I\u2019ve always had a theory on people raised in Mexico possessing an extra layer of passion and emotional depth that can\u2019t be easily comprehended by someone who has never lived there. I don\u2019t mean that to sound like a nationalist declaration. At its core I believe that this depth has its foundation in a collective suffering that has been internalized by a society ridden with violence, scarcity in the midst of surplus, corruption, and catholic guilt. It\u2019s not a depth achieved by merit, but rather by circumstance. This is what I call Mexican Yearning, and it\u2019s something that I believe can never be fully explained, only felt and perceived. It can be heard in the murmurs of bars or on the women\u2019s side of a family gathering. The most basic and straightforward example of the Mexican Yearn is the fact that there\u2019s a holiday fully dedicated to longing for your loved ones who have passed, and honoring their memories. Every November, we say: \u201cI love you, I miss you, I don\u2019t know where you are but I left out this shot of your favorite mezcal for you, just in case.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The deeper you understand the culture, the more you can clock it in even the most mundane acts that often go unnoticed. Something I\u2019ve been thinking about recently is how in the States, generations have been raised on songs like \u201cYMCA\u201d or \u201cSweet Caroline.\u201d Mexican children, however, have been raised on music that in popular culture has been recognized as the music that hurting, single mothers listen to while washing dishes (La Gata Bajo la Lluvia by Roc\u00edo D\u00farcal will always be my personal favorite). When you think about it, this yearn is the only reason why, in a country so incredibly homophobic, our grandparents would still idolize singers like Juan Gabriel and Chavela Vargas for their melancholic lyrics and poignant voices. In cinema, many directors have captured it (some of the most notable examples can be seen in Y Tu Mam\u00e1 Tambi\u00e9n by Alfonso Cuar\u00f3n and Amores Perros by Alejandro Gonz\u00e1lez I\u00f1\u00e1rritu). Many authors have written great novels that can all be simplified to a man\u2019s struggle with Mexican Yearning (see Pedro P\u00e1ramo by Juan Rulfo or Los de Abajo by Mariano Azuela).<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mexico is a country that carries so many distinct feelings, but seems to have nowhere to place them. When caught in this predicament, you simply learn to incorporate those feelings into everything you do. We carry our emotions in our hands, but they are constantly overflowing\u2014slipping through our fingers and falling sometimes into the stadium, sometimes during a fight with friends, sometimes while being followed around by a stray dog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I once read a quote that said something along the lines of, \u201cCreative people who repress their creativity often find themselves falling hopelessly in love with ordinary people who aren\u2019t worth all the effort,\u201d and I feel that this speaks to the root cause of this yearning. In a country so rich in culture and color, it\u2019s almost impossible not to spark creativity. Circumstance, however, often represses creativity, leaving people with an insatiable longing for passion in the most ordinary things. That insatiable longing for passion in everything is the Mexican Yearn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This is why, when visiting a country as spiritual as Japan, I expected to find myself dissecting the parallels between Mexican Yearning and Japanese Reflection. My limited knowledge of tea ceremonies and Zen gardens had led me to believe that in the very fabric of their DNA, the Japanese held a deep appreciation for their environments and a sensibility toward their own internal worlds. My findings were not far off from my hypothesis.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In Mexico, family is God. In Japan, duty is God. Duty as an employee, to do a good job even without incentive. Duty as a citizen to keep the streets litter-free, public transportation quiet, and everybody around you feeling respected at all times. Coming from a country where noise, chaos, and unrest seem to be the norm, it was refreshing\u2014somewhat eerie even\u2014to be around so many effortlessly tranquil people. It was weird because I found the Japanese cities that I visited to be so soulless yet so spiritual all at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Soulless sounds like a harsh word, but to me a soulful place is one with dialogue, passion, fire, EMOTION. Conflict is soulful, friend groups are soulful, being loud (with substance) is soulful. But what the Japanese lack in what I perceive as soul, they make up for in spirituality. The Japanese feel deeply; they just manifest their feelings in a different way. Their love and appreciation for the external world is evident. Like I said, they have mastered the art of pondering\u2014of careful consideration for the elements, architecture, ingredients. They