I Was Made For Sunny Days

Still more things I've learned and confirmed in Japan:

I am solar-, sleep-, and sugar-powered. When one is unavailable, impossible amounts of the others are required.

It is important to establish and maintain one’s own work/life balance. Even if no one else agrees. Especially if no one else agrees.

I am not kawaii enough for this country. I am perfectly okay with that.

I am not okay with sexism (traditions are no excuse), homophobia (ignorance is no excuse), or racism (geographical bad blood is no excuse).

Where dodgeball is concerned, I am the strongest sixth-grade boy. Where kanji is concerned, I am a first-grade dunce. 

Be they in English, French, or Japanese, there are few things more unbearable than sitting in staff meetings as delegates "umm", "et ben..." and "eto" through their respective reports.

Sick days are counted as precious nenkyu (paid leave) unless you have proof that you were, indeed, sick. A doctor’s note or prescription proves that you were byouki (sick) enough to drag your sorry butt to a clinic to obtain said evidence. So, on the rare occasion when I’m really, truly, can’t-get-out-of-bed-or-I-might-pass-out sick, I take nenkyu.      

Choose your battles. Or, better yet, choose not to battle, and chalk it up to cultural acclimatization.

I am not gifted at giving heartfelt speeches to a roomful of people in another language and without preparation. Au contraire. Give me a computer and a week’s notice, and it’s possible I’ll produce some semi-precious nugget of something. 

Sometimes my lack of understanding into the way Japan works is a direct result of poor language skills. Sometimes I pretend that’s the reason to avoid disturbing the harmony with my radically permissive world views impossible to articulate in 日本語.

I would visit a fundamentally conservative land in the Middle East (or rural Alberta), but I would not live there. Countryside Japan is as pre-1950s as this girl gets.

“Reading the air” in Japan is the equivalent of “reading between the lines” in Canada. Both are essential, so long as I’m careful not to “read too much into it.”

I could use a little more shame and a lot less guilt. 

If the weather’s fine, get outside, even if you don’t feel like it or have time. Otherwise, when you really need to clear your head and suck in some fresh air, it’ll be pouring sideways. Guaranteed.

If it’s raining in the morning, it’ll be clear by quitting time. More often, it’s the other way around. Always carry an umbrella.

Sometimes, Canadians need to wear five layers, too.

Scarcity makes the things you took for granted (toothpaste with fluoride, stick deodorant, Sour Patch Kids, sunshine) precious.

“Forgive” is the most useful f-word. “Forget” is runner-up. Use them on others. Use them with yourself.

No matter how neglected, my violin is a friend.

I don't like being a tourist. I prefer to unpack and “when-in-Rome-it” for a while.

There is a place for pop music. Namely, all around the world. Repetitive and rhymed at a third-grade level, the accessibility and catchy-ness are undeniable. Hence “pop music.”

If I had to choose between going blind or going deaf (and, yes, this is the sort of thing I think about at school during spring vacation), I would choose the former. Life without sight would undoubtedly be difficult, but I can't imagine living without music.

To quote my celebrity girl-crush Serena Ryder, “you gotta sing sing sing sing sing…” In Japan, karaoke has been key. When I return to Regina, I’m finding a choir. Or four.

Never underestimate the power of being included. You have no idea how important it is until you’re not.

A simple, sincere “thank you” means the world.