I was spending all week in university libraries, taxing my brain, reading Japanese books. In my Australian partner, I have connected to worlds I would have never otherwise have known, of school years in the beating heat and sun-burned earth of provincial New South Wales. The only way I could truly enjoy and develop my love for Japan, I concluded, was by excluding my love life from that cultural relationship. Feminists understandably tut and roll their eyes at the depiction of Japanese women as passive and obedient sirens of sexuality, and occasionally cite the combination of Japanese women and Western men as a classic example of conservative gender roles and cultural stereotyping. I found my New World girlfriends exciting and stimulating and yet never mentally tiring or a distracting cultural commitment. Is the fact that I have rejected such a union a sign I crave liberated Western women — even the extreme, ballsy Australian variety — over retiring Japanese girls?
If my circumstances in life were slightly different — if, say, I was living in a Western country working for a Western firm, or if I was looking to form a bridge to Japanese culture — I have no doubt that having a Japanese partner would add a fascinating extra dimension to my life. Nearly all the heterosexual Western men I know in Japan have Japanese wives. I wanted to head off to the bars and clubs of downtown Osaka and hang out with exciting girls from all over the world. I was spending all week in university libraries, taxing my brain, reading Japanese books. I have no particular problem with the combination of Japanese girls and Western men — and yet long ago I found myself living in Japan and never dating Japanese women. Send your views on cross-cultural dating in Japan — and any other comments or Community story ideas — to community japantimes. Like so many other Western men in Japan, I soon discovered that at the age of 25 I was dating a drop-dead gorgeous Japanese girl of such loveliness that I had to pinch myself to believe she could be interested in my shabbily dressed self. Is the fact that I have rejected such a union a sign I crave liberated Western women — even the extreme, ballsy Australian variety — over retiring Japanese girls? My Australian alliance is not a rejection of Japan; rather, it is that which daily enables me to devote much of my energy, without flagging or a feeling of oppression, towards Japan. I found that the nationality of the girl I was dating greatly affected my mental mood and how I thought about things. Japanese girlfriends, for example, were nearly always quite keen on the idea of moving back to the U. It is ironic for me — lover of an Australian woman — that I constantly feel lukewarm about traveling to Australia itself, a country I often prefer in fond imagination than long-haul, sweltering reality. Feminists understandably tut and roll their eyes at the depiction of Japanese women as passive and obedient sirens of sexuality, and occasionally cite the combination of Japanese women and Western men as a classic example of conservative gender roles and cultural stereotyping. There were several reasons why I started losing interest in dating Japanese women, but the main one was my deepening involvement with Japanese culture. I found my New World girlfriends exciting and stimulating and yet never mentally tiring or a distracting cultural commitment. Let me take you back to the beginning, though, when in my mids I came to study and live in Japan as a graduate student. And there were so many of them! When I told him that my significant other was Australian, he laughed at my eccentricity and remarked that in his experience, 90 percent of Western male scholars of Japan, when they had a wife, tended to have a Japanese one. Such cross-cultural marriages may have been pioneering in the late s, but these days they are overwhelmingly commonplace. A sizable part of her appeal — her openness, fun, lack of airs and inhibitions — lies in the Australian inside her calling out to me. My feisty Korean girlfriend was a constant source of cultural bewilderment to me, exploding into a fury if I did not fulfill her strange demands — she once took off a stiletto and hurled it across a train station foyer at me — and yet suddenly switched to mawkish tenderness. After all the excitement of these girlfriends, my periodic return to the arms of Japanese girlfriends seemed like interludes of Zen-like stillness. No longer was I in control of my relationship with Japan; now I tended to feel more like a prisoner in a relationship with a foreign culture from which I could not escape. In Japan, Western men have a cachet that seems to far exceed that of Western women, whose romantic life in Japan may perhaps be less advantageous. The only way I could truly enjoy and develop my love for Japan, I concluded, was by excluding my love life from that cultural relationship.
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