Just a quick post to say that even though folk are leaving and radiation is spreading across the entire country of Japan (hyperbole), there's gasoline in Takasaki and my life feels normal. I filled up today and feel lighter somehow, even though I want to keep biking to school since it's good exercise. It's Spring Break but I'm working till Thursday; after that I'm going to Chiba and then on to Hakone for what looks like a fun weekend! I am furious at the weather for not being warmer sooner, but that's only to be expected here at the end of March. I hear it snowed in NC so I won't complain too much here.
This past weekend was Party Central, apparently: a Friday night Going-Away party for T (who prefers to remain anonymous) and a Saturday night birthday party for H (who may or may not want to have his name on the internet). It was nice to meet so many fun people from across the globe.
That's all that's going on now. I hope everyone else is doing well.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Spring Goodbyes
Spring is a time for saying goodbye. So many people I know are leaving Gunma—some for other places in Japan, some for other countries. A good number of ALTs in the area have left Gunma because they feel they will be safer somewhere else. Some of them will be gone for only a few weeks; others don’t plan on coming back. For me, I don’t think I need to pack up yet; the only annoyance is the lack of gasoline, but I’m getting lots of exercise walking and biking everywhere. And even then, I still have plenty of friends with cars who don’t mind picking me up all the way out in Gunma-machi, so I’m not totally cut off from the world.
But it’s not just my English-speaking ALT friends who are leaving: my Japanese friends are, too! Two of my college-aged Japanese friends, freshly graduated, are moving away: one is going to Chiba-ken and the other to Tochigi-ken. They might never come back to Gunma, for all I know. And fully half of the teachers at my school—including three of my favorite English teachers and the most handsome man in Japan—are being transferred to other schools, as per Japanese education law. They will be replaced with other teachers transferring in from other schools. At least Mr. K, Mr. M (heart, sigh), Mr. T, Ms. K, and Ms. W are all staying, which makes telling everyone else goodbye a little easier.
But what will April be like for me, then? A, K, T, and S will be gone, so no more trips to Shimokotori-machi or Isesaki. And will I even be able to drive? They say the gas tankers are coming into Takasaki this week, but maybe I’ll just keep riding my bike.
At school, Ms. I, Ms. S, Ms. N, Ms. S, Mr. N, Mr. U, and more will be gone, so no more gossiping about boys or lesson plans or joking around in Japanese. I’ll have two new JTEs, though, who hopefully will be great and not lame. And even though all the san-nen-seis that I loved are already off to high school, they will be replaced with this year’s second graders, who are actually pretty awesome.
I’m trying to keep a good sense of perspective in this time of uncertainty and farewells. Like maybe I’ll go visit A in New Zealand some time, or maybe S will come back to Takasaki from Tochigi once in a while to say hello. Maybe next year’s teachers will be fantastic and speak fluent English. Maybe we won’t have any more earthquakes (like those ones on Saturday night, Tuesday night, and again this morning). Yeah, and maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt. (Sorry, Wayne.)
Anyway, I’m keeping myself busy for the most part: a couple of friends and I had dinner at a delicious vegetarian restaurant on Saturday night (and got rocked hard by an earthquake on the way, but we were in the car so it was all right). I spent most of Sunday packing up A’s things with K and shipping them at the post office. And Monday was a holiday to celebrate the Spring Equinox, so I met C and Z at Takasaki Station for lunch, then took a train to Isesaki to say goodbye to S. Last night I just stayed in and watched the 70s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which reminds me of my dad because he looks just like Gene Wilder. Tonight we have another blackout, but T and I are hanging out, so I won’t be scared and alone.
Thank you to all of you who have been checking in on me recently; current events being what they are, I really appreciate your support. Some days seem harder than others, especially the earthquake days. I'm also happy that not everyone is leaving; there are still enough folk staying around to make life happy. I don’t want to leave Japan; I’m just anxious to go back to my normal life where not understanding the shopkeeper was the worst thing that could happen to me.
(P.S. North Carolina, look for me in late July! Start planning a party.)
