A flag and a legacy


Tokyo – I remember being surprised by flags one day as I came to the office. A crumpled one clinging to the post over the staff entrance left me wondering. It was slightly cloudy, trains were on time, I was at the office, and I was quite sure of the need to be there that day, even if it were only perfunctory. The flag failed to flutter but the black strip under it tied round the post did. Did someone important just die? It was March 11. Then it dawned on me.

Four years had passed since the tsunami struck northeast Japan. Today, Japan is in its best moment, riding on the pro-growth Abenomics rhetoric, and cherry blossom buds growing fuller. The prospects are good, but the lack of respect was startling. We all understand protocol and the need to observe events, but to do things properly should be at the root of all meaningful actions. Otherwise, it’s just not worth doing.

Flags are symbols that command respect, and desecration can, in most countries, have severe consequences. Japan is one surprising exception; desecration is implicitly covered in the Japanese Constitution under freedom of speech, that is, people are allowed to disrespect the Japanese national flag. No other law exists to prohibit it, yet foreign flags are protected under Japanese law.

Scant respect for its own drew scrutiny at lunchtime from a security guard, peering overhead to see what had happened. Someone had apparently failed to iron it, or simply took it too quickly out from the washer. At least it wasn’t dripping or visibly torn. There was a slight breeze, and anyone who noticed as they walked past would inevitably feel a sense of shame or indignity, if they cared.

I raised the problem to a friend. The word “shame” was mentioned softly as people around me kept it quiet. It seemed as though they wanted this day to pass without issue and for the flag to hang in plain public view undetected. From the security guard’s actions, they just didn’t bother to correct it or even consider improving the situation. Any act to adjust the flag that was already hoisted would be incriminating, so just leave it as a doubtful entanglement hanging off the building, and lower it at the end of the day. Besides, it would be worse to leave this one pole empty if it took hours to iron out the creases, wouldn’t it?

Painful, appalling inaction and disrespect – the flag PAID the price of someone who simply followed the book without observing its substance, and everyone else who did not bother to do anything to change it. That the flag was probably only seen by company employees and visitors was its only saving grace, for it, not the people.

Contrast this with the formal, organized State Funeral for Singapore’s founding Prime Minister, Mr. Lee Kuan Yew. The media covered every inch, foreign dignitaries flocked to pay respects, and the people were understandably very emotional. You could see the bias among certain circles against this seemingly well-drilled regime, but the organization and finesse of the communications to the public spoke volumes of the people, its institutions and its government. The week-long run-up even included a faked government website release announcing his death.

Soon celebrating its 50th anniversary without its visionary leader but left with a legacy of friendships and connections that span the globe from the founding generation, the final day’s eulogies reflected the spirit of the nation; it sets aside time to remember, but remains ever ready to move on. Singapore’s anthem urges progress, its pledge aspires to a harmonious, prosperous future. Recognizing the constant struggle to survive, the endless marathon to stay relevant, and the journey ahead, this young nation and its people understands its needs and is prepared to pull together to build a better future.

The nation’s economic miracle is a legacy for everyone. The guiding light is gone but continues to shine beyond its existence, allowing others to follow, draw upon and make it travel further. Anyone blighted with internal struggles, nonchalance, or indifference bordering on conceit, can turn to this legacy to remember the constant struggle, the sacrifices made and the path that was painstakingly laid in a bid to remain competitive and relevant. A new journey will soon begin, toward inclusive, sustainable progress. Those already overtaken should take heed.

Of sniffles and snides


Tokyo, 23 Mar – I woke up this morning feeling tired and restless. Bereft of any desire to get to work, my feet trudged across the wooden flooring as I went about the morning routine. They somehow took a body that was slowly getting into gear to the train platform, when the arm, a perfectly programmed extension of the body, reached into the trouser pocket to retrieve my phone.

The commuter routine began. Masked, foggy glasses, jam-packed trains, intermittent stops. All part of the morning ride. My fingers worked the screen swiftly, scourging the Internet for news. My mind was racing through topics of interest that required updating and relayed them to fire the synapses into action. They were stopped by the Channel NewsAsia headline – Mr. Lee Kuan Yew had passed away at 91 earlier at 3.18 am.

