It was the night of my Japanese girlfriend’s birthday party. While I sat in my apartment awaiting her arrival, I scanned the rooms for anything that I might have failed to clean, prepare, or hide in the closet. I had labored long and hard doing a variety of things to get ready for the private engagement. I had heard that many Japanese men don’t know how to cook, clean, or do anything else except rely on the kindness and self-sacrifice of their mothers and girlfriends. So I had decided to show my girlfriend that we American guys know how to do more than just play football, speak loudly, and belch the alphabet.

My girlfriend’s presents sat neatly piled in order - least expensive to “guaranteed passion generator” price. The spaghetti sauce sat warm in its pan, slowly steaming in anticipation of being consumed. Two candles, that I had purchased from a 100 yen store earlier that morning, flickered gently on the table casting an orange glow on the walls (or was it a white glow on dirty walls?)

I felt that everything was perfect: the presents, the food, the atmosphere, and even the cute little bouquet of flowers that sat between the candles on the table. I felt that I really lucked out with the latter. I remembered going into the flower shop and looking at all of the expensive bouquets and flower arrangements and thinking to myself “There’s no way I can afford any of these. And one or two flowers in a vase just won’t do.” But then a section of “mini-bouquets” caught my eye. They were the perfect size and the perfect price! I snatched one up immediately and went to the counter to pay.

I placed the bouquet on the counter and waited patiently for the cashier to finish ringing me up. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see two of the sales clerks looking at me. Their eyes seemed to project a mixture of confusion with a dash of apprehension thrown in. I was unsure how to take this: was I the first real foreigner that they had ever seen or was it something else entirely? Since I’m one of only a small hand-full of foreigners in my town, I decided that it was the former and dismissed it. The sales clerk handed me my change and I strode confidently out the door with my purchase.

The door bell rang, snapping me out of my flashback.

“She’s here!” I thought as I made my way to the door hiding my anticipation behind a cool and calm exterior. I opened the door and we kissed with that still unperfected and slightly awkward new-couple kiss. I led her into the main room and watched as her face exploded with sheer joy. She clasped her hands together in front of her as her eyes welled up. “Thank you!” she exclaimed hugging me tightly. She released her grip around me and looked at everything once again: the food, the presents, the candles, the presents again (what do you expect?) and finally her eyes landed on the bouquet of flowers.

That’s when she gasped in horror.

Gone were all the traces of joy and happiness that radiated from her just a second earlier. Her eyes took on the appearance of someone who was about to cry from sadness and not from joy. She covered her mouth with one hand and backed out of the room finally turning away from the sight.

“What’s wrong?” I asked using the best Japanese accent I could fake. She turned to me with tears in her eyes and said something in Japanese that I didn’t understand. “What?” I asked again, now even more frightened that I had committed some irreversible insult. She riffled through her bag and pulled out her Japanese/English dictionary. After a few seconds of flipping through its pages, she turned the book towards me and pointed to one of the entries.

Then it was my turn to gasp in horror.

Remember that great bouquet of flowers that I was so proud of? Well, it turns out that they serve a special purpose. They are the bouquets that are specially made to fit into the vases that adorn the tops of the gravestones in Japan.

Happy birthday, sweetie.

Submitted by: Rae Chandran, Tokyo

It was the 27th of April, 2007. I was waiting at the station for the Yokohama bound train when two ladies, standing about 5 meters from me, caught my attention. At about the same time, the train finally rolled into the station and began its gradual deceleration.

And that’s when it happened.

One of the ladies just collapsed (fainted, I think) and fell down next to the still moving train. The momentum of the train was strong enough to drag her down between the train and the edge of the platform - tightly sandwiching her between the two. The train was stopped immediately and there was some confusion as to what should be done. The train could not be moved as she may fall down, and if she did, she would most likely be killed instantly.

And then the most remarkable thing happened - what looked to be a regular business man, followed in turn by other people of various walks of life, just threw down their briefcases and whatever else they were carrying and jumped in together to help the poor woman. First, they all tried to tilt the train sideways so that the woman could be pulled out (I remember seeing even a school boy of maybe 8 years old joining in on this.) But this tactic failed. After a few more rescue attempts failed, a very thin man slid down under the train and pushed the woman up from beneath while a few people standing above her pulled her up and out. Although she was unconscious, there were no injuries that I could see. By this time, the ambulance had arrived and she was taken to the hospital.

It was remarkable to see all those people thoughtlessly joining in to help another human being. We hear so many stories about how it’s a jungle out there, but when we see scenes like this, we are reminded once again about the goodness inherent in every human heart.