Scribbler's Cafe

Realization

This whole "job" thing really gets in the way of the rest of my life.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, September 24, 2004 0 comments

A rare break

I’m sitting in a wood paneled restaurant above the convenience store a block from the school where I teach. I was lured up the stairs by the fabulous old jazz music pouring out the door – that, and my need to eat something before the big staff meeting that will last past dinner. I sat down in a corner and mumbled some atrocious Japanese at the waiter. He rewarded me moments later with a giant bowl of Spaghetti with meat sauce. This is a much better reward for attempting Japanese than the blank stares I get where I work or at the shopping centers.

At the meeting:

I love watching the men fall asleep in the meetings. One-by-one, they lower their eyes and slip farther into themselves. Their bodies remain straight and poised as they start to drift off. I watch for the moment when sleep overtakes them. I seek to identify the moment it happens, the moment their heads become too heavy for their necks and their bodies slide half-a-foot lower in their chairs. The straight upright is no longer possible. It’s obvious then that they are not simply contemplating their hand-outs or their non-existent notes. It’s like the blue flash of the sun setting behind the ocean. The moment is thrilling and gratifying to catch.

Some students were bullied by some high schoolers at a remote, enclosed park, according to our principal. The solution to this problem is that now our middle school students are no longer allowed to play at parks – any park. The teachers, myself included, have been instructed to tell any students we recognize in uniform at a park to go home.

Yep. Japanese logic.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, September 24, 2004 0 comments

Notes from a reluctant sensei

I have developed the magical ability to maintain a simple conversation and write notes while simultaneously day dreaming.

There was a sudden commotion in the class that I did not comprehend. Sleepy heads perked up in unison and the students shouted back and forth. I looked to Fujiwara Sensei for an explanation, but he had already turned back to the chalkboard ad resumed the lesson. Now the students are quiet again. Heads hang heavy and eyes half open, as jus moments before. This strange moment puzzles me.

The aesthetics of this Christian boy’s middle school in Japan resemble that of my public city high school in Seattle frighteningly well. Drab beige walls and dirty linoleum possess a life-sucking quality that school administrators worldwide use to their full advantage.

I open a window in the hopes of a cool breeze to combat the stuffy heat. Four mosquitoes buzz into the classroom. I sigh and close the window.

These kids are horribly boring. I want to smack the sides of their heads and yell, “Say something interesting!” If I have to listen to one more conversation about baseball or Harry Potter I may have to shoot myself. Yet sadly (madly?) I know I have 40 more of these pitiful discussions lined up for the afternoon. The boys are not stupid or freakishly dull – per see – rather, they all know the same 50 words. There are only so many ways that those words can be strung together in a dialogue – certainly not 180 unique and dynamic ways. 180. I have 180 students. That blows my little American mind.

There are signed and numbered Chagall prints in the hallway outside my class. I wonder who purchased them; who decided that they would enrich the environments of these young boys. I love to look at them. I lat my finger on the glass above the signature and pretend that the ink is still wet. These tangled, bright, chaotic prints give me hope for my strictly formed students.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, September 24, 2004 0 comments

Elderly Chimps Prefer Kirin Beer

Today is respect for the aged day. The news report shows seniors playing soccer. The eldest chimp at the local zoo is rewarded for her perseverance with a glass of beer.

In other news, a 53-year-old man strangled his 82-year-old mother-in-law. They reportedly had differences.

Kiomye has been super charming angel and my little shadow today. I appreciate her sweetness, but haven’t been able to get a damn thing done. She is pruning in the bathtub at the moment. Her daddy is sitting on the little blue stool by the tub, trying to keep her happy and distracted long enough for me to type a paragraph.

The TV man says “Seattle” and I whip around to stare at the screen in hopes of news from familiar places. Pictures of Ichiro, the Japanese baseball phenom, flash on the screen and I sigh and turn back to my computer. Damn baseball.

