Could you please correct my English? The first time I came to Japan in 2016, I was approached by a girl from Nagoya on a website. She was 26 and worked as an OL ("Office Lady"). We started exchanging messages daily. About a month later, she told me that she wanted to see me in person. She rode the Shinkansen from Nagoya to Tokyo just so we could hang out one day in Shibuya. I remember she took a lot of pictures with me. In the evening, she got together with a female friend of hers before going back to Nagoya by bus the next morning. From then on I never heard of her again. Someone explained to me that I had been used as a mere gaijin face. That Japanese girl only reached out to me in order to show off in front of her Tokyo friend.

Can you please correct my English? Sam had been living in Japan for so long he couldn't tell how many miles there was in a kilometer. Somewhere around his 26th birthday, he switched from the American to the international system of measurement. He weighed himself in kilograms and didn't have the slightest idea what his weight in pounds was unless he remembered that a kilo was roughly two pounds. Farheneight didn't mean anything to him now - it felt like one of these old measures you read in the Holy Book. Fortunately, one yen equaled a hundred bucks, so the conversion didn't cost much, even for a non-mathematical mind like mine. I realized I was following the same path as Sam. I guess you could call it acclimatization. He lived in Tokyo the whole time he spent in the Kanto area (East Japan). Like most foreigners, he used to stay at a guest house with other gaijins and a few Japanese people, not rich enough to get a proper apartment or with no guarantor to sign the papers for them. Some locals prefer to rent a room in a guest house just so they could practice English or Engrish. They didn't qualify as gaijin hunters but they adopted the same strategies. He worked for many dispatch companies, some of which had disappeared over time. He liked his job as a teacher. However, his passion was kanji. He swore to God that he didn't speak a word of Japanese when he first came to Japan as a tourist. It was only after he got his work visa sponsored by his employer that he started learning Japanese using grammar and kanji books. But he got stuck at the pre-intermediate level. So he searched on the Internet and found out about AJATT (All Japanese All The Time). For those who don't know what this is, let me explain. This method is more than a method: it's a way of life. You listen to content in Japanese 24/7, except when you sit down to study your kanji with AJATTer's Bible: Remembering the Kanji, by James Heisig. It's a course on how not to forget kanjis based on mnemonics. In less than one year, Sam memorized 3 000 or so Chinese characters, though he could barely read them. He understood their core meaning but not how they were pronounced in compound words and sentences. He had to make his own flashcards from mangas, light novels, magazines - all material aimed at native Japanese people. From my personal experience, I've seen two types of foreigners: those who love kanji and those who hate it. Sam's love for kanji went beyond everything I'd witnessed so far. He became a self-made kanji scholar at 28.

Novel in English (Chapter 5) two Can you please help me correct this notebook entry? "Time's up", Kyoko cried. "Everyone put their chopsticks down!" After a new round of inspection, Kyoko allowed us to proceed with the cleaning. One boy was still struggling with his rice bowl. Kyoko told him he had to finish. He was so full he couldn't open his mouth to speak a word. In a last, epic effort, he grabbed the spoon, stuck it into the rice, but didn't manage to pull it back. All of us were busy cleaning the room while he kept staring at his lunch, absent-minded. "You'll stay here during recess," Kyoko said to him. The bell rang. The kids rushed to the playground. Only the little boy remained locked inside with SS officer Murata. I met Sam outside. "Hey, Michael! You sexy bastard! How is business?" "The same as always. I saw you in town wearing a black gown. Are you going to church?" "I'm moonlighting as a fake priest." He explained to me that he'd registered at a talent agency back in Tokyo. He got a phone call from the Osaka branch asking him if he was interested in a few gigs. All he'd have to do was buy a cassock and be ordained, which was done online through The Universal Life Church's website. "I can now conduct weddings in most of the US," he said. "I thought Western weddings were out of fashion." "It's as popular as it gets. I have tons of weddings booked for May!" "Hallelujah!" Towards the end of the week, I got a message from Tetsuya. He wanted to sign up for a few lessons. He insisted on meeting at a manga café. He'd pay for transportation as well as the entrance fee.

