Apr
10
2014
“Do you like sakura?” a man named Michio asked me.
“Yes,” I replied, “I think they’re gorgeous.” I had no idea this conversation was going to become very interesting, and then downright perplexing.
Truly, I look forward to April in Japan, because it’s the time when I’ll get to see cherry blossoms all over the place. A treeful of those light pink blossoms can make everything else around it shine with beauty. Parks across the country will be populated with picnickers out for “Hanami” (flower viewing), and you can bet I’ll be among them. I love the sakura (cherry blossoms).
Michio explained that the cherry blossoms are tied to Japanese philosophy, their short blooming time representing the fragility and impermanence of life. Samurai willingly fought till the end, even battles they knew they would lose, the kamikaze gave their lives readily; but so many dirty outsiders would surrender in losing battles and elsewise cling to life with all strength. I read a school girl’s diary on this subject, written during World War II. It made fun of the “
Merikens” and how they’d scramble to save their lives and do cowardly things like eject from cockpits of doomed airplanes.
The flowers tell this tale another, more symbolic way. The peak of cherry blossom season might last a good two weeks or so, but mostly because of different trees blooming at different times. Individual trees usually won’t last so long. Their best viewing times will only be a couple of days, and then it’s raining pedals in a hurry. Roses have a stronger hold on their pedals and grow more often, more easily, and have a bunch of other attributes that I guess represent shallow foreigners.
Michio compared sakura to roses, the latter of which last much longer and come from his most detested country, that shit hole across the ocean: America.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Michio is also a total xenophobic racist.He was one of my “students” at an English conversation school run by a woman who had her own brand of crazy. (Dealing with the racist was much easier than dealing with her. He was at least polite and honest. But I digress….)A lot of our 50-minute conversations were often about how much he hated foreigners. The thing about this particular racist was that he was so over-the-top, so out there, so unapologetic that I couldn’t help but love the guy. I looked forward to our conversations about how and why I was a barbarian. I’m aware of the irony that he was paying 8,400 yen per month to tell the teachers what horrible people they were.
I should say that he was a total nationalist, xenophobe, and racist, but he was at least a nice dude. When I had an asthma attack and ended up in the ICU, he was genuinely concerned for my well-being and asked the school staff if there was anything he could do. He was glad when I recovered and returned to work. It’s just… he would have been more glad if I’d recovered and then left the country, taking all of the white man with me.
He went on and on about roses vs. cherry blossoms, making it into a big Japan vs. Everyone Else discussion. At the end of a fairly long-winded speech he asked me, “Which do you like better, roses or sakura?”
I answered honestly, “Sakura. I like the sakura way more than roses.” I was being truthful. I’ve purchased roses for my wife once or twice, but when I’m buying usually I prefer other types of flowers. We weren’t talking about other flowers, though, we were talking about cherry blossoms and roses. I think sakura look amazing — way better than roses. The fact that they’re blooming on trees helps. I’m a forest guy before a field guy. Fuck fields. Trees are where the action is. So that was out there: I prefer sakura to roses.
He heard my answer and scowled, looking me up and down.
Eyes fixed on me, he leaned forward and said, “I think you like roses more.”
Clearly a rose man.
But why would anyone lie about something so stupid? What incentive would I have to be dishonest about… flower preference? He asked his simple question, I gave a simple answer, but he just scowled and said that no, I could not possibly like cherry blossoms more than roses. His preconceived notions prevented him from recognizing the truth.
People like this guy are everywhere. You tell ’em the truth, they have no reason to doubt you, but your words don’t even register. Say what you need to say, and then stop wasting your time. When friction arises, as it will if this person is someone you see often, go through your routine of saying the same things, watch them not sink in, and move on. Sometimes there really is nothing you can do. This makes it highly unfortunate when a Michio ends up on a jury.
You probably know your own Michio. Someone you tell over and over and over again that certain thing about you that they think simply is not true. At the risk of sounding like an even bigger asshole, I see this personality flaw as its own brand of mental illness.
Below: Heath with a bunch of roses.
(PHOTO NOT FOUND)
In Michio’s case, I could have sewn a new wardrobe out of Sakura pedals and written a song called “I Hate Roses” and it wouldn’t have done a lick of good. He had jerkish, incorrect, generalized views about whole nationalities and races; there were assumptions about me that he latched onto it like an angry crocodile. I stopped letting it bother me after our 4th or 5th lesson, once I realized there was no hope. I smiled, said what I needed to, and we were both better off for it.
