That Far Away Place

I've been waiting for some ounce of inspiration- something deep and poetic to write about as my last blog to cap off 2 years of writing here.
Nothing comes out.

The gentleman at customs asked me if it was hard coming back to the US after 2 years of living in Japan. I said, "No! I love America!" ... he had them check my bags. It's sad because people just don't recognize how great America really is. I think everyone should go live abroad for a few years. It changes everything.

I was sitting at the breakfast table at 5:00 am, the result of jet lag and general anxiety, and I was looking out at the backyard- a gorgeous back yard filled with broad leafed trees that tower over the house, green, fescue grass, large sedimentary rocks, and flowers overflowing half barrels.
It's so spacious. It's to luscious. It's so beautiful.
I never thought about how different rocks were- igneous verses sedimentary. Even the mountain shapes- volcanic verses shifted tectonic plates. It makes everything different. Mere rock changes everything.
I remember the first earthquake I experienced in Japan, and I remember thinking, "Wow. The earth is not solid." That frightening thought haunted me in Japan, but it doesn't linger here. It's different rock. It's solid, here.
Things are much more solid, now.

I have a few roads ahead of me at this point. I don't know which one I'll take, and I'm not even quite sure I shouldn't just forge a new path altogether. But I'm going to stand here for a bit- stand and look at the crossroads, stand on this soil, and appreciate it like I never have before.

...............................~*~...........................

I want to saw thank-you to all of you who took the time to check up on my adventures in Japan. Your comments and reactions were all encouraging, and helped me along the way. Of course, even though this blog ends, I still have another which I'll finally be able to focus my attention on. It's not a travel blog, or even a life update one, but more of an outlet for all the creative tension in my head. If you want to see that I'm still alive from time to time, feel free to check it any time, For Sunday Morning

Thank again.

Sayonara.

"Well... this is it.

Yep, this is it.

Not exactly what I expected."


Thanks to Sam, I had my last pineapple chu-hi (alcoholic drink) at my favorite restaurant last night. It was delicious, and the smiles of the owners at the restaurant just made the night complete.
Today I get sent off to America by a huuuuuuuge crowd of well wishers at 10:30. I both dread and look forward to it. I dread the idea of seeing all those people and knowing I won't see most of them ever again. But I am so lucky to have made so many friends, at the same time...

I can't wait to be home.
I love you America!


I will send one last post from home, and then this journal will be complete. See you then.

Here's the reason for my previous post:

Friday:
It was my last day of school. The day proceeded as most days do- I was a human tape recorder, and nothing terribly new occurred. But at the end of the day, the teacher's room suddenly vacated. Only the substitute math teacher and I remained. I asked if there was a meeting somewhere, and he just smiled. Two students came and escorted us to the gym where the students were waiting with applause. It was pretty intense, and I admit I started to cry when they gave me flowers and gave me speeches in English about things that they remembered about me. I wasn't at all prepared for it.

Saturday, Sunday, Monday:
The weekend was a 3 day holiday, so Sam, Chris, and I ran off to Osaka. I wanted to go the bamboo forest, Arashiyama. Chris wanted to go to Yodobashi Camera and Universal Studios Japan. I honestly didn't care all the much- as I really just wanted to spend time with my friends before saying goodbye to them. We had a genuinely good time!

Tuesday:
I translated English speech competition entries this day at Tsuda. I didn't want to. I spent the whole time watching the clock. At 12, I said, "Okay, I'm going home." But my teacher said, "No, we're having a teacher's meeting, so just stay for a bit." I was a little angry, to be honest since the teachers meetings are boring and have nothing to do with me. As I sat there moping, the meeting started with the vice principal saying, "Ladies and Gentlemen..." The whole staff had a script in front of them and they were slowly reading it in adorable broken English. It was something like, "This meeting is about Alsn!" "What? Did she do something bad?" "No, she's going home to America!" "Oh no! That's too bad." "We should tell her how much we enjoyed her company!" "I know, let's give her a present from Kagawa" Then the principal came over and gave me a wrapped up box. I didn't know what to say, or do... I was in shock. These people had already given me a goodbye party the week before, so why a present now? Japanese culture will never cease to confuse me. I was also amazed by the present. Someone had listened to me at an enkai over 6 months ago! I had picked up a miso soup bowl and said, "Ah, I like Koma-nuri (A lacquer design that looks like a toy top on wood that is made only in Sanuki)" So here it was, a set of 6 miso soup bowls and bigger bowls. Incredible! I don't even want to know what that cost.
More surprises were on the way.
That evening was my last Tuesday night adult class. Holy smokes. Holy smokes! They wanted to buy bento, but I made them do a traditional American Pot-luck. It turned out wonderfully! Such yummy food... At the end of the evening they presented me with a book that they had filled with letters, pictures, collages, and grand memories of our 2 years together. I STILL haven't been able to read it in fear of crying my eyes out. And then... and then... the pearls. I must preface this with the fact that the Tuesday night eikaiwa has no relation to my work. It is volunteer, and it is free for anyone who wants to join. I think it's because of that that I can in any way receive the gorgeous string of Japanese pearls they gave me that night. They were stunning. My mother and Godparents has always done a good job of putting me in expensive jewelry, but this... this feels quite different. It's meaningful to me because I can remember them every time I put it on. And I will! Oh yes, I will. I didn't notice until later that there is a certificate enclosed in the box that evaluates the pearls, their origin, and their value when purchase. YIKES! Who leaves the price tag on things like that? WHO!?

