Confessions of a Japanophile
Confession One: If it wasn't for the language barrier, I'd probably be living in Japan right now.
Confession Two: I've had a fondness for Japanese culture and Japan since I was eleven. I actually realized that the cartoons I was watching and the books I was reading and the songs I liked were part of Japanese anime when I was 15. When I was sixteen, seventeen, I'd drive the library every Saturday and check out all sorts of books. Among those were big dusty nonfiction tomes dedicated to Japanese culture and politics and history. If it was Japanese, I'd read it. Even if it was boring as hell.
Because to a lonely teenager who wanted to be a writer, who got lost in her imagination, Japan was the exotic far-off locale I dreamed of seeing. It represented the far away future, the hope that something would get better. To me, it was a way to rebel against my parents, to learn something new, to have an escape. Japan was mysterious, it was thrilling. It was all that I thought I'd never find in my life and then some. Without Japan, without anime, without Japanese culture, I would have been alone as a teenager. And if I'd been truly alone... I don't want to imagine what might have happened to me way back then.
Confession Three: I grew up, I went to college, I found some self-esteem, some friends, and a reason to get my head out of the clouds and the dreams of Japan and Asia. I dropped some of the fairytale fantasy for the practicalities behind Japanese culture (the sexism, race relations, stigma against mental health issues, and other social issues--it is not a perfect society by far), but the country has always held a soft spot in the far corner of my heart.
Confession Four: I had largely not thought much about Japan since I moved to Tallahassee. Teenage dreams were pushed aside in favor of a grownup one--to be a librarian, and a damn good one at that. Then my pal Caroline started reading Fruits Basket. And thing started rolling back with a vengeance. I remembered what I loved, what I could recommend to her, and in a way, I felt like I was doing my duty to help the next generation realize what I have loved about Japan for a long time now. It was fun to fangirl, and mock and just have someone to talk to about it: from varying opinions on Tohru, to the sheer adorable of Sana, to even some of the flaws.
Confession Five: I'm a half-white, half-Mexican girl from Florida who hasn't traveled near as much as she'd have liked to by now in her life. But Japan had always been high up there on the list, on the want to try, want to do, want to write. It's influenced me and my writing and who I am so much that I won't be me as I know it without the help of a nation the size of California out in the other side of the world.
So basically, now I'm crying as I write this and I know Japan is a developed country and they'll recover and they'll be all right in the end, but it's my safe haven, my fantasy, the land where my figurative dreams went to live as a teenager. And it's broken and bruised and hurting and I see the pictures and watch the devastation and feel so empty inside because it's like a little piece of me is shattering alongside.
Confession Two: I've had a fondness for Japanese culture and Japan since I was eleven. I actually realized that the cartoons I was watching and the books I was reading and the songs I liked were part of Japanese anime when I was 15. When I was sixteen, seventeen, I'd drive the library every Saturday and check out all sorts of books. Among those were big dusty nonfiction tomes dedicated to Japanese culture and politics and history. If it was Japanese, I'd read it. Even if it was boring as hell.
Because to a lonely teenager who wanted to be a writer, who got lost in her imagination, Japan was the exotic far-off locale I dreamed of seeing. It represented the far away future, the hope that something would get better. To me, it was a way to rebel against my parents, to learn something new, to have an escape. Japan was mysterious, it was thrilling. It was all that I thought I'd never find in my life and then some. Without Japan, without anime, without Japanese culture, I would have been alone as a teenager. And if I'd been truly alone... I don't want to imagine what might have happened to me way back then.
Confession Three: I grew up, I went to college, I found some self-esteem, some friends, and a reason to get my head out of the clouds and the dreams of Japan and Asia. I dropped some of the fairytale fantasy for the practicalities behind Japanese culture (the sexism, race relations, stigma against mental health issues, and other social issues--it is not a perfect society by far), but the country has always held a soft spot in the far corner of my heart.
Confession Four: I had largely not thought much about Japan since I moved to Tallahassee. Teenage dreams were pushed aside in favor of a grownup one--to be a librarian, and a damn good one at that. Then my pal Caroline started reading Fruits Basket. And thing started rolling back with a vengeance. I remembered what I loved, what I could recommend to her, and in a way, I felt like I was doing my duty to help the next generation realize what I have loved about Japan for a long time now. It was fun to fangirl, and mock and just have someone to talk to about it: from varying opinions on Tohru, to the sheer adorable of Sana, to even some of the flaws.
Confession Five: I'm a half-white, half-Mexican girl from Florida who hasn't traveled near as much as she'd have liked to by now in her life. But Japan had always been high up there on the list, on the want to try, want to do, want to write. It's influenced me and my writing and who I am so much that I won't be me as I know it without the help of a nation the size of California out in the other side of the world.
So basically, now I'm crying as I write this and I know Japan is a developed country and they'll recover and they'll be all right in the end, but it's my safe haven, my fantasy, the land where my figurative dreams went to live as a teenager. And it's broken and bruised and hurting and I see the pictures and watch the devastation and feel so empty inside because it's like a little piece of me is shattering alongside.