{"id":180307,"date":"2018-12-11T05:57:16","date_gmt":"2018-12-11T05:57:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/?p=180307"},"modified":"2018-12-15T05:13:39","modified_gmt":"2018-12-15T05:13:39","slug":"kawaii-somber-japan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/?p=180307","title":{"rendered":"Kawaii, Somber Japan"},"content":{"rendered":"

Linh Dinh \u2013 The Unz Review Dec 9, 2018<\/h1>\n

\"Osaka-2018-600x400\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Before my recent trip to Tokyo, Kawasaki<\/a><\/span> and Osaka, I emailed an American friend, \u201cJapan contrasts so sharply with chaotic and dirty Vietnam. Unlike here, almost nothing happens on Japanese sidewalks, no eating, drinking or even smoking!\u201d<\/h5>\n
He replied, \u201cMyself, I would prefer \u2018dirty\u2019 Vietnam to Japan, any day.\u201d Though only in Vietnam as a soldier<\/a><\/span>, he still has fond memories of the country.<\/h5>\n
On the way to Tan Son Nhat Airport, the young taxi driver asked where I was flying to.<\/h5>\n
\u201cTokyo, I answered. \u201cIt\u2019s my second time. They have a great subway system, brother,\u201d and it is the most reliable, cleanest, safest and easiest I\u2019ve ever used, with great amenities at most stations. \u201cWho knows when Vietnam will have something similar?\u201d<\/h5>\n
He guffawed, \u201cWe\u2019re five hundred years behind them!\u201d<\/h5>\n
From Narita, I took three trains to Nippori, Hamamatsucho then Azabujyuban, from where I walked to my room at International House. On the way, I passed the Juban Inari Shrine. All Japanese temples are elegant and understated, even when huge. Crossing the street was suddenly no longer an adventure. Though Vietnamese have become much better at stopping at red lights, many still bristle at the idea.<\/h5>\n
\"japanese<\/a>Japanese do occasionally jaywalk, and I would see more of it in Osaka than Tokyo. There are also more graffiti<\/a><\/span> and littering in the home of takoyaki, Japan\u2019s only remaining red light district and its worst slum. Japanese are not as anal as Germans, who would stand alone at a curb at 3 in the morning, waiting for the walk signal to change, with not a single car in sight in any direction.<\/h5>\n
Opening the shoji blind, I could see the tastefully landscaped garden where Yukio Mishima had his wedding reception. After unpacking, I became reacquainted with the heated toilet seat, the anus shower whose jets could be adjusted and, most comfortingly, the stream of warm air that dried even my nuts.<\/h5>\n
Vietnam\u2019s leading novelist of that era, Nh\u1ea5t Linh, also committed suicide, but only quietly, with poisoned wine. Unlike badass Mishima, Nh\u1ea5t Linh didn\u2019t have a gay lover hack at his neck repeatedly with a samurai sword.<\/h5>\n
During my previous visit to Tokyo, I spoke to a bookstore audience of my admiration for Japanese boldness, \u201cAlthough transgenderism is in, with everybody cutting his penis off, only a Japanese could come up with the idea of offering it as a meal, at a banquet.\u201d To my surprise, no one there had heard of Mao Sugiyama.<\/h5>\n
Sugiyama\u2019s ballsy announcement, \u201cPlease retweet. I am offering my male genitals (full penis, testes, scrotum) as a meal for 100,000 yen\u2026 I will prepare and cook as the buyer requests, at his chosen location.\u201d<\/h5>\n
There was no time to waste. Within hours of arriving, I was in a Roppongi restaurant with a few of my Tokyo friends. While downing beer and sashimi, we talked about their troubled nation.<\/h5>\n
Translator Miwako Ozawa shared that she didn\u2019t know her neighbors, and that Japanese only say hello to strangers in elevators and on mountain trails. Her husband, photographer Samson Yee, added that I shouldn\u2019t judge Japanese sociability by my friends, for they are all cosmopolitan writers and intellectuals, \u201cIf you meet an ordinary Japanese, you\u2019ll have to climb so many walls before you get to know them.\u201d As another indicator of the Japanese\u2019s shrinkage from direct experiences, Samson pointed out that only 23% even hold a valid passport.<\/h5>\n
We\u2019ve all heard about young Japanese recluses, the hikikomori, but did you know that at least 43% of Japanese between 18 and 34 are virgins? A third had never even been on a single date.<\/h5>\n
