An Ode to Talking to Strangers

“Katie, you never talk to strangers. That’s dangerous. You don’t know who could be out there,” my mother would remind seven-year-old me over and over. As a serial rule-follower, I never forgot this concept. Even as I grew up, my mother’s chides pestered the back of my mind. Don’t talk to strangers.

But 21-year-old Katie was unafraid. Here I was, studying abroad in Osaka, Japan. Living by myself halfway across the world, I felt that I could do anything. And that meant I could create incredible memories with strangers.

Chapter 1: The day-drinking Europeans

It was the middle of the school week, and I had traveled to downtown Osaka in search of a café. The mid-afternoon summer sun was burning my cheeks, so I made sure to keep my head down. Having developed the habit of doing homework in cafés, I was constantly on the lookout for a new study space. 

I passed by the large, reflective windows of Café Nero only to be met by my own, tired expression. My medium brown hair, which was frizzy and curly in Japan’s humidity, was pulled back to a ponytail. I wore what I did everyday: black leggings and an oversized T-shirt. A gray backpack supported me from behind, containing my laptop and Japanese textbook. I certainly looked worn-out: five hours a day five days a week of intensive Japanese language learning certainly took a lot out of a girl, especially when placed in a class slightly above her Japanese capabilities. I was drowning in studies most days, working twice as hard as my other classmates to keep up. Still, getting the chance to study abroad for a summer while perfecting my language skills — it was worth the hard work.

Turning my attention back to Café Nero, I paused, my eyes scanning the menu. This place didn’t look half bad. Then to my right, a series of boisterous laughs permeated the normally calm ambience of Japan. Shifting my gaze, I noticed a group of four men — Western looking men. That was uncommon in itself. Living in such Japan, I hadn’t seen a group of  Western guys in months. They looked up at me and pointed. I heard, “Hey, she probably speaks English.” They gestured me over, and I shrugged. What the hell. I’m out in the open. Nothing bad is going to happen.

Nothing bad happened. But let me tell you, those guys were fucking weird. 

The first thing I noticed when I sat down was a half empty bottle of Scotch. I chuckled, “You know they have drinks here. You don’t have to bring your own.”

“Sure, they have coffee and tea, but not the good stuff,” the shorter white-haired man replied in a thick Eastern-European accent. “Cafes should really start serving alcohol — they’d make a ton of money.”

They offered me a drink, which I politely declined, lying that I had already ordered a drink.

The next ten minutes were a blur. All I learned was that these men, all hailing from parts of Europe, were English teachers at high schools or universities. And they had met at a nightclub. I explained a little bit about what I was doing in Osaka, but they didn’t listen much between sips of Scotch. 

Just as I had determined that these loud, overly-excited guys were not my cup of tea, one offered to show me a clip from his favorite television show. Inwardly sighing, I agreed, knowing that I could escape after. If a video clip could trip on acid, then that clip was certainly on something. I remembered unicorns and gross, vulgar scenes. It was the craziest and most uncomfortable shit that I had seen. The guys were all suppressing their chuckles. Finally, however, the clip had ended. 

I smiled pleasantly. “It was so nice talking to you. I miss using English. Unfortunately, I have to go.” They all nodded enthusiastically and let me go.” 

Receiving the ‘okay’ I jumped up and briskly walked off.

As I mulled over events from the café, I found myself grinning.

Chapter 2: The two best friends and the third wheel

I was frustrated. Not only was Tokyo a maze, but that dance class I had been looking for was canceled. I left my hotel room for nothing, and now I was lost. Strutting into the nearest bar, I huffed. This solo weekend trip was not going as I had planned.

The bar that I had spotted was tiny, only six or seven seats at the counter. Taking the seat farthest on the right, I ordered the first thing on the menu with mediocre Japanese.

There were two other twenty-something women in the bar. And they were both well past tipsy. And somehow, when I was half-done with my own drink, we got to talking. Both girls were Japanese but, having studied outside of Japan, they were fluent in English. And they were practically tied at the hip, clearly besties.

We drank and talked and drank and talked, and eventually, the taller one, Aiko, suggested that we go to karaoke. 

“Genius!” exclaimed Yui, the shorter of the two. She reached over and paid for my drink, despite my protesting. 