Wednesday:
I learned to make the wall scrolls that the Shikoku's 88 Temple pilgrims stamp each temple visit on as they travel. That was nifty- I just wish I could have learned it a year ago!
I also went out to sushi with the people who hand designed and custom made a T-shirt I ordered from their store the week before. We became friends despite me only have 2 weeks left of my stay here. Yet another group of people I'd wish I'd met sooner.

Thursday:
It's a little pathetic that the most enjoyable part of this day was going to work and teaching a 3 hour class at Tawa Elementary school up int he mountains. The 12 kids there are just fabulous, and I had a good last class. After that, lunch at a French restaurant with a bossy old lady from town, then a party at a restaurant with my Thursday night Eikaiwa class who are just... too ... comfortable. They think they have the right to say anything to me, about my family and my country, and that bugs me to no end. I was not so amused.

Friday:
Thanks to my closest American neighbor, Samantha, I was able to get all my boxes packed before the truck came on Friday. It was tough. I really had only dabbled before then, a box here and there. But starting around 9pm, we kicked butt and basically didn't sleep until 5. We had to go to work at 8. Bwa ha ha ha!
The movers said they would come between 2 and 5. Thank goodness they didn't come until late! I worked down to the minute, and carrying all those boxes down from the 4th floor to the 1st was a bit like climbing Konpira-san with a box of books. Insanity. If Sam hadn't been there, I'd never have made it.
At night, the wife of an old eikaiwa student came over to give me one final class on how to put on my yukata by myself. I think this one finally stuck. I can't wait to go home and prance around in a non-humid climate in my yukata. Whee!

The days that followed were filled with lunch and dinner parties every day, and today and tomorrow are no exception.
I am utterly exhausted.
I fly home on Friday.
The day cannot come soon enough.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There is a restaurant tucked among the trees of the pine forest that braces the town against the sea.
I never knew quite where the entrance was, or how to make reservations, or even if it was a restaurant to begin with, but all the crates of empty sake bottles led me to believe it housed much drinking and merriment.
I met a woman on the train once, going from Tsuda to Zoda, who owned said restaurant and invited me to come someday. I nodded and smiled, and thought nothing of it. But the Japanese do not make empty promises. Without me knowing it, the woman had contacted by boss, and set up a dinner party for me. In what other country do you go through a person's boss to make dinner arrangements? Of course, I accepted.

And so I went to Seishintei, dressed in a cotton kimono, with two bottles of wine clinking against each other in a furoshiki wrapping . My boss accompanied me, and when we arrived in the wooden, mossy grove of pine, the owner came out to meet us in her summer kimono, a sweet green laced with tall grasses. Her hair was that perfectly aged hair that curls in a bun and is highlighted by brilliant strands of silver. I was envious of her earthy demeanor and the environment she lived in. Her husband donned a white chef's coat and smiled largely at me from behind a short bar where he was setting bowls of sushi on trays for his expected guests. There were 6 of us in all. The childhood friend off the chef, and a friend of the woman had come to join us for the meal. It was delicious. It was a man who clearly enjoyed cooking. So much so that he had broken out of the strictly Japanese recipes that these people are so fond of, and created new dishes with French and even Italian flairs. It didn't matter- it was all beautiful. I'll share with you the clam soup he made, complete with wind-chime adornment made from sudachi (lime), daikon, and a konbu (seaweed) string. Genius!



As the evening drew to a close, and they had all sung a song with their karaoke machine, I got up to leave, but was asked to wait a moment while the women went off in the back. The friend of the lady, whom I had just met that evening, came out and unfurled a white kimono with smoky grey images of the country-side painted on it in a repeat surface design. It was beautiful, but when she offered it to me, I had to shake my head. It would never fit, and I could never take such a thing from a stranger! She prompted me to hold out my arm to be sure- and sure enough, the sleeves were about 5 inches too short, which would look ridiculous, so everyone agreed I had better not. So then the owner brought out her old green kimono that was her mother's. Her mother had long arms, so she thought perhaps it would fit me. Naturally, it did. So I ended up with a kimono anyway, much to my surprise. How precious these people are! How simple their smiles, and how deep their kindness! Would that I could grow and age with such beauty and grace as they have...

The night came, and I walked home with a heavy heart. To leave this country and go again to a country where such simplicity does not exist is going to strain my heart, and the naivite that has grown there.
There is naught to do but remember it all with such vividness that I do not lose sight of it.

Well.
What a weekend! Happy 4th of July everyone! Yeah America!
After the Robin Hood musical, I spent two weeks cleaning my apartment and preparing for my art exhibit that took place in my home. It was super exciting! I meant for the show to be for all my Japanese friends as a way to avoid a million little small sayonara parties, but in the end I thought it best to show my other friends, too. So I had a 4th of July party out here at Tsuda Beach on Friday night. That way, everyone could have an awesome time and then come back to my place to see the art without having to waste train fare. But that also meant I had back to back 3 days of crazy people in my house. AWESOME!

