Saying Sayonara

I find that sayonaras are difficult in Japan, and I’m not talking about the etiquette of bowing or the tongue-twisting nature of polite Japanese. The sayonaras I have seen have always been rather formal, especially ceremonies like graduation where even the tears appear to be on cue. Formalizing the sayonara process has its benefits: there’s no room for gaffes or awkward displays of affection and such a ceremony can be impromptu if needed because everyone knows how it should go.

Such an impromptu ceremony was held for a part-time teacher who left shortly after winter break. She had been at my junior high school for two years, filling in for a teacher who was taking care of her dying father. The father passed away and the day after the funeral the part-time teacher was out, farewell ceremony and all, and the next day the grieving daughter was back at work. The transition was seamless. And utterly jarring. It felt strange and even a little wrong that death can be so meticulously organized and seem so natural.

The third years need a PE teacher but it seemed of little matter who the PE teacher was from one day to the next. In itself this experience is noteworthy given its stark contrasts to similar transitions of personnel back home. But as a JET who’s not re-contracting, seeing this transition made my heart drop a little. In the hierarchy of teachers, I am the most forgettable, my role the most ornamental. How much less fanfare am I to expect in my transition out?

My time in Japan was been amazing and amazingly frustrating, invigorating and exhausting. Certainly impacting. And as my time draws quickly to an end I am a bit disturbed to think how little my leaving will be noticed. I have fostered relationships that are bound to last well after I say my last sayonara but just as many or more that surely will not.

For my own sanity I thought I’d compose a list of my sayonaras, things I will miss and ones I will not. Of moments great and small. I will create my own fanfare, damnit! But mostly because I know these last weeks will be rushed and it’s not just Japan’s fault that my good-byes may be incomplete.

So without further pontification, I say sayonara:

to the Docomo man who would not sell me a phone charger without calling my supervisor beforehand to make sure I knew what I was doing. I will NOT miss you.

to the Dalmatian next door whose constant barking I rarely notice these days and who has replaced his policy of growling with one of tail-wagging. I will miss you.

to school lunch, with your fish heads, unidentifiable vegetables and obscene proportions. I will NOT miss you (though I will miss curry and pumpkin doughnut days).

to playing cricket in winter on the bank of a river. I will miss you, Australia Day Cricket!

to the Kyoto-Sensei at my junior high school who cleans the staffroom with me and laughs with his shoulders. I will miss you.

to face masks during cold/flu season. I will NOT miss you. You are ridiculous.

to speaking tests when students exhibit moon-walking skills, tell Japanese folk tales in English, and ask about my love life. I will miss you and the opportunity you always provide for laughter.

to simultaneous road construction on all the roads leading to my house. I will NOT miss you.

to maps from road construction crews delivered to all the mailboxes in the neighborhood, displaying alternate routes and asking for our patience during construction. I will miss you.

to extremely helpful and enthusiastic sales people. I will miss you!

to the teeth-sucking textbook salesman that visits school three or four times a month. I will NOT miss you. You seem good at your job but, for the love, you are obnoxious!

to my granny bicycle with its glorious front basket and cheery bell. I will miss you.

to riding to and from school in pouring rain. I will NOT miss you and your day-ruining properties.

to my kotatsu. I will miss you more than words can say.

to my unheated shower room in the winter. I will NOT miss you.

to the yakitori stand couple who ask me about my country and always remember I prefer salt to sauce. I will miss you and your husky irrashaimase.

to Mt. Misen in Miyajima. I will NOT miss your fiasco-causing capabilities.

to Mt. Misen in Miyajima. I will miss your monkeys and the view from the ropeway.

to Kobe, with your Chinatown and Harborland attractions and glorious night view from Mt. Rokko and general grooviness. You rock and I will miss you.

to the rugby, soccer, and baseball fans I’ve seen at games. I will miss your impressively coordinated and dedicated cheering sections.

to crutching around a school without ramps let alone elevators. I will NOT miss you.

to Sanfrecce Hiroshima FC. You changed my mind about soccer. I will miss you.

to being packed like sardines on the second-to-last train home. I will NOT miss you.

to the amazingly efficient and user-friendly public transportation. In two years, I can recall only three times that my train was so late that it was inconvenient. I will miss you!

to the Shinkansen. I will miss you!

to paying 6 sen ($60) for a Shinkansen ticket from Osaka and standing the whole way back. I will NOT miss you.

to getting a hearty “Good morning!” from the PE teacher who’s English skills more or less start and end with that greeting. I will miss you.

to delicious restaurants and friendly staff: Manao (Thai) in Hiroshima and Pizza King in Wake. Oh how I will miss you!

to vacations to Arima Onsen, Kyoto and Nara, Nagasaki, and the Philippines. I will miss you.

to the confusion and awkwardness of taking leave to go on vacation. I will NOT miss you at all.

to Henry, the mangy stray that lives in the stairwell of Stephen’s place that we give food to. I will miss you. Take care of yourself old girl!

to my drafty and impossible to heat/cool house that is prone to dust bunnies the size of my head. I will NOT miss you.

to the first place that lived in by myself; you’ve kept me safe as I cried and never complained when I cursed you and you’ve kept me alert by having lots of creaks in the night and you’ve kept me busy by not cleaning yourself up and you’ve been great to my company since you’re so roomy. I may actually miss you in the end.

to Okamoto Sensei who is the perfect teacher, encouraging participation and excitement by her own insatiable enthusiasm. I will miss you.

to another Sensei who told me my hair isn’t blonde because blonde hair is more brilliant than mine and who looks disapprovingly at me anytime I don’t finish my lunch. I can’t express how much I will NOT miss you, at all. I may throw a party.

to the students that break teachers’ fingers and noses and classroom windows and the ones that say mean things to me in Japanese that they think I can’t understand and the ones that deliberately move far away from me when I am seated next to them at lunch. I will not miss you, mostly because I wish I could have done more to reach you.

to the students that smile brightly as they greet me in the morning and the ones who tell sex jokes and the ones who draw me pictures and the ones who tell me they miss me and the ones that dare to ask questions and the ones that talk to me outside of class. I will miss you!

