Accomplishments

• T came down from Hokkaido to visit for the weekend!
• We had a successful turkey dinner on Saturday, November 20. Cooked a 9-pound turkey in a microwave convection oven for about four hours. Hosted 12 people. Everyone brought something--dessert, a side dish, snacks, a guitar. . . and I never could have done all of it without A's oven in Maebashi: thank you! Also had seven people sleep over. Piles of futons all over my house.
• Ashikaga Wine Festival in Tochigi Prefecture. Bottle of wine, wine glass (inevitably breaking; thanks AB), and bottle opener for 2500 yen. Climbed a mountain and took some pictures.
• Got a membership card at Time Clip (movie rental place) and a movie that I can keep for a week for FREE! (Saleslady explained everything to me showing me a pamphlet and explaining it in maybe simple Japanese, but I still was surprised that she didn't want my money.)
• Went with Mr. K to get toyu (kerosene) for my heaters. He made me talk to the guy who worked there for Japanese practice. "とゆ、ください。”　”いくつリテロ？”　”１８。”　(Kerosene, please. How many liters? 18.) No problem. Then to a grocery store and drug store tour. And I learned when the cashier says, "Irasshaimase" you either don't say anything or you say, "Kore, kudasai" (this, please). There is no small talk ("Nice weather we're having, huh?") like in the U.S. According to Mr. K, "communication is small" in Japan. According to Dr. H at UNCG, Japan has a "high-context culture"--talking is not necessary. A certain type of telepathy exists among them, unlike in America, where we have to talk about everything.
• I'm starting to run to keep my blood flowing during these cold winter months. Got almost to the library (a kilometer away) without stopping. Today I went to Mitsudera Park, saw two of my students kicking a soccer ball, and ran twice around the park. I had to stop three times. Then I biked to the library (2 kilometers away?), got a Japanese detective novel, Harry Potter 1, and a book of haiku. Ignored the tables upon tables of my students in their uniforms hunched over their books. It was a beautiful day.
• Watched A order pizza online at pizza-la.co.jp. Now I know!

I had the chillest of chill weekends. Stayed home Friday night and most of the day of Saturday. Staying home most of Sunday, too. I love these weekends doing nothing. But accomplishing so much.

Cinema Experience

For all my film school friends out there who complain about the American movie experience (stupid people in the crowd being loud, cell phones going off, etc.) may I recommend flying several thousands miles to experience a movie in Japan? I saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One last night and was just as impressed with the theater as I was the movie itself (which, being the HP fan that I am, I loved). Maybe all theaters aren't like the one I went to, but here's what I liked about the one I went to:

First, you get to pick your seat when you buy your ticket. The computer screen faces you, and after you tell the friendly cashier (or surly cashier who maybe hates gaijin) what movie you want to see, the available seats pop up on the touch-screen. Your seat number is printed on your ticket, so no one argues over seating.

Second, the previews and commercials are funny because you don't understand them. There were about 10 minutes of commercials, some which were really weird. What is really up with that Honda commercial and the guys in superhero costumes? I was also impressed with the 5-minute presentation on UNICEF's Clean Water Project that this theater is helping with. Maybe they just showed it because it's almost Christmas, but it was nice to see theaters chipping in with a very noble cause to help communities in various countries in Africa and Southeast Asia. But none of the previews for American movies looked good to me at all--sorry, Tron fans.

Most theaters have a cheesy intro right before the movie starts, requesting movie-goers to turn off their phones and please go get some Coke, because aren't you sooooo thirsty? But the intro at this theater was very. . . Japanese. Simple and to the point. Black and white pictures showing a cell phone, a couple talking, and a cigarette, all with a "no" signs across them. Violin music in the background. "Please refrain from talking during the movie kudasai," "Please refrain from smoking in the theater, kudasai." So kind and polite, in English and in Japanese. Everyone in the theater in silent, rapt attention, a state in which they stayed for the two-and-a-half-hour running time of the movie.

After Harry Potter ended with [spoil spoil spoil], I expected the house lights to come on and the people to start scurrying out before "Daniel Radcliffe" and "Rupert Grint" even flashed across the screen. But no such thing. Only ONE COUPLE snuck out, but the rest of the crowd remained in the still-dark theater throughout the entire credit roll, silently reading the list of gaffers, best boy grips, and stunt performers. I doubt that many of people in the audience could read all that English--I mean, I wouldn't want to watch the credits rolling in a language I didn't understand--so I'm doubly impressed. I've never been to a mainstream movie theater (and this one was on the third floor of a *mall*) where 99% of the crowd watched the credits and the theater stayed dark during them. I wished you UNCSA people could have been there to see it. You would have been so proud.