The project came about when I was sitting at my desk one day and I had a piece of paper needing to be thrown away sitting in front of me. Without thinking, I picked up the paper and folded it into 12 paper cranes. It was like my fingers were never told to cease folding after the first installation was complete back in 2006. Aware Installation
So I kept folding. Between classes. During classes. Behind my back so the students couldn't see. It really isn't hard work when you do it over a long period of time.
So after one year, there were 1,000 cranes. I'm sure anyone looking for a pen when I wasn't there was surprised by the 2nd drawer in my desk.

I'll take a moment to tell a side story. Every year the 3rd year students go somewhere far away to learn about war and peace and human rights. They always fold 1,000 paper cranes as a class and take them to that site. When the students were doing this last year, I helped them. By help, I mean that I had paper crane folding contests with the students. The first day I beat everyone by half. That is to say that they were only halfway done when I was finished. The next day, the really proud boys had clearly been practicing because they got up to 75% of the way finished before I beat them. It was pretty hilarious. No one has beat me to date. The other game we played was folding cranes under the desks. Folding a crane without looking is really an exciting task. It takes an abstract mind, and good fingers. The boys, who hate the chore of folding the cranes for class, were really excited by the various games we concocted to pass the time more quickly. Despite it being a Japanese craft, I feel like I did my best teaching in moments like those.

Back to my art.
I went to the local udon shop owned by a cute couple who must be over 80. I love them and their cute little old wrinkly faces! Whenever I come in they serve me my zaru udon without my having to order because they just know me that well. Anyway, I asked them for one day of disposable chopsticks. Surprisingly without hesitation, they handed me the day's bag of chopsticks, and as an afterthought, asked me why I wanted them. I told them it was for art. They paused then said, "You better wash 'em." Of course, I did.

At the neighborhood fishing store I asked for 3 reels of fishing line, and when I they asked if I liked fishing I said no, but that I was using it for art, they were slightly confused, but intrigued, which is really the whole purpose of art anyway. A hobby shop near one of my schools supplied me with supankuruzu (sequins) and with 1,000 cranes and probably 1,000 chopsticks, I was set.

While watching season 3-4 of Grey's Anatomy, I rigged up my installation, and it was magically finished by July 4th.





The reactions of all the people who came over the 2 day-long show, coupled with the sheer number of people who came, was more than I expected. I am truly lucky to have had the opportunity to have met so many wonderful people!

By the way- word of Japanese tradition caution: When inviting lots of Japanese people to your house, don't bother buying snacks for them. They will bring their owns. Lots. And lots. And lots. And you will be stuffed with sweet things before the 5th person even shows up. Fantastic!

For more pictures, look here: MottaiNani?!

Recent movie to make the list of movies NEVER to watch in a theater of Japanese people:
Indiana Jones 4.

WHO DOES THAT?!
WHO DOES THAT?
ARE YOU PEOPLE SICK!?

Who makes a scene where they comically test the atomic bomb in the Nevada Desert in 1957 on a town of fake dummies and shows their skin melting off in a most realistic fashion, complete with dramatic mushroom cloud to show to a Japanese audience?!
WHO DOES THAT?!

Most uncomfortable moment in my Japan life!

Oh, and don't get me started on the historical inaccuracy of India Jones. Just... just don't.
Cusco? Nazca? Maya? Let's mix in some more "South American" words and get people really excited! THERE WERE NO MAYANS IN THE BLOODY AMAZON! Incans, people! Incans! It's the Incans who have the whole alien conspiracy theoory attached to them, anyway. Oh dear. So much for getting excited about that.

In other news- I had a visit from my college Japanese teacher who stayed for a night and I took her to Naoshima to see the museums. It was the first time going with a Japanese person, and she definitely had a lot of new perspective. She revived my dream of living on Naoshima someday. Lovely thought to have a studio there...

Some friends of mine threw me a goodbye party on Friday night. It was so much fun! One woman gave me wide obi that matches my new kimono perfectly!!!!! It's amazing! Now I don't have to go spend $1,000 to go buy one! It's very hard for me to accept such a gift knowing that, only eased by the fact that she swore she never wore it anymore. (Honestly, how does that happen?) They also chipped in to get me a pair of zori (Kimono shoes). I'm so set and ready to go! My kimono is complete!

Anyway, things are crazy. I'm finished at 2 of my junior high schools. I will never go back to them. They gave me presents and notes and letters and I'm really not handling the stress well at all, but I know it'll all be over soon, so I'm just holding out for August 1st when I can breathe again. I just wish it were all a bit slower, is all.
Here's hoping.

The musical is over! Hip hip huzzah!
It was excellent. Way better than I anticipated it being. People enjoyed it much more than I expected as well. The costumes somehow all managed to get done. Obviously, they didn't look like the sketches I had first drawn up, but they got done nonetheless. If I ever volunteer to costume a whole musical by myself again, some one shoot me.
I have to admit though, it gave me great practice at finishing an item of clothing with great speed. Whereas I usually draw a project out over a few weeks, I got to the point where I could finish a whole costume in a day. Awesome!



My favorite memories of the play were: sewing Robin and King Richard into their boots before the show. Someone's comment that they loved the show because they'd never seen anything like that considering Japanese people just don't "do that sort of thing." And lastly, on the last performance, we got pushed out from backstage during the curtain call, and the actors gave the 3 techies (angelina-props, nick-sound and director, me-lights) and one trumpet player flowers, which was really sweet of them. I honestly didn't expect it! Everyone was super nice to me about the costumes, which really put me at ease about the whole thing and made every last hour of work worth it!
Alas, I never had time to take pictures of my costumes, so I have to steal someone's photos!

