in.the.inaka

Tadaima: I'm back

2009-08-27T23:18:00.000-07:00

I have been called out for totally neglecting my blog. I apologize to those of you left hanging.
So much inactivity in my work life, considering that the students are on summer vacation, has led to me spending way too much time in front of my computer; day after day. My cousin Caitlin and I often refer to the nauseas feeling that comes from staring at one’s computer excessively as carsickness. Just as childhood trips to the beach with my family once left me queasy, summer in Japan, similarly, makes me carsick.

Luckily my laptop is broken so my vegetation time is limited to my work computer, so, come 3:45, I am able to unbuckle my seatbelt after a long journey and finally enjoy my destination.

Since returning to Japan after a three week trip to the US this summer, I have learned the following:
-Festivals in Japan are only meaningful when you hike up a mountain to partake in them.
-If you say you like cheesecake someone might bake you cheesecake and secretly give it to you the next day.
-Japanese toilets are very dangerous.
-Teaching English to Japanese adults is just as fun as teaching English to Japanese children.
-I am 85% happy, according to a test given to me by my ceramics instructor.
-I have a landlord.

Okay, I would elaborate or write more but then I would have to roll the window down and throw up.

Takuma Road Trip

2009-06-15T00:15:00.000-07:00

I have a confession. I have come to love where I live.

I am usually quite fickle in emotions, so making such a bold statement on something as official as a blog should warrant hesitation, however, I cannot seem to hold the words in my mouth, or rather my fingers. This is not a new feeling of butterflies to be confused with infatuation. Rather, I have been working up to this realization for months now, and as the weeks come and go, my feelings only seem to grow stronger.

Yesterday solidified my romance with Kagawa when I went on a day-long adventure throughout my town, guided by a new friend who lives in the mountains near an elementary school where I teach.

We began at a hidden, delicious, cafe just minutes behind the gym I frequent.

After we licked our plates, we headed out in search of a local garden maintained by the various elementary schools that I visit.
A small path led us from the field of flowers to the sea
where we soaked our feet and collected washed-up sea glass.

With shoes full of sand, we got back into my friend's car to continue our journey towards the top of Takuma's most famous mountain. The steep and curvy mountain roads would most certainly be deemed one-way in the US, however, cars came from the opposite direction, causing my friend Jocelyn to burst into tears of laughter and freight, which ultimately led to the unanimous decision to save the the summit for another day. My friend Chihiro suggested that we drive to her house where could walk around the beach across the street.

Along the way we stopped to soak up the view and chat with men on motorcycles.

When we reached Chihiro's house we were greeted by her mother who is an elementary school teacher at one of the schools that I frequent. Her brother joined us as we walked to the beach, where we were inspired by the warmth of the water to jump in for an impromptu swim.

We dried off and piled into Chihiro's dad's car for another windy drive, this time, in search of food. We grilled our own meat as we chatted in broken Japanese and English, forming a bond that ended in promises of future home stays and beach barbecues.

I was not upset about missing the Stanley Cup celebrations. There is no where else I would have rather been.

Way to go, girls.

2009-05-23T18:57:00.000-07:00

Last summer I lived in Pittsburgh with three wonderful friends.
On our last morning together before Ellen drove off to Cincinatti in her twenty-something-year-old Volvo station wagon, hoping that it would make the five hour trip, the four us sat down for a final breakfast at a diner around the corner from my apartment.

Soon after I, too, left Pittsburgh, leaving Jocelyn and Mallory behind. A month later they both left the city where they were born and headed out on separate adventures, one of which unexpectedly led Jocelyn to Japan.
Yesterday I received two separate emails from Mallory and Ellen informing me that they both got teaching jobs in Nashville, and that they will be moving there, together, in a mere ten days.
Somehow, even though they are still thousands of miles away, the fact that they are together makes them seem that much closer. Jocelyn and I are in Japan, and they will be making lives for themselves in Nashville. Our friendships are still long distance, but at least we are only split in half.
This makes me feel incredibly lucky and optimistic about moving back to the US sometime in the future, where although my friends are still scattered across the country, two of them will be together in a place where I can go without feeling like I am moving back home.

Incredibly Kind

2009-05-21T01:54:00.000-07:00

These are some things that I have received from various people since Monday.

My favorite, however, is a four-leaf clover that was given to me today by a second grader. I remember the childhood pursuit of such a prize. Today it came easily to me.

This afternoon I helped 6th year elementary school students address envelopes to foreigners who they met on their class trip to the Kansai region of Japan. In Kyoto, the students approached foreigners and then asked if they could take a picture together. They then asked them to write their address down on a piece of paper. It had become my job to de-code the sloppy handwriting from around the globe into legible letters and numbers that the students would then be able to copy themselves. Among the addresses from Switzerland, Canada, Germany, and England, there were a few from the US. One group showed me their address and I was stunned to see that it was from Pittsburgh. Shock set in as I read the street name. The woman whose picture had been taken by my students in Kyoto lives on Shady Ave, the street directly behind my own. The students who showed me this particular address held up the paper as if it were some sort of a golden ticket.