SANYONARA!

All the things I will miss I might forget and the things I will not miss I may remember forever. Either way, how wonderful and sugoi (great/terrible depending on context) it is to have lived and taught in Oku, Okayama for two years.

Fish Heads Aren't Even the Worst of It!

I have a piece of paper with 500 written on it stuck to my fridge. It reminds me of this unbelievable statistic: the average American consumes the same quantity of food as do 500 Ethiopians. It's not meant as a guilt-laden diet plan; “make yourself so depressed about the state of the world and you won't want to eat!” Rather, it is a reminder of a principle that has long since vanished from our doorsteps in the West: moderation. Our society encourages thoughtless consumption, from Hummers that end up in the driveways of cookie-cutter homes in the suburbs to pasta dishes for children that contain more saturated fat that an adult should consume in four days. If someone is selling it, we think it must be a good idea to buy it.

With this cultural heritage, I was thrilled to be making my way to Japan in 2008. Known as a society heavily influenced by it's religious and artistic aestheticism, Japan could be the poster-child of “less is more” and “quality not quantity.” What I couldn't anticipate was the wreckage that the principle of motainai wreaks on school lunch at my junior high school.

Motainai is kinda like “waste not, want not.” In a conversation you'd use it to explain why you'd saved the scraps of fabric from a sewing project just as much as you could use it to explain why you stayed up late watching the Olympics. Applied to school lunch, this principle forsakes wisdom and pushes the boundaries of sanity.

Our school lunch company is, from what I can tell, incapable of counting or reading a calendar of events. If half the teachers will be away for a sports conference the company does not give us less food; we simply eat twice as much. Why? Motainai. The lunch company also keeps track of the food we didn't eat and sends my school a report card.

Class competitions are held to see what class leaves the least amount of milk bottles behind. Variables like chronically absent students and those with allergies are not taken into account. Allergies in general are not considered by the company; there was a student at my school last year who is allergic to seafood, all seafood. Almost everyday we eat fish, especially in the summer, and he simply went without. No meat replacement was ever offered.

So I was not surprised, really, when after informing one of my teachers that I didn't eat today's soup because I'm allergic to clams, she said “Motainai.” Not a command, necessarily, but certainly a sentiment that expressed as much or more disappointment in me having an allergy than in the school lunch company for not providing me an alternative.

Any principle, even moderation, observed entirely for it's own sake loses all meaning. Motainai is a good idea when it encourages students to try foods they don't like or aren't familiar with. And it's a good idea when it encourages us to soak in every last moment of an event. And it's a good idea when it makes us appreciate the labor that's gone into our food manufacturing, making us thoughtful in our consumption. But at junior high schools all across Japan motainai has gone terribly wrong.

I have become an expert at force-feeding myself and ignoring my gag reflex all to satisfy a principle that is, in the meantime, rendered meaningless.

On the Scooping Up of Night Soil

Over the last year and a half in Japan I have been reminded again and again, by both my blunders in Japanese and my students' in English, that language usage can be a tricky thing.

When you look up sumimasen in a dictionary, you're given "excuse me" as the translation. And "thank you" when you look up arigatou gozaimasu and "I'm sorry" for gomennesai. However, that does not mean that you are now ready to insert them into conversation. Not by a long shot! Sumimasen seems to be rarely used in formal/business settings to mean "excuse me." The more apologetic and polite gomennasai is more appropriate. Situations that warrant a quick sumimasen in my office--passing next to or overtaking someone in the hallways, for example--wouldn't need the English equivalent back home.

And "thank you?" Well, it has it's place I'm sure. But in daily interactions I use sumimasen and gomennasai just as often. For example, if I'm still at my desk instead of helping with lunch preparations when I'm given my lunch tray, it's most appropriate to say "excuse me" not "thank you" since it lets the listener know I appreciate their effort and am about to join in as well. And then if someone goes out of their way especially, like bringing presents from a trip, a hearty gomennasai will almost always be paired with the most polite thank you, domo arigatou gozaimasu.

Cultural understanding goes a long way to aid dictionary translations, or mistranslations. A few months ago one of the teachers I am paired with was telling me a story about why she was so flustered. She pointed to the hallway we were walking through and said, "I coach this road." She is an incredible teacher and super friendly but, obviously, her English vocabulary is somewhat limited. However, I had been at the school long enough to know there are teacher-led student teams that clean certain areas of the school after lunch. And I knew the schedule enough to know that we'd just finished this cleaning time. Understanding the culture, and not the words, what was what facilitated our successful communication.

Unfortunately, such was not the case when it came to the scooping out of night soil. My newest Japanese word: kumitori. It is the "scooping out of night soil." Apparently, my toilet is not connected to a treatment plant or communal septic system but is kinda like an outhouse. One that gets scooped out from time to time. But of course I have to give the go-ahead before these kinds of things happen to my house and so it falls on the English teachers at school to explain the scooping out of night soil to me.

"Your toilet tank needs to be emptied." "Your sewage system is bad. You need a new one." "Can you empty your toilet tank tomorrow?" Oh damn, I thought. I really don't understand anything you're saying. The dictionary entry of kumitori as "scooping out night soil" wasn't much clearer so I couldn't blame my teachers for the confusion.

Eventually, I came to know that the kumitori company was coming to empty my septic tank in preparation for the reconstruction of my entire sewage system. This took place over a weekend. The preparations were the weekend before. Unfortunately these were unannounced, giving both me and the workers a bit of a shock. Especially the woman who woke me up at 9:00am on a Saturday to bang around my house and remind me that they'd be doing the construction next weekend. Yes, I thought, next weekend! When I'm not here. Not this weekend...at nine in the morning! Too bad the majority of my Japanese is rather formal and polite and so I was unable to convey such sentiments.

When it comes to things like the digging up of night soil, no translation will explain it enough. You just have to experience it.

