...I started stalking Japan

Now, something I have come to realize in the past few years is that for me Japan is like an ex-boyfriend. Hear me out. At first I had a crush: I'd heard so many awesome things about Japan and it looked amazing and even though I knew there was a cultural and a language barrier I didn't care. I wanted to be with Japan. So, one summer I went and had a little summer romance with Japan - and it was amazing! Japan was so gentle and sweet to me and I fell in love. The main reason being that I was a volunteer in a tiny village in Hokkaido. I was basically a celebrity there with my blonde hair (yes, I was blonde back then) and round eyes and the fact that I was volunteering - doing something to help the village and the environment - made me even more interesting in the eyes of the locals. The people working with us treated all the volunteers with respect and kindness, treating us to dinner, giving us ice-cream and taking us to hikes around the area. Yes, I fell in love with Japan during that Summer. I was heartbroken when I had to leave and I knew I had to get back. So I did. I went back for a year and for a while everything was magical. I loved being there and I was happier than I'd been in the past year when I was constantly pining for Japan.

But, like in most relationships, after the 'honeymoon phase' is over, you start seeing the person you love for what they really are. You see all the annoying little habits and the weird things they do and you start having disagreements and arguments and all that jazz. Suddenly it's not all rainbows and butterflies anymore and you feel like the relationship isn't really working out anymore. You feel like the person you're with has changed but that's not really the case. The annoying habits and character flaws were always there - you just didn't want to see them. That's what happened to me. At first I loved everything Japan had to offer and turned a blind eye to all the negative things around me. By the end of my year abroad, however, I was explosively angry and ready to snap at anyone. I was sick of it all. All the tiny little things that I barely noticed before just annoyed me to no end now: people walking slowly, people standing in doorways, the heat, the stuffy weather, the lack of rye bread or sour cream...

I remember one time I blew up in school. Mary and I were coming back from class and headed to the elevator. Our classroom was on the 12th floor and we were kind of in a hurry to go get some sushi so it was only natural we didn't want to walk down. Turns out we made a mistake, however, because the elevator stopped at almost every floor with people constantly getting on and off. I was getting a bit annoyed with the constant stops but there was nothing to do about it. It was only natural that people would take the elevator down form the 8th or 6th floor... And then there was this one girl who stepped into the elevator on the 6th floor and stepped off on the 5th floor... Just this one girl. Two stops for one person. This wasn't the first time I'd seen someone take the elevator to go up or down one floor but by that time I was so sick and tired of everything that I was just looking for an excuse to blow off some steam and I went off on a rant... while a bunch of Japanese people were still standing around me in the elevator.

'God, I've had it with these fucking lazy people who refuse to take the stairs! You don't need the elevator to go down one fucking floor! For fuck's sake! They're wasting everyone's time! Why can't they just fucking walk?!'

The doors opened and the Japanese guys standing behind me got off. Before the doors closed one of them turned to me and went:

'I totally agree.'

Well... I hadn't expected that... I'd gotten so used to the fact that most of the students barely understood English that I didn't believe anyone in the elevator would understand my rant. That was... awkward... And I felt kind of bad about blowing up like that and talking shit about their fellow students but... I guess if the guy agreed with me it couldn't be that bad.

Anyway, by the time I had to leave Japan I was more than ready to do so. It had been way too long and when I finally got home I felt like I could breathe again. I was free, independent and rid of an oppressive relationship that wanted to suck the life out of me. Yeah, I was good without Japan. It had been fun for a while but I was over it. Completely and totally over it. When my friends and family asked if I was planning to go back I told them that it was extremely unlikely I would do so any time soon.

Two months later...

It's funny how quickly you start to feel nostalgic about a relationship that you know wasn't working. I had not forgotten any of the things that ticked me off in Japan. I had not forgotten the death-glares from the locals or the slow-moving people on the streets or the hellish weather in the Summer... but sometimes I would look at old pictures and I would miss it. 'It wasn't all bad,' I found myself thinking. Then I would remember the bad stuff and I would stop.

