“Do you know how to use chopsticks?”

She is asking me in Japanese. I say, “Yes,” in English, according to the conditions of my job. Her eyes go wide, and she smacks the child next to her.

“Rebecca-Sensei can use chopsticks!”

I know they are young. I know they are enthralled by my novelty. I know, but part of me wants to say, “Really?” I live in Japan. I have been eating Asian food, Japanese and otherwise, for more than a decade. I learned how to use chopsticks before this child learned to breathe. I suddenly want a burrito.

Later in the week, we are out with a teacher from Alan’s school. He asks if I can use chopsticks. We are sitting in an izakaya. I am drinking an alcoholic beverage. I am extremely surprised. I tell him that I can. He is impressed, but less so than the child had been. He continues the previous conversation.

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