But it’s not just my English-speaking ALT friends who are leaving: my Japanese friends are, too! Two of my college-aged Japanese friends, freshly graduated, are moving away: one is going to Chiba-ken and the other to Tochigi-ken. They might never come back to Gunma, for all I know. And fully half of the teachers at my school—including three of my favorite English teachers and the most handsome man in Japan—are being transferred to other schools, as per Japanese education law. They will be replaced with other teachers transferring in from other schools. At least Mr. K, Mr. M (heart, sigh), Mr. T, Ms. K, and Ms. W are all staying, which makes telling everyone else goodbye a little easier.
But what will April be like for me, then? A, K, T, and S will be gone, so no more trips to Shimokotori-machi or Isesaki. And will I even be able to drive? They say the gas tankers are coming into Takasaki this week, but maybe I’ll just keep riding my bike.
At school, Ms. I, Ms. S, Ms. N, Ms. S, Mr. N, Mr. U, and more will be gone, so no more gossiping about boys or lesson plans or joking around in Japanese. I’ll have two new JTEs, though, who hopefully will be great and not lame. And even though all the san-nen-seis that I loved are already off to high school, they will be replaced with this year’s second graders, who are actually pretty awesome.
I’m trying to keep a good sense of perspective in this time of uncertainty and farewells. Like maybe I’ll go visit A in New Zealand some time, or maybe S will come back to Takasaki from Tochigi once in a while to say hello. Maybe next year’s teachers will be fantastic and speak fluent English. Maybe we won’t have any more earthquakes (like those ones on Saturday night, Tuesday night, and again this morning). Yeah, and maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt. (Sorry, Wayne.)
Anyway, I’m keeping myself busy for the most part: a couple of friends and I had dinner at a delicious vegetarian restaurant on Saturday night (and got rocked hard by an earthquake on the way, but we were in the car so it was all right). I spent most of Sunday packing up A’s things with K and shipping them at the post office. And Monday was a holiday to celebrate the Spring Equinox, so I met C and Z at Takasaki Station for lunch, then took a train to Isesaki to say goodbye to S. Last night I just stayed in and watched the 70s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which reminds me of my dad because he looks just like Gene Wilder. Tonight we have another blackout, but T and I are hanging out, so I won’t be scared and alone.
Thank you to all of you who have been checking in on me recently; current events being what they are, I really appreciate your support. Some days seem harder than others, especially the earthquake days. I'm also happy that not everyone is leaving; there are still enough folk staying around to make life happy. I don’t want to leave Japan; I’m just anxious to go back to my normal life where not understanding the shopkeeper was the worst thing that could happen to me.
(P.S. North Carolina, look for me in late July! Start planning a party.)
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Keepin' On Keepin' On
It's 5:40 on Wednesday, March 16, and I feel absolutely exhausted. For the past few days I’ve been on edge, waiting for another huge earthquake (we had a little one today that rocked the school for 30 seconds or so, coming from Chiba, which was bad but not too bad) or a nuclear cloud to descend upon Gunma (which I don’t really think will happen, but everyone is saying it so it gets to me). It’s tiring to be worried all the time. I’ve been shaken out of sleep twice—once on Tuesday morning and once this morning—convinced that we were having another quake, but when I asked my teachers about it at school, they said they didn’t feel anything. Am I dreaming of earthquakes or am I really feeling aftershocks? At school and at home, every little noise is making me jump. Today the wind really picked up, and the rattle of the windows is unnerving.
This week at school is light since all the third years are gone, and I only have a few classes a day. So I’m spending most of my copious off-time checking Facebook to see what new news is happening around Gunma, and all that time on my iPhone gives me a headache. My head just feels full: too much thinking. I don’t feel particularly anxious or worried (except when those damn aftershocks shock me), just tired. I feel so, so, so tired, like I could sleep for days.