don\u2019t need to be loud because they can sit still and transmit whatever it is they want to with gestures, the way they dress, the way they glance. It was so foreign to me, to say so much without saying anything at all. This is Japanese Reflection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mexicans are loud because their surroundings are merely a backdrop for social interactions\u2014most of which are made up of storytelling, singing, dancing, drinking. Which is not to say that the Japanese don\u2019t storytell, don\u2019t sing, don\u2019t dance, don\u2019t drink. I\u2019ve found the main difference is they do it in a way that occupies the least space possible and causes the least amount of disturbance\u2014something Mexicans have very little awareness of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought about Mexico\u2019s current trend: Salas de Despecho. Salas de Despecho are bars that specialize in having their visitors release their inhibitions by screaming sad songs at the top of their lungs (possibly a byproduct of being raised on Roc\u00edo D\u00farcal, as mentioned earlier). When you visit a Sala de Despecho, you\u2019re likely to find many broken-hearted people, drunk out of their minds, singing songs that remind them of their cheating exes, their absent parents, or their most traumatic experiences. It\u2019s crazy how something that many people view as incredibly vulnerable (singing and airing your grievances) is second nature to Mexicans. So much so that Salas de Despecho are filled to the brim every night with strangers, coworkers, neighbors, or even lifelong friends. Japanese people love singing as well, but they do it in the privacy of karaoke rooms, which are in most cases occupied by smaller groups of people who know each other well. The Japanese drink\u2014many of them in standing izakayas or on the go thanks to their open container laws. For them, drinking is just that\u2014literally drinking. Have your drink and leave, and maybe while you\u2019re leaving, have an extra drink. For Mexicans, drinking is more about socializing. It\u2019s not atypical for a work lunch to get extended into the night while having highballs, tequila shots, and long talks about topics as trivial as sports or as personal as mommy issues. Alcohol is the magic elixir that allows Mexican men to be vulnerable, to sing, to speak their truths. It\u2019s a vessel for reaching your most social self.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mexican Yearning and Japanese Reflection are woven into the fabric of both countries\u2014not only evident in social practices, but also in many other aspects. Obviously, what stood out to me the most had everything to do with food. I realized that the Japanese cook as if they\u2019re baking. I\u2019ve always fucking hated baking. I find it to be tedious, somewhat mathematical, and always incredibly insufferable. That\u2019s not to say I\u2019m not good at it\u2014I\u2019ll bake the occasional brown butter cookie when I\u2019m in love. What I hate about baking comes down to the fact that it lacks everything I love about cooking: experimenting along the way, measuring with your heart, having unlimited do-overs, and the capacity to take a dish in a different direction at any point in the process. Baking frowns upon not following a process, and it certainly does not entertain the idea of measuring with your heart, for it will invariably, without a doubt, lead to a soggy mess. I\u2019ve always thought that those who cook are Type Bs, and those who bake are Type As. I admire those who bake for having the patience and perfectionism that I so clearly stand in need of. It\u2019s a natural part of Japanese Reflection\u2014to view something as primal as cooking as something worth perfecting, worth following every step seamlessly, reaching a consistent result every single time. When operating on Japanese Reflection, a special regard for ingredients leads you to constantly use only the freshest ones, and to treat them with the utmost care\u2014using the proper knife and the most delicate of techniques. That\u2019s why many restaurants in Japan only have one dish they serve. Be it okonomiyaki, udon, onigiris, or even western classics like pizza or burgers\u2014Japanese chefs have learned the art of losing yourself in the process of creating one singular perfect dish. It can be a lesson on how being authentic and true to what you know, can make the right people gravitate toward your craft.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Mexican Yearner operates differently. Most restaurants you visit will have menus with phonebook lengths. Because we fall in love with every new dish we discover, but often struggle to let go of the ones we\u2019ve loved in the past. Even when food trends change or when certain key ingredients begin to be frowned upon (we hate seed oils now, apparently), the nostalgic meals can still be found somewhere on the menu for those who haven\u2019t quite gotten over it yet. Where Japanese Reflection says, \u201cI\u2019ve made this perfectly for you to appreciate it as is,\u201d the Mexican Yearner says, \u201cI\u2019ve made this soulfully, so if you can\u2019t appreciate it for what it is, I\u2019ll turn it into what you want.