I wish that I could draw. I scoured graphic novels today looking for good scenes to bring to my students so they may fill the bubbles with English. The images move me. I am delighted by the diverse perspectives and the dynamic black lines. I wish I could draw. I hold a million images in my mind in black and white, but my hands are poor translators. I am left with only words. Beautiful, limiting words. My visuals will simply have to be suggested. I guess I work better in the transient anyway. Not transient, but that word I haven’t been able to think of for two days. I need that word. Where is it hiding from me?

I’m listening to a CD I mixed with friends while living in New Orleans. It’s melodic and moody. I play it over and over and imagine this pacific heat is American southern and that three dear friends that I cannot see are simply relaxing drunken and exhausted in the other room, just out of my sight, rather than an ocean away.

I should bother myself with writing fiction. My mind is ripe. My fingers are quick tonight.

The CD I am listening to stalls on a subtle skip and the sound of Kiomye singing in the tub fills our apartment. My petite wrinkled siren. She sings a song about faces and trouble. I can only guess as the correct translation of her thoughts. Matt is chuckling. Now he staggers from the bathroom to the kitchen looking for juice refills. His yukata hangs open exposing his tanned belly and the bites from the relentless mosquitoes that cover even his chest.

I should be going somewhere with this, but I'm obivously not getting anywhere. I may as well sign off.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, September 21, 2004 0 comments

Sleepy Trains and Talking T-shirts

Seen on the t-shirt of a middle-aged man walking through Kobe: “Sophistication is a word for: Three Cheers for Nothing.”

I marveled at the people sleeping on the trains when I first arrived in Japan. So many slumped bodies and closed eyes despite the noisey racket and the press of bodies. Now I relax fully on the plush green velvet bench after a long day. I rock and sway with the rhythmic lurches of the train along the tracks and marvel at the people who can stay awake.

Everything in Japan is compacted, crowded. Buildings and apartments are congested. Trains are full up. Sidewalks are crowded; the sky is crowded. Even my life is compacted, crowded. My days and my nights are heaving with people and places and the-next-thing-after-this. My mind is choked full of plans for classes, the directions to the pharmacy, the Japanese word of diaper rash ointment, what my daughter didn’t eat today, forms I need to get translated and that sideways look my husband just gave me. My heart is overfull as well. I miss the family we left behind. I miss the friends I cannot see.

Monday is a holiday, and then I work for almost weeks straight. The weekend will not bring a reprieve, but rather the task of helping with an overnight English camp for the first years – intended to get them “psyched” about learning English. Joy. Truly. It wears me out just to think about the long weeks ahead. I will still get Thursdays off as my research day, but I spend those entire days with Kiomye to make up for all the time I spend away from her at work. While enjoyable, those days could never be described as relaxing.

There is great fun to be had in Japan. The cities are crowded with entertainment as well as work and people. I experienced my first round of karaoke the other week with Dan and Abby. I got over my mortal fear of singing in front of others surprisingly quickly, mainly due to Abby and Dan’s complete lack of self consciousness and the relative privacy of our little karaoke room. The other gaijin (foreigners) that live in our apartment often go out on the weekend evening to the traditional Japanese bars. When I go along with the fun-time crowd I blindly order cocktails in Japanese and hope for drinks that don’t taste like dog sweat. The foreign teachers are from America, Australia, Canada and England. We talk politics, bash Bush and gossip about our students. It’s a nice release form the week. Even the commercials in Japan are fun. The actors (dressed as businessmen or housewives) sell things like life insurance or cube shaped mini-mini-vans by doing happy little dances involving jazz hands and high-pitched squeals of ecstasy. The fun in Japan feels somewhat desperate and urgent. Have fun! Smile! Laugh! NOW! I feel bulldozed by cheerfulness wherever I wander. The demand for genki (lively) joy may be meant to counter the drab jobs and endless work days the Japanese spend in these concrete cities. It is hard to tell what happiness is sincere and what is forced. The fun here can be a little bit frightening.