Life here in Gunma is going on as normal with just a few interruptions, mainly in the form of fuel. I have a quarter tank of gas in my car but I’m not planning on going anywhere until things get sorted out with the gas stations. Almost all the ones I’ve seen have ropes around them and “Sold Out” signs hanging from them. Yesterday Mr. K drove me around the Misato area looking for kerosene for my heaters, and we went to three different places before we found one that had some. Luckily there aren’t lines piled up for kerosene like they are for gasoline: the line at the one open gas station I saw had a procession of cars piled up for two kilometers. There is nowhere I need to go pressing enough to waste the gas I have waiting in line just to get 10 liters. Or 20. However much they’re letting you get (Oh, and the kerosene was rationed, too; I only got 18 liters instead of 36). I will wait until things are back to normal before I try driving again. In the meantime, I’m biking everywhere, which is good exercise. I mean, it’s a pain not to be able to go visit people, since no one I know lives near me, but I am not complaining. I’m hearing mixed messages about the buses and the trains—yes, they’re working, no, they’re not working, yes, they’re working, but on a limited schedule—so I’m not ready to attempt them yet. I will just hang out in here Gunma-machi till things get better! I went Aeon Mall yesterday and it seemed pretty normal; the grocery store was out of a couple of things (batteries, milk, bread, rice, instant noodles) but was still chock-full. Kaldi was fine, too; I got some Muesli because Beat said it was the wonder food, and some macaroni and cheese because it’s comfort food. I declined to buy my own White Day chocolate, though, thank you very much, Graham (besides, Naoki gave me some anyway).
We’re still getting school lunch, but it’s not as much as usual. Yesterday it was a piece of bread (like Subway size), yogurt, a pack of airplane-sized almonds, and milk. I was super lucky because the second year students made udon soup in home ec class, and they chose me as one of the teachers to eat it. But you can’t imagine the guilt I felt slurping away at my noodles and vegetables watching the other teachers—especially the grown men, you know they were hungry—bite miserably into their rolls. I offered some of my soup to Ms. I, but she graciously declined, which made me feel even guiltier. But I still ate it.
Today we had six good-sized meatballs, rice with seaweed sprinkles, a yogurt/icee frozen dessert, and another pack of almonds. It filled me up well! But tomorrow it’s back to bread and milk, so I hear. It seems taboo to bring your own lunch from home, so I’m not, but if school lunch actually gets cancelled I guess it’ll be PB&Js from here on out.
We also had our first blackout today. It was at school from around 10:00 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. Things went on as usual. Some of the classrooms were a little chilly but it was sunny, so it wasn’t too bad. Someone in the staff room had a battery-operated radio, which drifted old school American tunes through the air in the mostly-silent staff room. There was a blackout scheduled for 5:00-8:30 p.m. tonight, but it has been cancelled. Yokatta desu as I was not looking forward to sitting in the dark. I’ve been reading The Shining as escapist literature but that might not be the best book to read in times of darkness and trial. The back cover actually has a quote that says, “Don’t read it alone!” When it gets too scary I go back to reading Little Town on the Prairie, which I’m reading for the umpteenth time, or some Japanese children’s book.
I haven’t been studying Japanese grammar at all. My head just feels like it can’t take it. I didn’t go to my Monday night class because I was helping a friend pack up and get ready for her 10-day New Zealand trip, and my Wednesday night classes have been cancelled until the next season starts up again in May. Now, besides for the fact that I want to communicate with the people around me, I don’t have much motivation to hit the books. However, I have learned a ton of new vocabulary from this experience: jishin (earthquake), teiden (blackout), futsuu (normal), rousoku (candle). Go figure.
Tomorrow morning we have another blackout scheduled. I just took a long, hot bath tonight because I can’t take a shower in the morning. I guess that means I can wake up later than usual tomorrow since all I’ll have to do is get dressed, eat some cereal, and get on the road.
I’m wrapped up in my bathrobe and pajamas now. My plan for tonight—because I still have electricity!—is to make dinner (I still have a ton of food at my house) and watch Anchorman, Labyrinth, or the last episode of True Blood (still haven’t decided) and drink some hot tea. I was going to go to my neighbor’s house (the nice couple down the street that I had dinner with a lot back when I first came to Japan) but she’s in the hospital for the next few days. She’s OK and it’s nothing serious, but we won’t see each other for a little while longer. Keep her in your thoughts, though, please.
