Category Archives: Personal

Married to an Alien: Can Love Conquer Culture?


“Do you do marriage counseling?”

Her question came out of left field. I had just wrapped up a half-day seminar at a client’s on cultural differences between Japanese and Americans in the workplace, and now the only Japanese person in the class was asking me privately to offer counsel to her American husband. I laughed but she was dead serious. “My husband really needs this training.”

I never did pursue a marriage-counseling career, but our brief encounter got me wondering, Could I do it? At the risk of offending all the capable, professionally certified cross-cultural marriage counselors in the world, I think I could, certainly when Japanese and Americans were involved. Add my Japanese wife to the mix and our complementary skills would be ideally suited for such a calling.

Our credentials aren’t from academia, but we don’t play according to Hoyle anyway. We’re both college graduates, albeit with no formal training in psychology or counseling, no Doctorates, don’t even have a wretched Masters degree between us. But here’s what we’ve got: we know each other’s cultures intimately; we’ve been happily married for thirty years; we lived in each other’s countries, speak each other’s languages, ask good questions and listen. And if that’s not enough, we’re entertaining as hell. Did I mention we live in Hawaii? All we need are some clients now and we’re good to go.

Cross-Cultural Blues

My fantasy gig aside, it’s not like there isn’t a need to be filled here. Haven’t been able to track down any statistics on cross-cultural divorce rates, but a quick google search shows that cross-cultural marriage counselors actually do exist, evidence the need is there.

And it makes perfect sense. In our dynamic global world, more and more people are venturing abroad, leading to more people tying cross-cultural knots, leading to more cross-cultural knots needing to be untangled, sometimes even cut loose.

Let’s face it, marriage between people of the same culture is tough enough. Throw in a language barrier and a muddy cultural minefield littered with hidden value differences, and things get infinitely more complicated.

Sadly we know of too many broken marriages between Japanese and American couples. Just how many could’ve been saved with the right knowledge and guidance is anyone’s guess. Admittedly some couples should never have gotten married in the first place. But armed with the right knowledge, an emotionally mature, open-minded couple from different cultures has a good shot at creating a lasting partnership. But they’d have to go into it with open eyes and open hearts. It helps to have a sense of humor too.

What Couples Fight About

Amazing the silly stuff married couples fight about. An international couple gets all that and a bag of chips: she eats stinky fermented beans for breakfast, he wants an Egg McMuffin; he married for romantic love, she’s in it for a steady homemaking gig; he’s an old-school disciplinarian, her parents spoil the kids rotten; English is her second language, he speaks English only and struggles enough with that; he thinks she understands everything he says, she understands only half; he loves a feisty debate, she nods her head to keep the peace—especially when she disagrees; he likes to playfully tease, she thinks he’s being mean; his parents are loud and judgmental, hers zing you with a passive-aggressive smile.

And this just scratches the surface. Throw in the crazy idiosyncrasies we all have, the potential fallout from religious differences, not to mention different cultural attitudes toward sex, money and rock-n-roll, and you’ve got a murky brew of marital juices to stew in.

Check Your Identity at the Border

On a heavier note, some folks living in their spouse’s homeland report “loss of personal identity.” Defining exactly what this means is a can of worms we won’t open today. For the sake of this discussion, reflect on how you might answer these questions:

Do you see yourself as an independent entity or fraction of society? Are you ranked in a pecking order or is everyone equal?

How does your culture expect you to behave? Is open debate the norm? Or is feigned agreement encouraged in the name of harmony?

Are male and female roles clearly defined in your spouse’s country? Are females expected to show deference? If you’re a woman, how would you choose to deal with that reality?

And what about self worth? Is it measured by “self-actualization”? Accumulation of money? Status? Approval by the collective? Motherhood? Fatherhood? Career? Other?

And finally, how do you tell right from wrong? Is it always good to tell the truth? Are polite lies expected and encouraged in the name of social harmony? Does the “real you” fight for that seat on the train, or offer it to an elderly lady?

The list goes on but you get the gist. It shouldn’t surprise that lonely spouses living abroad—regardless of gender–might feel a loss of identity. It’s not a stretch to imagine a strong, independent female from a Western country being thrust into a male-dominated culture and feeling smothered. Or the other way–a traditional Asian woman going West.