Indeed! Culture Shock

Before coming to Japan I went through several orientations and half-dutifully read materials the JET Programme prepared for us. A lot of the information was on dealing with culture-shock.

Culture-shock is a bit of a strange word, isn't it? I can't say I feel shocked by Japanese culture; this is a first-world nation with the second largest economy in the world. It's different but not shocking. Living abroad has tired me out sometimes but other times it's made me feel very alive and happy.

Today, however, I can legitimately say I am facing culture shock.

For the last two years at my school (I've been here about a year and half) there's been a part-time PE teacher working here. She never leaves before I do and is always here before I am so I didn't know until yesterday that she was a part-time teacher. She's been here while the full-time teacher takes a leave of absence to care for her sick father.

The sick father died two days ago. Yesterday was the funeral. Today is the part-time teacher's last day and tomorrow the woman who's father died two days ago with start working again. They don't know where they'll send the part-time teacher but presumably she'll have a job relatively soon. She spent today cleaning out her desk in between teaching classes.

We spent today smiling and joking and complaining about the cold together like we do any other day. But come Monday (when we have her farewell ceremony) most of us will not see much of her. (Teachers work until about 9pm every weeknight and have coaching duties most Saturdays and Sundays leaving little time to socialize outside of work).

In Japan, teachers move around constantly. One of the English teachers I work with was amazed that she was able to stay on at our school for another year. This is her second year here. She's been a teacher for five years and has worked at 3 different schools. Abrupt moving and massive change is not uncommon to the Japanese school system but rather the practiced norm.

It has it's benefits. New teachers get a lot of exposure and learn quickly from a lot of mentors. Seasoned teachers get moved to a variety of schools where their experience can benefit their coworkers as well as their students. Teachers become attached to their job of educating students rather than to a particular school.

I don't think I'd deal with the uncertainty well (at my school the changes were announced on the last day of the school year and the teachers who were getting moved cleaned out their desks and tied up loose ends over spring break). But I can appreciate the practice.

This, however, seems weird, unnecessary and unnatural. It seems that on the third day it's time to get back to work in Japan.

Little Spoken But Much Shared

I am the only adviser for Pen-Pal Club at my junior high school. This is unusual since I'm not a real teacher after all. My supervisor left at the end of summer break to take care of her sick mother. We were advisers together.

Now it's just me.

I actually wasn't anticipating Pen-Pal Club to continue. Both us and Computer Club have shockingly small numbers for being part of a junior high school of about 500 students. While most clubs (sports, music, student council, art) have a few dozen at least. Badminton Club is bursting with almost 100 kids. Both Computer and Pen-Pal Club Club have about five members each, on a good day. Consistently we had four members, three girls and one boy. The girls split their time between Tea Ceremony, ikebana (flower arrangement), and Drama Club and could only attend a couple times a month. We meet on Thursdays.

Morikage is the family name of the only boy member of Pen-Pal Club. The teachers call him Morikage-kun (an ending that either implies the person is young or close to you). So do I.

Morikage-kun is a member of Judo Club as well. He doesn't particularly like judo. But his mom wants him to be active and so judo is his compromise so that he can come on Thursdays and spend an hour after school writing emails in English to people across the world.

Since my supervisor left I assumed the kids would call Pen-Pal club quits. At least until we got another adviser. None of the girls have come since before summer break. But every week I got to Pen-Pal Club because every week Morikage-kun comes to staffroom and asks for Claire Sensei.

In Japan, if one student wants to participate in a club it's enough of a reason for the club to exist.

Morikage-kun is a shy first year student. He doesn't know much English and isn't a very dedicated student during English lesson. I usually spot him drawing very impressive scenes from his favorite anime on his desk. I never tell him to stop because they're really good drawings. And because I like him.

So we don't talk much. I ask how he is in Japanese. He smiles and says fine. He helps me unlock the door and disable the security system in the computer lab. He always stands next to me as I enable it again after Pen-Pal Club is finished. The directions are in Japanese and his careful attention has helped things to not go terribly awry.

I can't give him much feedback and since he's shy he doesn't ask for what little I can give. But he comes every week. And as we part company half-way down the hallway, he smiles brightly and says, "Good-bye. Thank you."

We don't speak much, but we've shared a lot these last couple of months.

A Simple Day

In Japan, I live a very simple life. I travel a lot and see beautiful things and meet interesting people. But that's on the weekends. Most of time in Japan has been spent very simply.

As the long chill of winter is beginning to set in there are still things to look forward to. Simple things. Hot milk tea in the middle of my day during a free period. I enjoyed two cups today (I had a lot of free periods).

After work I went to the 100 yen shop (think: dollar store), the grocery store, and the drug store. I bought props for my Halloween lesson, dinner, and drain unclogger stuff.

I came home and successfully unclogged my bathroom sink drain that's been clogged for maybe 5 months. Now that, wow, that was exciting. Truly. It made me so happy I forgot about the 20 minute trip to the drug store as I searched for what I needed, not knowing the term in Japanese or any brands to be on the lookout for.

I tacked my pre- and post-run stretching routine to my wall. I've been having some trouble with my lower back and I think a healthy dose of stretching might be the answer.

And then I made dinner. Taco salad.

It's 9:33pm on Tuesday. I will turn on some music real low, open up a book about writing (On Writing Well) and then I will fall asleep. Hopefully to wake up and exercise but it's just as likely I'll sleep until the last possible minute and run out of door, pumping my sweet sweet bike as fast as my legs allow.

A simple day, like the ones before it and the ones ahead of it. My simple life.

Summer is Over...?

Despite having a full six weeks without classes from mid-July until the end of August, I seem to have lost any ability to engage in anything terribly productive. To be fair, I have started running (in preparation to run the Chicago Marathon in 2010 with my college roommate) and chronicling the experience. But even so, that only accounts for a handful of hours. The rest have simply fallen through my fingertips and I find myself in the midst of school in full-swing feeling like I'm barely keeping up.

