God Called It Quits When It Came To Blessing

Yet another sneeze goes by completely unrecognized. It has been what the Japanese call a mild winter on the island of Shikoku yet common colds still have managed to infiltrate society. They run rampant brandishing their gelid spears tipped with germs. The white, surgeonesque masks are purchased in bulk at the local supermarkets and are immediately donned by the infected as a thoughtful preventative measure for others around. I walk down the streets passing what appear to be lazy medical students who simply couldn’t be arsed to take off half of their uniform as they ran down to the corner store to buy a snack. Hypochondriatic adults frequent the supply room to make photocopies, completely unaware that they are alone in the room and their facemasks currently worthless.

Another juicy sneeze resonates in the staffroom. This one is followed by a processional of smaller sneezes. No perfunctory “God bless yous” follow. In fact, the sneezer looks a touch horrified that his nose has managed to make such a ruckus. For a culture that has so many set phrases it is surprising that there is no set expression that follows a sneeze. Sneezes are met with silence, disregard and indifference.

But they do hold some prophetic value. According to a local, one sneeze indicates that someone out there is pining away for you. Two consecutive sneezes signify that that special someone’s mooning has long called it quits – thus causing many a Japanese woman to squelch the second nasal whirlwind as it tries to find an escape route. Three, four and five successive sneezes forecast that one is getting, or has gotten, a cold. It seems that one and two might hold similar indications as well.

“Ah Choo.”

My fragile ego is shattered as my sneeze goes ignored. In an attempt to give them a second chance Nasal Aeolus sends a second gust of wind leaving me with the unhappy fortune that Colin Firth’s yearning has come to a resolute end. Silence ensues. I am not assured that a higher being blesses me and holds me in high esteem. I am not wished health. The chance that the plague will whirl me away in an untimely death remains conceivable. Were this 1352 the minor setback of my soul fleeing my body mid-sneeze for a fraction of a second and being abducted by a malevolent spirit is a distinct possibility. My fate is uncertain and I quietly mumble “gahbleshme” futilely to myself as I pat my pocket full of prophylactic posey and herbs for comfort.

This varying treatment of sneezes says a lot about the cultures involved. As an American I am self-absorbed enough to want something as trivial as my sneezes recognized. Months have passed without my receiving any sort of benediction making it quite certain that whatever was left of my soul has been snaffled by the aforementioned beings of evil. Mathematics and laws of probability undeniably guarantee it. Perhaps this explains the robotic, soulless nature of the Japanese.

However, sneezes did not always herald soul-seizing demons. They did not always cause one to assume the plague was upon them. To the ancient Greeks and Romans sneezes were a way for the gods to communicate with the lowly hoi polloi down below. They were a way to get answers and feedback from a source that simply knew better. They were, in fact, considered favorable portents. One must keep in mind however, that said people also consulted the flight of birds when choosing leaders, scrutinized the bowels of slaughtered cows when forecasting a child’s destiny, and in one point in time followed an emperor who ordered his soldiers to collect seashells on the beach thus proclaiming Neptune and his seas “conquered” as he gleefully danced on the beach whilst playing a lyre.

America does not have as many set phrases as Japan does. They tend to be on holidays and start with the words, “Happy,” “Merry,” or “God.” Japan has many, many, many. I have a habit of questioning these phrases—their meaning, their importance and their sincerity. It gives one words to say and something to fill the silence, but they often seem hollow and empty. My jaundiced view of things can’t help but make my head snap around when, after a day of sitting drinking cappuccinos thoroughly engrossed in a novel about a Greek hermaphrodite living in Grosse Point, Michigan, with my legs propped up on my desk, the vice principal sends me off with a “Thank-You-For-Your-Hard-Work-End-Set-Phrase!” My eyes narrow and I wonder what exactly he meant by that.

I sneeze again back in the company of other English speakers.

“Gableshyou.”

My eyes narrow once again. But does he?

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Published:
2.27.07 / 6pm
Category:
what i call life, culture, unschoolish