A gander at Japan’s contemporary culture and deep-rooted traditions will reveal to even the most non-astute observer that there is an ongoing practice of borrowing from other cultures. These borrowed pieces are then re-spun, remixed, and rewired, often producing stunning results received favorably by people around the world. Even today, the successful tradition of assimilating foreign influences and reinterpreting them in meaningful ways remains a source of Japanese pride. In this essay I wish to explain how this Japanese tradition of “borrowing” has helped it succeed as a cultural behemoth, and how this cultural hegemony can serve as more than a vehicle towards greater understanding during fractured times. In the latter half I wish to further delve into my personal collection of borrowed ideas I have accumulated thus far during my sojourn in Japan.
　 Cursorily investigate the staples of Japanese cu lture and you might find something familiar from your own culture. Japan’s writing system effectively sums up her tradition of fusing elements of other national cultures, a penchant as strong today as it was a thousand years ago. Today’s Japanese language is an eclectic mix of indigenous, curvaceous hiragana, ornate kanji of Chinese origin, and a plethora of katakana loan words primarily of Western origin. Even with the deluge of foreign elements, Japanese still feel that their language is their own. Researchers such as Kurt Singer and his book, Mirror, Sword, and Jewel, explore Japan’s juggling act of “plasticity” and “endurance,” the marvelous feat of importing culture while preserving a sense of ownership. Like a bamboo, Japan’s culture bends and absorbs outside forces without breaking, retaining its fundamental Japanese-ness .
　 But Singer was not the only one bedazzled by this intriguing process. Sitting in one of Harajuku’s hidden ramen shops, I overheard a Chinese couple so fascinated by the taste of Japanese ramen that their hullabaloo drowned out the voracious slurping of the sarari-man sitting beside them. “味道不同！（The taste is different!),” they giddily exclaimed to each others. The other day I went to McDonald’s with my study abroad friend who was caught off guard by the Japanese version of his preferred fast-food chain. “Is this really McDonald’s? Why is it so clean and why is the service so good? Hey, Japanese workers should go back to America and train their employees!” Perhaps more epic was the animated masterpiece Spirited Away, a dominant juggernaut in foreign film competitions in 2001. The director Hayao Miyazaki is known to have used many ideas from foreign films as inspiration, a practice that has reverberated with his huge fan base overseas.
　 The “bamboo culture” has definitely struck a chord with Japanophiles worldwide. There is something interesting when foreigners are presented with their own product after it has undergone Japanese kaizen (improvement), for often it takes on a form the originator could never have dreamed of. Much of Japanese culture thus circumvents first-time user skepticism?there is already a sense of familiarity in place.
　 Familiarity is a rare commodity in a region where differences in opinion are more often highlighted than overlooked. The tremendous importance of Japan’s exported culture remains difficult to quantify, but it is safe to say that this cultural gravity helps to holds Japan steady in an Asian region tossing and turning with political unrest. With its Asian neighbors awakened from their economic slumber, Japan has quickly found out that she is no longer the only Asian Tiger on the prowl, her neighbors licking their lips in a predatory fashion for a chance to secure the top seat in the region. Though while China and Korea have dramatically challenged Japan’s dominance on numerous battlegrounds, the incumbent still holds an advantage on the (pop) cultural front.
　 Japan’s hegemony over Asia is largely intact because of this irresistible scepter of “cool”. Take a trip to Taipei, Shanghai, Seoul, or Hong Kong and you will notice that while the youth may speak different dialects and languages, the Japanese cultural influences that pervade their modern fabric all sing out loudly in a common chord (Ayumi Hamasaki, anime, cell-phone straps to name a few). It is a hope that this tune will be able to reverberate across the Japan Sea and drown out the discordant harping of bickering politicians and steamroll over the obstructions for greater peace and harmony in the Asian region. Obstinate folks in stuffy suits and hardened opinions may not be accustomed to the idea, but “cool” is a viable form of diplomacy, something that the youth of East Asia must cling onto if they wish to take a step toward the future in the same direction. As the cultural pied piper of Asia, it is Japan’s duty to convey to other countries that “bamboo culture” is the way to go.
　 The cacophonous clash of uncompromising opinions deafens the ear to rationality. We must not become embroiled under these situations but bend like bamboo: absorb our differences gracefully, while retaining our essence and dignity.

Sakura Culture:
　 I am admittedly a huge borrower of Japanese ideas myself, and though there are many things I have selfishly absorbed into my personality, one in particular begs disclosure. On a fine spring day, I attempted to salvage what had been quite a disastrous Sakura season. Inclement weather had beset the delicate cherry blossoms for several days, sending them fluttering to the soft ground prematurely, only to perform their graceful spiral in front of a few brave spectators with umbrellas awkwardly cradled between the chin and the shoulder as they freely took pictures with their tilted heads. For several days I looked longingly outside with pleading eyes, praying for the resiliency of the Sakura and the return of the sun. After what seemed like eternity, Mother Nature finally acquiesced to my wishes and granted me a three-hour window to behold one of the most bedazzling sights she concealed in her repertoire.
