Slightly Late Post

Tokyo, 5:50 am, July 8, 2008
Today I am starting school, and I will be finally seeded with people who know Japanese about as well as I do. I am excited because yesterday there were easily over a hundred people taking the placement exam, and I wasn’t sure which people I would be getting to know over the long term.
Speaking of lots of people, the Tokyo metro during rush-hour is a remarkable place; it throws “personal bubble” right out the door, along with any other quaint notions of easy breathing. I was literally packed so tightly that I barely needed the ceiling handle to steady myself during starts and stops. I could hear the air conditioner strain to keep up with the massive body heat we must have been generating. I remember being this packed in a NYC subway once; it should certainly be interesting to experience every day. The irony of it all is that, even with so many people, so many that the only thing you see around you is other heads bobbing with the train, you feel almost alone. Perhaps this was because every person on the train did their best simply to shut everyone else away, like an irksome but necessary bother. Some people read, some listen to music, some look as if deep in self-reflection, and some seem simply staring off into space, though I use the term very liberally. Perhaps one of the most interesting things I saw on my commute, though, was yet another train. We had caught up to another train on a momentarily parallel track and were going the same speed; I could see the cramped riders across from us. What struck me was how still, unmoving, they were, like robots shut off to save energy.
I saw on old man on my commute back home yesterday. The train was nearly empty then, as so many salarymen (office workers, Kaishain, 会社員), like Daisuke, only come home at 10 pm at the earliest, sometimes even as late as one or two in the morning. What intrigued me about this man was his clothing. He was wearing white shirt with a light blue checkered pattern, almost like what one might wear to a square dance, only more subtle. He had a dark blue, close to black blazer, also subtly striped, perhaps checkered. He had black pants, socks, and shoes, with his pants in the traditional “I am an old man, and I will wear my pants up to my chest if I so please!” fashion. Instead of a tie, though, he had a Texas style opal oval where the tie knot goes with two leather strings going down. He was resting his hands on a white curved handle umbrella, and held a small shop bag with French writing on it with his fingers as they hung from the handle. He was very small, with a balding top and grayish white hair covering the sides of his head, and had a face that screamed wisdom. Conclusion: I want to look in the same vein as that man when I am 90.