This is what we call post stealing:
Megan's Journal Entry
I suggest the "Robin Hood Performance Part II" for prime costume viewing. ^_^
If anyone else posts photos, I'll be sure to share.
Now it's time to sleep! Huzzah!!!!

When I was maybe 8 or 9, I remember puting on my mother's summer bathrobe and admiring myself in my parent's bedroom mirror, congratulating myself on how very oriental I looked in my newfound kimono.
I remember fawning over the procelain statue of the beautiful Japanese woman, pale as the moon, who stood on a glass shelf in our entryway. She was my favorite thing to dust in the whole house.
I recall sitting in art class in high school, trying to replicate in pencil all the layers of a kimono carved into ukiyoe blocks, wondering just how one managed to move in such a thing.
The kicker was the 8 page paper which I wrote in Japanese about Japanese kimono surface design in college, followed by a kimono show put on by the university which I got to admire at great lengths with new appreciation.
The funny thing was- after all that, after all that stuyding and adoration, I still had no clue just how expensive and how difficult it was to put on a kimono.
My first kimono buying adventures were innocent- used kimono I had bought my first and second time in Tokyo. Since the Japanese do not value used things, or antiques without famous names attached, used kimono are incredibly cheap. That disillusioned me into thinking that, naturally, new kimono must not be that expensive.
Wrong.
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A few days ago, it was decided that they would change the JET who was coming to take over my position. The new application arrived, and the new JET looks great. She is just like me- an art major with an interest in education and language. She’s from Florida, and she speaks Japanese just fine having lived in Hiroshima for a year working for NOVA. I translated the application for my supervisor and made sure she understood everything (why they are in English, I’ll never know). As I walked away to make a copy of something I heard the most pathetic whimper, and when I turned around I discovered that she had started to cry. Oh no! In all honestly, I never really thought she liked me all that much, seeing as how much she has to take care of me and all my paperwork, but I think she began to think of me more as a daughter than a colleague, and so she’s become quite troubled about the fact that I’m leaving soon. Every time since then, if I even mention “going home” she presses her lips and looks away like she’s going to start at it again. It humbles me completely, and I have a hard time meeting her gaze. I feel like I’m abandoning them; not just my supervisor, but everyone. Students, teachers, friends... they all give me the same look and the pit in my stomach just gets bigger and bigger.

At the same time, I am so looking forward to going home, eating lunch slowly, sleeping in, gardening, painting walls, seeing my family, getting my hoard of art supplies back... oh, it’s an endless list that will always beat out the guilt I feel over leaving. But it doesn’t erase it. It’s just a bigger pile.

Don’t worry, Mom. I’m still coming home. August 1st.

Japanese Kindergartens are dangerous places.
I don't mean that in the sense that you could get tripped at any moment by instantly flocking small people, or someone might poke you in the butt because they think it's terribly cute, and I'm not even talking about the gaijin factor which demands that you will have children try to touch your eyeballs because they don't believe blue is a valid eye color.

Japanese kindergartens are filled with things. Insects. Bugs. Reptiles. Fish. ...things.
The first time I came across this was eating lunch with a bunch of 4 year olds a few years back. They liked to take the little guppy fish out of the tanks and hand them to me while I was eating. Lovely!
Another time was during a lesson when a cockroach scuttled across the floor and I squealed, ready to step on it when the teacher said, "Oh, there he is! Let's put him back in his cage..." Gross.
But my favorite to date was a event I actually mentioned earlier.
When you walk into a kindergarten in your slippers, headed for the principal's office for some coffee before you start, the last thing you expect to be in your path is a pile of wriggling white worms reminiscent of giant maggots. Thankfully not maggots, the worms turned out to be silk worms. Fabulous little dudes eating their mulberry leaves, only stopping when there was none left to be eaten. I went home that day with a milk carton containing 3 of them.



Over the next few days, my new little friends began spinning themselves into silky balls. It was interesting to watch. They find a small place and net themselves in, making the space smaller and smaller until they can make a solid round wall. To touch them, they seem quite hard, and so I wondered how they were ever going to get out.
Apparently, there are two kinds of silk production these days. There's the good old fashion kind where, once the cocoon has been spun, you plunk it into a pot of boiling water and wa-la, unravel the silk to give yourself lovely thread. Disregard the dead wormy bodies in the bottom of the pot. But in todays day and age, there are some concerned individuals who find that cruel. So instead, they wait for the cocoons to hatch, and before the moth that emerges eats the entire thing, they take it away. The moths can't fly according to most sites I checked. The moth then lays eggs and promptly dies.
Seriously... All that work just so that it can die a day or two later? I fail to see the point.

Without proper equipment, and with only the finite knowledge I have of spinning from college, I was able to make a very knobby boucle thread that was about 4 meters long out of one cocoon. That's pretty nifty.
Now what do I do with it?