They plugged the nearest karaoke joint into Google maps and, after a few minutes of stumbling around to find it, we walked confidently in. Five minutes later, we were belting songs in our off-tune, scratchy voices. Yui and Aiko continued to order drinks. Being sober myself, I continually declined their offer to buy me drinks.

As our reserved time waned, Aiko decided to end the jam session with one of her favorite Disney songs. With Aiko jumping on the couch and Yui and I singing backup on the floor, we screamed until our lungs hurt. 

The song ended. Aiko stood proudly on the couch, her arms over her head, listening to the cheers of her fans. And then, she fell forward and face-planted on the glass table in front of her, smashing two wine glasses in the process. 

“You drunk idiot!” Yui shrieked in Japanese. She called one of the servers and explained the situation. Minutes later, a server cleaned up the broken class and spilled drinks.

Aiko was totally unhurt, albeit still completely wasted.

“Well on that note, I think I should get back to my hotel,” I laughed.

“No, no! You should stay!” begged Aiko. “It’s only eleven. We still have plenty of time!”

Yui nodded in agreement, still cleaning up her friend. “There’s a great club nearby. Why don’t we just go there to cap the night?”

Anxious to get back to my hotel safely, I was hesitant. But after a few minutes of pleading, they convinced me.

We had arrived at the nightclub, which was only a ten minute walk from the karaoke joint. Upon reaching the front of the line, the bouncer ushered us all in without taking a moment to look at our IDs or ask for pay. 

“What? Why didn’t we have to pay the fee?” I whispered. 

Yui snickered. “Because we’re women. And you’re a foreigner—that’s an extra plus.” 

We put our things in a locker and joined the crowd on the dance floor. And the rest of the night went like this: drinks, dancing, drinks, dancing, more dancing, a few drinks. Aiko insisted on paying for my drinks, but, still conscious of reaching my hotel, I insisted on being the sober contact for the rest of the night.

Music blared, and the purple-reddish hues of the club bathed the dancers.

Finally, around one in the morning, I called it a night. Yui and Aiko walked me out. Once I hailed a cab, Yui gave the driver a wad of cash and bid me adieu. Right before I left, we exchanged Instagram contacts. 

Even after I returned to America, we still chatted from time to time. It was fun to watch the happenings in the lives of people who were friends for a night. Yui and Aiko could see what I was up to. And I was still able to follow Yui and Aiko’s journey through the year. Yui recently had a baby, and Aiko was traveling the world until the pandemic hit. The two are still best friends. 

Chapter 3: The street drummer

As I often did after finishing up my homework, I strolled around the streets of Osaka, basking in the warm summer air. It was late, maybe eight-o’clock, and I was almost ready to hop on the train and return to my apartment outside of the city.

At one of the busiest intersections in Osaka, I heard a noise. At first, I assumed someone was just making a racket, but I quickly recognized a rhythm behind the cacophony. Crossing the street to follow the noise, I quickly located the source of the noise. 

A Japanese kid was sitting on a white bucket, surrounded by several other buckets. Using drum sticks, he slammed away on the buckets. And despite him using old buckets, the music was beautiful. And the kid was feeling the music. He was bopping his head, swaying on the bucket. He was wearing a white graphic T shirt and a dark blue cap. His blond-dyed hair was just cut just above his shoulders, but for his performance, he had tied it back. 

I stood there watching him for several minutes. A woman who had been standing to my left dropped some cash in the hat next to his buckets. A few others gave him cash as well.

Several minutes later, the same woman who stood on the left hurried over to the kid, whispering something. He immediately stopped and stretched, taking a drink of water. So moved by his passionate performance, I walked up to him and expressed strong praise in Japanese. He smiled and thanked me.

He explained to me that he was taking a break, because, as his mother had just informed him, the police were making rounds. We both sat on the other side of the walkway and chatted in a mix of mediocre Japanese and broken English. 

He told me that his mother always came with him to watch his shows and to act as a lookout for the police.

「警察はあなたがドラムをすることが嫌いですか？」Do the police not like your drumming? I joked in Japanese.

