20081219
20081217
A rather long story about my strange, strange life
It all began a month or so ago when I decided to stop by a small flower shop on my way home from Nishidai Elementary School. I bought a plain bouquet of white daisies and was about to leave the shop when a man behind the counter asked me in English, "Are you an English teacher?" Excited by the unexpected chance to converse in my native tongue, I excitedly replied, "Yes, I am!" However, I quickly realized how limited his English really was when he subsequently found himself incapable of articulating what he wanted to say next. He excused himself to the back room, asking me politely to "Wait."
I stood around the shop, gazing awkwardly at poinsettias, while the ladies working behind the counter giggled and told me I was a "kawai sensei [cute teacher]." After about ten minutes, the man finally returned with a computer print-out of a message he'd just run through an online translator. It read,
Two weeks passed without a phone call. I decided to chalk it off as an older man's polite attempt (albeit a strange one) to have a conversation with his sole American customer. I was a little relieved.
Then, about a week ago, my roommate and I were enjoying a relaxing evening at home when our phone rang. Jennifer answered. Listening in on her half of the conversation, I quickly picked up on the fact that the person on the other end of the line was having difficulty communicating in English and I immediately wondered if it might be the man from the flower shop. The notes that Jennifer was able to write out from the conversation were as follows:
So, yesterday I finished teaching my last class and returned to the teachers' room. There I received notice that someone had called for me earlier and left a message: someone would be at my house at 6:10 to pick me up for some kind of Rotary Club meeting. As Shimowada relayed the vague details to me, I tried to convey to her exactly why this situation seemed weird to me and how I didn't understand why this complete stranger was calling my school, but my befuddlement failed to elicit sympathy. I hopped on a school computer and quickly typed an email to two of my fellow AETs, Jennifer and Josiah: "Please come with me!"
As it turned out, when I arrived home after work, Jennifer admitted that she had a lot of work to do in preparation for school the next day and would rather not go to the "whatever-it's-going-to-be" Rotary Club event; so, it was Josiah who semi-grudgingly agreed to accompany me, prefacing the evening with, "If they invite us to a second party, we should try really hard not to go."
The man from the flower shop arrived in his car promptly at 6:10. On the way to the party, minimal conversation passed between the three of us. Neither Josiah nor I knew where we were going. The man driving encouraged us to "Relax." Thanks, I'll do my best.
After a ten-minute drive, we arrived at the posh hotel in Moka, where women in kimonos showed us into a banquet hall where people of all ages were sitting around tables, already heavily involved in their dinners (The flower-shop man apologized later for getting the time wrong; the party actually started at 6:00. We assured him it was all right).
We were issued BINGO cards, I promptly received a door prize of a pot of poinsettias and the flower-shop man (at this point I still didn’t know his name) motioned to Josiah and I to follow him up on the stage, where he introduced us to the crowd. Nobody was really paying attention, so we started to step off the platform, but someone in the crowd shouted “speech!” and we were obligated to say a few words. Josiah said some things about himself in simple Japanese and I flowed suit, drawing on a few basic phrases that I’ve already mastered for the purpose of such occasions: “Good evening. My name is Meghan. I come from California. I’m really happy to be here. Please be kind to me.”
The party that followed was enjoyable. I won a box of energy drinks at BINGO, then I got pulled up on stage to lead the crowd in several rounds of janken [Rock, Paper, Scissors] to determine the recipients of the remaining prizes. At some point during the evening, someone handed me a flat of strawberries. What a party! And it didn’t cost me a thing!
But when Josiah told me, with the flower-shop man sitting between us, that the first party was over at eight and that we were invited to karaoke at a snack bar afterward, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. “I told him we have school tomorrow, but maybe we can go for a little while,” Josiah said. I felt a bit backed into a corner. Should I say, “Okay, let’s go,” or “No, we really have to get home”? There was no way to pull my friend aside and discuss, so I just said, “Okay.”
Our fate was sealed.
The party came to a close with the traditional “This party is now over” speech and a courteous round of applause. The flower-shop man and a man who said he owned two of the 7-elevens in Moka led us out a back door and through an unlit outdoor passageway. Then they led us through a dark parking lot. Then through a shadowy alley. Then through (I’m not kidding) a graveyard. Josiah and I exchanged glances that said, “This is really weird and pretty creepy and there’s a slight chance we’re about to get murdered.” The path we were walking became faintly illuminated by the neon signs of snack bar after snack bar. They all had the same sleazy outward appearance. And finally, we walked into one of them.
Now, I’ve heard a lot about snack bars, but this was my first time actually going into one. Basically, a snack bar is a place where business men go to drink, have a snack, and be talked to and pampered by women who sit next to them, pour their drinks, light their cigarettes, and make idle conversation. Snack bars aren’t brothels -- well, not all of them -- but they’re run by a “mama” who floats around between customers, joking and even enjoying a drink or two with them.
The particular snack bar that we entered was furnished like a dentist’s waiting room, with pastel sofas and minimal wall decorations. Two TV screens at opposite ends of the room scrolled suggestions of available karaoke songs. At first it was just Josiah and I, our two hosts, and the snack-bar girls. But a woman and a third man from the Rotary Club eventually drifted in to join us.
The remainder of the evening consisted of an awkward procession of the Japanese people selecting songs that they insisted either Josiah or I sing. It was difficult enough to fake competency in old Carpenters songs I’d maybe heard once before in my life, but, as the evening wore on and the bottles of alcohol consumed multiplied, they began putting on Japanese songs for us to sing, too. It became clearer that, really, we foreigners were only there for their entertainment.
The third Rotary Club man who came in later spoke a little bit of English, explaining that he had lived in Los Angeles for a while thirty years ago. He also showed off his small knowledge of Spanish, reminding me repeatedly that I was a “muchacha bonita” and that the other women in the room were “not muchacha bonita.” He asked me, “Where is your lover?” but before I could reply changed his question to, “Where is your family?”
Strangely, this sort of behavior from drunken Japanese men no longer succeeds in phasing me one bit. As Japan guide books and my own experiences have taught me, Japanese say anything and everything they want to when they are drunk. And you aren’t supposed to hold them accountable for it. It’s just part of the culture. But now for the conclusion of my story…
The second party wound to a close. The woman who was there from the Rotary Club told me that she was good friends with my school nurse and gave me her meishi [business card]. They called a taxi for Josiah and me and sent us home, along with all our gifts and the mention of another party that we are invited to attend next month.
What makes this entire experience strangest is, I just don’t get what the flow-shop man’s (I know his name now, but don’t feel inclined to post it online) motives are. I did nothing and paid nothing to get invited to this Christmas party; and, I felt that neither my conversation nor my karaoke skills were significant enough to merit an invitation to another such party with the Moka Rotary Club in January.
I don’t know where this saga ends. I just know that, for now, it’s a funny little story. And, if you’ve managed to read the whole thing, I hope it’s conveyed to you a small glimpse of just how strange, confusing, and unpredictable life tends to be when you’re a foreigner living in Japan.
I stood around the shop, gazing awkwardly at poinsettias, while the ladies working behind the counter giggled and told me I was a "kawai sensei [cute teacher]." After about ten minutes, the man finally returned with a computer print-out of a message he'd just run through an online translator. It read,
Please come to Mooka wast Rotary Club by all means. We will wait. The international service chairman of Rotary Club of me is. I will report the date later. Could you teach telephone number and your name?Deciding that he couldn't possibly be an ax murderer and belong to the Rotary Club at the same time, I wrote down my name and phone number, thanked him kindly, and continued on my way. I was wondering many things, the list of them not limited to, Is he really going to call me?, How difficult will that phone conversation be if he does?, and Why on earth does this complete stranger want to invite me to the Rotary Club in the first place?
Two weeks passed without a phone call. I decided to chalk it off as an older man's polite attempt (albeit a strange one) to have a conversation with his sole American customer. I was a little relieved.
Then, about a week ago, my roommate and I were enjoying a relaxing evening at home when our phone rang. Jennifer answered. Listening in on her half of the conversation, I quickly picked up on the fact that the person on the other end of the line was having difficulty communicating in English and I immediately wondered if it might be the man from the flower shop. The notes that Jennifer was able to write out from the conversation were as follows:
Tues. 6:00. Dec. 16. 6:30 pm. Rotary Club Christmas. Bring friend. our house. [phone number].Clearly, I was invited to some sort of gathering, but I still didn't know where or, just as importantly, why. "Our house?" It didn't really make sense. I figured I could call him back at the number he left, but I doubted how helpful that would be. I decided to just wait and see what would happen next.
So, yesterday I finished teaching my last class and returned to the teachers' room. There I received notice that someone had called for me earlier and left a message: someone would be at my house at 6:10 to pick me up for some kind of Rotary Club meeting. As Shimowada relayed the vague details to me, I tried to convey to her exactly why this situation seemed weird to me and how I didn't understand why this complete stranger was calling my school, but my befuddlement failed to elicit sympathy. I hopped on a school computer and quickly typed an email to two of my fellow AETs, Jennifer and Josiah: "Please come with me!"