Some more time passes and now I'm just confused. The rational part of my mind knows that my relationship with Japan wasn't working. A part of it was great but in the long run it wouldn't have lasted. We were just too different. But then I see my old pictures or some friends post videos or status updates about Japan and it just feels like a knife to the chest. Every time I see a random picture of some random Japanese city I just feel a sense of longing that is too strong to ignore and I start thinking that maybe I made a mistake by leaving. Maybe I could have made it work... Maybe...

I did go back to Japan last May for a little while and it felt like going home again. I thought this 'one night stand' would cure me of my longing. For a short while it did... and then it started again. The pictures, the movies, the music... everything reminded me of how awesome and beautiful Japan was. And again, a part of me knew that I was just being nostalgic. I was again trying to ignore the reality and was living in a beautiful memory of my own making. 

This week I hit a new low. It used to be that I would go over my pictures from Japan and reminisce about the 'good old days' but now... now I'm watching videos. Apparently there are sites where you can watch a live feed from different places in Japan.... and I spent almost half an hour watching a feed from Shibuya crossing. Yup, half an hour just watching Japanese people cross the road while thinking 'I wish I was there right now'. It was nighttime in Japan while I was watching it... I missed nighttime in Japan. Now I keep looking at different sites with live feeds from different spots in Japan and I just feel nostalgic and... and I kind of feel like going back there for a year... or more would be a pretty good idea. Even though I know it's crazy and I would have to give up everything. I know I'm not going to do it but a part of me really wants to. 

In a way I could compare living in Japan to dating a typical Japanese pretty-boy. It's all fun and games in the beginning and you get carried away because he is so 'different and mysterious and cool'. Then you start living together and you realize that you are just too different to work - so in a fit of rage you quit and run away. But when you return home reality hits you and you start doubting yourself, thinking you've made a mistake. 'Sure, he was a bit racist but who isn't? Sure, I wasn't ever good enough for him but was he ever good enough for me? Maybe I was the one at fault here? Maybe I should have been more willing to bend to his will? Become more like him?' In your mind you know it's all bullshit: compromise is important in a relationship but you shouldn't have to change who you are. It wouldn't have worked. He wasn't the bad guy and neither were you - you were just too different... But when you see pictures of him you can't help thinking 'Damn, I still can't believe how good-looking he is...' and pictures of your two together make you sigh and think 'I wish I could go back in time to that very moment...' 

My romance with Japan is still not completely over. I can't deny that deep down in my heart I still love it but it's a hopeless love. I know I could never spend my life in Japan. I can visit once in a while. I can still be friends. Leaving will always hurt a bit. But in the end it's the right thing to do. I will never get a 'happily ever after' with Japan because even if I would choose to spend the rest of my life there I doubt I will ever be accepted as one of them... and that will just break me in the end. But a part of my soul and my heart will always belong to Japan. 

...I couldn't do anything right

Have any of you ever had the 'pleasure' of working with someone who is convinced that you're doing your job incorrectly - even before you've actually done anything. For example: you need to paint a window frame and there's this one guy trying to 'teach' you by demonstrating all the things you shouldn't do. 

'Now, when you start, make sure the brush isn't dry. And hold it like this, facing down. Not like this but like this. And don't just start from the middle, you need to start from the corner.'

'I wasn't going to-'

'And you need to make sure to hold it like this. And remember to wash it after...'

It's like the person trying to teach you is convinced you're a complete moron that's gonna start painting the frame by smacking it with a dry brush and then pouring acid over it. By the way, this isn't a random example - this was a real conversation that took place over a year ago. 

The year was 2015 and I'd decided to visit my friend Mary in Hawaii. I was going to be there for almost two months, doing strictly tourist things... I was totally not there to work because I didn't have a work visa and that would have been illegal and I was only there to visit a friend. Anyhoo, since Mary had a job working in her parents' air tour company, I needed to find something to keep myself busy during the day. As luck would have it, I found out about this older couple who were just moving back into their house in Kauai after living on the mainland for several years and they needed someone to help them out. I decided that hey, I wasn't doing anything of importance anyway so might as well lend a hand. They just needed someone to help them clean up, do some organizing, repaint the windows and do some simple yard work. It didn't seem too hard and since I'm an altruistic and helpful person I contacted them and offered my help. 