Every now and then, some really cool stuff happens to shake up the monotonous paperwork that Japan loves all too much. The last few weeks have been pretty shaken- and it's largely due to all the alcohol consumption that I've had to endure. Alocholism isn't really a problem here. Rather, it's a way of life. Here's how it went:
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I always thought it was absolute crap that sign language wasn't universal. I mean... shouldn't it be? But after tonight, I see why. In most cases, it's not the deaf who create sign language, it's the hearing- so a lot of it is based on sounds in the case of the Japanese signing system. Furthermore, grammar, culture, and other phenomenon get in the way of universality.

Take for example this simple sentence:
"I studied Japanese in high school."
First we have to put it in the order of Japanese grammar-
"I high school Japanese studied."
Now comes signing-
"I "
(point to self, people in Tokyo point to their nose, people in Kagawa point to the chest)

"high school "
(With two fingers brush straight across your forehead (This was the old Japanese high school uniform cap), then hold out your hands like a book to imply learning, then make a house to imply the school itself)

"Japanese "
(starting from Tokyo, form the shape of the Japanese archapeligo with two fingers, then bracket it with the Japanese quotation marks called "Kakko" to imply language)

"studied "
(hold our hands out like a book to imply learning, then point your fingers straight down to imply "shita" which is "down" but is also the same sound as the past tense conjugation.)

This simple sentence shows us several things about Japanese sign language.
#1- You must understand Japanese culture- the high school cap.
#2- You must know Japanese grammar- the order of words, and the quotation brackets they use in writing.
#3- You must speak Japanese to know that the word for down has the same pronunciation as the past tense conjugation.

Now I bet you're wondering how I came up with such an amazing subject?
As I was leaving my English adult class this evening, a friend of mine came out of another room to say hello, and told me she was teaching sign language. I wanted to watch, but ended up learning it instead. It's fascinating. I can remember so many word after only 30 minutes of lesson because it's all TPR (total physical response) and it sticks in my brains because it MAKES SENSE, unlike most language acquisition. Now, how can I apply this to teaching English? Hmmm.

Sometimes we forget how good we have it.
Sometimes we just plain don't see how awesome out lives are.
I've had several encounters with "The Awesomeness of Alsn" recently, that really hit home, but I'll start with the biggest news.

There is word of my replacement. Today I got to translate her application into Japanese which was long and arduous, but I learned a lot about this new person. At first I thought she was more qualified than myself seeing as how she graduated with a degree in musical education. And then I hit the part about physical handicaps. My replacement is a dwarf. I thought this was cool. I told my supervisor right away.
Oops.
Handicaps are not taken lightly in Japan. There is a huge discrimination against them. You won't see handicap ramps here, or easy to ride trains- it's just not applicable to their culture. It takes money to modify everything to be handicapped accessible, and that's just not something the countryside of Japan has.
Going back to my successor. I didn't see the problem with the person after me being the same height as most of the elementary school students she teaches, and I don't think there is a problem there. They're more worried about A) I live on the 4th floor with a very steep staircase. B.) I ride my bike to schools that are far distances. C.) I teach middle school students who love to bully.
What do you think?

The second occurance of the day was my class at the local kindergarten this morning. They are currently raising silk worms, and they're pretty nasty when you see them as a huge pile of white, wriggling bodies on a bed of leaves. They gave me 3 to take home and watch spin their little silk pajamas, but when my supervisor saw them she nearly fainted. She could not handle being in the same car with them. It always blows my mind to find someone is so afraid of something they can't get their mind around their physical aversion. I don't like bugs much, but I can appreciate them somewhat, and for that I am lucky.

The 3rd excellent factor of the day was sending off my 2 friends, Annie and Adrian, who left after 4 days of enjoying Kagawa. One of my students had made us Kaiseki Ryori (fancy shmancy Japanese food), I got to visit Naoshima for a 5th time (I WANT TO LIVE THERE!), we hiked Kompira (twice in one week can be fatal), and we got 3 rounds of free drinks down at my favorite restaurant in Sanbonmatsu, Gowariyasu. We also got hit on by three guys, one of which was a monk. A very BAD monk. It was awesome.
Annie and I have plans to hike down the Grand Canyon this fall, and we're really deadly serious about wanting to take a month to hike the 88 temples of Shikoku next year. Whoa.
So my revelation this morning was how awesome my friends are. I mean... wow! I've had so many friends come and visit from American, it's insane! How lucky am I?
Awesomely lucky.

Looks like I will be back in American on August 8th. (They're keeping me a week longer than contract)
Until then...
Remember how awesome you are!
REMEMBER!

A man stopped my friend Sam and I at the supermarket the other day to ask the addresses of our schools. He then looked at me and said I had a cute face- and kept saying it despite the fact that I was standing next to Sam who is gorgeous. It was all very bizarre. Cannot account for the taste of old men.

Sam bought a bag of sugar the other day and in the morning when she made herself cinnamon toast she discovered she had accidentally bought salt. This is where I thank my mother and father for sending me to school so I could learn Japanese. I'm not saying Sam made the wrong choice- I just know that in the same situation I would have cried- a lot.

There is a man at my school who doesn't talk to anyone. He loves to run- that's about all I know. I sometimes see him running misbevaing boys up the mountain behind the school. At office parties he always sits alone and noe one talks to him or wakes him up before his nose hits his plate. I've tried several times, but it is awfully awkward to confront. Tonight I saw him by coincidence at the hotel in town. He was reading a newspaper in the lobby while I had a meeting with some people. He didn't notice me. He also took the elevator up, which leads me to assume he lives there. The mystery grows deeper!