As it turned out, when I arrived home after work, Jennifer admitted that she had a lot of work to do in preparation for school the next day and would rather not go to the "whatever-it's-going-to-be" Rotary Club event; so, it was Josiah who semi-grudgingly agreed to accompany me, prefacing the evening with, "If they invite us to a second party, we should try really hard not to go."
The man from the flower shop arrived in his car promptly at 6:10. On the way to the party, minimal conversation passed between the three of us. Neither Josiah nor I knew where we were going. The man driving encouraged us to "Relax." Thanks, I'll do my best.
After a ten-minute drive, we arrived at the posh hotel in Moka, where women in kimonos showed us into a banquet hall where people of all ages were sitting around tables, already heavily involved in their dinners (The flower-shop man apologized later for getting the time wrong; the party actually started at 6:00. We assured him it was all right).
We were issued BINGO cards, I promptly received a door prize of a pot of poinsettias and the flower-shop man (at this point I still didn’t know his name) motioned to Josiah and I to follow him up on the stage, where he introduced us to the crowd. Nobody was really paying attention, so we started to step off the platform, but someone in the crowd shouted “speech!” and we were obligated to say a few words. Josiah said some things about himself in simple Japanese and I flowed suit, drawing on a few basic phrases that I’ve already mastered for the purpose of such occasions: “Good evening. My name is Meghan. I come from California. I’m really happy to be here. Please be kind to me.”
The party that followed was enjoyable. I won a box of energy drinks at BINGO, then I got pulled up on stage to lead the crowd in several rounds of janken [Rock, Paper, Scissors] to determine the recipients of the remaining prizes. At some point during the evening, someone handed me a flat of strawberries. What a party! And it didn’t cost me a thing!
But when Josiah told me, with the flower-shop man sitting between us, that the first party was over at eight and that we were invited to karaoke at a snack bar afterward, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. “I told him we have school tomorrow, but maybe we can go for a little while,” Josiah said. I felt a bit backed into a corner. Should I say, “Okay, let’s go,” or “No, we really have to get home”? There was no way to pull my friend aside and discuss, so I just said, “Okay.”
Our fate was sealed.
The party came to a close with the traditional “This party is now over” speech and a courteous round of applause. The flower-shop man and a man who said he owned two of the 7-elevens in Moka led us out a back door and through an unlit outdoor passageway. Then they led us through a dark parking lot. Then through a shadowy alley. Then through (I’m not kidding) a graveyard. Josiah and I exchanged glances that said, “This is really weird and pretty creepy and there’s a slight chance we’re about to get murdered.” The path we were walking became faintly illuminated by the neon signs of snack bar after snack bar. They all had the same sleazy outward appearance. And finally, we walked into one of them.
Now, I’ve heard a lot about snack bars, but this was my first time actually going into one. Basically, a snack bar is a place where business men go to drink, have a snack, and be talked to and pampered by women who sit next to them, pour their drinks, light their cigarettes, and make idle conversation. Snack bars aren’t brothels -- well, not all of them -- but they’re run by a “mama” who floats around between customers, joking and even enjoying a drink or two with them.
The particular snack bar that we entered was furnished like a dentist’s waiting room, with pastel sofas and minimal wall decorations. Two TV screens at opposite ends of the room scrolled suggestions of available karaoke songs. At first it was just Josiah and I, our two hosts, and the snack-bar girls. But a woman and a third man from the Rotary Club eventually drifted in to join us.
The remainder of the evening consisted of an awkward procession of the Japanese people selecting songs that they insisted either Josiah or I sing. It was difficult enough to fake competency in old Carpenters songs I’d maybe heard once before in my life, but, as the evening wore on and the bottles of alcohol consumed multiplied, they began putting on Japanese songs for us to sing, too. It became clearer that, really, we foreigners were only there for their entertainment.
The third Rotary Club man who came in later spoke a little bit of English, explaining that he had lived in Los Angeles for a while thirty years ago. He also showed off his small knowledge of Spanish, reminding me repeatedly that I was a “muchacha bonita” and that the other women in the room were “not muchacha bonita.” He asked me, “Where is your lover?” but before I could reply changed his question to, “Where is your family?”
Strangely, this sort of behavior from drunken Japanese men no longer succeeds in phasing me one bit. As Japan guide books and my own experiences have taught me, Japanese say anything and everything they want to when they are drunk. And you aren’t supposed to hold them accountable for it. It’s just part of the culture. But now for the conclusion of my story…
The second party wound to a close. The woman who was there from the Rotary Club told me that she was good friends with my school nurse and gave me her meishi [business card]. They called a taxi for Josiah and me and sent us home, along with all our gifts and the mention of another party that we are invited to attend next month.
What makes this entire experience strangest is, I just don’t get what the flow-shop man’s (I know his name now, but don’t feel inclined to post it online) motives are. I did nothing and paid nothing to get invited to this Christmas party; and, I felt that neither my conversation nor my karaoke skills were significant enough to merit an invitation to another such party with the Moka Rotary Club in January.
I don’t know where this saga ends. I just know that, for now, it’s a funny little story. And, if you’ve managed to read the whole thing, I hope it’s conveyed to you a small glimpse of just how strange, confusing, and unpredictable life tends to be when you’re a foreigner living in Japan.
20081215
Two years to the day and feelin' the Oxford blues
As of yesterday, it's been two years since I completed my undergraduate university education. And it's two years since I arrived back in the U.S. after spending a semester – my last semester – abroad in Oxford, U.K. Two years ago at this time, I was filled with a deep sense of longing and remorse for the loss of a part of my life that I couldn't help wondering if I'd taken for granted. My months in Oxford had been the best months of my life and I knew it. I wondered – and very much doubted – if life could ever be that good again. My ubiquitous post-college life loomed uncertainly before me and I had no idea what on earth I was supposed to do with myself.
As of today, I've been in Japan for longer than I was in the U.K. Let me tell you, Moka is no Oxford. There's no surging intellectual aura about the city that pervades every aspect of daily life. There's no dimly lit pub, within a two-minute walk of my grungy flat, where I can splurge on a pint of Old Speckled Hen and watch the bartenders banter with the regular patrons through an impenetrable haze of cigarette smoke. And I'm different, too: I'm no longer the poetically penniless university student, blissful in my poverty and relative detachment from the drudgery of the economic machine.
I don't want to go back to Oxford. Or, what I mean is, even if I do want to go back to Oxford, I'm wise enough to know that I can't go back – at least not back to the Oxford I left two years ago. Even now, new laws have ensured that the air in the Radcliffe Arms won't be clouded with cigarette smoke (a change which, even now, the knowledge of which makes me a little sad). But, more importantly, I'm not an undergraduate. And I'm not poor. If I went back to Oxford today, I'd find myself suddenly able to afford to do all the things I wanted to do but couldn't the first time around. And I think that would make it certainly less magical.
I should have read Jude the Obscure. I'm sure I'd have better insights on this point if I had. But, for the moment, I'm still just trying to figure out what comes next. In a little over a month, I'll have to decide (or at least I flatter myself now with the assumption that I'll be asked to decide) whether I'm going to renew my contract for a second year of teaching in Moka. Why am I here? and Is this where I'm supposed to be? are questions I've been asking myself a lot lately. And I still haven't come up with answers. As of today, I've spent two years trying to figure out what it means to live as an adult. And that little effort is still giving me quite a bit of trouble.
As of today, I've been in Japan for longer than I was in the U.K. Let me tell you, Moka is no Oxford. There's no surging intellectual aura about the city that pervades every aspect of daily life. There's no dimly lit pub, within a two-minute walk of my grungy flat, where I can splurge on a pint of Old Speckled Hen and watch the bartenders banter with the regular patrons through an impenetrable haze of cigarette smoke. And I'm different, too: I'm no longer the poetically penniless university student, blissful in my poverty and relative detachment from the drudgery of the economic machine.
I don't want to go back to Oxford. Or, what I mean is, even if I do want to go back to Oxford, I'm wise enough to know that I can't go back – at least not back to the Oxford I left two years ago. Even now, new laws have ensured that the air in the Radcliffe Arms won't be clouded with cigarette smoke (a change which, even now, the knowledge of which makes me a little sad). But, more importantly, I'm not an undergraduate. And I'm not poor. If I went back to Oxford today, I'd find myself suddenly able to afford to do all the things I wanted to do but couldn't the first time around. And I think that would make it certainly less magical.
