September 2003
Monday, Sept. 1, 2003 — The First Day of School
I wore a suit on the first day of school. I’d been told to wear one because I’d be introducing myself formally to the school. All I brought to school that day was my purse and my speech. I resolved to bring more of my stuff to school to personalize my bare desk, which simply has a world map on it with the state of Minnesota outlined in black marker. My predecessor, Jason, is from Minnesota. He has told me that even though he’d been at Kamona Junior High School for three years, he hadn’t been able to hammer home any familiarity with his home state.
I’m lucky. Texas has lots of name-recognition.
I made it to school at about 7:45 a.m. The teachers had their daily staff meeting at 8 a.m. First, the vice principal said something that made everyone stand up and then he said good morning. All the teachers mumbled good morning back and sat down. The next thing I knew, everyone was staring at me. It was just like high school again, when the teacher would call my name at roll, but I wouldn’t recognize it because of the mangled pronunciation of my name. The vice principal had called me and the new school nurse up to introduce ourselves to the staff.
Then we made our way to the gym, where the students had gathered for the opening ceremony. I had been warned to bring gym shoes — shoes for use only in the gym. Even if I’d been wearing gym-friendly sneakers ahead of time, I get the feeling I’d have been asked to change my shoes anyway.
Every semester begins and ends with a short ceremony, where the principal basically says the semester has started or ended. The kids sat sprawled in haphazard lines in the gym. The principal called the nurse and me up to talk. The kids listened in silence as I read out my speech, which I’d prepared in Japanese with the help of the head English teacher. I mentioned random stuff like I like Harry Potter and wanted to learn calligraphy
Afterward, some teachers expressed some surprise at the quality of my pronunciation. I have all those endless hours of anime to thank for that. ;-) Morita-sensei, the English teacher who sits next to me, even invited me to have dinner with her family at her home, as well as visit her daughter’s calligraphy lessons! I am so grateful she sits next to me, because she’s so nice and puts up with all my questions about what’s going on. Also, the head English teacher said all the four English teachers and the principal would take me out to eat that weekend.
One of the teachers poured me some coffee. This was a problem. I don’t drink coffee, but didn’t want to sound unappreciative. This had happened on one earlier occasion, and I did the same thing: I took a couple sips of the coffee (the taste of which always reminds me why I don’t drink coffee in the first place) and then poured it out unobtrusively when he wasn’t watching … Ah, the shame!
I didn’t teach that day, as there were no classes. The kids basically came to school, went to the opening ceremony, had an earthquake drill (which involved filing out of the school with their bicycle helmets on) and cleaned the campus. They went home before lunchtime. I got to go home then, too, because the teachers would be simply having meetings in the afternoon.
That afternoon, I hooked up my lifeline: my high-speed wireless Internet access. I had signed up with Yahoo BB, a broadband service exclusively available in Japan. This required me to entrust my bank information with the Japanese boyfriend of a Canadian JET in Tokushima City. He had filled out the online form for me and a week later, I’d gotten the cables, modem and PC cards. To take advantage of the full two free months of free international long distance that the plan included, I’d waited (in agony) until today to go online.
The set-up was a cinch, since they’d given me a video and several diagrams of how to hook up what. It was installing the all-Japanese software that concerned me. My computer couldn’t display kanji (not that that would have helped …), so I was just randomly clicking buttons and staring at gibberish in the window that popped up when I put the Yahoo BB CD in my laptop. Not surprisingly, I got no where with this, and soon grew panicky. I thought to myself, “There has got to be an easier way!”
There was. I noticed that Windows XP had recognized that a wireless Internet provider was available. I double-clicked the icon that had appeared in my task tray, then “Connect.” VOILA! ONLINE IN SECONDS. It was my triumph of the day, discovering the genius of Window XP rather than having to spend hours trying to install Japanese software.
I then tried making up for my four weeks of Internet deprivation.
Tuesday, Sept. 2, 2003 — Day 2
I had my first school lunch today: It was a bowl of beef stew, a bowl of fruit cocktail, a roll and milk.
With no lessons today and NOTHING to do, I began to make hiragana flash cards as a way to jump-start my lax attempt at learning the language. The Japanese have two syllabaries for phonetically spelling out words: hiragana, for native words, and katakana, for imported words. A working knowledge of katakana will often get you by when reading restaurant menus.
That evening, I went to the 100-Yen store for office supplies for my desk. I got a pair of highlighters. To my light, I discovered they came with the rather cool feature of being ERASABLE. NEAT.
Wednesday, Sept. 3, 2003 — Day 3
Triumph of the day: Today I learned hiragana.
