The Same
in
Japanese
by Brett Reynolds
I like my business
card—clean, black and white: perfect. I can't
read the Japanese, but it says the same thing on the
back in English: Pecheur Systems |
Singapore, Tokyo, Hong Kong | Lianshu Li, Web
Designer.
I live on Omotesando, a popular street in Tokyo—a
little expensive, but if you have a good job, it’s
easy to live there. My company pays for my apartment.
It’s perfect. All the furniture is new. The wooden
floor feels smooth and cool when I walk on it. And I love
the kitchen—clean, bright, well lighted like the rest
of the apartment. Perfect.
I live alone. Friends come for dinner sometimes. I cook.
They tell me how beautiful my apartment is and how
delicious the food was. They go home before the last train.
Sometimes my boyfriend comes and stays for the night.
He’s married, so usually he goes home early. But
sometimes he stays all night.
Usually he goes home early though.
Other evenings, I walk down the street, buy my candies at
the corner store, and then sit at one of the French-style
cafes. I read and drink my coffee, watching the people
there. They come in twos. Always in twos.
Women with shopping bags from expensive shops that I love.
Hand-holding couples with no bags. It's a clean,
well-lighted place; but no old men like in
Hemingway's story.
My office is on the 21st floor of the newest building in
Shinjuku, the newest part of Tokyo—perfect. The
oldest person in the office is 41. He’s old, but
he’s OK. I like working with other young people.
About half of us are foreign, half Japanese. I don’t
know the Japanese people well. I can't speak the language.
Most don’t speak English very well either, though
they all studied it in school.