I should have read Jude the Obscure. I'm sure I'd have better insights on this point if I had. But, for the moment, I'm still just trying to figure out what comes next. In a little over a month, I'll have to decide (or at least I flatter myself now with the assumption that I'll be asked to decide) whether I'm going to renew my contract for a second year of teaching in Moka. Why am I here? and Is this where I'm supposed to be? are questions I've been asking myself a lot lately. And I still haven't come up with answers. As of today, I've spent two years trying to figure out what it means to live as an adult. And that little effort is still giving me quite a bit of trouble.
20081210
Creative me
This is my English bulletin board for December. The little box of text near the bottom right-hand corner explains what an Advent calendar is. The Christmas carol is "Let it Snow."
And, just before posting this picture, I noticed that someone flipped around my ornaments so that Santa's reindeer are in fact chasing the sleigh, rather than pulling it. I'm so glad that my creativity could inspire creativity in others.
20081130
Candles
So, I bought some candles today. Here's what the warning label on the back had to say:
Not bad, I realize, especially in comparison with a lot of the Engrish that's out there, but I suppose I was just in a chuckling mood tonight.
*Please use the goods with the good flow of the air and a suitable case.
*When the candle is burning or right after putting off a fire, don't touch it, otherwise, you may burn with it.
*Be careful with the sudden fall that is caused by the earthquake and the wind.
*Don't put the goods near the thing which burns easily, children and pets.
*When you put off the fire, don't water it.
*This is not a food, so don't put it in the mouth.
Not bad, I realize, especially in comparison with a lot of the Engrish that's out there, but I suppose I was just in a chuckling mood tonight.
20081127
Gratitude, etc.
Tonight, I'm not going to blog about my musings on the meaning of gratitude. I know that somewhere, on land mass much larger than the one upon which I currently reside, people are beginning to say hello to a day on which they will sit around a table, stuff themselves stupid with opulent amounts of food, and watch football or It's a Wonderful Life on TV. But, apart from a few Thanksgiving lessons that I've given at elementary schools over the past month, that has little to do with me right now.
Tonight, as I huddle in front of the cool glow of my MacBook screen and the hot air from my oil heater, I don't really have anything special to say about gratitude. But I do want to talk about creativity. And maybe gratitude ties into that a bit in the end. We'll see.
This evening I made stuff. For starters, I made some pumpkin pies (OK! You got me: you can take the girl out of America but you can't take the America out of the girl). They're sitting on my kitchen counter right now and the festive aroma they're sending my way is delightful. While the pies were cooking, I made some lanterns out of recycled glass jars and hung them in the kitchen. They look sort of pretty, dangling there.
There's something flooringly spectacular about the fact that human beings are creative beings. We've got something in us that no other creatures on Earth have got. God put it in there. Every creative act that we perform has the potential to be worship and all worship is creation. Pretty exciting.
I was reading a recent blog post by Ashely and it got me thinking further about how an important aspect of my job as an educator -- perhaps even the most important aspect, is my role in encouraging students to think for themselves and push themselves to be more than they realize they have the potential to be. This can be fairly tough at times because junior high school students -- particularly junior high school students in Japan -- don't like to stand out too much; and standing out is very often a direct byproduct of thinking for oneself.
The situation isn't helped much by the fact that language education in Japan, in general, emphasizes rote memorization and repeating lines from the text book over and over and over again until you finally reach the point where your brain implodes on itself from sheer boredom. It's no wonder that when I try to get my students to put together original sentences in English, using vocabulary they've already learned, they freak out. "What? You actually want my to think for myself? You mean I can't just copy a sentence out of my textbook? It's too hard!"
But we can't settle for mediocrity because the alternative is too hard. We need to push ourselves to achieve a potential beyond what we already know to be attainable and we need to encourage others to do the same.
So how can I respond to this responsibility? How do I encourage my students to live up to their potential when all most of them want to do is blend into the crowd and slide through classes by doing the minimum amount of work and praying that they teacher won't call on them and make them look stupid in front of their friends?
I've learned that the most important thing I can do is laugh with them. In class, I'm ridiculous. When I read passages out of the textbook for the students to repeat after me, I do so in absurd voices. I use excessive gestures, dance, sing, and basically leave class every day knowing that I've left a little bit of my dignity somewhere inside and that I'll never be able to get it back.
Does this work? I think so. Or at least sometimes it does. There are a few students who are so painfully shy, it's likely that nothing I do will ever make them feel comfortable speaking English in class. But there are others who realize, even if they mess up when forming sentences in English, they can't possibly make themselves look any more ridiculous than I've already made myself.
Perhaps my acting silly has nothing to do with English-learning, directly. But it does have to do with encouraging people and loving them and making them feel valuable and empowered to try their best. And, as I've come to learn, that's really what my job is, anyway. I'm grateful for such a job.
Tonight, as I huddle in front of the cool glow of my MacBook screen and the hot air from my oil heater, I don't really have anything special to say about gratitude. But I do want to talk about creativity. And maybe gratitude ties into that a bit in the end. We'll see.
This evening I made stuff. For starters, I made some pumpkin pies (OK! You got me: you can take the girl out of America but you can't take the America out of the girl). They're sitting on my kitchen counter right now and the festive aroma they're sending my way is delightful. While the pies were cooking, I made some lanterns out of recycled glass jars and hung them in the kitchen. They look sort of pretty, dangling there.
There's something flooringly spectacular about the fact that human beings are creative beings. We've got something in us that no other creatures on Earth have got. God put it in there. Every creative act that we perform has the potential to be worship and all worship is creation. Pretty exciting.
I was reading a recent blog post by Ashely and it got me thinking further about how an important aspect of my job as an educator -- perhaps even the most important aspect, is my role in encouraging students to think for themselves and push themselves to be more than they realize they have the potential to be. This can be fairly tough at times because junior high school students -- particularly junior high school students in Japan -- don't like to stand out too much; and standing out is very often a direct byproduct of thinking for oneself.
The situation isn't helped much by the fact that language education in Japan, in general, emphasizes rote memorization and repeating lines from the text book over and over and over again until you finally reach the point where your brain implodes on itself from sheer boredom. It's no wonder that when I try to get my students to put together original sentences in English, using vocabulary they've already learned, they freak out. "What? You actually want my to think for myself? You mean I can't just copy a sentence out of my textbook? It's too hard!"
But we can't settle for mediocrity because the alternative is too hard. We need to push ourselves to achieve a potential beyond what we already know to be attainable and we need to encourage others to do the same.
So how can I respond to this responsibility? How do I encourage my students to live up to their potential when all most of them want to do is blend into the crowd and slide through classes by doing the minimum amount of work and praying that they teacher won't call on them and make them look stupid in front of their friends?
I've learned that the most important thing I can do is laugh with them. In class, I'm ridiculous. When I read passages out of the textbook for the students to repeat after me, I do so in absurd voices. I use excessive gestures, dance, sing, and basically leave class every day knowing that I've left a little bit of my dignity somewhere inside and that I'll never be able to get it back.
Does this work? I think so. Or at least sometimes it does. There are a few students who are so painfully shy, it's likely that nothing I do will ever make them feel comfortable speaking English in class. But there are others who realize, even if they mess up when forming sentences in English, they can't possibly make themselves look any more ridiculous than I've already made myself.
Perhaps my acting silly has nothing to do with English-learning, directly. But it does have to do with encouraging people and loving them and making them feel valuable and empowered to try their best. And, as I've come to learn, that's really what my job is, anyway. I'm grateful for such a job.
20081121
Snapshot
On the last stretch of my bike ride home this afternoon, I rounded the corner and saw an old woman standing on a sheet metal roof, using a long tool to pluck persimmons from an already leaf-bare tree.
20081119
Furbies discovered alive and well in Indonesia!
Well, not really Furbies. But when I first glanced the image that went with the news headline on my Yahoo! mail page, I couldn't help but note the striking resemblance:
The little feller in the 2nd picture is a pygmy tarsier, a tiny primate long thought to be extinct, but recently spotted in the forests of Indonesia, eighty years since its last sighting by human eyes.
The reappearance of the pygmy tarsier gives me hope. For eighty years, he sat mum in his little island jungle. Nobody knew where he was and after a while, I bet nobody really cared. But suddenly, just when we had given up on the chance of ever seeing him again, he waltzed right back into our lives. No questions asked: the pygmy tarsier is definitely here and (let's hope) here to stay.
So why does this give me hope? Well, in case you haven't noticed, I've been a bit out of sight for a while. I'm far away on my own little island, and sometimes I worry that the folks back home will forget about me. When I eventually decide I want to move back to the States, what will my homecoming be like? Will my friends and family be able to seamlessly welcome me back into their lives? Sometimes I worry that they won't. Sometimes I worry that, by choosing to move to Japan and away from most of my loved ones, I've lost something that I'll never be able to get back.
But then there's the case of the pygmy tarsier. And if a primate the size of a mouse can do it, shouldn't I be able to as well? I want to think so. But the more realistic side of my urges me to focus not on what I've lost, but rather on the insights and experiences I've already gained by living in this crazy country that I now like to call home.
