Finding a universal humanity

I came to Japan in search of understanding difference.  Asian culture seemed like something so unlike the culture I was raised in.  Philosophy, medicine, art, beauty, community – to a westerner, the Japanese mindset in all areas seemed excitingly strange.  However, as days turned to weeks and weeks to months, I started to realize something; despite very different cultures, Japanese people are just like us.

It started with a stroll through Osaka-jo koen one of my first weekends in Japan.  The day was sunny and hot, like a perfect summer day pretty much anywhere.  The park was crowded with families and groups.  People were picnicking, biking, running, and playing.  A father was teaching his little girl to ride a bike, while his wife looked on from a blanket in the shade with a younger child in her lap.  The man held tight to the back of the bike seat, jogging along as the little girl pedaled.  They moved a little faster.  Then faster.  His hand left the seat, but he continued to run behind her.  She didn’t realize he let go till she wobbled a little bit.  Then he had hold of her again before she crashed.  I smiled, trying to remember my own first ride sans training wheels.  Had Otosan had the same grin on his face?  The same flash of panic as he let go the first time?  Had Okasan watched from the porch of our house?

I continued toward the castle.  I passed groups of picnickers, laughing and sharing stories over food and drink.  It was odd to see small camp grills in a public park.  Even odder to see men and women drinking beer in what is essentially a city park (as opposed to campground or lake/river space where such behavior is acceptable).  But despite these slight differences, the feeling of fun and camaraderie was the same as countless BBQs, lake days, and Fourth of July picnics.  Some groups even called to me as I passed; asking where I was from and wishing me a good visit in their wonderful town.

All around me children ran, laughed, and shreiked with delight.  Much of this joyful cacophony was focused around the large fountain at the park entrance.  Children in various states of undress splashed thorugh the clear, cool water.  Parents watched with a mixture of pride and envy.  Part of me was shocked by this.  Some children were quite naked.  But I quickly realized this fear was unnecessary in Japan.  After all, I ran naked though sprinklers in my own front yard when I was much older than some of these kodomotachi.  America was different then.  It seems Japan still is.  While I did not dally, I was still a little uncomfortable, I walked on remember times Imoto and I had rolled up our pants and waded into fountains for a cooling respite from the summer heat.  Even in places as classy as the Louvre, this is a common occurance in the heat of summer.

What started as an excursion to a unique Japanese landmark ended up highlighting how similar people can be.  It was a humanity lesson I greatly appreciated.  It also made me what to find more of the similarities between me and the people of my new home.  After all, it was universal humanity I came to find.

But what is universal humanity?  To me, it is the core emotions that all humans share – love, hate, envy, joy, happiness, sadness…  We are all built the same – same parts, same wiring.  The differences in appearance are superficial, figuratively only skin deep.  Our cultures shape our emotions, but our hearts are universal.  As I spent more time with Japanese friends, I was realizing just how universal.

Several months into being here, I was invited to be part of my local Danjiri celebration.  This was a huge honor and a lot of fun.  We spent all day pulling and pushing a large wooden shrine through the neighborhood, making a huge racket and having a blast.  That night, when we finally returned to the temple, there was a feast for everyone involved.  Sushi and fried food platters were shared.  There was beer, of course, and sake provided by the temple (Japanese gods love sake just as much as I do).  We ate and drank late into the night.  Despite the language barrier, I was welcomed and engaged in this very special experience.  Jokes were told and stories exchanged.  There was arm wrestling and children’s games.  There were even tests of courage when the young men dared each other to eat quantities of wasabi and spicy mustard.  As I looked around the room, I realize that this was just like the many family parties my own kazoku had hosted.  Children darted among the seated adults, communal charges for the evening.  The older men gathered near the head of the tables with glasses of stronger alcohol, swapping stories and shaking the shoji with their deep, rich laughter.  The younger people also banded together.  It was this group that told the loudest jokes and caused the most mayhem (clearing space for wrestling or rolling on the floor laughing as someone chokes and gags on wasabi).  And the women were everywhere – talking, filling glasses, offering handkerchiefs for watering eyes.  For a moment I saw Christmas at Grandma’s, Fourth of July in Elgin, and summer evenings at the ranch.  For a moment I was no longer in Japan, but rather somewhere timeless and placeless – an ethereal moment of every party, celebration, and banquet throughout time.  A universal humanity. 

My understanding and appreciation for this undercurrent of sameness has grown over the months.  Instead of focusing on the differences, as I did when I first arrived, I now revel in the similarities I find in each interaction.  For Hanami, I noticed the bentos instead of picnic baskets and the neat rows of shoes at the corner of each tarp, but I was more enthralled with the laughter and sense of friendship.  At matsuri I am blown away by the costumes and pageantry, but my eyes seek out the smiles of the performers and the wonder in the expressions of the children.  As the fireworks boom and blossom overhead, I marvel at the shapes and colors I have never seen in America, but I can’t help but smile as my Japanese friends react with the same ooohs and ahhs as the ones tumbling from my own lips.  No matter how different our outside appearance or our culture, our hearts beat the same.  Hearts are universal.