Communication

By far the hardest part of being here, in Japan, is communication. Perhaps I never realized how important it was, or how nuanced. There are so many aspects to it that we take for granted in our everyday lives. In my anthropology classes, the concept of the "wink" was often brought up as a classic example of layered communication and understanding. How did we come to learn and understand what it means when someone winks at you? How do we know when it's acceptable? When it's cute? When it's scary? Who can wink and why? What phrases could stand in for a wink?

And so it is here. I can't understand the subtle undertones of a person's gestures, what it means when someone doesn't meet your eye, or how to read a person's response to my flailing and sometimes failing attempts to communicate. Smiles are always encouraging, of course, but we all know that smiles can mean a lot of different things. Was that a "smile and nod", a "oh, this person is funny!" or a "please leave me alone" smile? Even more confounding: do Japanese people even have these particular aspects of smiling? What other uses/types of smiles do they have that I may never understand or see? It's a bit like learning vocabulary. Your ears are deaf to a word until you see it in a textbook, or actively learn the word; then suddenly it's everywhere, you just couldn't hear it before. That's what I think these smiles and winks are like. They're saying a lot, but I'm deaf to their meaning.

When I get truly upset by the fact that I'm here in Japan, and it does occasionally get to me, I invariably break down because of my frustrations with communication. Miscommunication with teachers happens, but not too often, and I can think of more times when the teachers have saved me than when they have thwarted my "brilliant" plans. At work, I find myself wishing I could make some small conversation, but feeling helpless, because it would be a taxing exercise for both myself and my listener. Would it seem rude to inflict such a demanding form of communication on my coworkers? Often, I tell myself, "when I can speak Japanese, I'll be able to make lots of friends, and things will be much easier," when I know deep down that this is not the case. If you're not willing to take a chance or make a fool out of yourself now while you can blame the language barrier, you're not so likely to do it later.

In kendo now, it really gets to me sometimes. Keep in mind that learning a martial art, or any sport, and meeting the standards of your coach or teacher is difficult enough. Now imagine that you don't have the luxury of speaking the same language. At first, I was doing really well - I'm generally pretty good at following gestures and mimicking physical movements. After all, I did do some small bit of choreography in college. So those first steps were relatively easy, and I seemed to be learning quickly. But now we've reached the stage where I have some level of competence, and my mistakes are more subtle or perhaps repetitive because I find a certain handhold or movement awkward. The teachers tell me and show me what to do, but sometimes I just don't understand what it is I'm doing wrong and so I'm not sure how to fix it. And the teachers often suspect that I don't understand what they're saying, so they say the same thing very simply 5 or 6 times. Thank you, but I'm not dumb. I just speak a different language. It doesn't help that I keep mental notes of good and bad (I should say preferred and non-preferred) teaching styles, and project these attitudes onto my practice. So for a teacher I like learning from, I seem to level-up a good deal. For those who seem to baby me too much I tone it down and don't improve quite as much. And this whole time, whether it's a comment, question, or a "thanks, your technique for ~ was really helpful to me!", I can't say it.

And this drives me crazy. It's upsetting to the point of frustrated tears on a bad day. Just that feeling of wanting to be able to say something and having no one to say it to, even in a room full of people. It literally feels like you're screaming in a crowd and no one can hear you. What makes it simultaneously worse and better is that those people want to hear you, they want to understand you and they want to help. But they're helpless, too. So I get frustrated, and I end up needing some time alone, or a few hugs if I'm lucky enough to be near a source. By the next day, I'm back on my own two feet, ready to start tackling little problems and avoiding the ones that are still scary. Again.

It's at times like these that I feel that language is so important. "If I only knew more Japanese, I could..." But I know it's not true. What is true is that approximately 90% of communication is nonverbal. If I really wanted to convey, "Please stop treating me like a baby", I would stop the speaker and repeat their words/gestures exactly in a very commanding and/or frustrated tone, saying "wakarimashita" (I got it, with a hint of let's move on if you say it right). If I wanted to show I liked a certain lesson, I could say "Wow", give a thumbs up and immediately continue practicing that move. And if I want people to know I'm upset, tears do the trick much faster than any explanation.

So yea, I use my language barrier as an excuse, a crutch for my not being more proactive or outgoing. I convince myself that learning as much Japanese as I can is going to help me get along out here. But I know that 90% of that is actually attitude. It's how I carry myself and what I do and how often I smile and what kind of smile it is. I have a lot more communication tools that it seems at first, I just have to remember, and have the guts, to use them.

But there's something else making communication difficult for me, and it's what I mentioned at the start of this entry. Culture. It makes such subtle changes in all layers of communication. Communicating across cultures is kinda like using left handed scissors in your right hand. When you're in Japan, it's like you're left-handed and for some reason you have to use your right hand to cut with left-handed scissors but you don't understand why. So suddenly all the tools you've been using your whole life to navigate the social world are ever-so-slightly different, and everyone around you seems to be doing just fine with these tools. They don't even need an instruction manual - they can make birdhouses and fix plumbing without even thinking. You used to be like that. You used to be something of a wordsmith. You still see language as beautiful and expressive, but in this place people don't see you as a master of words. They see you as a kid playing with a hammer and nails (or some other, safer analogy). "Oh, wow, how'd you get to be so good at using a hammer? Hey! You actually got that nail in this time!"

And there we have it - the root of what really gets me. Yes, I'm learning a new language, and of course my skills won't be very advanced for a long time. I can say lots of things - what I've done or haven't done, can or can't do, months and colors and dates and times and even some simple comparisons and sequential events. But it feels like I can't say anything meaningful. I'm not about to have a heart-to-heart with anyone in Japanese, and this feels like a real barrier to building personal relationships. So you see: language is important, even if it's not our primary or most efficient way of communicating. It's comforting, and having a grasp of language and the ability to use it is, quite frankly, liberating. That's why I like this blog. This is where I put into words all these feelings that before were only shudders, smiles, raised eyebrows, screams, tears, guffaws, gawks and pointed fingers. These entries are my charades put into words. It's like creating the script to a play. I think that's what makes acting so beautiful, this incredible connection between language and gesture. Ultimately, it's what makes communication so beautiful. And so utterly perplexing.