I have effectively translated every stupid pamphlet of every stupid tourist attraction in Sanuki City. If I was a bad person I'd put lots of errors in them. As it is, I already wrote more than I was supposed to in one of them. There's a famous bloke in Shido who discovered how to harness static electricity in the Edo era- his museum stands here even though he lived most of his life in Tokyo. Anyway- most of Japan doesn't recognize him because he went crazy in his fifties and murdered a student of his. He died in jail. That was not included in the tour of the Hiraga Genni museum of Shido. So I kindly added it. Heh heh heh.

Yesterday I had to crawl out a window and walk home from school in my school slippers and without my bike because there was a boy having such a fit that he was throwing things and upsetting furniture around the entrance, and the teachers wouldn't let me go near it. It's really bizarre how much my quiet little school has changes with the flood of new "bad" students. I even skirt him in the halls now. No teacher should have to be afraid of their own students.

I will now spend the next four days leading a group of 20 students from Palo Alto California around the prefecture. Wish me luck! Sure to tell you lots of stories when it's over and done with.

The Annual 24 Hour Comic Party is finished for yet another year. Huzzah! About 6 people chilled in my apartment for 24 hours and drew comics. It was a raging good time and I got a lot of work done on my Pirate comic. Very pleased indeed. Out of peer pressure, I am posting THE LOG of the party. Deal with it.

9:00 am People arrive: Commence Party



11:22 Jadlocki Yawns
11:25 Petersen breaks the hand off Alsn's figure model doll
11:30 Alana prepares the pages of her comic with pink electrical tape binding
11:45 Motooka Finishes a drawing.
12:00 Relocation to the Roof



1:30 Jadlocki completes page two
2:15 Motooka completes page one
2:30 Petersen completes page Uno
5:00 Pizza is masticated
6:00 Jadlocki states he is "finished"
6:15 Alsn completes page three


9:10 The posse make a last run to Marunaka
11:09 "You put the fish in that position?" - Alana
11:09:33 "It's eleven 'o' nine?!" - Jadlocki
1:30 Petersen and Alsn do a mad ninja dash to Sunkus for Starbucks Lattes
2:00 Yoga Moment



3:10 The party loses 3 members to the forces of the darkness and futons
5:00 Much squealing while watching Youtube clips of Christian Bale singing in Newsies
5:15 The sun rises over Crab Shell Bay. We watch from the roof- it looks like an Easter egg

6:32 Jadlocki wakes up
7:05 Alana announces herself as done



7:45 Angelina things she might be done
7:46 Jadlocki remembers that pancakes need eggs




8:00 Pancake completion. Eating commences
8:36 Matooka awakens
8:45 Alsn completes page nine
9:00 Angelina emerges victorious

End transmission

As I was sitting at my desk this morning I was staring blankly off to my left, avoiding looking back at the notebook in front of me that was filled with writing drill practices. (They are dreadful things that I refuse to believe help anybody) I realized that something was odd about the view I was so accustomed to drifting off into. It was more... open. I went back to my grading, deciding it was the rain or my lac of sleep.

Some time later I caught myself looking at that space again. Open. I got up and investigated. Something had been removed from the wall in the entryway. The tools! There used to be a peg board that covered the wall, and it was laden with saws, pliers, cutters, and the like. Now- nothing!

Which reminds me of last week when I discovered the large paper cutter missing. And the jar of scissors at the teacher's work station. And... and.. and...

The fact of the matter is that school has become a dangerous place.
We accepted 2 transfer students from Hell, and we have a suicidal mentally challenged student, as well as several unruly new boys, too.

The Japanese school system is not set up very well for people like this. They are simply ignored, or in the case of the mentally handicapped, "babysat." The transfer students from Hell stand around the teacher's office all day which is completely not allowed, but the teachers just look the other way. It's so frustrating.
And apparently I'm not allowed to teach the sole survivor of the Home Ec club (the suicidal girl) how to sew, knitt, crochet, or... or anything, because it involves scissors.

Frsutration abounds.

The good news is that I've been so busy at the Board of Education that I haven't had to be at school much. Woohoo! Oh, and I got some shiny new Sanuki City business cards. I am so offical! ^_^

Most people around me these days have been getting an earful of my whining and complaining. "Oh, I have so much work!" "Oh, they are using me for things out of my job description!" Whine whine whine whine.

The truth is, I've been working my butt off recently. For the past two weeks I've been lucky to get off work on time. Two hours late has been the average. Between helping with the Okinawa Trip and helping organize, plan, translate, and shuffle paper for the upcoming Palto Alto City Cultural Exchange Program, I've been at wits end.

The last straw came when I got an email from the principal of a California school who told me she was hoping I could translate on the spot for her because she couldn't write her speech ahead of time. Who me? I don't translate from English to Japanese. It's not what I do! I'm already translating the mayor, superintendent, and whatsawho's speeches into English on the spot, so there's no way I was about to agree to translating English into honorific Japanese.

So I walked into the Board of Education this afternoon with smoke coming out of my ears only to be confronted by a new computer at my desk. Oh? Further investigation provided that there was a card in the card reader with my name on it. Furthermore, the title was my name, followed by, "CIR." For those of you who aren't aware of these magical letters, my position title is ALT: Assistant Language Teacher. CIR is a rank above- Coordinator of International Relations.

