Unmasking the Japanese in me

NOTHING unsettles me more than being mistaken for a Japanese who speaks Tagalog well.

The compliment is more welcome if it were phrased in reverse, as it should be: that I am a Filipino who speaks good Japanese.

Imagine how awkward the situation was when a Filipino, overhearing me and my wife talking at the airport lounge, accosted my better half to give her that compliment.

When told that I have been living in Japan in the last 16 years (and my family in the last 10 years), he nods his head as if to say, "That explains it."

Many Japanese businessmen tell me that among the many Filipinos they know, they feel comfortable with me because--take note of the reason--I most resemble the Japanese.

Having heard that comment repeated many times over by Japanese and Filipinos alike, I came to realize that indeed I may have adapted and assimilated myself unconsciously into the Japanese society. Even my wife can't resist pointing this out to me when I balk at telling the saleslady at the McDonalds counter not to put mustard into her sausage and urge my wife to just choose from the set menus instead.

"You're the one who can speak the language, and you can't even tell them what I want," I can almost hear the refrain on our way back home.

"The reason they have set menus is for you to be able to choose without any fuss. They're numbered so you can just mention the number. And besides, how the hell should I know how to say those small ingredients in Japanese?"

"You're so Japanese," she drops the last word and we settle the issue in mutual silence for the rest of the drive.

The last time I was asked about my impression of Japan by a Japanese who perhaps meant it only as a greeting, I had a mental block. It was as if I was asked to describe the palm of my hand, or the electric post in front of my house. I realized then that perhaps my wife saw something in me that I didn't.

Yet only someone as "Japanized" as I am can tell that in this society, a gaijin (foreigner) can go no further than the last kanji he has memorized. A foreigner who speaks the Japanese language can initially attract attention. But sometimes, the more he shows that he can read and write, the more that attention turns into suspicion.

At heart, the Japanese believe that they are of an inscrutable essence. A foreigner who can tell between honne (the real) and the tatemae (the appearances), the two animating forces of Japanese social dynamics, and expresses amusement or surprise can be seen by the Japanese as violating a sacred social code. Refusing an o-cha or a tsumaranai mono for the simple reason that one is full can be taken as an offense. Yet a foreigner trying to observe the minutiae of Japanese customs can also be dismissed as doing more than is expected of a gaijin.

Needless to say, mastery of the Japanese language is not a passport to assimilation. The more one shows proficiency in the language, the more one is faulted for slips in human behavior that they are quick to blame on one's being a foreigner. For instance, when one is late for an appointment, even if he has followed the "Japanese" way of calling to notify in advance, one can still expect to be criticized for being "very Filipino."

One of the great bastions of pride of the Japanese in their cultural and linguistic supremacy is their keiyakusho (contract). The keiyakusho is a literary masterpiece showcasing their most intricate, mysterious kanjis. Nobody, let alone a foreigner, is supposed to question it, because no one is supposed to understand it.

When a friend asked me to help recover part of the two-month deposit money for the apartment she rented for only three months, we discovered to our horror that she was being billed for more than the amount she expected to get back. When I asked the realtor to explain their definition of genjohenkan (return of the property to the original state), which apparently called for replacement of parts that were not even touched by the occupant, the shacho (president) flared up and queried rhetorically, "Did you read the contract? Can you read the contract?" When I read aloud the relevant part to him word for word, he stood back and shouted incoherently, "You gaijins are troublemakers! I've always said I should never rent out my apartment to gaijins!"

Apparently, he was not prepared for me to understand him. Unable to take refuge in the walls of his language, he could only retreat into the cave of his prejudice.*

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