The little feller in the 2nd picture is a pygmy tarsier, a tiny primate long thought to be extinct, but recently spotted in the forests of Indonesia, eighty years since its last sighting by human eyes.
The reappearance of the pygmy tarsier gives me hope. For eighty years, he sat mum in his little island jungle. Nobody knew where he was and after a while, I bet nobody really cared. But suddenly, just when we had given up on the chance of ever seeing him again, he waltzed right back into our lives. No questions asked: the pygmy tarsier is definitely here and (let's hope) here to stay.
So why does this give me hope? Well, in case you haven't noticed, I've been a bit out of sight for a while. I'm far away on my own little island, and sometimes I worry that the folks back home will forget about me. When I eventually decide I want to move back to the States, what will my homecoming be like? Will my friends and family be able to seamlessly welcome me back into their lives? Sometimes I worry that they won't. Sometimes I worry that, by choosing to move to Japan and away from most of my loved ones, I've lost something that I'll never be able to get back.
But then there's the case of the pygmy tarsier. And if a primate the size of a mouse can do it, shouldn't I be able to as well? I want to think so. But the more realistic side of my urges me to focus not on what I've lost, but rather on the insights and experiences I've already gained by living in this crazy country that I now like to call home.
20081117
Praise
For fat, thick drops of rain trickling down my scalp. For things that can be reused and thus become more beautiful. For children who say hello to you not to impress their friends or feel brave, but just because they want to say hello. Praise for autumn. Praise for earth. Praise for praise.
I am grateful today for beautiful things, and how their existence has a way of making the not-so-beautiful things around them look something closer to beautiful. Sometimes the beautiful things are artwork, sometimes cups of tea, sometimes dear friends. Regardless, they make life precious. Praise for precious life.
I have been in Japan for two-and-a-half months. Sometimes living here is horribly difficult. But tonight, at least, it is beautiful. I light some candles and listen to the rain tap dancing on my sun roof. Life becomes simple. Thank God for simple life.
I am grateful today for beautiful things, and how their existence has a way of making the not-so-beautiful things around them look something closer to beautiful. Sometimes the beautiful things are artwork, sometimes cups of tea, sometimes dear friends. Regardless, they make life precious. Praise for precious life.
I have been in Japan for two-and-a-half months. Sometimes living here is horribly difficult. But tonight, at least, it is beautiful. I light some candles and listen to the rain tap dancing on my sun roof. Life becomes simple. Thank God for simple life.
20081109
Good morning! It's Japan!
Yesterday was a long day. I spent half an hour on a bus to get to the train station to spend one-and-a-half hours on a train to get to Tokyo. Once there, I went to the Tokyo National Museum and walked around looking at Japanese art and artifacts for two-and-a-half hours. After that, I got lunch, visited Harajuku for some brief shopping, then hopped on the Yamanote Line back to Ueno, where I boarded another train for one-and-a-half hours, then finally took a bus back to Moka.
Naturally, I was looking forward to sleeping in on Sunday. No such luck. Because at eight o'clock in the morning, this happened.
Naturally, I was looking forward to sleeping in on Sunday. No such luck. Because at eight o'clock in the morning, this happened.
20081107
No gaijin allowed
There are some days when the existence of the "Japanese only" pub around the corner really gets to me. I'm reminded repeatedly that, to the majority of the people I encounter in daily life, I'll always be a foreigner first, a person second. Whereas, on some days it's amusing to witness people's astonished reactions when I confirm that, yes, I can eat Japanese food; on other days it's simply exhausting. And the language barrier doesn't do much to improve the situation: some people laud my ability to speak even a few words in Japanese; others seem to hate me for not being fluent. To tell the truth, I sometimes can't decide which bothers me more.
Yesterday, during my lunch break, I went for a little walk. The weather was absolutely perfect and, in the mild autumn air, my mind was clear. I seldom observe Moka from on foot, since I tend to ride my bicycle everywhere. On the occasions when I do decide to walk, however, I notice things about the city that I don't normally take into consideration. Yesterday, as I strolled down the street from Yamazaki Junior High to buy some juice from a vending machine, it struck me for the first time that, for the majority of the teachers and students that I work with, I'm the only foreigner they'll see all day. Perhaps, if they go to the grocery store, they might observe a Brazilian or even a Peruvian, but other than that, I'm it. They'll learn English regardless of whether I'm at school: Shimowada and Ishikawa both have more than enough knowledge and teaching ability to satisfy the foreign language-learning needs of junior high schoolers. So much more important than my role as a teacher is my role as a cultural ambassador. By interacting with them on a daily basis, maybe I can show my students that, even though we look different and don't speak the same language, we are equally valuable human beings, and that our feelings, emotions, and deepest desires (acceptance, attention, affirmation, love) are basically the same. Maybe some of them won't ever become consciously aware of this concept. But maybe -- just maybe -- if any of them grow up to own a restaurant or other small business, they won't write "Japanese Only" on the front.
20081105
A-camping we will go
Monday was Culture Day. No work. And so it came to be that, in order to fully savor the three-day weekend, Ryan, Doug, Yves, Josiah, Toshi, Kousuke, Sakaka, Jennifer, and I found ourselves camping out in cabins in the beautiful woods of Ashio. No, we didn't see any monkeys. But the autumn leaves were amazing.
I also had my very first onsen experience. That means I was naked. With strangers. I wish it weren't so late and I weren't so exhausted or I would fully do justice to the variety of emotions and comical encounters experienced this weekend. However, for now, it's off to bed I go.
20081030
the results are in
Today was the day of the long-awaited regional speech contest. Much to my delight, my third year girl was good enough to walk away with a third-place award. And as for the ichi and ni nensei boys...they both received nothing less than first place! Shimowada was absolutely thrilled. But I sincerely think every heart in the room that day was warmed by my first-year student's delivery. He's one adorable kid. He worked his butt off for this day; and it paid off.
The entire afternoon, once the winners and runners up had been announced, Yuki Nakazato, first-year student at Yamazaki Junior High School, seemed to be trapped in a haze of pure bliss. We went to Joyfull, a local "family-style" restaurant for celebration ice cream and, the entire time, I watched as the immense smile on Yuki's face refused to fade. As happy as I was for Keita, the second-year winner, I could not help feeling a surge of especial pride and empathetic satisfaction at Yuki's achievement. Keita knew that his speech was good. Yuki, I think, up until this afternoon, had been completely oblivious.
So now we're off to the province-wide competition in Utsunomiya; which means two more weeks of after-school rehearsals and drilling. But I'm so happy for Yuki and Keita. And I'm happy for Ms. Shimowada, too. After hearing the results of the judge's decision today, she told me with enthusiasm: "Let's go to Utsunomiya and win the big cup! Then we will come back home and fill it with beer!"
I gotta love her.
The entire afternoon, once the winners and runners up had been announced, Yuki Nakazato, first-year student at Yamazaki Junior High School, seemed to be trapped in a haze of pure bliss. We went to Joyfull, a local "family-style" restaurant for celebration ice cream and, the entire time, I watched as the immense smile on Yuki's face refused to fade. As happy as I was for Keita, the second-year winner, I could not help feeling a surge of especial pride and empathetic satisfaction at Yuki's achievement. Keita knew that his speech was good. Yuki, I think, up until this afternoon, had been completely oblivious.
So now we're off to the province-wide competition in Utsunomiya; which means two more weeks of after-school rehearsals and drilling. But I'm so happy for Yuki and Keita. And I'm happy for Ms. Shimowada, too. After hearing the results of the judge's decision today, she told me with enthusiasm: "Let's go to Utsunomiya and win the big cup! Then we will come back home and fill it with beer!"
I gotta love her.
20081029
I'm tired
And pretty much all the time, too. Today I have the day off, though, to compensate for having to come to school on Saturday for Rindosai (School Festival). Yamazaki's Rindosai, from what I understand, was not as exciting as those of some of the larger junior high schools in Moka, but it was still much better than an actual day of work. I even got to participate in some of the activities with the kids and it was one of the first days that I actually was able to walk around and just chat with some of my students.
Tomorrow is the long-awaited speech contest (at last!). Two of my students are actually quite good and that sort of worries me. You see, the first and second place winners both get to go on to the state-wide competitions, which would mean more preparation and more time after school listening to the same words and the same awkward intonations repeated over and over again. Ms. Shimowada and I keep joking with each other that we hope our students will all get the third prize. We want their hard work to pay off, but we're done.
In further news, I got a sewing machine! It's been great fun so far making little things to decorate the house. Pictures of my handiwork to come later.
For now, please enjoy this video clip of a "traditional Northern dance" that several of my students performed last Saturday. They did it twice, and the second time I was coaxed into joining them. My thighs burned for two whole days afterward.
"fo-ku dansu" at Rindosai from Meghan Janssen on Vimeo.
