お名前: Reflections on names

I have always been fascinated by names. What do they mean? How do parents choose? How does someone just look like a Tom?

As a writer, I spend a lot of time picking out names for my characters. It isn’t just what sounds good or has the right meaning. There are rules, you know. You don’t want your characters getting confused because their names are too similar or they have too many of them (cough, cough Dostoyevsky).

But what about how/when a name is used? Have you ever stopped to think about it?

Before I moved to Japan, I had spent a little time studying the nuances of names in American culture. I noticed that in certain situations, last names were used rather than first names and vice versa. For example, when I played volleyball in high school, my coach called me by my last name. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. However, over the years I started to notice that authority figures, like my coach or bosses, tended to use last names. Watch a cop show, any cop show, and you’ll see what I mean.

I think it’s a subconscious habit for the most part, but there might also be a logic behind how we use names. Those authority figures that use last names share certain aggressive and competitive characteristics. It has something to do with the power struggle between boss and employee or coach and player. But the use of first names, nicknames, and pet names can be just as telling. How we use names indicates our relationships with the people around us.

But in America, our system has broken down somewhat. Over the years our social etiquette has slowly fallen away so that we don’t understand the nuances of naming. Japan, on the other hand, has created a whole ceremony and suffix system around names. Just as you’d expect from some of the most polite people on the planet.

If you didn’t already know, in Japan, the last name or family name comes first, and the individual name comes second. This can be very confusing when a gaijin tries to give a self-introduction. Japanese people are aware that we give our first name then our family name, so if you switch it up and give your name Japanese style, things can get a little confusing.

As someone interested in names and how they are used, I found it fascinating that Japanese people always used my first name. They would usually attach –san or –sensei to it to make it polite but friends, acquaintances, and students would all call me by my first name. And it was the same for every other gaijin I met. This isn’t so weird for an American, and my first name is much easier to pronounce and remember in Japanese than my last, but it still goes against Japanese name etiquette. In Japan, individual names are reserved for close family and friends, everyone else should address you by your last name and an honorary suffix or sometimes job title.

American name customs used to be like this. It was polite to address someone as Mr., Mrs., or Miss and their last name until they told you, “Please, call me Tom.” Once you were on a first name basis, you had reached a more intimate level of acquaintance. But at some point, we stopped observing these social niceties and just started calling everyone by their first name like old pals. Well, not everyone. I still have teachers I can only address as Mrs. So and So. And there are others who just have an air about them that discourages any type of intimacy.

But Japan isn’t content to leave it as just first name or last. No, they have to add in an entire system of suffixes! –San is the most common and used as the default Mr., Mrs., or Miss, but there are a whole range of titles above and below that indicate the relationship between two people. And it can be very confusing.

I never mastered the Japanese naming customs. I tried to be polite and use the correct suffix or title when I knew it and, thankfully, everyone forgave me when I messed up. But being surrounded by such complex naming rituals made me think more about when and how we use names.

I can’t help but feel Japanese see the individual and their relationship to them more clearly since they have to choose the right suffix for each situation. That maybe that relationship is cherished more because it is acknowledged every time they say that person’s name.

I am glad American customs aren’t quite as rigid as Japanese ones, but it also makes me feel like maybe we lost something along the way.

ねぎ

The storm blew all the dust from the sky, leaving a perfect blue dome from horizon to horizon.  The morning is still cool, with a slight breeze, but it will be hot soon enough.  You turn from the main street.  The sound of the early morning commuters dies away quickly as the new direction leads your further and further from the thoroughfare.  Sandy fields stretch out on both sides of this narrow road.  The smell of damp earth and onions rises like heat from the ground to meet your approach.

Suddenly you are no longer standing on a road in rural Japan.  You are standing in Granny’s kitchen.  The smell is warm and inviting, just like the room.  The onion’s bite, the one that makes your eyes water if you get too close, has dissipated leaving that smell that always makes your mouth water and your heart feel at peace.  The smell of onions, carrots, potatoes, and meat combined in so many variations over the years. 

