Things are familiar. I know that chicken is 62 yen per 100 grams of meat, that fall broccoli is 158 yen and winter broccoli is 198 yen. I know that regardless of what I buy I am bound to find preservation packets in it. I know that every time I’m at the grocery store’s check-out counter they are going to ask me a question about having a special credit card. I know that I need to respond with “iie” (no) before they’ll start ringing up my food. I know that if I see another foreigner at the grocery store, it’s a 98% chance that I know them and that they work at Baiko. Knowing these things confirms that I am not new here. Knowing these things makes me feel like I am ate home and that I belong here. However, in the grocery store today I was reminded that I am indeed a foreigner.

I was looking at a food display, actually chocolate that was on sale, when I felt some eyes watching me. Standing a couple of feet away were two five year old boys. Their saucer eyes were filled with wonder as I smiled at them and said “konnichiwa” (hello). They whispered to each other but had no idea how to react, so they just stared. I tried to converse with them a little in Japanese but they didn’t know what to do. They looked like they weren’t sure if they should run, stay and stare, or answer. Their Mom quickly came with an apologizing look shooing them away. She even said “konnichiwa” to me, which I think was to help her boys realize that I was human. Yep, no matter how long I’m here blonde hair and green eyes are not the norm.