Tomorrow is the long-awaited speech contest (at last!). Two of my students are actually quite good and that sort of worries me. You see, the first and second place winners both get to go on to the state-wide competitions, which would mean more preparation and more time after school listening to the same words and the same awkward intonations repeated over and over again. Ms. Shimowada and I keep joking with each other that we hope our students will all get the third prize. We want their hard work to pay off, but we're done.
In further news, I got a sewing machine! It's been great fun so far making little things to decorate the house. Pictures of my handiwork to come later.
For now, please enjoy this video clip of a "traditional Northern dance" that several of my students performed last Saturday. They did it twice, and the second time I was coaxed into joining them. My thighs burned for two whole days afterward.
"fo-ku dansu" at Rindosai from Meghan Janssen on Vimeo.
20081022
Japan has enough crazy machines as it is: I don't have to become one.
Finally home after a long day at work, blogging is just about one of the last things I feel like doing. It seems that every morning, as I ride my bike through the vast fields of dirt that up until recently were filled with tall stalks of rice, I'm full of interesting thoughts that I just can't wait to sit down and relay to all my eager readers. But, when the end of the day finally rolls around and I've got the time to sit in front of my laptop for a bit, I'm too exhausted to feel inspired.
Suddenly I think I've gained a little insight into why Japanese people as a whole don't seem to be all that creative: they work too damn much.
Nevertheless, I find ways to reassure myself that I am, in fact, a human and not a robot. I spend my spare time at work designing hand-drawn picture cards and worksheets for elementary school lessons. In class, when the other teacher is lecturing in Japanese and I'm left standing against the wall like a painting, I fantasize about interesting little things that I can create when I get home. Like a crocheted afghan for my bed. Or Halloween decorations for our party next Friday. Or a time machine that will transport me to some time after speech contests are over.
Suddenly I think I've gained a little insight into why Japanese people as a whole don't seem to be all that creative: they work too damn much.
Nevertheless, I find ways to reassure myself that I am, in fact, a human and not a robot. I spend my spare time at work designing hand-drawn picture cards and worksheets for elementary school lessons. In class, when the other teacher is lecturing in Japanese and I'm left standing against the wall like a painting, I fantasize about interesting little things that I can create when I get home. Like a crocheted afghan for my bed. Or Halloween decorations for our party next Friday. Or a time machine that will transport me to some time after speech contests are over.
20081013
Always, again with the bugs!
They're just everywhere. All the time. This weekend there seemed to have been a surge in activity among the praying mantises in the area around my house. The following picture shows me as close as I was willing to get to the enormous one outside my neighbor's front door.
Besides the excitement with this exceptionally beady-eyed and unsettlingly observant green insects, the majority of my weekend was preoccupied with sitting on my living room couch with a tissue in one hand and a cup of hot tea in the other, combating the sudden onslaught of a cold that took hold without warning on Friday night. I was alone in the house, since both my roommate, Jennifer, and my friend Josiah left for the weekend to take part in a home-stay rice-harvesting festival. I was pretty jealous of them for getting to go to this, especially as I was the only AET who didn't get invited. But not having any plans for the weekend ended up meaning that I had ample time to lie around my house sniffling and groaning as I waited for the sickness to subside.
Today (Monday) we have the day off on account of National Sports Day. I have yet to work a full five-day week since starting teaching at Yamazaki. For as work-obsessed as the Japanese are, they certainly have a lot of national holidays. Of course, this doesn't necessarily mean that all of my teachers aren't at school anyway today, finding some task that they absolutely have to complete or some school club that absolutely must meet even on a holiday. Luckily, they don't hold us foreigners to the same standards.
Besides the excitement with this exceptionally beady-eyed and unsettlingly observant green insects, the majority of my weekend was preoccupied with sitting on my living room couch with a tissue in one hand and a cup of hot tea in the other, combating the sudden onslaught of a cold that took hold without warning on Friday night. I was alone in the house, since both my roommate, Jennifer, and my friend Josiah left for the weekend to take part in a home-stay rice-harvesting festival. I was pretty jealous of them for getting to go to this, especially as I was the only AET who didn't get invited. But not having any plans for the weekend ended up meaning that I had ample time to lie around my house sniffling and groaning as I waited for the sickness to subside.Today (Monday) we have the day off on account of National Sports Day. I have yet to work a full five-day week since starting teaching at Yamazaki. For as work-obsessed as the Japanese are, they certainly have a lot of national holidays. Of course, this doesn't necessarily mean that all of my teachers aren't at school anyway today, finding some task that they absolutely have to complete or some school club that absolutely must meet even on a holiday. Luckily, they don't hold us foreigners to the same standards.
20081006
ra d iohea_d
was amazing. Thom Yorke is a dancing machine. I really wanted to stand up and dance with him, but Japanese people don't really dance; they just sit politely and clap and cheer when appropriate. Our seats were just about as terrible as it gets but, wow: what an amazing show.
For further details, please see my Picassa photos (right sidebar).
For further details, please see my Picassa photos (right sidebar).
20081004
autumn arriving
Today the weather was beyond perfect. The sun was out, but the air was mild. It was a day where I could sit outside in jeans, a t-shirt, and sandals and be perfectly comfortable. So that's what I did. For pretty much the whole day. Sublime.
This supremely relaxing Saturday differed significantly from last Saturday, when I made my first visit to Japan's capital, Tokyo. Tokyo is quite possibly the most bizarre place I have ever been in my life. Walking down the street in the neighborhoods of Shibuya, Shinjuku, and Harajuku, I realize that my small effort to dress nice for the day has fallen flat on it's face. Amid the throngs of young, beautiful people dressed up to the nines in the hight of modern Tokyo fashion, I fit in--at best--with the many haggard-looking tourists scattered throughout the crowds. In Moka, I'm "kawaii" and "kakkoii;" little children and old people stare at me and my European genetics make me constantly something of a novelty. In Tokyo, I'm just another under-dressed white tourist; nobody takes the slightest interest in my presence and waiters in restaurants speak English to me.
If a visitor's only impression of Japan were Tokyo, it would be easy to jump to the conclusion that Japan is a nation of young people; hardly anyone looks like he's under thirty-five. But the truth is, Japan is the world's oldest country, you just have to get outside the big city to notice it. Here in Moka, there's hardly anyone my age. On the bus, everyone's over sixty. At my school, several classrooms go nearly completely unused because, for the past few decades, the student population has done nothing but decline.
All-in-all, this translates into a very peaceful existence for me. I can spend long hours reading at home or crocheting on my front porch because, in the whole town, there really isn't anything else to do. Sometimes this makes me feel antsy; but, for the most part, I enjoy these quiescent weekends.
And tomorrow night: Radiohead.
This supremely relaxing Saturday differed significantly from last Saturday, when I made my first visit to Japan's capital, Tokyo. Tokyo is quite possibly the most bizarre place I have ever been in my life. Walking down the street in the neighborhoods of Shibuya, Shinjuku, and Harajuku, I realize that my small effort to dress nice for the day has fallen flat on it's face. Amid the throngs of young, beautiful people dressed up to the nines in the hight of modern Tokyo fashion, I fit in--at best--with the many haggard-looking tourists scattered throughout the crowds. In Moka, I'm "kawaii" and "kakkoii;" little children and old people stare at me and my European genetics make me constantly something of a novelty. In Tokyo, I'm just another under-dressed white tourist; nobody takes the slightest interest in my presence and waiters in restaurants speak English to me.
If a visitor's only impression of Japan were Tokyo, it would be easy to jump to the conclusion that Japan is a nation of young people; hardly anyone looks like he's under thirty-five. But the truth is, Japan is the world's oldest country, you just have to get outside the big city to notice it. Here in Moka, there's hardly anyone my age. On the bus, everyone's over sixty. At my school, several classrooms go nearly completely unused because, for the past few decades, the student population has done nothing but decline.
All-in-all, this translates into a very peaceful existence for me. I can spend long hours reading at home or crocheting on my front porch because, in the whole town, there really isn't anything else to do. Sometimes this makes me feel antsy; but, for the most part, I enjoy these quiescent weekends.
And tomorrow night: Radiohead.
20080924
Today I reached a point in the third-year English text where I had to read a story out loud to the class about the bombing of Hiroshima. Standing in front of my students, reading a simple but painfully tragic story about the United States' atrocious act against Japanese civilians, I'm a confused jumble of emotions. As I read the sad description of a little girl and boy struggling to comfort each other as the sit beneath a tree slowly succumbing to a gruesome, painful death, my voice cracks a little and my eyes start to well up with tears. I feel an awkward urge to apologize to the class: to recognize the fact that, in this room, I am the sole representative of a people group who committed a horrible, contemptible act of violence against their people group. I want their forgiveness. And yet I know it's not the time and place and that an apology might not carry much weight when made by a person who wasn't even born until some forty years after the fact. Or maybe it would have value. Who knows? Regardless, I made no personal epilogue, simply read the questions for the corresponding true-false quiz, still a confusion of emotions, still desiring some form of absolution.
