After leaving Japan at 9 PM Friday evening and, five hours later, arriving in Honolulu at 8 AM Friday morning, I did exactly what I promised: I checked into my hostel, dropped my bag in the room, changed into my swimsuit, and headed straight for the beach. And--as one might imagine would be inevitable after a long day of work, a long trip to the airport, and an overnight flight--promptly fell asleep in the sun. I have nothing but words of praise for the folks at Banana Boat for creating a sunscreen that somehow miraculously kept me from burning to a crisp while I lay snoozing and fully exposed to the elements (It was a gloriously sunny and clear day here in Waikiki, with a high of 80 degrees, the perfection of it all augmented by a persistent, pleasant breeze.) for a full hour and a half.
Still, after my trip to the beach I was ready for a big bottle of water and a propper nap, so I headed back to the hostel and helped myself to a generous helping of both. A cool draft passing through the windows of the dorm room provided natural air conditioning while I lay back and relaxed on the bed. Despite my heavily jet-lagged condition (or maybe partly because of it), I was euphoric.
And tonight, as I often do when I'm travling by myself and I don't have to feel guilty for even suggesting the idea to fellow travelers, I splurged on a fancy shmancy dinner. Very close to my hostel, they have one of those super cool rotating restaurants on the top floor of a tall building; so, as you enjoy your dinner, you get a full panoramic view of the city. I took the elevator to the eighteenth floor, marched up to the front desk, gave my name, and was promptly seated. In that moment, I felt fully vindicated for the time in Kuala Lumpur when Jennifer, Josiah, and I attempted to have desert in one of these types of places and were laughed out of the joint for not having made a reservation at least two days in advance.
My meal: Tea Smoked Ginger Duck l'Orange. Ever since I first tried it a few years ago in Oxford, I've had this crazy little thing for duck. Which is weird because, in the past three years, I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've actually eaten this animal...yeah, I can...five times, including tonight. It gets even weirder because, as many of you well know, I'm not totally crazy about eating meat. Josiah put it quite eloquently and indeed accurately a few days ago when he called me a "closet vegan." But the duck I had tonight was absolutely sublime: tender, sweet, wonderful. And to top it off, I indulged in an overpriced Mai Tai, a drink that I've always associated with face-lifted old ladies in animal-print bathing suits, lounging on pool chairs. So yummy.
And so my winter vacation kicks off to a perfect start. It took all day, but I think that the sunshine has successfully melted away all the stress of the past few weeks. Insert emoticon here...
:)
20091219
20091218
I'm All Shook Up
This morning, at about 5:40, my own little prefecture of Tochigi was graced with a 5.1 magnitude earthquake that quite literally shook me right out of bed. As the preliminary tremors nudged me awake, my first thoughts went to the heater on the wall above me. If it fell it would crush my skull. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but as my bed began to shake back and forth, I felt less like a baby being rocked to sleep and more like...a baby being shaken. At this point I was wide awake, so I figured it would be okay to get up forty minutes earlier than usual.
Yesterday morning, I checked the weather forecast before I even started getting ready, hoping for rain so that my exhausted body would have an excuse to ride to school in a taxi. No precipitation predicted. I got ready and dressed for a chilly bike ride as usual. When I left for school, there were dark blue clouds in the morning sky. I thought, "Ooo! How pretty!" Ten minutes later, it started to snow. When I'm ten minutes into my morning commute, it's not worth it to turn around and call a taxi to take me to school. At this point, all I can really do is press forward. So that's what I did, laughing at the absurdity of the situation: a freak December snowfall decides to descend right in the middle of my morning trek to work, ending just a minute before I pull through the school gate.
It's as though the forces of Nature are playing a last-minute "Best of Moka" marathon in my honor. This evening, I will be boarding a plane to Honolulu, and it will be sayonara freezing misery and a warm, welcoming aloha! to sunny happywonderfulness.
I'm sure that after three weeks of traveling in first Hawaii, then Singapore and Indonesia, I'll start to miss little Moka and I'll be ready to come home. But, at the moment, it's hard to imagine. And, as I sit in my own living room with the electric heater blasting, huddled under a blanket and wearing several layers of clothing, including snow pants and a down jacket, I'm not apologizing. I'm ready for this vacation to begin.
Yesterday morning, I checked the weather forecast before I even started getting ready, hoping for rain so that my exhausted body would have an excuse to ride to school in a taxi. No precipitation predicted. I got ready and dressed for a chilly bike ride as usual. When I left for school, there were dark blue clouds in the morning sky. I thought, "Ooo! How pretty!" Ten minutes later, it started to snow. When I'm ten minutes into my morning commute, it's not worth it to turn around and call a taxi to take me to school. At this point, all I can really do is press forward. So that's what I did, laughing at the absurdity of the situation: a freak December snowfall decides to descend right in the middle of my morning trek to work, ending just a minute before I pull through the school gate.
It's as though the forces of Nature are playing a last-minute "Best of Moka" marathon in my honor. This evening, I will be boarding a plane to Honolulu, and it will be sayonara freezing misery and a warm, welcoming aloha! to sunny happywonderfulness.
I'm sure that after three weeks of traveling in first Hawaii, then Singapore and Indonesia, I'll start to miss little Moka and I'll be ready to come home. But, at the moment, it's hard to imagine. And, as I sit in my own living room with the electric heater blasting, huddled under a blanket and wearing several layers of clothing, including snow pants and a down jacket, I'm not apologizing. I'm ready for this vacation to begin.
20091203
20091111
To mask, or not to mask?
Another kid at my school was out with the flu today. In the morning report, I heard them remarking to one another that it was because he was so bad at remembering to wear a mask. Everyone agrees on this: a gauze mask is the most effective way to guard oneself against the flu virus. As I listen in on this conversation, my expression is neutral, but my heart scoffs with all the scoffiness I can muster. I like to consider myself above all this foolery with masks.
Then I hear my name. I hate it when they do this: talk about me while I'm sitting right there, and then nobody bothers to explain to me why I'm being talked about. But, this time, I've got enough context to decipher the gist of what they're saying.
Basically, I'm the only person at my school who isn't wearing a mask at all times. I tried it for a while, just to keep others happy, but the truth about masks is: they're nasty. They're itchy and they make breathing difficult, so, at least in my case, that means that I'm constantly adjusting them. With my hands. So the germs on my hands are easily passing to my face--to my mouth and nose and eyes and all those places that I'm usually very careful to not touch while I'm trying to avoid getting sick.
But if everyone in Japan is obsessed with wearing surgical masks to stay healthy during cold and flu season, then there must be some evidence demonstrating their effectiveness, right? In all my perusing of the internets, I was unable to find a single article or study affirming that these types of masks do much of anything to keep a healthy person from getting sick. An article in the New York Times cites research presented at the Interscience Conference on Antimicrobial Agents and Chemotherapy in San Francisco. Researchers concluded:
Surgical masks are designed to trap respiratory secretions (including bacteria and viruses) expelled by the wearer and prevent disease transmission to others. Surgical masks are not designed to prevent inhalation of airborne particles.I wish there were a means for me to present this argument to the teachers who eye me and my uncovered face suspiciously as I pass them in the halls every day.
I'm left with a bit of a moral dilemma. Is it better to stand my ground as a person who doesn't come from a culture where it's normal to wear a gauze mask in public when you're trying to keep from getting sick? I mean, not only are they incredibly uncomfortable, but there's no scientific evidence that they're actually helpful! However, I am living in their country, and if wearing a mask makes them feel better about me, should I just bury my pride and go along with it?
When it doesn't go against my moral principles, I always do my best to be culturally sensitive and to not offend the people around me with my flamboyant gaijin ways. Eventually, I suppose I'll just have to cave and go along with it.
20091104
Who turned off the warm?
It's the fourth of November and suddenly we're in the throes of winter. There was ice on the roof and on the ground this morning. Still, I mounted my bicycle and made my late start to work, with fleece-lined gloves and wool socks that, despite their earnest efforts, could not keep my fingers and toes from going numb by the time I reached school.
Naturally, the school nurse has made an announcement that the best way to guard against swine flu contagion is to make sure every corner of the building is well ventilated. So, despite the bitingly frigid air, every window in every classroom and hallway must be open at all times. Of course, the school nurse issues such an edict while she gets to spend most of her day moving cosily between her office and a warm spot behind her desk in the teachers' room. But I'm not one who deserves to complain. These days it seems, with my classes being canceled left and right, I spend the overwhelming amount of my time at work in the teachers' room, shuffling nervously through the drawers of my desk as I rack my brain for something to do. Such is the life of a foreign English teacher in Japan.
I'd love to write more, but my fingers are so numb from the cold that it took me, like, ten minutes just to write this sentence. Good night, everyone. And sleep warmly.
