A little over 1.5 years ago, I was directly affected by the Great Recession. Then, about 3 weeks after receiving the dreaded pink slip, I accepted a job offer to teach English in Japan.
The decision to leave friends, family and the only country I really knew surprised a lot of people. It seemed haste, like I was jumping headfirst into the unknown. And I guess I was to some extent. But for years I had dreamed of living abroad to get a better sense of the world at large. Before coming to Japan, my only real international exposure had been during a 2-week trip to Nigeria. It opened my eyes a little, but I still couldn't see 20/20. And no matter how much global news I read, I just couldn't really grasp the idea of life outside of the States.
So when the economic downturn handed me lemons, I jumped on it as an opportunity to make green-tea flavored lemonade.
The impact of my decision usually hits through contrasts and comparisons. Talking with people back home, Facebook stalking and following U.S. news all reflect a change in perspective. There's also no better way to learn how much you've assimilated than by having international visitors. It's amazing how quickly you can adjust to the unknown and how fast a previously familiar life can become sort of...foreign.
This is exactly what I was looking for.
Japan is giving me what Tim Ferris (among many others) refer to as a "real world degree". In a blog post about his Real-World MBA strategy, i.e., jumping into angel-investing instead of going to business school, he also throws out ideas for other real-world alternative degrees (e.g., a "Real World Masters in Creative Writing" and a "Real World Masters in Political Science"). By the time I leave this island nation, I will have something of a Real World degree in International Studies.
Gaining this kind of global knowledge is among one of the benefits of time spent outside of America. There's a trade-off, sure, but in return for my temporary life as an expat, I'm receiving real world education on international relations, cultural identity, government, sociology and a bunch of other related fields.
And growing up in America, I thought that tipping was universally done (though not always liked), only to find out that it's practically unheard of in Japan. Try leaving a tip on a restaurant table and the wait-staff will chase you down to give you your money back.
These types of dualities are all over the place. They cause you question your beliefs and understanding, but in a good way. Derek Sivers put it best in this short TED clip: "Whatever ideas you may have or hear, the opposite may also be true".
Another year, another place. I spent the majority of...
2007 in Austin, TX
2008 in San Francisco, CA
2009 in Kunohe, Japan
And unless something extreme happens, I'll be spending the majority of 2010 in Hitachi, Japan.
That's 4 different places in 4 years. Or 3 major moves in 3 years. These transient years were made possible by a couple of realizations. One, I don't really need a lot of stuff. Two, I like getting rid of the stuff I have.
Want versus Need - I'm a wanna-be minimalist. I say "wanna-be" because I'd be lying if I said there weren't manythings that I want. It's just that they come at a cost: less flexibility and mobility. Right now, the ability to move around is important to me and I've found there to be surprisingly little needed to do that.
Getting rid of Stuff - I have no more than 10 things (computer, clothes, books) today that I also had in Austin. Everything else was either sold or given away. It was difficult to part ways with lots of items but I rarely think back to them once they're gone. The phrase "out of sight, out of mind" applies remarkably well.
Reduction can be liberating. Back in Austin, I had a car and owned an 1100 sq. foot condo filled with stuff. Today, I ride a used bike and rent a 250 sq. foot apartment that still feels spacious. It's tempting to replicate my old lifestyle but by getting and keeping the bare minimum, I'm able to uproot and relocate as I please.
In my local, rural Japanese community, I've been many "firsts". I'm the first American some people have ever spoken too. I'm the first African-American some people have ever seen. And last, but definitely not the least, I'm also the first hip hop head to share hip hop culture.
I don't know how much of an impact my first 2 roles really make. As an American, I do occasionally clue people in on life outside Japan, but it's rarely monumental. And my role as an African American has revolved around intimidating people on basketball courts or piquing their curiousities. But it's as a hip-hop head that I feel I'm really leaving a legacy. By sharing the culture, I've given them something long-lasting.
A thread over at Bboyworld got me thinking about foreign diplomacy and being a foreign diplomat for hip hop. I didn't plan to share as much as I have but I'm glad I did.
Early in the school year, I polled my schools, asking students what they knew about hip hop. 9 times out of 10, girls would bring up Ne-yo and guys mentioned 50 Cent. I don't know why these 2 artists are so popular here but that's what they thought hip-hop was. It was painful keeping a straight face while listening to their respones. And when one girl mentioned Soulja Boy, I nearly had a heart attack! There was no way I could claim to be their teacher and not teach them something more about hip hop. So over the last year, I've snuck in tidbits about music and breaking.
For music, I've since gotten a bunch of them into Blackalicious, Freestyle Fellowship, Talib Kweli and a few others. I gave a bunch of seniors mixed CDs as graduation gifts but I didn't tell them the artists' names. If they liked a song, and wanted to find out who it was, they'd have to listen carefully so they could google the lyrics (if I did my job as an English teacher well, then they'd be able to!). Though they could decipher the words, they were often clueless as to what the words meant. But they DID and recognize a distinct difference between the flow and ability between the music I gave them and the "hip hop" they had been previously listening to.
As for breaking, I've taught 8 students off and on over the last year, and performed with 4 of them front of the community at a school festival.
Before I came, they had been interested in breaking, but only had windmill aspirations. Now they've developed their musicality and everytime we practice, they want to learn new footwork or toprock patterns. It's such a joyous feeling when they come looking for me after school and use English, a foreign language, to ask me to teach them. Being able to share breaking has been one of my favorite parts of this living in Japan.
At some point, I'm going to leave Japan. People may still remember what I said about America...or maybe they won't. Pervs may still have a phallic fixation...or maybe they'll get over it.
But even after I leave Japan, the exposure to hip hop will remain. I believe that the aural pleasure received when they first heard Gift of Gab rhyming over a Chief Xcel beat, or the excitement that coursed through their bodies after hitting a baby freeze at the same time the drummer hit a a cymbol, will stay with them, even if I don't.
If this is the legacy that I leave them, then my job as a foreign hip hop diplomat has been completed.
This extremely well written Economist Article says a lot about being a foreigner, primarily from the west. And while there are some valid disagreements in the comments, it still manages to capture many of the thoughts and realities of the foreigner community living in Japan. But with the slant he used, he’s definitely writing with ancestral westerners in mind. There’s another group of western foreigners who only partially match his characterizations: second generation foreigners, or, children of foreigners who later become foreigners themselves.
Though I was born and raised in America, my parents emigrated from Nigeria. Growing up with both cultures meant learning different approaches to life and discerning different ways of thinking. It often felt True Lies-ish; I was living a double life and doing my best to converge worlds without conflict.
This is the duality I brought with me to the land of the rising sun. With Nigeria as my heritage and America as my home, moving to Japan has allowed me to delve deep into a third culture. The country is 100% new, but the foreign, multi-national lifestyle isn't. Other second generation foreigners here give off the same vibe. Our travels started during childhood as the occasional alien on both sides of our communities and homes.
The article’s overall theme—that “it is becoming both easier and more difficult to experience the thrill of being an outsider”—harbors truths for all foreigners. But for the increasing number of 2nd generationers, it’s not the first time to take on this role. Though we welcome new experiences abroad, the experience of being an outsider is anything but new.