So I thought a brief recap of my natsuyasumi (summer vacation) was in order. Hopefully it'll help justify my two month absence but I doubt it. This came to mind today at school as I thought to myself, "How is it still this hot?!" These past couple weeks we've been pushing 30 degrees Celsius. But it's not the heat that's wearing me down (it's almost October!); it's the humidity. This is what I'm living in: after school I went to the 100 yen shop (equivalent to the dollar store in the States). I picked up a few things including a box of chips. I ate half the chips before dinner (oops) and then finished the rest off a few hours later. In the interim 3 hours between opening the package and then finishing them off, my chips went stale. It's that humid.

So, although the calendar and my school schedule seems to point to summer being over, Mother Nature isn't convinced.

The summer began with farewells and welcomes, as August is the changeover for JETs. It was a mix of sadness and excitement since I had to say goodbye to some very good friends but also have had the chance to meet some new and very amazing new JETs. There's an oddly strong and yet somewhat distant bond between us ALTs.

We are throw out of our comfort zone so completely, all our vulnerability left hanging out as we struggle to understand the world we've landed in and our place in it. This kind of vulnerability creates very deep bonds between people. And yet there is a temporary feeling to our time, our lives here. Japan, for most of us, is just s stop along the way and in a couple years time we'll be back in our home countries. This creates that distance between us.

At the beginning of last year I met all the English teachers I'd be assisting in the classroom. One teacher in particular I could tell I'd get along well with. But I also remember telling a friend that I'd probably become friends with her just in time to leave Japan since life in school is so structured and there's no real time for forming friendships. She's also one of the kendo coaches. So anytime not spent int he classroom is spent in practice with the kendo club.

However. This summer the students were busy with a volunteering activity one Saturday and so there was no kendo practice. My teacher invited me to her house (she lives with her parents) to eat lunch and try on yukata (the summer kimono). Her parents were lovely; her mom made a delicious lunch and her dad was the official photographer. I was able to practice my Japanese since both her parents had only a little English-speaking ability.

I accidentally mixed up the words for brother and father and told her mom that my brother is over fifty (she paused for a moment and then with a quick laugh emphasized the words more clearly so that I could correct myself). Just to be honest, they're about as similar in Japanese as they are in English.

I spent two weeks back home, seeing both sets of grandparents, catching a Cubs game, and visiting a couple dear friends from college. A break well worth the long flights.

Then it was back to Okayama to prepare presentations for the new JETs' orientation week. It was nice to have something to do at school for a change. During natsuyasumi we don't have classes but school, for all intents and purposes, is still in session. Teachers and students come into school to participate in club meetings and sports practices. They prepare for Sports Day. And the rest I haven't quite worked out. And yet we all come in and look busy.

I read books, checked email, visited the school library, went home for lunch (doing some chores in the meantime) and chatted with teachers. I had weekly Japanese/English conversations with one of the English teachers who wants to practice her English. We'd come up with a topic and then she'd talk to me in English and I'd ask her questions and then it'd be my turn and I'd talk in Japanese, struggling to be understood and all-around kind of failing at the language. It was great practice. In Japanese and humility.

And the it was time for summer to owari (end) and get back to teaching. My days at Oku JHS have been much busier. My supervisor has taken a leave of absence to take care of her sick mother so I am filling in as much as I can for her classes with the other English teacher who now has to teach classes of 40 instead of 20.

There's a time for everything and though summer can be a bit boring at school, it is a nice break from the hectic school schedule. I wasn't able to appreciate the break as much last year since I had just arrived and the informality of natsuyasumi confused me. It still does but I try to just go with it these days. When in Rome.

Give it about another month and my posts will be absorbed with descriptions of how terribly cold it is. For now, though, chips last less than three hours if left out of their packaging.

Things One Learns While Recovering From a Sprained Ankle in a Foreign Country

1. Ingesting seven month old jelly beans, while a new low, really does the heart good.
2. When you are in the vicinity of a mountain, wear appropriate footwear because you may find yourself accidentally climbing down said mountain
3. Upon hurting your ankle while accidentally climbing down a mountain, don`t continue to walk on it hoping everything will be fine. RICE, man, RICE!
4. Worry about your taxes after you`re healed. That`s just too much stress at once.
5. Though you may find yourself being X-RAYed without a protective lead-jacket by equipment that clearly states it should have been replaced 2 years ago and though you may be put into a plaster cast despite the absence of any broken body parts, it is completely possible to go into an inaka (rural/countryside) hospital and make it out alive.
6. The quaintness of indoor and outdoor shoes is lost on those with a cast. You spend 5 minutes getting the damn shoe on at home only to take it off 5 minutes later at school and struggle another 5 minutes to put a different pair of shoes on. But we wear outdoor shoes outside and indoor shoes inside. No exceptions. Not even for a cripple.
7. Discovering a way to make pasta despite a cast and crutches is a very liberating thing to do
8. Having a friend make you Mexican food for dinner is a very wonderful way to spend a weekend if you find yourself with limited mobility
9. Hitchiker`s Guide to the Galaxy is an enjoyable read
10. In case you haven`t garnered enough sympathetic looks and gestures by crutching around school for two weeks, pass out during a lesson. They`ll really worry about you then.

Now that I find myself happily without a cast or crutches (a fact that almost made me cry in the doctor`s office) I will be making my way to Tokyo to meet my parents at the airport. We`ll be taking Japan by storm for the next week or so. Their guide will be yours truly--one without much skill in the language, in traveling, or in walking without looking like a hunchback. The trip of lifetime.

Ikimasho! Let`s go!

Kumquat. What, What!

This is a kumquat. It's in a tea cup. It's cute.

And it's a for real fruit! Five days ago the only thing I knew about "kumquat" is that it's a funny word to call someone. That's all. If I had to take a multiple choice test and the question was "What is a kumquat" I might have gotten it right, depending on the other choices.