I was in a different situation and felt anything but smothered. Japan was liberating for me. And yet, over the course of ten years I wrestled with my own kind of identity issues, specifically, the challenge of sorting out which part of me was American, which part had taken on Japanese-like qualities, and which part was just me. It took an eventual move back to the motherland to “rediscover” myself. What I learned was that I never “lost” anything, certainly not my identity. What happened was my identity had expanded with the infusion of Japanese culture into my life. No regrets. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Ignorance, the Silent Killer

The most dangerous scenario in the artful dance of communication happens when both partners assume they are communicating when in fact they are not. This scenario naturally begets confusion. One symptom is the tendency of one or both parties to assign bad intentions to the other party, even when everyone’s heart is in the right place. It happens more than you think. A great example is how Japanese, who haven’t mastered the finer nuances of English, might respond to a negatively stated question such as, “Don’t you love me?”

The Japanese partner, intending to say “Yes I love you,” might respond with “no,” meaning, “No, it’s not true that I do not love you.” Conversely, a Japanese partner, intending to say “No I do NOT love you,” might respond with “yes,” meaning, “Yes that’s correct, I don’t love you.” How about that for getting your signals crossed?

Now imagine all the drama such a misunderstanding could create, and multiply it by all the other unforeseen language and culture gaps that camouflage our good intentions.

Such misunderstandings quickly escalate, and before you know it spouses are sparring—over something they may actually agree on. False perceptions define their reality, and love gets lost in the confusion.

And this really underscores the power of cross-cultural knowledge in international marriages. Only by bringing hidden differences to the surface can they be acknowledged, reflected on, and worked out. Without awareness of these differences, problems not only don’t get solved, they proliferate and fester.

Can Love Conquer Culture?

It might get you through the honeymoon stage, I’ll grant you that. But over time misunderstandings and false perceptions can sour even the sweetest love. When the honeymoon’s over, you either roll up your sleeves and start working at your marriage, or get pulled into a downward spiral fueled by mutual ignorance. We all know where that ends up.

To our credit and good fortune, my wife and I spent a lot of time talking in the courting stage. It helps that neither of us is shy, that we were willing to put in the time and effort to communicate, and that I had already lived in my wife’s country for seven years and had a good grasp of her language and culture. With that backdrop, here’s what was rolling around in my head before I popped the question.

What does “marriage” really mean in Japan versus my culture? Is love part of the deal? What roles would a married international couple assume? Would she be willing to marry me as an equal partner? Or would I have to be subservient!?

What are the positives of our respective cultures? What’s important to her? What’s important to me? Could she learn to love Egg McMuffins? Could I learn to eat smelly fermented beans for breakfast?

Where would we live? Do we both want kids? How many? How would we raise them? Would they speak one language or both? Would we indulge them or use tough-love? And what if we fail and they turn out like me?

What do we expect of ourselves and each other? What are the boundaries of trust? How to show respect? How to show affection? How to disagree? How to resolve disputes? Would I have to sleep on the couch sometimes? If so, will the couch be comfortable?

It all looks so neat and tidy when it’s written down like that. The reality is our conversations were unstructured, messy, a lot messier when we were drinking wine. But we made the time to talk, to share with each other how we had been raised, nurtured, disciplined, how our parents related to each other, and how it turned us into the confused young adults that we were…okay, that I was.

But even with thirty years of marital bliss under my belt, can’t help but think that some guidance and structured conversations would’ve prevented a couple wheels from being reinvented. If I could go back in time and counsel my young bachelor self, here’s what I’d say to me:

When you tease her she thinks you’re being mean. She’ll never get your American-guy sarcastic sense of humor so back off on the teasing.

Don’t let her do the dishes, she hates it and sucks at it. (I recently fired my wife from the dish-washing duties and reassigned them to yours truly. Had I known then how happy this would make her, I’d have done it thirty years ago.)

Read “The Anatomy of Peace” by Arbinger Group!” (The book wasn’t published until 2006 so I’d have to smuggle it into the time machine. But had I read it thirty years ago, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d have been a better husband and father.)

And if my Japanese wife could go back in time and counsel her young single self on marrying a foreign barbarian, what advice would she give?