Morita-sensei brought me to her home this evening for dinner. She made oyakodonburi, a delicious dish of rice, chicken, eggs and onions that I'd mentioned I like. I met her two children and her husband, also a junior high teacher. I played her son’s Gameboy and killed his Mario off a couple of times unintentionally before the son took his Gameboy away from me. I ate Morita-sensei's daughter’s green peppers stuffed with curried meat. They made me play the piano, which I did, badly. They invited me to go with them to Kamiyama Onsen, to a favorite café.
I felt so honored they were welcoming me with such gusto.
Thursday, Sept. 4, 2003 — Day 4
Morita-sensei said her kids asked when next I would see them. She invited me to visit again.
Today was my second day of lessons. I have been team-teaching with Kashiba-sensei, the head English teacher, and did my fourth class with her today. She teaches third-grade junior high, the equivalent of high school freshman in America. The lessons have involved the kids asking me questions about myself and then questions about photos I’d brought of kids pictured in the Abilene Reporter-News. The questions for me ranged from how old I was and how many siblings I had to whether I have a boyfriend, what I had for breakfast and if I believed in God.
I had been warned ahead of time that kids would ask prying questions (usually involving bodily measurements), but the kids at Kamona have been pretty respectful, and I haven’t had any problems with their questions. They seem to get a kick out of the fact that oyakodonburi is one of my favorite Japanese foods. I get the feeling that it’s a dish that’s as common here as, say, meatloaf is at home.
I helped de-grass the ground today.
Every afternoon after school, students clean the campus. I observed this first on Tuesday as kids flooded the hallways, classrooms and staff room with brooms and mops. There is no janitorial staff; the students and faculty do it themselves everyday, with a particularly thorough cleaning at the beginning and ending of every semester.
Not wanting to be left out, I asked how I could help that day. Hashimoto-sensei, an English teacher and the person in charge of delegating cleaning tasks in the staff room, point me to the broom closet.
I didn’t know it was a broom closet and I didn’t recognize the stumpy, stubbly things in them as brooms. I must have seriously dishonored my family, given the look on Hashimoto-sensei’s face, when I asked how to use these devices. I really DO know how to use a broom!
So I spent Tuesday and Wednesday sweeping. But given the army of students on hand to sweep, mop and vacuum, I still felt pretty useless. I wondered where all the teachers disappeared to at cleaning time, since it was only me, Hashimoto-sensei and a bunch of students in the teachers’ room. I resolved to follow one on Thursday, today.
I tracked down Ikawa-sensei, an English teacher who is the same age as me and also a newcomer to the school. She came in April, at the start of the school year. We already had a good relationship and similar interests. She’s a snowboarder and when she heard I wanted to learn, offered to take me. COOL.
I’d already been told ALTs didn’t really have to do anything at cleaning time. (I have no idea why. EVERYONE pitches in.) I suspect they said they because they couldn’t think of anything for me to do. Well, I’d FIND things to do!
I found Ikawa-sensei at what I thought was a garden area between the two three-story classroom buildings. It wasn’t a garden area. Everyday, Kiyomi (her first name) and some students — mainly her first-graders (the equivalent of American seventh-graders) weed for the 10 minutes of cleaning time. Pretty much they pull anything green. The object is to one day have the entire area devoid of any weeds … and grass. Kiyomi admitted it sounded like a kind of weird, never-ending task. She wasn’t sure herself why they did it.
I shrugged and helped weed. I was just happy to be helping.
The chore gave me a chance to get to meet some of the students outside of class. With Kiyomi’s help, I was able to chat with a group of girls who regularly help out with this task.
Along came a petite, long-haired boy who you just knew was a class trouble-maker. He turned out to be pretty funny. He started pulling up grass. “Great!” he said, motioning to the chore, clearly recognizing its ridiculousness. His name was Ryu, he said. He pointed at himself and said something in English to the effect that he was a good boy. I looked at him skeptically. He changed his story.
“Devil,” he admitted with a grin.
“Ah,” I said, “Akuma.”
Kiyomi was impressed I knew the word for “devil.” I told her I’d learned it from the video game Street Fighter.
I left school early to ride my bike downtown for the weekly ALT meeting at the board of education. Seven of the eight ALTs made it. The new ALTs compared notes on their first few days. Tashi said he wondered what his vice principal would do if he weren’t always planning enkais. Sally was disgruntled her school had no plans for her to teach the entire week.
Dan won for the best story, though. He said his students, especially his female students, were rather obsessive. The girls would yell out, “I love you,” to him and follow him around. He tried to escape to the kitchen, but just found them waiting outside the doors when he came out. Makes me glad I’m Asian, because it just confuses the kids rather than entrances them. ;-)
Friday, Sept. 5, 2003 — Day 5
I planned and had my first true lessons today! Hashimoto-sensei asked me for a game his students could play, so I devised a true-false betting game about America. I turned the copying machine into a mint and Xeroxed off more than 100 one-dollar bills until I had a wad of money.
