Gochisou-sama
Okay. Honesty time. Some of you may be disappointed, but the truth is that I have almost no interest in updating this blog. It’s crap. It’s bologna. It’s a big stinking pile of romantic, chimeric notions set forth by popular demand. Friends and family wanted this beast and I nodded and made promises amongst the toasts to my success and the frequent envious groan. You wanted to come to Japan, Land of Awesome and Exotic and Etc Etc. I get it. But I’ve been far past the point of putting Japan on a pedestal before I even arrived and only out of obligation to the wants of so many family and friends, I agreed to post updates to Broccori Beef. I don’t know why you wanted it. Maybe you imagined a gem among the literal thousands of blogs about teaching abroad in Asia. Maybe you actually enjoy my horrid non-fiction style and for some reason were unsatisfied with my ‘general’ blog. Or maybe you had no interest whatsoever, but “You should write a blog!” came out of your mouth like “Have a good summer, K.I.T.!” comes out of the pencil of a third grader writing in the yearbook of a classmate -- not quite friend, not quite enemy, searching for a genial middle ground.
The fact of the matter is that when I experience an event or situation that I feel inclined to write down and report, I’m presented with a huge ethical dilemma in choosing between which blog to post to (Broccori Beef or WHWIWSY). First world problem, I know. But bear with me. Broccori Beef suggests the experience of my life is dependent on my environment, while the entries of WHWIWSY. is a purely animus reflection, regardless of environment. Every time I sit down to write to Broccori Beef, I mull over in my mind the amount of influence “Japan” has on my inclinations to share. This was a fine and simple obstacle to overcome in the first two weeks here because it was easy to ignore the fact that any of these situations (grocery shopping, the weather, a new neighborhood) would exist in perfect equality of newness – of foreignness -- if I had moved across the United States instead of across the Pacific Ocean. But as time moved on and the novelty that was barely a novelty to begin with finally waned into normality, the issue made itself clear.
I don’t mean to shit all over anyone’s flowery notions of Japan. More power to you if you think there’s no wizard behind the curtain and that the backstage industrial monster isn’t as disfigured and bruising to the eye as it would be anywhere else, but I look upon you as one looks upon the American Patriot in his flag pants with a bumper full of Pro- Second Amendment/ Anti-Muslim stickers. Home is home, people are people, and until I move to Mars to teach English, there is virtually nothing I have to say about my life in Broccori Beef that is 100% made in Japan. Not even 50%. Not even 10%. I maintain that Collette is made of 100% Collette, anywhere, anytime.
That being said, I’m relieved to relieve Broccori Beef of its brief duty. We had a good, contrived go. I’m excited to turn my attentions fully back to WHWIWSY., and Mr. Gecko and I hope to see you there!
Peace.