Even though I've lived here for three months, it still took me a day of gentle perseverance to access NHK radio in Japanese (hardcore perseverance just wouldn't do in Japan). It's quite easy to get NHK radio in English, or Urdu for that matter, but for those wishing to hear those indecipherable sounds of Nihongo, a special intuition is required. The answer lies in the belly of a red dog which contains a giant play button. Within this happy belly are hours of streaming news coverage, sumo wrestling matches, cooking shows, and relaxation hours. Within this belly lie the elements of nascent understanding, the sounds which over time will begin to form meaning. Through this barrier and others I hope to start to make sense of the muffled world in which I live. After a day of driving in a little bubble of Japanese, I feel as though the sound and rhythm of the language are with me. I still don't understand, but I feel the vacuum waiting to be filled, as when the body knows how to do something, yet still can't do it.
It's absurd that I don't know Japanese, that I can't speak it. I feel like a baby wanting to make these sounds, to pretend that I too can speak and that I too can understand the reason for laughter. And like a baby I can be amused by the sound, attracted to the human voice, its intonation, the expression of the face that carries it. But there will be no end to this search for understanding. In my own language I lack the words. In my own language, I often don't hear what someone is really saying, the meaning and significance of what they say. In my own language I must look more closely and more distantly than the grammar of spoken thought. To practice in this way is to practice a new way of relating to the world, one that I can also appreciate in my native tongue.
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