20080921
reality setting in
Last night I visited a big yellow castle; I watched people drink beer out of mugs with pictures of cute cartoon cats on them; I sat on tatami mats and belted lyrics into a microphone as they appeared on a TV screen. For the second time in the three-and-a-half weeks that I've been living here, I had one of those "Whoa: I'm in Japan" moments.
The first one came only two days ago when I payed my first visit to sho gakko (elementary school) and gave four English lessons to first through fourth graders. Midday, I had lunch with the ni nensei (second year) class. The children I sat with seemed eager to explain to me how to eat Japanese food and inquired several times as to how I felt about nattou (nasty rotten soybean snot food that I tasted for the first time on Thursday). I explained to them in my meager Japanese that I didn't understand much, but this didn't stop them from repeating their questions over and over, speaking very slowly as if this would somehow assist me to recognize the completely unfamiliar words they were using. As the "conversation" reached a lull, I simply allowed myself to look around the room at the students and their teacher, chatting, laughing, and shoveling mouthfuls of rice and nattou with their chopsticks. Every single one of these kids was so stinking cute. And that's when it hit me. All of a sudden, like the image in a 3D mystery picture coming into focus after I had been staring at it forever and seeing nothing but fuzz. I am freaking in Japan! Before leaving California, I had wondered and wondered just how long it would take for it to set in. And now I have the answer: precisely three weeks after arriving in the country.
Maybe this seems like a long time; but, at this moment, lying on my bed in my tatami-floored room, typing away on my MacBook, I sort of feel like I'm back in my bubble of non-reality. This morning I went out for brunch with my roommate, Jennifer, and two of our new Japanese friends, Toshi and Kosuke. I had a mayonnaise pizza (!?!?!?) which was shockingly delicious. In the afternoon I rode my bike in the rain to the grocery store and regretted not bringing an umbrella because the acidity of the precipitation here really fries my hair. This evening we watched half a Hayao Miyazaki film on Jennifer's laptop and now I'm getting ready for bed so that I can get up early and get ready for school again tomorrow. And the whole thing sort of just feels like a haze.
Last night was the second time I've been out for karaoke since arriving in Japan. The first was at the "second party" of my enkai (company party) that followed Undokai two weeks ago. That had been crazy. (Imagine sitting in a tiny karaoke bar with half of your co-workers, including your principal, all of whom are fantastically drunk and all-too eager to pick out songs for you to leap up on stage to preform. Some of these songs are going to be quite tame, like The Beatles' "Yellow Submarine." And inevitably one of these songs is going to be Madonna's "Like a Virgin." But you just have to say "hai" and go with the flow.) Going out last night with people more my age made for a very different karaoke experience. There were ten of us in all--six Americans and four Japanese--and we went to a karaoke bar that looked like and enormous cartoon castle and rented out our own room for three hours. It's no wonder that karaoke has achieved popularity outside of Nippon.
I apologize for the rambling nature of this particular post. Again I'm sort of weighed down by the fact that I don't often have the time or energy to sit down and blog. And, when I do, the overwhelming array of things I could write about is so daunting that I have an incredibly difficult time focusing on any one thing but feel pressure to somehow compress all my experiences from the last week or two into three or four barely coherent paragraphs. Forgive me. For next time, I'll do my best to squeeze an hour out of my hazy existence to compose a blog entry when I'm not already dead tired and struggling to account for the last two weeks that I haven't been updating my friends and family on the numerous ongoings of my new Japanese life. Until then.
The first one came only two days ago when I payed my first visit to sho gakko (elementary school) and gave four English lessons to first through fourth graders. Midday, I had lunch with the ni nensei (second year) class. The children I sat with seemed eager to explain to me how to eat Japanese food and inquired several times as to how I felt about nattou (nasty rotten soybean snot food that I tasted for the first time on Thursday). I explained to them in my meager Japanese that I didn't understand much, but this didn't stop them from repeating their questions over and over, speaking very slowly as if this would somehow assist me to recognize the completely unfamiliar words they were using. As the "conversation" reached a lull, I simply allowed myself to look around the room at the students and their teacher, chatting, laughing, and shoveling mouthfuls of rice and nattou with their chopsticks. Every single one of these kids was so stinking cute. And that's when it hit me. All of a sudden, like the image in a 3D mystery picture coming into focus after I had been staring at it forever and seeing nothing but fuzz. I am freaking in Japan! Before leaving California, I had wondered and wondered just how long it would take for it to set in. And now I have the answer: precisely three weeks after arriving in the country.
Maybe this seems like a long time; but, at this moment, lying on my bed in my tatami-floored room, typing away on my MacBook, I sort of feel like I'm back in my bubble of non-reality. This morning I went out for brunch with my roommate, Jennifer, and two of our new Japanese friends, Toshi and Kosuke. I had a mayonnaise pizza (!?!?!?) which was shockingly delicious. In the afternoon I rode my bike in the rain to the grocery store and regretted not bringing an umbrella because the acidity of the precipitation here really fries my hair. This evening we watched half a Hayao Miyazaki film on Jennifer's laptop and now I'm getting ready for bed so that I can get up early and get ready for school again tomorrow. And the whole thing sort of just feels like a haze.
Last night was the second time I've been out for karaoke since arriving in Japan. The first was at the "second party" of my enkai (company party) that followed Undokai two weeks ago. That had been crazy. (Imagine sitting in a tiny karaoke bar with half of your co-workers, including your principal, all of whom are fantastically drunk and all-too eager to pick out songs for you to leap up on stage to preform. Some of these songs are going to be quite tame, like The Beatles' "Yellow Submarine." And inevitably one of these songs is going to be Madonna's "Like a Virgin." But you just have to say "hai" and go with the flow.) Going out last night with people more my age made for a very different karaoke experience. There were ten of us in all--six Americans and four Japanese--and we went to a karaoke bar that looked like and enormous cartoon castle and rented out our own room for three hours. It's no wonder that karaoke has achieved popularity outside of Nippon.
I apologize for the rambling nature of this particular post. Again I'm sort of weighed down by the fact that I don't often have the time or energy to sit down and blog. And, when I do, the overwhelming array of things I could write about is so daunting that I have an incredibly difficult time focusing on any one thing but feel pressure to somehow compress all my experiences from the last week or two into three or four barely coherent paragraphs. Forgive me. For next time, I'll do my best to squeeze an hour out of my hazy existence to compose a blog entry when I'm not already dead tired and struggling to account for the last two weeks that I haven't been updating my friends and family on the numerous ongoings of my new Japanese life. Until then.
20080910
Undokai! [Sports Day]
It's becoming incredibly difficult to bring myself to add to this blog because there is simply too much to say. As of tomorrow I will have been in Japan for two weeks and I can't make up my mind whether that sounds like too long or too short. The numerous new experiences I've had since arriving makes it feel like I've been here forever, and yet the days seem to fly by...
For now I'll settle with saying a few words about Undokai on Saturday.
All last week, classes at my school were for the most part forgone in order to allow ample time for the students to practice for Undokai. What this meant for me was that my first three days at Yamazaki Junior High were spent mostly sitting outside in the altogether daunting heat and humidity and observing their rehearsals. Whenever my head would start to nod, I would keep myself awake by standing up and walking around or -- if she was anywhere nearby -- asking questions of Mrs. Shimowada concerning what the students were doing. For the most part, I was quite baffled by the strange behavior of the children running about on the sports field. Much of the "rehearsal" consisted of the students miming the sports they would actually be playing on Saturday. At one point, my English teacher leaned over and told me, "Now the students will rehears the game where they push the huge ball." Excited by the prospect of seeing an enormous ball, my eyes perked up and I asked, "Where is the huge ball now?" "Oh!" She replied, "It will be there on Saturday!" Sure enough, three groups of children were running across the field, pretending to push a large ball that wasn't actually there. I managed to stifle a laugh. I told this story to Doug, one of the AETs who has been in Moka for a while. He was unsurprised. "When Japanese rehearse," he said, "they rehearse everything."
Sports Day itself could be summarized most accurately as follows: it was long, and it was warm. It was the day that I learned the Japanese for "hot" -- atsui -- because I heard everyone around me muttering it repeatedly all day as they fanned themselves viciously with pieces of paper and plastic fans. Sitting to the side among the students, I learned that junior high schoolers basically smell the same in every country. The combination of the heat, the humidity, and my inability to comprehend anything that was being said throughout the ceremony led me to doze off. Yet, as soon as this happened, I was awakened by the sound of both my English teachers -- Mrs. Shimowada and Mr. Ishikawa -- coming toward me and shouting, "Meghan Sensei! Please come help us!"
