travel essay

The Silver Badge

After he had disappeared into the multitude of his fellow juniors and friends, I stood still for a while, trying to figure out what had happened.  Although it was merely a signal for the incoming train, the warning bells rang in my head like a challenge.  As the automatic doors spewed out clusters of people, as they did at this time every day, I was forcibly sardined into my dear commuting train that was already packed beyond belief.  Pushing away other human-sandwiches around me, I made for myself a little bit of room so as to breathe.  As my blood pressure gradually dropped to normal and the beads of sweat on my forehead evaporated among over-recycled air particles, I came to my senses and could finally review the weird experience that I had encountered just five minutes ago.

Having lived in Sendai for three months, I had just about overcome the dreadful culture shock of living in a different country, when I was faced with another situation that challenged my philosophical nature.  The person I had just encountered forced me to think about how we tend to judge a person on the basis of his or her physical attributes.

After the last block of school, I plunged myself into the flood of students dashing to the train station.  I was walking along the platform, when I accidentally brushed my shoes against his pants.  I looked back, but found no trace of dirt or footprint.  Trying to pass him by, I just nodded my head to express my apology as  is commonly practiced in Japanese society.  He shouted something that was powerful and filthy enough to grab everyone's attention.  Instinctively, I turned around.  He must have seen the bronze school badge around my collar, declaring that I was a freshman.  In Japan, it is customary for juniors to show respect and obedience to their seniors.  Apparently, he was flaunting the shiny silver badge of authority that would have horrified my classmates with their bronze badges like mine.  Because my parents are Korean and I was wearing the school uniform like everyone else, I was never spotted out as a Gaijin, or a foreigner, as long as I kept my mouth shut.  In this case, too, he didn't seem to realize that he was bullying someone different. Other students started to surround us, and their curious stares reacted to the bombarding of swear words that flew out of his dry lips.

I said I was sorry, but he didn't stop there.  Of course, my limited Japanese couldn't decipher the slang that he was constantly repeating, but I knew what it basically meant just by listening to the tone of his voice.  Nevertheless, I wasn't scared at all.  He was fairly tall, compared to the other boys of his age, but I was taller. I looked directly into his eyes and didn't say a thing.  I just wanted to see his reaction.

His babbling soon bored me.  I interrupted him by saying, "I come from Canada," but he was too busy thinking up nasty words to spit out and couldn't hear me.  By the time my patience, too, dissolved with my long-held saliva sinking down my throat, I repeated, "I can't speak Japanese.  I don't understand what you are saying."

There was a moment of pause between us.  Within the complete silence, I watched his face turning pale and his torso moving slightly backward.  He stuttered "S-so- sorry!" in an urgent voice, and with a deft movement, he threw himself away from me, penetrating the thick barrier of the spectators.

Later, I asked my friends and teachers about this incident and found out something rather interesting.  Although many Japanese are exposed to aspects of North American culture, such as music, movies and fashion, they are not yet familiar with foreigners that much.  He probably worried about what he would have to say if I spoke to him in English, and that is what made him reluctant to face me.  He did not think I would be any different from the rest of his juniors, but he was wrong: I was actually older than he was, and he should have shown some respect for me.  For my part, I learned not to judge people on the basis of their appearance -- even if they are wearing the silver badge!

by David Hahn