I am compelled to go stand on my balcony to listen to the rumbling trains and contemplate the lights. At least the warm night air feels real.

posted by Scribbler @ Sunday, September 19, 2004 1 comments

Dollar Stores and Naked Boys

Kiomye is orbiting my desk, begging for juice and a princess movie. I have two classes tomorrow that I haven’t prepared for. The clothes I hung on the balcony have been dry for hours now and need to come in before the night air dampens them once more. I’m trying my best to block all these distractions out of my mind and spend some quality time with my keyboard.

Matt ventured out to Osaka after his class today. He laid his intentions on Osaka Castle and America-Mura, but I have no idea how much he got to see. Kiomye and I kissed him good-bye at Kitaguchi station. It’s late. Almost 9pm. He still isn’t back yet. I hope he comes home soon.

Kiomye and I had a wonderful day together. Thursday is my “research” day. I do not have any classes to teach and am not expected to come to school. Basically, it’s a day off. Matt and I made a deal that Thursdays would be his day to go off on his own in exchange for spending the rest of his week with Kiomye, the exhausting little joy that she is. Kiomye and I had a shopping spree at the hyaku yen store (dollar store) and lunch together. After a long nap in my air conditioned bedroom we invited Asami and her two little ones over for some running and screaming. After they left, Kiomye and I strolled up to the college to use the cash machine and buy some juice. The sun went down during our walk and the air cooled to a comfortable temperature. At the college, the football team, soccer team and baseball team were all having skirmishes on the same field. Kiomye and I sat at the edge and watched the boys run around under the bright lights. Kiomye thinks that all team sports are called baseball and refuses any explanations of the oh so subtle differences.

I guess that not many women come to watch the practices. There is a line of team storage sheds near where we were sitting. The boys use these shelters to change in. Occasionally, one would pop out of the doors buck naked to yell at his teammates, then would spot Kiomye and me sitting on the edge of the field, squeal, and retreat. This happened so many times that I started to think they were just pretending that they didn’t know we were there. Some of those naked boys started to look familiar.

Kiomye and I took our time walking home, enjoying the reprieve from the brutal sun. We spent the rest of the evening dancing around our living room to the American CDs brought with me. We dined on cold noodles and sugary orange drink. I just took a break from my writing to put her to bed and now I am alone with my laptop, my music and the twinkling lights of Nishinomiya. Matt still hasn’t come home, but now I am enjoying my rare solitude.

I am contemplating my next big writing project. Before we left the states, I had imagined myself staring my novel the second we arrived in Japan. Now I find myself having difficulty committing to such a large undertaking. Familiar problem.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, September 17, 2004 0 comments

Second Wedding Anniversary

Matt and I ventured out to Osaka Tuesday night to celebrate our second wedding anniversary. We left at night, just after Kiomye had fallen asleep and Dan had settled himself in with a movie in our living room. Matt practically skipped the entire way to the train station; he was so excited that we finally got a chance to go out by ourselves.

We wandered through the narrow alleys of the amusement quarter working our way through the hipsters, the salary men, the neon signs and the vendors handing out coupons for half price drinks and two-for-one sushi. We gawked at the Merry Christmas Love Hotel and the giant robotic dragon climbing up the wall of the karaoke bar. The lights of a pachinko parlor lured us detracted us from our path and we wasted a couple hundred yen watching small metallic balls bounce down obstacle courses populated by plastic figurines of hysteric teen-age girls. I beat Matt at a shooting game in an arcade for the first time in the history of our relationship. We ended out stroll at a restaurant that featured a cartoon bull on its windows and door. Matt wanted beef so we figured this was the place.

