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.

A Blessing Spoken Too Early in the Morning

This is from my running blog but it's mostly about things other than running. About being foreign, and being too friendly for my own good. But mostly just about life happening, simple things.

This is the end of week four, 1/4 of the way through my 16-week training program. Wow. Time is a funny thing. Hours drag as I'm sweltering in this heat with no A/C at work and yet weeks just fly by.

I wanted to run 8 miles today.But at 92% humidity and 80 degrees out frankly I am happy with how far I made it. I walked the last two miles and completed the 5-mile outing in about an hour.

I had a really weird start to the run. I will preface it with this verse from Proverbs 27:14 "A loud and cheerful greeting early in the morning will be taken as a curse!"

At 5:15am I was later than I should have been but still thought I might be able to finish the run. I saw an old lady trying to make eye-contact with me and also checking her watch. As I got closer I realized I'd run into her before and it was unpleasant so I kept my eyes glued to the ground and barely replied as she said good morning to me. That was enough encouragement for her and 30 minutes and a bewildering conversation later I was finally starting my run.

The first time I had a run in with this woman was as I was trying to hurry along to work. She stopped at my house as I was packing up my bike and commented that my tree needed cutting. I was in no mood to be reprimanded by a stranger who apparently had nothing else better to do than make her neighbors late for work.

I do cut my tree, but I can't reach up to the power lines, obviously, and so there are some very long branches up there. I replied with the Japanese equivalent of, "Yeah, but it's not like I can do it!" I don't normally start conversations off rudely, especially in a language I have a minimal command of. But for the love! Monday mornings are not the time to be told you're not doing a good job. She, however, was undeterred and continued chatting with me as I mumbled responses and slowly peddled my bike and checked my watch. She got the hint and I made it to work just in time for the morning meeting, sweating profusely.

This time she asked me if I knew what Tanabata is. It's the Star Festival. You tie wishes to a bamboo shoot and the next day, July 8th, you burn the whole thing sending your wishes to the other world. I have been living in Japan for two years; I know the major holidays.

She then took me to her house to see her bamboo shoot. I took a photo of it on my phone after she leadingly noted that I had my phone with me. And then she said, "Tanabata isn't a holiday in other countries, is it?" Like many people throughout the world, this woman has a misunderstanding of what unique means in a global context. As Stephen has frequently remarked when we run into comments like this, "Yes, Japan is a unique country. In world of unique countries." No, we don't celebrate Tanabata, with it's bamboo wish shoot. Much like you don't celebrate Easter, with it's egg hunts and chaotic iconography, Ms. Meddler.

Was she trying to be friendly, if simultaneously patronizing? Of course, sweet thing. But even a cheerful greeting spoken too early in the morning will be taken as a curse. I just wanted to run.

When You Leave Your Only Set of Keys on the Train

Sunday night I was getting home from visiting Stephen in Hiroshima. I had several bags in my hands and so wanted to make the whole process easier by carrying my keys with me instead of rummaging for them in the darkness once I got to my house. I set my house keys on the seat next to mine. And promptly forgot them as I left the train.

I stopped in my tracks five minutes later when I realized my plan went horribly awry and instead of being slightly inconvenienced at my doorstep I was majorly inconvenienced given that my keys, now heading to Himeji, are in fact the only set of keys I have to my house which I dutifully lock.

Thankfully, due to the recent temperature drops and hikes I had left one of my sliding glass windows unlocked and so was able to burgle my house.

Though people in the inaka might be nosey they are not thieves so leaving my door unlocked Monday wasn't too much of a concern. I was loaned a key from my BOE that owns the house I live in.

"Be careful" I was told. I wasn't about to remind them that's exactly what they told me when I first arrived and was given only one key to my house. "There is no copy. Be careful."

Fortunately I happen to live in Japan. As difficult as Japan made my sprained ankle recovery, it has made the return of my lost keys incredibly easy.

I was fretting over asking my co-workers to call the train station and inquire. They're busy people. They don't need another task. Then I saw a wonderful poster in the train station with graphics and happy-looking people with a number to call in case you left something behind on the train.