As my train arrived, I felt insecure, shaken and struck by melancholy sadness that was tinged with a heavy dose of admiration and relief. Every sniffle around me, every listless eye peering out at the scenery whizzing by seemed captured by sympathy. It was over.

The past few days had been a Facebook timeline of tributes and prayers for Singapore’s founding Prime Minister. Famous words, unforgettable scenes, touching sequences. They all drew a picture of the person behind the face that all Singaporeans, and perhaps many Malaysians too, had grown so accustomed to seeing ever so often. The write-ups painted a demanding leader, visionary and inspirational, but also frugal and sentimental. The public domain was soon filled with messages and outpouring of sympathies for Mr. Lee from the world over. The world had soon overwhelmed this little red dot and its people. A week of national mourning in Singapore was declared by Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong, and going to work felt beyond me.

Yet by that time, my feet had already taken me past my transfer. I had scarcely anything to do besides meager tasks, but a subsequent inquiry revealed that the condolence books at overseas missions would not be open until the next day. They would remain so till the weekend to allow citizens and friends of Singapore to offer their condolences to Mr. Lee, the most influential Asian leader that I’ve lived under.

Just a few years back, he was still attending conferences and making trips across the world to cement Singapore’s position in the global arena. The tireless spirit has finally left its citizens with a huge void to fill and a legacy of a first class nation. The rise of this tiny island from a third world nation to the world’s third in per capita GDP is a story that will inspire generations to come.

As part of a largely non-English corporate propaganda churning unit, I was invariably tasked with drafting private letters to my fellow countrymen. Laughs turned to sniggers, sniffs sounded like snorts. Insensitivity is an understatement. A simple direct instruction was viewed as a blatant order to punish the eternally-contracted foreigner.

The public domain was already full of templates and expressions. A gathering of them would do the job perfectly, but the senses left my fingers as they clutched and clasped at my head, struggling to claw the right words out for someone else. The limbs worked, sometimes in a flurry, sometimes stationary. Three paragraphs settled, done, I left the office deflated and eager to find my own words.

I hope they will come to me in time, before my legs take me to the Embassy to stand before the condolence book ready to pen in my entry. My synapses and internal wiring would not be trusted to do a job that would end up entirely mechanical, devoid of emotion. I shall draw on my upbringing, education and childhood to express my gratitude, and then move on. Just like in Singapore, we stop, but only for a week to remember. Thank you Mr. Lee.

– updated 24 Mar

Dejavu@ Ajinomoto stadium – J-League 2015 Game 2 (14 March)


Chofu, Tokyo – FC Tokyo’s opening home game for the new season pitched them against the same team as last season’s final game. Just over 3 months since the 1-1 draw at Ajinomoto stadium, Yokohama Marinos were looking for their first points of the new campaign. Meanwhile, FC Tokyo had clawed back a point from last season’s treble winners, Gamba Osaka, when its suave young striker Yoshinori Muto completed his brace deep into stoppage time to send the travelling fans into ecstasy.

Fans streaming in an hour before kickoff

Fans streaming in an hour before kickoff

Tobitakyu station was filled with an expectant home crowd and similarly excited away fans. The away team clearly saw themselves as tricolour, while Tokyo was largely blue tinged with wine red. With both teams sporting similar team colours, the two sets of fans and their gear could only be discerned at close range as they made the mandatory 5-minute trek from the station. Of course, they also parted ways to move to opposite sides of the stadium. Incidentally, the away team were to sport their new gold away kit for this fixture.

Today's fixture

Today’s fixture

Opening home day fanfare lined up special guest, singer and actress Sakurako Ohara to rock the stands before kickoff and the Tokyo Girls Collection’s official Tokyo Girls Run team of runway runners on the pitch at half-time. A group was spotted sitting pitch-side throughout the game. These fans were owners of new special one-day tickets and accompanying authentic design collapsible chairs provided by kit sponsors Umbro. Open only to home supporters and coming with strict viewing conditions, excitement seemed to bubble from that part of the pitch, which was as close to the home goal as you could get.

