The Monday after submitting my application for Permanent Residency in Japan, I started checking the mailbox.
Yeah, I knew it was a bit soon. The woman at the Immigration Office with the mismatched eyes said it’d take months, and I believed her. Still, I couldn’t resist the pull; every evening checking for a postcard from Immigration, walking past my dear friend Kato-san dying of lymphoma and the weird kid who shot me with the pellet gun. Ah, Japanese neighbors, you are my new countrymen. But of course the mailbox was always empty and somehow I was always disappointed. Such is the pitfall of my perpetual optimism.
And then one day out of the blue, I got a phone call. It was
almost three months from the day I submitted my application.
Continue reading “Permanent Residency in Japan”
In Kenya, you get jail time for plastic bags. In the U.S., straw-shaming’s all the rage. Ah, Americans, how quickly you forget. Cue balloon disaster.
Anyway, I can only imagine what a mind-fuck it is for Kenyans to arrive in Japan and find themselves surrounded, sometimes literally, by a sea of plastic. Because when it comes to being proudly able replicate everything on earth with its plastic counterpart, Japan rules the world. In front of the ramen shop, there’s a plastic bowl of plastic ramen. The curry shop has plastic plates so real you’ll be tempted to smell your fingers after Continue reading “Plastic Japan”
“Remember that place I used to live, on the 5th floor?”
If this was Emi’s way of asking if I could ever forget her tiny, damp apartment where we spent several nights a week cross-legged on the floor powering through tins of mackerel and cans of malt liquor, the answer would be a resounding Oh hell no.
“Oh hell yeah,” I answered resoundingly. “That place was the best.” And of course by “the best,” she knows I mean “the worst.”
“Well, I just found out my sister lives around the corner. We passed her house every day for two years and never knew it.” Continue reading “Is Japan a Lonely Place?”
There’s only two things you need to know about being an alcoholic in Japan. The first is why you’ll become one, and the second is how to cure your pickled ass. Fortunately for you, Ken Seeroi has already been there and back, so you’re covered in both departments.
So I recently quit drinking. This was a good idea, why? I’m still trying to figure that out. But okay, I mostly did it because I wanted to get into shape for bikini season. That’s where you as a hot girl wear a bikini while I lounge on the beach with a tallboy on my stomach ogling you. But since my board shorts were getting a bit tight in the old waistal region, I figured maybe I’d better knock off the cans for a bit.
Other good reasons I came up with for quitting booze were saving an amazing ton of money and uh, not dying. Continue reading “Going to Alcoholics Anonymous in Japan”
The problem with life is that it’s not a thousand years long. I mean, they say Japanese men live to be 80. That’s not actually that lengthy, at least compared to eternity. So I plan on staying here until the morning of my 80th birthday, then moving to Korea. Pure genius. It’s kind of like if you’re in an elevator crash, but jump up right before it hits the ground. Saaaaafe. A friend of mine’s buddy did that, and he was fine. Heh, and people say I’m simple. We’ll see who’s laughing when I move back a week later. Suckers. Continue reading “The Cost of Living in Japan”