I've been promoted! Sweet!
What does this mean? Nothing, really. My city simply decided that they needed a CIR, so they've just renamed me. I don't get paid more because I'm still under the JET contract, and JET will not allow such things, but if I stayed for another year, I would get the full CIR awesomeness. Too bad I'm not staying. However, they have begged me to come back as a private CIR/ALT without the JET baggage in the future. That would be lovely. If I'm ever without a job, it's nice to know I'll always have one waiting.

That should knock my whining down to a minimum. Maybe.
I can't wait to tell you of all the adventures of translating and all the horror stories which are bound to come. Until then- please wait with baited breath.

Ahhh, the enkai season... parties galore.
The Sobetsukai is a type of enkai which poses an excuse to get drunk and tell the people who you used to work with how you feel about them, and quiz the new people who you are going to work with while their guard is down. It's a cruel machine, but ingenious at the same time. Did I mention expensive? With each one ranging from $60-$100, they can get pretty overwhelming. And whereas I eat all my food, many teachers don't. Especially the women. Every enkai (party) is different. Every set-up is too. But they all have the common thread of being very formal, followed my much drinking, and eating pretty plates of food.
Here is an example of one set-up:
( Read more... )
Sitting on your knees (seiza) on tatami mat behind low-lacquer tables. This exmple shows the typical two lines of people facing each other, the most important people (those leaving the school) placed at the front of room in the bottom of the "U" part of the room.

Here is another party with more people:
( Read more... )
Basically one table at the front, and several arms radiating from it.
How about the food? I've never been to an enkai that isn't Kaiseki. Small plates with small bite-sized pieces of food that look too nice to eat. They are so many plates that they tend to bring them out slowly enough that they can take the plates you finished with before they put a new one down. But if you're slow, or too busy drinking, you're in trouble.
( Read more... )

I had a good time at my enkai's this year. At one of them my boss insisted on drinking me into oblivion. It was fabulous.

The strangest things I have noticed about enkai:
1.) If the room has tatami mat, (whether conscious or not) the speech givers kneel five-finger widths behind the band that holds tatami together at the edges.
2.) Nobody looks at the speech giver while he/she is talking. They stare into their food.
3.) You cannot pour your own drink. The alcohol is poured into your glass by someone else, no matter your rank, and you must take a sip before putting it down again. If you have a full glass when someone comes by to pour you a drink, you must take at least one sip from your glass so that they can pour something into it Though often men will chug the whole glass. It's good these glasses are small.

I think enkais are a little difficult on the wallet, but well worth it. I would bring them back to the states with me if I could. How about an enkai for my wedding? ^_^ Oh right... still working on finding that boyfriend.

My entry to the Jet Programme Essay Competition is finished, much to my bewilderment. I started with a skeleton of ways to talk about teaching, art, and linguistics, and came out with an essay about water. Go figure. I have no hope of winning on account that it isn't exactly what they wanted- but I couldn't force myself to write dreary words such as "grassroots internationalization" and "cooperation" the number of times it would have taken to secure a first place prize. That and I'm too dramatic, my brother would say. However, I'm happy because I could put down in words what I wanted to say, and that's honestly prize enough for me. Thanks to my editors who painstakingly looked this over for me. You guys saved me! So here it is, my essay about water:

The Waves of Japan



Two years in a country as unique as Japan can seem like a lifetime, or pass in the blink of an eye. I was lucky enough to take in each of these ways. To stop and appreciate such a life goes beyond smelling roses, and borders on meditation. The rose thing never worked for me; what does work is simply remembering, observing, and dreaming. When something is good in the world, I stop. I focus on it. Then I reach into the past and pull from the lake of memories another time when life was this good. I compare them. I sit and think about how I felt at the time before, what was in my head, and what my dreams were. I compare those dreams with this reality; have my dreams materialized, or have better roads opened up? Then I take a moment to dream about the future. Where will I be next? What will my next great moment be? It's an exhilarating practice.

But how does one remember people? The people of Japan are a people all their own, and to remember them takes an understanding of what they love. If you’ve never met a man who praised the beauty of the full four seasons of Japan, or a woman who would change the decorations from maple leaf to pine like clockwork come winter, then you can at least appreciate their love of nature through their names. Names like: Yamashita, a man living below a mountain; Tanaka, a family devoted to the rice fields; and Taniguchi, whose name I am inclined to believe means at some point his family thrived at the mouth of the valley. And while the people of Japan are varied from north to south in their dialects, foods, and sights, they all have one thing in common- their ocean. I lived on the banks of the Seto Inland Sea, amidst a people as true as the blue of the water, as secretive as the ocean floor, and as challenging as the stormy sea, so from my experience, I can honestly say that the Japanese are best described by that which surrounds them.

I remember my first summer in Japan's smallest prefecture, Kagawa, teaching English in a place where everyone knew my name before I’d arrived. It was hot. The kind of dreadful, sticky, hot that invades your lungs and makes idle thoughts melt in your brain. I was a girl from the dry mountains of Colorado, and had never met this onslaught of humidity before. I dealt with it by visiting my newest neighbor, the Seto Inland Sea. I had never seen the sea before, and our first few encounters were awkward and full of a hesitant mix of wonder and terror. How was I expected to interact with something so great, so vast, with a history so much longer than my own? It was a force so strong and so constant that I feared I would be swallowed whole and spit out as wave-tumbled turquoise and white glass, smooth fragments of porcelain bowls, and discarded plastic bottles. How does one ever keep her proper shape in a sea so vigilantly harmonious?