I think I’m going to make it an early night. I can’t handle all the uncertainty that’s flooding around me. I consider myself so fortunate to have escaped the disaster that hit northeast Japan, and thus consider myself an ass for complaining about little things when I know there are people not too far away who may never have a normal life again. Keep them in your thoughts and prayers, too, and try not to worry about me. I’m just suffering minor inconveniences, but really nothing at all. I’ve got food, clothes, an apartment and a battery-powered heater full of kerosene, a bicycle, a job, a good network of people to rely on and talk to, and March days that are progressively getting warmer. It’s all gravy from here.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Earthquake
I am writing this from my desk at school on Monday, March 14, 2011. The teachers are going about their daily routines, even though the TV in the staff room has been on all day, showing us the now-familiar scenes of destruction from the northeast area of Japan. It’s all in Japanese and my desk doesn’t face it, so all I can hear are the serious voices of the newscasters and the occasional list of JR lines that are closed: Takasaki-sen, Joho-sen, Joetsu-sen. . . A little while ago we got a memo from the heads of school telling us that the students will go home at 2:40 in preparation for the 3:20-7:00 p.m. blackout scheduled for Takasaki. Mr. J just now handed me another paper, too, but I don’t know enough kanji to know what it’s about. When Ms. N gets back from class, she’ll explain it to me.
During second period today we had another earthquake/aftershock. It wasn’t bad and only lasted for 30 or 45 seconds, but it was bigger than any of the latest aftershocks we’ve had. I can’t get used to them; my heart leaps up in my throat every time the floor starts to shake and my hands tremble for 15 minutes after it’s over. All the students immediately ducked under their desks until it was over, but afterwards, the teacher continued with the lesson as usual as if nothing had happened. It was surreal.
As most of you probably know already, I made it through Friday’s big earthquake in one piece. Gunma is so far from Fukushima (about 250 kilometers) and Miyagi (about 350 kilometers) that we escaped relatively unscathed from the massive damage that happened up north. Still, we had about a magnitude 6 quake that lasted for about minute and a half.
Friday started out as such a normal day! It was the school’s graduation, the last day for the third graders, so all the teachers and students were in a good mood. The ceremony was beautiful, the students were proud, and the teachers were looking forward to their end-of-year party that night. At 1:30, there was early dismissal and all of the students, together with their parents, went home. The teachers stayed at school to take down the decorations in the gym and do some last-minute paperwork. After helping clean up the gym, I sat at my desk, wondering what to do next. After sitting idly for a few minutes, I decided to clean out the cabinet behind me that was full of the third graders’ name cards and assignments that they wouldn’t be needing any more.
The staff room is divided into thirds by a large bookshelf/cabinet that stands in the middle of the floor, with about a meter and a half on each side to walk around it. Two thirds of the room house the teachers’ desks; behind the bookshelf are the copier, shredder, computer, and a couch. Ms. I and I went behind the cabinet and started shredding papers at the large shredder. All of a sudden, things started shaking. We looked at each other confusedly for a second before we joined the rest of the teachers on the other side of the staff room. Everyone was standing or sitting by their desks, seemingly calm, as the rumble grew louder and louder. “It’s an earthquake,” Mr. T told me. He didn’t seem perturbed, and I think everyone thought it would be over soon, in this earthquake-prone country. The quaking got worse, though. The lights dangling from their cords swayed back and forth, the floor was shaking, everything was trembling. The pool outside was sloshing water back and forth. I didn’t know what to do. “Get under your desk,” Mr. T said calmly, and proceeded to do the same.
I crouched under my desk, trying to stay calm, as the whole building moved back and forth like a giant was shaking it. I kept my eyes open and my hands over my head, staring at the floor in a daze, alternately thinking Oh God don’t let me die don’t let me die and Earthquakes don’t last long. It’ll be over soon. Just hang on. It’ll be over soon. When it was over, I shakily stood up, thinking I would be strong, it was just a little earthquake, everyone else was OK, but as soon as I got up I collapsed in my chair, flew my hand to my mouth, and started hyperventilating then crying. One teacher immediately turned the television on, and we saw that there had been a huge earthquake in the north (that’s what we had just felt) and that a tsunami was predicted for a few minutes later. While we were watching TV, we felt another shock that send me clutching at Ms. S’s arm like she would save me. “Daijoubu, daijoubu,” Ms. S, beside us, told me. It’s amazing how everyone could be calm and smile when I was feeling so flustered! Mr. T told me, smiling, “That was the strongest earthquake I’ve felt in my life,” but he seemed all right. Out of all the teachers, I seemed to be the only one with tears running down my face and my heart racing. I will admit it was reassuring to see that no one was panicking; even during the next wave of aftershocks they were OK. All of us crowded around the television as we watched the tsunami advance on the shore. It was incredible to know that we were watching it happen live, just a few hundred kilometers away. I had never been so happy that Gunma was so far from the coast, but I was terrified for my friends in Hokkaido and Chiba.