I hope the people who receive the photos in the mail cherish them and realize the incredibly kind gesture that these students are making. If nothing else, maybe they, like I, can feel that the world is that much smaller.

How to be Cool

2009-05-15T00:10:00.000-07:00

Exhausted from a beautiful trip to Hong Kong with pleasant memories of ripe mangos and bubble tea still fresh in my mind, I woke up extra early Tuesday morning for a class field trip that I was invited to partake in. I had been told to dress appropriately for the hike that we would take on the nearby mountain, and I was reminded to bring a bottle of water because I would be very hot. So that morning I put on a t-shirt and jean shorts, and I made sure that I had some cash in my purse for one of the many vending machines that I would find on the island where we would be hiking.

When I arrived at school the first thing I noticed was that all of the teachers were wearing jogging suits (normal attire for Japanese teachers) and big floppy hats to protect their faces from the sun. Everyone had a backpack where they stored their bento (lunch box) and bottle of water. The bento that I was given did not fit into my red over the shoulder purse, and various teachers warned me that I would get sunburned. Already I felt that they regretted inviting me along, because, of course, I had no idea of how to properly prepare for a hike up a sunny mountain.

Along with the hundred or so students, I boarded a ferry down the street from my Junior High School. Ten minutes later we arrived on the island that, somehow, I did not know existed.

After lots of sitting around and chatting with the teachers as the students had to find their way through a walking course, I ate my bento that another teacher had so kindly held in his backpack for me, followed by the commencement of the afternoon hike.

After ten minutes of walking up this I was exhausted, but I kept going amid the "we can do it" chants from my students.

When we reached the top of the mountain I looked down at the water and my town. I asked the students where our Junior High School was, and like me, they were unsure of its location.
On the walk down my students took turns wearing my sunglasses.

We took the ferry back to the mainlaind and returned to school sweaty from our adventure.

The next day I woke up sunburned and ashamed to show my reddened face to my co-workers. Despite my faults it was all worth it because now I know that I can escape to that island for an afternoon and that all it takes to be cool is a good pair of sunglasses.

I barely even noticed the cherry blossoms

2009-04-14T03:30:00.001-07:00

When I was approached on the train by a weird middle-aged man recently, I politely looked at the picture he showed me of himself pressed up against a Russian stripper whose name I cannot remember. I agreed in saying that she was pretty, and shook his hand after it had combed through his long, graying locks. As he walked away I only felt slightly relieved, barely bothered by the encounter.

After living in Japan for roughly eight months I have to come to realize that very little unsettles me. The most ridiculous of scenarios occur on a regular basis, and awkwardness has become expected, if not comfortable.
The most trying thing that has recently taken place would be, at any other time in my life, considered completely normal. This being some quality time spent with my mom, dad, and big brother.

The two weeks they were in Japan were filled with day trips and long train rides; slurping on udon and eating raw fish while claiming that every meal was more delicious than the last. My family met my new friends, some of whom speak very little English, and I watched on as my co-workers, students, and a trainer at the gym looked at my relatives in awe, especially my brother who in no way fit in with the restrictive Japanese ways.

Having my family in Japan was a little bit tiring,
much needed,
induced bonding,
and led me to the realization that my dad is a really, really good person.
After they left, my life resumed as normal. Which consists of Saturday nights that look like this
followed by sleepy Sundays and Monday mornings where I am expected to sing, dance, and sometimes speak Russian.

itsumo arigato gozaimasu: Thank You, Always

2009-03-26T17:31:00.000-07:00

There is a bakery cart that sometimes shows up in front of the bookstore across the street from my apartment. The brownies are amazing, and I recently discovered that the cheesecake, too, is out of this world. Although I never know exactly when the cart will show up, Monday evenings seem to be a safe bet. Jocelyn, who has been living with me for over a month, has grown to love the little cakes even more that I do; which has caused her her to dash out the door upon hearing the cart’s music, like a small child running after an ice cream truck.

Today, at 9 am, a surge of teachers grabbed their wallets and began running out of the staff room. One woman who barely speaks English saw that I made no effort to follow the others outside. She came over to my desk and said “bakery, come.” Although I was not hungry and have honestly been trying to cut back, I decided to take a break from my computer to see what this was all about.

Right outside of the Junior High School I found my favorite bakery cart filled with an abundance of unpicked-over goods. As I reached for my favorite brownie, I noticed that the teachers around me were loading trays full of breads, cookies, and cakes. These civilized people who quietly sip on green tea had suddenly become ravenous children. Motivated by the hype, I ended up buying three things. When it was my turn to pay the clerk who knows me well, and knows Jocelyn better, he said “itsumo arigato gozaimasu". He then told me that my friend loves the baked goods, and I told him that I was aware.
I walked away from the situation feeling like an experienced bakery shopper; as if I could have impressed my coworkers by saying “I’ll have the regular”.