I probably would have picked "fairy tale villain" and "1970s anime character" over "a fruit" but other than that I think I would have come out on top. But if it was a fill in the blank test I would have been at a loss. And I never would have guessed a kumquat looks exactly like an orange for dolls. Who would think a fruit with such a sweet, sweet name would be such a poser in the looks department?

For lunch there is occasionally dessert and sometimes that dessert is fresh fruit. Fresh fruit days are always good days. When I looked down at my lunch tray and saw two mini oranges all I could say was kawaii (cute). The office lady informed me that it's called kinkan. Awesome. No idea what it was but at least I knew it's name.

As I watched the students eat their kinkan I gleaned nothing further about my mystery fruit. Most students looked like they were just eating the peel. Weird. A couple were peeling their kinkan only to be laughed at by the other students. A kid next to me was eating the whole thing, making a terrible face. The other students were laughing at him and shouting oishii?! ("is it good?!") As I do with anything in a wrapper (the fresh fruit comes packaged to guarantee freshness) I took the tiny oranges back to my desk. I'd give it a try when I got home.

The teacher in the desk next to mine happens to be one of the English teachers and was eating her kinkan. She saw mine on my desk and pointed it out, asking if I could eat kinkan. Well, I said, I don't know. I've never eaten one before. At this Andou Sensei got out her Japanese-English electronic dictionary and I was introduced to the fruit kumquat! I couldn't hold in the laughter. Kumquat. A tiny orange. Just great.

Apparently kumquats are very good for you, especially the peel. The fruit, however, is a very bitter-sour taste, akin to grapefruit on steroids I would say. The peel is even less thick than a clementine peel and tastes just like the fruit of an orange. I was told that Japanese people eat kumquats as a snack and also use the peel in homeopathic medicine.

After trying my first ever kumquat I heard a bunch of laughter and exclamations of nihonjin janai (not a Japanese person). Apparently the head teacher of the second year students had never eaten a kumquat before and, like a a couple of the students I ate with, tried to peel it and eat the insides. His response to their exclamation was to question the logic of a fruit of which you eat only the peel, his closing argument being that "Japanese people are strange."

Kumquat. Best lunch ever.

One of Those ALTs...

It didn't take long to understand how long ALTs are remembered in a small town. Maybe this isn't true of all schools/areas but in mine the ALT is usually the only exposure anyone has with people who aren't Japanese.

I especially think about this in relation to the students I interact with. I am very conscious about providing the students every opportunity to use English. And in the process I think I may have become one of those ALTs. The ALT that knows nothing about Japanese culture, refuses to use Japanese, and in general doesn't try to embrace her life here but rather tries to transplant her American life. Now obviously that's a bit of an exaggeration but I worry about how little of an exaggeration it is.

There's this worn out (though I'm sure sincere) storyline about ALTs who refuse to use Japanese with their students until one day they decide to give it a shot and find that their students ease up because they see their ALT messing up too and there's this moment of solidarity and the students and ALT form a wonderful bond that carries them through boring worksheets and exhausting exams.

As nice as this story is it will never be mine. No matter how much my Japanese improves (it can only go up from here) I will never use it in the classroom and rarely outside of it. The role I've fashioned for myself is as a communication coach. I'm their dummy; they can test out their expressions and explanations on me.

This approach is sometimes not so successful and it puts me in a position to be overlooked by the less motivated students. I realize this and it's unfortunate; I wish I could encourage all 500 students to study English but that's chotto muri (a little impossible). What I can encourage are students who will give it a try, who will bravely raise their hands and direct their question at me instead of the Japanese teacher.

This bravery has led to impromptu versions of pictionary, charades, and 20 Questions as we struggle to understand each other. Their creativity always astounds me. One student drew a timeline on his worksheet with the words "present" and "future" written on it. Pointing to the blank dot he asked, "How do you say this English?" And he learned the word for "past" that day.

As I was walking back from a class not too long where two students pulled off the pantomime for "graduate" I was smiling to myself, feeling pretty good about my method. At my desk, though, I began to think about all the students who would never try such a stunt, who might want to talk to me but are afraid that I won't understand if they need to use some Japanese. Maybe my method was a bit selfish, making them do all the work as I sit in my English bubble? Maybe I really was one of those ALTs, one who's just too scary to talk to.

However, I recently had a speaking test that confirmed that though my method is not without flaws, it can produce amazing results.

One of students went from a score of little over 50% on her last test to almost 100% on this one. Her name is Miho. She likes to draw cherry blossoms on everything. One day in class we were playing BINGO. Instead of X's she was drawing cherry blossoms in the boxes.

I pointed at the drawing and said, "Cute!" She replied with, "sakura," the Japanese word for "cherry blossom." And I said "cherry blossom." Her eyes got big and she repeated the words a couple times, giggling after each time (foreign languages are funny and I think it would be easier for adults to learn them if we felt more freedom to laugh at the silliness of foreign sounds).

And that was Miho's turnaround. No longer the sweet but apathetic student she participates in class and talks with me after class. During lunch couple days ago she came up with this description for a famous Japanese drag queen: "A large hair woman gentleman." Grammatically correct? Not entirely, no. But it is effective, isn't it?

That's what I envisioned when I began to formulate my role as a communication coach. There are a few things you to effectively communicate in another language and here's the top two: creativity and opportunity. By always using English I am providing the opportunity that they wouldn't have otherwise; though the Japanese teachers know English there's not much motivation to speak with them in English since it'd be so much easier to speak in Japanese. And the creativity, that's all them.

So maybe for some of the students I will be remembered with a little resentment as one of those ALTs. But it's things like the "graduate" pantomime and Miho's test scores that strengthen my resolve to use English, to provide the opportunity to use English for communication outside of the set textbook sentences. Different styles work for different ALTs and different schools; I am well aware that being an English test dummy won't work for everyone or even for most people. But being one of those ALTs is working for this ALT. At least for now.

