In A Bubble

Senso-Ji at night in 2019 — **In A Bubble**

**On Whiteness, consumption, and COVID**

A funny thing has been happening to me in Japan. Faced with the native language, I feel the urge to respond in Spanish, my second language. Friends have experienced this phenomenon too. It makes sense that the brain is hearing something foreign, and wanting to respond in kind, with the foreign-yet-familiar. This urge to make a connection, even a tenuous one, is how we learn: by linking the knowledge we already possess with what is new.

Studying in Europe, Living in Asia

*Inside the Alhambra, Granada, Spain 2004*

This is why I’ve been thinking back to the early 2000s, when I studied abroad in Spain. I’d been learning Spanish for years, and knew a bit about the country’s history and culture. I lived with a host family, and improved my language skills by watching telenovelas with abuela.

My señora, or host mother, cooked all my meals, which is how I learned mantequilla (butter) was for breakfast only, and that it was totally normal to have a ham leg in your laundry room.

I blundered over the language at first—once, when trying to describe symptoms of an illness, I said I had “nipples in my throat”—but gradually improved. I had neither a smartphone nor a laptop, and instead sent emails home using the school computers or an Internet cafe. (Thinking of those places now, I want to go back in time with a tub of alcohol wipes and swab down the keyboards.) I was young and naive, and yet my upbringing and education had prepared me well enough: to be a white tourist in a European country.

In contrast, when I told a friend from home that we’d be moving to Tokyo, she hesitantly asked, “And the people there, they’re…?” and waited for me to supply the word “Japanese.” She nodded—Of course!—because she did know that, but wanted confirmation. It would be easy to jump all over this exchange, to laugh and say, Oh, how ignorant! But I went to high school with this person, and I can completely understand why she—we—would be so unsure of Asian geography and culture. The only history that mattered at our school was American and European. We could choose to study French, Spanish, or German—all taught by white, American teachers. Many other friends, loved ones, and coworkers I spoke with in the States often seemed to conflate Japan and China, as evidenced by their questions about government and politics.

No matter what I sit down to write, I always come back to this idea of moving through the world in a white body, and how that informs every exchange.

I’m getting a little sidetracked here—I intended to write about what has remained the same for us here in Tokyo, in the midst of a global pandemic. But it seems that no matter what I sit down to write, I always come back to this idea of moving through the world in a white body, and how that informs every exchange. And thinking about Americans’ understanding of Asia is especially pertinent now, given an uptick in hate crimes against Asian Americans.

The Expat Bubble

All those years ago, I went to Europe as the stereotypical loud, ignorant American college student looking to party. (I mean, I was, and I did. But please know I loved and respected my host family, and learned a lot.) Now, I am moving through Japan in a protective expat bubble, in that a company has paid for and guided our move, and provided us with assistance—and sometimes even translation services—at critical junctures.

This support has allowed us, in many ways, to transpose our lifestyle from the US to Japan. We have nearly all of our furniture, clothing, and housewares. We have a VPN that allows us to watch pretty much any American movie, network, or sporting event we want. I still listen to American podcasts, or my favorite Seattle radio station—shout out to KEXP!—when I wash dishes or take the dog for a walk. (Yes, we imported our biggest [dis]comforts from home too: our pets.) I cook with a three-burner stove and oven, and use a washer and dryer, even though ovens aren’t common here, and most Japanese families hang their clothes outside to dry. Amenities like the dryer came with our “Western-style” apartment, located in a very international neighborhood dotted with embassies, a social club for expats and English-speaking residents, as well as a grocery store that specifically caters to foreigners.

Not-So-Top Chef

I wish I could say I have thrown myself into the art of Japanese cooking, but with a picky toddler, my non-existent language skills, and Americanized notions of the cuisine (California roll?)—I shop at that international market with an eye for the familiar. I’ve cooked with lotus root once or twice, and have made yakiniku beef a few times—but that’s likely cheating, because I’m pretty sure yakiniku is a Japanese interpretation of Western barbecue.

The one cooking class I took (before COVID numbers spiked) naturally did not live up to my pre-pandemic expectations. It changes the experience to wear a mask the whole time, unable to try the food in the moment, instead bringing it home in containers to eat later. Neither husband nor child were into the Japanese-style croquettes that I made in the class, and though I liked them, I wouldn’t make them for myself because it would be too much work for too many carbs.

*Japanese croquettes with miso soup, rice, and chrysanthemum greens.*

I learned a little more about Japanese cuisine though. For example, it’s customary for fried foods to be eaten with raw sliced cabbage (something about enzymes?). I learned what dashi is and how to prepare it, though I have yet to make it myself. So, tacos and pasta it is most nights, because globalization is real and has taken over my kitchen. And did I mention we have UberEats?

Can’t Escape COVID

Food isn’t the only thing that’s stayed the same. Despite what you may read or hear, the COVID situation is as serious here as anywhere else. When we first arrived, and ventured out for a few small, reasonably-distanced outings, it felt so freeing. N— remarked that it felt like we were living in the future, but I had an inkling that we were living in the past. Sure enough, after the weather turned cold in December, and people traveled to visit family for the New Year, Japan faced a surge in cases. A State of Emergency has been declared, the first the country has had since spring.

This State of Emergency is much different than the Stay-at-Home order we lived with in Seattle. Here, schools remain open and the streets stay full. Many people I know take trips on the weekends and during school breaks. Restaurants are open, though they are asked to close by 8:00 PM. Given all this, I could float through life here in that expat bubble, buffered by privilege and ignorance, thinking everything is fine. But I can’t allow myself to do that for too long. I seek out the news that’s available in English, so I know that hospitals are overwhelmed, that people who may need a bed can’t get one, which sometimes results in fatal consequences.

Yet there is cause to feel hopeful. Unlike those long months in Seattle when nothing was certain, and every day felt the same, I have events to put on my Google calendar now, even if they’re just my Japanese classes and family park dates. March 5 is a future date I have metaphorically circled on my mind’s calendar. By that date, my parents and grandfather, and N—’s parents and grandparents, will have all had second doses of the vaccine.

Maybe by this summer we’ll finally burst through our self-imposed bubble and hug them at last.