I started texting everyone I knew, but no one responded. “All right, everyone,” the principal said, “You can all go home. Go home and be safe.” “I don’t want to go home,” I whined to Mr. T. “I don’t want to be by myself.” “It’s all right,” he reassured me. “The first one is the worst. From here on they’ll get smaller. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.” Thus reassured, but not really at all calm, I followed the other teachers to the parking lot and we all went to our separate homes.
I threw my bags on the floor, checked my phone for the thousandth time (still no replies from anyone), saw that some things had fallen off the shelf in the kitchen, and felt my eyes well up with tears again in delayed shock. I couldn’t get anyone on the phone—every time I tried a “Call Failed” message came on—so I got on Facebook instead. Almost all the other ALTs were online, too, and Facebook was swarming with earthquake messages. I talked with some friends in Gunma; everyone was all right but none of us knew what to do or what would happen next. K, A, L, and I decided to meet for dinner and then spend the night together because none of us wanted to be alone.
So at 7:00 I went to K’s house and we met the other girls at a Turkish restaurant downtown. The television was on, and as we watched we began to understand exactly how much devastation was happening around us. We keep feeling aftershocks, too; some big, some small, but none like that first one that knocked the bravery out of me. That night, lying on K’s couch, I responded to the hundreds of emails I was getting from friends and family around the world and tried to get some sleep. We were jolted awake twice: once by a pretty hefty shock around 12:30, and again at 4:00 a.m. by another one. Angela checked her Earthquake App she has on her phone (thank you, Apple) and saw that the second quake had occurred in Nagano, just one prefecture over. Even though it was frightening to think what might happen if one hit Gunma, I felt better being with people.
Of course none of us slept much that night. In the morning I woke up to enjoy more of the lulling aftershocks (sarcasm), before heading home in the early afternoon. I didn’t know what else to do so I cleaned my apartment. Luckily, too, Softbank was working again, and I managed to get in contact with everyone I was worried about (except M in Chiba; but we talked on Sunday and he was OK). Saturday evening, in an effort to forget the chaos around us, eight of my friends and I went to karaoke, which might have been heartless, but gave us a refreshing feeling of normality, at least for a while.
Sunday morning was absolutely beautiful; warm, 70-degree weather, bright sunny skies, and a fresh breeze. I took a walk in Mitsudera Park, trying to forget there might be higher levels of radiation in the air from the Fukushima explosion (I don’t think there were, though), and instead just enjoyed the warm sun. My friend N came over around 12:30. After a bit of discussion—he was more afraid of radiation levels than I was—I convinced him that it was OK to go outside since Gunma is so far from the nuclear plant. Even so, as we passed the gas stations on the way to Kannon Yama Park in northeast Takasaki, we saw that everyone was preparing for more disaster: the lines spilled out onto the street in people’s hurries to fill up their tanks before the gas ran out.
It almost seemed wrong to enjoy the sweet scent of early pink cherry blossoms, the hot sun, the sound of the breeze in the pines and cedars, knowing that just a few hundred miles north people were cold and hungry with their cities in tatters. I tried to explain my feeling to N, but in my limited Japanese, all I could manage was: “It’s a really nice day in Takasaki. It’s not a nice day in Fukushima and Miyagi.” I’d like to think he understood—he’s usually patient with my stumbling, slow sentences.
Now, back at school, I still haven’t shredded those papers from Friday. I feel a certain kind of Pavlovian response inside of me; that if I stand in front of the shredder, the whole building is going to shake again. I know that’s stupid, but I can’t help feeling that way. I might just rip them up and put them in the trash can instead.