Naturally, the school nurse has made an announcement that the best way to guard against swine flu contagion is to make sure every corner of the building is well ventilated. So, despite the bitingly frigid air, every window in every classroom and hallway must be open at all times. Of course, the school nurse issues such an edict while she gets to spend most of her day moving cosily between her office and a warm spot behind her desk in the teachers' room. But I'm not one who deserves to complain. These days it seems, with my classes being canceled left and right, I spend the overwhelming amount of my time at work in the teachers' room, shuffling nervously through the drawers of my desk as I rack my brain for something to do. Such is the life of a foreign English teacher in Japan.
I'd love to write more, but my fingers are so numb from the cold that it took me, like, ten minutes just to write this sentence. Good night, everyone. And sleep warmly.
20091017
The last of the Moh-kans
On Thursday evening I received the startling news that the city of Moka's teacher-exchange program with its sister city in Glendora will come officially to an end after the expiration of my contract in July, 2010. In keeping with Japanese etiquette, I refrained from making any major announcements of the news until after our official meeting with the board of education on Friday afternoon. I made mention of it only to one of my English teachers, at a moment when I had a chance to pull her aside and tell her privately. Naturally, I prefaced everything with: "This is still a bit of a secret, so please don't tell anyone until next week!" After little more than thirteen months since my arrival in this country, I marvel sometimes at just how Japanese I can be.
The city of Moka made the decision to end the current AET exchange program on the grounds of increasing financial difficulties. In light of the struggling economy, it makes more sense for the local board of education to spend a great deal less money by hiring AETs through a private agency. There are currently three AETs from this agency already working at junior high schools in Moka. They make considerably smaller salaries and live in much smaller apartments than we sister-city AETs do, all the while doing essentially the same job. In consideration of the present tightness of the education budget, it certainly seems that these funds could be put to more practical use. Many of these things have been starkly apparent since my first month in Moka. Honestly, the BOE's decision to outsource all their AETs did not come as much of a surprise. The real surprise, in fact, was that they didn't do it a year ago.
So what's in store for the five remaining sister-city AETs as we face what are, unequivocally, our last months living in the quiet, rice-paddy encircled, slightly xenophobic, but generally pleasant little city of Moka? That's not a question that is easily answered. Joe is looking into teaching with the JET Program, Doug, Yves, and Josiah have all mentioned interest in working in another country, and me? I guess it's time for me to start thinking more seriously about graduate school.
In the meeting where we were given official notice that our contracts would not be renewed next summer, our supervisor told us, "This is your last time to do everything, so make it your best." I'm not sure exactly how this advice will play out in my decisions over the next nine months, but I hope that I will approach my job and life in Japan with a positive outlook, cherish each experience, and not miss out on any opportunities.
The city of Moka made the decision to end the current AET exchange program on the grounds of increasing financial difficulties. In light of the struggling economy, it makes more sense for the local board of education to spend a great deal less money by hiring AETs through a private agency. There are currently three AETs from this agency already working at junior high schools in Moka. They make considerably smaller salaries and live in much smaller apartments than we sister-city AETs do, all the while doing essentially the same job. In consideration of the present tightness of the education budget, it certainly seems that these funds could be put to more practical use. Many of these things have been starkly apparent since my first month in Moka. Honestly, the BOE's decision to outsource all their AETs did not come as much of a surprise. The real surprise, in fact, was that they didn't do it a year ago.
So what's in store for the five remaining sister-city AETs as we face what are, unequivocally, our last months living in the quiet, rice-paddy encircled, slightly xenophobic, but generally pleasant little city of Moka? That's not a question that is easily answered. Joe is looking into teaching with the JET Program, Doug, Yves, and Josiah have all mentioned interest in working in another country, and me? I guess it's time for me to start thinking more seriously about graduate school.
In the meeting where we were given official notice that our contracts would not be renewed next summer, our supervisor told us, "This is your last time to do everything, so make it your best." I'm not sure exactly how this advice will play out in my decisions over the next nine months, but I hope that I will approach my job and life in Japan with a positive outlook, cherish each experience, and not miss out on any opportunities.
20090930
Sports Month
I don't really like sports.
But most people do. And the Japanese are not exempt. And fall is a big time for sports. September 5th rang in the new semester with the school Sports Day (運動会). The entire last month has been chock-full of training and practice for the inter-school athletic competitions that run for three days and cancel out two full days of regular classes. And, in a couple of weeks, we'll have a public holiday devoted simply to health and fitness (体育の日), and who's going to complain about that?
Personally, I've enjoyed cheering my students on in all their athletic endeavors for the past month. It's a much more interesting perspective from the sidelines than it was a year ago, when I was still convinced that all my students looked exactly the same and all their names sounded exactly the same and learning to tell them apart was flat-out impossible and I should just give up now. Yes, Japanese kids still look a lot more alike than American kids, and their names still do sound the same; but now I really can put names and personalities with their uniquely recognizable faces, and my heart goes with them each time they swing at a baseball or race toward a finish line.
I got into the spirit of the season and went with a sports-themed English bulletin board for September. And the response was favorable. I actually had a student make the point of telling me that she thought the information on my board was very interesting! That's never happened before! I guess I'm finally getting to know my audience.
For this bulletin board: I polled my third-year students earlier this year to find out their favorite sports, subjects, and musical groups, so I made a pie chart demonstrating the most popular sports at Yamazaki J.H.S. Then I went online and found data stating the top three most popular sports in different countries, knowing that some of these were going to be sports that my students had never even heard of. I also printed out pictures of people from the countries playing these sports. I mounted all of this information in front of a large world map. Ta-da!
But most people do. And the Japanese are not exempt. And fall is a big time for sports. September 5th rang in the new semester with the school Sports Day (運動会). The entire last month has been chock-full of training and practice for the inter-school athletic competitions that run for three days and cancel out two full days of regular classes. And, in a couple of weeks, we'll have a public holiday devoted simply to health and fitness (体育の日), and who's going to complain about that?
Personally, I've enjoyed cheering my students on in all their athletic endeavors for the past month. It's a much more interesting perspective from the sidelines than it was a year ago, when I was still convinced that all my students looked exactly the same and all their names sounded exactly the same and learning to tell them apart was flat-out impossible and I should just give up now. Yes, Japanese kids still look a lot more alike than American kids, and their names still do sound the same; but now I really can put names and personalities with their uniquely recognizable faces, and my heart goes with them each time they swing at a baseball or race toward a finish line.
I got into the spirit of the season and went with a sports-themed English bulletin board for September. And the response was favorable. I actually had a student make the point of telling me that she thought the information on my board was very interesting! That's never happened before! I guess I'm finally getting to know my audience.
For this bulletin board: I polled my third-year students earlier this year to find out their favorite sports, subjects, and musical groups, so I made a pie chart demonstrating the most popular sports at Yamazaki J.H.S. Then I went online and found data stating the top three most popular sports in different countries, knowing that some of these were going to be sports that my students had never even heard of. I also printed out pictures of people from the countries playing these sports. I mounted all of this information in front of a large world map. Ta-da!
20090905
Saying Goodbye
I had the privilege of attending the pool-closing ceremony at one of my elementary schools yesterday, during one of my regular visits. The event marked the end of an important summer pastime as the activity now passes officially into hibernation until next July. The entire school (no less than seventy-some students with the teachers and staff) gathered barefoot around the edge of the pool and hung their heads solemnly in memory of the times they’d had there over the last two months.
The principal opened the service with a few somber words, encouraging the mourners not to be too downhearted about the passing of their beloved swimming pool. She spoke of other sports that they would enjoy in the upcoming months—sports better suited to the autumn and winter weather. She congratulated the congregation on their achievements this summer, and encouraged them to find consolation in training hard for the upcoming Sports Day.
Next, six students—one representative from each grade level—lined up along the deep end of the pool, the bright blue waters spread out longways before them and reflected off their similarly moist eyes. One by one, they said a few words of their own.
The first and second-grade students kept it short, stating simply that they’d had fun swimming this summer. The third-grade student shared how he’d broken his former time on the 100 meters, and a girl from the fourth grade reminisced about the fun games she and her classmates had played. The fifth-grade girl, on her turn, stepped forward and recited a short speech detailing her enthusiasm for the fun times she anticipated having in the pool next year when it reopens. And the boy from sixth grade, with head bowed and shoulders quaking ever so slightly, lamented that this had been his last time to swim in the pool at elementary school.
All gazed stoically across the vibrant blue rectangular expanse, knowing that, within the span of their yet brief lives, they were witnessing the end of an era: the school maintenance man had already pulled the plug on the filtration system. In a month the vibrant blue would give way to a rich and marshy green, and the pool, in the height of its glory, would exist only as a fond memory in their tender little minds.
