|
|
|
January 26th, 2005
07:28 am - I know, I know...
I haven't update in a long, long time. Sorry. I will post again soon.
Michael
|
August 17th, 2004
06:50 am - Some pictures...
Here's some pictures from Japan...
Enjoy!
Michael
PS - I'll be returning to Japan in about a week, and hopefully I'll post some more pictures then. (Got a new Digicam, yippie!)
|
July 8th, 2004
07:54 pm
Okay, so I’ve been a bit lazy with the updates lately. You’ll have to forgive me. Or, to put it like the English teachers at my school – “You had better forgive me.” Apparently, the English textbooks in Japan teach this form as a slightly more humble or suggestive way of telling someone what they have to do. Which means that, depending on the random inflections used by the teachers, every obligation is relayed as either:
a) A threat. “You had better study Japanese…” (…or else we will kill you.) I always get the urge to shoot back with “OR ELSE WHAT!?!?!” but I never do.
b) As if whatever the obligation is, your very life depends on it. “You had better bring something to do tomorrow…” (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!!! BRING SOMETHING TO DO TOMORROW!!!!!!)
Anyway, you eventually get used to the fact that you may be threatened with terrible consequences if you don’t, say, bring you textbook to school.
My school’s brass band is playing the theme music from Back to the Future outside. I wish my life had an Alan Silvestri score. It just became the Indiana Jones theme. The brass band is not as good at John Williams.
So, I took my friend to Tokyo Disney Land yesterday as a birthday present, and Disney was having a “wear your yukata (which is the Japanese summer version of a kimono) and get a special gift” promotion. And since Japanese girls would suffer through any torture imaginable for a cute stuffed animal, (which, incidently, may be the only way to explain some of the married couples I’ve met in Japan) they turned out in droves in their brightly-colored yukatas. So all day I was walking around and pointing out all the cute Japanese girls in yukatas to my friend, who is herself a cute Japanese girl, but wasn’t wearing a yukata.
It went something like this:
Me - “Ah! Yukata!” I would say as I pointed out some cute girl in her yukata.
My friend – “It’s rude to point.”
Personally, I think it was just sour grapes. I had tried to talk her into wearing hers, but she said walking around Disney Land in getta (the wooden shoes that go with the yukatas) would kill her. I dangled the “cute-stuffed-animal” bait, but my friend happens to be the one girl in the entire country who has limits to what she will do for a stuffed animal. Which is probably why she’s still single.
|
June 22nd, 2004
10:49 pm
Sitting in a Funabashi McDonalds – a strange mix of greasy fast food Americana buried inside this slightly upscale veneer. The way it always is – those remnants in my head, memories of the world I left clash with the world that I live in. Polished marble tables and sleek curved wooden chairs, frosted windows and hanging aluminum lamps – like something from a moderately upscale café, and it all somehow clashes with pseudo-neo-fifties pop dripping from the speakers and the green plastic trays and white, red and yellow paper cups that have always symbolized greasy food and cheap plastic toys. Ronald McDonald with a tight fitting cotton mesh shirt and a goatee.
No one around me seems to notice – why would they? I imagine McDonalds has always been some kind of exotic theme-park restaurant to the Japanese. And the prices are certainly moderately upscale – five bucks for a large fry and a Coke?! It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that McDonalds could mean something other than cheap, greasy fingers slipping on the clear plastic wrapper of the Happy Meal toy.
It's been a busy week - the Tuscaloosa delegation is here, and I've been running to all the various welcome parties and such. Busy, but not so bad, and it's nice to see everyone.
I had kindergarten yesterday. Those days are always the highlight of my week, and yesterday was no different. Four and five year olds have that beautiful innocence – their minds aren’t yet polluted by modern irony. It’s refreshing really, everyone sitting around just making observations rather than trying to make a point or sound clever.
I ate school lunch with them, and they just chatted away. Yes, we do eat fries with our hands – hamburgers too, but, then again, we use the wrapper. And snakes are scary and yucky. And none of us understand German. And it’s okay to eat the skin of the fish, but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. And it’s okay to peel it off with your hands.
