Another Japan story. I had a long layover at the Tokyo airport on my way back to the US. At the lounge, I used their very clean ( equipped with bidet ) toilet. Perhaps because of the busy-ness of the place, I got distracted and didn’t realize that I had left my backpack which contained my passport and some valuables inside the stall. With my heart pounding, I immediately ran back to the restroom as soon as I realized that ( within 2 minutes of leaving the restroom ), and wasn’t surprised that my backpack was no longer there. I asked around and no one knew but a woman suggested asking one of the servers in the lounge. The young server motioned me to follow her to the front desk. Before she finished telling the staff at the desk what happened I already spotted my backpack sitting on top of the counter. It was turned in by another passenger. I breathed a sigh of relief and whispered words of gratitude for the honesty of the Japanese. As much as I want to keep hating the Japanese for killing my grandfather during World War II, I couldn’t. It was brutal and depraved how they executed my grandfather. They buried him alive after torturing him and his men. They had them dig their graves and buried them except their heads. All of them died. My grandfather was an educator. He was the superintendent of an entire provincial school system. During the war, the country was occupied by the Japanese. He was the leader of a small resistance group ( guerilla group ) in their town. My grandfather was not even 40 when he was murdered by the Japanese. I admire and like the Japanese in spite of this tragedy that has left an enduring deep and palpable emotional scar on my family.