The first few days were actually pretty okay. I had to do some vacuuming, clean a leather couch and do some other easier household chores. The people I was totally not working for seemed pretty nice and even made me lunch every day. Sure, I only had two options - chicken salad or chicken sandwich (every single day) - but hey, it was still nice of them to offer. However, even on the first day I noticed that the guy I was totally not working for had a habit of over-explaining things.
'Now, when you clean this couch, you want to make sure to get all the edges like this and be careful not to put too much oil on the rag and don't just pour the oil on the couch - you need to put it on the rag first and then work it in...'
'Yeah, I wasn't going to-'
'And make sure to wipe the surface clean first. You can't put oil on it if it has dust or anything else on it.'
'Yeah, I know. I was going to clean it-'
'And just make sure to...'
So yeah, before I could start doing anything I had to listen to fifteen minutes of him going on and on about how I shouldn't do things. It was like he was convinced I'd suffered serious brain damage and had no idea how to do the most arbitrary things like cleaning a couch.
It got worse, however, because when it came to painting, he must have had some really bad experiences with mentally challenged painters. He kept explaining things that didn't need explaining - at least to most people. Like 'make sure to wash the brush after you're done' or 'just tip the edge of the brush into the paint, don't submerge it completely'. Who the hell would shove a paintbrush completely into the bucket? Well, apparently he was convinced that I would.
'And make sure to hold it like this, tip facing down, because if you hold it the other way the paint will start to drip.'
...Yeah, I know how gravity works. But thank you for the reminder.
'And make sure to get all the edges like this. And then spread the paint out. You don't want any lines here - you want to make it look as natural as possible. And make sure to brush like this... well, maybe not like this but you should avoid this from happening...'
At the same time he was trying to show me how to do things 'the right way' while actually failing to do it the way he was describing it. Not to mention that every time I would finish a job he would be convinced that I didn't do it right so he would come and inspect it, all the while talking about all the different ways I could've screwed things up. One time he came to inspect my paint job and was convinced I'd taken too long and the paint had already dried.
'See, now the paint is dry and there are still lines here. You should have put another layer of paint on top so it would have evened out.' He then proceeded to put his finger on the freshly painted surface to prove his point. Problem was: I had just painted it and it hadn't had the opportunity to even out... He left his fingerprints all over the surface, leaving me to repaint it... again... This went on for days. I had a feeling he just wanted to prove to me that I was doing everything wrong. And the weird thing: he wasn't a bad guy. He just really wanted to show me how capable and smart he was. He wanted to teach but didn't take into consideration that I wasn't a complete moron. Sure, I didn't have much experience painting window frames but even an idiot could tell that it's a bad idea to leave a wet brush lying on the ground or paint over a dusty surface.
It was even worse when I had to assemble a shelf. I was almost done with it and it looked pretty good when the guy showed up and was convinced I hadn't done it properly. He proceeded to disassemble it, read the instructions to me out loud and put it back together only to discover that I, in fact, had not made a mistake and everything was in order. Did I ever receive a 'sorry' after any of those episodes? Nope! None whatsoever. He would just quietly slink into the shadows and that was it... until the next time he wanted to tell me how I was doing everything wrong.
Long story short: after a month of helping these people out, I was ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. It was way too much: the work was hard, the guy kept rearranging his garage every few days so I had to lift a bunch of boxes from one shelf to another and the next day back again. He also had a hard time throwing stuff away. He had several kilos of screws. Just screws. God knows why he needed all of them but he made me pick up every single one of them from the garage floor because 'These might be useful later'. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
I was supposed to help them for a whole month... but I quit earlier because I just couldn't handle it anymore and I really wanted to enjoy the last week of my vacation. I sent them a letter saying that something urgent had come up and I couldn't help them out anymore. I never received a reply... Oh well, at least it was fun for a while... And I know all about sandpaper now.  

