Urashima Taro
The work this week was intense. A government regulator was inspecting a client’s site. Having gotten a deep understanding of the client’s operations over the last while, I interpreted and facilitated the inspection so the client could accurately respond to questions.
Now I brag: I am the Michael Jordan of this minuscule sliver-of-a-niche job. No one can do this the way I do it or as well as I do it. It isn’t interpreting, in the sense of translating “ABCDEFG” into “ABCDEFG” in the target language. Instead, I translate “show me [legalese, awkwardly phrased, couched in idiom, rife with assumptions]” into “show me [the briefest statement possible of the real thing the asker wants to know as soon as possible, rendered in the industry terminology and cultural context the client understands]”. Then I reply to the regulator, “here is [legalese, awkwardly phrased, couched in idiom, rife with assumptions].” All are edified.
I love doing it. It brings immense value to the client because being cited based on a misunderstanding costs them tens-to-hundreds of thousands of dollars in employee hours and money to resolve. It makes the inspection go much better for the regulator: They have limited time to get enough information to assure their country’s government that the product is safe and effective for patients, but they have to speak through interpreters of variable skill and fight jet lag and be alone in a strange land while doing it. They routinely single me out at the end for special gratitude. (I faithfully interpret this praise of myself to the client, but exaggerate with even more effusive terms, as a joke, to cope with not being good at responding to much-craved praise.)
For both parties, I “speak their language,” culturally, technically, legally, and of course linguistically. These parties do not typically have smooth communications. The stakes are high for both. Friction, fatigue, chaos ensue.
When I do my job, the interaction goes much more smoothly. I am proud of this, as you can tell.
After first doing the job in 2008, I finally (I am slow to know myself) arrived in recent years at an important realization: Absorbing and eliminating the friction of these interactions drains my emotional energy bone dry. I know the day is almost over when I start to get irrationally annoyed with the participants. This is my brain saying “we’re through, here.” I can extend the brain’s willingness another hour or so by verbally stating to the participants that I am tiring. People are nice.
All this to say that when I sat down to eat a lunch set of spicy tonkotsu “Taiwan ramen” and fried rice at an eatery near the job site, I was hoping turn off my brain and replenish the emotional tank for another long afternoon. When the shop person directed me to sit at the counter next to a man who was already grinning vociferously my way, I steeled myself for major annoyance. Sure enough, the skinny, middle-aged, bespectacled man kept looking at me. I watched him in my peripheral vision as I focused on the NHK news as if it were the Holy Scriptures.
“Excuse me, can I speak to you in English?”
A decent percentage of the time, I don’t respond warmly in these moments. I portray myself positively in places like this blog, but I can be a jerk. I’m not proud of it.
“Here we go, another dude trying to practice his English at the cost of my well being,” said my brain and probably also face, though I forced a smile as I said, “どうしました?”, which I would render in this context “What’s going on, now?” I do not consider this reply rude, per se, but it is not warm. It means “We are not in a situation that in the present cultural context would merit conversation. Please state your business.”
He then did the common praising of Japanese language skill, which I parried with my boilerplate not acknowledging the praise in any way. (We were using Japanese now.) Instead I forced more smile and said “I am a regular person, and kind of just want to eat my lunch.” He then said, “Sorry, it’s just that I am back for the first time after 20 years outside Japan. Everything has changed. I’m Urashima Taro.”
That hit me pretty hard.
Read the link above, or just know that Urashima Taro is the protagonist of a Japanese tale: He spends a few days Under The Sea™︎, only to return to his village and find that hundreds of years have elapsed. The world has literally passed him by.
My guy was in fact a no-longer-from-around-here pobrecito, just trying to interact with other humans. And here I was, being a butthole. Sure, I deserved and needed a mental break. And yet we live in a society.
We had a fast but great chat while I wolfed the delicious lunch. I even forgot to photograph it. Damn you, real human interaction.
He left Japan in 2005. He was in San Francisco for six years, then in London to present day. I basically took his place in Japan, I thought vaguely to myself. One of his parents had passed away and he was back for a bit. We didn’t get into many personal details. I still do not know his name.
We exchanged perspectives regarding how Japan and the US and rest of the world have changed, in our respective humble opinions. This was genuinely interesting. I apprised him of the fact that many more people not born in Japan now live here compared to 2005, and it is quite pedestrian for them to speak Japanese.
He told me how things feel where he lives. He also told me that Japan feels much older. That made sense.
I pontificated on the usual topics I pontificate on here: How I think the greatness of Japan is the sum of the many community contributions people make, and little things like believing the rules apply to you. He had not thought those thoughts. I had not thought some of his thoughts.
I finished the meal and quickly paid. Before hurrying out the door, I walked back over to where he was still eating and shook his hand, in the way of his people. We thanked each other for the nice chat.
Returning to the job site, I noticed that my emotional tank was full.