We couldn’t read any of the items on the menu. Our katakana skills have gotten rusty and there was too much kanji thrown into the mix for us to figure anything out. As everything was reasonably priced under 1000 yen (10 bucks), we finally just pointed at a couple of items of the menu and asked for coca-cola. Matt suggested that we just imagine we’re eating at someone’s house and so whatever we are served will be a nice surprise.

About a minute later, our waitress came back to our table carrying two trays of raw beef sliced up thin and two bowls of rice. There was a small round grill set into the center of the table. We plucked slices raw meat off the trays and flopped them down on the grill. The grill was so hot that it singed my arm hairs when I flipped my meat over. As soon as the meat lost its bloody color and started to sizzle, we’d pick it up with our chopsticks, dip it in a sweet sesame sauce, then stuff it in our mouths with a bite of rice. Delicious! The waitresses watched us discretely from the corner to make sure we knew what to do and did eat the meat raw.

Matt and I had to head to the station after dinner so we wouldn’t miss the last train back to Nishinomiya. The trains stop running at about midnight - at which point the taxis triple their rates. The trains and the taxis are owned by the same company. Sounds a little sketchy to me.

We returned home to find Dan well advanced into an Xbox game and Kiomye conked out in the middle of our bed, her face pressed into the comforter and her bottom high in the air. She hadn’t woken at all when we were gone. We said thank you and good night to Dan and placed Kiomye in her own bed. The day had already been long and the evening exhausted us. We cranked up the air conditioning in our bedroom and retreated to our cool, welcoming bed.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, September 17, 2004 0 comments

The Joy of Boys

I spend my days attempting meaningful conversations with boys hindered by their adolescence and lack of comprehensible English. I do not know which makes the discussions more difficult. One sweet boy was so nervous when he sat down to talk to me that his giggle turned into a snort, which resulted in a gooey mess on the front of his shirt. He gasped and turned away from me to wipe away the snot. He valiantly turned back to face me, but I knew right then that the conversation would be a bust.

On the first day of the term, Fujiwara Sensei turned the class over to me. I introduced myself and allowed the boys to ask me questions. I did not censor the questions and I let them write them down anonymously. I passed the questions back out after I’d received them and made the boys read them out loud. Most of the boys asked innocent (if not repetitive) questions about what kind of music and sports I liked and if I could eat sushi. As these are 13 year-olds, I also got a couple of priceless, inappropriate queries. They asked if I like boys - Japanese boys in particular. Despite the fact that I am married and that my husband had been introduced at an assembly, they still asked me if I had many boyfriends. I was also asked if I loved Fujiwara Sensei and what my "bust" size is. Just by chance, and due to the limited duration of the class, the bust question was not read out loud, but the other questions I mentioned were.

I decided to use these bad questions as teaching moments. These kids really don’t know how to act around women. There are only two other female teachers in the school and I suspect they are about 40 years old. Many of the boys haven’t had the opportunity to know any young women. I wanted to confront the questions and tell them when a question was impolite or offensive. The poor kids were horrified to read the questions out loud.

Honestly, I could have read them myself, but it was more fun for me this way.

I am already tired of being a novelty. Everyday we have chapel. The students sit in long wooden pews that fill the room while teachers sit on benches around the edges. When I choose my seat, the row of boys nearest will duck their heads and whisper and giggle. They may tap the backs of their friends in the row in front of them so that they will turn around and see how close I am. I imagine they think that because I don’t comprehend their Japanese that I can’t possibly understand the meaning of their sideways glances and tight smiles.

They still get excited in the hallway. The louder ones will yell out hello again and again until I acknowledge their existence. This was cute for about a minute. Now it’s highly annoying, particularly when I’ve just had to deal with five kids who had wanted hellos and now the next one is yelling at me from across the school yard and I’m hurrying on my way in the opposite direction. Obnoxious little bastards.