...cultural exchange killed a part of my soul

Back when I was studying in Japan, our school had this thing called 'cultural exchange'. The point was to bring Japanese students and foreign exchange students together during lunch (which lasted for like an hour) and have this little 20 minute talk where Japanese students could ask questions about our respective countries, cultures and anything else and also practice their English. In return the foreign exchange students had the opportunity to make new friends. In theory it was a great way to bring people together, increase their awareness of other cultures and help foreign students find their place in the school. In practice it was a horrendous train-wreck of awkwardness and cringe.
Oh sure, not all of the sessions were like that. I did have like two meetings with Japanese students that were kind of okay... But most of the time I felt like a part of my soul was dying when I was talking to these people. Not that they were bad people - the whole situation was just so. incredibly. uncomfortable...
Here's the thing: we, the foreign exchange students, didn't have a choice. We had to do it. The school demanded it of us. Our names and countries of origin were put on a schedule and Japanese students could come along and sign themselves up to talk to us. Oh sure, you could just not show up but it was kind of... frowned upon, I guess. And since I hate people frowning on me, I had to go. Every. single. time. Oh, how I regretted it.
The main problem I had was the language barrier. The sessions were supposed to be held in English but a lot of the Japanese students participating were really struggling. They were either too shy to try to speak in English or they really didn't understand anything and my Japanese wasn't nearly good enough to be able to bond with them or find common ground. This resulted in a lot of awkward silences and the Japanese students fidgeting around while looking confused and trying to remember some random English words. Here's what a generic conversation went like:
Me: 'So... what are your hobbies?'
Student: 'Uh... huh? What...? 何...? Uh... '
Me: 'Your hobby? Do you have any?'
Student: 'Any? Uhhh... What... any mean?'
Me: 'しゅみは何ですか?'
Student: 'Ah! Oh! Right! You have hobby?'
Me: 'What? I was asking you- Oh, whatever. Nevermind.'
Then there was this one time when I was having a really awkward conversation with a Japanese guy who kept nodding at every word. His English was actually pretty okay but he kept leaning closer and closer as if he had trouble hearing me and I was leaning further away because I was getting creeped out... and I also had pretty bad coffee breath. Then there was the usual question almost every single student kept asking me:
'Do you have a boyfriend?'
'No, I'm single.'
'How old are you?'
'Twenty-three.'
'Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?! And no boyfriend?!'
I'm not even joking here. That was their reaction. Apparently in Japan being single at twenty-three is as good as being born without fingerprints: you hear that people like that exist but you've never actually seen one.
The worst session, however, happened during second semester. I was supposed to be the one in the exchange but since we already knew how awkward it could get, Mary decided to join me. She didn't have anything else to do and I guess we were hoping it would be more fun this way. We were wrong. So, so wrong. Two seconds in we realized that the two girls who signed up for the exchange basically didn't speak any English... but they still wanted to try. What followed was the most awkward and excruciatingly slow conversation I've ever had in Japanese.
First we tried talking about their majors. They seemed extremely confused when we asked them anything in English so we tried mixing in some Japanese to make things go smoother. This... kind of worked... maybe...? After some awkward silences and us trying to rephrase the question in a simpler way we found out that the girls were English majors. Well... That was... interesting. I had the urge to tell them that they would probably do better in any other field but... it would have been too mean - and they probably wouldn't have understood me anyway. So, we still had fifteen minutes to go and - as always - we decided to bring up the subject of hobbies (because it was a tad more interesting than talking about the weather).
'So, what are your hobbies?'
The girls exchanged a confused glance and whispered to eachother in Japanese, trying to figure out what we had just asked them. We repeated the question in Japanese.
'Ah! Hobby!' one of the girls went triumphantly, 'My hobby is shopping!'
'Uh... okay...? Shopping. Great. And yours?' I turned to the other girl.
'Ah... umm... my hobby is eating.'
Eating? Really? Like... what people do to survive? She does it as a hobby? I blinked a few times and tried to think of something to say to that. Something that wouldn't be super sarcastic.
'Um... Do you mean you like cooking and trying different things?' asked Mary, trying to be helpful.
'No. Eating.'
Ah. Wonderful. Her hobby was eating. Breathing too, probably, but I guess she was nervous and forgot to mention it. During my time in Japan I got to ask the hobby-question many times from many different people and honestly, some of the answers they gave were just depressing. Especially the girls. Sure, there were some that had genuinely interesting hobbies and did something fun or exciting but in many cases their hobbies were 'shopping', 'magazines' (no idea, what they meant by that - guess they just really liked reading magazines... but not books!), 'TV', 'make-up' and 'clothes' (not designing clothes or anything like that - they just liked to buy clothes and make themselves look pretty).
I'm not sure many of these girls understood what a 'hobby' really is. Sure, it is defined as an activity you do for the sake of enjoyment and I'm sure many people enjoy eating but... It shouldn't be something that keeps you alive. Just like sleeping isn't really a hobby. Or bathing. Or peeing. Those are just things people do because they're either detrimental for our survival or just necessary to function in society. I think I can safely say that I didn't really get much out of the whole cultural exchange thing. Most of the time I got looks of disbelief when I told people I was single or confused looks when I told them I was from Estonia. Nobody ever knew where Estonia was. But that's a whole other story that I'm not gonna rant about today.

