The Time Has Come

I had been dreading this day for quite a while. Although I couldn’t accurately predict when the inevitable would take place, there was no denying that every week brought it one step closer. And then it happened… the ATM spit out the bankbook with a whirr of distaste, refusing to have anything further to do with my well-worn companion.

We’d been together ever since that sweltering August day a year and a half ago when I gingerly pulled it out of its plastic sleeve to give it a good look over. I suppose it was inevitable that we would bond- it essentially replaced my checkbook and would serve as the only record of the electronic transactions that happened on a monthly basis in the interest of keeping things like water and electricity flowing.

Every week we would make our way to the bank and go through the same routine of withdrawing money and updating its records (which happened automatically through the magic of ATM printing). It witnessed my transition from an awkward foreigner staring blankly at the kanji-ridden screen trying to match symbols with a hastily scrawled diagram to a confident resident able to breeze in and out of the building in 30 seconds or less. It patiently endured squinting scrutiny in my efforts to decipher the lines of kanji and kana that indicated what company had withdrawn what sum of money. It even held its tongue the time I pretended to be my husband in order to take care of some technical hold-up regarding a funds transfer into (as opposed to from) our account.

Thus it was with a sigh as these memories flooded my mind that I packed up my things and slowly approached one of the two staff members standing by. Both seemed slightly disgruntled, so I aligned my path with the one who still had a spark of energy in her eyes. After taking a moment to summon my courage and give a slight apologetic head bow, I told her my dilemma.

The relief on her face was almost palpable at the immediate understanding of my situation, which prompted a small grin of my own to appear. With surprisingly little thought or practice beforehand I had spoken in clear Japanese, a far cry from last year’s experience at the post office. Five minutes of standing in front of a large machine later saw me in possession of a crisp new bankbook, as well as the old faithful one, now with a hole punched in its corner announcing its retirement.

Truly, it couldn’t have given me a better farewell gift than a chance to clearly see the progress I’ve made in my language acquisition. While still miles away from proficient, or even passable, I know the next time I come across the “How well can you speak Japanese” question on a form, I can confidently fill in the bubble meaning “I know enough to get by”.

And so I smile as I gently tuck its faded yellow visage away in my folder of “Things to Take Home”, basking in one last warm memory from an old friend.