iParenting

About a week before I flew to Japan to pay respect to my father, I crossed over to the “i” side — I bought an iPhone. My aging RAZR was giving me a headache and an occasional message that read “Battery Invalid” even after I bought a new battery pack. Also, Dave and I together had never left our girls for more than one night before; I felt I needed a reliable communication gadget. I was very excited about all things “i” when I was in Tokyo this time. So, when I found a poster in a train with a head copy that read “iParenting” (in English, just like this), I thought, What the??? Japan is technologically very advanced, I know, but parenting through technological devices? What’s next, a parenting robot?

It turned out that “iParenting” had nothing to do with techno gadgets; it wasn’t an app. It was a parenting tip from a professor of early childhood education at a women’s college in Tokyo. It said, “Bring ‘I’ into your parenting method. When your child misbehaves, instead of saying, ‘Don’t do that,’ say, ‘If you do that, I would feel sad.’ This will teach your child that his/her behavior has consequences and affects other people’s feelings.”

I couldn’t believe what I read. I reread it several times, and then told Dave. We both shook our heads and said in unison, “No, don’t do that!” If a child is doing something wrong, that’s what he needs to know, that he is doing something wrong. If he didn’t get it the first time and repeats the same behavior, he needs to be taught that it’s his choice to repeat the behavior again or try to change, and that his behavior has a consequence. But I have never heard of guilt-tripping a child is a good thing, not in the U.S. As a matter of fact, that’s usually in the what-not-to-do list in parenting books and magazines. Why is this professor recommending parents to instill in their children a sense of guilt and responsibility for other’s feelings?

Then, after the initial shock subsided, I realized this was very Japanese psyche. I quite forgot about this. The Japanese people tend to have great difficulty separating themselves and the others. If this tendency comes out positively, we are quite an empathetic bunch, but if it assumes negative vibes, we can be a nightmare, stepping over boundaries and disregarding privacy. Actually, there is not an apt word in Japanese for privacy. People are inclined to psychologically lean against each other. There is a book called “The Anatomy of Dependence (Amae no Kozo)” (original Japanese version published in 1971) by a Japanese psychoanalyst, Takeo Doi. He spent 2 years in an American college when he won a scholarship back in 1950’s, and after experiencing a culture shock, came to realize that people’s dependence to each other was a unique, fundamental structure of the Japanese society. He was criticized heavily for declaring this “amae” — childlike dependence — was uniquely Japanese and not found in any other culture. I wouldn’t go so far, but I have to agree with him that this dependence is very strong in the Japanese society.

I read the book in Germany, after spending a year and a half outside of Japan. I had been feeling the lack of that dependence structure in my bones, especially in the way people said good-byes in other cultures. When I lived in Hamburg I was among a very international crowd, for expatriates tend to gather together. I had friends from France, Belgium, Holland, America, Italy, England, and just a few actually from Germany. The way they said good-byes was a total shock to me at first. They would give hugs, a kiss each to both cheeks, say “Tschüß!” and be gone. On the phone, the good-byes would last for less than a second; “OK, bye!” and abrupt disconnection. In Japan, farewells last for a veeeeeery looooooooooooooong timmmmmmmmme. We start by saying, “Well, then…” No, it doesn’t really mean good-bye, yet. We would thank each other for the reason why we got together or called, then tell each other how wonderful it was to talk. We then would wish each other good health until the next time, side-tracking to quarries on each other’s future plans, then maybe to the mutual friend’s whereabouts and updates, then to “Well, then…” again, then thanking some more, wishing well some more, while bowing profusely both in person and even on the phone. If we are saying good-bye in person, we then nod to each other for a while, smiling, as if to say, “It’s okay to separate now, I wouldn’t feel sad.” As we bow some more and actually say bye-bye, we would slowly move away, still facing each other, and then wave our hands and ever so slowly walk away. We would look back several times and bow and wave some more to each other. If we are saying good-bye on the phone, we would bow a lot (yes, it’s pretty funny to watch), then elongate each words; “Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaai, soreja-neeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, sayonaraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, dooooooooomooooooooo, shitsurei-shimaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasu!” Repeat this for a few times. Then we would slowly put the receiver back in its cradle, bowing deep and trying to keep one ear on the receiver as long as we can as it approaches the cradle, trying to make sure that the other person hasn’t said anything new, because it would be rude and hurt her feelings if we didn’t hear it and respond to it. Then we put the receiver down with utmost care so it makes the least amount of sound.

