Love and Distance Pt. 1

As far as I'm concerned, there really are only two Japanese words you absolutely need to know, and thankfully they are very common: uchi (内) and soto (外). As our kanji reading pals already know, uchi simply means inside, and soto simply means outside. Of course, uchi also has an extended usage such that it can mean your own house. Now, it is important to note "your own house," as someone else's house would be otaku (お宅), which, strangely enough is the Japanese equivalent for the English word "geek," as a geek would be someone who spends a lot of time cooped up in his/her boudoir.

Obviously, I wouldn't bother mentioning two incredibly mundane words, if there weren't some greater significance.

As a lad from a far off land, I may on occasion be referred to as a gaikokujin (外国人) or by it's shortened form gaijin (外 人), with which many I would think are familiar. Both incorporate the same character as soto--though obviously with a different reading--so in practical usage, the word gaijin could basically mean something like "outsider," with a common specific usage for all foreigners.

Uchi is more than just your house; it is what the anthro types would call ingroup. Ingroup can be your family, your fellow students, your coworkers, pretty much any rigid group, even groups of otaku (geeks not houses). There is a firm boundary between those who are uchi and those who are soto. Your movement from the latter to the former entitles you to the kind of personal information (the things I could tell you but obviously won't) your average Japanese would not be blurting out in public to complete strangers (like, say, guests on Oprah) and is often accompanied by a distinct change in language. One proviso: as with the palefaces, alcohol is often sufficient lubricant for the blabber gears.

"ikimashou" (let's go)
"ikou" (let's go), though around here I'd more likely hear "iku ka"

The only real difference between those two is a relative level of politness: the former from a soto type (or the obsessively polite), the latter from an uchi type (or the chronically crass). It lends new meaning to the phrase "you're either in or out." It's that simple. There really isn't much gradation. Your interpersonal relationships are for the most part defined by various subset groupings as marked by language.

A lot of foreign residents get up in arms about the about the soto (外) implications of being gaijin (外人). You seem to begin at a near insurmountable disadvantage, a disadvantage that, say in the case of Zainichi residents, has persisted through several generations. Though these groups may guard their gates, it is not impossible for even the most unacculturated gaijin to find entrance in certain parts of Japanese society. Language ability helps but is not a strict prerequisite. The only true prerequisite is patience, or more accurately the willingness to persist in the face of indeterminate returns. And the door swings both ways. It is not uncommon for a native born son to live abroad for a few years in his youth, only to return to the functional equivalent of complete ostracism. Why? Simple: he did not experience the formative "sucking it up" that his peers did, and as such is not immediately "one of us."

The advantages of this system, though, (like near complete unwavering loyalty) are just as appealing.

I guess this is my long winded way of saying these are the kinds of friends I prize the most: Yasuko (made any shuriken lately?), Mike (I would never doubt your professional integrity), Sylwia (you know why), Liansu (my laughing savage), Sabrina (graduate school finally sunk it's tentacles in you), Josh (I think I can fix my own computer, dammit), Adeline (you know why), and Colleen (for whom the 20% rule does not apply).

Remember, this isn't the A list, or whatever. I'm actually a pretty benevolent gatekeeper.

Stay tuned for Pt. 2: Near and Dear. And coming soon, Porcelian Pt. 3! OMG another character!