Novel in English (chapter 5) one Can you please help me correct this chapter? Thank you. The following week, I ate lunch in Kyoko's classroom. The kids were so excited to have me as a guest that they played "rock, scissors, paper" to decide where I should sit, and I had no say in it whatsoever. I sat uncomfortably in a baby seat. My giant legs spread out on both sides of the miniature desk like a praying mantis. Thank God I had a copious breakfast in the morning because the food matched the tiny bowls and plates in proportion. When it was time to eat, Kyoko asked the kids to take off their masks and say grace. She warned them that they had to swallow to the last grain of rice. Some children started opening their carton milk while others pocked the dead fish with their chopsticks. Although they were happy to see me a few minutes earlier, they now solely focused on their plates, as if it were the most important thing in their six-year-old lives. I tried to engage in a conversation with the boy next to me, but he had ears for his dried salmon only. Kyoko licked her tray clean then patrolled the grounds, inspecting every bowl just like a food nazi. "Ten minutes left!" she shouted, pointing at the clock with her chopsticks. The kids hurried up. Those who couldn't finish their white rice using chopsticks resorted to the good old spoon. I'd eaten everything but natto. I had read the literature on natto - I knew its smell, its taste, its shape, its ingredients, I had a perfect theoretical grasp on it, though I'd never allowed it to enter my mouth, not to mention my stomach. In five years of teaching in Japan, I'd somehow avoided the confrontation with natto. If I didn't wolf down the disgusting soybeans, Miss Murata would put it in the report she was going to write for my ALT company and the Board of Education. I thus opened my natto. The smell could beat that of roquefort cheese. If roquefort isn't strong enough for you, try "Vieux Boulogne" or "Pont l'Evèque" cheese. Kyoko stood behind me while I gawked at my slimy chopsticks covered in beetle juice and slug stew. I forced myself to shovel it into my mouth, but as soon as it touched my tongue, I threw it back into its plastic box. The kids laughed out loud without consideration for table manners. As a teacher, I had to set a good example, so I picked up the second-hand beans and gobbled them. I had lost my natto virginity to a school lunch. I felt dirty when I put the tray back on the service counter.

Novel in English (chapter 4) Need native check 2 Hello! I wrote a novel in English and I would like some advice on how to make it sound more natural. American English is preferred. Thank you. (...) I'd met a girl on a dating app, and we'd arranged to see each other at a coffee shop in Umeda. I waited for her forty-five minutes, which is a lot considering the high punctuality rate in Japan. I texted her. She neither showed up nor texted back. I discovered later that she'd blocked me on every social media platform. Ever since I got to Japan, I had been unable to keep a long-term relationship. The only woman I proposed to broke up with me just a few days before the wedding, supposedly because of her parents. Her name was Maya. We'd known each other on the Internet. Since she didn't have a picture on her profile, I had no idea what she looked like until our first date, to which she came wearing a surgical mask to protect herself from pollen allergy. I ditched dating apps. At 29 years old, I still had no experience in the field. I'd bought the ebook of The Game a long time ago, but I'd never read more than the introduction. I decided to finish the book and make some experiments in real life. "Nanpa" is what Japanese people call to pick up women, but most of the time it consists of standing at a lively public area and approach passing females in rapid succession until one agrees to an instant date. As I headed back home, I discerned a young, skinny man in a black gown, holding a heavy Bible under his arm. He walked with gravitas in spite of his underweight body. When he crossed the street, I recognized him to be Sam. Why was he wearing such a serious costume in the light month of May?

Chapter one (novel in English) 3 Please let me know if the text sounds natural to you: When I'd finished unpacking, I took my toilet bag to the bathroom. Sam had come out of his vertical bath. He had a kanji tattooed on his torso. I'd never seen this Chinese character before. "You sexy motherfucker! You were looking at my body, right? I'm no man of steel, I admit, but I rock." I realized I didn't have any groceries. I looked up the closest supermarkets and started off to buy some food. Sam followed me. He was wearing a cycling suit. "I have to get everything from scratch," he said. As a matter of fact, I didn't see him bring any luggage. "I sold or gave away all my stuff before moving to the Kansai area. I travel light." "I"m going to the shopping street," I said. "Okay, talk to you later. Don't get lost Michael." I bought enough food to keep my belly going for the rest of the month. I labeled the groceries as I'd had grown to do from my last share house. I got stolen so much almond milk, bacon, sliced bread, and instant noodles that I didn't store anything in the fridge without my name on it. Sam came back from his shopping adventures. His bags weighed more than him. "Didn't you notice something?" he asked. "What?" "We're supposed to be eleven housemates including you and me, but we haven't met anyone except the Italian guy." "I think he's Spanish," I corrected. "Yeah, whatever. Don't you think it's weird? Where is everyone?" "Maybe they're hiding in their rooms." "Why?" "They're planning a surprise party for us. Who knows?" It was already 7 PM. I cooked dinner while reading my rental agreement. The rent cost 50 000 yen. The deposit was 10 000 yen, refundable. In total, I wired 100 000 yen for the first month. My company wouldn't pay for the salary of April until May 25th, which was more than thirty days with no income. I decided to teach extra English business lessons in my free time. I posted an ad online. At 8 o'clock, neither Sergio nor the other tenants seem to wake up from their absence, so I washed my dishes, brushed my teeth, and lied down on my bed, exhausted from the long day behind and ahead of me. I woke up late, too late. I was scheduled to start at 8. The clock struck 7. Even the worst math student could answer the following problem: a one-hour commute plus ten minutes of getting myself prepared for work: it's a ten-minute unforgivable lack of punctuality.