The schedule of the day had come to a track event in which the students were required to run through a sort of obstacle course. At the final stage of the race, they would pick up a card which would give them instructions on how to get the rest of the way to the finish line. It might say something like, "Hop on one leg," or, "Take a female teacher," or, "Ride on a teacher's back." At first the students were too shy to acknowledge my presence and other female teachers got snatched up while I stood by and watched the finish of each race. However, once one student worked up the nerve to grab my hand and run, I became the new favorite. Each time, I sprinted with all I had in me in order to keep up with these junior high boys who run faster than I can see. Still, they seemed to drag me along with them. At the end of four races, the muscles in my legs felt like they had turned into tofu. But at least I was awake again.
The unbearable humidity persisted through the afternoon and the sun continued to scorch the sports field; but as the Sports Day drew near its close, dark clouds began looming in the distance. A young man who was there to see his younger sibling came up to chat with me and said, "It's going to rain tonight." Throughout the entire closing ceremony, thunder boomed and drowned out half of my school principle's speech. And as the students marched off the field, the clouds opened up and it started to pour.
I really love it when it rains here. I don't mind riding my bike in it because the air is still hot and I know that when I get home I can towel off and change my clothes. No problem. And yet, as of a couple days ago, it seems that the weather is beginning to shift into autumn mode. The air is drier and the mornings cooler. I hardly sweat at all on my bike ride to school this morning. Marvelous. Even though I've already grown accustomed to the humidity, I'm looking forward to sweaters and hot tea and early sunsets. When I asked my English Elective class students today what their favorite season was, none of them said Summer. "Too hot," they explained. Most of them said Fall or Winter. I did not tell them this, but they've made me very excited.
For now I'll settle with saying a few words about Undokai on Saturday.
All last week, classes at my school were for the most part forgone in order to allow ample time for the students to practice for Undokai. What this meant for me was that my first three days at Yamazaki Junior High were spent mostly sitting outside in the altogether daunting heat and humidity and observing their rehearsals. Whenever my head would start to nod, I would keep myself awake by standing up and walking around or -- if she was anywhere nearby -- asking questions of Mrs. Shimowada concerning what the students were doing. For the most part, I was quite baffled by the strange behavior of the children running about on the sports field. Much of the "rehearsal" consisted of the students miming the sports they would actually be playing on Saturday. At one point, my English teacher leaned over and told me, "Now the students will rehears the game where they push the huge ball." Excited by the prospect of seeing an enormous ball, my eyes perked up and I asked, "Where is the huge ball now?" "Oh!" She replied, "It will be there on Saturday!" Sure enough, three groups of children were running across the field, pretending to push a large ball that wasn't actually there. I managed to stifle a laugh. I told this story to Doug, one of the AETs who has been in Moka for a while. He was unsurprised. "When Japanese rehearse," he said, "they rehearse everything."
Sports Day itself could be summarized most accurately as follows: it was long, and it was warm. It was the day that I learned the Japanese for "hot" -- atsui -- because I heard everyone around me muttering it repeatedly all day as they fanned themselves viciously with pieces of paper and plastic fans. Sitting to the side among the students, I learned that junior high schoolers basically smell the same in every country. The combination of the heat, the humidity, and my inability to comprehend anything that was being said throughout the ceremony led me to doze off. Yet, as soon as this happened, I was awakened by the sound of both my English teachers -- Mrs. Shimowada and Mr. Ishikawa -- coming toward me and shouting, "Meghan Sensei! Please come help us!"
The schedule of the day had come to a track event in which the students were required to run through a sort of obstacle course. At the final stage of the race, they would pick up a card which would give them instructions on how to get the rest of the way to the finish line. It might say something like, "Hop on one leg," or, "Take a female teacher," or, "Ride on a teacher's back." At first the students were too shy to acknowledge my presence and other female teachers got snatched up while I stood by and watched the finish of each race. However, once one student worked up the nerve to grab my hand and run, I became the new favorite. Each time, I sprinted with all I had in me in order to keep up with these junior high boys who run faster than I can see. Still, they seemed to drag me along with them. At the end of four races, the muscles in my legs felt like they had turned into tofu. But at least I was awake again.
The unbearable humidity persisted through the afternoon and the sun continued to scorch the sports field; but as the Sports Day drew near its close, dark clouds began looming in the distance. A young man who was there to see his younger sibling came up to chat with me and said, "It's going to rain tonight." Throughout the entire closing ceremony, thunder boomed and drowned out half of my school principle's speech. And as the students marched off the field, the clouds opened up and it started to pour.
I really love it when it rains here. I don't mind riding my bike in it because the air is still hot and I know that when I get home I can towel off and change my clothes. No problem. And yet, as of a couple days ago, it seems that the weather is beginning to shift into autumn mode. The air is drier and the mornings cooler. I hardly sweat at all on my bike ride to school this morning. Marvelous. Even though I've already grown accustomed to the humidity, I'm looking forward to sweaters and hot tea and early sunsets. When I asked my English Elective class students today what their favorite season was, none of them said Summer. "Too hot," they explained. Most of them said Fall or Winter. I did not tell them this, but they've made me very excited.
20080904
a word about bugs
Japan has a greater abundance of large insects than any place I have ever been before. Whether it's praying mantises, cacophonous cicadas, poisonous caterpillars, wasps, killer bees, flying ants, mosquitoes, enormous cockroaches, or spiders the size of small cats, none of them seem shy about making their presence known at all hours of the day. And they all seem to have one thing in common: an insatiable appetite for my blood. Though the problem seems to have subsided somewhat since I purchased a spray can of "Mushi Bye-Bye" from the local grocery store, I still have myriad constellations across my legs, arms, and torso displaying the proud handiwork of many a diligent mosquito or biting ant. The predicament leads me to look forward to the colder autumn months when the little biting fiends will go into hibernation.
On another note, today I turned twenty-three years old. I'm usually not a fan of birthdays and the way they make a person the awkward center of attention for no other reason other than having been born (big deal: 6.692 billion other people in the world have achieved this, too, no thanks to any effort or desire on their own part); however, today proved to be very pleasant. After a looooooong first day at school, which consisted entirely of me sitting and observing school rehearsals for Sports Day on Saturday, I met up with my fellow AETs and we went out for dinner at Taj Mahal, the local Indian food restaurant. It was very oishii (delicious), and I'm sure I'll return again to enjoy another helping of spicy vegetable curry and "robstar" (menu's misspelling of Lobster).
Tomorrow will be my first day actually participating in the classroom. Shimowada sensei, my first English teacher, tells me that the students will introduce themselves to me and that, after that, she has a lot of instruction that she has to get through on her own. My other English teacher--Ishikawa sensei--I have still not really spoken with beyond a curt self-introduction he made to me before hurrying off to his homeroom class this morning. They both seem like nice people, but the craziness of preparing for Undokai (Sports Day) has prevented them from having many opportunities to talk with me. This will probably change next week when the school reverts to normal scheduling.
And suddenly I realize how late it is and remember that I have to get up again at six o'clock tomorrow morning and ride my bike three miles to school. It will be a pleasant ride, I'm sure, as it has been the two other times that I have made it. But I will need my energy to make it there on time. That said, goodnight and sayoonara.
On another note, today I turned twenty-three years old. I'm usually not a fan of birthdays and the way they make a person the awkward center of attention for no other reason other than having been born (big deal: 6.692 billion other people in the world have achieved this, too, no thanks to any effort or desire on their own part); however, today proved to be very pleasant. After a looooooong first day at school, which consisted entirely of me sitting and observing school rehearsals for Sports Day on Saturday, I met up with my fellow AETs and we went out for dinner at Taj Mahal, the local Indian food restaurant. It was very oishii (delicious), and I'm sure I'll return again to enjoy another helping of spicy vegetable curry and "robstar" (menu's misspelling of Lobster).
Tomorrow will be my first day actually participating in the classroom. Shimowada sensei, my first English teacher, tells me that the students will introduce themselves to me and that, after that, she has a lot of instruction that she has to get through on her own. My other English teacher--Ishikawa sensei--I have still not really spoken with beyond a curt self-introduction he made to me before hurrying off to his homeroom class this morning. They both seem like nice people, but the craziness of preparing for Undokai (Sports Day) has prevented them from having many opportunities to talk with me. This will probably change next week when the school reverts to normal scheduling.
And suddenly I realize how late it is and remember that I have to get up again at six o'clock tomorrow morning and ride my bike three miles to school. It will be a pleasant ride, I'm sure, as it has been the two other times that I have made it. But I will need my energy to make it there on time. That said, goodnight and sayoonara.
20080902
home at last
With wireless internet freshly installed in my house, I am finally able to sit down and take the time to publish my first update from Japan! On Wednesday, August 27 at 1:04 PM, I and my fellow AETs left LAX airport and arrived eleven hours later in Narita Airport, Tokyo on Thursday, August 28 around 5:00 PM. Time is a funny, funny thing and I don't pretend to comprehend it. The next couple of days were a blur of combating jet-lag as we trudged through a procession of meeting the superintendent of the board of education and the mayor of Moka; procuring national health cards and registering for our gaijin (foreigner) cards; setting up bank accounts and filling out tax forms. It seems absurd to realize that I've only been in the country for six days. A month, perhaps, would feel more like it, and I haven't actually even started working at school yet!