The questions were about the U.S., like:
• U.S. students do not take entrance exams for high school.
• The most popular sport in Texas is baseball.
• Everyone rides bicycles in America.
I divided the class into six groups. The kids picked their own groups. I gave each group $10. Working together, they were usually able to figure out what the statements said. The kids seemed to enjoy the game, even if their success rate was pretty low. But one group of boys managed to get the hefty sum of $51 by the last question. I was worried I wouldn’t have enough money to pay them if they got the last question, “Vivi can use chopsticks,” right, but then they bet that it was false. Heh heh heh. Suckers.
Saturday, Sept. 6, 2003 — Kamona’s Culture Festival
I had to work today. A six-day week my first week of school! Today was the school’s bunka sai, its big culture festival. The big event last semester was the sports festival. Students spend months organizing their performances for the bunka sai. I pretty much just had to show up and watch.
The morning was devoted to student performances in the gym. They ranged from a traditional puppet show, complete with shamisen music and wailing narration, to dancing to pop music and skits. One group of boys danced to Christina Aguilera’s “Can’t Hold Us Down,” which I thought was immensely ironic, seeing as how the song is about how guys can’t hold girls down. Half the time I didn’t understand what was going on, but sometimes, that makes for a funnier show, considering some of the really bizarre costumes these kids would wear.
For the afternoon, the kids retreated to their homerooms and each did a different activity. One class handed out flavored shaved ice (which was crushed in Hello Kitty and Doraemon ice shavers). Another ran a haunted house, er, classroom. There was a manga room and an ice cream room. I wandered the hallways and said hello to the students.
That evening, the four English teachers and principal took me out to eat at a tempura place. I never would have found it — it was hidden behind some bamboo trees — I’d had to find it on my own. Apparently it’s the only tempura place in Tokushima where the chef makes your food right in front of you. It was a fascinating experience.
Apparently it’s very difficult to make tempura at home. The flour mix and the frying time all must be just right because tempura isn’t supposed to be greasy. The chef, a 79-year-old man with a wicked sense of humor (at least from what I could tell from my teachers’ gaffaws), brought out a tray of fish and vegetables, which he proceeded to fry one by one and place on our dishes. It was delicious. I ended up burning the roof of my mouth in my eagerness.
He gave me a gift of an incense-scented fan painted with dragonflies. My first omiyage! I was so honored. I still don’t know how I am going to display it in my apartment.
For the grand finale, he fried a red bean-paste cake. This is a sweet treat not normally fried, but it was yummy when I tried it.
Afterward, the teachers took me to karaoke. In care you’re curious, I sang “They Long to Be Close to You,” by the Carpenters (I knew Hashimoto-sensei was a Carpenters’ fan), Simon and Garfunkle's “Mrs. Robinson” and Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I also sang Extreme’s “More Than Words,” but that rendition turned out to be so bad the teachers asked Kashiba-sensei (who’s sings professionally … or something) to sing one last song so as to erase the memory of my singing.
Sunday, Sept. 7, 2003 — The video store
Triumph of the day: I opened a video rental account at Tsutaya’s, a video store near where I live with a big selection of English-language movies.
Monday, Sept. 8, 2003 — The dry cleaner's
Triumph of the day: I dropped off my suit at the dry cleaner’s. I told the very friendly lady at the counter, who wondered what I was doing in Tokushima, that I was an English teacher. I wonder if that’s lying. I don’t know how to say “assistant language teacher” in Japanese …
Tuesday, Sept. 9, 2003 — Kendo
After school ended, I snuck around the gym to look at the athletic clubs practicing. Kamona has baseball, tennis, badminton, table tennis, kendo, soccer and judo. I watched the kendo club for a bit. It was fascinating. They practice hitting each other in the head (no where else!) with their bamboo swords. Sure, they’re wearing protective headgear, but that’s still a little daunting! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Triumph of the day: I learned katakana.
Wednesday, Sept. 10, 2003 — Scaring the wits out of children
I taught Miyata-sensei’s class today. She had them introduce themselves, tell me their age, where they were from and their likes and dislikes before asking me a question about myself. But one girl got up immediately began quivering with fear. I could just see this intense panic in her eyes, and the tears forming. She was so shy, she was stricken. Miyata-sensei let her sit down. Am I that scary???
The kids asked me if I liked sushi. I said no. They gasped in horror.
But later, the girls’ badminton club asked me to join them! Cool! Unfortunately, I hadn’t brought my gym shoes — I was wearing borrowed slippers inside the gym — and so bowed out. I did, however, warm-up with them. It was exhausting. Good exercise.