And I realized though it wouldn't be perfect, I could certainly call and explain what I needed. I prefaced my conversation with explaining my limited Japanese. I spoke to two station staff people. The one in Himeji was far more exasperated with my Japanese (he referred to me as a gaijin to his co-workers which is short for gaikokujin and is the difference between saying "foreigner" and "person from a foreign country"). But in the end I was able to confirm my lost keys were in Himeji.

What came next surprised me. I was expecting to me be making a trip to Himeji to pick them up.

Nope. This is Japan and in Japan though you might be referred to as a "foreigner" your lost item will be delivered right to your home.

Excellent.

So when you leave your only set of keys on the train in Japan, don't worry too much. But it helps to have left a window open to facilitate the burgling of your home in such a case.

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.

Let's PURIKURA

What started as just curiosity has now become a new obsession. Almost a hobby. I've gotten purikura in almost every city I've visited. This is purikura:

Purikura is the Japanese version of photo booths. You slip coins into a slot, and several small photos are taken. Usually friends and lovers take them together. And that's where the similarities end.

In purikura you have a choice of several different booths, sometimes over twenty. They're often in multistory arcades but just as often they are attractions in and of themselves. They are most popular with young crowds but even college graduates will get some purikura with their friends to celebrate the occasion.

Once you insert the coins the madness begins, and quickly. You need to select how you want to be tinted and if you want your eyes to be colored/sparkled. Then you decide which 4-6 backgrounds you want out of about 100. Some are just plain colors or patterns but others have cute images like on my example of purikura.

Once you decide how you're gonna pose (before each shot you're shown models posing in your selected background in case you can't come up with anything on the spot) and the photos are taken it's only half over.

Then you go to a smaller, adjacent booth with two chairs and a screen with two "pens" attached. Now you go about decorating your tiny photos. There's tons of hearts and stars, cutesy sayings in Japanese and English (the one above is, "Suki, suki, daisuki: Like, like, love"), date stamps, pen color choices for writing your own message, and hoards of cute images like puppies and cakes and smileys.

It's incredibly overwhelming at first but the more you go to the purikura dens the more you're used to what they offer and pretty soon you're purikura-ing just like a giddy group of high school girls.

Purikura is probably not a legitimate hobby nor is it probably what the JET Programme has in mind when it recommends getting involved in cultural activities. But it is fun, really, really fun. And, as if it couldn't get better, you can peel off the backing and your purikura becomes a sticker!

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.

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.

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.

Hearth and Home in Rural Japan

The rainy season has lifted and with it so has the occasional cool that torrential downpours brings. Now, it`s just hot.

mushi atsui means humid & hot in Japanese. When asked if Chicago is as hot as Japan I usually respond it is but that Japan is much more mushi. Because it is.

The rainy season not only provided much-appreciated cool breezes, it also woke up my yard. More accurately, it woke up the weeds in my yard.

I came to Japan in August of last year (almost my one year anniversary!). By that time the growing season was over and I had a yard scorched by the summer heat. I assumed the soil just didn`t grow plants well. I was wrong. For a month or so I lived in a jungle.

kusakari means to mow your lawn in Japanese. I know this because a couple junior high school students lost their ball in my yard one day after school and informed me that I needed to kusakari.

The task was daunting.

But when 13 year old boys recognize you have a messy yard, something has to be done.

I pulled weeds and cut weeds that were too big to pull and trimmed my tree that grows out into the street.

Well. Chalk taking care of a yard up as another reason I never want to own a house. It`s never-ending. Having weeded my yard two weeks ago it looks exactly like it did before I touched it.

Beggars can`t be choosers and so I am thankful for my beautiful house, but weeding my yard on mushi atsui weekends is not one of my favorite things to do in rural in Japan.

The advent of summer has brought more than just weeds to my humble home. So far I`ve had nothing short of an invasion at my doorsteps. There`s an ant colony outside my sliding glass doors, a wasp nest in the tree that needs trimming, and no less than six cockroaches have been kind enough to keep me company (four didn`t make it out alive but I may get a re-visit from the two that scampered away).

