Currently listening to: Third Day, "King of Glory"
Current obsession: cold coffee drinks.
Current location: my futon, under a blanket.
This one is for the person I was just talking to on the phone. You know who you are.
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Difference. What is it? What does it look like? What does it sound like? Can you touch it? Can you see it? Can you hear it? Does it smell? Does it feel? Does it live in a box? Does it wear shoes?
This year I have come to identify myself as a foreigner. There are over 1.69 million of us living here in Japan. Its a term of difference. This is the first thing people see when I walk down the street. I am different. Sometimes, its the only thing they see or its the only thing they want to see.
Everyday, I am confronted with my difference. At the grocery store, at work, at the bank, at the train station, or on the phone trying to order pizza. Sometimes, ahem...all the time, I get stared at (do I have something on my face?). Sometimes people take one look at me,and either laugh, smile friendly, start up a conversation, or whisper to their neighbor, stare, look away, or even make a point of sitting on the other side of the train. Have you experienced this too? Oh good, I'm not the only one.
Today I saw a cross dresser coming out of the train station at Minamikata. Heels, a wig and a dress. He was different and I found myself wanting to look, I was curious. I noticed turning heads, avoidance and some stares. The other day, I saw...
a man with a massive skin growth on his face...
I also saw a woman with a limp...
Two men holding hands...
Two women holding hands...
A young girl on the train wearing a short skirt, a tight shirt, leather boots and applying sparkles to her already decorated face...
And a lady sleeping in the subway, with nothing more than a cardboard box to lay on...
A homeless man trying to sell a newspaper
an old woman with purple hair...
another foreigner like myself.
I could go on.
Did any of these make you uncomfortable? Many of these are different from the regular experiences each of us has day to day. How can an old lady with purple hair be put in the same category as someone who wears a tight top and leather boots or who dresses as the opposite sex? Or someone who comes from a different country? Although there are various polarities of difference, it is still difference. No matter how you ice the cake. I feel like somehow I just want to understand it more.
Sometimes its uncomfortable. Sometimes beautiful. Sometimes its scary. Sometimes I want to run away from it. Other times, I want to run and hug it. Or maybe just talk to it, difference that is. Or maybe its not difference at all, maybe its just a person...like myself.
Difference. Maybe its all the same. "Red, yellow, black and white...they are precious..." And, more colourful.
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3 comments:
In the next world, red, yellow, black, or white will not matter. We'll all be precious in His sight.
Cheers!
maybe even colous we have never even seen or heard of before. i like your thinking...who ever you are. thanks for stopping by.
Jane, my thoughtful friend. You are deep and intelligent. You've put such wonderful ideas in my head.
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