A rehearsal encountering someone on the street in East Shinjuku
I wrote another script to understand what was happening on the streets of East Shinjuku. I needed my lines to resist my internal censorship. I rehearsed encountering someone on the street in Tokyo, and after several rehearsals, I went to the Shinjuku east entrance again. This time I stopped in front of one old man who had spread his poems across the pavement. There were two pieces of poetry that especially caught my attention: 'My life with regret' and 'Thank you' (these phrases were written in several different languages). They were quite simple but honest. An old man sat on a tiny outdoor chair reading a crossword puzzle magazine. My eyes met his. This was the opening of our conversation. Our talk began so naturally that I did not use my lines at all. He and his homeless friend and I had a much longer discussion than I had anticipated.
He (Mr S) and his homeless friend (Mrs K) told me how they managed their life on the street: when and where they get clothes from a charity group, how an affair changed his life, how many times city officers come in each week, and so on. They also asked me questions. They may have been concerned about me because I seemed a bit too interested in their lives on the street. I told them that I was researching interactions between homeless people and pedestrians.
Mr S said, 'Sometimes even teachers come here to learn about us. You can stay here whole a day if you want and watch people on the street.'
I told him that I walked through this place last week but could not make myself stop.
‘It was natural,’ he responded. ‘You need to watch people closely. Not all people are good, and some people get change when they are drunk." However, he also said, 'Everyone here will talk with you if you want. All people here left and run away from our lives, but after a while we go back to human relationships. We are all lonely here.'
When I asked them about the special cash payment, they told me that most of the homeless people around the area had already applied. I told him that I had not been able to find this information online, and he said, "That's obvious; no homeless people dare to say they have received the cash payment. Many of us have debt."
We talked a lot. Sometimes a stranger is the easiest person with whom to converse. Since we have no connection, we can talk about things we cannot discuss with close friends.
It was almost 6 pm. I was becoming hungry, so I asked Mrs K what they usually ate. She told me that when they managed to collect some coins in their bowl, they would eat rice balls and instant noodles for dinner. I felt strangely relaxed and asked her if she would like to eat dinner with me. (Mr S was out but would return soon.) Mrs K agreed, so I went to a convenience store and purchased three bento boxes. It was getting colder because it was beginning to rain, so I asked the store clerk to warm up the bento and some rice balls for my homeless friends.
Mr S was back when I returned and extremely happy to see the hot food. He said, 'We usually get to eat good food like this only at New Year's! Human beings are not satisfied with only cold food; everyone wants to have warm and delicious food. It's greedy but true.'
'This is my first dinner on the street in Shinjuku East,’ I said. His words made me remember volunteering at a shelter in London, how warm food always created a warm atmosphere.
While I was with these two on the street in East Shinjuku, two Japanese pedestrians stopped to read Mr S’s poems. However, both of them left there before Mr S could say anything. I could relate to them. They were interested in his work but hesitant to talk to someone who was homeless. Most Japanese people have been taught not to talk to strangers and not to stare because strangers might be mean or suspicious.
During the five hours I spent with Mr S and Mrs K, one pedestrian gave them a few coins. I could not see the man’s face, but he was a white Western male.
Mrs K loudly yelled, "THANK YOU AS ALWAYS!"
The man smiled and kept walking.
Mr S told me that the man gave them a little money every time he passed and that most people who gave them something were foreigners or people who had lived abroad. He said most Japanese people looked down on the homeless. Most of the locals may simply not have enough experience to understand people whose lives are different from theirs. Japanese society is also still very much a monoculture. Moreover, the culture holds the common belief that people need to take full responsibility for their own lives: If one is poor, one needs to make more of an effort. Severe criticism is common on social media and SNS.
During this same time, several of Mr S and Mrs K’s friends stopped by to say hello to them. One chatted with them, one brought them a snack, one brought sweets, and one gave them a 1000-yen bill. Mr S looked surprised, and he told me that man paid his debts.
He continued, "Once you lend someone money, you had better think you gave the money. Lent money does not come back."
Then he went somewhere and came back holding a plastic bag. He passed a can of orange juice each to Mrs K and me. He had also purchased a broom and a piece of thick white paper so that he could write another poem.
Before I went home, he offered to give me one of his poems.
After careful consideration, I selected this one:
It is still raining in East Shinjuku,
and we are crying in front of the station.
(But just keep walking
bearing the happiness of alive.)
I shook hands with Mrs K, and she said, "If you want to talk, you can visit here anytime. I will stay here little bit longer."
I was glad to hear her words but sad because I had a home, whereas she had stayed on this street for years.
When I offered my hand to Mr S, he jokingly asked, "May I still?"
I still do not know what he meant by this phrase. To me, it meant, "May I still shake hands as a normal citizen?" Or, he may have been concerned about social distancing in the time of coronavirus. I will ask what he meant when I meet him again.
