A Jihad in Japan
...written on 9.21.01, @ 11:57 a.m.
Tales of Kim's Life in Japan
Sat September 29, 2001
I have always felt safe in Japan. That is, until last night.
Toyo, John and I left the office at around midnight and headed to Shirokiya, one of our favorite food & drink places. I left on my bicycle and got there before the guys did.
It was Friday night and though it wasn't a standing room only crowd, I had to slice my way through a thick noxious cloud of smoke. I took only slight notice of the two men sitting across from me as I slid into the green velour booth and started peering at the menus. I told the waitress that I would wait for the rest of my party to order.
In the few minutes that I had to wait for Toyo and John to arrive, it became apparent that the men in the booth across from me were staring. I tried to put it off on my new sexy do, assuming the best you see, but my quick furtive glances their way to confirm the fact that they were indeed staring led me to believe that their eyes were not, squinting in admiration, but were rather unsettling loathful stares.
It was with much relief that I greeted Toyo and John as they sat down at the table and within a short time we ordered and chatted until our food arrived. I said nothing to them about the men at the neighboring table. I was hoping that with the arrival of my back-up troops that the rude staring would stop, but it only seemed to intensify. In fact, the display moved beyond mere staring to intentionally blowing smoke in our direction, and exhibiting crude and sickening behavior at the table. I started to feel a sour lead feeling in my stomach even though I tried to convince myself that I was imagining things.
The men didn't appear to be Japanese. One of them looked like he could have been from the Middle East. The other one, I couldn't place, but he didn't look Japanese and that didn't seem to be the language they were speaking.
I had a mixture of emotions in me at this point. I felt scared and intimidated and I didn't like it. Nor did I like the fact that my stomach jumped when I first thought the one man could be from the Middle East. Then, I did something either very brave or very stupid. I stared back.
John was blocking my vision of the man from the Middle East, but I caught the eye of the other one and he looked away and looked back again to see that I was still staring. He looked away again and I laughed to myself, "See how it feels, Fucker?" He looked at me again, I was still staring. He broke eye contact again and then I quit playing his stupid immature game. I am boiling and uneasy as I remember this.
My eyes are tearing because now I don't feel safe.
Because now I have doubts. Because now I am judging people by their appearance and I feel walls going up inside me. I have always enjoyed traveling and getting to know the people of the countries I visit. I've enjoyed feeling open minded and adjusting to and sharing the wonders of different cultures.
I feel anger towards these men.
It was quite a different story a few years back. My dad had gone to Sarajevo on a business trip. He and a coworker went out for a drink one night and 15 local men beat them both to unrecognizable bloody pulps. My Dad and his friend were both med-evaced to the States and faced long painful recoveries.
I remember sitting at my computer typing an email to my friends about this incident. As I typed the details, a feeling began to rise slowly from my feet, up to my knees, abdomen, chest, and heart. It felt like every cell in my body was quivering. I started to breathe heavily from the buildup of all this energy and when I felt it shoot through the crown of my head I fell forward towards the computer screen. This laser beam of power shot straight to Sarajevo. It made a beeline for those 15 men.
It was not a death ray by any means. As I shook from the residual take-off propulsion, the only feeling I had in my heart was LOVE. It was incredible! I cried for the pain that must have been in those men for them to commit such an act of violence. Would it have been a different story if they had killed my father? I don't know . . .
"Boy, am I glad to get out of there!", I said as we all grouped around my bicycle out in front of the restaurant. John, whose line of vision didn't encompass the other table at all, was oblivious to the meaning of my exclamation. Toyo, on the other hand, said "Yes! Those men were looking at us very badly!" We explained to John what we had observed and Toyo said that he had seen that man drool that slimy green thing that wasn't on the menu, into the ashtray as well. We talked a little more about it, bade each other farewell and went our separate ways.
I pedaled off into the night cloaked with a chill that went straight to my heart. I was no longer so geographically removed from the events that happened in America.