I used to dread this ritual when I was living in Japan. Not only it was such a waste of time and mental energy, I could never tell when it’s okay to actually leave. Some people seemed fine without much elongation, while others seemed desperate to linger as long as they could. Sometimes it felt it was just the manifestation of respect and politeness, but other times it felt as if our relationship depended on how I said good-bye, as if it were the saddest thing in the world, separation, abandonment, and I needed to make it as pain-free as possible. I felt it could be seen as the gauge of my affection, and I was horrified to convey a wrong message either way. I felt I needed to extend my most sensitive antennas to detect how the other person was feeling while saying good-bye. It was draining.

But when the ritual was completely gone from my life, I felt… well, abandoned. I felt a bumper, a cushy soft thing that was covering me for the longest time, had been stripped away. And of course, it wasn’t only in the way people said good-byes; I felt it everywhere.

For instance, if I asked a Japanese friend where I could get a really nice tin of imported tea, it’s not unusual to see the tin sitting on my desk a few days later. Or if I asked my friend’s recommendation for something — say, ramen noodle shops in Tokyo —, I would get a full report on all of her top 10 favorite ramen restaurants. The Japanese people are also exceptionally good at guessing what others are thinking, feeling, and in need of. We have a verb, sassu-ru, that describes this; it means to guess, to understand, to sympathize, to judge, to imagine, and to suppose, about others. If you have a few friends who are very intuitive, like I did in Japan, you are always taken care of. They would know what exactly I need at any given moment and give it to me without me ever asking for it, be it some tender words, a cup of tea, a piece of paper, a pen, whatever. I, in return, would try to notice others needs and act upon it without being asked. “Ki ga kikune,” they would say, “your mind deftly perceives details.” Thus we show each other we care.

It is something that we are trained from very early age. We are told to think of what others would say about us when we did something wrong. We are thinking of others almost constantly, and we don’t notice how blurred the boundary of us had become. But there is a very clear boundary between ‘us’ and ‘them.’ ‘They’ are those who don’t rely on ‘us,’ and therefore we don’t rely on them, there is no dependence here, and this is where some seemingly uncharacteristic behaviors spring out of. The Japanese are generally regarded as gentle-mannered, polite and thoughtful (I hope), but when you are carrying a couple of large suitcases in a train station with no elevator or escalator, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking up helplessly, you would experience a different side of the Japanese people. Nobody would help you, because you are one of ‘them.’ When you are 7-month pregnant and standing in a crowded train, nobody would give up a seat for you. It’s usually a foreigner who would be willing to help a total stranger. It is as if the Japanese only see people who are in their dependence circle, and people outside of the circle don’t really exist. Good Samaritans we are not.

But we invest within the circle heavily. There are countless numbers of words that are related to this societal dependence in the Japanese language. Amae-ru is a verb that stemmed out of amai, sweet. So amae-ru is to be sweet to, but it is used to describe the way a small child acts toward his parent, notably his mother. He expects his mother to love him unconditionally, so he doesn’t hesitate to ask her something, or show his true nature, even when he is in a rather naughty mood. We use this same word to describe relationships between grown-ups as well. When we behave based on our expectation of the others’ kindness and affection for us, we say we are amaete-iru. If your boss at the office tells you that you can leave before him (it is usually a taboo to leave the office before your boss), you would want to say, “Well then, I will amae on your words and commit the rudeness of leaving before you.”

