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!
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.
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.
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.
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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.
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.
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.
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.”
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