Sign up for our Intercultural Marriage Retreat in Hawaii and we’ll talk about it. 😉

For more on cross-cultural marriages check out Samurai Wife: The Myth About Subservient Japanese Women

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2013


It’s Not What’s Said, It’s What’s Heard

The essence of cross-cultural communication has more to do with releasing responses than with sending messages. It is more important to release the right response than to send the right message.”

–Edward T. Hall

While working with a client on a project some years back, I shared Edward T. Hall’s quote above with an executive leading the project. He responded with a pithy quote of his own that really nailed the point: “It’s not what’s said, it’s what’s heard.”

Beautiful. So I put it in the title. Lots of meaning packed into those words.

What is “Communication”?

Contrary to popular myth communication doesn’t equal language; language is but one tool of communication. (For more on this see The Danger of Learning a Foreign Language.)

And yet most of us get lulled into believing that if we just string together the right words then communication will naturally follow.

The mind-flip invited by both quotes above, is that the focus should be on the listener not the speaker. 

And the underlying implication is that communication is strategic. It’s all about getting the other person to hear the desired intent behind the message and respond in a certain way.

Anyone who’s ever worked in sales knows this intuitively. When a salesperson walks into a sales presentation her desired response is to get the audience to buy whatever she’s selling. She could have the slickest, flashiest presentation in the world, rattle off a littany of “right” messages, but if she doesn’t get a purchase order out of the deal then she didn’t get her desired response, a failure to communicate in the most tangible sense.

Peddling Planes to China

But let’s shift our focus now in a positive direction. Specifically, let’s examine an actual case study where a savvy U.S. company developed an effective initiative using strategic knowledge about local culture to elicit a desired response.

In 1997 China Southern applied for approval to the U.S. department of transportation to launch a new route from Guangzhou to Los Angeles. The U.S. government, wary of China’s safety record, used the application as an excuse to dig under the fingernails of Chinese airline regulators to make sure they had their ducks in a row prior to issuing approval.

Of course they didn’t.

No surprise China Southern threw a hissy fit, threatening to cancel the airplane orders it placed with Boeing. Imagine that.

Boeing was obviously in a pickle. If the U.S. government didn’t issue approval for the new routes, then they could kiss those China-Southern airplane orders goodbye.

Of course Boeing had no direct connection to the safety woes of the Chinese airlines. But it really wanted to sell those airplanes. So Boeing did what any long-term thinking business would do: it shouldered the burden of helping China raise its regulatory practices and improve airline safety procedures. Just how Boeing approached the challenge echoes the sentiments expressed above: “It’s not what’s said, it’s what’s heard.”

James Fallows explains:

…the U.S. training team was hyper-sensitive about two aspects of this training exercise for their Chinese colleagues. One was to present all their recommendations in terms of meeting international standards for air safety and airline procedures, rather than seeming to say, This is how we do it in the U.S. of A. Presenting the challenge this way made it far more palatable to the Chinese side.” (China Airborne)

In other words, the “desired response” sought by Boeing was for the Chinese to be cooperative. The strategy was to NOT come across as “arrogant Americans,” an approach that would’ve pushed Chinese clients into a defensive stance and make them anything but cooperative. 

According to Fallows, Boeing was so successful in getting their desired response that, “Through the next decade, Chinese commercial aviation, while expanding faster than any other country’s, was statistically among the world’s very safest.” (For more on this topic check out China Airborne by James Fallows.)

The moral of the story is that communication is about selling a message, a point of view, an opinion, a truth, sometimes even a lie. The barometer of success is simple: Are your listeners “buying” your message?

Sometimes we overcomplicate things in the cross-cultural field with our cryptic “academic-speak” and abstract communication models. Sometimes you wonder if we’re talking about people or specimens! So here’s my very simple desired response today: if we all would just put a little more focus on what others might be hearing, rather than on what we think we want to say, pretty sure we’d all get along a little better.

But only if you’re hearing what I’m saying.

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2013

Japan Insight Goes Social

JIhead2a'09Aloha! Brief post today to announce that, after much hemming and hawing and brawling inside my own head, the pro-social-media forces of evil won, compelling me to create my company’s new Japan Insight facebook page. Then I went really crazy and resurrected my twitter account, even uploaded my pretty logo (above).

Since we’re on the subject–Japan Insight also has a youtube channel.

As you can see it’s too late to turn back now–so no choice but to enjoy the ride. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.