At least, that is, until next summer.
So long, fair swimming pastime: gone before I ever had the chance to appreciate you. You brought so much joy into the lives of those around you. I only regret that I didn’t get to know you better. Next time, I won’t let you get away so easily.
The principal opened the service with a few somber words, encouraging the mourners not to be too downhearted about the passing of their beloved swimming pool. She spoke of other sports that they would enjoy in the upcoming months—sports better suited to the autumn and winter weather. She congratulated the congregation on their achievements this summer, and encouraged them to find consolation in training hard for the upcoming Sports Day.
Next, six students—one representative from each grade level—lined up along the deep end of the pool, the bright blue waters spread out longways before them and reflected off their similarly moist eyes. One by one, they said a few words of their own.
The first and second-grade students kept it short, stating simply that they’d had fun swimming this summer. The third-grade student shared how he’d broken his former time on the 100 meters, and a girl from the fourth grade reminisced about the fun games she and her classmates had played. The fifth-grade girl, on her turn, stepped forward and recited a short speech detailing her enthusiasm for the fun times she anticipated having in the pool next year when it reopens. And the boy from sixth grade, with head bowed and shoulders quaking ever so slightly, lamented that this had been his last time to swim in the pool at elementary school.
All gazed stoically across the vibrant blue rectangular expanse, knowing that, within the span of their yet brief lives, they were witnessing the end of an era: the school maintenance man had already pulled the plug on the filtration system. In a month the vibrant blue would give way to a rich and marshy green, and the pool, in the height of its glory, would exist only as a fond memory in their tender little minds.
At least, that is, until next summer.
So long, fair swimming pastime: gone before I ever had the chance to appreciate you. You brought so much joy into the lives of those around you. I only regret that I didn’t get to know you better. Next time, I won’t let you get away so easily.
20090830
Back!
A sudden glare of sunlight tinged blue as it's filtered through the curtains and the paper paneling of my bedroom window. My bare feet on the tatami floor. A bowl of day-old yakisoba reheated in the microwave for breakfast. Tea.
So begins the second day of my second contract-year in Japan.
It's Sunday morning, but I'm not getting ready for church: the airline left one of my bags behind at LAX, and it will be delivered sometime today between nine and twelve o'clock. While I wait I'll attempt to coax my life slowly into order with a bit of cleaning, organizing, and, of course, blogging.
Already, this year promises to be markedly different from last. Jennifer came to the decision over summer break that she would not return for a second year. She's here now, packing and internet-job-searching and saying goodbye to friends and thereby attempting to coax order into her own life. In a few days she'll be gone and I will be roommate-less.
August provided a much-needed break for me. It was fantastic to be around friends and family, to see where they are in their lives and to receive their words and prayers of encouragement. It was invigorating to be in America, too: to talk loudly in public, strike up conversations with strangers, eat bread and cheese from Trader Joe's, and go to bookstores where nearly all their stock was in my language. The three weeks I spent in California provided fuel for my long under-fueled personal flame. I'm grateful.
This year promises new challenges--with no longer having the support of a roommate who shares my Christian-based outlook on the world--along with familiar challenges--the tedium of my job, language difficulties, and the general and ever-present struggle for "community." But I'm also approaching the next eleven months with a renewed sense of hope. I have great enthusiasm for friendships developed last year that promise to deepen and grow over the next. And the creative outlets of music and art, greatly untouched in past months, still await utilization. I'm planning a birthday party for two weeks from now. Everyone can come. You can come, too. Check the facebook event for details.
Over the next eleven months, please pray that my relationships with the teachers and students at my school might be enriched, and that I would also find mutual peace and comfort in the relationships I have with other AETs and the few other friends in Moka. Pray for my continued effort to learn the language and to adjust to Japanese culture in an appreciative yet self-preserving way. Also, know that I am thinking about what life will look like post-Japan and will be applying for graduate school soon; I would appreciate any encouragement, advice, or prayer you have to offer on that subject.
Thank you for your continued support and readership. See you later. Mata-ne.
So begins the second day of my second contract-year in Japan.
It's Sunday morning, but I'm not getting ready for church: the airline left one of my bags behind at LAX, and it will be delivered sometime today between nine and twelve o'clock. While I wait I'll attempt to coax my life slowly into order with a bit of cleaning, organizing, and, of course, blogging.
Already, this year promises to be markedly different from last. Jennifer came to the decision over summer break that she would not return for a second year. She's here now, packing and internet-job-searching and saying goodbye to friends and thereby attempting to coax order into her own life. In a few days she'll be gone and I will be roommate-less.
August provided a much-needed break for me. It was fantastic to be around friends and family, to see where they are in their lives and to receive their words and prayers of encouragement. It was invigorating to be in America, too: to talk loudly in public, strike up conversations with strangers, eat bread and cheese from Trader Joe's, and go to bookstores where nearly all their stock was in my language. The three weeks I spent in California provided fuel for my long under-fueled personal flame. I'm grateful.
This year promises new challenges--with no longer having the support of a roommate who shares my Christian-based outlook on the world--along with familiar challenges--the tedium of my job, language difficulties, and the general and ever-present struggle for "community." But I'm also approaching the next eleven months with a renewed sense of hope. I have great enthusiasm for friendships developed last year that promise to deepen and grow over the next. And the creative outlets of music and art, greatly untouched in past months, still await utilization. I'm planning a birthday party for two weeks from now. Everyone can come. You can come, too. Check the facebook event for details.
Over the next eleven months, please pray that my relationships with the teachers and students at my school might be enriched, and that I would also find mutual peace and comfort in the relationships I have with other AETs and the few other friends in Moka. Pray for my continued effort to learn the language and to adjust to Japanese culture in an appreciative yet self-preserving way. Also, know that I am thinking about what life will look like post-Japan and will be applying for graduate school soon; I would appreciate any encouragement, advice, or prayer you have to offer on that subject.
Thank you for your continued support and readership. See you later. Mata-ne.
20090718
Ain't got nobody and monkey sat in my miso cucumbers.
Yesterday was the last day of school before summer vacation. This doesn't mean that a new school year will start up again in September; in Japan, the school year runs from April to March. But it does mean that I have now been in Japan for eleven months and have successfully (at least in some sense) experienced every stage of the junior high school year.
I've been pondering and attempting to come up with a word that concisely summarizes my first year in Japan. If it were a Japanese word, I would definitely have to go with sumimasen, a phrase which can very conveniently be adapted to mean either "Thank you," "Excuse me," or, "I'm sorry," depending on the situation. But as far as English descriptors go, I'll have to settle with four:
Lonely. Restrained. Introspective. Revolutionary.
As I think my blog has faithfully reflected, being a foreign English teacher in Moka, Japan has been difficult. At work, there's a lot of feeling like I have to hold back and conform to social expectations, and both at work and at home, my friend pool is a bit spare. Though I don't necessarily miss America, per se, I have come to appreciate just how friendly and outgoing Americans are in comparison to some other cultures. I don't know how I'd get through it all if it weren't for Skype and the little people who appear in a small video chat box on my computer screen from time to time.
And yet, for all their difficulty, I can state confidently that my time and experiences in Japan have been meaningful, uplifting, and have led me towards positive introspection and change. As a teacher, I see that I've grown considerably in my approach to ESL instruction and in my interactions with Japanese junior high schoolers. And the challenges and the loneliness of this place teach me daily to rely on God and to see her even in the places where the concept of a loving and omniscient God is never even given the slightest acknowledgment. Revolutionary.
---
Yesterday evening I also had the unique opportunity to patronize a certain dining establishment which has, since its opening, attained a certain level of small fame. It's just your average little whole-in-the-wall izakaya, aside from the small detail that two of the waiters on staff are...monkeys. Yep, that's right: I went to a monkey bar. The monkeys wore weird little uniforms, brought us hot towels to wipe our hands, and poured our beer. I must admit, the whole thing made me a bit uncomfortable, both for sanitary reasons (my appetite wasn't exactly piqued when I walked in the front door and the whole place smelled exactly like a pet shop) and out of concern for the general wellbeing of the animals themselves. The highlight of the evening was certainly when the younger monkey suddenly lost control and began to jump all over our table, turning over dishes and planting a foot right in the middle of the lovely platter of miso cucumbers that I had been attempting to savor. At the end of the evening, the monkeys were made to put on a show for us, attaining such feats as jumping rope, riding on rocking horses, performing traditional Japanese folk dances, and even playing basketball.
I have absolutely no interest in ever going back to this place, but at least I got some cool pictures.
Only in Japan.
I've been pondering and attempting to come up with a word that concisely summarizes my first year in Japan. If it were a Japanese word, I would definitely have to go with sumimasen, a phrase which can very conveniently be adapted to mean either "Thank you," "Excuse me," or, "I'm sorry," depending on the situation. But as far as English descriptors go, I'll have to settle with four:
Lonely. Restrained. Introspective. Revolutionary.
