Life's been like this: remember that scene in "25th Hour" where Edward Norton's character lists all the people in New York that he hates but that, in the end, he actually loves (or is jealous of)(well, something like that)? I feel a little like Edward Norton's character except about Japan. I like to complain in my head about the little traditions that get on my nerves: the taking off of the shoes, the mildewed slippers that don't fit that I must wear in most public offices, the low ceilings that take my hair away, the old women who say "ne" every two or three words and can't stop talking about who knows what. The chopsticks that may seem very practical and good but, in truth, require the logging of millions of acres of South American rainforests annually (to make a wild guess at the figure). The people whose minds seem to be stuck in the confines of their own little town, and that town only. The strange odors. The overwhelming amount (both large ones and small ones) of different fish that are eaten whole. The raw horse. The unbelievable narrow-mindedness of some people. The racism (both the positive racism and the negative racism). The kanji (I mean really, everyone else except China (and a few others?) seems to have already switched to a completely phonetic written system...). The impossibility of truly becoming a part of this society. The people who I love and fear to lose across the wide Pacific Ocean. The culture that I love and fear to lose over the wide Pacific Ocean. The culture I never had but still seemed to have in this tiny village. The shortness of it all (just as Edward Norton's character has 25 hours left before he's incarcerated...). And to think: "This life came so close to never happening."