We use the word “sumimasen” a lot. In a dictionary it might be defined simply as “excuse me.” But in real world it means a lot more than that. It is thank you, I am sorry, and excuse me, all in one. And it almost always means all three at once. “Sumimasen for your troubles (thank you for your help, I am sorry to trouble you, please excuse me for troubling you),” “Sumimasen for coming to the party (thank you for coming, I am sorry for taking up your time, please excuse me for wanting to include you),” “Sumimasen, could you pass me the salt? (thank you for your kindness, I am sorry to bother you, please excuse me for my request).” We do have separate words for thank you and I’m sorry, but in everyday life “sumimasen” comes out of our mouths a lot. I don’t think it’s because we are lazy; I think we really want to convey all three meanings at once. If I say, “Arigato for your troubles,” it means just thank you and wouldn’t say I felt sorry for troubling you, and if I say, “Gomen-nasai for your troubles,” it just says I am sorry and wouldn’t express my feelings of gratuity.

This “feeling sorry when thanking someone” might need an explanation. Sumimasen comes from the negation of the verb, sumu, to be done with, to finish. If translated literally, sumimasen means “it isn’t done, not finished.” It’s pregnant with a lot of unfinished feelings, such as regret, shame and apology, in its connotation. When someone has done something kind to her, a Japanese person would not only feel gratuity but also think how it might have inconvenienced him on account of her. She wants to make sure that by troubling him she didn’t inadvertently ruin their relationship, that their mutual dependence is still operational. Saying “thank you” might suffice, but it wouldn’t go beyond that. By saying “sumimasen,” she expresses how she feels indebted and also asks for forgiveness in addition to saying thank-you. We say sorry when we say good-bye as well. “Shiturei-shimasu” literally translates to “I am going to be rude.” We use this when we intrude, but we also say this to bid farewell, especially to our superiors. Come to think of it, it’s very curious how we feel separating is rude; really, what’s the alternative? But we do, so we say, “I’m sorry but I have to go, I know I am being impolite for wanting to part with you.”

Amae is our desire to passively receive love and affection, so we create this warm, fuzzy garden bed where our mutual dependence grows from our energy spent on each other. We care for each other because we want to be cared.  I grew up in this structure of interdependency without ever realizing I was in it. When I left it, I felt so alone and bare. But a human is resilient and adoptable; I slowly built up immunity for the world that couldn’t/wouldn’t guess what I wanted and where nothing happened if I didn’t help myself. I was feeling as if I grew up a notch, when a friend of mine came to visit from Japan and we decided to travel around Europe together for a month and a half. After a couple of weeks, she asked me one day, “Why are you so independent? Why don’t you depend on me?” I think she felt pushed away because I was not leaning on her emotionally, while I was aware of her leaning on me and started to feel a bit claustrophobic. We got into a big argument, and agreed to read the book, “The Anatomy of Dependence,” when she went home to Tokyo and I to Hamburg and compare our notes. We completely, spectacularly, disagreed on almost all accounts about the book. She thought the author was insane, mean-spirited, and trying to find hidden meanings in everything for his theory while in reality there was none. I thought the author was onto something; there were a lot of examples he included to explain his theory, and it felt as though he was explaining what I had been experiencing.

These are excerpts from the chapter 1 (it’s my translation, not from the official English edition):

…I think it was early in my stay in the U.S. when I visited an American friend of my Japanese acquaintance. After having a bit of conversation, the person asked if I was hungry, if I would like some ice cream. I was indeed a little hungry, but I thought I couldn’t say that to a person whom I’d just met, so I answered, no, I was not hungry. I was vaguely expecting him to ask me again, but he just dryly said, “Oh, okay.” I remember feeling disappointed and regretting that I didn’t say I was hungry. I also thought if he were a Japanese, he wouldn’t have asked if I was hungry; it’s rude to ask such a thing to a stranger. He would have treated me with something he had without asking.

…The phrase that Americans use frequently, “Please help yourself,” didn’t sound pleasant to me until I became used to the conversational English. It means, “Please take whatever you like,” but to me it sounded like “you are on your own.” It sounded rejecting and unkind, and I couldn’t understand why this could be an expression of kindness. In Japan, a courteous host would try his best guessing what his guest might need, and would help him and treat him as if he knows exactly where it itches on the guest’s back (this is a Japanese expression, meaning, “leave nothing to be desired”). Wouldn’t “Please help yourself” sound too inconsiderate for a guest who is not accustomed to the way of the household? I started to feel keenly that Americans in general didn’t consider or guess what others were feeling or in need of, like Japanese did. Just living abroad could make anyone feel helpless, but because of this I spent my first stay in America feeling even lonelier.