As I think my blog has faithfully reflected, being a foreign English teacher in Moka, Japan has been difficult. At work, there's a lot of feeling like I have to hold back and conform to social expectations, and both at work and at home, my friend pool is a bit spare. Though I don't necessarily miss America, per se, I have come to appreciate just how friendly and outgoing Americans are in comparison to some other cultures. I don't know how I'd get through it all if it weren't for Skype and the little people who appear in a small video chat box on my computer screen from time to time.
And yet, for all their difficulty, I can state confidently that my time and experiences in Japan have been meaningful, uplifting, and have led me towards positive introspection and change. As a teacher, I see that I've grown considerably in my approach to ESL instruction and in my interactions with Japanese junior high schoolers. And the challenges and the loneliness of this place teach me daily to rely on God and to see her even in the places where the concept of a loving and omniscient God is never even given the slightest acknowledgment. Revolutionary.
---
Yesterday evening I also had the unique opportunity to patronize a certain dining establishment which has, since its opening, attained a certain level of small fame. It's just your average little whole-in-the-wall izakaya, aside from the small detail that two of the waiters on staff are...monkeys. Yep, that's right: I went to a monkey bar. The monkeys wore weird little uniforms, brought us hot towels to wipe our hands, and poured our beer. I must admit, the whole thing made me a bit uncomfortable, both for sanitary reasons (my appetite wasn't exactly piqued when I walked in the front door and the whole place smelled exactly like a pet shop) and out of concern for the general wellbeing of the animals themselves. The highlight of the evening was certainly when the younger monkey suddenly lost control and began to jump all over our table, turning over dishes and planting a foot right in the middle of the lovely platter of miso cucumbers that I had been attempting to savor. At the end of the evening, the monkeys were made to put on a show for us, attaining such feats as jumping rope, riding on rocking horses, performing traditional Japanese folk dances, and even playing basketball.
I have absolutely no interest in ever going back to this place, but at least I got some cool pictures.
Only in Japan.
20090701
Why am I here and not over--over--over there?
I'm still dwelling on how much I want to be with so many people I'm not with right now. And the only way I know how to express that is with dancing. And unitards. This video is far from perfect, and if it actually succeeds in communicating any of the things I want to say, it is thanks to Dirty Projectors for the inspirational tune and oh-so-fitting lyrics.
20090628
It's just June, I guess.
Tonight I sat out on my porch for an hour and a half watching the rain.
June has been a long and difficult month. It is a month of no public holidays. The weeks rush by, but the weekends go past so quickly it seems like they never even happened. The weather, nearly every day, is overcast and humid. I started taking Japanese classes on the eighteenth but I my heart hasn’t really been in it. It doesn’t help that I began writing a novel on the fifteenth and it currently takes up nearly every minute of my spare time. But my heart hasn’t really been in writing, either.
The truth is, I miss my friends and family like crazy. Lately, it seems like the absence of these loved ones from my life is a real and physical emptiness in my own body. I wonder: What the hell was I thinking, moving to Japan to teach English? Am I really going to stay here for another year? How? Why?
But, I swear, there’s something about the rain here in Japan that’s different from any rain I’ve ever seen before. It’s like I can feel it under my skin, even when I’m not actually out in it. And the lighting as the sun sank, invisibly, behind the horizon but turned the whole cloudy sky a pale orange in doing so: my heart almost couldn’t take it. I would have sat out there longer except that, around seven thirty when it got dark enough that I couldn’t see the rain anymore anyway, I figured I had better eat something before it got too late and affected my sleep pattern.
Elementary school tomorrow. And a field trip to Tokyo with my second-year students on Tuesday. And then it will be July. Just a little bit longer. God give me the strength.
June has been a long and difficult month. It is a month of no public holidays. The weeks rush by, but the weekends go past so quickly it seems like they never even happened. The weather, nearly every day, is overcast and humid. I started taking Japanese classes on the eighteenth but I my heart hasn’t really been in it. It doesn’t help that I began writing a novel on the fifteenth and it currently takes up nearly every minute of my spare time. But my heart hasn’t really been in writing, either.
The truth is, I miss my friends and family like crazy. Lately, it seems like the absence of these loved ones from my life is a real and physical emptiness in my own body. I wonder: What the hell was I thinking, moving to Japan to teach English? Am I really going to stay here for another year? How? Why?
But, I swear, there’s something about the rain here in Japan that’s different from any rain I’ve ever seen before. It’s like I can feel it under my skin, even when I’m not actually out in it. And the lighting as the sun sank, invisibly, behind the horizon but turned the whole cloudy sky a pale orange in doing so: my heart almost couldn’t take it. I would have sat out there longer except that, around seven thirty when it got dark enough that I couldn’t see the rain anymore anyway, I figured I had better eat something before it got too late and affected my sleep pattern.
Elementary school tomorrow. And a field trip to Tokyo with my second-year students on Tuesday. And then it will be July. Just a little bit longer. God give me the strength.
20090618
I like music. I play skiing.
Today one of my first-year classes learned the verbs “play” and “like.” In preparation for a mini presentation that they will give next week, each student had to write his or her own sentences using “I like _____” and “I play _____.” I walked around the classroom, checking their work and seeing if anyone had any questions.
One girl raised her hand hesitatingly as I walked past. Now, when I first met this girl I admittedly suspected that she might be one of the “slow learners” (the “politically correct” term that gets used in Japan: certainly less ambiguous than Special Education, as we say in the States). This might sound horrible but I actually do have to try to be really perceptive about these things on my own because, although there are several students at my school who have special needs or significant learning disabilities, most parents, out of shame or denial or some other personal reasons, absolutely refuse to put their children in the Slow Learners’ class. And maybe, in most subjects, these kids can get away with just sitting there in frustrated silence. But in English class, where everyone is constantly called upon to read sentences and answer questions out loud, they definitely stand out. So I have to be sensitive as to who they are and just how severe their disability is so as to not embarrass them in class, if I can at all help it.
As it turns out, I don’t think that this girl is a slow learner any more, but she is incredibly awkward and painfully shy. Which is why I was quite surprised when she flagged me down and pointed to the sentence she had just written in her notebook, which read, “I like Man.”
At first I was too shocked to feel like laughing. Okay, so she likes men, but is it really so important that she feels it deserves to be the first example she gives for this assignment?
So I read the sentence out loud to her: “I like man?”
“I like manga,” she said softly and hesitatingly, looking anxiously down at the paper.
“Oh!” I couldn’t help but release a giggle of amusement and relief. For those less familiar with Japanese pop culture, “manga” is a form of comics that originates in Japan. Everyone likes manga at least a little bit. It’s not considered at all abnormal for grown businessmen with families to read manga in their spare time.
I corrected her spelling and told her, “Good job!” But I also felt inclined to explain to her the meaning of “I like Man.”
I told her what “man” was in Japanese. She just sort of smiled awkwardly and nodded: not the appreciative reaction I was hoping for. So I translated the full sentence. But she only bent her face down further and huddled over her notebook. Her shoulders were shaking, but I don’t think it was because she was laughing.
I’m pretty sure I completely embarrassed her.
I told my English teacher, Mr. Ishikawa, the story after class and we both had a good laugh over it, but I couldn’t help thinking back and feeling bad for making the girl blush. Right now she’s probably still thinking, “I used to like English. But now I hate it. And I hate Ms. Meghan, too.”
But, oh man, was it funny.
One girl raised her hand hesitatingly as I walked past. Now, when I first met this girl I admittedly suspected that she might be one of the “slow learners” (the “politically correct” term that gets used in Japan: certainly less ambiguous than Special Education, as we say in the States). This might sound horrible but I actually do have to try to be really perceptive about these things on my own because, although there are several students at my school who have special needs or significant learning disabilities, most parents, out of shame or denial or some other personal reasons, absolutely refuse to put their children in the Slow Learners’ class. And maybe, in most subjects, these kids can get away with just sitting there in frustrated silence. But in English class, where everyone is constantly called upon to read sentences and answer questions out loud, they definitely stand out. So I have to be sensitive as to who they are and just how severe their disability is so as to not embarrass them in class, if I can at all help it.
As it turns out, I don’t think that this girl is a slow learner any more, but she is incredibly awkward and painfully shy. Which is why I was quite surprised when she flagged me down and pointed to the sentence she had just written in her notebook, which read, “I like Man.”
At first I was too shocked to feel like laughing. Okay, so she likes men, but is it really so important that she feels it deserves to be the first example she gives for this assignment?
So I read the sentence out loud to her: “I like man?”