The teacher was about my age, and kind of cute.
Michael
|
June 8th, 2004
08:27 am - For the Tuscaloosa Delegation...
Just wanted to warn all of you, it's about 500 billion-million-jillion degrees F. in Japan at the moment (about 35 C.) with a humidity roughly the same as standing at the bottom of Lake Tuscaloosa.
Actually, it's probably about the same as Tuscaloosa - not much worse, anyway, but the schools here don't have air conditioning, and it's often used sparingly elsewhere, because electricity is so expensive. In my own apartment, I run the air conditioning almost constantly, but your host families may be content with just opening the window, so be ready to sweat, and pack accordingly. Also, I feel it neccessary to warn you that, for some bizarre reason, some (mostly older) people consider it a bit "unmanly" in Japan to wear deoderant, which has two results: a) when American guys wear deoderant, they often hear comments about their smell. b) the trains stink to the proverbial "high-heaven." (I won't talk about the classrooms after PE - except to say that there are no showers in Japanese schools) But, please, don't take this as a suggestion to go "natural" while you are here. Because most of the American guys that come to Japan wear deoderant, it's becoming cool - though it's still difficult to find deoderant in stores that doesn't smell like flowers or girls. Definitely bring your own deoderant, guys.
Also, I've been told that you poor souls may have to rely on my feeble translation skills at one of the welcome receptions, so in addition to being ready to sweat, you should also be ready to not understand a single word that is spoken - at least at that particular meeting. I will try to make up something interesting to say at least, but be forewarned that what I'm saying may or may not be what is actually coming out of the mouth of the speaker. ;)
Michael
|
May 31st, 2004
10:58 pm - From a "real" journal...
I've been typing some of my paper journal entries into Live Journal. These are from around the time I came to Japan.
August 5th, 2003
In just over twelve hours, I will board a plane headed to Atlanta, where I will board a plane headed to Tokyo, Japan.
Everyone asks the same questions. "Are you excited? How does your Mom feel?"
How does she feel? She's going to miss me. Am I excited? Not especially. Nervous? A little. I'm also curious. What will it be like there? What will I be like there?
I imagine a sprawl filled with Japanese men in business suits, noodle stands, underground creatures living in the sewers, high-school girls arranging dates on tiny cell phones, jazz bars tended by famous authors making rolled cabbage, flashing neon ancient characters and disney characters, all of it sweating in a sauna. The tallest buildings I've ever seen. Temples, shrines, McDonalds and KFC with smiles. Tatami floors and dust-bunnies. An empty apartment. Hassles at the airport. A cool stamp with my name in katakana. Going out after work with people who will drink me under the table. Baseball games. Crowded buses and trains. Sumo wrestlers working out in the gym next door. Chicadas at night, and humidity. Earthquakes. Respectful students. And Mt. Fuji in the distance.
I'm going to miss Miyuki.
Michael
|
May 27th, 2004
02:22 pm
Today and tomorrow are midterm days, which means that I have no classes to teach. So I just sit at my desk not-really trying to look busy, absorbing the sounds that all these office things make when they're not making sounds. This computer, for instance, is an ancient beast, wheezing with the effort of running Windows 95. It's fan makes a faint whine as it tries to breath air through filters clogged with who-knows how many years' worth of dust.
One of the English teachers, a cute 26-year-old that acts about 16, and I had to record the kids' listening test this morning. Halfway through, she messed up her lines, and we caught the giggles, and kept having to re-record because we would start snickering in the middle of our lines. I couldn't get through the word "telephoned" - "I telephoned Bob, too." Who says that? She kept saying "cook-ted."
Then I had the "special" class, which is called the "kusunoki" (Camphor Tree) class in this school - though I've developed the horrible habit of mispronouncing it "kusonoki" (S%!t Tree). We did Japanese tea ceremony, which was so funny because it is supposed to be so proper, but the kids were treating it just like any other meal. I couldn't stop laughing. For example, at one point you're supposed to "hold the paper napkin in your left hand, and slowly, using only two fingers of your right hand, eat each sweet one at a time..." or something like that. But one of the kids - Jun, who has down syndrome, but remembers the English I teach him really well, just grabs a fist full of sweets and shoves them in his mouth. So funny.