Hopefully I can resist eating the two brownies and piece of cheesecake long enough to save some for Jocelyn. Maybe my coworkers were on to something... I should have bought more.

My Vice Principal let me do it.

2009-03-15T22:46:00.000-07:00

An hour of cleaning with this

is a lot more fun if one is permitted to blast Kelly Clarkson in the staff room.

Zannen: Too Bad

2009-03-15T18:19:00.000-07:00

Last Friday night, after the graduation ceremony at my Junior High School, I joined my coworkers for the proper Japanese work party that is infamously known as an enkai. We drank together, laughed together, sang karaoke and huddled under umbrellas while walking through the rain. I teased my young male coworkers for drinking ZIMA as I sipped on whisky and coke, and I challenged them to try to spell my name correctly. Among the attempts, “Rear” was my favorite.

This morning, everyone is quietly sitting at their desks as usual, and the man who sits across from me is dozed off with his hands neatly folded on his lap and his head slightly tilted to one side. The teacher who invited me over to ride his white pony has yet to say good morning, and another teacher who invited me to a baseball game after bonding over mutual reasons for being interested in teaching, literally ran away from me this morning as I tried to make small talk.

I suppose when people say what happens at an enkai stays at an enkai, this includes not only the inappropriate behavior but the bonding as well.

Zannen. I was really looking forward to meeting that pony.

Maybe it is because his name sounds Japanese?

2009-02-19T20:36:00.000-08:00

I know that Japanese people love Obama--a lot. I often use this knowledge to my advantage when lesson planning.

Is Obama scary or handsome?

Think of a great person. For example, Obama.

Me: “You can do it!”
Students: “eeeh?.”
Hmmm…
Me: “Yes we can!”
Students: “YES WE CAN!”

Today over lunch with first graders, a little boy asked me if I was a foreigner. I told him that I was. He then asked where I was from. I told him that I was from America. He seemed confused, as if he had never heard of the country. I then said, “Obama.” Immediately his face lit up to show his recognition. I asked the boy who Obama was. He answered "daitoriyo" (president). On a whim, I asked a follow up question. "Who is the Prime Minister of Japan?" Neither he nor the crowd of on-lookers knew the answer.

I suppose with his approval rate lingering around 13%, Taro Aso does not really enter the radar of a seven-year-old.

Obama, however, has somehow achieved Pokemon status.

Tabesugimashita: I Ate too Much

2009-02-14T19:40:00.000-08:00

This is my friend Naohiro and his lovely fiancee. Following four years of dating, they are getting married this April and then heading off to Italy for their honeymoon. I am sure they had a lovely Valentine's day filled with romance and admiration for each other.

All that is left of my original plan for the weekend is the whited out marking in my agenda book.
In this country where Western men are generally on the prowl for Japanese women, and Japanese men are generally too shy to merely make small talk with exotic women such as myself, us American ladies find ourselves leading very single, celibate lives. On Friday night, my friend had a few girls over for a clothing swap and sleepover. Two girls who came have lived in Japan for four and five years respectively, and both of them have remained completely unattached throughout the duration of their stay. We indulged in cupcakes, wine, and their fantasies of entering the dating pool come July when they finally leave Japan.

Last night on Valentine's day, my friend Marty and I went to her teacher's house where we played with her three girls, who are all my students, and ate delicious food over good conversation. Following a game of Uno, dinner, singing, dancing and playing the piano, we finally sat down to dig into the delicious dessert that Marty brought over.
In Japan on Valentine's day girls are supposed to give chocolate to boys, not the other way around. Marty and I, over chocolate cake, asked the three little girls if they bought any chocolate for boys. They all answered that they had, for their father--their first love.
An hour or so later Marty's teacher drove us home and dropped me off in front of the video store near my apartment. It was around 9:00, so the night was still young and I considered going inside to rent a movie. I asked Marty if she thought my students would think I was pathetic if they ran into me at the video store at 9 pm on Valentine's day. She reminded me that Valentine's day does not hold the same significance in this country, and that renting a movie on a Saturday night is a perfectly acceptable activity. So, I concluded the holiday with a romantic comedy followed by a long talk with Mallory, my friend teaching in Costa Rica.

Today I have a blind date with a Japanese woman who apparently wants to be my friend. We are going to my favorite cafe where we will sip on coffee and eat cake in an effort to get to know each other.

Although I will most likely remain single throughout my stay in Japan, I can always count on blossoming friendships, DVD rentals, and delicious cake. Seriously, who needs to be doted on by a man when I have hundreds of blushing students who want to hold my hand?