“I like manga,” she said softly and hesitatingly, looking anxiously down at the paper.
“Oh!” I couldn’t help but release a giggle of amusement and relief. For those less familiar with Japanese pop culture, “manga” is a form of comics that originates in Japan. Everyone likes manga at least a little bit. It’s not considered at all abnormal for grown businessmen with families to read manga in their spare time.
I corrected her spelling and told her, “Good job!” But I also felt inclined to explain to her the meaning of “I like Man.”
I told her what “man” was in Japanese. She just sort of smiled awkwardly and nodded: not the appreciative reaction I was hoping for. So I translated the full sentence. But she only bent her face down further and huddled over her notebook. Her shoulders were shaking, but I don’t think it was because she was laughing.
I’m pretty sure I completely embarrassed her.
I told my English teacher, Mr. Ishikawa, the story after class and we both had a good laugh over it, but I couldn’t help thinking back and feeling bad for making the girl blush. Right now she’s probably still thinking, “I used to like English. But now I hate it. And I hate Ms. Meghan, too.”
But, oh man, was it funny.
20090616
An American Lunchbox in Japan
Japanese children think that Americans eat hamburgers on picnics.
Since half of my AET job description is “cultural ambassador,” I saw it as my duty as an American to set the record straight.
Today was Bento Day. A bento is a kind of Japanese lunchbox. There are little shops all over the place that specialize in bento. You can order a plate with any number of different lunch items—usually rice and at least one or two, but often a lot more, little dishes—that will be packaged into a neat little (usually) plastic box with (usually) a little rubber band holding the lid on. You are free, then, to bring this box with you on a picnic, a hike, or to your office lunch. Or even, once a month, to school.
In public elementary and junior high school, all students and teachers, with almost no exceptions, are required to eat the school lunch. School lunch isn’t bad. And, by Japanese standards, it’s pretty cheap (the standard price is ¥5000 [roughly 50 USD by the current exchange rate] per month but I don’t drink milk so I get away with paying only ¥4400).
But one day out of the month, everyone gets to bring a bento. Teachers can get away with picking one up from 7/11 or bringing (as one of my English teachers did this month) just a big plate of salad from home. But, if you’re a student in junior high school, your bento had better follow an unwritten, yet very strict, set of guidelines.
First of all, you need a cute little bag or a cloth to wrap everything up in. Inside this bag, your mother stacks a set of nifty matching containers that hold your lunch. One of these containers is almost certainly filled with white rice. Fried rice is also acceptable and maybe you can get away with fried noodles; I’m still a bit hazy on where this line gets drawn. The second container is a hodgepodge of tiny paper or foil cups containing what appears to be two spoonfuls each of leftovers from the last six nights. One cup perhaps contains a piece of breaded pork, one a meatball, one a salad, one a few bites of spaghetti. If you’re lucky you might get some fried chicken, but you’ll probably just have to settle for a piece of broiled fish and an array of different pickled vegetables. Also, make sure you don’t forget the fork and spoon and the pair of chopsticks that match the set of containers your lunch came in. Because then you’ll be forced to use a set of waribashi (wooden disposable chopsticks) that your homeroom teacher keeps handy in his desk. And that would just throw off the whole experience.
I don’t have a cute little set of containers for my lunch, but I do have some nice Tupperware that work just fine. So, on Bento Day, I usually fill one large Tupperware with leftover spaghetti, pack some carrot sticks or a piece of fruit, toss in a little bottle of Yakult, and I’m good to go. Sometimes I bring a sandwich, but that’s about as crazy as things get.
The students are always really interested to see what I’ve brought in my bento, and equally amazed to hear that I actually made it myself (“What? You mean your mother didn’t make it for you?”). Today, I took it upon myself to explain to the group I was sitting with that American students almost always have sandwiches in their bento boxes. They nodded, considering this carefully and acknowledging that it indeed made sense. Then one girl asked me, “What about hamburgers?”
I shook my head. “No. Never.” All seven students sitting within earshot responded the same: by widening their eyes and saying, in unison, “Ehhhh?”
“Rice?” said another girl.
“Not usually,” I told her. They all looked confounded.
This incident wouldn’t have impressed me so much had it been the first time that I’ve encountered this misconception about Americans having hamburgers in their lunchboxes. Another student wrote something to that effect in his notebook just a few weeks ago. It was in response to an in-class assignment to generate a sentence that employed the new grammar point they were learning. His grammar was fine, so I didn’t think the timing was appropriate for me to question the content. But today it was time for me to take a stand.
Someone has been feeding these children lies. American school children do not get BigMacs in their lunchboxes. People don’t barbecue their lunch and then take it with them on a hike. Well, maybe some people do, but they’re not normal. They’re deviants. They don’t represent the American norm, which is good old-fashioned PB&J: white bread, grape jelly, and Skippy.* Nothing more, nothing less.
*Okay, I admit, I no longer eat white bread if I have a choice, grape jelly is lame, and I’ve long since come to favor natural over hydrogenated peanut butter; but that’s beside the point. We’re talking about America here people, and I’m not going to let my own sissy preferences tarnish the national icon that is the classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Again, I direct you to the disclaimer in this blog’s first entry.
Since half of my AET job description is “cultural ambassador,” I saw it as my duty as an American to set the record straight.
Today was Bento Day. A bento is a kind of Japanese lunchbox. There are little shops all over the place that specialize in bento. You can order a plate with any number of different lunch items—usually rice and at least one or two, but often a lot more, little dishes—that will be packaged into a neat little (usually) plastic box with (usually) a little rubber band holding the lid on. You are free, then, to bring this box with you on a picnic, a hike, or to your office lunch. Or even, once a month, to school.
In public elementary and junior high school, all students and teachers, with almost no exceptions, are required to eat the school lunch. School lunch isn’t bad. And, by Japanese standards, it’s pretty cheap (the standard price is ¥5000 [roughly 50 USD by the current exchange rate] per month but I don’t drink milk so I get away with paying only ¥4400).
But one day out of the month, everyone gets to bring a bento. Teachers can get away with picking one up from 7/11 or bringing (as one of my English teachers did this month) just a big plate of salad from home. But, if you’re a student in junior high school, your bento had better follow an unwritten, yet very strict, set of guidelines.
First of all, you need a cute little bag or a cloth to wrap everything up in. Inside this bag, your mother stacks a set of nifty matching containers that hold your lunch. One of these containers is almost certainly filled with white rice. Fried rice is also acceptable and maybe you can get away with fried noodles; I’m still a bit hazy on where this line gets drawn. The second container is a hodgepodge of tiny paper or foil cups containing what appears to be two spoonfuls each of leftovers from the last six nights. One cup perhaps contains a piece of breaded pork, one a meatball, one a salad, one a few bites of spaghetti. If you’re lucky you might get some fried chicken, but you’ll probably just have to settle for a piece of broiled fish and an array of different pickled vegetables. Also, make sure you don’t forget the fork and spoon and the pair of chopsticks that match the set of containers your lunch came in. Because then you’ll be forced to use a set of waribashi (wooden disposable chopsticks) that your homeroom teacher keeps handy in his desk. And that would just throw off the whole experience.
I don’t have a cute little set of containers for my lunch, but I do have some nice Tupperware that work just fine. So, on Bento Day, I usually fill one large Tupperware with leftover spaghetti, pack some carrot sticks or a piece of fruit, toss in a little bottle of Yakult, and I’m good to go. Sometimes I bring a sandwich, but that’s about as crazy as things get.
The students are always really interested to see what I’ve brought in my bento, and equally amazed to hear that I actually made it myself (“What? You mean your mother didn’t make it for you?”). Today, I took it upon myself to explain to the group I was sitting with that American students almost always have sandwiches in their bento boxes. They nodded, considering this carefully and acknowledging that it indeed made sense. Then one girl asked me, “What about hamburgers?”
I shook my head. “No. Never.” All seven students sitting within earshot responded the same: by widening their eyes and saying, in unison, “Ehhhh?”
“Rice?” said another girl.
“Not usually,” I told her. They all looked confounded.
This incident wouldn’t have impressed me so much had it been the first time that I’ve encountered this misconception about Americans having hamburgers in their lunchboxes. Another student wrote something to that effect in his notebook just a few weeks ago. It was in response to an in-class assignment to generate a sentence that employed the new grammar point they were learning. His grammar was fine, so I didn’t think the timing was appropriate for me to question the content. But today it was time for me to take a stand.
Someone has been feeding these children lies. American school children do not get BigMacs in their lunchboxes. People don’t barbecue their lunch and then take it with them on a hike. Well, maybe some people do, but they’re not normal. They’re deviants. They don’t represent the American norm, which is good old-fashioned PB&J: white bread, grape jelly, and Skippy.* Nothing more, nothing less.