You can see her standing at the sink, her back to you as she washes dishes.  She hums the old Scottish tune that she has always hummed, the one she hums as she sews, as she cooks, and as she tucks you in at night. 

You take another deep breath, onions and damp earth.  Slowly you return to the quiet rural road between sandy fields.  The sun beams down from a clear sky, it’s warmth like a hand on your shoulders urging you to continue your journey.  You smile and start to hum that old Scottish tune.

赤ちゃん

I used to joke with Anata that if he wanted children that badly, he would have to help me steal a Japanese baby. I thought they were the cutest babies with their dark hair and big brown eyes. But more than that, they were much better behaved than American babies. I very rarely heard them cry or act out in public. I can’t remember one tantrum in my whole time there. My students were as genki as all children are, but they were respectful of adults and each other. Japanese children were just all around better behaved.

Now that Anata and I are expecting a child of our own, I have been thinking a lot about Japanese babies. There is a good chance my little one will have dark hair and dark eyes like my husband. But even if it has blue eyes and fair hair like me, I am more interested in how I can encourage my child not to throw fits in public, obsess over material things, and otherwise act like wild American children.

Before I go further, let me say that I don’t think American children are terrible. I honestly don’t have a lot of experience with them. However, I saw a big difference between Japanese and American kids. With such a difference in values and cultures, that isn’t a surprise. I liked what I saw in Japan better, that’s all. It felt more like what I wanted for my own children.

In Japan, I didn’t spend a whole lot of time with families. I was fortunate enough to be involved in my local community in Osaka and got to know some of the kids and families through events like Danjiri. I got to see them interact up close, but only a few times a year. But families are everywhere in Japan. No matter where I went, I was surrounded by children and parents.

I think that is what I noticed first - that outings were always done as a family. It was kind of refreshing. When I would visit the park or a monument on the weekends, I was sure to see dozens of couples with their young kids. I am assuming that, like here, as kids got older these family events became more special occasions than weekly adventures since I didn’t see a lot of older elementary kids out with their folks, but it seemed that, while the kids were young, spending time as a family was very important.

What kind of blew my mind was that the fathers seemed just as involved as the mothers. They would carry children (children in Japan are almost always carried or walk on their own, there weren’t a ton of strollers around), play with toddlers, and are otherwise completely present with their family at that moment. It seemed so different from the salaryman picture I had in my head of the workaholic Japanese dad.

I know Japan is a bit behind when it comes to gender equality. Most women feel pressured to quit their jobs when they start a family and won’t return to the workforce until their children are almost grown if at all. I can’t say I agree with this social construction, but I can say Japanese moms seem to be completely devoted to their child’s success and well-being. You just have to look at the crazy bento culture that has exploded all over the internet to see how much effort these women put into everything involving their children. It is an amazing expenditure of energy!

I am not going to be making cutesy cartoon bento for my child, but I appreciate the level of involvement Japanese parents appear to have in their child’s life. I think many of the things Japanese parents do creates a strong feeling of family unity that will help and support the child through growing up. It is a feeling that I hope I can foster in my own family.

But the behavior I admired in Japanese children came from more than just loving parents. It came from the values of Japanese society itself. Children didn’t have a ton of toys or gadgets. There’s simply not enough room in a tiny Japanese apartment or house. Many of the kids I saw made due with whatever they could find and a little imagination. Watching them play with sticks, stones, and other things scavenged from around the playground reminded me of my own upbringing. It is amazing what kids can come up with when they are left alone to imagine their own worlds and games. It is a valuable skill.

And as far as respect for elders and each other, that is the heart of Japanese culture. Thinking about others before you think about yourself is probably the most Japanese things I can think of. And it is astonishing how early children can do that. One of the greatest lessons I learned working with Japanese children is how much more young people are capable of.

When I think about the type of parent I want to be, the type of life I want to give my child, I find myself leaning more toward Japanese parenting styles. I am not saying the Japanese are perfect, no culture is, but I am drawn to certain aspects. Like how they encourage independence and accountability at a much younger age than Americans. How children are incorporated into every aspect of daily life rather than set aside in a crib or playpen while mommy and daddy do their adult stuff. Or how very young children are expected to understand how to act in a variety of social situations – they can run around like little oni all over the playground, but they must behave in stores and other grownup places.  