I teased Dan for his contempt of the students. He showed me the path to walk to school where we will encounter the least amount of students and I chided him for his lack of love for his students. I don’t tease him anymore. Some of the kids are very sweet and respectful. Their enthusiasm to learn English is obvious and refreshing. The majority of the students are rather enjoyable, even moderately entertaining. But they never go away. There are so many of them, hundreds. They swarm over this town, easily identified in their white polos and black slacks. I can’t buy a carton of juice without running into at least ten of them. Japan is damn hot. When I take Kiomye to the park I often wear shorts or a tank top. These kind of clothes are outlawed at school and so the boys gawk when they see me in my casual attire. I dream of a network of tunnels accessible only by the sensei’s of Nishinomiya. There would be entrances at each of our houses and exits at the schools, the train stations and the local bars. Our contact with the students would be limited. How lovely that would be.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, September 14, 2004 0 comments

Finding my groove

I am starting to find my place in this country. Our days have rhythm again - a predictability which brings comfort. Newness and challenge still punctuate most things we try, but there are also moments in the day where we know what to expect or that we maintain some semblance of control.

I understand the vibe at work. I now have a sense of which teachers will smile and offer me a hello, and which will bow their heads and pretend they don’t see me. I know what to do with myself and how fast (or slow) I must pace myself to get through the day. Of course, I still haven’t taught my first classes yet. I’m sure that will change my day considerably. I have relatively little anxiety or concern about the classes. I trust myself and my abilities. My natural ease with speaking and guiding will come to my aid in this position. I look forward to interacting with the students. The idea that I may have an impact on how their minds form gives me great pleasure.

Matt is teaching a class of returnees twice a week. Returnees are kids that have lived in the US for at least two years and therefore have a higher level of English ability than their peers. Today was Matt’s first class. He also had to introduce himself in front of the entire student body during Chapel. I tried to record the big moment, but I had Kiomye hanging off my arm and I caught more video of the floor than of Matt speaking. He presented himself well. He said later that his class went fairly smoothly; although it may sometimes be a struggle for him to fill the entire period. I think that when he finally has activities and lessons for the kids that he will wish he had more time.

The weather has calmed. The typhoons have passed and the temperature has dropped a few merciful degrees. The last typhoon was more mild than the first. The winds came, but there was little rain. Dan spent the evening at our apartment and we all played a Japanese video game where we race trains around Japan buying up property and trying to avoid the devil. Our game quit suddenly when a surge of power plunged us momentarily into darkness. We took a break to step outside and feel the wind. It was night. The lights of Nishinomiya still shone brightly. We went in and out as the storm stroked our excitement. Matt and Dan had gone back inside when I stepped out to feel the wind again. I heard a huge *pop* and saw a bright burst of white light frighteningly close to my perch on the balcony. I screamed and ducked back inside. The transformed, just thirty feet away and level with our balcony, had exploded. Mat and Dan came to the windows to see. Yellow sparks sizzled on the top of the metal pole for a few minutes, then faded. Our lights stayed on. No emergency vehicles rushed to the scene. It was easy to think I’d imagined it.

We had two more earthquakes last night. I didn’t feel these; I was fast asleep. I heard about them this morning from another teacher. That makes five earthquakes since we first arrived. I wonder when I’ll stop keeping count.

From where I moved my desk by the windows, I can see each time the bullet train passes by. At night it is simply a steady rumble and a chain of square lights. It is such a joy to see that I almost always want to make a note of it in my writings. The sight thrills me. Each time I see the train, it reminds me that I am far far away from my place of origin.

posted by Scribbler @ Thursday, September 09, 2004 0 comments

Disaster Blaster

We had two earthquakes on Sunday night. We were hit by another one this morning. Classes were canceled today on account of the typhoon headed our way, our second in a week.

This is an exciting place to live. That much is sure.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, September 07, 2004 0 comments

First day of the term

When the Japanese men laugh at some joke, I laugh too. They may wonder why I laugh when I can’t understand their words – but what they don’t realize is that from my perspective, they are all the more hilarious.