...the full moon landed on a Friday

You know how they say that the full moon brings out all the loonies? Yeah, they're not kidding. This happened ages ago when I was still working in the quaint little bar called Zavood. I was young, naive and believed in the kindness of my fellow men. Oh wait... no I didn't. I was already cynical and embittered. Also, not that young. But I digress. 

It was a Friday night sometime in March (I think) and the moon was full. I usually tried to avoid working on Fridays because it was always terribly busy and the shift lasted for eleven hours so I got home around 7 or 8 in the morning. But then again, we usually got more tips on Fridays so there was that. I don't remember why I decided to work on that Friday but it felt like a good idea and I was working the shift with my roommate and best friend so I thought it would be fun. 

The night started off slowly. We opened at 7 pm and the first half an hour flew by without anyone stepping in. So far so good. We chatted a bit, made sure everything was in order and put on our favorite playlist. And waited... and waited... I think we'd been open for almost an hour when our first customers stepped in. They were two guys, maybe in their late thirties or mid forties and they looked like... a lot of our customers: not the healthiest or wealthiest individuals... Okay, they looked like bums. Their clothes were well worn, they looked kind of dirty and one of them was carrying a ragged green...ish backpack. Something seemed... off about them... but something seemed off about most of our customers. They stepped up to the counter and the first guy, looking slightly nervous and a bit out of it, went:

'Can we... uh... get something to drink?'

'Well, this is a bar so sure. What do you want?'

'What do you have?'

'...Umm... There's a drink menu right in front of you... and the special offers are written on the blackboard right next to you...'

'Oh, right. Do you guys have beer?'

It's funny how often I had to hear stupid questions like that but I never really got used to it. As I tried my hardest to suppress a snarky response, the guy ordering went:

'We'll have two beers.'

Great... You know, I'm sure there are bars that only offer one type of beer but I can't imagine they're that common. I mean, if you're not sure what brand you want, you should at least specify if you want light or dark beer. This wasn't the first time someone had ordered just 'beer' but it still annoyed me. Still, it could have been worse. I once had a guy order 'alcohol'. No, I'm not even kidding - he just came up to me and asked if he could have alcohol.

'What kind of beer?' I asked, trying not to look too bitchy. 

'And fries. Two sets of fries,' the guy continued. 

'Okay, but what kind of beer?'

'You guys have fries, right?'

'Yes, we do, but what kind of beer do you want?'

'Beer? Oh yes, beer! That one!' he said pointing to a tap. 

Okay, great. So two sets of fries and two random beers. I went to the tap and started pouring out the beers when the other guy finally opened his mouth and went:

'We just got released from the institution. We haven't had a woman in six months.'

...

.....

........

Okay then! That was... more than I wanted to know. I exchanged a panicked look with my roomie Terje who looked just as weirded out as I was. 

'Oh yeah,' the other guy added, 'We were in the mental institution. Just got out today.'

