I am indeed a part of your species

One of the things I'm sure I've mentioned from my time of studying abroad is that I, as a foreigner, tend to be stared at. Well, if I thought it was bad in the Tokyo area, I hadn't yet experienced the alienation of the countryside.

Now that I live in a rural town there are EVEN LESS foreigners. In fact, it is quite possible that I am one of only two western foreigners in this entire city. This, of course, has its ups and its downs.

On the down side, people out here are less likely to have seen a foreigner before or are exposed to them very rarely, so they STARE. It doesn't matter what you're doing. You could be grocery shopping, waiting for a bus, walking down the street, picking your nose; you will be stared at. Though, I've noticed that it's somewhat more pronounced at opposite ends of the age spectrum. While I'm walking down the street, older people will be driving by and actually turn their bodies to keep me in sight as they pass, like I'm going to jump out and hitch a ride on the back of their truck. And while children don't drive, they do the next best thing. They'll be running around laughing, they spot me and, oh! They stop dead in their tracks, their faces devoid of expression. I can just hear them thinking, "What the...?" Even babies will stare, as if they already know how I'm different from everyone else.

Now, most days this sort of thing is not much of a bother for me. With the kids all you need to do is smile and wave and they run off. But some days, like this past Friday, it really gets under my skin. I had taken the train so I could get up a little later in the morning, and I was waiting for the bus at the train station. There were only two people in this remote little station: myself and this older woman. I had sat my things down on a bench and was standing listening to my mp3 player and she stood just outside of the glass station doors in front of me staring at me. Blatantly. Annoyingly. At first I thought she might have been checking herself out in the reflection since she kept adjusting the collar of her coat. But then she stepped back to where the door was open and kept on staring.

Sigh. Even staring right back didn't do anything. That made me really cranky.

On the other hand, it is kind of nice to be recognized. As a public school teacher I am often recognized by students and coworkers when we see each other on the train or in the capital city. In addition to face-time at school, if I participate in any of the local community events I end up on cable TV or in the newspaper. Last month I actually made it onto NHK, which is a prefecture-wide channel. It's kind of cool, but at the same time I get random people coming up to me talking to me as if they know me, so I think I've met them before and just don't remember their faces. So I feel really bad until I finally realize that I have never met them, they just saw me on TV. Or out jogging.

A not so good side of being easily recognized, it renders going to the convenience store in your pajama pants out of the question.