*Okay, I admit, I no longer eat white bread if I have a choice, grape jelly is lame, and I’ve long since come to favor natural over hydrogenated peanut butter; but that’s beside the point. We’re talking about America here people, and I’m not going to let my own sissy preferences tarnish the national icon that is the classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Again, I direct you to the disclaimer in this blog’s first entry.
20090514
京都
The fact is, the longer I put off updating my blog, the more pressure I feel to make a decent account of my long silence, which makes me feel all the more inclined to continue to put if off. A lot has happened since the beginning of March: my third-year students graduated, the school year ended, I went home to California for spring vacation, a new school year started, I took a trip to Kyoto. And here is my attempt to somehow bypass all of that and bring you to the place where I am now. ☺
However, I can’t not tell you a bit about Kyoto. Knowing that Kyoto is there makes me feel better about Japan as a whole. In Kyoto one discovers a wealth of Japanese art, culture, beauty, and history that seems depressingly absent from the Kanto region. Or perhaps just absent from the tract-house-and-chain-businesses-lined streets of Moka. I went during Japan’s “Golden Week,” so called because it’s a week when three public holidays occur three days in a row; and, as a result, all of Japan goes on vacation at the same time. For this one week, the trains are crowded, airline tickets are twice the usual cost, and booking a hotel room less than a month in advance is just about impossible. Everywhere I went in Kyoto was completely overrun with tourists—foreign and Japanese alike. But I loved it. A lot. In four days, I came nowhere near running out of things to see, and I eagerly anticipate my next opportunity to visit.
However, I can’t not tell you a bit about Kyoto. Knowing that Kyoto is there makes me feel better about Japan as a whole. In Kyoto one discovers a wealth of Japanese art, culture, beauty, and history that seems depressingly absent from the Kanto region. Or perhaps just absent from the tract-house-and-chain-businesses-lined streets of Moka. I went during Japan’s “Golden Week,” so called because it’s a week when three public holidays occur three days in a row; and, as a result, all of Japan goes on vacation at the same time. For this one week, the trains are crowded, airline tickets are twice the usual cost, and booking a hotel room less than a month in advance is just about impossible. Everywhere I went in Kyoto was completely overrun with tourists—foreign and Japanese alike. But I loved it. A lot. In four days, I came nowhere near running out of things to see, and I eagerly anticipate my next opportunity to visit.
20090427
A Bit of a Local Celebrity
Ha!
"Yes, my hobby is writing!" I reply to my school nurse, Hashimoto-sensei, as she makes known her observation that I've been spending a great amount of my day at school today just sitting at my desk writing in my journal. She goes on to list off two more off my other hobbies: reading and hiking. It's amusing to both of us because she got this information from watching my recently aired interview on the local Moka "Ichigo" cable channel. It ran six times per day from the 23rd to the 25th, and it had completely slipped my mind to try to catch one of the airings. Hashimoto-sensei proceeds to share her amusement at how nearly every single AET, in his or her "message to the people of Moka," said something along the lines of, "Please talk to us when you see us around town!" Hashimoto-sensei laughs at this. "Japanese people are shy," she observes, and, to further illustrate the point, impersonates a Japanese woman in the supermarket, bashfully avoiding eye contact so as to evade the risk of feeling obliged to make casual conversation.
I wonder if my encouragement to the people of Moka to come speak to me will actually give birth to a response. Perhaps I'll have to start leaving home an hour earlier in the morning to make time for all those people who will now abandon all social reservations and fear of foreigners in order to placate their curiosity about where I'm from, can I speak Japanese, can I use chopsticks, how many boyfriends do I have?
I hope so.
But I doubt it...
"Yes, my hobby is writing!" I reply to my school nurse, Hashimoto-sensei, as she makes known her observation that I've been spending a great amount of my day at school today just sitting at my desk writing in my journal. She goes on to list off two more off my other hobbies: reading and hiking. It's amusing to both of us because she got this information from watching my recently aired interview on the local Moka "Ichigo" cable channel. It ran six times per day from the 23rd to the 25th, and it had completely slipped my mind to try to catch one of the airings. Hashimoto-sensei proceeds to share her amusement at how nearly every single AET, in his or her "message to the people of Moka," said something along the lines of, "Please talk to us when you see us around town!" Hashimoto-sensei laughs at this. "Japanese people are shy," she observes, and, to further illustrate the point, impersonates a Japanese woman in the supermarket, bashfully avoiding eye contact so as to evade the risk of feeling obliged to make casual conversation.
I wonder if my encouragement to the people of Moka to come speak to me will actually give birth to a response. Perhaps I'll have to start leaving home an hour earlier in the morning to make time for all those people who will now abandon all social reservations and fear of foreigners in order to placate their curiosity about where I'm from, can I speak Japanese, can I use chopsticks, how many boyfriends do I have?
I hope so.
But I doubt it...
20090309
church in Japan and the Church in Japan and Church period
Yesterday I went to church in Moka for the first time. The congregation was small (including Jennifer and me, the pastor, and the parishioners, there were eleven people total in attendance that morning); and so the service was intimate, to say the least.
I've been wanting so much to get connected to the Church in Japan and to feel part of some larger Christian community in my area. But I've been in a bit of a slump on account of the fact that there just isn't an English-speaking church in Moka or anywhere nearby. I've followed Jennifer to church a couple times to places outside of Moka (last weekend to somewhat disastrous but mostly just humorous results when what was described to be an English-speaking Evangelical church turned out to be a Spanish-speaking Jehovah's Witness congregation; but if you want to know more about that, I'll let you read Jennifer's account), but have never exercised much initiative on my own part to find a "church family" with which to associate myself.
The church I attended on Sunday was conducted entirely in Japanese, so I understood nothing of the Message and very little of the service as a whole; yet, it was powerful and refreshing and entirely beautiful just to be there worshiping with other believers.
How is this possible? The answer is, Jesus.
I don't understand how Christianity works in Japan. By this I mean, my own grasp of Christianity is so embedded in Western culture and has been shaped and influenced by two-thousand years of Western thought. And Japan is not Western. At all. And this general clashing of worldviews is one of the myriad reasons why only about one percent of all people in Japan refer to themselves as Christians. And yet there are people in this country who know and love and serve Jesus Christ, despite the centuries of culturally-biased gunk that cling stubbornly to our collective notion of this person that English speakers call Jesus but in Japan is known as イエス ("iesu"). But though the numbers are small, they are still a testament to the truth that God is so much bigger than language or culture or boarders or continents.
A Sunday school class for children ran concurrent to the church service in an adjacent room. After the service had finished, a boy came into the chapel holding a heavy white book. I noticed with surprise and delight that it was the exact same illustrated Bible that I had owned as a child (except this one was, undoubtedly, written in Japanese). But I assume, with a tinge of sadness, that the pictures must be the same: that Adam and Eve, Abraham, Moses, Elijah, and Jesus are all depicted with white skin and auburn hair. I think about my friend Ebi confessing only two nights before that she, as a child, had bought into an assumption that White people where somehow innately superior to Asians. Today she has, at least consciously, outgrown this perception, and yet how heartbreaking it is to hear this! How devastating that there are children who don't know that they have been made in God's image; that they are beautifully and lovingly crafted individuals with a unique capacity to give glory to their Creator.
Sometimes I feel weighed down by the spiritual deadness that pervades Japanese culture. People don't seem to really believe in much of anything. Most people cling to their work, and the people (mostly women) who don't have to work constantly find other (mostly materialistic) avenues for passing their time. Fanaticism and radicalism, in general, are looked down upon. Which makes things tough for Christians because following Jesus can look like a pretty fanatical and radical thing. But God is bigger than all these variables. And so, regardless of them, the Church exists in Japan. It is small, but against incredibly unfavorable odds, it exists.
I want to go back to this church, and I ask that you would continue to pray for the community that I'm surrounded by here in in Moka. And please pray for Japan.
I've been wanting so much to get connected to the Church in Japan and to feel part of some larger Christian community in my area. But I've been in a bit of a slump on account of the fact that there just isn't an English-speaking church in Moka or anywhere nearby. I've followed Jennifer to church a couple times to places outside of Moka (last weekend to somewhat disastrous but mostly just humorous results when what was described to be an English-speaking Evangelical church turned out to be a Spanish-speaking Jehovah's Witness congregation; but if you want to know more about that, I'll let you read Jennifer's account), but have never exercised much initiative on my own part to find a "church family" with which to associate myself.
The church I attended on Sunday was conducted entirely in Japanese, so I understood nothing of the Message and very little of the service as a whole; yet, it was powerful and refreshing and entirely beautiful just to be there worshiping with other believers.
How is this possible? The answer is, Jesus.