　 I must make it painfully clear that I am not here to put into words the aesthetic beauty of the Sakura flower. Anyone who tries to without first supplying a high-quality photo would be committing an egregious crime against both the flower and the listener. As far as I am concerned no language is quite vivid enough to faithfully translate the spectacle into neither text nor speech. But I will try to recount the culture surrounding Sakura, because it is exactly this mystique that undergirds its unparalleled attractiveness.
　 Sakura culture is premised on the temporariness of the flower. From the moment the first blossoms are reported, the hourglass is flipped on its head and flower watchers are pitted in a race against time. There are two ways to lose your breath with flowers. The most common way can be exemplified by the way I once took away the breath of my college sweetheart when I showed up on her doorstep with a dozen roses. In an entirely different way, I lost my breath while diving into the train despite the frantic pleas of the train conductor’s recorded voice, and then lost it again running past the herds the people flocking to see same thing I had come a long way to see. There was a healthy fear that if I did not hurry, the opportunity might be lost forever, my study-abroad experience forever incomplete because I was too late. The evanescence of the blooming season thus gives Sakura a distinct edge over other flowers. While roses can move you yearlong with its crimson exquisiteness and sentimental attachment, there is no need to rush. It is only Sakura that can make you frantically chase after it.
　 The temporality of Sakura and its cherished position in Japanese culture reminds us that there is beauty in this chase. When something is widely available it risks losing its appeal. As a casual observer of Japanese consumerism, I noticed how Japanese shoppers bounded towards gentei（限定）products and largely ignored those that seemed to be produced in mass quantity. This restriction of supply, whether produced naturally or constructed artificially, appears to have an extremely powerful effect. For the Ginza shopper it might mean putting their name on the month-long waiting list for the next Murakami-inspired Louis Vuitton print handbag. For me it meant becoming a kakekomijyousha during my race against the setting sun on the final day of flower watching season.
　 The notion of ephemerality runs very deep in my current study abroad experience. Each day I wake up is a day that creeps closer to the expiration date of my visa. This date has been emblazoned in my mind ever since I stepped foot into Narita Airport and rears its ugly head every time I make the mistake of flipping open my passport. But I shall not lament the brevity of my sojourn in Japan. Quite the contrary, I have come to realize that it is precisely the transience that has kept me spellbound throughout this past year. Like the fluttering Sakura whose true aesthetic apogee comes at the moment it flutters gingerly from the branch to the ground, so too must I make the most of my time during the final moments of my study abroad: I want to sing karaoke in my squeaky voice with nary a hint of embarrassment, renew and reaffirm friendships I have made along the way, apologize for the meiwaku I may have inadvertently caused to my building manager when I was still unaccustomed to taking off my shoes at the entrance and leaving the bathroom slippers in the bathroom. Time is short and the list of things-to-do remains long.
　 In this way the fleeting timeframe of Sakura culture can be expanded to longer lengths of time?it is not clearly defined and is enjoys the flexibility of arbitrariness. When I waited for the rain to abate, the shortened week for hanami seemed like a short time. But then when I juxtaposed my stint in Japan with the rest of my life, a year then seemed all too short. And why stop at just one year? Why not view the entirety of life as something precious, something fugacious?
　 If you ever see my grandmother in the kitchen you would swear she is still in her forties. She moves from pot to simmering pot with the deftness of an athlete, throwing in peppers and spices and salts until the whole house is filled with the aroma of her delicacies. It is during these moments that I try to trick myself into believing that she will always be around for me. But her agility in the garden and her youthful laughter belie her true age, and the truth of the matter is that, like Sakura, many of our most precious things were not made to last. In the feelings I have for my loved ones, a lifetime turns into a moment, never quite long enough for our liking, but long enough to be remember it as something beautiful.

Conclusion:
　 When the two forces described in this essay forge together, a symbiotic relationship is created. Bamboo and Sakura culture are two fundamental cornerstones of the Japan that I have fallen in love with and I have chosen to write about the two because I envisage that the former directly serves as an impetus for the latter.
　 Commodore Perry’s opening of Japanese ports under the Convention of Kanagawa in 1854 ended years of exclusion and introduced foreign culture into the lives of Japanese people. In many cases, the Japanese proved to have a voracious appetite for these new ideas, and seemingly overnight the chonmage of men fell to the floor while the women tucked their kimonos into their closets in favor of new Western garb. With Japan’s Bamboo culture, nothing is guaranteed to last forever, and this limitedness fuels the nostalgia of those who are lucky enough to catch a glimpse of old Japan. This might happen when a group of girls in yukata sashay across the fields during fireworks season, or when the tune of the imo truck selling potatoes fills the air when it rolls by. In a country where trends are subject to change, everything can be viewed as gentei; this is the perpetual dance played out by Bamboo and Sakura in Japanese culture. As such, there will always be a certain turmoil in the relationship I have with Japan: a bit worried that the Japan I know may vanish in the near future, but ever excited at the prospect of something completely new the next time my curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself back here once again.