I understood what he meant very well, but my friend didn’t think it was significant enough to theorize as the base of all societal structures in Japan. I thought it was very interesting that she couldn’t see it, because she was one of the most leaning/depending people I knew. She was kind of a person, if you went to an art museum with her, who couldn’t stay quiet, who needed your validation and assurance on which art she liked. But then again, I didn’t know I was in the dependence garden when I lived in Japan. Moving forced me to see things from a different perspective.

Parents in Japan are still positively encouraged to teach their children to better conform to the societal dependence. I went home to my sister’s apartment, still musing over the thought. When Dave and I got there, my brother-in-law was doing some paperwork while watching a TV interview of Ichiro Suzuki, the baseball player. He was clad in a very funky outfit — his brother, a fashion designer, made him wear it? — but saying something that caught more of my attention:

“A Japanese team manager would tell us to play for the team and for the fans. He would say it was our duty to make the fans happy, play to make them happy. I didn’t like that. To think that any one person can make someone else happy is such arrogance. You simply can’t. I play for myself, to challenge myself. That might ultimately make someone happy, if I played well. When I say things like this, I get criticized as being Americanized and becoming an individualist (which is a bad thing in Japan). But if you think about it, people who can’t face themselves, who can’t challenge themselves to become better, are the ones who escape into saying, ‘I’m playing for the whole.’”

I thought, oh, wow, I love this guy, even in those clam digger flood pants! I had no idea he was so insightful and articulate. That was also incredible to hear this coming from a Japanese person. It immediately reminded me of the first time I ever heard of the expression, “Only you can make you happy.” Dave told me this when we started dating, when I was 24. I guess he was feeling my leaning on him too heavily and needed to unload me a little. I recently told this story to my therapist; he was so surprised that his eyes looked as though they were going to grow as big as dinner plates. “We grow up hearing it in this country, like from preschool, but you never heard it until you were 24?” I probably would have never heard it if I dated a Japanese and stayed in Japan. Over there, people rely on each other to make everyone happy. You are not responsible for your own happiness, everyone is. When Dave told me I was responsible for my happiness, only me, I felt as if my umbilical cord was ripped off. Over the years I slowly learned how to crawl and stand up by myself. I think I just started to be able to walk. It will be a while until I can run, jump and dance. It was wonderful to hear Ichiro running. I wonder if he went through the same kind of process as I did, after leaving Japan.

Another thing I have noticed living abroad is that people here seem to take their words less seriously than Japanese do. In Japan, if someone said she would show me her poem, she will; if someone said he would take me out for lunch sometime, he will. I found out it was not the same outside of Japan. It has been one of the hardest things for me to adjust to; I still get excited when somebody offers me something and disappointed when that doesn’t happen. I think it’s because I still automatically feel as if my happiness depended on his words and actions, and assume that the dependence in the relationship would surely make it happen, because if it didn’t he would be regarded as a weed in the garden and would lose his portion of the flower bed, which would be quite devastating for anyone in Japan.  But outside of Japan it could be that just the fact those offers were uttered is supposed to be enough to show he cares; actual action might be merely icing on the cake. I would like to know what’s really behind this. It can’t be that people outside of Japan are more forgetful, or that I am now surrounded by people who don’t care. Does it happen to you, too? Your friend says, “Oh, I have that at home and I don’t need it, I’ll give it to you,” but she never does? How does it make you feel? How should I take it? I would appreciate your insight.

Well, then… It was really nice telling you about this aspect of my country of origin. Thank you so much for reading, and for giving me an opportunity to explain it to you. I wish you stay healthy and have fun until next time. What is your plan for the spring break this year? How is your family? Please tell them I said hi (bow). Well, then… take care, please come visit again (bow), haaaaaaaaaaaaaaai (nod, nod), doooooooomooooooo (bow), soreja-neeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, sayonaraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (bow), ogenki-deeeeeeeeeeeee (nod), dooooooooomooooooooo (nod, bow), shitsurei-shimaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasu (boooooooooooooow).