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.