I know not all the things I like about Japanese culture and parenting will be easy to implement while living in the U.S. Independence is one of these. Japanese children run errands and travel to school all by themselves as early as first grade! In a country with almost no crime, that isn’t unthinkable. Here, however, it would never work. I also really appreciated Japanese minimalism, but since kids are pretty quick to pick up on the value of material things, that might not work out so well.

Anata and I still have a lot of decisions to make and parenting ideas to discuss before our little one comes. And I know there will be even more discussion once our bundle of joy arrives and everything we thought we were decided on gets thrown out the window. I do know that living in another country made it very clear to me that there is no one way to raise a child. Each culture has their own process, but there is no right answer. I need to find the process that works for my family and me.

The Next Hiroshima

I don’t usually do this, but let me get political for a moment. Nuclear war is no joke. I don’t think anyone is stupid enough to think it is. But the President of the United States is treating North Korea’s nuclear threat like silly juvenile boasts (or, you know, like his own bombastic, unrealistic rhetoric). His recent comments at the U.N. about totally annihilating North Korea could be applauded as America finally taking a tough stance on protecting ourselves and our allies. But I see them as an unnecessary escalation. Frankly, he’s playing with fire. While he may want to come off to the rest of the world as some kind of unpredictable leader, he is name calling and leveling threats at a leader we absolutely know for certain is unpredictable.

Many Americans are applauding his statement right now, but they haven’t actually lived in the shadow of North Korea or seen the devastation of an atomic detonation on their soil. My heart goes out to the citizens of Japan and our other Asian allies caught in the crosshairs.

When I lived in Osaka, my sharehouse was very close to Korea Town. Japan has a pretty terrible track record when it comes to integrating and accepting other Asian nationals into their country. I’m not going to go into detail, but I’m also not going to sweep it under the rug. Koreans and other Asians are not always treated well in Japan. Even if they have been there for generations. It is a thing. One I wish Japan would be a little quicker at recognizing and correcting, but what can you do. Anyway, I lived very close to Korea Town, so I got to see a little bit of the good and bad.

For the most part, my Japanese friends and neighbors had a great relationship with Korean friends and neighbors. They shared food, culture, and camaraderie. The families of most of the Koreans I met had been in Japan since WWII, so, aside from ancestry, they were pretty much Japanese. Kind of like Italian Americans or other ethnic groups that have been in this country long enough to blend their native culture with our own.

While things seemed great on the surface, though, I found out this acceptance also came with a lot of fear. Fear of North Korea. I even found out that the reason Otose bought the house I was living in was because she found out the previous owners were North Korean Spies! She never wanted people like that living near her again, so she bought up the whole corner of the block. Now whether the previous owners were actually spies or not, this type of fear was palpable all over Japan. So while my Japanese friends tolerated and in many cases genuinely cared about their Korean neighbors, it seemed there was always a seed of doubt waiting to sprout. Living in the shadow of North Korea had made Japan fearful and suspicious.

I didn’t understand any of this when I arrived. How could I? America hasn’t seen a war on home soil since the Civil War. We have been threatened and afraid, but even the Cold War was over before I was born. Terrorists managed to attack us at home on September 11^th, but even that couldn’t instill overwhelming fear of foreign attack in my generation. Until I moved to Japan, I never worried too much about international politics much less the very real possibility that the country I was calling home at the time would be attacked. After a few months in Japan, North Korea became very scary.

Now that I have returned to the U.S., my fear of North Korea hasn’t abated. I am not afraid that they will fire a missile at America. They don’t really need to. There are plenty of closer targets. Several missiles have already been fired over the island of Hokkaido. My friends in Osaka and Wakayama are far from there, but fear spreads quickly. I have seen videos and heard stories of preparedness drills that look so much like something out of the Cold War era it is heartbreaking. I am afraid for my friends. I am afraid for all of our allies in the region. I am afraid for our world.