Pride and Falls, Etc.

I heard somewhere that your highs are higher and your lows are lower living in a foreign country. It's so true. If something good happens (like I have a successful conversation with someone, or understand someone's sentence), I'm on top of the world. But if something bad happens, I come crashing down, devastated and wanting to hop on the nearest flight back home.

It's little stuff too that gets me down. Like yesterday. I went to Saty (supermarket) to pick up some things I need for dinner this weekend. I was in such a good mood, feeling like I knew what I was doing, I could get around, I had my dictionary on me so I could ask if nani-nani was there, and hey, I've been here almost FOUR MONTHS so I am no stranger any more. Ha. Ha. Ha. The problem was that everything I was looking for was so Western I couldn't find it anywhere. After 20 minutes of going up and down every aisle in the place and feeling people's eyes boring into me (which probably isn't even true, but I get paranoid), I left with just a few things. I didn't even get easy things like butter and milk because I didn't want to be there one minute longer! Then the cashier asked me a question and I looked at her blankly--I'm getting so good at that "what-did-you-just-say" expression. Luckily she repeated herself in English, and I was grateful.

I couldn't find black raspberry Jell-O at the other store either (I know, laugh, laugh, laugh). I did ask one of the salesladies if they had gelatin, though, and she showed me two packages. They looked plain, though, and I needed flavored. "Hang on a second," I muttered in English, fumbling around for my dictionary so I could find the word I was looking for, but couldn't find either one. She stood by politely, but I couldn't find the word I wanted to use, and I felt antsy and pressured. "Nevermind," I said in English, then in Japanese said, "It's okay. It's okay." I'm sure she wanted to help, but wasn't sure what I was looking for.

Today G and I went to Aeon to buy baking dishes and to have dinner. He waited for our hot plates to come out, and I went to McDonald's to get drinks and fries to go with it. I was trying to tell the cashier that I wanted two drinks: one large Coke and one small ginger ale. I obviously said the wrong thing, though, because she made TWO large Cokes to go with my ginger ale. And all I could do was stare dumbly at the tray and say in English, "But that wasn't. . . nevermind." I could have pressed the issue and explained myself, but it was so much easier just to pick up the tray and forgo the extra 200 yen. And I felt like my night was ruined. Because of one little incident!

It's just--oh! The incompetence! The impotence! The not being able to communicate, not to be able to say simple things in an understandable way. I could have lived in any of the 22 Spanish-speaking countries or 53 English-speaking ones, but no. I need a good challenge. Feeling incompetent is good for my over-inflated self-esteem.

So I have to say what I always say: Ganbarimasu! I'll keep trying......

What Time Do You Go to Bed?

My first year junior high school students (ichi-nen-seis, comparable to American 7^th graders) are studying time expressions. Last week they learned “What time is it in London/Australia/China/Japan/etc.?” This week they are learning, “What time do you get up/have breakfast/come home/go to bed?” We play a quick warm-up game to get them shouting time expressions at the top of their lungs, T-sensei introduces the vocabulary and grammar, the students listen to T-sensei ask me about my daily schedule (and are fascinated that I go to bed at 11:00 and get up at 6:30!), then the students fill in a schedule in their books with their own answers.

For the most part, what they write is fairly standard. “I wake up at 7:30. I eat breakfast at 7:40.” (Everyone seems to hop right out of bed and run to the breakfast table, according to their schedules! Do they all take baths at night?) “I go to bed at 10:30.” There are a few “I go to bed at 11:30”s, but the majority of the kids—12- and 13- year olds—are getting about seven or eight hours’ sleep every night. One girl even goes to sleep at 9:30 and wakes up at 7:00. Now that’s a schedule I can get down with.

Then there are these other kids. “I go to bed at 1:00 a.m. I wake up at 5:00 a.m.” WHAT? Did I just read that right? “I go to bed at 12:00 a.m. I wake up at 4:30 a.m.” Sorry, come again?

“Why?” I ask one student, the cute girl with pigtails and bright red glasses who gets up at 5:00. “What do you do that early?” She doesn’t understand. I rephrase. “What time do you come to school?”

“Oh, seven o’clock,” she replies casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Brass band.”

“Why do you go to bed so late?” I turn around to ask the kid who goes to bed at 1:00 a.m. and gets up between 4:00 and 5:00. He always seems awake enough in class but his eyes do look tired.

