Apparently, most people in my home state of Kentucky would be having a nervous breakdown if they were in my position. Whenever I mention I'm studying abroad in Tokyo for a year, I'm usually met with, "Oh, I would be so nervous if I were you!" or, "Aren't you scared? I know I would be!"
I have a need to convince everyone I meet that I am a man unmatched in courage and unfazed by dire circumstances (except finding large spiders in unexpected places - to that, I freely admit my childish, hysterical fear). Therefore, my only possible response in those situations is a shrug and, "Nah, it's cool, I'm not worried." And that's mostly true. I am incredibly excited to be living in one of the largest and most exciting cities in the world. I hope to become fluent in Japanese, a language I love to learn, and gain firsthand knowledge of a culture in a region of the world I want to make some sort of career out of.
This excitement has blocked out any apprehension I might have felt. But the closer I get to packing my bags (using my traditional "dump-everything-I-own-regardless-of-potential-usefulness-into-obscenely-large-suitcases" method), I've realized there are a few things that might potentially jangle my nerves upon arrival.
First off, there's the food. For the past two years, I've had the pleasure of dining in TDR multiple times a day, thanks to my "200" meal plan. While many disparage the food quality, I always enjoyed it mainly because it meant I did not have to cook or otherwise prepare my own food. Unfortunately, there is no meal plan at my home institution of Waseda University, which means I'll have to eat out all the time or be economical and cook for myself. This leads to my greatest fear, the one thing that may completely ruin my time in Japan: no peanut butter. I'm sure I'll be able to find it, but will it be at some remote store miles away from my dorm? Will I be able to find Jif, the only choice for the discerning peanut butter consumer? I love peanut butter so much.
Then, the Tokyo subway. This behemoth of a mass transit system is to the D.C. Metro as those crazy huge termite mounds in Africa are to the little anthills pathetic ants build on U.S. sidewalks. Seriously, this thing has 13 lines. The first time I looked at the map, I thought I was looking at a poorly drawn picture of a colorful spaghetti dish.
One of the central hubs is Shinjuku Station, which just happens to be within walking distance of Waseda. Shinjuku is the busiest train station in the world; if you ever see a picture of glove-wearing station attendants shoving people onto a train so crowded that not even a freakishly overdeveloped newborn baby could find standing room on it, chances are the picture was taken at Shinjuku. I'm sure I'll eventually be able to navigate the subway system with proficiency, but until then, I feel I might get very frustrated at times.
And of course, there's the language. My aforementioned love of Japanese has not necessarily translated into effort to learn it over the last two years. My vocabulary is not nearly as large as it should be, and my speaking ability is less developed than my reading and writing skills. But my primary point of concern is the kanji.
About 1,500 years ago, the Japanese stole symbols used in the Chinese system of writing and adapted them for use in the Japanese written language. These imported Chinese symbols are known as "kanji" - there are over 5,000 of them. About 2,000 kanji are considered to be "daily use" characters required for basic literacy, but the well-read are expected to know at least twice that many.
I have ostensibly learned 300 kanji over the last two years, which would put me at about a third-grade level. But, in reality, I spent too much time playing Guitar Hero or studying for other classes and not enough time truly memorizing kanji. Sorry, Aoshima-sensei.
Well, it's cool. I'm not too worried about it.
