A couple of weeks ago I had to make a photocopy of my passport. When I turned to the page containing my Japanese visa I realized that it had expired the day before. I had mistakenly assumed that it expired a couple of months later.
I went to the Japanese Immigration Bureau’s website to find out what documents I had to submit to renew my spouse visa (配偶者ビザ). Afterwards, I called the immigration office in Shinagawa to make sure the site was up to date and that there were no changes to the paperwork I had to present to the authorities.
When I explained to the officer that took my call that I had made a mistake because I had written down the wrong expiration date for my visa, she told me –in a polite, yet grave and terse tone– that it was urgent that I fix my situation at once since the expiration of my visa had made me subject to deportation. I replied that I understood and that it was my intention to renew my visa. The officer, with a certain tone of annoyance, emphasized that I had to take immediate action because my expired visa simply meant that I had no visa at all, which further meant that I was illegally in Japan, contravening its laws and thus in a “criminal situation.” She also told me that I had to furnish a letter that carefully explained why I had let my visa expire and why I deserved a new one.
While I was preparing all the documents required by the immigration bureau, I read several gaijin fora and postings on visa renewals and cases similar to mine. I was surprised to read that apparently in Japan it is not rare for a person with an expired spouse visa to get deported, regardless of how long he or she may have been married and any children he or she might have. Having a family does not change the fact that you are a guest in Japan, which reserves for itself the right to deny admission at any time.
The day I went to the bureau I put on my best nice guy face and made sure that my explanation letter was thoroughly apologetic and sang the praises of Japan. I had to line up twice at the immigration office. At the second counter I visited I had to wait some 20 minutes (of the 35 I spent on the whole) while immigration officers checked my documents and my odes to Japan and while I answered some redundant questions about my mistake/lapse and my enduring desire to have the honor and privilege of having a Japanese visa.
When I was done answering questions, a very polite officer asked me to wait. He returned with a sheet that was written, singled spaced, with a list of the gazillion documents they could ask for (there was no request for DNA samples). He asked me for certified copies of my most recent tax return and a transcript from the most recent educational institution I attended. I thought the second requirement was odd, but did not ask any questions about it (later I would find out that somehow good grades are a sign of being an upstanding citizen). Nevertheless, I did ask what was the maximum number of documents they ever request since the list was truly gargantuan. The officer replied that there are cases in which they ask for every document from that near-infinite list.
When my visa was finally ready (exactly on the day they had promised), I went Shinagawa again. While I was waiting for my ticket number to be called, I amused myself observing other gaijin. Fate would have it there would be an ugly westerner, who was furious because they when they called his number they returned his passport with a visa denial and telling him how many days he had to pack his bags.
Later there were two rather taciturn men waiting to be called. When they got their passports back they were so happy they began to jump, hug and kiss because their visas had been extended for three more years. I thought their reaction was a little bit over the top until they walked right past me, allowing me to see their Iranian passports. That brief moment definitely reminded me that simple things one takes for granted are considered a privilege by others, even a Japanese visa. As a result, I stopped looking at my situation as a comical case of absent-mindedness and decided to be glad I am no longer a criminal.
My daughter’s pet goldfish got sick a few days ago. Even though my wife did all she could to make sure the fish got its health back, we prepared our kid for the possibility her pet might die, which eventually came to pass.
A few days before the fish passed away, my daughter had visited the home of her surrogate grandparents, a childless senior couple that have enthusiastically taken her as their granddaughter. While there, she told them she was sad because her pet was going to die. Ojiichan (お祖父ちゃん –grandpa) told her that he would make a grave in his vegetable plot; that way Kinta (the goldfish) would be surrounded by plants and flowers and my daughter would be able to visit whenever she wanted. My kid liked the idea, so they went to the plot to pick the spot where the fish would eventually be buried.
