I'd have to Ask, cause I Can't Tell...

The more time I spend in Japan, the more I'm noticing the subtleties that were hidden by the 'you have got to be kidding me' moments that stopped me in my tracks when I first got here; the idea of putting poached eggs on everything from pasta to sushi to burgers is no longer an oddity, I've managed to not only conquer my fear of squatting when the urge arises but also have mastered the trick of rolling my pant legs so-- well you get the point, and gone are the days when I was the only one in the bathroom who shook their hands dry because I now carry around my own stash of tissues. Since I'm not as busy mimicking tangible survival techniques, I've found more time to question social behaviors I've witnessed.

I was on a relatively uncrowded train up to Tokyo. There were enough people to have to stand because the seats were full but not enough people to necessitate the violation of, what we as Americans claim a 3 foot radius to be, personal space. The train is a great place to people watch. You have the sleeper whose head looks to be on a hinge as it dangles inches away from his or her lap and is practically drooling on their neighbor. There are the texters, glued to their cell phones, whose phalanges look to be working faster than the nimble fingers of child laborers stitching up your pair of Walmart whatever. There are the boisterous salarymen (business men) who are on their way home from having one too many sake rounds at the local bar. There are the younger women in either their smart suites or sharp business attire still looking well put together after a long day next to a mom or grandmom with their ingredients for dinner tucked into their personal grocery bag. I can't forget to mention the males between 18 and 100, absorbed in the latest and highly pornographic edition of their anime comic book. And last but not least there are the school children, the most gregarious of the lot, smiling away with their yellow book bags and school hats that match.

But there is something else going on here. My gay-dar is broken. It's just like the language, it doesn't translate! Over the months I've been here I've noticed many men, grown men, outfitted in the color pink- and I doubt it's due to their desire to increase breast cancer awareness. Yes, here men don't seem to think twice about having a pink phone or sporting a salmon colored scooter. I've seen them in pink jackets, wearing pink ties, and donning pink shoes. Now I ask you, are they gay? I don't know. Not that all men who wear pink are gay, some are just fashion forward (Luke, that shirt of yours looks great on you), but it's come down to having to ask, although i never would- not to mention i have no idea how to say it- but I can no longer tell. I'm beginning to think there is no such thing as homophobia, either. What other explanation is there for a guy standing on the train, holding onto the handle above, with his crotch only a foot or so away from another guy's nose. And neither one moved spots- for 15 minutes. I wouldn't even give it five seconds for a guy back in the states to either get up and move to another seat or for the man standing to turn sideways so his hip could be the view instead of his inseam. Maybe I've been away too long, but am I wrong here?