Moving slowly through the crowd on the concourse

Moving slowly through the crowd on the concourse

The stadium concourse was packed with lines of hungry fans eager to grab a bite before the 2pm kickoff. Dorompa, Tokyo’s sporty raccoon dog mascot, could be seen everywhere, but the real one had its usual busy schedule of appearances in various locations. A Tokyo-only menu item taco-rice (rice topped with taco filling) had sold out early. Whether this had anything to do with taco meaning to draw a blank in Japanese, home fans were definitely hoping to see goals to build on last weekend’s result. The game was also to be a surprise first to be watched by Vahid Halilhodzic shortly after his official announcement as the new coach of the Japanese national team. The Bosnian had famously led Algeria to the last 16 round for the first time at the 2014 World Cup.

After the usual team announcements, the stadium aired a familiar tune – You’ll Never Walk Alone. The rendition of one of football’s most famous anthems by a largely Japanese home crowd, where the music tapers off midway, left a sombre and dignified tune filling the space between the two sets of fans – welcome to Tokyo and let the game begin.

Home fans in full song

Home fans in full song

The 30,000-strong crowd was slightly short of attendance at last season’s closer, nearly 32,600. Both sets of fans were left hanging on until the closing stages of the game in a solid tactical performance by both teams. Tokyo came nearest to goal twice in the first half while Yokohama were also culpable for failing to finish off clear chances. It was only late in the game that Tokyo seemed to change gears, as the visitors endured waves of attacks that just lacked the final pass. A sense of deflation seemed to linger after referee Yuichi Nishimura (yes, he who attracted worldwide attention in Brazil’s opening World Cup 2014 game against Croatia) blew the final whistle, and fans were left to reflect on lost chances and the dejavu of another draw from the same fixture.

– Result: FC Tokyo 0 Yokohama Marinos 0

A new beginning – J-League 2015 kickoff @ Hiratsuka (7 March)


Hiratsuka, Japan – With the day’s opening 2pm kickoffs out of the way, I ventured to the Shonan BMW stadium in Hiratsuka in search of the opening day revelry. As the sun set, I made my journey toward Isehara station, about an hour West of Shinjuku on the Odakyu line, for Shonan Bellmare’s J1 game against perennial title favorites Urawa Reds.

New entrants Bellmare had comfortably topped J2, the league’s 2nd tier, entertaining everyone with a brand of speedy, all-out attacking football last season, but they knew that the top tier required an overall balance in their play. Pre-sale tickets for the match ran out within two days, a rarity for opening day, but this was definitely compounded by hope for the home team, the stadium’s relatively low 18,500 capacity, and fanatical away supporters more accustomed to the comforts of a 63,700-seater home in Saitama.

Urawa, together with J-league flagbearers Gamba Osaka and Kashima Antlers in the Asia Champions League, had already suffered consecutive losses in a stuttering start to the new season. In particular, they had been on the wrong end of a combined total of 6 losses, an overall zero return, a fact that did not escape J-league Chairman Mitsuru Murai’s attention. The stage was set to begin anew on the opening day to recover some loss pride, light up the domestic scene and showcase the talent available in the league.

25-min direct shuttle

25-min direct shuttle from Isehara station

Outside Isehara station, there was calm punctuated by the occasional shuffle. Nothing seemed to be happening anytime soon, save a signboard that told people heading to the stadium to form a separate queue from those for regular services. Two shuttle bus services were running, one at each hour before kickoff. Making the second one with about 30 minutes to spare, a handful of about 10 people waited silently in line. The sky was turning dark as the single ground staff hollered instructions through a toned down loudspeaker. A bus sitting quietly in the corner waited its turn with a signboard showing “Shonan BMW Stadium Hiratsuka”. As I stood in line, a few others followed to extend the line by 3. The bus eventually came round with no one else joining us. I was wondering about the first shuttle service when it dawned upon me that the larger part of the crowd would probably have used the JR Hiratsuka station, which was 25-min away from the stadium on foot.

In contrast, this was a 25-minute long drive through what seemed like the deep countryside. Reaching our destination, fans streamed toward the stadium. They led me through a park and past the dark daytime establishments. Match day stalls lined the other side of the street facing a row of fluttering Bellmare flags. Ecstatic girls took photos with flags of players that tickled and teased in the mild breeze. Fans rushed ahead while talking on their mobile phones. Speakers blasted dance party music but it quickly dissipated into the vast silence.