Monday was the first day of the term. The classes I teach will not begin until Wednesday, but on Monday I had to attend the opening ceremonies and (surprise) another staff meeting. I was formally introduced during the ceremonies and asked to make a short speech for the 500 or so students. No problemo. I remember that I spoke slowly and clearly, with a smile, but I have no idea what I said.

Since my introduction, the boys suddenly acknowledge me. Whereas before when I would see them on the street they would avert their eyes and give me a wide berth, now they smile and bow. Some of the braver boys even offer me a tentative “hello”, which causes the rest of the boys to dissolve into giggles. Kwansei Gakuin Jr. High boys are never seen alone – even pairs are rare. Small packs are the norm.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, September 07, 2004 0 comments

Meeting Marathon Malady

First Impressions:
I want to laugh out loud at the absurdity of the moment. A solemn circle of men speaking in a language I can’t understand. Only half pay attention to the speaker. The others write themselves notes, shuffle papers, sip tea – two are sleeping. Then there is me, the young white woman with the wide eyes and the bemused smile. The men may all be speaking gibberish for all I know – yet here I am in my pressed shirt and dress shoes trying to look professional and interested.
I imagine for a moment the scene I would cause if I could hold the hilarity back no longer and burst out in booming laughter. I would have to excuse myself from this meeting, giggle my way down the stairs and spend the rest of the day wandering the streets of this strange land rejoicing in all the wonderful, fantastic things I see.

Thirty minutes from start of meeting:
I’m sitting there happily blissed out on the meaningless drone of the principal’s Japanese and suddenly ‘blah, blah, blahdie blah” gives way to a crystal clear “Nelson Sensei, please say something.” The teacher to my left jabs me with her elbow and whispers for me to stand up.
Uhhhh…..
I have no idea what they want. I figure I’m being introduced and asked to say something about myself, but I don’t know if a simple hello, nice to meet you would do - or if I’m supposed to say more. I say something about being glad to be there and excited for the opportunity to teach at their wonderful school. Then I manage a polite phrase in Japanese and sit down as quick as possible. Everyone claps. The principal resumes his blah-de-blah drone. Dan leans over and said, “Good job.” OK, sure.

Two hours from start of meeting:
I am no longer amused.
This meeting is death. Just two hours into it and I wish for a wired jaw to help me restrain my yawns. I am overjoyed that noon is approaching and that we will (probably) break for lunch. My stomach is empty and folding in on itself. Now the principal is making an announcement – the “regular” staff meeting will now begin. There’s only 15 minutes until noon. My hopes for a timely lunch are devastated.

Four hours from start of meeting:
The principal speaks a long string of syllables, soft vowel tones, smooth and steady like a typewriter. I am amazed that, despite the varying combinations of sounds coming from his throat, I have not heard a single coherent word.
My presence is wasted here, even is my existence on this earth as a living thinking creature. Please shoot me now.

Ten hours from start of meeting:
The meeting has moved from the school to the conference center. The official retreat has begun. Although, retreat is really just code for “the meeting that goes so long you can’t even go home to your loved ones at night.” In light of our more casual, relaxing environment (now the metal chairs have cushions) many of the teachers have changed their clothes. For some, going casual meant changing from a plain white polo shirt to a polo shirt with kicky grey and maroon stripes with the top button left undone. Kicky indeed.

One Day, four hours from start of meeting:
There are some bright points to this useless waste brain cells and butt fat. During a rare intermission in the marathon meeting, I found an exit and crept out onto the roof of the conference center. The slippers I wore were five sizes too big and flip-flopped loudly as I shuffled to the railing. The sun had just set. Small streaks of blushing clouds reached out to the ocean behind me. Ahead, darkness closed in quickly. I leaned against the rail and watched the misty layers of mountains fade one-by-one into fuzzy darkness while the cicadas serenaded me with their rhythmic songs. Lovely moment.

