but a little bitty towel. So, how was your day?”
I have also learned about new food, new traditions, new schools, new maps, new counters. OK, I admit it, I gave up trying to learn all the counters.
Apparently, even after two years, there is still a lot more to learn.
“Look!” I said to my son the other day at a crowded coffee shop, “There’s an empty table! Aren’t we in luck today?”
“Look,” my son said as we sat down. “Someone left her purse, phone and ID on the table.”
“Oh dear,” I said. “You know what we are going to do? We’ll just sit here and keep an eye on the belongings until the owner returns. No doubt she will be very grateful that we were here to protect her stuff from theft.”
“By the way, Mom,” my son said. “A lady is staring at us.”
“Yes,” I answered quietly. “That happens sometimes.”
“Um, Mom,” my son said again a few minutes later. “The lady with a tray of food is still standing behind you. And, you know what? She looks like the picture on the ID card.”
“There’s no doubt about it,” my friend said later that night. “You blatantly stole her reserved table. Haven't you ever noticed that people reserve tables with their personal belongings here?”
Reserve a table with friend? yes. With a "reserved" sign, of course. But with an unattended purse and cell phone? Unbelievable.
“Well,” my friend said. “Think of it this way—Tokyo provided an opportunity for you to reinvent yourself. And, it looks like you have done that.”
Yes, I had high hopes for myself in Tokyo.
I knew I would change during our stay here. Become a Japanese cook, maybe. Become an English teacher, perhaps. Become an author, yes, hopefully. But become a dining room desperado, a coffee shop seat thief, a table wrangler, never. Yee haw.