My daughter did not cry when her pet finally died. She was saddened by the event, but she took solace in knowing that Kinta would not only be close by, but also quite happy to be in ojiichan’s veggie garden. We called our neighbor, who came immediately and solemnly received the goldfish’s mortal remains. We all went with “grandpa” to bear witness to Kinta’s funeral. Together, my daughter and ojiichan laid Kinta to rest.
My kid became very quiet after the burial and did no want to speak. She simply thanked her surrogate grandpa for his kindness and asked to go back home. Once in our apartment, my wife and I told our daughter that we understood her feelings and that while it was normal to be sad for the loss of her pet, it would be healthy for her to talk about her feelings. Our girl replied that she was not sad for her fish because it had been well taken care of and we simply could not save its life. In addition, she noted a nice funeral had been done (grandpa had given a speech about how Kinta was a good fish). Her response made it necessary to ask an obvious question, why so quiet? She answered that she was upset with ojiichan but had not said anything when we were outside because he had conducted the funeral and had provided the space for Kinta’s grave.
Obviously surprised and disconcerted we asked what reason could she have to be upset with ojiichan. With a grave but reflexive tone, our daughter told us she could not understand how a man as nice and kind as ojiichan could insult Kinta’s grave. She continued her exposition noting that her gold fish had never bothered anybody and that fish never hurt humans. These were the reasons she could not understand why grandpa could dig a grave, give a nice speech during the funeral ceremony and still manage to affront the memory of her goldfish.
Even more perplexed than before, we had to ask about the manner in which Kinta’s memory had been trampled over. Noticeably vexed by our question, our daughter fired back: “how can you not know? Did you not see the grave? It says my goldfish was bad!” As parents, we were seriously confused. I cannot recall whether it was my wife or I who apologized for not having paid enough attention when we were outside; then we asked our girl to explain exactly what the offense was so that we could go to talk to ojiichan about he matter since we were absolutely sure he would apologize for any mistake he may have made.
My daughter told us she could not understand why grandpa had marked Kinta’s grave with “batsu.” At that moment, a superhuman effort was necessary to contain the parental wish to burst into laughter. In Japanese batsu means “bad” or “wrong” and is often represented with an “X”. Ojiichan had put a cross to mark the grave, but my daughter understood it to mean “batsu”. Still struggling not to laugh, we explained that grandpa had put that marker as a sign of respect, but my daughter interjected to remind us of the meaning of “X”. We asked to be allowed to explain and proceeded to tell our kid that, because she was born in Costa Rica and her father was from there, ojiichan had probably assumed that she was a christian. Thus, it had been as a show of respect for what he thought were our beliefs that grandpa put an “X” on Kinta’s grave.
Unconvinced by our explanation, our daughter asked what a Christian was. We tried, as best as we could, to tell her what christianity holds as its main tenets. I do not know if our explanation was good or bad, but my daughter told us that it was a story that made no sense, especially in relation to Kinta’s death. She noted that she could not understand how grandpa could have assumed that an adult would believe a story like that (i.e., Christianity) could be real.
I did not wish to extend the discussion any further, for it is too complex a subject to explain logically and in brevity. Besides, my kid has never received any kind of religious teaching that might predispose her to believe in such a cosmology. Therefore I chose the easiest path that came to mind. I told her that christians are very much like her kindergarden friends, i.e., they believe in an invisible imaginary friend to whom they talk to once in a while. My daughter, appearing to understand, said: “oh, so they talk to their friend to feel better, even though they know it is a game and that their friend does not exist, right?” I thought that was a perfect corollary to our discussion; so I expressed my agreement with her, noting that christians, deep inside, know that their invisible is just a fiction that helps them feel better. This explanation sufficed to put my daughter’s spinning little head at rest.
The following day my kid went to visit her grandparents. On her own she decided to tell ojiichan why she had been so quiet the day before and apologized for having been upset with him without telling him. Ojiichan told her it was no big deal and that the fault was his for having assumed that our family had some religious affiliation. Both were happy and at peace with each other.
Lighthearted overall, my daughter asked ojiichan to grant her one very small favor. She wanted him to remove the “batsu” sign from Kinta’s grave.