WWII was a brutal time for everyone. There were atrocities committed on all sides. Perhaps the worst, though, were the nuclear bombs dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. The aftermath of these explosions were enough to make the world say, “yep, we crossed a line.” Like many, I thought, surely, once would be enough.

I think back to my brief visit to Hiroshima. The area around the Peace Park was eerily quiet, even for Japan. It’s like even the birds knew the sadness that burned out building represented and refrained from singing. There was a group near the monument talking to guests and handing out information about the survivors, trying to educate visitors. Trying to keep history from repeating itself. I didn’t understand their fervor at the time. I listened to their stories. I cried. I soaked up the history and sadness of the place. But I didn’t understand their urgency.

I never thought nuclear missiles would be a legitimate threat to my friends and family. I never thought WWIII would be a valid fear in my lifetime. But it seems they knew it would.

山

The mountains rise, dark green against an ash grey sky.  Severing the horizon like the well-worn teeth of an ancient beast.  Wisps of clouds curl along the peaks, flowing down the valleys into the village below like ghostly rivers.  They rise like smoke from the clearings, usually invisible on the heavily forested slopes.  Cold fires tended by unseen forces.

Japanese Ghost Stories

I have always loved ghost stories. The mysterious. The unexplained. The macabre. I have always been drawn to it.

I went through a slasher phase in high school, but I never found the same haunting fascination with gore. To be honest, I find slasher movies dull. They rely on gimmicks, not real fear.

A classic like Psycho, though… It gets under your skin. It doesn’t rely on buckets of fake blood or cutting edge CGI. No, it terrifies you through suggestion. That creepy feeling that makes the skin on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver involuntarily. Even years later, sitting in my sunny living room, it gets me.

My whole life I have been chasing ghosts. Not literally. Though I do believe they exist and I never pass up an opportunity for a Ghost Tour. But ghosts, hauntings, monsters, the supernatural and macabre – I hunt down all the stories. Because I think the things that frighten us are also a mirror into our cultural psyche. We tell children scary stories to keep them safe. But these stories also reveal our values, fears, and deepest desires.

Which is why I found Japanese ghost stories so very interesting. I do not claim to be an expert on yokai, the Japanese term that encompasses ghosts, bogey men, and most things that go bump in the night. There are just some observations I made as I wandered through Japanese folklore and scary stories.

Every culture has its ghouls and goblins. Japan is no different. Their literature, art, and culture are filled with all kinds of supernatural beings. Maybe more than most, honestly. The blending of Shinto (a nature based religion) and Buddhism (a religion with a crowded pantheon) gave rise to a lot of baddies. Quite a few on the harmless/helpful spectrum, too. All of these are classified as yokai. There is no way I could list all the gods, demons, devils, spirits, or other beings that populate the fertile Japanese imagination. There are plenty of books if you are interested, though.

Image from Night Parade of a Hundred Demon

Like the West, Japan has a long, rich history of frightening tales. They even had their own version of one of my favorite 90’s shows, Are You Afraid of the Dark. During the Edo period, Japanese people would participate in a game called 百物語怪談会 (Hyakumonogatari Kaidan-kai). Basically, everyone would gather in a room with a hundred lit candles. They would then take turns telling scary stories and putting out the candles one by one. In the end, they were left frightened in the dark. But many yokai, like the Tengu, Kappa, Funa-yurei, and Tanuki, have resumes that go back even further than the Edo period. They have been tempting, taunting, and haunting Japanese people since the mythological birth of the nation.

A Tengu

So what, you say. Western culture also has a long cast of scary characters. I know. I grew up with stories of boggarts, kelpies, and will o’ the wisps from my Scottish granny. Living in the American South West, I was also surrounded by Mexican and Native American specters like La Llorona and the Wendigo.

However, the part that struck me was the fact that our cast of characters hasn’t really changed in hundreds of years. Vampires, werewolves, and ghosts are still our go to bad guys. Not so in Japan. I found it intriguing that while the fairy stories of my childhood were quite old, Japanese culture continues to create new monsters.