Also, for those of you who think I’m going insane (from having read my last post) please rest assured that I was just having a terrible couple of days and wanted to sort out into words what was bothering me. I’m sorry if I worried anyone. I don’t hate Japan; I just find learning more about its culture to be difficult sometimes.
I have no plans to leave the country any time soon; I’m going to stick it out until July when I take a three-week vacation back at home before returning for another year. In the meantime, I will just roll with the punches, the aftershocks, the blackouts, and all the rest. I’ll let you know if anything changes.
Thanks for keeping track of me and I will be in contact again soon.
During second period today we had another earthquake/aftershock. It wasn’t bad and only lasted for 30 or 45 seconds, but it was bigger than any of the latest aftershocks we’ve had. I can’t get used to them; my heart leaps up in my throat every time the floor starts to shake and my hands tremble for 15 minutes after it’s over. All the students immediately ducked under their desks until it was over, but afterwards, the teacher continued with the lesson as usual as if nothing had happened. It was surreal.
As most of you probably know already, I made it through Friday’s big earthquake in one piece. Gunma is so far from Fukushima (about 250 kilometers) and Miyagi (about 350 kilometers) that we escaped relatively unscathed from the massive damage that happened up north. Still, we had about a magnitude 6 quake that lasted for about minute and a half.
Friday started out as such a normal day! It was the school’s graduation, the last day for the third graders, so all the teachers and students were in a good mood. The ceremony was beautiful, the students were proud, and the teachers were looking forward to their end-of-year party that night. At 1:30, there was early dismissal and all of the students, together with their parents, went home. The teachers stayed at school to take down the decorations in the gym and do some last-minute paperwork. After helping clean up the gym, I sat at my desk, wondering what to do next. After sitting idly for a few minutes, I decided to clean out the cabinet behind me that was full of the third graders’ name cards and assignments that they wouldn’t be needing any more.
The staff room is divided into thirds by a large bookshelf/cabinet that stands in the middle of the floor, with about a meter and a half on each side to walk around it. Two thirds of the room house the teachers’ desks; behind the bookshelf are the copier, shredder, computer, and a couch. Ms. I and I went behind the cabinet and started shredding papers at the large shredder. All of a sudden, things started shaking. We looked at each other confusedly for a second before we joined the rest of the teachers on the other side of the staff room. Everyone was standing or sitting by their desks, seemingly calm, as the rumble grew louder and louder. “It’s an earthquake,” Mr. T told me. He didn’t seem perturbed, and I think everyone thought it would be over soon, in this earthquake-prone country. The quaking got worse, though. The lights dangling from their cords swayed back and forth, the floor was shaking, everything was trembling. The pool outside was sloshing water back and forth. I didn’t know what to do. “Get under your desk,” Mr. T said calmly, and proceeded to do the same.
I crouched under my desk, trying to stay calm, as the whole building moved back and forth like a giant was shaking it. I kept my eyes open and my hands over my head, staring at the floor in a daze, alternately thinking Oh God don’t let me die don’t let me die and Earthquakes don’t last long. It’ll be over soon. Just hang on. It’ll be over soon. When it was over, I shakily stood up, thinking I would be strong, it was just a little earthquake, everyone else was OK, but as soon as I got up I collapsed in my chair, flew my hand to my mouth, and started hyperventilating then crying. One teacher immediately turned the television on, and we saw that there had been a huge earthquake in the north (that’s what we had just felt) and that a tsunami was predicted for a few minutes later. While we were watching TV, we felt another shock that send me clutching at Ms. S’s arm like she would save me. “Daijoubu, daijoubu,” Ms. S, beside us, told me. It’s amazing how everyone could be calm and smile when I was feeling so flustered! Mr. T told me, smiling, “That was the strongest earthquake I’ve felt in my life,” but he seemed all right. Out of all the teachers, I seemed to be the only one with tears running down my face and my heart racing. I will admit it was reassuring to see that no one was panicking; even during the next wave of aftershocks they were OK. All of us crowded around the television as we watched the tsunami advance on the shore. It was incredible to know that we were watching it happen live, just a few hundred kilometers away. I had never been so happy that Gunma was so far from the coast, but I was terrified for my friends in Hokkaido and Chiba.