He doesn’t have enough English to really understand my question, but my incredulous expression passes straight through the language barrier. He answers me in Japanese. “Benkyou,” he says. Studying.

“Do you go to juku?” (Juku is cram school, a place where a lot of junior high and high school students spend their after-hours and weekends cramming for extra subjects or to get extra help.)

He nods. I inwardly gasp.

I point to the schedule where he had written, “I come home at four o’clock in the afternoon.” “Do you sleep at 4 o’clock? Do you go to bed then?” I ask.

Either he doesn’t understand me or he really just doesn’t sleep, because he shakes his head. He points at, “I go to bed at one o’clock.” “I go to bed,” he tells me.

After class, as T-sensei and I are gathering our materials, I ask him, “Why are the kids going to bed so late and waking up so early? They are so busy!”

“This is the life of a Japanese junior high school student,” he says dryly. He doesn’t say anything more, and I don’t feel like it would be appropriate for me to scream, “But that’s crazy!” So I am quiet.

Earlier today, one of my ni-nen-seis (2^nd year students) had told me he had gone to bed at 1:00 a.m. the night before too, because he was doing his homework. In this case, I would believe that he had just slacked off until the last minute, instead of having a legitimate excuse. (He’s the student who won’t get his work done during the 50 minutes of class time, the 20 minutes of extra time at the lunch break, or after school. You could give him the rest of eternity and he’d be too busy goofing off to actually do his work.)

But these other kids. Is it common that Japanese students wear themselves out studying? There is a lot that has surprised me about the school system here, but nothing seems quite so shocking as the fact that so many students are stretched so thin. It’s not just school. It’s school, cram school, piano lessons, tennis club, judo club, private tutors, Sports Day, speech contests, entrance exams . . . the list goes on and on. Most kids are wearing their uniforms seven days a week! Drive down Highway 25 in Takasaki at 8:00 on a Saturday morning and it’ll be bustling with uniformed students on their way to cram school just like it was a weekday. When do they rest? When do they sleep? When do they have—heaven forbid—free time? How do they get to love Arashi and AKB48 and One Piece if they’re always glued to their notebooks?

It’s not that I’m not an advocate for education. (I mean, look at those double negatives! Of course I want children to study!) But I wonder when can kids be kids here?

I think back to when I was a junior high school student (except we call them middle schoolers) back in the mid-90s. Sure, the school was in the middle of nowhere—there was only one middle school and one high school for the whole county—but there were still plenty of clubs and teams to participate in. I ran track in seventh grade and took piano lessons once a week in town. In high school I was in the drama club and the Spanish club and sang in the Chorus. But that was about the extent of my WCMS/HS participation. And I don’t ever remember feeling exhausted as a child. I mostly remember coming home from school, doing my homework, and playing outside until it got dark. And you can bet my parents had me in bed before ten o’clock when I was thirteen years old, too!

So why are Japanese and American students so different? It’s not that Japanese kids are particularly smarter or more well-behaved than American kids. There are plenty of students at GMJHS who don’t take school seriously, who talk during class, who do their homework at the last minute (or not at all), who slack off. But their lifestyles seem to be different. In Japan, kids’ lives seem to revolve around school. In America, school is something to put up with until you’re eighteen.

I guess there are American kids—most of them mid-to upper-middle class—who are just as busy as the kids are here. (Read Unequal Childhoods by Annette Lareau for a really good comparison between the kids who have strictly regimented weekly schedules filled with soccer and music lessons and trips to Europe and the kids who don’t.) But those kids don’t make up the majority of the population in America like they do here.

Am I so backwards that I don’t think filling a child’s every minute with activities is the best way for them to have a healthy, happy life? Kids need sleep. Kids need to play. Kids need time to be creative and fill their free time the way they want. I can’t imagine being twelve and having so many expectations put on me. What if school is hard for me? Do I just study more?

Do I say, "Oh, it's just the way it is?" I can't help but feel sorry for my students. Are they used to it, though, so it's okay? Am I being too culturally-centric to understand the deeper meanings here? What do you think?

Tokyo Interior: A Play in One Act

Conversation Between Saleswoman at Tokyo Interior and Me (100% Japanese)

I see a rug I like, marked for 6800 yen. A red 40% off sign is beside it. A saleswoman is approaching.

Saleswoman (under her breath): Irrasahimase. (Welcome, come in, etc. Everyone in stores greets their customers with this line).

Me (going up to her and pointing at rugs): Excuse me. How long is this sale until?

