Dear classroom couch that I petulantly ponder this all on instead of participating in class,

The Dr Pepper here tastes different. Maybe lighter? Less sweet? Something is missing from it? The Google AI I tried to scroll past tells me it is missing the flavour of licorice. The Reddit post Gemini is pulling from has let me know that, apparently, Japanese people do not like the flavour of licorice.¹ I wouldn’t know. I have come to realize that there are a lot of things I do not know. I spend most of my days sitting in the tension that I maybe should have tried harder to know a little more about this place, and the discomfort I feel when the other foreigners around me purport to know what is “authentic” here.

That Reddit thread, and others, debate the semantics of Dr Pepper’s taglines in North America (“Authentic blend of 23 flavours”) versus Japan (この味は20種類以上のフルーツフレーバーにある, translated as “this taste comes from over 20 fruit flavors”). Does this mean that Japan is missing three flavours? Reddit user taro-topor hypothesizes that it likely means the blend here is missing the licorice, anise, and sarsaparilla flavours – because of the aforementioned distaste.² Others, though, contend that it is simply a difference in phrasing. And whose to say? Certainly not me.

There was a certain point in university, when I was still an undergrad arguing with graduate students looking to consume my culture, where I realized that it is okay that some things are not meant for us to know. Maybe this comes from my deepened attempts to be a part of Métis community and culture outside of my direct relatives. In those spaces, there are layers to knowledge: some of it anyone may know, some of it you have to work to know, some of it may never be meant for you. I am a deeply curious person. I will zone out of conversations to quickly search across the internet for the answer of a question posed, or a “fact” precariously defined. It is important to me that I develop a fulsome view of the picture before I speak on it. In my family, we share a quiet resignation that some things are not meant to be asked about. People will share things when they are ready. The words will find their way out when we have weaved a web that can hold them.

In some ways, this quietness gave me the ability to gain a sense of myself before being questioned too deeply. Sometimes, this quietness leaves me stunted at asking people meaningful questions. But I hope that my earnestness will make up for some of that. I hope that the little snacks I share and stories I gift will build a base of the web that will allow new relations to feel supported enough to share themselves with me. So, I spend my time weaving between threads of connection, hoping that the new people I meet might feel moved to gift something back.

Not every relation is suited to holding these things, though. So, there are things I don’t know, shouldn’t know, or can’t know. There are responsibilities to be acknowledged and honoured in these don’ts, shouldn’ts, and can’ts. It is not a lack of something, but an acceptance of my place in the world, and the histories I have inherited. Other people’s lives, communities, cultures are not mine to consume. I don’t want to be the visitor-turned-permanent-settler that devours the lives of others because of the sense of novelty and difference they offer. I do not want to purport myself as the “expert” over someone else’s life.

The manufacturer of Japanese Dr Pepper offers tours of its facility. In North America, Dr Pepper is distributed under independent Keurig-Dr Pepper manufacturer, while Europe distributes through Japanese manufacturer Suntory. But in Japan, Dr Pepper is distributed by Coca-Cola and only available in select regions. Ironic, perhaps.

The selectedness of its availability has made finding it a special treat and a curiosity to ponder. Local Dr Pepper lovers had once created a website and map dedicated to registering every location where you can purchase the soda across the country (suspiciously titled “dp-lovers.com” and will not load for me). The cans here state that “you’ll be addicted” and the way I searched each supermarket and konbini for a can is evidence of its truth.

So, I thought a tour of the facility might offer me a new way to think about it. I was curious about what knowledge might find me. But, these tours are only offered in Japanese. I am okay to exist in this liminal space of not knowing. I feel grated by the sense that this classroom is teaching us to ignore signs directing us to turn back so that we may reach the space of knowing.

I have spent a lot of time questioning the lines of thought I have been travelling along since being here. What am I being instructed to think about? How am I being asked to consume culture and knowledge? When I learn something new here, what responsibility do I have to share or protect that knowledge? I am not confident that our classrooms have done the work to meaningfully hold these questions. I rebel against the idea that it is in any way possible to separate my writing from any part of my identity. I rage against the notion that I could have something meaningful to write about this place after only a month being tenuously tied here with no structure to deepen relations with Land and Life.

But with my housemates, we have built a web. We share gentle care and attention. New threads to hold stories, mandarins, tea. A space to hold tears, a space to hold silence. I am gifted with new knowledge and lessons – I am routinely asked “do you know about this?” and honoured with an explanation when the answer is no. We find ways to come around to one another even though our perspectives are sometimes oceans apart. We follow the trails of each other’s thinking to find a new way to look out into the world.

I read a post on the Japanese blogging site, Note, written by user 凪の策 (translated by the site’s native AI – for better or for worse) that describes the flavour of Dr Pepper as reminiscent of Annin Tofu – a Chinese dessert, popular in Japan, made with the seed found inside the pit of an apricot. 凪の策 points out that apricots and cherries, the flavour usually ascribed to Dr Pepper’s taste in North America, come from the same family – sharing the aromatic compound “benzaldehyde.”³ Sometimes, it takes different ways to come around to something shared.

With an annoying resignation that you might not get this, too – your dear friend,

Dani

Dear classroom couch that I petulantly ponder this all on instead of participating in class,

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