I started texting everyone I knew, but no one responded. “All right, everyone,” the principal said, “You can all go home. Go home and be safe.” “I don’t want to go home,” I whined to Mr. T. “I don’t want to be by myself.” “It’s all right,” he reassured me. “The first one is the worst. From here on they’ll get smaller. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.” Thus reassured, but not really at all calm, I followed the other teachers to the parking lot and we all went to our separate homes.
I threw my bags on the floor, checked my phone for the thousandth time (still no replies from anyone), saw that some things had fallen off the shelf in the kitchen, and felt my eyes well up with tears again in delayed shock. I couldn’t get anyone on the phone—every time I tried a “Call Failed” message came on—so I got on Facebook instead. Almost all the other ALTs were online, too, and Facebook was swarming with earthquake messages. I talked with some friends in Gunma; everyone was all right but none of us knew what to do or what would happen next. K, A, L, and I decided to meet for dinner and then spend the night together because none of us wanted to be alone.
So at 7:00 I went to K’s house and we met the other girls at a Turkish restaurant downtown. The television was on, and as we watched we began to understand exactly how much devastation was happening around us. We keep feeling aftershocks, too; some big, some small, but none like that first one that knocked the bravery out of me. That night, lying on K’s couch, I responded to the hundreds of emails I was getting from friends and family around the world and tried to get some sleep. We were jolted awake twice: once by a pretty hefty shock around 12:30, and again at 4:00 a.m. by another one. Angela checked her Earthquake App she has on her phone (thank you, Apple) and saw that the second quake had occurred in Nagano, just one prefecture over. Even though it was frightening to think what might happen if one hit Gunma, I felt better being with people.
Of course none of us slept much that night. In the morning I woke up to enjoy more of the lulling aftershocks (sarcasm), before heading home in the early afternoon. I didn’t know what else to do so I cleaned my apartment. Luckily, too, Softbank was working again, and I managed to get in contact with everyone I was worried about (except M in Chiba; but we talked on Sunday and he was OK). Saturday evening, in an effort to forget the chaos around us, eight of my friends and I went to karaoke, which might have been heartless, but gave us a refreshing feeling of normality, at least for a while.
Sunday morning was absolutely beautiful; warm, 70-degree weather, bright sunny skies, and a fresh breeze. I took a walk in Mitsudera Park, trying to forget there might be higher levels of radiation in the air from the Fukushima explosion (I don’t think there were, though), and instead just enjoyed the warm sun. My friend N came over around 12:30. After a bit of discussion—he was more afraid of radiation levels than I was—I convinced him that it was OK to go outside since Gunma is so far from the nuclear plant. Even so, as we passed the gas stations on the way to Kannon Yama Park in northeast Takasaki, we saw that everyone was preparing for more disaster: the lines spilled out onto the street in people’s hurries to fill up their tanks before the gas ran out.
It almost seemed wrong to enjoy the sweet scent of early pink cherry blossoms, the hot sun, the sound of the breeze in the pines and cedars, knowing that just a few hundred miles north people were cold and hungry with their cities in tatters. I tried to explain my feeling to N, but in my limited Japanese, all I could manage was: “It’s a really nice day in Takasaki. It’s not a nice day in Fukushima and Miyagi.” I’d like to think he understood—he’s usually patient with my stumbling, slow sentences.
Now, back at school, I still haven’t shredded those papers from Friday. I feel a certain kind of Pavlovian response inside of me; that if I stand in front of the shredder, the whole building is going to shake again. I know that’s stupid, but I can’t help feeling that way. I might just rip them up and put them in the trash can instead.
Also, for those of you who think I’m going insane (from having read my last post) please rest assured that I was just having a terrible couple of days and wanted to sort out into words what was bothering me. I’m sorry if I worried anyone. I don’t hate Japan; I just find learning more about its culture to be difficult sometimes.
I have no plans to leave the country any time soon; I’m going to stick it out until July when I take a three-week vacation back at home before returning for another year. In the meantime, I will just roll with the punches, the aftershocks, the blackouts, and all the rest. I’ll let you know if anything changes.
