So the invasion of the Keitai Gaijin has begun.

Last night another step was taken to ensure our group's assimilation into Japanese culture: we bought cellphones. Beyond learning to enjoy the often bizarre cuisine, the nuances of Kabuki and the complex language itself--all which make you more of a Nihonjin--the superficial devices like clothing and cellphones seem to work more effectively at truly increasing cultural immersion.

95 percent of all Japanese youth own Keitai. The flashy, colorful, abysmally complex machines are the most visible sign that one is "Japanese." People do everything with them: they make phone calls, send e-mail, take photos, play games, record movies, listen to MP3s, send text messages, etc, etc, etc. They do everything with them; it's impossible to find something that cannot be done with a keitai.

A quick survey of any train car on any line--Odakyu to Choda--will reveal a plethora of keitais, their owners quietly glued to the small high-resolution screens for the duration of their commute. The keitais come in an unbelievable variety, a vast array of flavors as individual as the owners themselves. Antennas raised, they sit silently as the train hums down the track; holding a piece of artwork in their hand.

My keitai is pink.

Brent's is purple.

Brandon's is black.

We all have them, now.

Last night we took the plunge and headed to Shinjuku in a quest to ascend to the rank of Keitai Gaijin (literally "cellphone foreigner"), no easy task, considering that we were attempting to purchase a mobile phone plan and get a good deal; no easy task in English let alone Japanese. Somehow though, through the adversity, we prevailed and left Sakuraya an hour after we entered, carrying brand new Japanese cellphones (AU by KDDI brand, to be exact).

We were the second group to purchase the luminous little toys, which brought the number of Keitai Gaijin to nearly 20.

The life of a Keitai Gaijin is a bit different than that of an average everyday Gaijin. For one, the keitai owner has a higher status, and when one unveils a shiny phone while riding the train, LCD screen blazing, he fills the place with awe as natives peek over, trying to hide their interested curious eyes. How did that gaijin get a keitai?

Don't you need ID to purchase a keitai?

Cellphone shops don't care about passports; they aren't good enough. Neither are drivers licenses, letters of acceptance, student ID cards or alien registration cards. Producing these forms of ID only causes salesmen to clam up and tersely state: "Sorry, we can't sell you a phone."

When we dealt with them, they wouldn't let down this stone wall...

...Until we showed them the most important ID of all: Visa.

That's how we became keitai gaijin, and thus became closer to Japanese society in a more tangible way.

Until you actually set foot in a train, you cannot quite grasp the importance of these small handheld wonders. They are such an integral part of youth culture that to NOT have a cellphone is to NOT be a Japanese youth. Having a cellphone isn't just an act of consumerism, it's a declaration of youth, vitality and independence.

Just another step closer to being a Nihonjin, I suppose.