The Exotic Japanese.
I've been thinking of the things that I care about. My favourite long sleeved t-shirt is black and white (black arms/white torso). It has a number of fierce animals stitched onto the front: tiger, eagle etc. On the back it reads, “The Exotic Japanese.” The shirt fits me poorly. It is very large, and I am weedy. The stitching has been done with some sort of extremely coarse, twine-ish material, and it itches my back terribly. In spite of its pitfalls, I love it.
I was given my Exotic Japanese when I was 15. My family hosted a student from Japan named Hirokazu Konno. He was a giant of a 16-year-old boy; with hair like a hedgehog, and a mobile phone which blew my mind in the same way I imagine James Bond's would. He stayed with us for three weeks, and I used him as an excuse to ask my mother for video game money. We went to the Time Out arcade beside Hoyts 8, on Moorhouse Ave, over six times. He didn't like it that much, but he came along because my brother and I liked it a lot, and also assumed he would. Our ignorance maybe? I also remember his fancy shoes. I feel a bit bad for this.
On the day before he left, my family and Hirokazu went to the beach. We ate fish and chips, and swam a little. I got a donut. In those days, I didn't have much time for fish, and hot-dogs repulsed me for one reason or another. After eating, my mum and dad presented Hirokazu with a selection of kiwiana as gifts, including: a plush kiwi which turned inside out to become a rugby ball, a t-shirt which had the words of the haka on it, and a postcard featuring two Maori guys in traditional garb sticking out their tongues. Hiro, in return, gave us a selection of quite stereotypical gifts (two fans, a set of deluxe chopsticks, and a novelty mirror with a samurai picture on the back) and this is how I got my Exotic Japanese t-shirt.
There is something about the Japanese that I like. I don't want to sound racist, but I would honestly name Japanese as my all-time favourite race. No offence to the rest of them, I just find Japan immensely attractive. “Polite and serious,” is how my third form Japanese teacher described his homeland. I like that description. It seems very fitting. Sushi is (above all things) a polite and serious food, wouldn't you say? My first taste of the land of the rising sun came at a young age. I have an uncle named Kirk, who kept a banzai tree. Small trees are impressive. He taught me about them and their native nation, and whenever he went to Japan on business (he is something of a foreign dignitary) he brought me back Japanese stuff.
One day I would like to go to Japan. Perhaps once I've finished with Unitec. That could be nice/adventurous. I'd love to play pachinko.