I don't understand how Christianity works in Japan. By this I mean, my own grasp of Christianity is so embedded in Western culture and has been shaped and influenced by two-thousand years of Western thought. And Japan is not Western. At all. And this general clashing of worldviews is one of the myriad reasons why only about one percent of all people in Japan refer to themselves as Christians. And yet there are people in this country who know and love and serve Jesus Christ, despite the centuries of culturally-biased gunk that cling stubbornly to our collective notion of this person that English speakers call Jesus but in Japan is known as イエス ("iesu"). But though the numbers are small, they are still a testament to the truth that God is so much bigger than language or culture or boarders or continents.
A Sunday school class for children ran concurrent to the church service in an adjacent room. After the service had finished, a boy came into the chapel holding a heavy white book. I noticed with surprise and delight that it was the exact same illustrated Bible that I had owned as a child (except this one was, undoubtedly, written in Japanese). But I assume, with a tinge of sadness, that the pictures must be the same: that Adam and Eve, Abraham, Moses, Elijah, and Jesus are all depicted with white skin and auburn hair. I think about my friend Ebi confessing only two nights before that she, as a child, had bought into an assumption that White people where somehow innately superior to Asians. Today she has, at least consciously, outgrown this perception, and yet how heartbreaking it is to hear this! How devastating that there are children who don't know that they have been made in God's image; that they are beautifully and lovingly crafted individuals with a unique capacity to give glory to their Creator.
Sometimes I feel weighed down by the spiritual deadness that pervades Japanese culture. People don't seem to really believe in much of anything. Most people cling to their work, and the people (mostly women) who don't have to work constantly find other (mostly materialistic) avenues for passing their time. Fanaticism and radicalism, in general, are looked down upon. Which makes things tough for Christians because following Jesus can look like a pretty fanatical and radical thing. But God is bigger than all these variables. And so, regardless of them, the Church exists in Japan. It is small, but against incredibly unfavorable odds, it exists.
I want to go back to this church, and I ask that you would continue to pray for the community that I'm surrounded by here in in Moka. And please pray for Japan.
20090306
Proof That I'm Turning Japanese
MyHeritage: Celebrity Collage - Pedigree charts - Historical photos
Yeah! I look like Ayumi Hamasaki!
P.S.: Thanks Vicki.
20090227
Igirisu & aamondo
My English bulletin board for February and March. Sometimes, I err toward information overload. Especially when I'm talking about something I get really excited about. Like the U.K.
And, for those of you who are as unceasingly amused by awkward Engrish as I am, here's the bemusingly obscure message that I found on my package of almonds the other day:
And, for those of you who are as unceasingly amused by awkward Engrish as I am, here's the bemusingly obscure message that I found on my package of almonds the other day:
20090217
How like a winter...
As I stand in the bathroom tonight, ready to leap into a scalding-hot shower, I first gaze down, astonished, at the mountain of clothing that has just come off of my body: a pair of sweater-knit tights, track pants, wool socks, leg warmers, heat-reflective tank top, long-sleeved shirt, sweater, fleece jacket. And what is more astounding than the towering heap itself is the realization that, even with all these things on, I still felt cold! In my own house! With the heaters on! I shake my head confoundedly before slipping into the steaming shower.
Yes, it’s still winter in Japan. My bike-ride to work in the morning still requires all the above-mentioned articles of clothing, plus the addition of a heavy topcoat, gloves, scarf, earmuffs, hat, and warm boots. And despite the brief lapse into slightly more spring-like weather that we were graced with this last weekend, I still found myself cursing life itself as I plopped down at my desk in the teachers’ room this morning and furiously attempted to rub life back into my sorely frosted fingers.
But, otherwise, life is good. Which is weird, because life has also been exceptionally difficult lately. I haven’t taken the time to update the readers of this blog on any of the major events of the last few weeks. And, even though I could sit here and type out a half-hearted and tactfully censored version of my February in Japan so far, I’m going to put it off just a little bit longer, until I feel I can more adequately reflect on what all these events have meant for me and my life and my future life in Japan. What I will say is that, when the representatives from the Board of Education came to my school last Tuesday to meet with me, my principal, and Ms. Shimowada, my English teacher, I felt no hesitation in informing them of my intention to renew my contract for a second year. Yes, living in Japan is difficult. However, gently and persistently, God reminds me of the incredible beauty that can still be found in this country and these people. More on this later. I promise. Until then, thank you for your readership, your prayers, and the little comments you occasionally leave. They mean so much to me.
Yes, it’s still winter in Japan. My bike-ride to work in the morning still requires all the above-mentioned articles of clothing, plus the addition of a heavy topcoat, gloves, scarf, earmuffs, hat, and warm boots. And despite the brief lapse into slightly more spring-like weather that we were graced with this last weekend, I still found myself cursing life itself as I plopped down at my desk in the teachers’ room this morning and furiously attempted to rub life back into my sorely frosted fingers.
But, otherwise, life is good. Which is weird, because life has also been exceptionally difficult lately. I haven’t taken the time to update the readers of this blog on any of the major events of the last few weeks. And, even though I could sit here and type out a half-hearted and tactfully censored version of my February in Japan so far, I’m going to put it off just a little bit longer, until I feel I can more adequately reflect on what all these events have meant for me and my life and my future life in Japan. What I will say is that, when the representatives from the Board of Education came to my school last Tuesday to meet with me, my principal, and Ms. Shimowada, my English teacher, I felt no hesitation in informing them of my intention to renew my contract for a second year. Yes, living in Japan is difficult. However, gently and persistently, God reminds me of the incredible beauty that can still be found in this country and these people. More on this later. I promise. Until then, thank you for your readership, your prayers, and the little comments you occasionally leave. They mean so much to me.
20090216
A Few Simple Reasons
There are several little things that make life in Japan lovely. Here are just a few:
A sign on the Utsunomiya Line train.
The glare sort of interfered with this one, but it says, "I threw my cigarette butt in the drain. That is to say, I hid it in the drain."
I didn't know which teacher's room to go to, so I just went to the teachers' room.
Our own desperate version of Girl Scouts' Thin Mints: one Mentos (or Mento, as Jennifer put it, in the singular) between two squares of Meiji chocolate. Yum.
1. Sometimes, the English translations on signs and packagings are so strange that they read like poetry.
A sign on the Utsunomiya Line train.
The glare sort of interfered with this one, but it says, "I threw my cigarette butt in the drain. That is to say, I hid it in the drain."
2. The children are always excited to meet me.
I didn't know which teacher's room to go to, so I just went to the teachers' room.3. It forces me to be creative.
Our own desperate version of Girl Scouts' Thin Mints: one Mentos (or Mento, as Jennifer put it, in the singular) between two squares of Meiji chocolate. Yum.20090131
Sayoonara, ichi-gatsu
It's really easy to learn the names of the months in Japanese. Basically, you just need to learn the numbers one through twelve and add the word for month, gatsu, to the end of them. So, January is 1月, or ichi-gatsu. Pretty easy, huh?
What's not so easy is believing that it's already the last day of the first month of 2009! The last thirty-one days have involved traveling in Bali and returning to Japan; finding out that I'm officially invited back to teach for a second year; getting the flu and getting over it; and finally deciding to disregard the guilt and awkwardness of reading books at my desk at school because, let's face it: there's nothing better for me to do.
And, finally, though I'm not as proud of it as I was of my December creation, here's my English bulletin board for January. The light reflecting off the laminated papers makes it a little difficult to see what's on it, but I dedicated the month to information about President Barack Obama and Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
What's not so easy is believing that it's already the last day of the first month of 2009! The last thirty-one days have involved traveling in Bali and returning to Japan; finding out that I'm officially invited back to teach for a second year; getting the flu and getting over it; and finally deciding to disregard the guilt and awkwardness of reading books at my desk at school because, let's face it: there's nothing better for me to do.
And, finally, though I'm not as proud of it as I was of my December creation, here's my English bulletin board for January. The light reflecting off the laminated papers makes it a little difficult to see what's on it, but I dedicated the month to information about President Barack Obama and Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
20090120
Hajimete: "Frostbite"
Well, maybe. After all the time that I spent today agonizing over the Wikipedia article on frostbite, I still feel pretty ignorant as to exactly what qualifies as frostbite and at what point it becomes seriously threatening. And let me abate the fears of my parents, who are undoubtedly my most devoted readers, by saying right off the bat that everything turned out okay in the end and that as I'm typing these words I have full feeling in all of my extremities and, as far as I can presume, nothing's going to have to get amputated any time soon.
However.