Thursday, Sept. 11, 2003 — My betting game
The kids in one of Morita-sensei’s class asked me why I had white hair. I told them it was natural, that I’d had it since I was their age.
We played the betting game in her classes. But one class I suspect had heard about it ahead of time and knew the answers, as they were making off like bandits. I ran out of fake money to give them. As a result, I changed all the questions for the next class and put a limit on how much money you could bet. I included a statement about Sept. 11, asking whether it was true or false that a plane crashed into the White House on Sept. 11, 2001. That class went much better, and I was relieved most got the Sept. 11 question right.
Friday, Sept. 12, 2003 — Blending in with teen-agers
A boy asked if I like T.A.T.U. today. I said no. Another asked me what “infected” means. He’d just bought Sum 41's “Does This Look Infected?” CD. A class asked me the first Japanese word I learned. “Ohaiyo” or “Konnichiwa” was too easy an answer, so I said, “baka,” which means “stupid.” You hear it a lot in anime. The teacher looked bewildered, but the class got a kick out of that.
I warmed up with the badminton club and then played a little. I was still sore from when I last warmed-up with them. These girls are hard-core. They DRILL and stuff. I was exhausted and sat out of some of the drills.
I DID, however, run laps around the gym with them. I haven’t run laps since freshman year of high school, when I had P.E.! I kept up with them, too! Morita-sensei said didn’t realize I was running with them because I blended in with the girls. Yes. Short Asian girl with short hair. I can see that.
Sunday, Sept. 14, 2003 — Finding a haven in Tokushima
Triumph of the day: I went in search of Bunka no Mori, site of the prefectural library, cultural museum, modern art museum and park, and found it, 45 minutes away by bicycle. The route was not particularly bicycle-friendly, either.
Even better, I procured myself a library card. The library there has an English section that I am eager to explore after I finish Tolkien’s Return of the King, the book I am currently reading. There’s several Japanese grammar books that I want to study, too. And there are so many Japanese books! I need to learn Japanese simply so I can read them!
I love libraries. Wherever I am, I go in search of one. There is nothing so pure as a library. They are such bastions of peace, order and knowledge. And now I know where Tokushima’s library is.
Offense of the day: I went into the cultural museum without paying. The ticket lady had to hunt me down and make me pay. I didn’t know there was a charge, and the ticket prices weren’t posted very prominently!
On a different note, my rice cooker is jammed on "Keep warm." I have pushed all its buttons (which are of course, in kanji) to no avail and thus, was unable to use it cook some rice tonight. I had to cook the rice the old-fashioned way. I did, however, finally figure out how to turn on the convection oven in my microwave.
Monday, Sept. 15, 2003 — “Fixing” my clock
Today was a holiday. My calendar calls it “Respect for the Aged Day.”
Triumph of the day: I got my clock to work! This was extremely gratifying. I bought a digital clock with big, glow-in-the-dark numbers about two weeks ago so, in my near-blindness, I'd be able to tell what time it was at night with my glasses off. But when I brought it home and plugged it in, the clock somehow ran fast! I didn't know digital clocks could do that. I surmised that a clock made in China wasn't compatible with Japanese outlets. But that also made the clock pretty useless. I didn't know what to do — it'd be difficult to explain my problem at the electronics store where I'd bought it.
I noticed a battery slot in the back of the clock and bought a nine-volt battery hoping that would solve my troubles. It didn't. The clock didn't even turn on when I slid the battery in. However, I DID notice that there was a switch for 50 Hertz and 60 Hertz. The clock was set at 50 Hertz. I slid it over to 60 Hertz and voila! It was keeping the correct time!
Wednesday, Sept. 17, 2003 — Frozen oranges
I had a great class of first-graders (American seventh-graders) today. As part of their assignment, each stood up, told me a little about themselves and then asked me a question. Every single one of them looked me in the eye and spoke clearly, a far cry from some of the other self-introductions I've seen.
For lunch, I had sweet-and-sour chicken and vegetables, a slice of bread with honey and a frozen orange. Now I know eating a thawing orange is not a particularly tasty treat
Thursday, Sept. 18, 2003 — On incomplete beings and calligraphy
I realized today that I've made enough rounds by now that I've visited every class at Kamona Junior High School. Most of those students have introduced themselves to me or at least displayed their names on their desk or person. Out of 600 students, I think I know maybe 10 names. The “lucky” few are the ones who ask, “Do you remember me?” every day and drill me on their names every time I see them. EVERY time.
Junior high is such a fascinating period of time to watch (though not necessarily to experience …). These kids are so confident about themselves, especially the third-graders (American ninth-graders), since they are the kings and queens of the castle.