If you’re kind enough to click your way over to the links posted, and like what you see, we’d appreciate if you’d honor us with a “like” and keep coming back.


Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2013

One Minute Insight: The Art of Japanese Kikubari Service

What makes Japanese customer service so special? In a word, “kikubari,” the art of anticipation. Learn how you can improve customer service, build relationships and connect cultures–without spending a penny. And it’ll only take a minute!

Driving Change with a Samurai Boss

“There are two kinds of Japanese bosses: the enlightened zen master and the crazy samurai.”

–long-time American employee of a Japanese-owned company

Back in the mid 1990s I worked for a Japanese management consultancy that specialized in productivity improvement. When they hired me I had eight years of manufacturing under my belt, two years in production control, four in sales, the rest in cross-cultural consulting with a focus on manufacturing operations.

So for me this was a new direction, one that entailed excruciatingly detailed analyses of factory operations and good old-fashioned industrial engineering. There was nothing sexy about it. My Japanese colleagues described our profession as “dorokusai,” literally “smelling of earth,” a euphemism for in-the-trenches and unrefined. The opposite of sexy.

But below the unsexy surface were some timeless principles and techniques geared toward introducing change into any organization with minimal resistance, a tall order in any case. Throw in cultural and linguistic barriers and the order gets even taller.

My Japanese boss was an expert at making factories efficient. A seasoned factory rat who looked exactly the part, he came to work everyday with disheveled hair wearing wrinkled clothes. He had a nervous habit of pursing his lips and sticking out his tongue, something clients found either amusing or disturbing, depending on how well they knew him. (He was harmless.) And if you dressed him up in a two-thousand-dollar suit, my boss would still look like a factory rat. In an expensive suit.

But the guy deserved his props; he knew his stuff, shared his knowledge generously, and treated me with respect. His achilles heal was his people skills. He was awkward enough with fellow Japanese, so no surprise he was clueless in dealing with non-Japanese folks as well.

Conversely, I was clueless about industrial engineering but good at connecting people. So our skills were complementary, and it turned out to be a tremendous learning experience for me.

But I’d be lying if I said the gig was fun. The work had its perks for sure, the learning part the big one. But our days were long. We lived out of a suitcase five days a week and ate at bad restaurants. Our boss, a good person deep down with noble intentions, was a controlling hard ass, the classic old-school “crazy Samurai” manager. And I swear he smelled just like the earth. Dorokusai.

And it’s not like we were working in happening places like New York, Chicago or LA. Nope. We were in places that made Mayberry look exciting, like Greencastle Indiana or Blanchester Ohio, where they rolled up the sidewalks at night just before we’d get off work. These were lovely places inhabited by nice people, but there wasn’t much to do. Thankfully we didn’t have the energy after work to do anything anyway. My idea of an exciting evening was clipping my toenails and watching TV in the privacy of my hotel room. Eventually got so sick of hotels that even now when I go on vacation, I’ll rent a house instead of a room because hotels remind me too much of those lonely days on the road.

My whining aside, the work was challenging and meaningful. I learned more in those two years than the previous ten. The big lesson I took from the experience was the strategic approach my samurai boss and mentors took to introducing change into the workplace. In the next few posts over the coming week I’ll cover the key takeaways from my adventures, namely: The Power of the Team; Leading with Dirty Hands; the Importance of Big Picture Communication; Creating Team Ownership; and finally, Driving Change Across Cultures.

Keep in mind that while the focus and related examples will be in manufacturing, the basic principles apply in any industry, any culture. Tomorrow we’ll start with The Power of the Team.

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2012

The Dark Side of Japanese Customer Service


Back in my Japan university days I eked out a living teaching English conversation part time. Made just enough money to support a weekend gallivanting habit too. It was a hand-to-mouth bachelor existence, and I was having the time of my life.

But no gallivanting for me on Thursday evenings, when I’d rush off campus in Mitaka Tokyo, jump on the bus to Kichijoji Station where I’d take the Inokashira line to Shimokitazawa, then ride the Odakyu Express out to the Japanese boonies on the outskirts of Atsugi City. In all it took me two hours door to door.

My Thursday student was a Japanese doctor. Unlike my other doctor students whom I taught at the local hospital, Dr. Thursday wanted private lessons at his home, where we conspired every week to fake our way through an English lesson, sessions in which I mostly listened to his troubles and regrets, secrets he would never have dared tell his family and friends.