'Haven't had a woman in six months,' the first one repeated.
Great! Just great! The night was off to a wonderful start! I should have known something was wrong with these guys from the moment they stepped into the bar. Both of them had crazy-eyes.
'You wouldn't know where we could find some... friendly ladies, would you?' one of the guys asked while looking around as if searching for something.
'Well, if you wait around long enough I'm sure you'll find someone,' Terje replied darkly.
That was... probably true. Our bar was the sleaziest place in town - or at least this part of town - and even bums and lunatics had a chance to get lucky... with other bums and lunatics of course but nonetheless...
After getting them their beers we both went to the back room to get the fries going and discuss what just happened. It was weird, a bit scary but most of all just plain creepy. I didn't feel threatened but I sure as hell didn't feel like hanging out with them. So we just did our jobs, finished preparing the fries and brought them out and for a while everything was okay... until one of the guys showed up at the counter and went:
'Oh hey, by the way, we also want two sets of fries.'
I was confused. 'Uh, another two sets of fries? But you just got your first ones.'
'We did? Where are they?'
'Uh... at your table? We brought you your fries like two minutes ago.'
'Oh, those are ours?'
...
.....
........
This was just getting better and better. Apparently they thought that we'd just brought them two random plates that were meant for someone else (even though they were the only customers) - just to taunt them I guess. I have no idea what they were thinking but they settled down after we explained that yes, they can eat the fries sitting at their table. And no, they didn't have to pay for them again. Because they had forgotten they'd done that already.
So a few moments go by and they are still the only customers, sitting alone in their dark corner and doing god knows what. I was just hanging out with my roomie, doing nothing in particular, just chatting and killing time. For some reason I needed to do something in the kitchen so I disappeared for a moment. Two seconds later I hear yelling and swearing from the main room.
I rushed out and in the short amount of time that I was in the back something had gone terribly awry. One of the loony guys was on the ground, curled up in a fetal position, and the other guy was just relentlessly kicking him while swearing at him. My roommate was yelling at him to stop and frantically pushing the panic button under the counter. The next few minutes passed in a blur. I remember a lot of cursing and yelling and us trying to pull the two guys apart while simultaneously trying to stay out of harm's way. I don't know how it happened but somehow we managed to calm down the both of them and help the beaten guy up. His face was bloody so we gave him a few tissues to clean himself up, gave him some water and soon enough he and his friend were on speaking terms again. Sadly, we weren't. Terje and I were way past the point of being weirded out - now we were scared and pissed off. Scared because these guys were obviously unpredictable and possibly dangerous. And pissed off because we had pushed the panic button like twenty minutes ago and no one was showing up to our aid. There were supposed to be security guards showing up as soon as we pushed the button but apparently they were all busy or something. So we were stuck with two dangerous lunatics. At a certain point we contemplated calling the cops because we did not want these guys around - god knows what could've happened if one of them got angry again - but then, twenty-five minutes after the incident, two bored-looking guards walked in.
'What seems to be the problem here?'
Really? That's what they were going with? We explained the situation to them, adding that it had solved itself almost half an hour ago, and asked them to escort the lunatics out. They didn't seem too happy about it, mumbling something about the guys 'not hurting anyone anymore' but we weren't having them and a few minutes later we were rid of the two creepy guys.
That wasn't the end of it though. It took them a few hours but at one point the guys came back. Apparently one of them had lost their backpack and was certain we had stolen it. We didn't play around anymore and went for the panic button as soon as they walked in. This time the security guards were quicker to respond and escorted them back out just five minutes after they'd arrived. But then they came back - the loonies with the guards in tow. The crazy guy was certain we had his bag and wanted to look around some more. We let him for a little bit because this time he was accompanied by the security guy. The latter got tired of the crazy-man's antics pretty soon and dragged him out again after they had taken a little tour of the main room. We didn't have his backpack. Never found out what happened to it, but I was pretty pissed that he had the gall to accuse us of stealing it.
The rest of the night was... not as insane but still pretty crazy. There was the vertically challenged man who gave me the PIN-number for his credit card because... why not? Apparently it was easier for me to punch it in than for him... And there were a few other fights  but thankfully they were only verbal. And when the night had ended and we were cleaning up I realized that someone had lifted a table onto one of the couches. Why? Well, why not. Because they could, I guess.
I can safely say that this was the craziest night out of all the nights I worked. I blame the full moon. It brings out some weird people... But then again, it was incredibly beautiful when I was walking home in the morning. To be fair, working in that bar wasn't all bad. I did love to walk home in the early mornings when everyone else was still sleeping. It was always so quiet and calm... But I would never work nights again. Ever. It is the worst. I sometimes still look back and wonder how I survived that insane period of my life... Oh well, at least I have some interesting stories to tell and I'm richer by the experience...

