When I tell friends back home in the United States that I have a Japanese boyfriend, most of them picture one of this nation's downtrodden "salarymen" -- a humorless guy in a drab suit who rides a packed subway train to work and sings the company song in his sleep. In fact, they couldn't be more wrong.

Gen, who I've been dating for a year, is covered with Japanese tattoos -- dragons on his head, a snake on his stomach, scorpions on his shins. He has a jet-black buzz cut, and holes pierced in his ears big enough to put your pinkie through. He's a successful entrepreneur, not a corporate slave, running his own clothing and body piercing shop. He's creative and independent, and he's unafraid to speak his mind. Best of all, he's brave. He once took a trip to America, paid cash for a banged-up 1973 Oldsmobile and then drove it, shaking and rattling, across the unknown continent.

Japanese men get a bad rap, and to be honest, quite a few deserve it. Often, their boorish behavior knows no bounds, and rare is the woman who try to put a stop to it. When I first came to Japan five years ago, I spent 12 months working as a so-called "office lady" in a Japanese paint company, wearing a uniform, making photocopies, serving tea. While most of my co-workers, both male and female, were friendly and curious about my culture, the behavior of some would fall into the realm of what in the U.S. would be considered sexual harassment. Over drinks at a business dinner with customers, for instance, my boss once asked me to tell him about my sex life ("No comment," I responded). On another occasion, a young male co-worker wondered aloud about the color of foreign pubic hair.

As a foreigner in Japan, I wanted to be an observer rather than an activist, so I let these incidents roll off my back. In retrospect, I'm glad I did. While my co-workers' behavior was irritating, if I'd become angry and bitter about it, I would have retreated and never discovered the exceptions to the Japanese rule -- people like my friend Gen -- who make living in this country such a serendipitous experience.

It's easy to see the Japanese as a dull and boring bunch, delivering predictable phrases with expressionless faces -- everyone alike, no one willing to stand out from the crowd. But this isn't necessarily true. "Japan is no homogenous monolith," writes film critic Donald Richie, who has lived in this country for decades. "There is as much individuality here as there is anywhere else. But it is harder to see."

The reason it's so hard to see is because Japanese society and its institutions -- the government, schools, big corporations -- don't want you to see it. They cling to the notion of Japan as a homogenous, harmonious nation of happy, obedient citizens. But trust me, the diversity, the dissenters -- they are there. Just take a look at my address book: there's Eriko, who decided to forgo a job at a big fashion house to set out on her own as a costume designer; there's Yukio, a young tattoo artist who's adding modern elements to this traditional art; and there's Shiraiwa, who at 25 has published a book of short stories and prefers, for some unexplained reason, to go by the name William Gissard.

Incidentally, when I talk about Japanese rebels, I'm don't mean the well-known hordes of outlandishly dressed teens who gather in places like Tokyo's Harajuku, reveling in their communal weirdness. No, I mean the truly brave souls willing to set out on their own in a society that discourages deviation from the norm. These are people struggling to express themselves. There is tension in their lives, and it's exciting to be around them.

That leaves one question: What do I, a plain old girl from Georgia, have in common with these people? On the surface, not much. I've got no tattoos, my piercing is limited, and in general, I'm not very daring. The key is that, in a way, we're all foreigners in Japan. This is still a conformist society where a clear line is drawn between inside and outside, strange and normal. My friends and I are on the same side of that line, and we seek each other out.