Saleswoman: Japanese, Japanese, Japanese, Japanese, let me see. (Looks at sign.) (Continues talking in comprehensible Japanese.)

Me: I want this rug. But today I don’t have money. Next week, will it be here?

Saleswoman: Mmmmmm. (Takes bar-coded prices out of the plastic sleeve. Shows me two tickets. Speaks in Japanese.)

Me (switching tactics): Maybe it will be here. Maybe it won’t be here. Maybe I can buy today. Is VISA okay?

Saleswoman: VISA card?

Me: Yes, VISA card.

Saleswoman: It’s okay.

Me: Can I see it?

Saleswoman: Sure. (We both take it off the rack and place it on a stack of rugs nearby.)

Me: I like it.

Saleswoman: (Smiles.)

Me (pointing at 40% off sign and at 6800 yen sign): Is this the last price? Is it [in English, “40% off”] now? Is it 5000 yen? 4000 yen?

Saleswoman: Japanese, Japanese, Japanese, Japanese. Wait just a second, please. (Runs off.)

Me: OK.

Me (to myself): Am I having a conversation in Japanese?

Saleswoman (returning): (Points to 40% sign.) 6800 is already 40% off. 6800 is the [in English, “last price”].

Me [in English]: Mmmmm, let me think.

Saleswoman: (Looks at me quizzically.)

Me [in Japanese]: To think. (Makes thoughtful face. Puts finger on temple in “Thinking” pose.)

Saleswoman: (Maybe gets it.) Japanese, Japanese, Japanese.

Me [in English]: Maybe I can come back. Today I will not buy it. Thank you for your trouble, though.

Saleswoman: Oh, it’s okay.

Me & Saleswoman: (Put the rug back on the rack.)

Me: I’m sorry, just a little Japanese.

Saleswoman: It’s okay. Just a little English.

Me: Thank you a lot. Maybe I will come back.

Saleswoman: Thank you. Japanese, Japanese, Japanese.

Me: Thank you.

(End Scene)

Christmas is Coming the Stores Are All Crowded...

I've been bugging my mom for piano sheet music recently, so she sent me a stack of the hymns I wrote about earlier and the music to a cantata our church did in 1997 (?) called "That's Christmas." Tonight I went to my host mom's house for dinner, and before we ate our Chinese stir-fry, rice, and salad, I got to bang on their beautiful Kawai piano for half an hour. Of course the family didn't recognize any of the songs (American families don't know this cantata!), but I was transported back to high school, with Josh singing, "Do not be afraid, Mary...." and everyone else bellowing out, "Where is the Child?!" vigorously. (And remember when Jonathan thought "laud" was Southern for "Lord"? Of course, he was 10 at the time, but still...it was funny.)

Christmas is already all over Japan. All the stores are playing Christmas music and they all have Christmas decorations up. But I'm thinking about the Thanksgiving dinner I'm going to miss in two weeks! (I'll have my own version here, I'm sure, but it won't be exactly the same.) I wonder what Christmas will be like. My host mom has invited me to her house, where they celebrate the Japanese way: eating KFC and cake. Not exactly my mom's glazed ham, but it'll have to do, I suppose! Maybe Christmas is like home: wherever you are, you make it yours.

Language, Time Capsules, and Japanese Class

“Sumimasen” (すみません) is a magical word. Depending on context, it can mean “I’m sorry,” “Excuse me,” or “Thank you,” and it can get you out of almost any pickle you happen to find yourself in. JTE talking too fast? “Sumimasen, can you repeat that, please?” You trip over someone on the train? “Sumimasen, sumimasen!” (and throw in a “gomenasai”—the real “I’m sorry”—too, for good measure, so they’ll quit thinking darkly, “Pinche gajin…These foreigners are ruining our country!”

I felt happy yesterday because I felt like I helped the gaijin cause. First, the woman behind me in line at the sushi counter dropped a 100-yen coin but didn't realize it. When I picked it up and handed it to her, with a maybe impolite, “Anata-no desuku?” (Is this yours?) she gave me a shocked look, stared incomprehensibly at her palm with the other coins in it, and stared back at me. Then she let out a string of “sumimasen”s, which could have meant, “I’m sorry to have troubled you,” or could have been, “Thank you so much for your trouble!” or maybe, “OK, thank you, goodbye.”

Then on the bus headed home from the Takasaki train station, a woman’s wheeled suitcase flew across the floor when the bus driver took a turn too fast. Since I was the closest to it, I picked it up for her and rolled it back to her seat. “Sumimasen! Suminasen!” she cried. Score two for the white girl.

