Give me back my manko!

When I was 22 I threw a wrench in the direction my life was going -- packed up, and moved to Japan. En route to a fast-track life of academia, and in line for coveted positions to work towards a PhD, I got real with myself one day -- admitted I was miserable -- and made a change.

The decision came fairly easily. It was either run away and explore a new area of the world, or suffocate in the one that lay before me. There was no fork in the road. I grabbed a shovel, got off path, and started digging my way through forests and mountains to get to another realm of possibilities.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that change isn't possible. If you want it bad enough you will always find a way.

In any case, I never looked back. I knew the path of academia wasn't right for me. I'm not exactly sure that the path I'm on at the moment is necessarily the right one -- but if need be, I will grab that shovel again and steer off-course.

But back to Japan. There I was , 22 and willing to absorb everything and everyone. I had the functionality of an infant -- I was illiterate and ignorant and completely dependant on other people for my survival. I befriended everyone very easily. Desperate to carve out a decent life while I was there, I was the equivalent of any good socialite: ready, willing, and able.

And the suitors soon followed.

The thing about being an English-speaking Westerner in Japan, is that anyone who wants to perfect their English instantly befriends you. You become a personification of a language -- you're not a person. You don't have feelings. You are a tool.

One day I'll write a collection of memoirs about my experience there. One day soon...

So there I was one night, making dinner for a new "friend" who stopped by after work. I realized that the nature of his call may have been more romantic -- but I wasn't having any of it. I was completely unattracted this man. Could he be a friend? Absolutely! I would welcome that. Anything more just made me wince.

In any case, the night dragged on longer than it should. He overstayed his welcome. I was bored beyond belief.

Just to put this all in perspective: where I lived while I was in Japan was in rural southern Japan -- on the island of Kochi. It was one of the most sparsely populated provinces. Quaint and pristine -- but very isolating. The villagers were all afraid of me my first year there. And so, having no human interaction with anyone outside of work --you think I would welcome this gentlemen caller. After all, he did ride his motor bike 45 minutes north up the 194; to the rural mountains where I was stationed; population 3700; immediate population in my hamlet; 40.

But I didn't. I couldn't wait to get him out of there. Having meaningless, stilted conversation is probably my least favourite thing to do. I bore of people easily at cocktail parties in English speaking countries -- idle chit chat is a pet-peeve of mine. Listening to him stammer in two-word sentences through simple English was boring me to tears.

And so the minutes stretched on longer than they should. Eventually I was able to usher him to the door and say "goodbye". I was longing for that moment when the door shuts behind them and you breathe a sigh of relief knowing you'll never have to see them again.

So I stood there - anticipating that moment; quite possibly daydreaming about it -- and I think he must have misread the situation. The next thing I know this little man became very brazen. In very un-Japanese fashion he forced his tongue in my mouth. I was shocked. I was being tongue raped by the-worst-first-date-not-even-suppose-to-be-a-friggen-date-makes-me-want-to-vomit-should-I-bite-down-on-his-tongue guy! I was mortified. In the seconds it took me to formulate an exit strategy and save my mouth, he did the unthinkable: quite possibly the worst date move any man in the history of mankind has ever made. He grabbed my manko! And it hurt.

For those of you who don't know Japanese -- manko is kiddie slang for "toosh". Adults use it to mean 'snatch'. It's a rude word, but this was a rude situation.

So as my knees buckled from the pain of having what felt like a pit bull lock-jawed and hanging from my delicate manko; I yelped. This freed my tongue from it's rapist and allowed me some leverage to push this idiot away from me.

He smiled. Did this delusional anti-Casanova think he had actually accomplished something? The situation boggled me completely. And so, as he fell back, my manko (along with me) fell with him. The top half of him did manage to fall against my front door and land on the other side-- his head and torso were now on the outside entrance way.

I lifted my foot and placed it in his crotch and shimmied the rest of his body out the door. And eye for an eye, right? He laughed. I didn't. And as I managed to fling his legs out onto the front entrance with the rest of his body (and simultaneously freeing my manko), I slammed the metal door shut -- and locked it.

After taking a moment to process what just happened, I finally breathed my long-awaited sigh of relief.