\u201cHow did Japanese go from bathing together, men and women, young and old, to being mostly alone<\/a><\/span>?\u201d I asked. No one could answer.<\/h5>\n
Writer Mieko Kawakami said that Japan\u2019s previous tranquility and equilibrium were achieved only with much sacrifice by women, and the continuing breakdown of traditions is actually freeing women from onerous roles. Probing this theme, she is working on a novel about a woman having a baby without a man.<\/h5>\n
\"Kawaii<\/a>Many Japanese now live alone<\/a><\/span>, then often die without anyone noticing, sometimes for weeks. Family members don\u2019t call or even email them. Through a friend, I was able to visit an octogenarian who rarely left his messy apartment. His is the generation that built contemporary Japan. In the same complex, we passed a door whose letter and peep slots had been sealed by tape<\/a><\/span>, to prevent the dogged stench of putrefaction from seeping out. It\u2019s a common sight there. With its stigma of sordid death, the apartment will be hard to rent, thus adding to the glut of empty houses in Japan.<\/h5>\n
The live man\u2019s apartment smelled bad enough. It\u2019s a stagnant, fermented funk which actually made me pause at his genkan, and I\u2019m no olfactory pussy, dwelling in Saigon. Carrying two six packs of Asahi beer as gifts, I braved my way in.<\/h5>\n
Next to his bed were six bottles of hard liquor and a stack of illustrated sex manuals. Cheered up by such rare visitors, he chattered away, and anyone could tell he must have been quite charismatic in youth, and a ladies\u2019 man. He admitted to having a crush on the woman, sent by a charity organization, who came twice a week to clean.<\/h5>\n
\u201cIs she young?\u201d I grinningly asked.<\/h5>\n
\u201cYes, very young. Maybe 55!\u201d<\/h5>\n
The neighborhood was a post-war new town development, filled with identical apartment blocks, and very few stores or restaurants within easy walking distance, especially if you\u2019re on your last leg. A playground with its slide and jungle gym sat empty<\/a><\/span>. \u201cThis is incredible,\u201d I said to my friend. \u201cWe haven\u2019t passed one cafe or bar. If this was Vietnam, people would just sit outside, drink and socialize.\u201d There was a tiny seniors center at a forlorn strip mall. We strayed in to find six old people lounging around a coffee table, sipping tea. When they all got up to leave, I asked, \u201cWhy are they all leaving at once?\u201d<\/h5>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s the Japanese way. We do everything together<\/a><\/span>!\u201d Or at least they used to.<\/h5>\n
Convenience<\/a><\/span> stores are ubiquitous in Japan. At a Family Mart, the owner told us that for many old people nearby, his little store was not just where they could get grocery, but a few words addressed to them, plus a smile.<\/h5>\n
\"Japan<\/a>In Japan, more than a third of the population are older than 60, and adult diapers outsell those for babies, yet everywhere you look<\/a><\/span>, there are cartoon<\/a> figures<\/a><\/span>. It\u2019s a country that balances its business suit graveness with the infantile<\/a><\/span>. A supermarket chain\u2019s logo is a kawaii dog<\/a><\/span>, with a slogan in English, \u201cSmile<\/a><\/span> every day!\u201d Vending machines feature a round-eyed boy flashing a victory sign, \u201cWe\u2019ll Be Happy<\/a><\/span>!\u201d Pachinko<\/a> parlors<\/a><\/span> are tsunamis of cartoon characters and childish colors.<\/h5>\n
One day, I talked to a class at Waseda University, and among the students was a remarkable 20-year-old. Having lived in Indonesia and Australia, she was fluent in Indonesian and English by age 15, but for three years in high school, took English courses, like everybody else, and to not show up her classmates or teachers, pretended she didn\u2019t already know the language, and even faked a Japanese accent. At age 16, she became an idol singer, thus a minor celebrity. Idol starlets are presented as impossibly cute airheads, thus her profile page lists her interests as Rilakkuma, teddy bears and panda dolls, but away from this public persona and obligation, she is a supremely mature and confident woman.<\/h5>\n