Adorenorin: Endorphins

2009-02-07T23:25:00.000-08:00

They say that February is the coldest month in Kagawa. This past week has been the most gorgeous weather since November.

They say that you do not know what you have until it is gone. I think you cannot understand the importance of what you have until you realize you will not have it forever.

Today I took advantage of the clear sky and crisp air. With my newfound appreciation for Japan, stemming from my decision to leave this country within a matter of months, I did something I have not done since those temperate days of November. I went for a run.

The sounds coming from my headphones, paired with friendly nods from farmers encouraging my exploration, allowed me to step out of my winter slump a month earlier than expected.

Japan, maybe I had to make the decision to leave you to begin to appreciate you.

I must decide by Friday.

2009-02-03T01:32:00.000-08:00

I could have been doing this:

But instead I was doing this:

Should I stay another year?

Yasumi: Holiday

2009-01-20T00:47:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in my highly disheveled tatami room. My non-functioning kotatsu*, demoted to a coffee table, is carrying the weight of my laptop, a watched DVD, lotion and nail polish remover, muffins, a kiwi, a glass of water, an empty can of a vitamin C drink, a permanent marker, my notebook with important phone numbers, and a few dirty tissues.
This is evidence that I have not left my apartment in two days.

Let me back up a bit.

On Tuesday I went to the hospital where I was diagnosed with the flu (which according to my nurse came from China--nothing is Japan's fault), given an iv as my concerned teacher talked to me about Obama, and was told that I was not to return to work until the following Monday. My teacher then insisted on driving me the three blocks back to my apartment. I explained that I needed to return a video and pick up my laundry (both along the way). She followed me into the video store insisting that I did not rent another movie because I needed to sleep, and then looked on as I stuffed my clean underwear and sweatpants into my laundry basket.

The following morning she called to check in on me and voiced the concern that my co-workers (including the principal) had for my health and recovery. I assured her that I would be fine.
I am under strict orders to not leave my apartment until I am fever free for three days. This is what I have been up to:
-I watched the game that led Heinz Field to break out into Pittsburgh's favorite song.
-I video chatted with my mom's side of the family when I could not be with them in person.
-I watched Obama's inaugural address--duh
-I fixed my broken TV because surfthechannel.com stopped working. It is amazing how technologically savvy I can become under such dire circumstances.
-I downloaded vuze, an application that allows me to watch new releases, and just as my friend suggested, I was blown away by Slumdog Millionaire.
-I inevitably ran out of food. The fear of infecting others instilled in me by the doctor caused me to ask a friend to go grocery shopping for me. My bizarre food requests led to a series of picture text messages from my confused friend unfamiliar with my tofu, sashimi, and nabe** sauce preferences.
Is this the right tofu in a bag, she asked.

Throughout all of this I have learned a lot about myself.
-I can spend disgusting amounts of time on the internet and be okay with it.
-I believe that video chatting is just as good as face-to-face communication.
-I can go four days in Japan without drinking coffee.
And most importantly...
-Whenever again I have the flu, I will expect to be given a week off from work and ridiculous amounts of sympathy.

If you would like to send me get well soon cards or flowers it would be much appreciated.

*A kotatsu is a table with a built-in a heater. If you do not understand why one would need a table with a built-in heater, you have obviously never been to Japan.
**Nabe is a traditional Japanese winter dish that literally means "pot".

Sumimasen: Excuse me/I'm sorry

2009-01-07T23:12:00.000-08:00

The ping pong table that I grew up with was moved aside years ago to make room for my dad’s putting green. It is rolled into its prior spot in the basement once or twice a year to host a beer pong or flip cup match when both my brother and I have all of our friends over—usually on New Year’s Eve or for my birthday.

I always liked playing ping pong with my brother and dad. I seldom won against them, but I could kill any of my friends. My mom, however, never even tried to play with us. I was lucky to have inherited functioning eye-hand coordination genes from my dad’s side of the family.

Today, for the second time in Japan, I put those years of practice to use when I joined the table tennis after-school club at my Junior High. I played a boy who paused to say sumimasen every time he hit a shot that I could not return. He really felt bad about it. In an effort to step up the competition, I suggested that we play a game. He agreed, and I told him not to take it easy on me. The sumimasens continued as I hit the ball into the net, and I could not help but think back to the brawls that my brother and I would get into when arguing over the score, or when I accused him of taking cheap shots. The game against my student lost its vigor as I could see he had no interest in beating (thus embarrassing) me. I was all warmed up though. Ready for a real match; ready to feel my heart race towards a win. Anti-climatically the student said that it was break time and rested his paddle on the table. That was that.

The coach offered to play me next, and again hoping for a good match I consented. He was more interested in seeing how many times we could hit the ball back and forth (147—he kept count) than trying to hit a winning shot. I even found myself saying sumimasen when I hit the ball too hard.

I guess club activities in Japan are not about winning or losing. I will just have to get used to playing for fun.

Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, Borneo, Malaysia (possibly in that order)

2009-01-04T04:56:00.000-08:00

On my last day of work before winter vacation I tried to write a really reflective blog entry on everything I learned about teaching middle school students over the past four months. I wrote a draft that referenced various educational philosophers and how my idealist expectations were squashed by the paradigm of English education in Japan. However, I could not capture the resiliently optimistic tone that I was going for, so I watched the letters fade from the computer screen as I held down the backspace key in frustration.

I spent that evening filling a simple black backpack with everything I would need for the next two weeks in Borneo--a huge accomplishment in not overpacking.

Then I went to Malaysia to meet my cousins Annie and Caitlin, Caitlin's friend Brad, and Jocelyn, who came a week into our stay.
First Caitlin got sick, then Annie, then me. Brad fell asleep to the sounds of vomit crashing against the toilet bowl and Annie's hallucinations of rats crawling in her brain.
We lived off of room service for a week.
After we were well enough to escape the waterfront Hyatt, Caitlin, Brad and Annie took on Mt. Kinabalu, as Jocelyn and I did this
and this and saw the biggest flower in the world,
and made friends wherever we went.
On January 1st, Jocelyn and I went to the gorgeous islands one last time. We were supposed to catch the 5:00 boat back to the city along with all of the other tourists, but with a flirtatious boat driver's number in my sandy purse, I made a call that alloted us three extra hours on the island. After watching the magnificent sunset, darkness settled over us, and our driver appeared in a rickety boat with his brother. Apprehensively, but with little choice, Jocelyn and I boarded the boat with the strange men that took us across the South China Sea. We held onto each other as we gazed at the breathtaking sky full of stars. Upon exiting the boat we thanked the two men, wished them a happy new year, and then parted ways all the more faithful in the good in mankind.

This brings me back to the beginning of this post--keeping the faith as a teacher.

Vietnamese Buddhist Monk Thich Nhat Hanh sums up my world philosophy in two simple sentences: "When you grow a tree, if it does not grow well, you don't blame the tree. You look into the reasons it is not doing well."
My students just need a little bit of water and sunshine. Hopefully I brought enough back from Malaysia.

Chisai mono*: The Little Things.

2008-12-10T00:28:00.000-08:00

I once came close to getting a tattoo of a Japanese origami paper crane on my rib cage (sorry Grandma and Papa). The symbol held a great deal of meaning to me, but mostly I just wanted a tattoo. As a rather fickle person I decided against it and remain tattoo-free.

Yesterday I had a horrible day at work. The kind of day where I understood Japanese "mental sick" leave, and why one of my favorite English teachers, at 52-years-old, is calling it quits come March. However, as I have learned, when there are lows, highs will inevitably follow.

My high came when a student approached me with a simple origami crane that he made from his lunch napkin. Although he laughed as he handed it to me, most likely because it basically was garbage, I took it as a peace offering on behalf of the entire student body.

A few hours later it got even better. A teacher asked me to choose a sticker from a special New Year's pack that she had just bought. After thoroughly looking over the selection, I chose this one.

She then took it from me and peeled away the top layer to reveal my fortune. Her face lit up as she told me that next year I will be very lucky. She said I got the best one.
It is working already, considering I got this in the mail today.

*I am not entirely sure that is how you say "little things" in Japanese.

Ii Fuinki: Good Atmosphere

2008-12-07T18:33:00.000-08:00

I finally finished preparing my holiday lesson for my Junior High School. I wasted two days of free periods creating a plan-your-own holiday party lesson plan with a corresponding PowerPoint presentation. I debated including a Hanukkah slide, so I consulted with my JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) as to whether or not it would completely confuse the students. Ms. Katanaga admitted to me that she had never heard of the holiday. She then consulted with another English teacher, and moments later, the entire English department rolled over to my desk in their chairs, so as not to leave the warmth of their lap blankets behind. After my impromptu Judaism:101 lesson, the teachers all agreed that I should throw my Christmas-centric PowerPoint away, and completely focus on the Jewish religion and Hanukkah.

This morning, Ms. Katanaga and I decorated the room that we will use for the week-long Hanukkah lesson. I made a Menorah out of construction paper and set up the six little dreidels that my mother so kindly shipped me in the mail. In the midst of proudly writing the new vocabulary words, such as Jewish, celebration, and miracle, on the board, Ms. Katanaga noticed a Christmas CD that I was planning to use at one of my elementary schools lying on the desk next to my flashcards. She asked if she could play it, and of course I consented. Alvin and The Chipmunks sang Jingle Bells as we finished our Hanukkah preparations. The irony and music momentarily warmed my freezing body. After the CD finished its three songs, Ms. Katanaga looked disappointed and played it again from the beginning.

