REALLY SHORT STORIES OF YOUNG BRETT AND EDDY

Raw fish

Brett's P.O.V

Flour clouds billowed from the mechanical beating of the dough, temporarily suspending in the air before settling down and forming patchy blankets of white on the cold surface of the steel table. Pull, fold, slam-- it was as if I were orchestrating a one-man symphony of controlled drum sounds amidst the cacophony of clattering cutlery and crockery. The monotonous cycle was interrupted by a thud to my head.

"Wrong. Faster." A man with a croaky voice remarked in his own rendition of English. I apologized and nodded submissively. After all, he was the sensei who had been imparting all his knowledge and expertise on the art of noodle-making to me.

Sensei, the Japanese word for teacher, the honorific term I was compelled to use because all the other kitchen assistants called him sensei and I did not want to differentiate myself from the indigenous community and more than I already was. It was also one of the few words in the Japanese lexicon under my belt. A conversation with him usually starts with a loud "sensei " followed by an amalgamation of Japanese, English, gesticulations, recurring fillers, and periods of silence spent trying to comprehend each other.

When I resumed my routine, it felt as though I were a tightrope walker and the crowd had their eyes glued to me in suspense, fear and hopeful anticipation. I furtively shot glances to my left and right. I could feel everyone in the kitchen scrutinizing my every minute movement as I crafted the noodles-- years of Japanese tradition in my foreign hands. It was unclear whether they were in awe or biding for the opportune moment to scoff at me when I made a mistake. One thing for sure was that all this attention, though nothing unfamiliar, still sent uneasiness through all my nerve endings.

Curious, sometimes even intrusive, eyes followed me wherever I was. Maybe it was my strikingly juxtaposed shin color, maybe it was the way I tried to speak English in a Japanese accent, maybe it was the way I fumbled with chopsticks, or maybe they were just expressing the pure fascination of an ornithologist discovering a new species of bird. The first few months made me feel like a celebrity. At every turn, there were excited whispers and those brave enough would ask to take pictures with me. I appreciated the warm welcome but months passed and it felt as if I was constantly under surveillance. It was unsettling- as if people were just waiting to catch me red-handed for any disrespect shown towards their culture. It was a persistent reminder that I did not belong.

A scrambled chorus of indecipherable words resounded from the front and scattered the gazes that were on me. Everyone started busying themselves in the kitchen because the string of gibberish signaled the gush of a new wave of patrons. It was still a mystery why so many exclamations were needed in a single meal but I could live with that because the words that were bellowed with such gusto added some flavor to the otherwise mundane dinner routine. Even as I rushed out of the kitchen after my shift, my departure was announced to the entire restaurant. I swiveled around at the door, smiled sheepishly and bowed before taking off.

In this vast unknown, I was lucky enough to have found pockets of home. I had never expected to find my favorite fast-food chain and what is more, burgers I could get one of back home, I could get two for the same price here. If there was one thing in common that I shared with the locals here, it was the convenience store culture. As the name suggests, you could find the stores at almost every block open day and night. Admittedly, it felt as if my entire life had gone through a major upgrade as the convenience store could fulfill all my needs. Through the countless visits, I discovered the wonders of Japanese products that could satiate my hunger and cure my sweet palate, to those that improved the living conditions around my apartment.

It was also comforting to have found similar people who were floating in the expanse of detachment - untethered and simply floating aimlessly. I found some solace in seeing familiar faces, not that I knew them before, but because they were like me - lost in translation. We lined the sushi counter and watched the trail of plates crawl past. We could rely on one another to stay buoyant in the sea of foreignness, we could laugh the things we found hilarious about being a foreigner and we could share our concerns about the things we did not understand. Those were the kind nights I looked forward to, where I could enjoy those few hours in the company of others, talking about the day over raw fish and tea.