Lookin' Out My Own Eyes

I am happy to have a mom that insisted I come home for Christmas. Traveling Japan or going to exotic beaches sounded so much cooler than Lindenhurst, Illinois and so for a brief moment I felt sorry for myself that I was spending my time in the place I'd been living at for 22 years. This quickly passed when I found myself in the company of those who know me. It was a perfectly timed break, both for leaving and coming. Getting out of Japan was essential, just as essential was coming back here.

A friend from college was visiting a former exchange student of our college for New Year's. However, this former exchange student--Tomoka--now works in Tokyo and had to get back to it the Monday following New Year's. So our friend--Sophie--came and lived in Yamadanosho with me for a little over a week.

I had to go back to work too but it wasn't so bad. Classes didn't start until January 8th so I took long lunches with Sophie. During her week here Sophie rode my bike around the beauty that is Oku, Okayama. During lunch I'd get my fill of our delicious concoctions as well as her stories about her travels.

She told me about the cranes, who seem made for a world that passed hundreds of thousands of years ago. She told me about some really beautiful shrine that was both inviting to her curiosity and off-putting given her foreignness and unfamiliarity with such things.

On Friday the 9th she came with me on one of my kindergarten visits and then to lunch at Oku Junior High School. Five months ago I was lucky if one of the students said a barely audible "Hello" in response to my greetings. But as Sophie and I approached school, a group of second year girls ran up to us shouting "Hello! How are you?" and "Nice to meet you" to Sophie. All of this unprompted.

When I met one of the P.E. teachers this summer she wouldn't speak English to me. She was very kind and remains one of my favorites but she just isn't into English. I understand. I hate chemistry. I don't hate chemists, I just hate the subject. Sophie and I stumbled upon her in the locker room where I hang my coat. The P.E. teacher looked directly at Sophie and said without any coaching or encouragement from me, "Hello. My name is Mayuki Masamoto. Nice to meet you."

Living each day, each week, I've missed the change that's been happening at Oku Junior High School. Things can always be better. They can always be easier. But that shouldn't cloud my ability to see things as they are today.

Over break I went to see "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" with my parents. I loved it. It's not for everyone, but I was in love within the first 15 minutes I think. Brad Pitt's character was born old and grows younger throughout the movie. It's just his body; he goes through all the other stuff like anyone else, he's just in a body opposite from the normal aging process. Anyways, another character asked him what it's like to grow younger instead of the older. He replies, "I don't know. I'm always lookin' out my own eyes."

And that's just it, isn't it? Having people in our lives isn't just nice, it's essential.It gives us a chance at a perspective we couldn't have without them. No doubt, it was fun being back at school. There was a holiday spirit in the air and I was genuinely happy to be in the company of my co-workers and the students again. But without Sophie I wouldn't have had the chance to see the beauty in a life that can be seen only from the outside.

And I, like all of us, will continue living my life looking out my own eyes. But what a blessing to have the company of others, the view of someone else. Simple things like crane sightings and enthusiastic "Hellos" seen through another's eyes.

The Incident of the No Hot Water Blessing

Ugh. No hot water, no time for breakfast. That's how the morning began.

My already cold hands (it's about 35 degrees in the house in the mornings) got ice cold from washing my face in cold water. I fiddled with my water heater display box for a bit but no luck. No hot water. Fiddling took up more time than I realized and so I was rushing out the door, leaving my bowl of cereal milkless and uneaten.

Bad start.

On the ride to school I prayed that when I got home the hot water would work.

My principle let me out early. This week we have parent-teacher conferences 4th-6th period. That's right. That means I'm sitting at my desk, no classes to teach, from 4th-6th period. He saw me still at my desk at 4:00pm and told me to go home. "Dozo, dozo" he said, "Go ahead."

On the ride home a thought flashed through my mind that maybe it was good fortune to get off early in case my hot water still didn't work...

...I was right. I tried several more times, at several faucets but no hot water. I am prone to tears, it doesn't take much to get me welled up. So, invariably, I had a little sit down at my kitchen table and cried from frustration and more than a little bit of self-pity.

My supervisor is a home room teacher so she was still in meetings at 4:30pm, when I was ready to stop crying and, ya know, do something. I called another English teacher, the only one without a home room, and she was on it in no time.

She decided it was probably a gas problem (I have a gas stove and apparently that's what heats my water too). She called the gas company and they came to my house by 5:00pm. Hot water was running through my faucets by 5:15pm.

And that's when I realized the blessing of no hot water. In America, this would be just a brief annoyance. An inconvenience but not instructional in any way. I'd call the gas company myself, get things sorted out, and go about my day angry at the waste of time.

In Japan, this incident became another way to see my many blessings. I'm not alone here. No, I can't call the gas company myself and no, I still don't know what went wrong or how to prevent it from happening again. I do, however, have great coworkers who will help me with any problem, at any time (I called this same coworker at 7:00am on Saturday when I woke up to the fat lip I had this summer). They help without fanfare and without making me feel silly or like a burden.

Don't get me wrong, I look forward to eating breakfast tomorrow and washing my face with hot water. I am aware, though, that some things are more important than physical comforts.

Things like counting my blessings.

Japanese is Easy?

Okay, so no secret, Japanese can be real difficult. Besides the three alphabets--one with an endless number of characters--there is all the different ways say the same thing, with the added bonus that you can pick the wrong one. You can be so wrong, in fact, as to really offend someone.

The social hierarchy of Japan is reflected in it's language: "teineigo" is polite language that you use when speaking to your superiors and in formal situations. However, it's weird to use this among friends since it seems impersonal/cold. There are levels to "teineigo" as well. The informal way to say "to go" is "iku." A more polite way to say this is "ikimasu." The most polite way (students are supposed to use this form when talking to or about teachers) is "irrashaimasu."

There are aspects to the language, though, that are quite easy. Because of the emphasis on group harmony, there are a lot of set codes of conduct in Japan. Language mirrors this emphasis. Phrases that seemed pointless or obscure while I studied Japanese in college now make up at least 80% of my working knowledge of Japanese.