Just as I felt growing up, the perfect harmony of Hanukkah and Christmas had been achieved. No tree but a menorah, and all of the holiday spirit that comes from listening to music while day-dreaming about the things to come.

arigato gazaimasu: Thank you

2008-11-28T20:22:00.000-08:00

Last year while I was home for Thanksgiving break I did the same thing that most college students do--slept, spent quality time catching up with my family, and went out partying with my friends back home. Along with two of my closest friends, Jocelyn and Mallory, I went out to the most happening bars in Pittsburgh, hoping to run into old friends who I hadn't seen since high school graduation. Rather than seeing old friends, we had awkward encounters with ex-boyfriends which led to a stressful series of bar hopping, at which point I lost track of whether we were trying to run away from them or run into them. The three of us spent the next night at Mallory's apartment curled up together discussing how we only needed each other, and that is what we were thankful for.

This year Jocelyn is teaching English in South Korea, and Mallory is doing the same in Costa Rica. This morning we had a 3-way Skype conversation, where yet again, we spoke of how lucky we are to have each other--despite the oceans that separate us. Jocelyn spent her Thanksgiving eating ice cream and potato chips from her local convenience store. However, tonight she is cooking a somewhat traditional menu for eight of her Korean co-workers. We'll see how eating mashed potatoes with chopsticks goes...
Mallory celebrated the holiday over pancakes while watching Schindler's List on TV.

In Japan, decorations jump straight from Halloween to Christmas because no one seems to care about the holiday wedged in between. However, I did not completely turn my back on the American tradition.
Thursday night my little apartment came alive when Caitlin and two of my friends came over to eat pumpkin soup and lasagna. We were so distracted by good food and company that we forgot to go around the table to say what we were thankful for.

During our intercontinental conversation this morning, the three of us decided that so many people our age are in a rush to grow up too fast, yet we acknowledged that everyone has different causes of happiness. Mallory reminded me that what makes me happy is when all of my students yell "hello" to me on my bike ride home from school. Jocelyn finds peace going on hikes and during her nightly yoga class. As for Mallory, she is happy to be able to eat three meals a day and have an apartment to call her own.

I am thankful that the world is full of possibilities, and that I always have someone to share my stories with.

Hisashiburi: It's Been a While

2008-11-25T02:16:00.000-08:00

Friday evening after a full week of work, Caitlin and I boarded the shinkansen (the fastest train in the world, found only in Japan) bound for Tokyo. About four hours later, consequentially smelling like smoke from our poor choice of seats, we left the country air behind us and stepped out into the wonderland that is Tokyo. It had been a while.

In actuality, I spent three days in Tokyo just months prior. Constrained by the day-long JET orientation meetings and my harsh bout of jet lag, I barely made it out of the hotel. I knew I would be back, so I allowed myself to succumb to the comfort of a bed, as opposed to forcing all-nighters and adventures upon my tired body.

Just as I suspected, things were different this time. Moments after checking into our hostel in an unfamiliar neighborhood, Caitlin and I left our sleeping roommates behind and ventured out in search of Karaoke. The man at the empty karaoke joint with bad teeth and worse braces spoke to us in English. He explained that for 830 Yen we could get an hour of singing but no drinks. Our agreement was followed by sober renditions of Ashley Simpson, Carly Simon, and Weezer. When the time ran out, we called it a night, headed back to the hostel, and drifted into sleep on the top bunks of relatively comfortable beds.

The following day was spent shopping, showing Caitlin around my old neighborhood, and catching up with my friends who never left the city. In Harajuku we observed a line that stretched for blocks leading to a brand new H&M. We briefly joined it, until the security guard pointed down the street to a sign that signified the beginning of the crowded wait. We opted for second hand stores instead.
After only a few purchases, we sat down for cake and wine at an outdoor cafe I had been to twice before. We talked about how we were lucky to have each other in Japan. I felt less alone in the big city sitting across from family. Everything seemed so different this time around.

The night continued as we ate dinner with old and new friends, won a carebear from an arcade, and boarded a bus to one of the greatest night clubs in Tokyo. Yurie, my friend who likes to watch movies and go to bed early, suggested that we go to Ageha, a guaranteed all-nighter. Yurie dropped off the dance floor around 2am, I lasted until 3:30, and Caitlin went all night. Yurie and I caught up on a stained couch next to a sleeping man. Our conversation was sporadically interrupted by drunk men mumbling in our direction, and once by Caitlin offering me a drink that some guy had bought her. As it neared dawn, we left the club in pursuit of first train. I hugged Yurie goodbye, making her promise to visit me in Shikoku.

Caitlin and I cuddled up with the carebear on the train ride back to my friend's classy apartment

where we were greeted by a view of Fuji from his hallway window.

Our final day consisted of a trip to a museum, browsing the streets of Shibuya, and eating an unexpectedly fancy dinner. After finding our impossible to find overnight bus back to the island, we melted into seats that allowed us a front row view of the city. I drifted into sleep as the outside lights faded into the distance. I realized that the city I once knew well felt distant and foreign to me. Eleven hours later, I woke up on familiar land. I left the bus feeling as if the previous days' events could have all been a dream. I was back in the inaka.