Michael
|
May 24th, 2004
01:15 pm
They cut the grass in the park across the street. There is something in that smell of fresh cut grass that took me home for a microsecond. It was good to be home.
Michael
|
May 6th, 2004
12:02 am - Okinawa...
I got back from Okinawa yesterday...it's a strange little world of dirty psycho-ugliness and breathtaking beauty. My friend Yoshi from UA planned the trip...it turned out to be quite spastic.
The motels we stayed at were grungy and wonderful, though torturous on allergies that I didn't realize I had. The first place we stayed at was in Naha city, the only real city on the main island. A little dump of a place with a bad sushi resturant downstairs that was cheap if we didn't consider the coin-opped air conditioning that was absolutely neccessary in the tropical mugginess of Okinawa. We had bunk beds with no mattresses, just paper-thin funton cushions on wood. Everyone in the whole place, including the workers who lived there as well, shared a single shower...
The first night we walked down "International Street" in Naha. The place was grimy, a thin layer of tackiness covering deeply-rooted ugliness. The place was infested with cocky Americans and gaudy-suited Yakuzas, with the locals in the middle, with their dark skin and tall noses, bearing a quiet sadness in their eyes. Then there were the tourists, trying to figure out if the whole thing was a play for their amusement - which in some ways it has become. There is an palpable attitude of resentment for the American military presence in the street, but much of it feels like commercial punk - resistance to nothing in particular that is packaged and sold to the tourists. "Anti-American / Okinawan Pride" stores are upscale establishments selling overpriced "resistance" T-shirts that lack any real "bite." They were more clever and cartoony than substantial. There was a strange atmosphere in the street.
Yoshi and I eventually found our way into a back-alley bar, a family-owned joint where a middle-aged man with a recceding hairline, accompanied by a little round pot-bellied friend on the Taiko drums, was playing traditional Okinawan music on the Okinawan version of the Shamisen, from a tiny stage in the corner. I was glad to see I was the only American in the place. The bartender, a middleaged Okinawan woman whose eyes wore exhaustion along with that typical sadness, told me my face was beautiful, and asked, almost hopefully, if I was from Canada. I hope I didn't disappoint her by telling her I was an American. It wasn't long before the guy in the corner started playing a slow, sad song on his poison-snake-skin guitar. Yoshi told me the chorus said "return Okinawa to us." I would if I could, I thought, polishing off my beer and ordering a Coke. I didn't want to be drunk there.
But later, the song turned bright, fast and cheerful, and the lady behind the bar pulled me out on the dance floor, where I looked helpless and pitiful until a bar waiter saved me by pulling on his straw hat and preceeding to rip out the coolest dance moves I have ever seen. I would have been jealous if I wasn't so relieved to have the attention of the room off of me. Soon the whole place was dancing and clapping and laughing, and I even got a smile and a nod from the musician. I guess he forgave me for not giving him back his island. Lots of fun on the last song...
On the way back the motel, we stopped into a dirty little supermarket to get drinks for the next day, and Yoshi told the cutie at the register that I said she was "meccha kawai," or "very cute." She giggled, and I blushed, even though I didn't say it. I smacked him in the arm and we walked off with drinks that would prove useless when we learned later the fridge in our crap motel didn't work...the whole night was bittersweet.
The next day we ended up on a rattling old bus bound for the north end of the island and the worst dump of a motel I have ever seen, but that story will have to wait. Back to work tomorrow.
Michael
|
April 19th, 2004
07:13 am - Radiohead...
The great thing about living just outside the largest city in the world is that every band in the world comes by at one time or another. I saw Radiohead yesterday. A great show. It was packed, but still awesome. Offspring is coming in July.
Michael
|
April 14th, 2004
11:32 pm - A new school...