\u201d That\u2019s why on any given day in Mexico you can walk into a seafood restaurant that specializes in octopus tostadas and still order arrachera tacos. (Picky eaters deserve space as well.) The Japanese culinary scene has a firm identity that will not be compromised for the likes of tourists or people with ARFID. But like I said, Mexicans measure with their hearts, so our culinary identity\u2014while definitely very distinct and established\u2014has a bit of wiggle room. Because in matters of the heart, it\u2019s better to please those who are consuming what you make than to please yourself. This is also one of the Mexican culinary scene\u2019s biggest downfalls\u2014in the name of pleasing, chefs tend to compromise their flavors for what the customers want. It\u2019s the main reason why tropicalizing new and inventive flavors becomes almost inevitable. Mexicans will try anything once, but they yearn for what they know and love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the other hand, the concept of a \u201csobremesa\u201d (aka the conversations that go on after the meal) is also an idiosyncrasy of the Mexican Yearner that is a completely foreign concept in Japan. It was a devastating blow for me during my visit because those who know me know that there is nothing I love more than a debrief that can go on for hours on end after a good meal. It\u2019s a ritual that I enjoy endlessly. It\u2019s also a ritual that\u2019s definitely not profitable for restaurants. To have a table full of people who are mostly done ordering, sitting and talking without much consumption, is a wasted sale for restaurateurs. They\u2019re also highly inconvenient for the people partaking in said sobremesa. Once you\u2019re in one, it\u2019s almost impossible to tap out, making any appointment or meeting scheduled within hours of a meal a coin toss. Despite their very apparent impracticality, sobremesas are still widely encouraged\u2014sought after, even. In Japan, meals are more mindful and practical. Omakases are the perfect example of this. You sit, you have a perfect meal that was carefully curated by a chef, eat each item in its own time, and fully experience each bite being completely present. You can pair each course with the sake that most matches the flavors being presented (again, mindful). When the meal is over, you thank the chef, you pay, and you leave. Another customer comes in almost immediately and follows the exact same ritual. It\u2019s a practical and effective way of eating in which everything that\u2019s presented to you is fully experienced and reflected on. The Japanese\u2019s conscious approach to eating is also probably why you aren\u2019t allowed to eat while you walk. Meals are to be taken in, not multitasked. Many of the bars I visited had signs outside with time limits. While drinking plum wine with my sisters in a shoebox bar in Golden Gai, I was gently reminded by the owner that we had only 30 minutes before we would be asked to leave. In my mind (that of a Mexican Yearner), the idea of only going to a bar for 30 minutes is not only terrifying but frankly, also impossible. Thirty minutes is barely enough time for me to set the stage for a lore drop, let alone do it over a few drinks. That kind of policy would make even the most popular Mexican bar go bankrupt effective immediately. Mexican Yearners are keen to loud vulnerability that can only be truly achieved after at least an hour of talking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I haven\u2019t been able to stop thinking about the way two entirely different cultures\u2014polar opposites even\u2014are both fueled by the same thing: the burden of feeling incredibly deeply. It\u2019s soulful chaos versus soulless perfection. It\u2019s improvisation versus ritual. It\u2019s the belief that discomfort is the price we pay for community versus the belief that giving each other space is real community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I got back from my trip, I went straight to my favorite bar (my non-negotiable Thursday tradition). The music was too loud, the people were too drunk, and I sat there for four hours and trauma dumped the manager over a cigarette. And in that moment, though I wasn\u2019t craving the silence that I was just starting to get used to in Japan, I definitely understood its appeal.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It\u2019s soulful chaos versus soulless perfection. It\u2019s improvisation versus ritual. It\u2019s the belief that discomfort is the price we pay for community versus the belief that giving each other space is real community.<\/p>","protected":false},"author":8410,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"cybocfi_hide_featured_image":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[17863],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-204917","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-ensayo"],"acf":[],"mb":[],"yoast_head":"\n