...five-year-olds were smarter than me

Let me start this off by saying that I have no idea how to pluralize the word 'abacus' in English - so you guys just have to bear with me as I go through one of the most embarrassing and humiliating experiences of my life. Let's just call it 'that f***ing soroban event'. Because that's how I always refer to it now. In fact, I cannot say the word 'soroban' (Japanese for 'abacus') without uttering some sort of curse. 

Let me give you some backstory here. It was my fist semester in Chukyo and the international center was constantly trying to recruit us for different events. Cultural exchange events, the school festival and so on. One day I was sitting in the international center, minding my own business, when one of the workers approached me with an offer. There was this event where people would learn how to use the abacus and maybe have a fun little competition and get some sort of prize in the end. They wanted some international students to represent the school. 'It will be fun,' they said, 'It's just a little mock-competition with small prizes. You just have to show up and act interested. You won't even have to do anything difficult and you might learn something. They will teach you how to use an abacus and if you get stuck you can always use a calculator. It's going to be a piece of cake!'. Okay, maybe those weren't the exact words they used but the idea was pretty much it. I wasn't really keen on the idea of participating because simple mathematics is one of my many weaknesses but I have a really hard time saying 'no' to people when they ask me nicely... Somehow they managed to talk me into it and before I knew it I had agreed to participate... and then I realized it was to take place on a Saturday... Oh goody! 

The day before the event I decided to go to a party. Yeah, bad idea but it was a Friday night and I only had two drinks with me... The fact that I might have had a few shots of whiskey is irrelevant... Anyhoo, I didn't stay up too late and besides, I was fairly certain the even was only going to take like an hour or two. That's what the international center told us. Nothing to worry about - even if I was a bit hung over. 

So, on the day of the event I got up in time and headed downstairs. Soon we - me, Mary, Percy and Josh - were off to the city center for the abacus event. I'd thought there would be more of us but apparently the two other students who were thinking about joining us had changed their minds in the end. So it was just the four of us. I was feeling a bit slow and I had a minor headache but I felt like I was still up to the task. It was just a short little thing and I could rest as soon as I was done. 

We show up at the address the school gave us and it's a highrise with... a daycare on the first floor. Just a bunch of children running around and playing. We looked around for a while, confused. Sure enough this was the right address but... where were we supposed to go? I don't know how long we wandered about, trying to find somewhere to go but at some point one of the organizers showed up and led us to the elevator which took us to the correct floor... which wasn't that different from the first one. 

The first red flag was the sheer amount of kids. And I'm talking about really, really little kids. Like elementary school kids. Sure, there were also middle schoolers and high school kids and even a few adults but at least 90% of the contestants were underage. But that was a good thing, right? It just meant that the competition/learning event was supposed to be super easy. Right?

We were lead to a huge classroom where the event was supposed to take place. The room was filled with kids, sitting behind their tables all prim and proper... As we got seated one of the ladies in the organizing team walked up to us and asked:

'So, does everyone have their abacus with them?'

Uh... what? We exchanged a confused glance. No, everyone did not have their abacus with them. I'm pretty sure none of us even owned an abacus.

'But... we were told we didn't need them. That we would learn to use them here?' we answered meekly. 