When I enter the staff room for the first time in them morning I'm to say "ohaio gozaimasu" or "good morning." When I leave for the day I say "osakini shitsureishimasu" which means "sorry for going ahead of you." The other teachers respond with "otsukarasamadeshita" which means "thanks for all your hard work." My school's a bit more informal so I drop the "osakini" when leaving and the teachers only respond with "otsukarasamadeshita" after a special event like Sport's Day. They all say something to me, though, as I leave whether it is in Japanese or English ("See you" is very popular with both the students and teachers).

When I first learned these phrases they seemed obscure not to mention hard to pronounce. However, they are of great comfort now. At least in these set phrases I can be confident I'm doing the right thing. I don't have to go through a list of phrases, struggling to pick out the right one for this context. All I have to do is say that one thing and everyone knows what I mean and what I'm doing. That's a great comfort.

What's challenging at time is coming up with English equivalents. The question "How do you say...." is a difficult one to answer. For example, Japanese people say "ittekimasu" when they leave somewhere to go somewhere else. This phrase combines the verbs "go" and "come" so you can kind of get the implication. My teachers say it when they leave a conversation with coworkers to get to their classes on time. One of English teachers asked me recently "what do you say in English for 'ittekimasu?'"

Huh?

I was stumped. I couldn't think of anything, I drew a blank. After class I looked up the phrase in a couple dictionaries to see how other people translated it. "I'm off; see you later" was the most satisfying answer so I told her that one but then explained that there isn't one common phrase we use, that's it's different in different situations. For the really polite and apologetic, "I'm sorry. I hate to leave but I have to get somewhere now," or for the laughably slang, "Peace out."

Then another caveat, we usually don't just say "see you later" without explaining our leaving first. "I have to go meet a friend now. See you later." In this instance, Japanese is much easier. After saying "ittekimasu" you just head off, leaving the listener with the trouble of reasoning out where it is you're going and why.

English provides a lot of room for individual choice, though. Some conversational flare. This choice is both rewarding and overwhelming for the students in my classes who are used to a language and a culture where they know exactly what they ought to say/do at any given time.

So when I think about how hard Japanese is to learn, especially because it's cultural context is so different from my own, I must remember that the students I teach and the teachers I teach with are facing the same difficulty, just oppositely.

Simple Things at Kindergartens

Wow.

November was a vapor.

It's getting cold in Japan these days. While my family is braving temperatures well below freezing I am bitter about it hitting 45 degrees. Of course, that was the temperature INSIDE my house; with no insulation and no central heating I am spared only the elements and the breeze when I step inside. But I imagine I'll survive. It's in the realm of possibilities at least.

I only have one junior high to work at so unlike most ALTs I don't have to think about juggling lesson plans or holiday schedules; I'm just here. There are two sides to every coin, though, and the convenience of one school has of course some downfalls. For example, when the students are in a testing period I don't visit my other school because I don't have one. I sit at my desk. All day.

The students just finished up term tests. Thankfully, part of my job is to visit kindergartens about once a month. The Board of Education has thoughtfully planned many of these visits for me around testing periods so at least one day I have something to do.

Not only are these visits a nice change of pace ("a change of environment" my supervisor said with a smile) but they are 100% encouraging.

Most of the teachers can speak only the most basic English and prefer not to. However, unlike most native speakers, these women spend most of their days talking to 3-5 year olds so it is not difficult for them to dumb down their Japanese for me. I have had two successful meetings with teachers where we've lesson planned...in Japanese! Of course, the plans usually go something like this: "We'll sing a song about fruit and then play a game. I'll teach them 'Hello!' and 'Goodbye!' and give them a sticker." Nonetheless, it's these little triumphs that provide immense amounts of motivation to keep up with the Japanese study.

In my most recent kindergarten visit (the little dude in the picture is a 3 year old from this school) they asked me to spend 2 hours out of a 3 1/2 hour visit playing with the kids. I was more than happy to do this--I have only held two jobs that didn't involve childcare--and yet I felt a little guilty. "I'm getting paid to teach kids English but here I am just goofing off with 3 and 4 year olds." I couldn't have been more wrong.

In the other kindergartens I've visited the kids are often very scared of me and warm up only as I'm about to leave. One little girl cried when she had to sit next to me. I didn't take it personally even though back home this kind of reaction would be devastating to me. Since she was only 3 years old, I reasoned, she had probably never seen a foreigner in real life. A white giant was in her school and to top it off she had to sit next to the monster! I get it.

But at the school where I played most of the day the kids immediately took hold of my hands, said "Let's play!" and dragged me into to the playground. I barely had time to throw off my indoor shoes and put on my outdoor ones. They spent the rest of the day dragging me here and there, exhausting every English word/phrase they knew ("I like mango" and "Look at me").

I believe in the importance of play. I had never, however, considered it in the realm of internationalization and language learning. Even the really shy kids asked me to count off how many jumps they could jump rope; none of these kids saw my foreignness as something to fear. I was just another adult to them, someone they could drag here and there, someone who was inherently interested in everything they did.

It's hard for me to be like those kids. To see all people as playmates, to say "let's play!" without asking questions, without weighing the risk. One day, when I grow up, I want to have a heart like those kindergartners. I want to hold your hand, drag you here and there with me. I want to laugh with you. At simple things that cross cultures and languages. Simple, important things.

We Need to Hold Each Other Tight: Talking Politics with my Teachers

I arrived in Japan in late July. I spent a couple blurry days of orientation with hundreds of other ALTs learning about our upcoming year. Then I went to my prefecture to be further oriented for a day and a half. After that, we all met our supervisors and left to see what would be home for at least a year.

After stops to the City Office to apply for my "Alien Registration Card," the home store "Daiki" to pick out essentials like a frying pan and laundry detergent, and my new house to sign some papers, my supervisors took me to the Board of Education of my town to meet the higher-ups. Over oolong tea we shared pleasantries, translated by my supervisor. One of the first questions I was asked was:

"Who will be the next President of America?"

