Melissa Nylander '08: Wisdom From a Homeless Man
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Published
Melissa Nylander's essay won first place in the annual Study Abroad essay contest.
“People always people, people all same. Say konbanwa, say good evening, everyone happy. Just words, but now friends. No more killing, no reason anymore. Friends now. This people know in head, but not in heart.” The old man's weathered hands trembled a bit, not from the cold or nerves, but from years of living a life much harder than many of us could ever endure. A long time ago the man that sat to my right learned English from American GIs stationed in Japan. In the years following that time, something in his life must have gone awry. Perhaps he lost his job and wasn't able to find another due to Japan's rigid lifetime employment system. Or maybe he fell victim to drug or alcohol abuse. It didn't feel appropriate to ask, nor did he seem to have any desire to discuss it. What he did want to discuss was a simple and wise philosophy that has forever changed how I'll approach new people.
Tokyo's homeless community often flies under the radar. Their numbers are small, their attire neat, and their homes unobtrusive. Many of them find their home in Ueno Park, a large, centrally located park better known for its national art museum and pleasant walking paths than its homeless population. A glance past the trees that line the park's many wide walkways reveals distinctive makeshift homeless camps. Blue tarps draped over ropes strung between trees, large water bottles lined up neatly outside each tent's entrance, brooms leaned against the closest trunk, and men squatting outside their tents in little circles of two or three laughing and pushing sticks through the dirt while they pass the time. Their presence goes unnoticed by most and when they stroll down from their tents to join the masses making their way to and from the museum the only thing that differentiates them from any other middle aged Japanese man is the especially worn leather of their shoes.
What brought me to Ueno Park was an intimidating architecture project I had been reluctant to start for some time. I arrived, picked a random bench, and sat down to observe how pedestrian traffic responded to the structures erected along the path by the homeless. Maybe it was my suspicious scribbling or my vain attempts to slyly take pictures of the structures, but within five minutes I noticed a man hovering nearby.
“Where you from?” asked an older man standing no farther than six feet away and brandishing three very large sticks.
“America no California ni sundeimasu,” I sputtered out in what I have no doubt was horribly butchered Japanese. It was good enough for him and he sat down at my side.
“You like trains? California same size as Japan, but Japan have trains. California drive cars. What you think?” He didn't wait for a response.“80% of Japan mountains. You know this? In Japan, cold in north, hot in south, same in California?”
I managed to squeeze in a nod and,“Yes, it's the same.”
“You been here how long? Three months, not long time. What Japanese people you relate to best?” This time he truly wanted a response and looked at me inquisitively as he gestured at the crowds of people walking by.
“Kids.”
“How years old kid? Five? Twelve? Nineteen? Why kid?”
“Ten year olds, and kids because they always give you their honest opinion,” I responded after a pause.
“You ask any Japanese, they tell you ten years old worst age. Was eighteen, then sixteen, now ten. Bad age is lower and lower now. When kids talk words so bad. No manners. Never say ‘good morning' ‘good evening'. You see boys in school uniforms? They look good outside, but dirty on inside. No manners. McDonalds, I use example. No ‘thank you.' They think, I wear uniform I don't need manners. Ten year old wants to kill mom. He call government and say I want kill mom. Teacher kill ten year old. Bad relationship. Student no respect teacher and teacher no respect student. Ten year old show manners, say good evening, say thank you, and they are friends. No one killed. Terrorists and America, talk, say ‘good evening'. Say ‘thank you'. Friends now, no kill. They wear uniform. Why not look good outside and inside? You, me, we talk, friends now. At night in park, man comes to me, says ‘I kill you.' We talk, friends now, no kill. Just words. Thank you, good evening…just words and feeling good. All people the same. Thank you for talk. Good bye.”
He stood, refused the roll I offered as a parting gift, and disappeared into the crowd. I didn't move, I don't know for how long. The wisest people are rarely those you suspect.
Read the second place winner's essay here.
Tokyo's homeless community often flies under the radar. Their numbers are small, their attire neat, and their homes unobtrusive. Many of them find their home in Ueno Park, a large, centrally located park better known for its national art museum and pleasant walking paths than its homeless population. A glance past the trees that line the park's many wide walkways reveals distinctive makeshift homeless camps. Blue tarps draped over ropes strung between trees, large water bottles lined up neatly outside each tent's entrance, brooms leaned against the closest trunk, and men squatting outside their tents in little circles of two or three laughing and pushing sticks through the dirt while they pass the time. Their presence goes unnoticed by most and when they stroll down from their tents to join the masses making their way to and from the museum the only thing that differentiates them from any other middle aged Japanese man is the especially worn leather of their shoes.
What brought me to Ueno Park was an intimidating architecture project I had been reluctant to start for some time. I arrived, picked a random bench, and sat down to observe how pedestrian traffic responded to the structures erected along the path by the homeless. Maybe it was my suspicious scribbling or my vain attempts to slyly take pictures of the structures, but within five minutes I noticed a man hovering nearby.
“Where you from?” asked an older man standing no farther than six feet away and brandishing three very large sticks.
“America no California ni sundeimasu,” I sputtered out in what I have no doubt was horribly butchered Japanese. It was good enough for him and he sat down at my side.
“You like trains? California same size as Japan, but Japan have trains. California drive cars. What you think?” He didn't wait for a response.“80% of Japan mountains. You know this? In Japan, cold in north, hot in south, same in California?”
I managed to squeeze in a nod and,“Yes, it's the same.”
“You been here how long? Three months, not long time. What Japanese people you relate to best?” This time he truly wanted a response and looked at me inquisitively as he gestured at the crowds of people walking by.
“Kids.”
“How years old kid? Five? Twelve? Nineteen? Why kid?”
“Ten year olds, and kids because they always give you their honest opinion,” I responded after a pause.
“You ask any Japanese, they tell you ten years old worst age. Was eighteen, then sixteen, now ten. Bad age is lower and lower now. When kids talk words so bad. No manners. Never say ‘good morning' ‘good evening'. You see boys in school uniforms? They look good outside, but dirty on inside. No manners. McDonalds, I use example. No ‘thank you.' They think, I wear uniform I don't need manners. Ten year old wants to kill mom. He call government and say I want kill mom. Teacher kill ten year old. Bad relationship. Student no respect teacher and teacher no respect student. Ten year old show manners, say good evening, say thank you, and they are friends. No one killed. Terrorists and America, talk, say ‘good evening'. Say ‘thank you'. Friends now, no kill. They wear uniform. Why not look good outside and inside? You, me, we talk, friends now. At night in park, man comes to me, says ‘I kill you.' We talk, friends now, no kill. Just words. Thank you, good evening…just words and feeling good. All people the same. Thank you for talk. Good bye.”
He stood, refused the roll I offered as a parting gift, and disappeared into the crowd. I didn't move, I don't know for how long. The wisest people are rarely those you suspect.
Read the second place winner's essay here.