The lady looked confused and shocked, as if someone had neglected to tell us the world was overrun by zombies. How could we show up without an abacus? Did we not realize what this even was? Nope, no we didn't. Because no one had told us... She went to talk with a colleague and soon enough we all had calculators, our 'exam sheets' and there was an abacus for each of us. The lady in charge of us gave us a quick ten-minute tutorial on how it works and how to use it. My head was pounding by that point and I barely understood any of it. So there were ones and tens and if the tens made up over a hundred then you needed to add... Uhhhh... it was way too much for me at that point. But I felt like I could probably handle some simple calculations.

The next red flag was the opening speech. Yes, there was a long, formal speech at the beginning that made me realize that I'd made a mistake.  This was not just some fun little 'mock-competition'. No, this was a real thing. Like they were trying to find the next Soroban Idol or something. Even last year's champion was there. And everyone looked pretty serious. We all had our little numbered sheets and we had to write answers to each problem they read out loud. Thankfully we, the foreigners, could use our calculators... so I was feeling pretty confident. And then it started.

'Twenty three plus seventy eight,' the guy in the front cried out.

Okay, that was easy. Let me just add the tens and move this thing on the abacus and then...

'One hundred and one minus sixty seven.'

Oh, that was fast. I wasn't even done with the last one. Let me just write down the answer to the first one and...

'Fifty five minus twenty one plus seventy two.'

You know what, I'm just going to use the calculator! You win, Japan! I don't know how to use the abacus! Happy now?

'Twenty thousand two hundred and thirty eight plus fifteen thousand and six minus ten thousand five hundred fifty six plus two hundred and one.'

.....

That escalated fast...

What was that first number again?

'Two million-'

Oh, really? Really?! You've got to be kidding me?!

'Five hundred million-'

My calculator only has six digits! I can't even type in the first number! It's just too long (that's what she said)! 

After realizing that I was up shit's creek without a paddle and floating in a sieve - they had given me a calculator that couldn't for the life of it handle the problems they were giving us - I decided to give up and see how everyone else was doing. The elementary schoolers were doing great: their little fingers moving around in lightning speed as they were doing their calculations, their little hands up in the air as soon as the announcer was done reading the problem out loud showing that they had gotten the answer. Meanwhile, I could see the souls of my fellow exchange students slipping out of their bodies only to be crushed by monstrous numbers and the harsh realization that these five-year-olds were smarter than all of us combined. My head really started to hurt now. 

Two hours later...

Not even kidding. We sat there for about two hours, slowly dying inside as they were angrily shouting out numbers, until they announced we could leave... Oh great! We could finally leave! Except...

'...and after lunch we start with round two.'

What? Round two? Lunch? You mean this horror show wasn't over? We approached one of the ladies in the organizing team and asked her how long round two would take. 'Oh, about two hours,' was her reply. Two... hours? Two more hours? We exchanged another look of despair and drew back into a corner to have a little crisis meeting. We could not handle another two hours of these genius preschoolers making us feel like morons. We needed a way out. In a few moments we devised a plan and approached the organizers, saying that we had to leave because the school was holding a speech competition and we had to practice our speeches and so on. We were pretty vague with the details but they bought it. They were also very sad to see us go. So before we left they got all of the higher-ups together and thanked us for participating and gave us all gift-bags and took photos with us and... well, basically it felt like we were attending some sort of award ceremony with people giving us stuff and shaking our hands. 'It was an honor to have you. What a pity you have to leave early. Here, take this. And here are your diplomas. And...' it went on and on as we tried our best to look serious and sad about leaving. 'Oh yes, we're really very sorry,' we mumbled as we inched closer to the elevator, 'We're very sad we have to leave but the speech thing... So very sorry for this... We appreciate everything you taught us...'

After a long and painful farewell - that made us feel like the biggest bastards in the whole world - we got into the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. Even as the doors were closing the organizers were waving, bowing and thanking us for our participation in the event. As soon as the doors had closed and the elevator started moving we all burst out laughing. Don't get me wrong: we felt like shit for lying to them and sneaking away but just the sheer absurdity of the situation was hilarious. Us being tricked into participating in a math competition, us basically running away halfway through, the super awkward way they sent us off and even the gifts we got - it was all just insane. To this day I cannot look at an abacus without remembering how a bunch of kids were smarter than me. I guess it's a good thing the abacus is considered outdated in Europe.