He laughed. 「いいえ、私は許可書がないから」“No, they’ve talked to me about it before. I don’t have a permit.”

“Well it’s nice that your mother always supports your performances.”

Nodding, he replied, “Yeah. Whenever there is a lull, she drops money in my hat to prompt other people to do the same.”

We continued to talk, and I learned that he was seventeen and planning to go into music or fashion. In addition to street drumming, he was in a band and he designed jackets. We exchanged Instagrams, and he showed me several of the jackets featured on his page. 

He asked what I was doing in Japan.

I did my best to reply in Japanese. 「留学生です。大阪学院のプログラムに入っています。日本語を勉強しています」I’m an exchange student in a program at Osaka Gakuin University. I’m studying Japanese. What I really wanted to say was that I loved Japan and language learning so much, that I adored travel and the learning of other cultures. I wanted to express how important linguistics were to me.

He nodded. 「アメリカ人ですよね？どの大学に入っていますか？」You’re American, right? What university do you go to?

「ボストン大学を知っていますか？三年生です」Do you know Boston College? I’m a Junior there.

He chuckled and shook his head. 「知らない。ボストン大学で日本語を勉強しますか？」I’m not familiar with it. Do you study Japanese at Boston College?

「はい。」I I nodded, confirming his suspicions.「一年生の時、日本語を勉強して始めました。」I started studying Japanese when I was a freshman.

Suddenly, his mother jogged over and told him that the police were gone if he wanted to start drumming again. The kid agreed. Before leaving, I asked if I could film him, to which he eagerly agreed. “It’s not like I have a huge social media presence or anything,” I sputtered in poor grammar. “But I still think people should see, because you’re really good.”

Later that night, he messaged me, saying that his band was playing at a club in downtown Osaka. Sadly, something kept me from going. Maybe it was homework or exhaustion from studying, or maybe I was just too lazy for the half hour train ride into the city. Either way, I decided to take a night in. Honestly, I still regret not going.

Chapter 4: Meeting on the Sky Tower

I had always known that I was a city girl. For several years, I always dreamed of graduating from Boston College and moving to Hong Kong or Seoul or Paris. Somewhere abroad, so I could stretch my language skills, and somewhere busy and lively. I relished in the sounds, the crowded bustle, and the city skyline. In fact, I loved the skyline so much that I would frequent a trip to the Osaka Sky Tower, a beautiful skyscraper overlooking Osaka.

The sun was just setting over the buildings, and I watched the scene like it was a movie. Sensing movement in my peripherals, I glanced over to see a guy with a camera larger than my head, taking photos of the city. I frowned, looking down at my own small camera. He had close cropped, dark hair, a firm stance, casual yet trendy street clothes, and dark eyes. The guy walked over to me and said, “I could stay up here for hours.” 

Nodding in agreement, I responded, “That’s what I’m doing right now.”

We exchanged a few more comments, and he finally said, “So do you come here often?”

Taking the remark literally, my retort was, “Yeah, this is my third or fourth time coming actually.” 

He coughed then laughed awkwardly, “No, I meant that as a pickup line. Like, how people would say it in a bar.”

Gasping, I chuckled away the uncomfortable moment. Despite us stumbling over the first several interactions, we ended up hanging out the rest of the evening.

I led my new friend, Juan, down the Sky Tower and towards the center of Osaka, a mere ten minute walk away. We browsed around a few shops and settled on a sticker shop. We both bought overpriced Pokémon stickers.

“Is this a mall?” Juan asked, seeing the many escalators. 

“I think so,” I replied. “And there’s a Ferris wheel here too. I’ve never been, though.”

“You’ve never been? Well then we have to go.”

Juan and I bought tickets to the Ferris wheel and climbed inside our own bubble. It was then Juan decided to inform me that he was afraid of heights.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on. This was your idea. We’ll be fine.”

To distract himself, Juan pulled out his camera and began talking to it. Eyeing the camera with suspicion, I guessed, “You’re filming?”

He chuckled, “Yeah, I vlog a little bit. I can put you in this video if you want.”

Laughing, I agreed. “I can’t wait to be YouTube famous.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I only have a few thousand subscribers.”

