Should We Wait for Moss?

This post is for Andrew, who may understand moss better than anyone.

Tonight I wanted to unwind somewhere alone, but not in my apartment. I wanted a coffee-shop atmosphere that was closer than a 40-minute train-ride away. I decided that Mos Burger, only 15 minutes away, was my best bet.

I ordered oshiruko (a kind of sweet, red-bean soup with rice cakes) and pulled out a book. A few minutes later 2 students plopped down at my table. I was in the mood to zone out and read, but I really love my "kids" (as teachers have an annoying habit of calling them), so I welcomed the interruption. (In fact, I was amazed they sat down without even speaking to me first. At school they'd be too shy to approach like that.) I'm surprised by how much more relaxed around me the students are outside of school. They are even more willing to speak English, as if being off school grounds gives them more leeway to make mistakes. We had a great discussion about pet rabbits, cram school, Australia...and I discovered some fellow aspiring writers. I love the students.

After cramming down their burgers before biking off to cram school (extra math study -- don't you know Japanese children don't sleep?), the girls left and I returned to my book. About 2 hours later I felt someone staring at me. So many people stare at you outside of Tokyo that I didn't really take note...until the man did something no stranger has done before: he spoke to me, in English.

"Excuse me, may I talk with you?" he asked politely. He was a fairly attractive, early-to-middle-aged businessman. I'm not the kind of girl who automatically checks for wedding rings, so I don't know if he was married or not. In his finely-tailored, expensive suit, he looked out of place sitting behind a wadded Mos Burger wrapper and a paper cup. I realized then he'd finished eating some time ago and had been staring at me for longer than I thought.

My natural reaction to strangers who approach me in any way is to totally reject them. Especially if I am obviously alone, and the stranger is obviously male. I am terrified of that situation. I've never felt unsafe in Japan, but I'm not one to throw such caution to the wind. I remember one night in Paris, I happened to be the only passenger in my metro car. A man got on at the far end, but with each stop, sat closer and closer to me. We remained alone in the car, and internally I was freaking out. I was planning fake-out routes that would lead him far away from my real apartment, racking my brain for cafes that I knew would still be open...desperately crafting an escape should this man decide to follow me home. Before too long, I watched his mouth open in slow motion to speak to me, and all I could think was, "Shit!"

"Good evening," he said in slurred French. "Will you sleep with me?"
I glared at him.
"No," I said firmly, with a "and that's the end of this conversation" tone.
The man shrugged.
"Okay, well...can I have a cigarette, then?"
I told him I don't smoke, and fortunately, he left me alone.

So naturally, I was annoyed and nervous when this Japanese man spoke to me. Who cares how nice or affluent he looked. I'm alone; can't he see that I'm alone? How rude to put me in this uncomfortable situation. I could tell immediately that his English was too good for the "I just want to practice my English" excuse.

"Actually, I have to finish this," I said, pointing at my book with urgency. I made my expression as pained as possible. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, I see," he responded, looking incredibly disappointed, and worse, lonely. Turning back to my book, I started to feel guilty.

Guilty! Why did I feel guilty? I started rationalizing. All the kindness you have been shown by strangers in this country, and you're so self-centered you can't even speak to this man in a well-lit, public place. Maybe he looks lonely for a good reason. Maybe he was just trying to add a little variety to his boring night at Mos Burger. Maybe you should just put down the book and talk to him. Besides, your bus comes in 30 minutes, so you have an excuse to leave if he's awful.

I looked up at him then, debating whether or not to get his attention after turning him down. But soon he looked back at me, made eye contact, and said, "May I just ask you one question?"

So I said yes, and ended up having a very pleasant, entertaining conversation with this man who had just moved to Fuji from Tokyo. He missed the big city, and he was bored. Although he never lived abroad, his English was superb and he was obviously an intelligent, well-spoken man. Towards the end of the conversation he asked my name. (He never did ask for a phone number or email address, which made me feel much safer chatting with him.) I told him my name and then tried to make the "Rollin, rollin, rollin!" joke. (Japanese men seem to think the pronunciation of my name sounds like "rolling," and more than one person has started singing that song when I tell them my name.) So I tried to make him laugh. But instead, he seemed very serious, almost sad, and said,

"What does that mean, anyway? Rolling? I know it means moving on..." he said, and made a forward-rolling motion with his hands. "So that must mean you have a wandering spirit -- never in one place for too long." And for only the second time he looked straight into my eyes.

I didn't say anything but just smiled at him. I felt oddly exposed after that comment, as if he'd unexpectedly pegged my character 20 minutes into the conversation. I'm having a lot of trouble deciding if I want to stay in Japan for two years, or move on to something different after one.

"Wandering spirit," I repeated. "Yes, maybe so." And while the idea made me happy, it only seemed to make him sad.

Most Japanese people barely express their emotions in public, much less to someone they hardly know. The secret is to watch their eyes. Even if they don't make eye contact, you can see a lot in someone's eyes. Not only inside them, but around them: most likely if a Japanese person is sad or stressed, it will show only in the delicate skin around his eyes. And I could see, just barely, his muscles tense when I said that.

Much later, I remembed a conversation I'd had with Mayumi. We were running around a temple garden like little kids, excited by our new discovery of such a beautiful place so close to our school. There was, of course, tons of moss flowing softly over the garden stones.

"Look," I demanded. "It's so beautiful."

"Yeah," Mayumi said. "Don't you say, 'A rolling stone gathers no moss'?"

I smiled at Mayumi and laughed as my peaceful temple visions blurred with Mick Jagger and that huge tongue.

"Right." I said, returning my attention to the green fuzz.

"Yeah." Mayumi pressed. "There's one example of how our cultures can be totally opposite. You think it's good to keep moving, because gathering moss is a bad thing, and it means you've been in one place for too long. But in Japan we think moss is beautiful. We have the exact same expression, but with a completely opposite meaning. We also say: a rolling stone gathers no moss. But we want the moss. If you're constantly on the go, if you never stay in one place, you'll never grow any moss. It's good to just be still."

It wasn't until much later, in the bathtub, that it occurred to me why my joke may have dampened the Japanese man's spirit. Maybe he was hoping I would just sit still.