Wednesday, October 19th: I am legal!

I am legal! I am legal! I am legal! Oh god, it’s never going to get old! As of today, I now have in my possession a beautiful, shiny, holographic piece of plastic that proves I am no longer stowing away in Japan. I am now, in fact, a legally registered resident. To say I am excited that this bureaucratic mess is behind me is the understatement of the century!

But oh the poor fool bereft of language and will. At least, that seemed to be the circumstance for the sorry Englishman in front of me in Toyonaka’s city hall. Whoever would look to me for Japanese language help, obviously hasn’t heard me speak. But when the gentleman in front of me heard the national health insurance officer explain that because he hadn’t paid his insurance premium in 8 months he was ineligible for services, he simply stared back with a blank expression and turned to me as if I could cosmically alter the universe to help him. Luckily he had a Japanese friend with him to serve as his language life preserver and it made me so pleased to know that even if I do not understand half the things that are being said to me, I am still confident enough to take these adventures into my own hands and independently conquer whatever hardships cross my path.

I officially became a resident in the city of Toyonaka as I trekked over to the town’s foreigner registration center for them to write in my beautiful shiny new address on my equally pristine, alien registration card I had obtained earlier in the morning across town. What joys a simple piece of plastic can give a person, I had now known until today, unless you count the numerous times you’ve misused your fathers credit card (sorry dad if you’re reading this…I love you!).
Then again, speaking of fools, I certainly caved in to my foolish desires when I bought my $5 hanko, or Japanese name stamp, in Ginza my first week in Japan. Since most Japanese citizens have names written in kanji, the beautiful, calligraphy-like symbols that represent words and ideas, each hanko is usually the symbol of each person’s name. I, of course am not Japanese (with a last name like White, you rarely would think otherwise), and therefore thought it would be fun to purchase a stamp for the symbol white, or shiro. It’s poetically simple, with only a few strokes of the brush (白) and found in some of my favorite haikus, so I thought it would be easy to ask a store to etch the kanji for white into the ivory hanko.

Of course I never thought of the repercussions of creating such a simple kanji, when most foreigners simply write their name in katakana, the alphabet that is used to describe foreign words. In katakana my name is simply, Kurisuten Howaito and looks like クリステン・ホワイト...easy, right? Well my clever shenanigan has cost me a chuckle or two at many of the institutions that require bureaucratic paperwork to be inked in your red hanko. The bank and I had a laugh together as I explained that in America, my last name actually is the color.

Today, however, the Toyonaka city official, who was barely any older than I was, did not find it so cute. Between going back to his desk for drinks of water and leisurely phone calls to his girlfriend, or at least some sort of significant other that required the phone to be glued to his ear, he did happen to notice my hanko as I stamped the mountain of health insurance papers I had to sign. As I walked back to my seat to await his ever-so-needed approval, I saw maneuver over to his colleague, point to the red ink, and they both laughed out loud hysterically. I of course think it is funny as well, I mean we must have a sense of humor about life, right?

My sense of humor found me walking myself up to the counter, saying thank you, and coyly responding, “watashino hankoha tanoshii desuyo!” Which translates to, “so you think my hanko is fun, huh?” At first he was absolutely shocked that I had heard what he and his “I-haven’t-quite-hit-puberty-yet” friend had said. As the look of disbelief subsided, however, his dropped jaw turned in to a smile, recognizing that he had found a sparring partner fit for another round of laughs. It was a wonderful sense of accomplishment and pleasure as I continued to hear his guffaws echo down the halls as he laughed to himself, scratching his head at how this foreigner had pulled one over on him! I think I’m going to like Toyonaka city!

Feeling a renewed self of accomplishment I decided that tonight was the night to break in my new kitchen. Of course it helped that my stove and toaster had been dropped of, but details are details. I headed to the local food coop and was in awe of the adventures in food that await me throughout the year! I picked up as much dairy as my little basket could handle, including the ingredients to make rolled eggs, a particular favorite recipe of mine that uses mirin, a clear sweetener, sugar and soy sauce. Luscious. Not so luscious was the fact that immediately when I put the pan full of eggs on the burner I began to question my chef’s skills as the smell of burning something or other immediately filled the apartment.

Since I am particularly proud of my cooking talents thanks to the wonderful women in my family who have instilled this love in me, my heart sank as my first meal was about to become a disaster. But as luck would have it, it was the $1 pan that was the culprit and not I, as I had to quickly make do with scrambled eggs and toast. Who knew that $1 store jam would be so good? Obviously not the person who thought that a 100 yen pan would suffice. Of course this is only the beginning in my Japanese culinary adventures and regardless of the burning metal and dropped eggs, it was the best meal of eggs and toast I have ever had!