As soon as Juan and I stepped off of the Ferris wheel and Juan had calmed the fuck down a bit from his fear of heights, we went to my favorite underground market for dinner. The market was in another enormous mall, lying several levels underground. And the market was enormous. From ice cream shops to meat shops to Italian restaurants to fish and fruit, we could get whatever we craved. Being that we were in Japan, we both opted for sashimi and walked back outside to enjoy the fresh nighttime air.

We chatted for a little while, and eventually I asked if he was just in Japan as a tourist.

“Actually, I’m an English teacher,” he replied. “I teach elementary school kids on this tiny remote island off the main island. They’re pretty cute but there’s nothing to do there.”

“So what do you do for fun?” I asked, carefully picking up a piece of fish with my chopsticks.

“Literally I just stare at my wall all day.” I snorted at the image, and he replied, “No, I’m dead serious.”

“So you’re just here on break or something?” I asked.

“Yep,” he replied, mouth full of rice. “We have a few weeks off in the summer, so I thought I would do a little bit of solo touring. What about you though? You live here?”

Smiling, I retorted, “I wish. I’m just here for the summer. Doing an intensive language study program.”

Juan whistled. “That sounds scary.”

“Oh it is. There’s a rule where you’re not allowed to speak any English around teachers or other students, or they’ll kick you out.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “So it’s kind of nice to talk in English with you.”

He bowed his head jokingly. “You’re welcome, madam.”

Sitting on the steps outside the mall, our conversation turned to a more solemn topic. The main thing I remember was asking Juan for advice or wisdom from his perspective, being a few years older than me. After mulling over this for a few moments, his response was: “Don’t ever worry about anything. Ever. No matter what happens, it’s not going to end your life, and it will work itself out. When I was in college I got tons of bad grades, and freaked out about it. But here I am, living abroad, making a good living. Since, I’ve been cruising through life without a worry in my bones, and it’s been great.”

Those words echoed through my mind for the rest of the night. Something about them sparked an itch in my brain.

Before parting, I helped Juan navigate the Osaka subways so that he could safely return to his Airbnb. We exchanged social medias, and, though we aren’t I still see his art and photography appear on my feed from time to time.

Chapter Five: Epilogue

The Starbucks was a little more crowded than usual. Thankfully, the voices around me all spoke English. I was back home in Westwood, Massachusetts. My ten week program was over, and, typical Katie, I was still studying Japanese in a café. In an effort to maintain the grammar structures and vocabulary before starting Japanese class at BC in two weeks, I was going over the chapter lessons in my textbook.

It was good to be home, but there was something about Japan that I hadn’t quite taken home with me. What was it? I still retained the Japanese I had learned, and I was still in contact with my peers in the program. What was missing?

The answer came along with one of the customers in the Starbucks. I heard a voice in my ear: “How’s the Japanese studying coming?”

I looked up in surprise. For some reason, I expected a Japanese-American person to be in front of me. What I didn’t expect was an elderly Caucasian man. 

Smiling, I replied, “It’s pretty fun, but definitely not easy.”

The man, wearing a thick checkered shirt in the middle of August continued, “Japanese is certainly a tough language.”

Raising my eyebrows, I asked, “Did you study Japanese in school at all?”

His eyes twinkled, likely filled with hundreds of stories. “Actually, I lived there for forty years. Met my second wife there. It’s a special place.”

My jaw dropped. 「だから。。。日本語を話せますか？」So … you can speak Japanese?

「はい、話せます。」Yes, I can.

Incredible. This man had lived my dream. Find another home somewhere abroad. Become fluent in a new language. Maybe find a partner and establish a life there.

The man’s drink order was called. He grabbed the drink with shaky hands and, before leaving the Starbucks, he told me, “Keep up the good work.”

Stunned, I sat there, replaying the interaction in my head. And then something clicked for me. I realized what I was missing from Japan. Those random, short interactions with strangers. That was something America-Katie had lacked prior to going abroad.

Flipping my Japanese textbook closed, I wrote a note to myself on the cover, right below the title: アメリカに住んでいる時、私はもっと知らない人と話すことを願います。I hope to talk to more people that I don’t know while in America.

There. That would be my reminder to continue to meet new people, to step out of my comfort zone.

I turned to the next example sentence.