The burning incense of temples and shrines
Beer on the breath of men riding evening trains home after post-work drinks with colleagues
Old man sweat.
The last one is terribly disgusting. Old men have their own smell to begin with, but the sweltering summer heat of an out-of-the-ordinary sweltering Japanese summer causes the smell to blend with profuse sweating. And Japan is a country populated by those over 65. The culture is slowly evolving to more resemble Western culture and twenty-somethings who were previously married and reproducing are now working more diligently than ever and pursuing dreams of their own. The kodomo population is shrinking and schools are closing because there are not enough children to fill them.
The middle-aged group is rising in independence and the natural inclinations that Westerners feel towards their fellow man is very evidently missing. The mindset of the Japanese fascinates me. Group mentality occurs as naturally as breathing in and out. One for all. Yet "all" is a finite, countable number here. And outside that number, people are inconsequential. Perhaps we could say "One for all. Nothing for the rest." Every day in the eki, I feel it. To the man pushing past me or the two women blocking the ticketwicket so they can talk, I'm of less value, of less consequence than the cicadas that fill the trees this time of year. I'm background noise and easily ignored, though sometimes obnoxious.
While in the West, we might say we do this, too--especially if you're a human rights activist and start complaining about how we walk by the homeless every day on the streets or how the big corporations screw the little guy or whatever you want to say--but at the core, we recognize some humanity in those around us. It's different. I may feel demeaned by the customer who looks at me, her server, as someone who couldn't do better than this in life and is thus inferior; but here I feel like a piece of useless, purposeless furniture. They say that it's better to be hated than to be thought of indifferently, because at least then that person has taken notice of you... this is the difference I feel here.
Yahoo! featured an article the other day that highlighted the consequences of this mentality--the man believed to be the oldest in Japan was found dead in his room. Apparently he had been dead for 30 years. Thirty years... Neighbors who were interviewed never noticed that the man was missing, that the man had stopped coming in and out of his home, ever. Thirty years!
This opened the door for investigations into the "disappearances" of many other septuagenarians across the country who have, in fact been dead. Of course, officials look into controversies surrounding fraud--but really, is fraud the true problem or is it the fact that so many people can get away with hiding the death of a person for so long? The fact that others don't care to notice. The mentality is heartbreaking.
In one of my classes this week we read Max Lucado's You Are Special. It's the story of Punchinello, struck down by society, but prized in the eyes of his creator. It's the story of us and God. We are so prized by our Creator. We are, each of us, an expression of His glory. The story is impactful personally--but stretch your mind for just a moment and realize that if He loves us so ardently, then that means that He loves them in the exact same manner. As Christians, we are called to love.
Or at the very. least. recognize the expression of God's glory in a fellow human being.
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