The cauldron

Shonan BMW Stadium Hiratsuka

Just past the row of stalls was the stadium arc. I took a quick stroll round it to assess the view. An open bowl with openings at the corners, the perimeter fences allowed ticketless fans like myself to peer inside to catch the game. The Urawa end was particularly open with the goal in plain view. The atmosphere in the cauldron leaked out, but even the incessant chanting by the 18,000 strong crowd did not reverberate beyond the stalls nearby. Sound proofing wasn’t needed. Situated in the middle of a park about 2.5 km inland, sound simply had nothing to bounce off of. A private party was underway, and two teams would do battle for a win to kickoff the new campaign.

Away goal in the firing line

Away goal in the firing line

Flags waving, the player’s names over the PA were greeted with cheers from both sets of fans. The stage was set, and the ticketless few had taken up posts along the stadium’s perimeters. It was a queer sight, faces peering in that were lit up by the floodlights that shone onto the pitch. They could have easily been mistaken as searchlights, for the surrounding woods were almost pitch black, and it left me feeling twice detached as a neutral watching from the outside.

Floodlights or searchlights?

Searchlights?

As the game kicked off, I made my way back to the station on the regular service, grabbing a bite from one of the stalls on my way out. As expected, the return trip took longer than the direct shuttle service, and I was the lone passenger for a large part of the journey. The whole experience left me feeling excited, but also wondering how lower division J2 and J3 teams managed to maintain afloat and still remain competitive. That would call for some deeper research into the league’s finances, but the support in the stands is very much alive and well. On the pitch, with 22 strikes in the 7 lunchtime kickoffs and no bore draws, its goals galore on opening day, and the new 2015 season has truly taken off.

– Result: Shonan Bellmare 1 Urawa Reds 3

Adventure at Japan’s theatre of sport


Tokyo – It was the morning of May 22nd, the last day the Japanese National Stadium would be open for tours to the public before renovations ahead of the 2020 Olympics. I took the day off to become part of the 6,000-strong weekday crowd, taking the municipal subway line to take me straight to its North gate.

Taking my first and last steps through the gates, I looked to the queue ahead. Snaking across the entrance platform was an excited but orderly crowd, a mix of parents with carriers and strollers in tow, couples, chatty girls and wide-eyed boys. I spotted a few sporting soccer jerseys and some others clad in business suits. They had obviously gone out of their way to take time off for the tour and were all set to get back to work.

As we shuffled toward the tour entrance below, some were conspicuously out of line, peering anxiously past the gates while feverishly urging their friends to arrive over the phone as others frantically fingered their smartphone screens. Staff were unraveling more rope to round up the growing queue but a few were already hollering for last-minute entrants ahead of shutting the gates. Time was of the essence.

Enjoying the intermittent windows of sun, I gazed upward for signs of rain clouds as a chilly breeze picked up because rain was forecast later in the day. A large menacing mass drifted nearer, threatening to open up and dump whatever it held. As we moved down to the tour entrance beneath, I caught my first glimpse of the track and field through a ground-level entrance. The brilliant green glowed brilliantly beyond the pitch dark entrance. The pitch did not welcome, it drew you in. Restrained by my orderly habit, I prised my eyes away and turned to the queue ahead.

A crooked clock hung above the tour entrance

A crooked clock hung above the tour entrance

I noticed a slightly crooked clock right above the tour entrance, which was laid out haphazardly using a few tables and benches. No one really noticed the alignment of the clock above it, except for the time. We were in for some history, but first we had to pass by an open cash box, some stacks of papers, and clammy hands snapping away at the 1,000 yen entry fee, before receiving a visitor access pass.

Liberated from the ordeal of the snail-paced queue, I charged out into the open to the curved road around the stadium.

1964 Olympic winners plaque and flagposts

The 1964 Olympic winners list

Many were pointing their cameras upward, toward the trident flag posts and the 1964 Olympic winners list. Carved in stone and perched high above us, we stretched to search for familiar names only to be met with droplets of rain. I remembered the momentous triumph of the Japanese women’s volleyball team and snapped a few quick photos before dashing off past another crowd (and winners board) to the main attraction: the sporting arena within.

Ground-side view of the pitch and terraces

Ground-side view of the pitch and terrace

By then, some brollies had gone up but sports enthusiasts are not the weakly kind. I found myself angling for a shot of the pitch among the many lined up along its perimeter. Some crouched down to caress the grass while others stood still to enjoy the expanse of the pitch and the ground-side view of the main stand terraces. As the droplets fell harder, the field embraced it and glistened vividly. Any joy was soon dampened as the winds picked up and forced us to take shelter.