But the sea is a deceptive thing.

I walked that shore for 20 months, never understanding it. There were times when I stood at the water's edge and howled insults at it, hurling hurtful words into the waves to clear my heart of the burdens of the day. No echo came back. I got angry at the lack of communication. I didn’t know if I was succeeding from day to day, or sinking like a stone, and the ocean wouldn’t tell me either way. Its silence made me feel small, unneeded, and more of a hindrance than a teacher. And so I would gather friends for parties reminiscent of home and we'd build an island fortress with complaints, ideas to improve the water, and plans to clear what we thought was archaic flotsam from the surface. We naively forgot the impossibility of changing a thing such as the ocean. It, of course, was too great a thing to be bullied by the smallness we were, and every day there were new gifts left on my path beside the sea, ever enticing me to enter its world. One day it was a yellow plastic flower, the next a magnificent spiral nautilus, but I merely pocketed the treasures, bowed my head in thanks, and walked ever parallel to the waves.

There were people, too, of course. Fishermen speaking in tongues only fishermen and fish comprehend, casting their invisible lines into the depths with admirable hope that something would come of it. Grey-haired women who appeared permanently bent at the waist, their noses nearly touching the delta silt where they trudged bravely, picking up small brown clams and tossing seaweed aside. And there were old men whose lives at desks had slackened their faces and brought them each day to walk by the sea as if remembering a life they could never return to with a sort of nostalgia tinged by regret. They spoke to me sometimes, on the fringe of dusk, warning me to return home and prepare dinner for a husband I didn't have. They'd talk about the sea, about the sand and the sun, and they'd roll bright, translucent sakura shells in the palm of their hands like memories, offering them to me like a king offers jewels. I accepted humbly, never understanding half of the words that trickled from their dialect-laden lips, ignorant of the gift they were truly offering me.

Of animals along the Seto Inland Sea, I will say this: The crows are so large they rival turkeys I've eaten at holiday dinners, and they dislike the water so much that they madly hop about chasing surf to gain the fish carcasses that sometimes wash up. There are small skipping-stone sized black crabs who scuttle between fishing rocks, seagulls who transform concrete barriers into feathery white blankets, and excited silvery fish who startle the silence and imperial flatness of the horizon with their intermittent jumping. But even these small upstarts are not enough to concern the serious tide that rises and falls as faithfully as the sun, never relenting, never slowing, and never stopping.

I remember the day that I sat on the white seashell sand and watched as the sparkles on the peaks of the waves flashed and fell into blueness again and again, never tiring of the sight, but eyes growing heavier with every glitter. I was immersed. I had been looking so far out, been so entirely engrossed in the world before me, that I hadn't noticed how the waves had slipped up the shore to lick at me. My first reaction was to be startled, surprised, and furious. I readied a slew of angry retorts to remind the ocean I was not one of its own, but as the waves pulled back I found myself feeling something else entirely. A great sadness- a fear that someday the ocean would not be there, that these gifts, fishermen, and squawking birds would not last forever, and for the first time, I paused.

From the memories came a time when I was 12 years old, a junior high student hardly different from the ones I now taught. My sole friend at that time was a boy named Kansei Hirano who spoke as much English as I spoke Japanese then, which is to say none. We spoke in smiles. I remembered a time when we sat across from each other at lunch. He opened his neatly divided lunch box complete with rice, miniscule salads, and spiral-legged octopi, and I emptied a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the crinkled brown paper bag that was so common to me. We looked at each other. We simultaneously picked up our lunches and offered them to each other with our shoulders raised to our ears in shyness. It was that simple. I remember being truly happy in that moment. And even though I remember vowing then that I would someday live in Japan, I never really believed it could happen. But there I was, sandy, sea-licked, and afraid that I had lived 20 months of my life in the country I dreamed of since I was 12 years old, without remembering the simplicity of give and take.

I did not wait for the waves to return to me, but went running into them. It was wonderfully cold, that day in March, when the spring was only just beginning to warm the beach, the wind was still brisk, and I walked, as I had never walked before, amongst the sparkles of the sea.

It is not enough to watch, record, and judge the world before our eyes, no matter the depth we believe we can see into. There are secrets kept only for those who open their heart to the sea, and those are greater gifts than all the trinkets left upon the sand. Of all the fear and spite I held towards my neighbor the Seto, I can say only that it was washed away then, and I see a new side of the sea from this different place. There are still flaws in the water; sometimes I feel it is yet inefficient with its flotsam and debris, and sometimes it is much too cold. And when I remember I am not a girl of the ocean, but of the mountains, I have to call ashore to ground myself and keep from floating out too far. But the view of the whole is so much clearer from here, the understanding far more vivid, that I'm not certain I will ever walk on that land again.

I have made my peace with the bountiful sea, and it has graciously accepted me. Still, to complete my appreciation of the moment I have to look forward, beyond this one, to imagine the next. At this time I want to share my views with others. My sincerest hope is that all visitors who come to this seashore to engage the ocean with their eyes step into the surf to accept the gifts of the sea.