What with bugs and weeds and a lack of central air conditioning in my home I was beginning to feel a little down about my life in the inaka. I was pretty sure that whatever gaman (perseverance, force of will) I had left wasn`t enough to last me through too many more nightly fumigation rituals or morning trudges through my own personal jungle land.

But that`s the thing about rural (inaka) Japan, anyone could be your neighbor, at any regular moment on any ordinary day you can get a breath of fresh air.

For 4th of July I had a barbecue complete with a charcoal grill and red, white & blue cups and plates. A few friends stopped by and we tried to light our charcoal. Unsuccessfully. A middle-aged man walked into my driveway where the grill debacle was taking place, smiled and said konbanwa, good evening/hello.

Muttering something in Japanese that none of us knew, he came back shortly with cardboard and soon we were grilling kabobs and hot dogs and an incredible assortment of vegetables. "You`re an English teacher," our fire-starter asked in Japanese. We all are, I replied. "I`ve seen you on the train," he smiled.

Miki lives in the last house on my street. She is 24 years old. She`s dating an English teacher from Britain. We`ve rode the last train together from time to time. I always notice it because at ten past midnight it`s only our footsteps and the frogs in the rice fields making noise in my little neighborhood. I met her Tuesday night, coming home from dinner at a beer garden (all you can eat and drink places located on the rooftops of buildings). She was at the same place.

honto ni yoroshiku doesn`t have an exact English equivalent but what we meant when we said it to each other before parting company was, "It was great to meet you, I really hope to see you again."

I guess I can live with cockroaches if it is also means I have the privilege of chance encounters with my other neighbors.

yoroshiku rural Japan.

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.

Afraid of a Prize?

Well, despite living in a country where congratulating oneself is a bit unseemly I will proudly say that my Japanese is improving.

Like a lot of things in life, it took a bit of getting over myself and my fears but eventually I found myself in the position I am now where 9 times out of 10 I'm celebrating a little victory.

One thing that helped was buying a couple phrase books and relying on those more than my textbooks (read: I am no longer studying from a textbook). What's so encouraging about studying from phrasebooks is that these are the things people say everyday.

Unlike "I have been to the places marked in red on this map" which I am confident I will never hear or say in Japanese, I've already heard two people at school use "That surprized me" since learning this sentence three days ago. Eventually I'll need to get back to learning grammar, when I become constricted by the inflexibility of set phrases, but that's not now. Now I just need some things to keep the conversation going as I brush my teeth after lunch with the middle-aged music teacher.

Yet despite this encouraging progress there are still some things I fear. Today I discovered that there is such a thing as a scary prize. I know, I know. Normally I would be all about free things, especially in the form of a prize. However, not all prizes are 100% fun.

As I got in line today in the convenience store, or konbini, I noticed the woman in front of me was offered a box with Dragon Ball Z characters all over it. She reached into the box and pulled out 4 tickets (I was able to understand that the clerk had instructed her to do this). One of the tickets was a lucky one; she got a free drink. However, in order to redeem this free drink she was asked a series of questions and I wasn't able to make out even the gist of any part of these questions.

Oh crap.

I considered my options (dropping the chapstick I came to buy and running out the door, pretending to be deaf and/or blind, staring at the clerk blankly until he gives up on me) but I couldn't make a decision and found myself at the counter with the terrifying prize box taunting me and my poor Japanese.

Chapstick rung up. 313 yen paid. Now the moment of truth.

"Take one ticket," he said with the same smile all konbini clerks have. I pulled it out and noticed it didn't look like the lucky one the lady in front of me had. I was safe. I was instructed to please keep that ticket because.....and then I lost him but I just smiled back and said Hai, hai (though it means "yes, yes" this is totally noncommittal and does not denote understanding like it does in English). I made it out. Safe!

So, until this Dragon Ball Z promo blows over I might just have to avoid the konbini and the terrifying prospect of a prize.

Happy Holidays!

I'll be home for the holidays!

"Yoiotoshio!"
Have a good year!

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.