When I arrived at school this morning, I didn't give a lot of thought to the numbness in my feet. It's cold here in Japan and, as of late, it's quite common for my fingers and toes to get a bit chilled on my morning bike ride to work. But when, an hour-and-a-half later, I still had no feeling in my left big toe, I began to wonder if I should feel alarmed. Mostly, I just felt stupid for not having warmer shoes. Like I said above, I know nothing about frostbite; born and raised in San Diego, California, I remember thinking it was a rare and special occasion if I could see my breath while outside (nowadays it's a rare occasion if I can't see my breath while I'm inside). My ignorance, coupled with my embarrassment at not having upgraded earlier to more adequate footwear, prevented me from mentioning anything to anyone. I just told myself that if I still couldn't feel my toe by lunch time, then I would really start to worry.
I might as well come forward with the already obvious: this is not a very interesting story. By the beginning of third period, my feet were entirely back to normal. And yet, through this experience, I was struck once again by just how starkly different my life in Japan is from anything and everything I've ever known before coming here. As I sat on the floor in the teachers' locker room, poking my toe with my finger and marveling at the way my finger could feel my toe but my toe could not feel my finger, it was another one of those hajimete moments. And, despite my then-fear of ensuing amputation, I couldn't help but feel slightly amused.
And Mom and Dad, rest easy: on my way home from work, I stopped at the store and bought a new pair of boots. They are very warm and should keep my toes nice and toasty on future morning commutes.
However.
When I arrived at school this morning, I didn't give a lot of thought to the numbness in my feet. It's cold here in Japan and, as of late, it's quite common for my fingers and toes to get a bit chilled on my morning bike ride to work. But when, an hour-and-a-half later, I still had no feeling in my left big toe, I began to wonder if I should feel alarmed. Mostly, I just felt stupid for not having warmer shoes. Like I said above, I know nothing about frostbite; born and raised in San Diego, California, I remember thinking it was a rare and special occasion if I could see my breath while outside (nowadays it's a rare occasion if I can't see my breath while I'm inside). My ignorance, coupled with my embarrassment at not having upgraded earlier to more adequate footwear, prevented me from mentioning anything to anyone. I just told myself that if I still couldn't feel my toe by lunch time, then I would really start to worry.
I might as well come forward with the already obvious: this is not a very interesting story. By the beginning of third period, my feet were entirely back to normal. And yet, through this experience, I was struck once again by just how starkly different my life in Japan is from anything and everything I've ever known before coming here. As I sat on the floor in the teachers' locker room, poking my toe with my finger and marveling at the way my finger could feel my toe but my toe could not feel my finger, it was another one of those hajimete moments. And, despite my then-fear of ensuing amputation, I couldn't help but feel slightly amused.
And Mom and Dad, rest easy: on my way home from work, I stopped at the store and bought a new pair of boots. They are very warm and should keep my toes nice and toasty on future morning commutes.
20090118
Earthquake!
So, I'm sitting on my bed in my room, lookin' up stuff on the internets, when suddenly it feels like the earth beneath me has a chill and gives a little shiver. My bed jolts suddenly and violently, followed by a series of smaller, less detectable jolts. Oh the thrill of living in Japan!
I'm always a little surprised and not a little amused when I meet Americans who aren't from California who think that we Californians must have it real rough: what with all the earthquakes we're always having. The truth is, folks (and I hesitate here, for fear that my confession will strike a sudden surge in immigration to California, causing the Golden State to at last buckle beneath the weight of its many inhabitants and finally drop off into the Pacific), that I lived in California for twenty-three years and only once -- that's right once -- in my entire time there did I feel an earthquake. True, I didn't live right above a fault line, and perhaps I'm just not very sensitive to the things. But, in general, Californians don't go through their daily lives agonizing that the ground beneath their feet is unstable. They don't Velcro their china to the shelves. For most Californians, earthquakes just don't occupy a lot of space in their daily thoughts.
Before I came to Japan, I'd felt one earthquake in my life. Since moving to Japan, I've felt...well, lots. And I love it! There's something truly exhilarating about being reminded that the earth beneath you is big and powerful and constantly moving and changing. I think I often take the earth for granted. When I feel an earthquake, it's as if the earth is saying, "I'm here. I'm quite large. Don't forget me."
Okay, I won't.
I'm always a little surprised and not a little amused when I meet Americans who aren't from California who think that we Californians must have it real rough: what with all the earthquakes we're always having. The truth is, folks (and I hesitate here, for fear that my confession will strike a sudden surge in immigration to California, causing the Golden State to at last buckle beneath the weight of its many inhabitants and finally drop off into the Pacific), that I lived in California for twenty-three years and only once -- that's right once -- in my entire time there did I feel an earthquake. True, I didn't live right above a fault line, and perhaps I'm just not very sensitive to the things. But, in general, Californians don't go through their daily lives agonizing that the ground beneath their feet is unstable. They don't Velcro their china to the shelves. For most Californians, earthquakes just don't occupy a lot of space in their daily thoughts.
Before I came to Japan, I'd felt one earthquake in my life. Since moving to Japan, I've felt...well, lots. And I love it! There's something truly exhilarating about being reminded that the earth beneath you is big and powerful and constantly moving and changing. I think I often take the earth for granted. When I feel an earthquake, it's as if the earth is saying, "I'm here. I'm quite large. Don't forget me."
Okay, I won't.
20090110
Hajimete
When it rains in the morning, I have the option of taking a taxi to school on the Board of Education's tab.
Yesterday morning when I left my house, it was not raining. There were ominous clouds in the sky; but, no rain, no taxi. So I hopped on my bike and took off, already running a bit late for my visit to Yamazaki Minami Elementary School.
I wasn't more than two minutes from home when I started to feel the gentle patter of light precipitation on my cheeks and forehead (the only parts of me that were exposed, since the rest of me was securely bundled up against the biting cold). I considered just turning around right then and calling taxi from home; but, for some reason, I'm really stubborn when it comes to riding my bike and I don't like to take a taxi unless it's absolutely necessary (i.e. typhoon), so I just pressed on.
I was cycling like mad in the hopes of making it to school on time (I'd managed to get out the door about fifteen minutes later than I should have), so although my fingers and toes were numb with cold, my torso was sweating profusely. I panted heavily as icy droplets of rain continued to strike my face.
I was about half-way to school when looked down at my arms and realized, with great shock and amazement, "It's not rain, it's snow!" I was riding my bike in the snow! Wet snowflakes had accumulated on the arms of my jacket. They were sparse and very melty, yet unmistakable as snow nonetheless. I became aware of the fact that I was laughing, loudly and delightedly and probably much to the wonder and discomfort of the high school students who passed me going the opposite way on their bikes. At this precise moment, the word that sprung to mind was: hajimete, "for the first time." It was my first time riding a bike in the snow, and I doubt it will be the last.
In other news, on Tuesday I returned from my winter vacation to South Asia. Having spent two weeks surrounded by people from countries in which strangers are friendly and nearly everyone speaks English makes returning to life in Moka especially difficult. But as I look back fondly on my time spent in Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia, I feel my experiences have left me feeling refreshed and determined to face my job again with renewed energy and optimism.
For more on my travels to Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Kuala Lumpur, and Bali, please see my Picasa web page.
Yesterday morning when I left my house, it was not raining. There were ominous clouds in the sky; but, no rain, no taxi. So I hopped on my bike and took off, already running a bit late for my visit to Yamazaki Minami Elementary School.
I wasn't more than two minutes from home when I started to feel the gentle patter of light precipitation on my cheeks and forehead (the only parts of me that were exposed, since the rest of me was securely bundled up against the biting cold). I considered just turning around right then and calling taxi from home; but, for some reason, I'm really stubborn when it comes to riding my bike and I don't like to take a taxi unless it's absolutely necessary (i.e. typhoon), so I just pressed on.
I was cycling like mad in the hopes of making it to school on time (I'd managed to get out the door about fifteen minutes later than I should have), so although my fingers and toes were numb with cold, my torso was sweating profusely. I panted heavily as icy droplets of rain continued to strike my face.
I was about half-way to school when looked down at my arms and realized, with great shock and amazement, "It's not rain, it's snow!" I was riding my bike in the snow! Wet snowflakes had accumulated on the arms of my jacket. They were sparse and very melty, yet unmistakable as snow nonetheless. I became aware of the fact that I was laughing, loudly and delightedly and probably much to the wonder and discomfort of the high school students who passed me going the opposite way on their bikes. At this precise moment, the word that sprung to mind was: hajimete, "for the first time." It was my first time riding a bike in the snow, and I doubt it will be the last.
In other news, on Tuesday I returned from my winter vacation to South Asia. Having spent two weeks surrounded by people from countries in which strangers are friendly and nearly everyone speaks English makes returning to life in Moka especially difficult. But as I look back fondly on my time spent in Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia, I feel my experiences have left me feeling refreshed and determined to face my job again with renewed energy and optimism.
For more on my travels to Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Kuala Lumpur, and Bali, please see my Picasa web page.
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