Nothing is ever easy in Japan

Bureaucracy is never easy.  Sometime it seems that governments and financial institutions make a conscious effort to make paperwork as confusing and difficult as possible.  I realize it is important to have the personal details right so you can be sure you are taxing, arresting, or otherwise inconveniencing the right John Smith, but sometimes I feel a trial by combat would be easier than jumping through the hoops of bureaucracy.  This is why Anata usually handles the taxes and other legal issues.  I ain’t got time for that.  Or the patience.

But compared to Japan, American bureaucracy is a cake walk.  While the average Japanese person detests and is confused by paperwork just as much as Americans, the Japanese government seems to have a huge hard on for killing trees and making people wait in lines.  The process moves with the usual Japanese efficiency, but it is still a traumatic ordeal.  And if you are a foreigner, this is even worse.

To start with, I have at least four different names in Japan.  This is confusing for everyone.  Because US passports include middle names, the name on most of my official documents is not the name I use.  Then you have the name order confusion.  In Japan last names come first.  But I address myself (and write my name) with my first name (no middle name) then last name.  To make it easy for Japanese speakers to understand, these should be written in katakana, the Japanese alphabet for foreign words.  So not only do I not know what my name is, I can’t spell it either.  Because of this a simple task at the bank or post office becomes an hours long process.  Usually it ends with me throwing all my documents - passport, residence card, bank card, hanko, and bank book - at the frightened clerk and begging for help in broken Japanese.  Needless to say, everyone has a terrible time that day.

The language barrier (especially written) causes more headaches when official requests come in the mail.  At least face to face I can usually pantomime and Google translate my way through bureaucratic red tape.  It takes forever, but it is doable.  With mail, however, I am up the proverbial creek.  I am lucky to have made some amazing friends in this country.  Some are Japanese and some can speak and read Japanese.  They are always willing to help, thank the old gods and the new, but there is always a moment of terror as they try and explain or understand.  These are usually very personal documents, too, so that doesn’t help – especially with my Japanese friends who are much more concerned with privacy.

I guess I am just frustrated because I thought I had it all sorted out.  Or at least a basic idea of how it worked.  But moving threw the mother of all monkey wrenches into the works and I am still dealing with the fall out almost two months later.  It is frustrating and humiliating in a way.  At thirty, almost thirty-one, I should be able to adult at a respectable level.  But yet I am struggling like a college freshman.  And sadly there are no parents here to help.  No husband to rely on for the more confusing bits (read numbers).  For the first time in almost a year of living here, I feel scared and alone.  Like the day I stepped off the plane.  I don’t like it.