Being Taught about Learning

Despite my wealth of resources to learn Japanese (dictionaries in book form and on my DS, flashcards in the shape of a friendly lion, textbooks and cute notebooks bought at the 100 yen shop) most days I find myself in short supply of motivation to study. And though I'd like to use the excuse that I am too tired from my busy days at school that's not the deciding factor in my scholastic apathy. Or I could say that Japanese is difficult, I can't learn it. But difficult is not impossible. But besides, after I go back home it's not like I'll need to know Japanese, right?

Now let's move out of my living room (where I am busy arranging my study materials for a photo shoot instead of...well...studying) and into my classrooms. The third year students (8th graders) are by far the least enthusiastic though they know the most English. Half the time if I say "Hello" to them as we're eating lunch together they'll look at me as if I just said "Jxvryklg" and then mutter something like "muri" (meaning "impossible").

The first year students (6th graders) are almost the polar opposite. Though no one really likes to have crazy foreigners interrupt their lunch periods the these kids are great sports. I get a chorus of "Hellos!" upon entering their classroom where they're eating. Even the terribly shy ones try to ask me about what I like or don't like on my plate. (Today I learned that "kinoko" is "mushroom" because one of the students hates them. I feel her pain). Besides saying that "It's sunny/cloudy/rainy today," likes and dislikes are pretty much all the first year students can say and yet they are the most eager to talk to me. By the end of this year they will have an exhaustive list of what I really feel about school lunch. And the third years will memorize all the scratches and stains on their shoes/desks since they spend most of their lunch looking down, trying to avoid eye contact and the horrible possibility of saying "Hello" to me.

The third year students' attitude depressed me a little. They know so much yet are using so little of it. I understand if they are shy (I was a very shy student) and if they'd rather just keep to themselves (I felt the same way for much of my education). I don't expect them all to be outgoing or talk to me every second because I wouldn't have done that as a student but it would be nice to see a little more effort on their part. Obviously there are exceptions to this general rule of apathy but by in large the third year students either feel like they are too busy to bother studying, that English is too hard to learn, or that they won't need to know English once they're done with school so what's the point.

And all of a sudden it came to me: in relation to learning Japanese I am just like my third year students. The first year I studied Japanese in college my roommate and I hosted a Japanese exchange students for two weeks. Before her arrival my Japanese professor helped us think of things we could say to the exchange student in Japanese. And as we went through helpful expressions like "from what time to what time will you be gone" or "do you like hamburgers." I got so excited as I realized that I could actually communicate with her in Japanese. For the next three years I studied Japanese and my roommate and I hosted exchange students. I spoke Japanese the most to the first student. The last one we hosted I spoke no Japanese to. As I continued learning Japanese, my focus turned from what I could say to all I couldn't say and the more I learned the more I realized how little I knew. All it takes is a couple pompous people making fun of your pronunciation and then it's game over. I didn't need it for daily life so I studied, spoke in class, and then promptly forgot anything Japanese until next class.

And it's the same now. I think to myself, Sure I can say "What time is the meeting" but what's the big deal, 5-year-olds know how to say that so why even try and besides, I'll probably pronounce it wrong. I can try to learn 5 kanji characters a week but I'll never be able to read an office memo so is it even worth it? And so for the first couple weeks that I was here I just gave up. I didn't open my textbook, I didn't speak to anyone in Japanese.

However, once I realized I was getting frustrated at the students for acting just like I was I decided it was probably time to be more mature than a 14 year old. Also, little friendships have made me reconsider my position on not bothering with speaking Japanese.

One of the teachers who sits next to me in the staffroom can speak only a little English but is very intent on asking me how I am and how I liked the lunch on any given day. From him I'm secretly learning the words for all the stuff I really don't like. During lunch last week one of the third year boys said "Sensei, shaberu!" ("Teacher, let's chat!") When I said I didn't know what "shaberu" meant he asked me to "please study Japanese." I followed quickly by asking him to please study English and the students within earshot all laughed.

I am here to teach English. But I'm finding it more and more difficult to excuse my lack of effort in studying Japanese if I expect the students to work hard at their English studies.

And if we both try a little harder, one day soon we'll "shaberu" during lunch, giving me a convenient excuse to leave half of my fish and unidentifiable vegetables untouched.