The story of Kuchisake Onna, or Slit Mouth Woman, arose with the recent popularity of surgical masks. Then there is Toire no Hanako, who is kind of like the Japanese version of Moaning Myrtle that haunts elementary school bathrooms. These yokai, and many others, have only recently been added to the Japanese bogeyman role.

While western culture seems content to recycle our ghosts and monsters, Japan is still creating new ones to explain the unexplainable in an ever changing world.

But the inclusion of these new yokai in the Japanese psyche also brings up another interesting aspect of Japanese ghost stories. For the most part, it seems that Japanese yokai are pretty harmless. Except for the later stories like Kuchisake Onna, most monsters or ghosts just cause mild discomfort or inconvenience before moving on. Monsters are easily defeated with simple logic, a magic talisman, or simply walking away. Unlike American hauntings, most Japanese ghosts can be dispatched with a simple prayer. They only want to be remembered, honored, or recognized. There is no mystery to solve. No secrets to dig up. Just burn some incense, pray, and poof.

And honestly, the majority of stories I read or heard ended just like that. Poof. No reason. No questions. Dark things would happen, then stop happening, and the Japanese character just went with it.

As a Western reader, it was really frustrating! But these differences were also reflective of Japanese culture.

With such a long history, you would expect them to have a whole host of things that go bump in the night. But the fact that they are still creating yokai to help educate their children about the dangers of the modern world speaks to their practicality. At the same time, it also shows how, as a culture, they are still very in touch with the mystical and spiritual roots of their country. I have talked before about the magical, eerie quality of Japan. The continuation of these stories tells me that Japanese people feel the same way.

What other culture could come up with an umbrella monster?

Granted, the newer yokai are a bit more violent than their senpai, but I would say the world of today is a little more violent and scary than the world of the Edo era (in some ways). And for the most part, even today’s yokai aren’t necessarily out to harm. They are just looking for recognition and respect. Both values at the heart of Japanese culture.

Despite my frustrations with Japanese story telling techniques, I found the world of Japanese ghost stories to be a fascinating glimpse into the Japanese psyche. It even inspired me to try writing my own百物語怪談会 (some of which you can find here on my blog).

A Japanese Ghost Story

Author's Note: I have always been fascinated by ghost stories. Always. While I was in Japan, I took some time to explore their supernatural beliefs and stories. Their yokai (ghosts) and oni(demons) were very different from what I was used to. But that's a something for another post. I am not an expert on Japanese ghosts or story telling techniques, but I felt inspired by what I read and experienced. So, I made my own imitation. This is an original ghost story written in what I am hoping is a Japanese ghost story style. I hope it will one day be part of my own 百物語怪談会.

Sixth grade was coming to a close. We had taken the tests, finished up most of our studies, and were set for our next great adventure. It was the first time our small class would be separated.

While there were many school events and celebrations to mark this momentous occasion in our lives, there was one we had devised for ourselves and were most anticipating. We had decided that each member of the class must perform a test of courage before graduation day. Keiko was in charge of selecting the test for each girl. Simple tasks, no doubt, but that’s girls for you. It was my job to come up with the tests for the boys.

I spent weeks agonizing over the perfect test for each boy. I researched their fears, their families, what kinds of things they had access to. Ryo’s older brother was terrifying – a Yankee with a motorcycle and a lot of porn hidden somewhere. Daiki had an absolutely gorgeous older sister. Tomo’s family ran a sushi restaurant that specialized in fugu. Stuff like that.

Now, there happened to be a kid in my class named Sano. He joined our class in fourth grade when his family moved from Hiroshima. Nobody liked Sano. He wore thick glasses. He was quiet. He wasn’t good at soccer, or drawing, or really anything. For two years he just sat in the back of the classroom.

I did know one thing about him, though. Sano was terrified of an old, abandoned building that he passed every day on his way to school. To be honest, I wasn’t too comfortable with the building myself. But I didn’t sprint past it every day like Sano. It stood alone in the middle of an overgrown lot. Ivy crept up and over both stories, covering all the doors and windows. In summer, it looked like a green bush in the shape of a house. In fall, the leaves turned bright red and it looked more like a demon’s house. It was probably a shop of some kind once, but no one had been there for many, many years it seemed.