At the same time, it is such a time of transition for many. You can spot their insecurity from a mile away just by looking at their posture and the way they shuffle their feet.
In one class, some of them have been giving brief reports on what they did for the summer. Then I ask them a question after they’re done. Some students lapse into long silences, and I can’t tell if they’re thinking or they just have no idea what I’m asking them — of maybe both. So the teacher and I just end up standing there. The students freeze in their fear, not knowing what to do, like a deer caught in headlights. Their eyes widen and you can just see the sweat breaking out on their forehead.
I know they’re nervous, but the absolute terror and panic in their eyes is a little confusing — seriously, I’m the most non-threatening person I know.
Adolescence descends upon these kids with a vengeance. While many, especially among the younger adults, look so cute and adorable in their tiny frames, others have rocketed skyward and look like bouncers who made a wrong turn on the way to the nightclub. There is acne, and embarrassingly wavering voices, with which to contend. These is fashion to be heeded — uniform skirts ratcheted up to there, tube socks artfully slouched, hair bobby-pinned just so.
It is a conundrum to watch the students in action. I came to Japan already warned of the “group think” mentality. I was told how the education system was different, including its approach to discipline. Things are worse and better than I thought.
I had a class today that was astounding in its reticence to talk. I knew we would have lots of spare time to talk after the main lesson was over, so I prepared a list of questions to ask the students. I made them open-ended, such as “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and “What’s your favorite thing about your school?” These kids had no opinion whatsoever, at least opinions they cared to express. They hadn’t thought about what they wanted to be when they grew up. They didn’t know what they liked about their school. I wondered if they were simply trying to get the attention pulled away from them as quickly as possible by giving such empty answers. It frustrated me that they wouldn’t even put in the effort to think about a decent answer. They refused to talk, even though we let them speak in Japanese. It was disappointing.
When kids do speak up in class, it’s interesting to see how they confer with their classmates. They’ll hesitate to answer and first look around at those nearby, or listen to others who yell out what they should say or try to help them. It’s definitely a “work together” mentality.
Triumph of the day: I did Japanese calligraphy, shuji. Morita-sensei had invited me to watch her daughter and son’s calligraphy lessons, so I prepared to tag along this evening. I hadn’t expected to get to try to do it, but that’s exactly what happened. It was surreal.
My sensei was a wonderful little 7-year-old girl Yui.
Okay, so the REAL teacher was Kurohashi-sensei, a refined, middle-aged woman. Students lined up to her to get critiques on their work. Kurohasi-sensei got me all set up at a table and, after showing me how to paint the kanji for “Japan,” turned me over to the hands of the next best person: Yui. Yui was showed me where I should place my paintbrush, even guiding my hand at times, and what to do with my painting when I was through. It was so funny to think I was being instructed by a 7-year-old (whose slight frame made me think she was younger), but Yuki knew what she was doing. She had such an innocent face, a soft voice and gentle manner. I looked at her often for reassurance and she would give me a smile and a thumbs up. SO PRECIOUS!
Morita-sensei had warned me that Kurohashi-sensei requires her students to sit in the traditional kneeling position. I had done this before in karate class back in college, and dreaded it because always, my legs would soon start to fall asleep. It’s just horribly uncomfortable. The Japanese are able to sit in this position for astoundingly long periods of time. I tried sitting that way in calligraphy class and succeeded most of the time, but it was pretty painful. To my relief, Kurohashi-noticed and released me from that requirement.
Kurohashi-sensei asked if I wanted to paint hiragana or kanji. I picked kanji. She asked what kanji I wanted to do. I had no idea, so she suggested, “Nippon,” or “Japan.” “Nippon” is spelled with two characters. The first character, “ni,” means “sun.” The second character, “hon,” means “book.” Put them together and you get “Nippon.” Fascinating!
I had to do each separate character five times, and then did another set with both characters on the same page. Kurohashi-sensei’s critique involved posting my best try (I felt like a grade-schooler again, getting a gold star for good work!) and then commenting on the others. While she did talked, she dipped her brush in orange paint and painted circles and flowers on my remaining versions. I’m still not quite sure of the reasoning behind that.
But I had such a great time at shuji and was so pleased when Kurohashi-sensei invited me back next week!
Friday, Sept. 19, 2003 — Adult conversation class
Misstep of the day: So it turns out the whole time I THOUGHT I was saying, “I’m glad,” in Japanese I’ve REALLY been saying, “I’m relieved.” D’oh!
Triumph of the day: My first eikaiwa! An eikaiwa is an adult conversation class. All the ALTs employed by the Tokushima Board of Education have to teach the board’s weekly eikaiwa once a month. The students in the class are English teachers from the city. There are two groups, the advanced group and the beginners group. Takeuchi-sensei had recommended I take the advanced group because communicating with them would be easier. Mike, a veteran ALT, got the beginners group.