Also, when the meeting finally broke after 10pm (to resume the next morning at 7am), I got to visit the conference center bath. There are only two other women teachers at my school, but the women were assigned to the “big bath” on account of a visiting group of insurance counselors that outnumbered our men two-to-one. Submerging myself in the scalding waters completely wiped the day out of my mind. It felt wonderful to be surrounded by people who wanted nothing more than to be ignored.

One Day, nine hours from start of meeting:
I decided to think of the experience as a hazing of sorts. Now that I’ve suffered through their most painful, torturous activity I may be regarded as one of the pack.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, September 07, 2004 4 comments

My Brazen American Family

I spent a good part of yesterday filling out forms. Actually, Okamoto filled out the forms while I smiled nicely at the bureaucrats and occasionally signed on the little circle thingy (Japan’s equivalent of the dotted line). When I made my first signature and passed the paper down to the sweet lady at the end of the table, she took one look at my scrawl and emitted a high pitched “eehhhh?!” The piece of paper was then passed around so all the administrators could screech and marvel at my hideous rendition of my family name.

It is pretty bad. Even I’ll admit it.

I caused more commotion when I asserted that I still use my “maiden” name and that my husband and child have different last names. That can’t be, they said, the forms only allow for one family name. Okamoto and I had to drive back to my apartment to pick up a copy of my marriage certificate and Kiomye’s birth certificate to show that we were legit. When we brought the proof back to the office, the administrators complained that they were photocopies and not official stamped copies.

“Yes, that’s right..” I said. “These are the copies I made of the originals that I sent you three months ago.” Argh!

I found the whole process very amusing. Okamoto has a strong disgust for all things bureaucratic and swore and groaned through the whole day. I enjoyed watching the many times my “special circumstances” would send all the office workers into a fury of blurred action and noise, which would eventually calm. Then I’d insist on something like my name and the commotion would begin again.

The weather has cooled a few scant degrees. We’ve gone from about 91 to 87. This might not sound like much, but in this humidity and sun, it means another ten blocks that we can travel by foot without collapsing – twenty if we don’t have Kiomye with us. I am anxious for September to bring the rainy, cooler weather as promised.

As I wrote before, Asami invited Kiomye and me to an English play class for toddlers. We had a fabulous time. Kiomye kicked all the other kid’s butt’s in English. ;-) The difference between my sweetly brazen child and the other children was stark. Yes, she had an unfair advantage in the English department, but she threw herself into all the other activities as well. When the teachers emptied a bucked of Legos on the floor and asked the kids to build a house, most of the kids stayed back, a couple grabbed some blocks and held them in their laps. Not Kiomye. She pushed her way into the pile and started to sort out all the pieces. Plastic animals populated the mess so she plucked them out and lined them up to wait for their houses. By the time she’d made Lego beds for all the animals and tucked them in, the other kids were starting to creep around her and pick up some of the Lego towers she’d hastily created. (Not tower, mommy, TRAIN!)

Another funny, telling moment was when the kids got to use royal blue paint to color their “treasure boxes”. All the other kids tentatively touched the brush to the paint, then made small gentle strokes on their box lids. Then they’d look up at their mothers, who would coo and hug them and then take the brushes out of their tiny hands and fill in the empty spaces for them. Kiomye, on the other hand, freely glopped her brush into the paint and then slathered it all around her box. She loves paint. She laughed and talked the whole time. There was no paper laid down to cover the tables, but I figured they couldn’t possibly expect ten two-year-olds to paint without getting messy, so I didn’t worry much about the few stray drops and swipes of paint that Kiomye left on the table. To my horror, when we stood to put Kio’s masterpiece on the drying table, I saw that none of the other children had allowed a single teardrop of paint to fall astray. Their sections of the little white tables were perfectly clean. An aide came rushing over to our vacated spot with a rag and proceeded to smear the paint in an arc across the table. I made my apologies and tried to help, but she smiled, muttered something in Japanese and waved me away. Even when the class was over and we left, I could still see the pale blue rainbow on the table where Kiomye had been working.