(This may or may not balance out the butter incident in Tako-machi, Chiba-ken. I put two sticks of butter on the counter to pay for them. The cashier looked at me, looked at the butter, looked at me again, and asked hesitantly if I want a bag. No, thank you. Is a sticker ok? Yes, quite ok. He put the stickers on the butter and slid them across the counter to me. I showed my wallet. Aren’t I supposed to pay for these? He made an embarrassed noise and rang them up. 200-odd yen. I paid, got my change, left. Half-way back, I realized he only charged me for one. Do I go back? How do I explain? Did he do it on purpose? Was he too shaken up by the sight of a non-Japanese person that he forgot what he was doing? In the end, I didn’t go back, and I let my guilty conscience accompany me home. I still feel kind of bad about it.)

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HOUSE

There is something absolutely comforting about being in my apartment—wrapped up in a quilt on the couch, or curled up on my 4-layer deep futon—that just seems like home. I wonder, though, if home is just anywhere I am, if I just make it home. No matter where I’m living, it seems like I always end my day writing in my diary and reading a book. Last night before I turned out the lamp, I looked at my bookcase and saw the same titles that have accompanied me for the past ten years: some Ray Bradbury, some poetry, some Cortázar, and a bound blank book that serves as journal. I guess it’s these rituals that keep me grounded.

Speaking of rituals and being grounded, I got an email yesterday from Forbes.com. Apparently, I had signed up for its 5-Year E-Mail Time Capsule on November 8, 2005. I’m not going to copy the whole thing, but here’s part of it:

“Well, it’s noon on Tuesday, November 8, 2005. I’m sitting in my office at [X] in Greensboro, North Carolina….I’ve got a lot of plans for the next five years and I really hope they happened.

1. Travel to Mexico, Argentina, Bolivia, and/or London. AT LEAST Mexico!!!

2. MOVE OUT OF THE HOUSE I’M IN NOW and get a real house in the country with lots of room and space for a garden and animals.

….

4. Be happy.

I am 23 years old right now. I will be 28 in five years. Lord, Lord, Lord.

…

And so, I leave you here, at 12:08 p.m., sitting in this office wearing your fuzzy GAP pants and shirt, about to take a phone call.

Love,

Jaimie”

Funny, isn’t it, how time flies. In 1997, I put together a “time capsule” in a checkbox, taped it all together, and wrote in capital letters: “DO NOT OPEN UNTIL AUGUST 29, 2007, 1:07 P.M..” When the allotted hour arrived, I tore open the tape eagerly, having forgotten everything I had put in there. And much was my disappointment when all I found from 15-year old Jaimie was a couple of pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio, some plastic hair clips, pages ripped from a teen magazine, and something written about a boy I had a crush on then (yeah, you know who you are). I think I had just been cleaning my room back then when the urge to preserve some part of my life struck me—or maybe I was just bored with straightening up?—so I packed it up quickly from random objects strewn around my room. Next time I’ll have to do a better job.

But back to this 2005 time capsule. Well, in the past five years, I’ve managed to go to Mexico three times and Bolivia once, although I still haven’t gone to Argentina or England. And I can certainly say I moved out of my house…. and city…and state….and country….Check. Of course, Japan isn’t really known for its “lots of room and space for a garden and animals” but I guess I’ll get that when I go back home to stay. I will also say I feel quite happy with my life now (except when I'm in Japanese class, as you will see below). I just wish I knew where those fuzzy GAP pants and shirt were. . . .

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Japanese Class

It still gives me a headache. Yesterday, I was so stressed out from 2 hours of not understanding and not being able to communicate (“Quit giving me new assignments when I don’t understand the old ones!!!!”) that as soon as I got in my car and drove ten feet, I screamed at the top of my lungs for 30 seconds. It didn’t help. I went home and did 20 push-ups quick. It still didn’t help. I was furious, furiously furious like I haven't been in a long time. I threw on my tennis shoes and pounded down my neighborhood streets in the dark, stopping at the corners and high-speed jump-roping until I was so out of breath my lungs hurt. After about 20 minutes of this madness, sprinting and jump-roping, I wore myself out. I stumbled home and sprawled out on the couch for the next hour, sipping water and trying to breathe. Then I read “Dance, Dance, Dance” and went to sleep.

This morning I woke up and my knee hurts again.

What does this tell me about teaching a foreign language? About language-learning? About me as a teacher and a student? What can I learn from all this?