Not really sure what to do with an adult conversation class, I decided the best thing was to, well, stimulate conversation. About four teachers attended, so for my brief self-introduction, it was easy to just use pictures off my laptop. Then I took out pictures from the Abilene Reporter-News that I’d copied before coming to Japan. I handed them out and asked them what questions they had about each photo.
Even when the teachers could read the caption, they still had questions. What were the people doing? Where did it take place? Why that place? What was a pep rally? There was one picture of some elementary kids at a pep rally before a big statewide test, the TAAS. I had to explain to the teachers the concept of a pep rally and then amend that you usually have pep rallies before sporting events, not before tests. I had to explain livestock shows and horse shows and how most people in the city didn’t have horses and that no, I didn’t have a horse growing up.
I had been nervous about if the teachers would find the activity interesting or not. But the teachers gave me really positive feedback afterward. They’d liked the exercise. I had picked it both as a way to practice speaking English and as a way to share some American culture with them, so I was so glad to hear they liked it.
The teachers also mentioned that they can understand me well when I speak. I get the feeling the teachers find it more difficult to understand some other native-English speakers. I think it may help that I don’t have a strong regional American accent and I don’t really slang in my speech. Plus, because of school, I’ve learned to speak two, even three times as slowly.
One of the teachers, whom I’d met before, said she’d thought I was Japanese when we first met. That happens a lot, I demurred to her. But then she added that she’d thought I was Japanese even after I’d introduced myself in Japanese! Wow! Cooool.
Saturday, Sept. 20, 2003 — Japanese Mexican food
I called my sister this morning. She’s a freshman at the University of Texas. She relayed to me the massive meal she’d had that day at the school cafeteria, and the various components of the meal, which included Mexican food. It me crave Mexican food. Luckily, Kiyomi (one of the English teachers at Kamona) and Sally and I had planned to meet up later that night to check out a local Mexican restaurant called Piri Piri.
The restaurant turned out to serve, not surprisingly, half-Mexican, half-Japanese food. I ate an enchilada (normal), quesadilla (normal), nachos (with mozzarella cheese and a different kind of chip), egg rolls and an omelet with bean sprouts inside. The eggs rolls had fish eggs — FISH EGGS — inside. Kiyomi had tried to explain to me what it contained but I misunderstood and thought she meant quail eggs, which I love and are the favorite part of my mom’s steamed buns. It’s probably better that I didn’t understand what those tiny pink things were until AFTER I’d swallowed.
We went to a café afterward called Café Inn. I was so full already but discovered I had room for a delicious cold chocolate-y drink. The owner, Momo, is a petite Japanese lady who spent something like seven years in Canada. She learned English so well, she uses “like” with enough abandon to disgruntle an English teacher and even has a hint of a Canadian accent. I bookmarked Café Inn as a potential future haunt.
One of the things I love about Japan, and Tokushima, is how there are tiny shops crammed into every nook and cranny. There are endless places to eat and hang out. Part of the fun is the search for that new place you can make a regular spot to visit.
Sunday, Sept. 21, 2003 — Braving the public transportation system
Triumph of the day: Went back to Bunka no Mori, the prefectural library. Except this time, I didn’t use my own two feet (er, tires). I used the train, which required a TRANFER. Then I used the BUS.
Actually, I realized afterward if I’d just stayed on the train I originally boarded, I probably would have been fine. But as I’m all about taking the scenic route, instead, I got off at Tokushima Station and had to wait half an hour for another train. I got off at Bunka no Mori Station and after orientating myself, walked the rest of the way to the library.
I didn’t want to walk back to the train station in case it rained, so I decided to brave the bus. I find the bus system the most intimidating of all the ways to get around in Tokushima. With the train, I have a copy of all the stops and which line goes where. Not so with buses. And everything on the buses is in kanji. So after checking out my books, I got on the bus waiting outside. I asked the bus driver if it went to Tokushima Station. He said yes. Score!
The bus did not go to Tokushima Station.
Instead, it dropped everyone off at a nearby bus stop. I think the driver was trying to tell me his bus didn’t go to the station, but the bus next to us did. I went and got in line for that bus and asked the guy in front of me if it went to the station. He ignored me, but the woman in front of him took pity on me and said yes. At that point, the guy looked pointedly at the side of the bus as if ask, “Can’t you read?!”
The bus had what I think was an electronic display of its stops. The last arrow pointed to a kanji that I recognized for “Tokushima.” I returned to station without a problem. Yes! Not lost in the depths of Tokushima on a wayward bus!