Mother Nature's performance - a hallowed field

Mother Nature’s performance – a hallowed field

One brave figure remained on the tracks under an umbrella as the heavens opened. Another lone figure, a visitor, soon accompanied him, trudging up and down the length of the pitch, seemingly oblivious to the increasingly heavy downpour. The rest of us were left cowering from the fury of the wind and rain, seeking shelter under entrances, covered terraces and walkways. As the storm reached its peak, rain splash formed a fleeting calf-high mist as mother nature demonstrated her craft in creating a hallowed field.

Main stand view

Main stand view

I stole on an intermission in her performance to make my way up the main stand, only to be greeted by a stream, a result of gushing drainage outlets at the sides of the aisles. Sloshing up the slippery concrete steps and moderately strong current while being pelted by large droplets of rain, I took the fastest possible route to an open seat in the covered stands, brushing past two ladies who stalled midway in the rain with their brollies. Seating myself down in the main stand, I noticed someone starting off on the home stretch. He tore through the light rain and fell theatrically at the end, drawing warm applause for the performance. “That was pretty fast!” some said, amused and happy to have seen good sport today. My spectator experience thoroughly satisfied, I ventured forth to the cauldron atop the opposite stand.

I joined the crowd on an flanking move. Making my way through the ground entrance and up a flight of stairs to the upper stands, I reached gate 37, the entrance leading to the famed cauldron. Once again out in the open, this time without any cover in sight, I glanced up the towering floodlights. The rain cloud was moving east, leaving clear blue skies behind its gray trail.

A familiar backdrop adorns the main stand

A familiar backdrop adorns the main stand

Turning round to the west, my eyes immediately recognized the familiar Shinjuku skyline. Just a stone’s throw away, it seemed even nearer as a pretty backdrop adorning the main stand. A spectator tormented by the sight of his team could simply look away to enjoy the concrete landscape that stood over the horizon. The sight was enough to keep anyone distracted till something exciting happened on the grounds below.

Impeccable orderliness demonstrated once again

Impeccable orderliness demonstrated once again

The back stand’s main attraction awaited. I refocused my thoughts and rejoined the queue. A single file formed along an aisle toward the cauldron. I waited in line, amazed by the live demonstration of impeccable orderliness so characteristic of Japanese society. We all played our part, shuffling toward the cauldron to take a prized photo or two. That was all the time we afforded ourselves with the crowd breathing down on us. Some took selfies in their business suits, others perched atop the fences or searched for the best possible composition. All this happened in line, with the rest of the stands empty. We all knew where the best vantage was, just follow everyone else!

Rain clouds left behind clear blue skies

Rain clouds left behind clear blue skies

Past the cauldron, the line disappeared, the tension dissipated, and the euphoria subsided. A sense of nostalgia tinged with longing sadness quickly took hold. I would have loved to see a game here. Any sporting event, just to feel the wind in my hair and cheers reverberating across the ground. The open skies, flowing terraces, and flights of stairs in this arena was deprived of sporting endeavor, save the lone runner and some soccer jerseys. What will the future hold for its new incarnation? Its design will hold the key to the answer, and without doubt, it will not just be sport.

The crowd-guided tour had dispersed and I made my solo exit through an adjacent gate. It was the only other one open to us that day, waiting to be shut like the rest of them until the final farewell on the following weekend.

Gates closed

Gate closed

As I made my exit, a local TV station caught a fellow visitor in Kashima Antlers colors, who was chatting away happily into the camera. On the way back down the last flight of stairs, I received a towel to remind me of my adventure in one of Japan’s sporting monuments.

Hike reaping more for less


Tokyo – Since Japan’s sales tax rose to 8% on April 1, 2014, I’ve noticed some changes, particularly in the way prices are shown. Major supermarket chains jumped on a legal revision to show prices less tax before the hike. Before, it used to be mandatory to display tax inclusive retail prices throughout the country, but today, we get tax exclusive prices, along with the more familiar tax inclusive ones in parentheses. Conditioned to non-bracketed figures, a shopper’s mind will register the lower prices, even as it recognizes the significance of the bracketed (tax inclusive) figure in peripheral vision.