Futobaru: Football

2008-11-20T02:42:00.000-08:00

I was fixing myself a cup of instant coffee at work. I poured in some milk that I had not finished from my school lunch a few days prior in an attempt to make the Japanese version of my favorite drink somewhat pleasant. Back home where there is good coffee, I almost always drink it black.

As I stirred the liquid, hoping that I had achieved the proper ratio of hot water, coffee powder, and milk, another teacher entered the small pantry-like space. We had only talked once before when he asked me where I was from. It was in August before classes had begun. I told him that I was from America. He said that he spoke Russian. I told him that my mother's side of the family was from Russia. He asked where. I told him I did not know exactly, and then, I assumed, he wrote me off as stupid.

We smiled and said good morning to each other. I rinsed my spoon off and smiled again, signifying that I had finished preparing my drink and was heading back to my desk. He then began to speak, and the words that poured from his mouth were not wasteful or annoying. They were poignant and purposeful. He brought up a topic that I ached to talk about. He asked me how the Pittsburgh Steelers were doing.

Fifteen minutes or so later, after our football talk came to a close, Ms. Katanaga came running into the staff room looking for me because I had not shown up for class.
There is a first time for everything.

Nan sai desu ka: How old are you?

2008-11-17T22:53:00.000-08:00

At my main junior high school, there is a very special student who is quite fond of me. Before I met him in September, I was warned to always dress very conservatively for his class. My first encounter with him was one of utter shock and disgust. The novelty of his extreme inappropriateness has worn of, and his English is greatly improving.

A fellow English teacher described him to me once as a three-year-old trapped in a sexually frustrated man’s body.

Today I ate lunch with his class. He demanded that I sit next to him, and I reluctantly obliged. I asked him what American movies he likes, and he told me that he loves Mickey Mouse. Our small talk led me to believe that he is sweet and civilized. I thought the English teacher had not given him enough credit. His mental age might be hovering around seven or eight. Three seemed too young.

Suddenly during our peaceful lunch he stood up and began yelling penis and demanding that I tell him my bra size. As the chatter in the room came to a sudden halt, the other teachers looked horrified, yet did nothing to silence him.

Maybe the English teacher was right after all.

Yosomono: Outsider

2008-11-17T01:35:00.000-08:00

Today, at an elementary school that I have only been to twice before, I ate lunch with a class of first graders. They swarmed around me, unzipped the pockets of my jacket, tugged at my hair, clung to my legs, and begged me to answer their inquisitions in a language that they could understand. Their homeroom teacher smiled and looked on from her desk. What else should I have expected from a group of six-year-olds who presumably had never met an American woman before?

I have observed that at the end of the school day, Elementary school teachers distribute snacks, usually little cakes or fresh fruit, and tea to one another in preparation for the day's informal closing meeting.

What do you make of this picture that I took?

Himitsu: Secret

2008-11-15T18:12:00.000-08:00

Caitlin and I first learned the meaning of hitmitsu when a young, terribly overworked, Japanese doctor spontaneously joined us for dinner one night. Over a bottle of wine and okinawan cuisine he explained, in nearly perfect English, that his job was very stressful, and on that particular evening he was sipping his sake in an effort to escape the haunting reality of a patient who had died that day. Somewhere in our conversation he introducted the word hitmitsu to us. Although the context is now blurry, I remember the nemonic device that we thought of to remember the useful vocabulary word. He-meets-you. It's a secret.

A few nights ago I was drinking with the teachers from my main elementary school, not to extinguish bad memories as the doctor had done; but rather to celebrate the success of our English demonstration lesson earlier that day. I was somewhat the guest of honor because I had put a great deal of energy into making the school's English department look successful to the 100 guests who observed my class. The gratitude from my co-workers was lovely, but I humbly explained to them that it was no problem at all, considering that all I had to do was speak my native language.

As the night carried on and the teachers got more and more red in the face, my co-workers and I had entered the special zone where all lines of appropriateness had vanished, and the secrets began to pour out.

At a previous work party with the teachers from my main junior high, I had learned all sorts of juicy information from the head of the English department at that school. The gossiping was followed by karaoke--a secret behavior in itself.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at the situation, karaoke did not happen the night of my elementary school party. However, I did show one teacher (who I had never spoken with before) how to take a sake bomb. I confessed my reasons for not being so into Japanese guys to the office ladies, and listened to stories that I only half understood, but nodded as if I was fluent in Japanese. I bonded with the girl around my age who is responsible for preparing school lunches. She explained to me that she plans to quit her job come April to run off to Osaka to live with her boyfriend that her mother does not know about.

Of course, it was all a big hitmitsu.