Tuesday, Sept. 23, 2003 — Saying goodbye to my car
The weather has cooled off considerably. We had a heat wave for the first two weeks of September and then suddenly, BOOM, it was cold. This is very bewildering but I am glad to at least be sleeping in my bedroom again rather than having to drag my futon into the living room. I don’t have to use the air conditioning anymore. In fact, I keep the windows closed now because it can get rather nippy.
At school, the kids don’t walk around looking like wilted flowers anymore. They used to walk around with towels draped around their shoulders to mop away the sweat but that’s not necessary anymore. They look peppier at P.E. The staffroom no longer uses air conditioning. We just keep the windows open.
I brought a windbreaker and jacket with me to Japan but beyond that have no winter clothes. My parents have shipped them to me. I am hoping I get them before the colder weather sets in.
I replaced the tires on my bike today. The back tire was so worn and the front tire was cracked ... from previous use, I'm pretty sure ... Fittingly, then I got news from my dad that my Honda Civic found a new owner, a young couple that lives in the same area as my parents.
Farewell, car. You were a good, dependable buddy. We had good times together.
Wednesday, Sept. 24, 2003 — Tokushima speech contest
Kamona Junior High School had two entries for the Tokushima City Junior High Speech Contest. Today the competition took place at the Kyoiku Kaikan, the city’s education hall. I went with Kashiba-sensei and the two girls, Mao and Arisa, since I had helped coach. Kashiba-sensei had done the bulk of the coaching but I’d occasionally listened to Mao and Arisa’s speeches and fine-tuned their pronunciation and phrasing.
There were 22 participants. It was rather tough sitting through all of them — sometimes I couldn’t hear or understand the speaker. But the kids did have intriguing titles to their speeches, such as “Hooray for my brother, the future Ian Thorpe,” an insanely good and young Australian swimmer, “Even girls like Shonen Jump,” a popular manga magazine, and “Japanese heads are heavier.”
The girl who spoke about Japanese heads won the top prize for her speech on how she stayed with a host family in Germany and after introducing herself to the family by shaking their hand and bowing, the host mom had said, “Now I know Japanese heads are heavier because they are always bowing them!” Shocked, the girl had wanted to explain the Japanese custom of bowing but her limited English at the time had prevented her, which had led her to study the language harder.
Both students from Kamona placed in the top 8, though, which means they get to go on to the prefectural competition. I was proud.
Thursday, Sept. 25, 2003 — Portable calligraphy
At calligraphy today, Kurohashi-sensei presented me with my very own calligraphy set! It’s in this little case, which holds a brush, ink well, ink stick and water container.
The adults who sat around me showed me how to make my own ink from an ink stick. I pour a small puddle of water into the stone well and then grind the ink stick in circles on the flat stone surface. Kuro-hashi sensei has a machine that does the grinding for her. Freshly ground India ink smells clean.
I sat by a 22-year-old university student, Yoko, who is majoring in calligraphy, shodo. Across from me sat Maki, a mom who lived briefly in Houston when her husband worked at the medical center as a researcher. It was a pleasant coincidence to learn she’d lived in my hometown. Yui wasn’t at lesson.
I remembered to bring home the calligraphy set but forgot to bring home my lessons’ worth of practice: I’d worked on the hiragana for fude, brush, and sumi, ink.
Friday, Sept. 26, 2003 — Hello, Just Vivi
Bell rings. Students make their way to their desks.
CLASS REP: Stand up!
Students stand.
ME: Good morning class!
STUDENTS: Good morning Miss Vivi.
ME: No, no, just call me Vivi. Just Vivi. One more time.
STUDENTS: Good morning Just Vivi.
ME: No, no, wait. Not, “Just Vivi.” Here. Writes “Miss Vivi” on the blackboard. Crosses out “Miss.” “Good morning Vivi.” Okay, one more time.
STUDENTS: Good morning Vivi.
ME: Yessss. Great!
Sunday, Sept. 28, 2003 — Uniforms
When the temperatures dipped drastically two weeks ago, the school announced that the period of transition from summer uniforms to winter uniforms had come. During the transition period, the students can weather either uniform but once the time is up, they must all wear winter uniforms.
For girls, the uniform consists of their usual sailor theme (at least that’s what it looks like to me), but with a long-sleeved navy shirt rather than a short-sleeved white top. The poor things must endure the bite of winter while still wearing the same knee-length skirts.
The boys don formal black long-sleeved jackets over their usual white, short-sleeved button-down shirts. They switch from navy slacks to black pants. The uniform is austere and even militaristic in appearance and if worn properly, probably lends an air of dignity to the wearer.
The teens, of course, make sure not to let this happen.