Our therapy sessions would get especially interesting on the rare occasion the doc would crack open a couple cold Sapporo drafts. I normally didn’t drink on the job but he was the customer after all. And as they say in Japan, “the customer is god.” So when doc picked up the beer I held out my glass for him to pour, reciprocated, then toasted our fake English class. No one was more qualified to do this job than me.

Being a foreigner was a big part of my qualifications. Thoroughly insulated from the doctor’s inner group I was one of the safest sounding boards in all of Japan. Indeed I was the only game in town where he could go confess his sins with no social repercussions. I was “Father Timothy” without the penance and Catholic guilt. So our English class was really the doctor’s weekly refuge from the oppressive social pressure cooker he inhabited most of his waking hours. Dr. Thursday paid me fair market price to lend a sympathetic ear. By default I became an unlicensed therapist—at English-teacher prices.

Looking back at these weekly sessions—and all my other private students back then—collectively they provided a precious glimpse into the soul of modern Japan. In this case my subject was an intelligent, successful Japanese doctor who, on paper, should have been the happiest man on earth. In fact he had spent his whole life making others happy: happy parents, happy in-laws, happy family, happy teachers and happy patients. Even his wife looked happy, but you never knew for sure.

And yet the good doctor didn’t strike me at all as being happy himself. So my job as his fake English teacher (as I saw it) was to keep the session as happy and engaging as possible, and hopefully sneak in some English chops along the way. Well, my approach was apparently (and literally) “just what the doctor ordered,” as the gig had legs, lasting through college and well beyond. I eventually handed the doctor off to a capable friend (a real English teacher) when I got a regular job and moved back to the States. Never thought I’d say this, but I miss those Thursday evening sessions with doc.

Kikubari Blues

This particular gig had a tight, predictable routine. From the moment I’d knock on the doctor’s front door the same scenario would unfold, my weekly deja-vu moment: the doctor’s wife would answer the door, greet me with a bow, and escort me to the coffee table in their living room where I’d sit on their comfy Western-style sofa, and wait for the busy doctor to call me to his office upstairs. When he was ready.

In the meantime the wife would bring me a cup of instant coffee with lots of cream and sugar in it. I would thank her, drink just enough to show my appreciation, then leave the rest untouched.

By unilaterally deciding that I, the foreigner from America, wanted to drink sweet, creamy instant coffee, doc’s wife was practicing what Japanese call “kikubari”, the fine art of anticipation.

Likely the wife wasn’t even conscious of her own behavior. She was so culturally programmed to practice kikubari that she could do it in her sleep, and probably did. And because her knowledge of my culture was limited, she was clueless about what I really wanted: choice. I can only guess that she assumed Americans like sugary, creamy, instant coffee—so that’s what I got.

In fairness the doctor’s wife had part of it right. I do love coffee. In the morning. Freshly brewed. With a little cream. No sweetener.

But if she had thought to give me a choice, I’d have done the perfunctory refusal before humbly accepting a cup of green tea, one of my favorite drinks in the world. And while I truly appreciated the intent behind the wife’s thoughtful kikubari gesture, the downside was that I ended up drinking way too many half cups of creamy sugary coffee.

No complaints because it was a great gig. But thought it would be worthwhile in today’s post to ponder the cultural ramifications of overdoing the kikubari thing, particularly when an unsuspecting, choice-loving individualistic Westerner is on the receiving end.

The Dark Side of Kikubari

What happens when kikubari is unleashed outside Japan’s cultural borders?

It’s useful to compare two cultural extremes. Start by picturing in your head a “bell curve of anticipation.” On the far right end of the curve is Japan, the land of unbridled kikubari, where hosts are expected to anticipate all their guests whims and desires—to a fault. Other Asian/Confucian cultures have similar kikubari tendencies, so would be in the same general neighborhood on the curve.

It makes perfect sense that Confucian cultures have kikubari built into their hospitality model because the guest is required–by Confucian protocol–to refuse any gift or kindness offered by the host anyway. Kikubari in effect removes the social requirement of the guest to refuse the drink, by not asking the question in the first place. The result is that most guests get a cup of tea–or a beer–whether they want it or not.