Not that I don’t get along with the number 8, sharing the same sound as prosperity in Mandarin, it’s the best number businesses can wish for. That has rung true here in Japan. Even as Starbucks has taken a slight hit on its tall-sized beverage, which now costs not 15 or even 20 but just 10 yen more at 350 yen, elsewhere, math seems to be an urgent subject for revision. Haircut chain QB raised its flat 1000 yen cuts by 80 yen, even as they offered the old price for senior citizens on weekdays. Vending machine prices have also gone up by a dime, which is around 8%. Well, at least we all know who’s counting their pennies here.

Cents really do matter in Japan, a country famous for clockwork train services and attention to detail. After years of molding 5% prices and making them attractive propositions, the 3% hike has created mental challenges and added unwieldy change in our pockets. Imagine trying to keep your shopping under 1000 yen by grabbing groceries for 94, 380 and 460 yen, tax exclusive, preparing a nice bill in line, and ending up having to find another 8 yen. Try ruffling through loose change under the anxious gaze of other people in the queue. I’d probably give up, pay with the nice 1000 yen bill plus a 10 yen coin hastily retrieved from my already bulging store of coins. The mint in Hiroshima has done shoppers no favours, ending its four-year break to meet an expected surge in demand for 1-yen coins.

Toll fares also rose on the same day, or rather expressway operators chose to change their discount scheme to charge daytime drivers more. A night drive from Tokyo to neighbouring Yokohama on the Tomei expressway is now 30% more expensive unless you passed the toll gates after midnight. That’s another huge blow to logistics companies who will have been scratching their heads for answers to gas prices that have been flying through the roof since the yen began its slide.

Drivers aside, I can see shoppers swarming to limited time offers and daily bargains at supermarkets. The Uniqlo phenomenon is proof of thrifty shopping habits: a prolonged campaign of weekend hard bargains means Uniqlo shops are empty the rest of the week. It’s not hard to see people ask whether anyone would buy a garment that is not a rock-bottom offer. I can see businesses timing their own hikes with the government’s before slashing them again for offers, but that’ll only add fuel to swarming in a society already known for its herding habits. Maybe it’ll help companies manage inventories better, but cultivating such consumer habits will not bring long-term benefits.

The papers have reported a 2.7% CPI gain in Tokyo in an overall positive outlook for the Japanese economy. However, some observers remain cautious and have indicated that it was driven by the tax hike. The evidence is there for all to see, if you look hard enough at the prices in parentheses. Focus and attention to detail (and offers) will obviously be the mantra for discerning shoppers. For now, I will sit back and watch how things pan out before the next 2% hike hits consumers again in October next year.

A shave with harmony


Random ramble – It’s been a while since I’ve thought about “h” words. The letter on its own means something totally different in Japanese (if you’ve heard about hentai (lit. perverse) then you know what I’m referring to), but to me “harmony” can connote so many other quietly passive aggressive aspects that it could stir an even stronger reaction from me.

Having lived in Japan for close to a decade, I appreciate the kind friendliness of your everyday cyclist who gives you the right of way or nods at your consideration in doing so for them. I have picked up the habit of thanking strangers along the way, something innately natural to do when expressing genial appreciation in this society. In Singapore, there are campaigns to make the society more polite and gracious. Here the virtue seems to be inundated in its people.

Harmony and consideration for others seem to be very closely related, almost like a razor and its blade. To me, harmony is building or keeping the peace, the razor, while consideration for others is a means towards achieving it, the blade. We all know that a blade can cut both ways, especially a blade with two similarly potent edges, one purely to maintain a clean demeanor and another to put unruly sprouts in their place – washed down the sink.

The second case is where harmony becomes stifling, where the shaver falls into the hands of a power monger. The case in question is how this becomes possible. For hegemony, there must be a dominant presence. In Singapore, it’s the 70% Chinese resident population, in Japan, well, the almost homogeneous society. Back to the question of how harmony breeds hegemony – consideration for others can be a virtue but also turned into a front for putting people in their place. Whether the latter poor souls desire it no longer becomes relevant since any personal aspirations would have been diluted by a sense of acceptance, or even worse resignation, which would only work to strengthen the consensus against their underlying wishes.