It’s hard to look dignified when your pants are hanging halfway down the legs (a fashion trend that seems to have unfortunately crossed over the Pacific Ocean from the United States), when your shirt is left untucked, the tails hanging far past the jacket, and your sleeves are rolled up, Mami-Vice style.
I saw a flamenco performance tonight. Makes me want to learn how to flamenco dance and resume my study of classical guitar. The dancers and musicians were all Japanese. I was more shocked by the fact that the classical guitarists played with their legs crossed. What kind of playing stance is that???
Some people whom I’d mentioned the show to thought that strange, that the dancers were Japanese. But seriously, is it? There are tons of martial arts enthusiasts in the U.S. who are not Asian. That’s what a country does: They take things and make it their own. We don’t go into a dojo in the United States requiring that the head instructor be Japanese.
Monday, Sept. 29, 2003 — School starts at Kokufu
Today was a good day.
I was little nervous because it was my first day at Kokufu Junior High School. The ride there every time is tough. It’s only 20 minutes, but it involves riding up onto an overpass. By the time I get to the bridge, I’m huffing and puffing. The rest of the ride, I’m exhausted.
Unlike at Kamona, where I sit next to an English teacher, at Kokufu I was placed next to the school nurse, so not too much conversation was exchanged because of the language barrier. Also, she spent most of her time in the nurse’s office rather than in the staffroom. But the head teacher at my cluster of desks, Noda-sensei, a science teacher, has already started chatting with me, even if half the time we’re not quite sure what the other person is saying … ;-)
But the principal at Kokufu is so cool. His name is Hatada-sensei. He’s an older man with a grave air of dignity and a twinkle in his eye. He says he’s going to retire in March at the end of the school year because he’ll be 60 and his wife has retired already. I’ll be sad to see him go. He’s so friendly. He chatted with me on and off throughout the day. His English is excellent even if he says it’s not very good. He says he likes to drink — “Whiskey, beer, sake …” — but can’t anymore because he has to watch his health. He jogs and used to enjoy a drink afterward but isn’t allowed to anymore.
A teacher asked me where I wanted to eat lunch. She said something about another class but I didn’t understand. I asked if I could eat in the teacher’s room like at Kamona. At lunch, I found out what she had been saying. Two kids came to my desk just as lunch began with a note: “We are the students of Class 7 (special class). Let’s eat lunch with us in Class 7. The student show you to our class.” I was being invited to eat with the special education class!
I followed the two kids to their classroom and had a marvelous lunchtime. There are only 10 kids in the class, unlike the monster class sizes everywhere else. The students shyly asked me questions in English and were so sweet. We watched a video of them dancing in Awa Odori. Apparently my predecessor ate with them every day. I plan to, too. The kids are so adorable.
I had been told that of my two schools, Kokufu would the milder of the two. Mainly farmers’ kids go there, I was told. I went to school wondering how the kids would be, since the kids at Kamona already seemed pretty mild to me. It turns out there is a marked difference, although not so much in behavior in the classroom. There was an assembly at the end of the day and I didn’t see a bleached or dyed head among the bunch. At Kamona, a bunch of kids — boys included — bleach or dye their hair, which is against the rules. The Kokufu kids also wear their uniforms properly whereas many of the Kamona kids alter their uniforms to make them more to their liking.
I did my little speech during the assembly introducing myself. Not only did the kids clap — CLAP! — but the school gave me FLOWERS! I was so flattered! No one’s ever welcomed me with flowers before! Although I have to say the blossoms took quite a beating from the wind and bumps in the road when I made my way home after school.
After school, I biked downtown to turn in some paperwork signing up for a Japanese class, which I can’t wait to get started. I turned around to head home but didn’t want to have come all that way for just that, so I headed to a café that makes my favorite drink in town: a hazelnut “chocolate frozen,” which is this delicious concoction of shaved ice, chocolate milk and whipped cream.
While I waited for my drink at the take-out counter outside, the waitress started talking to me. Usually I get really panicky inside when Japanese people start talking to me because it’s so frustrating not being able to communicate with them.
I told the girl that I was American to explain why I didn’t understand what she was saying. But she kept talking, asking me questions about myself. The thing is, I kinda understood what she was saying! And then — get this — we started TO CHAT. Sure my replies were broken and grammatically incorrect and probably near incoherent, but this girl was so patient and somehow understood what I was trying to say. And I was so proud because I could recognize some of the things she was saying and knew I was using the right words, at the ones that mattered, in my responses. I even used a new phrase I’d learned that day — “Sono koto nai desu,” which means, “That’s not true.” I’d scribbled it down last month as a way of deflecting praise (how very Japanese of me) when people praised my Japanese.
It was soooo gratifying being able to communicate.
The nice waitress only served to further cement my devotion to the café.