In contrast, on the extreme left side of the curve is America, a “do-it-yourself-or-at-least-ask-me-if-you-need help” culture (for lack of a better term). Along with our cultural cousins in Europe, we exalt the individual. One byproduct of this value is that we generally provide “individual choice” to friends and guests.

Kikubari is the antithesis of individual choice.

So this is much bigger than simply a fake English instructor being forced to drink sweet creamy instant coffee. It’s about the same foreigner getting a fork and knife because his Japanese waiter assumes he can’t use chopsticks; it’s about being spoken to in unintelligible broken English because the Japanese taxi driver can’t fathom the notion of a foreigner mastering his language; it’s having everything decided in advance—the restaurant, the meal, the beer—because the needs of the collective trump individual desires. It’s about getting a brand new pair of sneakers from a Japanese neighbor because you were caught red-handed wearing duct-taped shoes in public.

With three and a half decades of Japan experience under my belt I’ve learned to appreciate the intent and thoughtfulness behind kikubari, along with its value-added application in customer service. Even when it misses the mark.

And yet as much as I profess to love the kikubari tradition, it’s kind of like eating ice cream: wonderful in the right doses, but too much can make you sick. Sometimes kikubari can be so overwhelming that I just want to scream, “Let me decide!”

Restaurant Interrogation, American Style

In a previous post I broke down the interrogation Americans endure whenever they order a meal in their neighborhood restaurant. The sheer number of questions asked is a testament to the power of culture: Booth or table? What to drink? Soup or salad? What kind of dressing? How to cook your steak? What choice of vegetable? French fries, baked potato or doubled-baked? Sour cream? Bacon bits? Butter? Cheese? Hot sauce on the side?

And this is just a smattering of the questions, clearly directed at choice-loving individualists who–damn the collective–expect that meal to be customized to their personal liking. 

Now try going to a restaurant in Japan and specifying your meal to this level of detail. At best you’ll get a bewildered look, and that’s if you speak decent Japanese.

Years ago I had the gall to request extra ketchup at a McDonald’s in Sagamihara Station. Well you’d think I asked the lady to lend me the keys to her car! This request caused her so much anguish. No one had taught her in hamburger school what to do when the foreigner asks for ketchup.

Well, the decision was too big for her to make on her own so she called a conference in the back with the hamburger flippers. I can only imagine what they said: “The foreigner wants more ketchup, what do we do? Doesn’t he know that we anticipated his needs and already put the proper amount of ketchup on his patty? And even if we give him extra ketchup we have no approved containers to put it in!”

Whatever they discussed, after several minutes of intense deliberations the lady returned with a tiny plastic tray with just enough ketchup for a single french-fry swipe. So just to be difficult, I said, “One more please.”

Bridging the Kikubari Gap

The best way to build this bridge is to come at it from both sides of the cultural divide.

For non-Japanese on the receiving end of unwanted kikubari, my advice is recognize it for what it is, and appreciate the thoughtfulness behind the gesture. And if by chance the unwanted kikubari is coming from a Japanese friend, then you have some leeway in working around the gap, for example, indirectly educating your friend on how you prefer having choices.

For Japanese hosts dealing with non-Japanese, it’s a good idea to study up on your foreign guests so you truly understand what they want. Also consider the idea that offering choice is itself a useful cross-cultural kikubari technique: you anticipate that your foreign guests want choice and give them options. (They might surprise you and request green tea.)

Japanese should also acknowledge the reality that a certain percentage of foreigners seek out authentic Japanese experiences that come with or without kikubari; that the more adventurous foreigners would prefer to fumble their way through dinner using chopsticks; practice their imperfect Japanese with taxi drivers; drink green tea; and eat sushi, natto and rice crackers. But you’ll never know unless you ask.

And finally, Japanese can avoid disappointment by not expecting kikubari from foreign hosts. For better or for worse, kikubari is not how most Westerners roll. Japanese should consider this an opportunity to step out of their kikubari world and embrace individual choice.

The dark side of kikubari notwithstanding, our world clearly needs more kikubari not less. We need more observation, more consideration of others’ needs, more conscious acts of kindness. In my book, the benefits of kikubari far outweigh its dark side. And if that means occasionally drinking sweet creamy instant coffee, then I’m happy to do my part.

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2012

Hilo’s Amazing B-Boys

Check out this amazing youtube video. Can you feel the passion and joy?