Abunai: Dangerous

2008-11-06T04:57:00.000-08:00

(a sign warning that something is dangerous)

There are certain things that are not abunai in Japan that sure as hell would be abunai where I come from.
The other day I got held up lesson planning at my main elementary school and missed my bus that comes once every three hours. A fellow teacher took on the responsibility of driving me home. As I stepped into his minivan, bracing myself for the inevitably awkward fifteen-minute drive, I found that he had decided to be proactive in the situation by turning on the television so conveniently placed on his dashboard. I told him I thought driving while watching TV was dangerous. He replied that it hasn't caused him any problems in the past six years.

Multiple times in Japan I have encountered stair cases so steep that they might as well be ladders. I have hiked up mountains swinging from branch to branch in an effort to not stumble to my death. On one such occasion, I was greeted by an elderly Japanese couple at the summit. They looked far less frazzled than I, hinting that the hike was not so abunai.

This is a rock wall that led to the entrance of a hike. Far steeper than it looks.

Narrow, winding roads that unquestionably would be one-way in the States allow cars from either direction to pass, as little children bounce around in the front seat because seat belts are generally considered unnecessary in this country. Although it seems that there are no road rules apart from the zero-tolerance policy regarding drinking and driving, abunai is a term that I often here in regards to my apparently careless behavior.

Recently I was pulled over by the police. I was biking up a quiet hill while towing my friend along who was comfortably gripping my shoulder as she glided on her skateboard. The flashing lights came at us almost as quickly as the two young officers who were sporting trendy glasses and shy smiles. Fearing that we understood no Japanese, they simply pointed at my shoulder and repeatedly stated abunai, until we nodded strongly enough to signal that we understood.

Furthermore, abunai is regularly heard throughout the halls of my Junior High School. In preparing for my Halloween lesson last month, I carved a pumpkin with my JTE (Japanese Teacher of English). She stood behind me, exuding nervous energy for fear that I would slice my fingers off with the butter knife that I was using to cut through the thick skin of the miniature pumpkin. Upon successfully giving the little guy a face, I asked my JTE if I could light a birthday candle inside of the Jack-o-Lantern, only for a moment, so that I could demonstrate that the symbol's original purpose was to serve as a lantern. Immediately she looked horrified and explained that candles are very abunai. Some things are just not negotiable.

Inaka: Rural Japan

2008-11-06T04:22:00.000-08:00

The front wheel of my bike had deflated again, so I figured it had a hole in it. I left school a bit early, wishing I could go straight home to hook up my internet, but I had to deal with my bike problem first. It was mid-October and I only then received my modem in the mail—a package that granted me connection to the world outside of Takuma. In pursuit of a quick fix, I went to the local bike shop that I had been to once before. The last time I was there the shopkeeper was friendly and helped me pick out a light considering that my previous one was broken. He attached it to my bike, ensuring that I would be able to ride safely after 6:30, just around the time that darkness settles over my town.

I parked my rusty and worn-out bike out front alongside the new ones asking to be sold. Gripping the script explaining that my tire had deflated, as if an explanation was necessary in such a case, I approached the shop keeper hoping for an easy interaction. He looked up from his magazine, and in a playful tone, muttered the English words: “may I help you?” I found his smile endearing, and in an effort to take the pressure off of him, answered in Japanese.

Minutes later the man was lying on the ground beside my bike, as if he were a mechanic working on a car. I commented that the light he previously picked out for me has been working well, and then he explained to me that earlier that morning as I crossed the street on my ride to school, he had stopped me to turn it on. I was confused because I was aware that I had such an interaction with the crossing guard, but I had no idea that the bike shop owner was the same person. Every morning I smile and greet that crossing guard hidden behind his hat and face mask; unknowingly greeting the man who so kindly ensures that my battered bike lasts the duration of yet another JET participant’s stay in Japan. I laughed and told him I was surprised and apologized for not recognizing him.

As he patched the hole on my front wheel, his wife came downstairs and chatted with me in Japanese about their honeymoon, thirty years ago, when they went to Disney Land. She then asked where I lived, said that she had indeed heard of Pennsylvania, and guessed that it was about two hours by plane to California. I explained that America is a lot wider than Japan. She seemed surprised.

After the man fixed my bike he chatted with me a little bit more and then ran to the back of the store and brought me a bag of oranges, grown right here in Takuma. I then asked him how much I owed because it seemed that he had no intention of charging me. He was pleased that I paid him, as if I expected him to fix my bike for free. He returned to the back of the shop in pursuit of further gifts for me. He emerged with a small sculpture of a tiger that he had purchased at a local festival the previous weekend. He handed it to me as a token of Japanese culture; a gift welcoming me to my new life in his town.

He stopped the cars as I crossed the street on my ride to work the following morning, and I stopped to show him that my wheel was holding up well. He smiled, as did I, and I continued on my way.