Her singing career, then, is merely theater, a form of cosplay, and she\u2019s been playing it well, but it\u2019s nearly time to move on, hence her serious studies at a good university. Japan, too, has shown an exceptional ability to switch gears. From not eating beef for over a millenium, it now produces the best beef in the world. Overnight, it went from being America<\/a><\/span>\u2019s fiercest enemy to its most ardent emulator.<\/h5>\n
\"drab<\/a>In contrast to the spectacularly colorful images of Ginza or Shinjuku, much of Tokyo is rather<\/a> drab<\/a><\/span>, and its citizens are mostly dressed quite somberly<\/a><\/span>. As for school kids, they\u2019re austerely uniformed. Even Germans aren\u2019t so severely attired. For most Japanese, then, the windows for making any individual statement, in fashion or anything else, are actually tiny.<\/h5>\n
At a subway station, there\u2019s a poster reminding people to hold onto the handrail while riding the escalator. The illustraton showed two long rows of commuters<\/a><\/span>, separated by sex, with all the men in identical blue suits and yellow ties, and all the women in identical pink coats.<\/h5>\n

\"japan<\/a><\/p>\n

In Vietnam, the improvised, slap dash and sloppy are routine, but in Japan, each detail has been well-calibrated, and every gesture well-choreographed and rehearsed. This rigorous attention to particulars result in Japan\u2019s stunning beauty<\/a><\/span>, for nothing there is ugly, not even its kitsch, but perhaps I\u2019m just betraying my gaudy Vietnamese esthetics here. In Osaka, there\u2019s a supermarket chain, Super Tamade, that features bombastic, multi-colored displays of lights outside, while over the merchandises, there are neon and crayon-colored cartoon whales, dolphins, octopuses, blow fish, submarines, airplanes and helicopters, etc. Pointing out a Super Tamade, my Japanese friends expected me to laughingly sneer, but I only swooned, \u201cThat is very beautiful.\u201d Who needs Jeff Koons or acid when you can just shop at Super Tamade?<\/h5>\n
In Shibuya, I stared for a good minute at a small, round, cast iron plate on the sidewalk, because the floral pattern on it was so gorgeous, and many Japanese manhole covers belong in art museums.<\/h5>\n
Dining with editor Shigeki Tabata, I picked up a bottle of soy sauce and gushed, \u201cLook at how beautiful this graphic is. Look at this subtle greenish gray!\u201d<\/h5>\n
Editor and translator Motoyuki Shibata tempered my enthusiasm, \u201cWhen everything is overly determined, it can be oppressive,\u201d and I do agree, and perhaps Japanese life should be more unscripted, for the sake of its stressed out citizens. High, exact standards are particularly burdensome to those who have to serve, Samson pointed out to me, and he\u2019s witnessed angry commuters scream at subway employees.<\/h5>\n
Even more than Singapore, Japan is filled with signs telling everyone to do everything. At a small neighborhood temple, I encountered a sign showing a round-eyed schoolgirl in uniform, and instructions on \u201cHow to worship<\/a><\/span>.\u201d Written in both English and Japanese, they weren\u2019t just meant for ignorant foreigners, \u201c1. Bow twice. 2. Clap your hands twice and pray. 3. Bow once more.\u201d At subway stations, there are elaborate charts showing which numbered car to get into to make your particular transfer the easiest. Near apartments blocks filled with old people, large signs encourage you to say hello and smile at the old farts to cheer them up. Sidewalks are pasted with warnings<\/a><\/span> against smoking in public. Hotel lobbies forbid the use of cellphones. Has there ever been a more anal society?<\/h5>\n
In Vietnam, on the other hand, rules and boundaries are often never acknowledged or ignored, so everything blurs and blends. Very well-traveled, with three years in Africa and one in India, Samson has visited Vietnam three times. Like me, he likes to wander aimlessly, so once found himself in an alley, where he sat down at a restaurant table. Only after minutes did a woman appear to give him a cup of tea.<\/h5>\n
\u201cI\u2019d like a menu, please,\u201d he asked, but she looked surprised.<\/h5>\n