Chapter one (novel in English) 2 "Yes. My ALT company found the place for me. Are you working for Hercules?" "Yeah. I've been teaching English for a few years with this company. I didn't know they had a branch in Osaka." "I used to be employed at Minerva before they shut down," I commented, looking at my watch. "We need to go inside for the visit." "Okay, just a sec'." He took Spaghetti to the bicycle parking lot and came back. I knocked on the door. A young man who went by the name of Sergio let us in. He rented a room on the first floor. He said that the manager couldn't make it to the guest house. Instead, Sergio himself would show us around. It was a two-story house with eleven tenants, each of them in a private room. The utilities were shared. The manager left a welcome note on the fridge. It was the biggest fridge anyone had ever seen in Japan. You could fit five or six TV sets - not TV sets of today, I mean those of yesterday, back in the 50s. The note read: Make yourself home. Bienvenue, les amis. "What the hell is les amis?" Sam wondered. "Is it Finish? Fijan? Flemish? Filipino?" "It's French, actually," Sergio said. "It means friends." "Merde!" Sam shouted. "Hey Leone!" he said to our tour guide, "who are the other tenants?" "My name is Sergio..." "Yeah, whatever. Who are they?" "International students for the most part. Osaka University isn't far from here." "Are you a student?" I asked. "No, I'm a digital nomad." "How long are you staying in this guest house?" "It depends on my mood. I don't have a set plan," he replied. "Where are you from anyway?" Sam cut in. "Piemonte? Sicily? Umbria? Tuscany? Macaroni?" "I"m from Andalucia, Spain," the guy said. "Oh, yes, of course. Andalucia, I get it. That's where the Colosseum was built." Sergio didn't care to relocate the Colosseum in its Roman abode. "I have to go out," he said to us. "See you soon." We were left alone with the monster refrigerator. "I need to take a shower," Sam remarked. "I smell like tits." "Go ahead. I'll take mine later. I have to unpack first." It was done in less than five minutes. Since I'd never settled anywhere in Japan, I never bought anything that I couldn't dispose of immediately. That's why I didn't own a chair, a table, a coffee machine, a bed... I used my suitcase as a drawer. The only thing I clung to was my ex-fiance's souvenirs and an ebook reader. I'd always had long commutes. My former dispatch companies used to send me to places far off in the country-side, in small towns of Kyoto or Hyogo...

Chapter one (novel in English) 1 Hello. I'm writing a short novel in English and I'd like some feedback from native speakers. I'd like to know if the writing sounds natural. Thank you. After five years in Japan, all my belongings came down to a suitcase and a backpack. I was dragging my suitcase along the road from Ishibashi station, on the Takarazuka Hankyu line, to my new guest house, "Les Amis", just ten minutes on foot. Osaka University was close. Although it was mid-April, I couldn't see any cherry blossoms. My suitcase was so light no one could have guessed I was moving. At least I was saving money. If I had had to hire movers, the cost of the relocation would have been too much for my budget. I thought of my suitcase as a kind of mobile house - it was a shame I couldn't in there. According to Google Maps, I had made it to the guest house. The manager had set an appointment at 2 PM to visit the place and sign the rental agreement. We were supposed to be two new tenants, but nobody else was waiting with me. I decided to enter the building when I heard someone on a bicycle. It was a guy wearing cycling gear and a construction helmet too big for him. He was skimming over the asphalt when he realized something and stopped his bike, an ultra-slim bicycle, not as slim as the rider though, for skinny he was, skinnier than the word "skinny" itself, which has an "n" to spare. The skeletal dude took off his basket of a helmet. His dyed blond hair stuck to his forehead as if by an adhesive. The sweat somehow made him look cool. He checked his phone for a few seconds then came to me and asked: "Hey bro! How's it going? Are you familiar with the neighborhood? I have no fu**** idea where I am. I just cycled all the way from Tokyo to Osaka." "Really?" "Yeah. My boy is so exhausted from the journey. Look at him!" He patted his bicycle on the handlebar. "Good boy," he said. "Oh, I forgot to introduce you to my boy Spaghetti." He talked to his bike again: "Spaghetti, say hello to... By the way, what's your name?" "Michael," I replied. "Hey Spaghetti, this is Michael. Greet him." The guy rang a cheerful bell. "And what's your name?" I asked. "Can you guess? You sexy motherf*****." "Lance Armstrong?" "I ride a bicycle, not a walker. My name is Sam." He extended his clammy hand to me. "So, do you know the neighborhood? I'm looking for a guest house called Les Amis." "It's right in front of you." He finally noticed my suitcase. "Are you moving in too?" he asked. (///)