About that time I lived in Tokyo...

In SECOND CHANCE CRUSH, Zosia ends up in Tokyo because her father accepts a job transfer and she goes there with him for the summer. My story is a little less straightforward – I ended up teaching English in Japan because I got strep throat. No lie. Had I not been sick and housebound, I wouldn’t have read the Sunday job section and seen the ad recruiting “Native English Speakers” for teaching positions. I definitely wouldn’t have pulled together my resume and cover letter – because who LIKES to do that (and on a typewriter, no less, because I am OLD) -- for a job that felt like a shot in the dark. But, I was sick for a full week and could only endure so much daytime TV so applying for a job I never thought I’d get was as good a way to pass the time as any.

When I got called for an interview, I was shocked. When I made it through five more interviews and got an actual job offer, I was thrilled. And panicked! I was twenty-six years old and didn’t even have a passport! I didn’t speak Japanese. And I hated fish! Like, refused-to-even-try-a-bite-hated fish.

Turned out, I learned to eat fish and like it, although it took awhile. My third day in Japan, the instructor in charge of new teacher orientation took us all out for sushi. Yay, right?  Unfortunately, after a few attempts to get the raw fish into my mouth, my gag reflex won and I traded my sushi for a bowl of rice with the guy next to me. But, walking back to the training center, the Japanese-American girl in our group enthused that sushi was the go-to food for special occasions. Birthday? Yay, sushi! Promotion at work? Yay, sushi. Getting a date with the cute boy from English class? You guessed it. Sigh, sushi.

I added “tolerate sushi” to the list of things I needed to learn. Right after figure out how to work the toilets! (When you read SECOND CHANCE CRUSH, Zosia’s toilet scene is memorable.) Who knew using the bathroom could be so fraught? Western-style toilets in Japan have a million buttons. Japanese-style toilets are basically a ceramic trough in the ground. Both require a lot more thought than I was used to, and – in the case of Japanese-style toilets – coordination! Zo’s toilet scene may have roots in real life is all I’m saying!

Pizza is another thing that was way more complicated than I expected. Zo and Finn only mention pizza in passing, but this is one of my lasting memories of Tokyo. After craving something quintessentially American for ages, I finally summoned up the nerve to call and order a Domino’s pizza in my very bad Japanese -- only to find out that between the layers of cheese and sauce was a layer of mayonnaise!!  Apparently it’s a standard topping on Japanese pizza and you have to request to leave it OFF? By the time I left Tokyo, my Japanese was good enough that I could have handled that conversation, but it definitely wasn’t at the time.

Speaking on the phone was hard, but worse case scenario, I could always hang up and no one would be any wiser. In person…not so much. Believe me when I say, I’ve never ever had as much anxiety before or since as I had trying to talk to shop clerks in Japanese! Like the time I packed my work clothes in my gym bag and realized only after I’d showered and was running late for work – wearing a thin white blouse – that I’d forgotten my bra. Thankfully, the school where I worked was near a department store and I ran in thinking I could just pull a few bras off the rack, try one on and be done. Ha. The sizes were all in millimeters and the bras on display were for fitting purposes only. If I wanted to actually buy a bra, I had to know my size and ask for it! I was drenched with sweat trying to explain to the clerk that I didn’t know my size. Everything I said made her more confused until she finally whipped out a tape measure in the middle of the floor and measured my chest. My blouse was buttoned up, but I was embarrassed enough to feel like I was standing there naked.

I had A LOT of language mishaps. Ordering “Nippon” (the Japanese word for Japan) instead of “ni-hon” (the Japanese word for two bottles) beers more times than I could count. Asking for what I thought were chicken strips at the butcher, only to find out I’d asked for (and got) some kind of intestines, instead. Accidentally pressing the wrong button on the ATM and transferring money meant to pay for an airline ticket into the ether somewhere. I bumbled and fumbled and flushed every shade of red imaginable and if there was an embarrassing thing to be done, I probably did it.

But, I also learned and grew in ways I never would have had I not lived in Tokyo. I sometimes went entire weekends without talking to another person, especially in the early weeks. It was lonely, but it also taught me how to be happy alone. I took the wrong trains, ended up on the wrong streets, and realized that sometimes the best journeys are the accidental ones.

When it was time to return to the U.S. I cried for most of the 14-hour plane journey. After two years, Tokyo was a part of me and I was positive I’d go back. Life had other plans, as it does. I met my husband, moved to New York City, had a son, moved to London, and now live in a tiny village in Northwest England that’s about as far from Tokyo as you can imagine. But I still use the little blue rice bowls I got in Harajuku and if I hear someone speaking Japanese, my ears perk up, even though I can no longer remember enough Japanese to respond. I’ve physically gone back to Japan once in the years since I lived there, but writing SECOND CHANCE CRUSH was a way to go back and relive the very best parts of my time there. Thank you for taking the journey with me.