The teachers loved us despite all this. Kiomye’s enthusiasm and huge smile won them over pronto. By the end of the class, Kio would have been thrilled to lead the kids in songs and games herself. All the teachers invited her back, despite the fact that the class is overfilled. We’re definitely going again. Maybe by next time they’ll know to cover Kiomye’s work spaces with paper.

Man, I love that little girl.

Today we venture out to Costco. Oh glorious civilized world that I may still buy cases of goldfish crackers and bulk bags of white crew socks even when a few thousand miles from home.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, September 03, 2004 0 comments

Newness

(written Wednesday 9/1)

I am barely present. In this atmosphere of constant newness, my mind is always racing, bracing for the next new challenge – interpreting the washing machine dials, catching the linking train to Osaka, searching out groceries with which I may have a clue what to do with when I get them home. My mind has little time to reflect and contemplate. As there are a multitude of difficult, painful thoughts waiting to be processed, I prefer to distract myself with the idiosyncrasies of Japan. This is a dangerous way to live. It will not last. I am well aware.

Something unexpected – I’ve lost contact with some of my defining characteristics. Surface elements, to be sure, but those that I use to explain myself to others. Back home, I could easily say that I am well-spoken, confident and neatly presented. In Japan, I can barely mange even simple phrases and reply with dumbfounded stares when anyone asks me a question with words larger than what they’d use with a baby. I go to meet the principal in the school, determined to come off as composed and intelligent. Within a minute I have been confused by some custom, I didn’t bow low enough or I didn’t take the business card with both hands, and feel muddled and pitiful. I ask for forgiveness and say that I am still learning and there are smiles and laughter all around – except from me. I loathe to appear a fool. The wife of one of the teachers, Asami - a Japanese woman who went to college in Oregon, invited Koimye and I out to a play class with some of the other women in the neighborhood with young children. I came casual, wearing Teva sandals and no make-up. The other women came in pressed khakis and leather dress shoes, their hair shiny and stiffly styled. Their children were immaculate. Kiomye had a stain on the front of her dress that had miraculously appeared on the short walk down the hallway from our apartment to Asami’s. Her shoes looked dirty and mangled in the line of flawless, brightly colored plastic shoes of the other children.

These are things I can deal with. As time goes by, I will be more comfortable with the language and the customs. But for now, I am knocked a little off center. I long to recover my cool.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, September 03, 2004 0 comments

Typhoon dreams

The typhoon hit under a heavy yellow moon. We slept through the heaviest part of the storm, but were awakened often by pieces of debris flying through the air and smacking against our windows, our walls.

I woke at midnight to witness the height of the fury. I had intended to stand on our balcony and feel the full force of the wind, but quickly realized what a stupid idea that was when I saw the trees bent over and objects such as chairs and sections of fencing swirling madly in the air. Instead I watched from behind the glass, which vibrated and hummed. I finally retreated to bed after I'd had my fill.

The next morning was all sunshine and stillness, as if mocking the wrath of the night before. The only evidence was the tattered leaf-less trees and the workers scrambling to put the fences back together.

My work will start on Friday, but with a retreat for the teachers - not with classes. I am told there will be two days of meetings and reports in a lodge in the mountains. I was advised to bring a book - or five. Between the two days, there is a night when everyone gets smashed and 'bonds'. Dan says that he's never seen any of the few women teachers at the school attend this evening of revelry, but that there don't seem to be any rules against it. I'm going. I wouldn't miss this spectacle.

We still don't have internet access at home. Dan gets back in-country today and as soon as he recovers from his jetlag we're asking him to take us out and help us get hooked up. My posts will be sporatic until then.

Thanks for all the comments, dear friends. It makes me feel not so far away.

posted by Scribbler @ Wednesday, September 01, 2004 0 comments