It is undeniable that much of the world is wondering about it, too. As the world superpower, many eyes are on us. What we do, and don't do, as a nation echoes throughout the world. And as much as I wanted to tell those eager men at the BOE that I sincerely hoped Obama would win I shrugged off the question saying the race was close. While I can guess which candidate they supported (hint: not the guy from the same party as Bush) I was so used to keeping politics out of pleasant conversation in America that my initial reaction to such a question was automatic and noncommittal.

I have had not as much luck staying neutral with the teachers at school. The day a few came over to set up my internet in early August they saw my "Obama '08" sticker I got from MoveOn.org. Soon after that the social science teacher and head of the second year teachers asked me about my opinion on the election. I decided to commit a little and tell the truth. I didn't really have the luxury of worrying about what constitutes pleasant conversation as conversation period was in meager supply during that first month. If he wants to talk politics I'll talk politics, I thought, just so long as he's--anybody,really--talking to me.

My own perspective on this election has benefited from hearing from my very liberal friends, conversations with my mother--a woman of great spiritual conviction struggling with party lines and moral absolutes, and an excellent documentary by PBS Frontline called "The Choice 2008." All these have enlightened and challenged my own perspective.

What I wasn't expecting was to have my political perspective influenced by a middle-aged teacher of social science. A small man with a big heart and a smile that stretches from ear to ear. Over enthusiastic to a fault and endearing all the more for it, this man has little command of English but a great desire to communicate with me, especially after he found out I regularly read the New York Times online.

He said he read in the paper, something he does everyday at lunch, that America was experiencing a home loan crisis and the report he was reading highlighted problems in the Midwest. He asked if my family was okay. What a caring question. Our conversation, as they all inevitably have, ended quickly after that. After some consulting with his online Japanese/English dictionary he spoke again.

"There is a big crash in America. Like 1929. The Great Depression"
"Yes, it is a big problem now," I said.
"In 1929 it was a big problem too. Many countries had many troubles," he said.
I nodded in agreement, waiting for his main point.
"Germany. Japan. Very poor, many people so hungry. Then a bad war."
Oh dear, we're not going to talk about WWII, are we? I thought.
"This time we must..." he paused trying to find the right words but then just gestured what he meant: his two arms outstretched, his hands grasping invisible ones.
"Issho ni, Together," he remembered what word we was looking for. "We must--all the countries--hold each other tight."
"Yes, me must. Together, issho ni," I agreed.

Can we learn from the past? Is that something humans can do, have we ever done it? I'm not sure. But I think if I thought about the world with this kind of perspective I would be well on my way to helping create a more just one. To see this current economic crisis as a way for the countries of the world to come together, to hold each other tight, is not something I've heard many people say. I love it's idealism, it's simplicity, and ultimately it's truth. We are in this together whether we act like it or not.

So let's hold each other tight. Through this crisis, through the election, and after. And then together let's find ways to hold those in Darfur and the Congo tight. Let's hold our soldiers and the Iraqi people tight. Let's hold tight the homeless that sleep on our streets (1 in 4 homeless men are veterans). Let's hold tight women making tough decisions about their unborn children. Let's hold tight the rescue workers of 9/11 who need health care, who need help now just as they gave so much on that awful day. Let's hold tight the strangers we pass by everyday, the people who serve us our coffee and bag our groceries.

Together, issho ni.

Simple Things: Making Friendships

Simple things, not great adventures, have kept me from this for awhile. Doing daily things like cleaning (not much, I won't lie), catching up on politics and friends' lives, and settling in have taken up most of my time. I've also just begun my Japanese correspondence course as well as the once a week conversation class I take. I am much less busy than when I was a student and yet I'm finding myself very protective of my time. So, despite the amount of free time I have in comparison to my college life, I also have a new perspective, a new expectation of free time. And so, time seems to evaporate just as quickly as it did a year ago!

I've been here long enough to begin experiencing the joys of friendship, however slight, with the other teachers. Last Friday, my school had it's annual chorus competition (a week after it's annual cultural festival and only a month after the annual sports day). I grew up singing because grew up going to church. That being said, I also grew up being made fun of for my utter inability to sing. This trait, or lack of one, has not improved with age. As with everything at my school, what the students do, the teachers do. We are one. And my policy since day one has been to say yes to anything (within a small measure of reason) that can get me involved in life here. So when one the teachers asked if I would sing with them I said, "Yes."

Wait, what? Sing? Yeah, me sing. To top it all off it was "We Are the World." In English. So not only was I singing but I was also the go-to person when it came to pronunciation and intonation. What this translated to was me not only spending an hour after school to practice singing with the teachers but also to often be the only one singing so they could hear how they ought to be pronouncing the words. The bright side was that they were best students I have ever had.

After practice we'd walk back to the staff room and go over certain words or lines. We'd talk about America and Japan, reflecting on differences and similarities. The other teachers would ask me about my school days, especially compared to this school. Some of the English teachers have never been abroad so I hoping that one day, once I'm back home, they'll come and see the sights and eat the food of my hometown. (I'll have to think long and hard before I can come up with something as terrible as natto to subject them to).

After the chorus competition--the students' classes were competing, the teachers and I just sang for fun--I mulled around the office for a as long as I could but ended up cutting out before I usually do. I saw all the sports teams practicing as I was leaving and decided to take a look. On our one dirt-covered field: soccer, track & field, and baseball practice was going on. The coordination of this fact was a sight to behold. A P.E. teacher and the running coach saw me watching and walked over to me to briefly chat. He's always been one of the most friendly but also one of the most reluctant to use any English with me. His recent efforts at communicating have been very heart-warming and encourage me to keep studying Japanese. He told me, "I sing very well today. I can't speak English but I practice very hard to sing. English is important." I agreed that he did a great job and congratulated him on his efforts. He smiled and then walked away, some of his runners were slowing their pace and that just wouldn't do.

This is a small start, just a little exchange. It would be very forgettable back home. But here, this exchange was only possible because both of us stepped outside of our comfort zones for no practical reason. Just to be friendly, just to share something.

And I think that's great. Small, but great.