seasons in the abbess

It’s a long, long story to tell and I can only show you my hell.
-Yoko Ono

There　was a running joke amongst my colleagues before I left the States to come to Japan, “hey Eric, you’re not turning Japanese are you”? Then they’d bust themselves up in a cacophony of laughter, unbeknownst to them it had been the umpteenth person to say that. Perhaps I’ve come to know what they’ve merely suspected.
Like all good explorers, I survey the maps of uncharted territories and ask for directions at local watering holes. However, as any big game hunter will tell you, there are certain experiences you just can’t prepare for.
Knowing my character, I am somewhat astounded by my adopted mannerisms of my host country, which are the currency of local exchange. I’m wont to exclaim, “I’ve never done that before”.
For instance, when the Kyoto Sensai stamps my timesheet, I act as though it were the second coming or that pearls had fallen from the sky. I bow with such profuseness, you’d swear that I was in front of the emperor himself.
I realize all subjugated peoples must pay a certain amount of lip-service to conquering powers to keep the balance. Still, it’s curious as can be, I’ve had to find the Japanese in me.