We can find the simplest example of a visibly foreign person in Japan employed to be just that, a foreigner. He is an ambassador for his country, culture, language, probably English, enlightening the wide-eyed curious populace and having a desk in the office with little or no prospect of moving elsewhere in the organization. He’s got a comfortable lifestyle, has time for family and friends, plus amiable working conditions but faces the prospects of a career and pay freeze even as the rest of society benefits from changes in the economy.

Our locked-in expat can soon be expected to be less happy because he might no longer be able to sustain his lifestyle despite an absolutely solid wage simply because of rising living costs. Total resignation would be suicide, acceptance would be letting things be. If keeping people in their place is social policy, then good luck to trying to retain valuable, skilled, and loyal employees, whether foreign or local. Outsiders will sure be faster to realize the dead-end ahead, and if we project the situation onto larger society, then it would be no surprise if it soon faces a foreign brain drain.

In what I see as a normal situation, certain skill sets would be associated with some particular area of expertise. However, social consensus on maintaining harmony by showing consideration for others beyond oneself reeks of hegemony; however capable, someone with a particular trait would inevitably be associated with it and put in the “rightful” place to fulfill a certain role. Even though some flexibility (read lip service) might be allowed by the powers that be to assuage temporary dissatisfaction, the general overarching framework remains virtually impenetrable and incapable of changing, even if for the better. Imagine a whole society of people wanting to succeed rather than just earning their keeps? Absolutely chaotic and ultimately undesirable! Dissatisfaction would soar and social order would be in peril.

Of course, the powers that be would not consider the fact that their loss of some authority would result in overall gain, or even new social backing; dissatisfaction would not be faced with resignation or acceptance, but with passionate creativity and innovation, which would bring renewed energy and transformation. The blade would then turn to cleaning up the entire face, not just plucking away at the most evident stubble around the mouth.

Everyone aspires to something sometime in their life, and with backs to the wall, people usually come out fighting; we get creative when we need to and society today needs to be more creative than relying on enforcing harmony through hegemony, but of course, we can’t make everyone happy can we? I can only hope that everyone is given the chance to find their place in society and not simply be put in someplace and be deprived of reaching their ultimate potential. Which reminds me – it’s time to find a new blade.

A harrowing commute


Tokyo – Not that it was as traumatizing for me as it were for the passengers directly involved, but it certainly jolted me out of my early morning sleepiness. My routine commute on the Keio line provided its normal push and crush to bump my office attire into shape, but that day, it offered something extra. I had taken the express train to shave some valuable minutes off my commute, but those plans were dashed when the train stopped for what seemed forever at a station.

My exasperation at the prospect of being late for work was soon met with anxiety, then confusion. First, I heard a slight gasp. Hurried breathing was quickly accompanied by a woman crying softly in pain. Peering from an adjacent door, I didn’t realize what had happened. I could only see a middle-aged lady squatted strangely at the other door. The lady next to her was reaching out, bizarrely trying to somehow yank something out of the train. Only when she called out for station staff that I realized something was badly amiss.

The rest just happened rather haphazardly. Someone must have mentioned that the woman had caught her hand in the door. “Just close the door, quickly,” she wailed. When in-station announcements mentioned passenger trouble, it seemed that the problem had not been properly communicated. Help soon arrived in the form a collapsible ramp used to bridge the gap between the train and the platform. This was followed by a senior-looking figure (at least, in terms of age) passing the door and asking where the problem was. I, like the rest of the passengers, could only look on. The surreal calm in the station seemed to be tinged with a frantic effort to do just about anything. The lady nearby soon stopped asking for assistance. Someone rolled in a wheelchair nonchalantly while I found time to message my family on the circus as it played out.

With some help from station staff, the woman soon  to get her hand out of the door. Finally saved, she stumbled to a nearby bench, clutching her swollen left hand. She was clearly trembling in pain, but yet they left her alone in her anguish and distress.

Station staff came round to visually check the offending door assembly for damage (at least twice) but no one remembered to bring an ice pack for the suffering customer. All this while, the nearby lady had been telling station staff to look at what seemed to her a fracture. Nevertheless, mechanical safety had been ensured and my commute was soon ready to resume.

As the train left the station, apparently 5-7 minutes late, I saw a lady station officer crouching down toward the cringing figure on the bench. That image has stayed with me as the glimmer of hope in a country that is inflexible, mechanical, and, as a result, usually inept in its first response.