Confusion and Contextualization in Osaka

Sydney Chen
2024-2025 Tanaka & Green Scholar

“Phlbbdegashhmm no de, go chuui kudasai.” the McDonald’s worker cautioned. She scooted the tray of food into my hands, gestured methodically toward my Kyoho grape slushie, and walked away. I stood there running through the possibilities of what she could have said in my head.

It was a familiar scene. I’d lived variations of it. I was talked to and all I heard was my name. I was sitting in the living room and my Japanese roommates’ conversation sounded like static. I was leaving the conbini counter when I realized I’d coolly turned down not a receipt, but a coupon. As my visiting parents watched, I asked the train station worker the same question again, hoping he’d speak a little slower, wishing subtitles would slide up from the ground.

I had self-studied Japanese for years. After reading articles about how the Japanese value homogeneity, I made it my mission to blend in linguistically by being as good as possible. This pursuit of perfection was built into me through a childhood of sitting in the corner of family gatherings, hearing my Chinese relatives’ disappointment about my poor Chinese skills over and over. When I went to Japan, I told myself, I had to blend in.

However, my greatest weakness was listening. Sometimes, I would pull up a Japanese Youtube video and give it my best shot. Then I would sit in discouraged silence afterward, marveling at how little I understood, how it sounded like a bubbling stream, each droplet of water indistinguishable from the next. It terrified me to confront how bad I was. When I applied to study in Osaka, Japan, I let myself dream that once in the homeland, the words would simply wiggle apart.

Over the next four months studying in Japan, it happened a little differently than I imagined. I would be crinkling my brow at a word my Japanese roommate used, until she gave the definition; it was a word I knew, just one I’d never heard out loud. I would store that sound byte in my brain so that I could hear it the next time. Or, I was at the conbini (as usual):

“Blegmmendisumsu -” I’m listening.

“Snde, ryynsm -” Not quite, “- fukuro -” “Daijoubu desu,” I replied.

Rather than the words separating like pasta in hot water, it was more like a jigsaw puzzle. Knowing one piece allowed me to separate what came before and after it, and that gave me a better shot at figuring out what was said. It was slow, it was like memorization, and it still made me feel like a toddler. But that was how I lived in Japan. I thanked the waiter at the katsu restaurant then looked around for clues on the signage. Free refills, oh, that is what I thought I heard. I got up from my seat when the train announcer suddenly said not in operation, though I couldn’t understand the reasoning why. I floundered when the tea ceremony demonstrator started using jargon but gripped the provided vocab sheet firmly and did my best to follow the sentences. Most importantly, I didn’t let go. I was confused and discouraged and honestly, tired from straining my ears at every word, but I challenged myself to forgo pursuing perfection and instead pursue experiencing Japan.

My image of how good I was at Japanese definitely crumbled when I experienced Japan. However, at the same time, I learned that it was fine to not understand everything and still buy things, eat food, go places; it was fine to be a foreigner. In Osaka, I told my Japanese teacher I wanted to practice talking about biology and for many weeks, he gave feedback while I rambled inarticulately about stem cells. I left every session simultaneously grateful and very embarrassed, but it was practice like nothing I’d ever had. The people of Osaka I met – shopkeepers, college students, teachers, and more – were never short of welcoming, no matter how well I spoke. Now that my study abroad has ended, I am excited to continue learning Japanese, but also emboldened to confront my shortcomings and challenge myself to more video/audio, even if I sometimes need subtitles; anything to help me learn more of this amazing language.

Thank you CET Japan for the housing arrangements with local Japanese students, kind staff and engaging teachers, and plentiful excursions.

Thank you JASWDC for giving me the financial peace of mind to make the most of my time in Japan without regrets.

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