Already I'm quite clear on the fact that I must learn Japanese if I'm to get the most out of my time living in Japan. Prospects are good, however, since according to my observations so far, Japanese seem to use the same handful of phrases over and over again for a wide variety of situations. Every interaction I have, I seem to hear:
Perhaps.
Already I've learned that a few Japanese words and a lot of elaborate sign language can get you far.
Pictures from my new life are soon to come. As I said to the teachers at Yamazaki Chu Gakko in my speech of introduction yesterday, "Please be patient with me." I am doing my best to take things as they come and absorb my new surroundings without neglecting my other responsibilities. This includes learning Japanese as well as maintaining contact with people back in the States and in other countries that are not Japan. So, although I want to continue to elaborate on the idiosyncrasies of daily life that have already surfaced since my arrival in this country, the need to go to bed and get some sleep requires that I save these things for later. Until then, know that I am well and loving Japan. Thanks for reading.
Already I'm quite clear on the fact that I must learn Japanese if I'm to get the most out of my time living in Japan. Prospects are good, however, since according to my observations so far, Japanese seem to use the same handful of phrases over and over again for a wide variety of situations. Every interaction I have, I seem to hear:
hai (Yes)With these five phrases I feel just about ready to take on the entire Japanese archipelago. If I want to ask for assistance while in the grocery store in discerning the difference between two kinds of tofu, however, I might want to work on extending my vocabulary.
arigato gozaimasu (Thank you)
sumimasen (Excuse me)
gomennasai (Sorry)
daijobu (It's okay/fine)
Perhaps.
Already I've learned that a few Japanese words and a lot of elaborate sign language can get you far.
Pictures from my new life are soon to come. As I said to the teachers at Yamazaki Chu Gakko in my speech of introduction yesterday, "Please be patient with me." I am doing my best to take things as they come and absorb my new surroundings without neglecting my other responsibilities. This includes learning Japanese as well as maintaining contact with people back in the States and in other countries that are not Japan. So, although I want to continue to elaborate on the idiosyncrasies of daily life that have already surfaced since my arrival in this country, the need to go to bed and get some sleep requires that I save these things for later. Until then, know that I am well and loving Japan. Thanks for reading.
20080826
two days!
For the last few days I've had an incessant queasiness in my stomach that seems to intensify whenever I think about packing or the fact that one week from today I'll be half way through my second day of work. A rough self-diagnosis concludes: reality is beginning to settle in. The fact that I'm actually leaving for Japan in less than two days is finally feeling like just that--a fact--and the excitement and anxiety concentric with this realization are making me physically ill.
This day was filled mostly with a great deal of last-minute shopping for omiyage (gifts to present to my bosses and co-workers in Japan) and was highlighted with the excitement of a new haircut. I feel that the new 'do corresponds nicely with my upcoming transformation from a post-college freeloader living with my parents for the summer to a mature (but still kinda funky) English teacher working in Japan. Perhaps you will understand what I mean:
Old me (immature)
New me (very professional)
This day was filled mostly with a great deal of last-minute shopping for omiyage (gifts to present to my bosses and co-workers in Japan) and was highlighted with the excitement of a new haircut. I feel that the new 'do corresponds nicely with my upcoming transformation from a post-college freeloader living with my parents for the summer to a mature (but still kinda funky) English teacher working in Japan. Perhaps you will understand what I mean:
Old me (immature)
New me (very professional)
20080814
two weeks?
Stalkers: you’ve got your work cut out for you. Exactly two weeks from today I shall board a plane at LAX and fly across the Atlantic Ocean to Narita Airport, Tokyo, Japan. In Japan, for the next year of my life, I will be working for the Moka City Board of Education as the Assistant English Teacher (AET) at Yamazaki Junior High. As the days dwindle away until my departure date, I wonder how long it will be until the reality of it actually sets in.
I’ve spent the majority of this largely uneventful summer putting off the looming obligation to start packing or at least to begin considering exactly what from my nearly 23 years of life I can cram into two 50-pound pieces of checked luggage and one carry-on. When I went to the Japanese consulate in downtown L.A. last week to get my visa, I had a moment where the immediacy of my future suddenly threatened to overwhelm me. As the man at the passport window to my left spoke rapidly in Japanese to the woman behind the counter, a sense of anxiety swelled up in me as I realized, all at once, that I really have no idea what the hell to expect when, before the month is over, I arrive at my new home and workplace. I don’t speak Japanese. I don’t know much about Japanese culture. I don’t know how to teach a classroom, let alone a classroom in Japan. In the waiting room of the Japanese consulate, I realized that I was scared––a realization I quickly squelched by forcing myself to focus on more immediate concerns, like the backpacking trip I would be leaving for the following day. This worked nicely. No more anxiety. No more nervousness. No more helpless ineptitude for grasping the pervasively advancing unknown. Just me looking forward to five days of hiking in Sequoia National Park.
But now the backpacking trip is over. I’m forced to accept that the next major event in my life is moving to Moka. I’m sort of terrified. But, even more than that, I’m excited. And even more than either of these, I’m just plainly incapable of grasping the reality that I’m actually going to Japan.
What it comes down to, I’ve accepted, is this: whether I can believe it or not, at this time next month I’ll be standing in front of a classroom of Japanese preteens and attempting to smooth out for them the rougher points of this one peculiar language that is so highly coveted around the world. Two empty suitcases sit on the floor of my bedroom and I have fourteen days to fill them up. Somehow, this seems like too daunting of a task to get started on quite yet. I put it off by composing the first entry of my Japan weblog.
So here it is: a little place on the internets where you can, if you so desire, track the events, thoughts, and habits of my daily life as an AET in Moka-shi over the upcoming year. As I expound on the details of my life, continue to keep in mind that the opinions and ideas expressed in this blog are in no way intended to reflect those of the Moka Board of Education or the Glendora-Moka Sister City Program. And, while we’re at it, please don’t draw any conclusions about Americans based on my ignorance and ethnocentricity; don’t judge Christians on account of my frequent failure to live according to the teachings of Jesus; and don’t judge women on account of my occasional regression into passivity when I ought to be a strong leader. All that being said, I hope you will enjoy this blog. I write it for you.
Peace,
Meghan
I’ve spent the majority of this largely uneventful summer putting off the looming obligation to start packing or at least to begin considering exactly what from my nearly 23 years of life I can cram into two 50-pound pieces of checked luggage and one carry-on. When I went to the Japanese consulate in downtown L.A. last week to get my visa, I had a moment where the immediacy of my future suddenly threatened to overwhelm me. As the man at the passport window to my left spoke rapidly in Japanese to the woman behind the counter, a sense of anxiety swelled up in me as I realized, all at once, that I really have no idea what the hell to expect when, before the month is over, I arrive at my new home and workplace. I don’t speak Japanese. I don’t know much about Japanese culture. I don’t know how to teach a classroom, let alone a classroom in Japan. In the waiting room of the Japanese consulate, I realized that I was scared––a realization I quickly squelched by forcing myself to focus on more immediate concerns, like the backpacking trip I would be leaving for the following day. This worked nicely. No more anxiety. No more nervousness. No more helpless ineptitude for grasping the pervasively advancing unknown. Just me looking forward to five days of hiking in Sequoia National Park.
But now the backpacking trip is over. I’m forced to accept that the next major event in my life is moving to Moka. I’m sort of terrified. But, even more than that, I’m excited. And even more than either of these, I’m just plainly incapable of grasping the reality that I’m actually going to Japan.
What it comes down to, I’ve accepted, is this: whether I can believe it or not, at this time next month I’ll be standing in front of a classroom of Japanese preteens and attempting to smooth out for them the rougher points of this one peculiar language that is so highly coveted around the world. Two empty suitcases sit on the floor of my bedroom and I have fourteen days to fill them up. Somehow, this seems like too daunting of a task to get started on quite yet. I put it off by composing the first entry of my Japan weblog.
So here it is: a little place on the internets where you can, if you so desire, track the events, thoughts, and habits of my daily life as an AET in Moka-shi over the upcoming year. As I expound on the details of my life, continue to keep in mind that the opinions and ideas expressed in this blog are in no way intended to reflect those of the Moka Board of Education or the Glendora-Moka Sister City Program. And, while we’re at it, please don’t draw any conclusions about Americans based on my ignorance and ethnocentricity; don’t judge Christians on account of my frequent failure to live according to the teachings of Jesus; and don’t judge women on account of my occasional regression into passivity when I ought to be a strong leader. All that being said, I hope you will enjoy this blog. I write it for you.
Peace,
Meghan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