Thanks for keeping track of me and I will be in contact again soon.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Rant. Diatribe. Just Give Me A Second
Well, it finally hit me, seven months in. Stage Two: homesickness and frustration. Not in a terribly bad way, an, “I-have-to-go-home-right-this-second-or-I’m-gonna-go-berserk” way. It’s just a little tickle that hits me once in a while. It might just come from wondering if I really made the right decision to stay another year. I mean, I could have given up Japan in August—I will have seen a good portion of this country by then—and gone on to teach English at some universidad down in South America. But I’m not; I’m going to stay. I was feeling pretty good about this decision for a while; I’ll take advantage of my time here and travel, learn, teach. It’s just that recently, every time I have a bad day at work, or a store employee asks me something I don’t understand, or any number of little instances happen that make me feel frustrated, I feel doubly so because I know now that it’s not just “five more months and I’m gone.” It’s nineteen. I coasted through the first six months easily; but now that winter just won’t leave and I can’t get the hang of Japanese culture, everything is starting to get to me.
There’s just so much I don’t understand! And I don’t mean verb tenses and sentence particles, either. It’s the entire deep culture. That’s what’s been bothering me recently. I keep comparing Western and Japanese culture. Like I don’t understand smiling at the funeral when an immediate family member dies, suppressing your true feelings of grief, or immediately changing the subject any time some remotely difficult topic like death or divorce comes up, or looking the other way when some stranger gets felt up on a crowded train, or only telling your girlfriend she’s beautiful when you’re drunk, or not holding hands in public, or not eating Twizzlers because they were snuck illegally into the movie theatre, or not understanding sarcasm, taking everything literally, or being afraid of friendly hugs, or always having an impassive face like you’re straight out of 1984. I want to yell, like Gregory Corso’s line from “Marriage”: “You must feel! It’s beautiful to feel!”
I don’t know how to react when someone says, “Oh, that’s a very American casual outfit you have on,” as if I were wearing a garbage bag. I don’t know if, “That’s a very bright shirt,” means, “Don’t wear that to school again,” (even though I do). I don’t know if all the exclamations of “kawaii!” that only happen when I wear my contacts mean I’m ugly with glasses. I double-analyze everything everyone tells me to check if they’re being sincere. It’s got me walking on eggshells. I don’t understand why so many strong expressions I want to say (“You don’t have time for me,” “I feel really angry,” etc.) can’t translate into Japanese. When I ask someone if it makes sense, the answer is usually, “Mmmm, we don’t say that in Japanese.” Any strong honest sentiment gets watered down before it reaches the listener’s ears. No one will use the actual word for “angry” and even if they did, God knows no one will ever actually voice it! I can’t get a straight “yes” or “no” answer to any question, either at work or personally, only ambiguous replies like, “If I can go, I’ll go,” (which means I’m not coming) or “You did a really good job on this, but . . . “ (which means It’s not good enough). I would so much appreciate a straightforward, direct, frank conversation some time.
I know these are just cultural differences that don’t merit my eye-rolling exasperation. I know they’re not wrong, they’re just different (and try saying that in Japanese, when the same word for wrong means different! ใกใใ!). I’ve taken Intercultural Communication courses and studied sociology and social work and ESL education. I know about ethnocentricity and positions of power and What It Means to Be A White American, et cetera et cetera et cetera. I’ve been to foreign countries; I know everyone doesn’t think the same way I do. Living in a small island nation, it makes sense that there is less independence, more politeness, more formality. There isn’t enough space to spread out and “be yourself.” People have reasons for their behavior. It’s all about tradition and saving face and all of those other sociological terms. I get it. I honestly do. But all that knowing doesn't prevent me from feeling frustrated at times. I feel like I can’t be 100% Jaimie Lynn, either for fear of being ostracized or fear of stepping on someone’s toes. And that’s hard for me. I’m not trying to change an entire culture. I’m just voicing all these little frustrations that have been building up in the past few months. I’m just saying, I think, that I’m ready for Stage Two to be over and for Stage Three, Acceptance, to get here already.
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