Red Day

“Jefu, stop!” commanded an 8th grade girl. I obeyed out of surprise. I had exactly 35 seconds to get to my seat in the teacher’s room before the bell sounded the morning meeting. She took precious moments to dig out a small bag of sweets from a shopping bag.

How could I forget? It was Valentine’s Day. Another girl scouting out boys from the stairwell presented me with a bag of mini-brownie squares. This being Japan, the packages were sized proportionately—three bite-sized sweets in each. 12 seconds. I could have amassed a month’s worth of dessert samples had I hung around for their friends to also open their hearts to sensei.

Valentine’s Day in Japan is a spin-off of the Western tradition. Cards aren’t exchanged, but it’s almost obligatory for schoolgirls and OLs (office ladies) to dispense sweets to their male counterparts, regardless of affection. That’s how I scored premium Kobe truffles from a math teacher, and a box of six chocolates from a private student.

Men sit back and let the loot roll in. Until March 14, that is. In a savvy ploy by confectioners (think of the Simpson’s episode where Hallmark devised a new summer card-giving holiday), on White Day men must return the flavor with white chocolates symbolizing pure feelings (or so I read in a book). A month is plenty of lead time to make good on IOUs. Luckily I’m not working then, so for me the flow is one-way. Delicious.

Or disgusting. That’s how one girl introduced her offering in bag festooned with four leaf clovers. Only in Japan…or Ireland.

In another moment of puppy dog love, on Friday I received two love letters. It was my last day at Omiyada School, which proved too much for two 8th grade girls to bear. To be sure, I think they were just appreciative to have received pink New York pencils during an overstock fire sale their final class.

Shortly before I walked off school grounds forever, they tracked me down and, giggling, handed me slips of paper folded with origami precision. They even attempted to emote in English. I made sense of the Japanese by slowly sounding out the hiragana, which drew curious (jealous?) stares from semi-retired salarymen on the 15:06 train home.

Here’s a rough translation:
Dear Mr. Jeff, First letter. Hell. Mr. Jeff's class is enjoyed. Thank you very much for the pen. I had fun. From now, thank you very much. Please don’t forget me.

Hello. My name is Shiori. From today, I enjoyed talking with you a lot. Thank you very much. I will never forget you. Thanks for the pencil. I love you.

If you're reading, girls: kochira koso. Same to you.