\u201cMenu?\u201d<\/h5>\n
\u201cYes, a menu, please.\u201d<\/h5>\n
She laughed, \u201cThis no restaurant. This, house!\u201d<\/h5>\n
Every state uses its educational system to indoctrinate, and in Japanese schools, kids are forced to form human pyramids, as high as ten tiers, a practice that each year causes more than 8,000 injuries requiring insurance payments. On her phone, Mieko Kawakami showed me image after image of children periliously stacked. From 1969 to 2016, there were actually nine deaths from kumitaiso, but to infuse unity and a sense of collective achievement, it persists, to the disgust and anguish of many parents.<\/h5>\n
Check out Kyary Pamyu Pamyu in her music video, \u201cCandy Candy,\u201d sung in infantile English. At the beginning, she runs, most bizarrely, with a piece of toast in her mouth, past a row of suburban houses, with their parked cars, manicured shrubs and kids\u2019 sporting equipment. With her huge pink hairbow, strawberry colored hair and a pale pink and purple skirt that resembles an upside down lotus, deifying her nether regions, she\u2019s a kawaii fantasy streaking through drab and uniform normalcy.<\/h5>\n
In Osaka, middle-aged women are known for their short curls and preference for clothing with the spots, stripes or face of their favorite big cat, but in four days of roaming the city, from its lowest<\/a><\/span> to most chichi<\/a><\/span> neighborhoods, I encountered only a single cheetah or tiger fashionista. Hopefully, this regional distinctiveness is not fading. Roar on, Osaka oba-chan!<\/h5>\n
\"jonathans\"<\/a>To the amusement of my Japanese friends, I kept returning to Jonathan\u2019s<\/a><\/span>, a chain restaurant, for there I found an evocation of a much gentler and cheesier America. Many dishes were Japanese spins on American comfort food<\/a><\/span>. Bathed in bright lights and muzak, I happily ate hamburger<\/a><\/span> patty smothered in demi-glace, roast beef kissed with a mild horseradish, fried chicken, potato wedges, french fries, corn and spaghetti<\/a><\/span>, the last prepared with salmon roe, scallops and seaweed. The Coke, 7-up and punch flowed endlessly at the drink bar. I felt returned to a much improved version of my school cafeteria in Tacoma, Washington. There was a curious offering called \u201cdoria,\u201d which turned out to be a rice gratin, topped in this instance by four Hiroshima oysters. Yum, yum, yum. Near the cash register was a selection of cheap toys, and the plastic coffee cups came in baby blue, pink and yellow.<\/h5>\n
Perhaps because so much has been lost, nostalgia, even for someone else\u2019s past, is a strong undercurrent in Japan. One manifestation of this is the pervasive cult of childhood, when all doors are supposedly still open. In his scrisp, well-tailored suit, a virginal salaryman<\/a><\/span> stares at the soft porn<\/a><\/span> dancing girls while colored lights flash and hundreds of metal pellets bounce downward. Though with the world on his shoulders, he\u2019s still a child.<\/h5>\n
Linh Dinh\u2019s<\/em><\/strong> latest book is <\/em>Postcards from the End of America<\/a><\/span>. He maintains a regularly updated photo blog<\/a><\/span>.<\/em><\/h5>\n

Source<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Linh Dinh visits Japan, a land where adult diapers outsell those for babies and where at least 43 percent of the natives aged 18-34 are still virgins <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":146,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[61],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-180307","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-Commentary"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/180307","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/146"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=180307"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/180307\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":180318,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/180307\/revisions\/180318"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=180307"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=180307"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=180307"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}