This was Sano’s test. He had to break into the building, go up to the second floor, and shine his flashlight five times out the north facing window. Several of us would be waiting below to make sure he did it.

For the life of me, I will never know why Sano agreed to the challenge. His family was moving back to Hiroshima at the start of break. It wasn’t like he would see any of us again. Though we may have felt he had something to prove to us, he really didn’t. Still, he quietly accepted when I announced his test of courage during the break between math and history.

I couldn’t believe it. Even Ryo had fought me when I told him his test was to steal one of his brother’s dirty magazines and bring it to graduation. This was way more dangerous. I felt cheated. “Fine,” I said, “you will do it the night before graduation. At midnight!”

There was murmuring from Tomo, Daiki, and Haruki. These three had been appointed watchers since we all lived in the same cul-de-sac and it would be easy to sneak out of the house.

But still nothing from Sano. Just a silent nod. The bell rang, and Fujiwara Sensi strolled in before more could be said. Throughout history, I glanced back, but Sano was as blank as ever.

Over the next week, we tormented Sano with stories about what had happened in the abandoned house. The previous owner was murdered one night. It was haunted by ghosts from the nearby Buddhist temple. A hundred years ago an oni had been captured and entombed in the ground beneath the house, but the sealing talisman had been destroyed. Each story was more elaborate and terrifying than the last. Tomo and Haruki backed out midweek, but Sano said nothing.

Finally, the fated night arrived. I med Daiki in the alley behind our houses, and we hurried to the abandoned house. I was glad Daiki was there. I had never been out so late. The streets seemed different. I will admit, I was a little scared.

Sano was already there waiting for us. He stood in the street lights watching the house.

“We will wait right here,” I said. “Flash the light five times, or it doesn’t count.”

Sano nodded. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the light toward the house. Soon, he was lost in the darkness and the overgrowth.

Daiki and I waited nervously.

“We should have gone to the door with him. How do we know he didn’t just scram and leave us standing here like a couple of idiots,” Daiki said. “My dad will kill me if we’re caught.”

“Mine too.”

“What did you have to make it so late?”

“Shh,” I hissed, “I think I heard something.”

We heard the screech and rattle of a sliding door. Light peeked through the dense ivy leaves on the ground floor.

“He must be inside,” I whispered.

A car started somewhere near us. We slunk to the edge of the streetlight, hiding ourselves in the shadows. The night was quiet again.

Slivers of light continued to dart through the green leaves as Sano progressed through the house.

“He’s almost there. We can go soon,” I whispered.

“Good. This place is creepy,” Daiki whispered back.

“That’s only stories we made up to scare him,” I said, trying to push my own fear back down. Honestly, I was ready to run at the next sound.

A burst of light shone from the north window right at us.

“He made it,” Daiki sighed.

A second, a third, a fourth flash.

We waited, without breathing, for the fifth. It didn’t come. Instead, we heard a muffled scream and a thud.

I took off toward home, Daiki close on my heels. We didn’t stop till we were behind our own houses.

“What do we do,” Daiki demanded in rasping pants. “We have to tell someone.”

“No,” I replied, “then we will get in trouble for breaking curfew. He was probably just trying to scare us.”

“It worked.”

“Not a word. We’ll tell everyone Sano chickened out. Even if he contradicts us at graduation tomorrow, who will believe him? We tell no one. Swear it.”

Daiki took my pinky with him. We swore each other to secrecy.

Sano didn’t show up for graduation the next day. I walked by his house that afternoon, but his family was busy with the movers. I watched for half an hour, but I never saw Sano, and I couldn’t get up the nerve to ask about him.

Early the next morning, I saw his family drive away, but the car was too stuffed with belongings to see Sano.

A few weeks later, Daiki and I were coming home late from a pickup soccer game. It was dark already. As we hurried past the abandoned house, a light flashed in the upstairs window.

We stopped dead in our tracks.

Two, three, four, five.

We never walked by that house again.