I started a new school last week, though my classes didn't start until yesterday. I probably shouldn't say this in a public forum, but I had been warned repeatedly about how "bad" my new school was going to be. Apparently, they had some really rough students before. One of the former ALTs actually got in a fight with a student, and (another time) a student broke a teacher's ribs, sending him to the hospital. So I was, well, a bit anxious.
But I have found the rumors to be completely wrong. The kids are definitely more...rambunctious, shall we say, than at the other schools, but my classes have been terrific. Loads of fun. I did have one kid ask me if I'd ever been in a fight...I just asked him if he wanted to try me, and he vehemently declined while his buddies laughed at him.
And while I'm saying things I shouldn't really say in a public forum, there's also some really cute teachers at my new school... ;-)
The only thing that really sucks is that I'm stuck in the "Zero" grade teacher's room, which is where the Vice Principal and other important people have their desks. So it's all these important people, and then me, sitting at my desk with the unfortunate duty of trying to pretend that I'm busy when I don't have class.
They are nice enough. But I do miss the occasional playful irreverence that pops up in the "normal" teachers' rooms. Plus, the Principal keeps catching me texting with my cell phone, with my shirt untucked and drinking Coke. None of which are "technically" against the rules, but I just get the feeling he thinks I'm completely useless...
Michael
|
March 29th, 2004
09:35 am - By request, food suggestions...
First, some American-friendly Japanese food.
Tempura - Just deep-fried shrimp and veggies (and often Squid, which Japanese people love but I think tastes like shrimp-flavored rubber). This is actually an imported Portuguese dish, but it's been so popular for so long in Japan that it is considered Japanese food. Very tasty.
Yaki-torii - Literally, "roasted bird," usually chicken. Yaki-torii is chicken kabobs, and so delicious, especially if you get the kind cooked over charcoal or wood rather than a gas grill. Yaki-torii is sold from street stands, and you usually will smell them first, because they pipe the exhaust from the grill into the street, making the whole street smell like roasting chicken, and making everyone's mouth water. It's a cruel trick, but it can be forgiven because the food is so good.
(By the way, my first "real Japan" experience was in a Yaki-torii joint, joint being the only way to describe it. Some yaki-torii resturants are open street stalls, but some are actually closed in, meaning with a door, though the term "resturant" is used pretty loosely here. Imagine a tiny shack with just enough room inside for two tables and the grill, where the customers sitting by the grill have to pass food to the other customers. Anyway, I was squeezed into one of these places with a friend, and we were chatting away with the other customers, when the most interesting man I've ever met came bursting through the door to plop down at our table (there was nowhere else to sit). He was an older man, quite drunk, and he proceeded to tell myself and my friend about how he used to be a Yakuza (Japanese mafia). At first I thought he was just drunk and mouthing off, but then he showed us his hands, and his two missing pinkie fingers (Japanese Yakuza are famous for cutting their own fingers off whenever they "disgrace" their Yakuza "family"). But then he told us that now he's a Buddhist temple priest, and he proceeded to buy us drinks and espouse to us a lot of complicated philosophy that really impressed my friend, though she was unable to translate for me. Anyway, a great night, but I'm off the subject here.)
Ramen - I know, I know, you're thinking "What? Those dried noodle things that cost a nickle at Bruno's!?" Yes, same idea, but on an infintely different level of quality. The Ramen in Japan is usually flavored with pieces of pork and some veggies, and also perhaps a slice of Nori, which is dried seaweed (sounds gross but it's really tasty). My personal favorite is the Kyushu-style ramen, Kyushu being the South Island of Japan. Kyushu-style ramen uses a pork soup as a base rather than soy sauce, and it has thinner noodles, and is often quite spicy. Again, ramen is technically a Chinese import, but the Japanese have really made it their own.
Yaki-niku - Yet another imported food (this time from Korea) that has become very "Japanese." Yaki-niku is literally "grilled-meat," and there is no better way to describe it. The waitress brings a grill to your table, and a big pile of raw meat and veggies, and you grill it yourself. So yummy. (Another slightly-off topic rant - I can't believe that so many Korean people come to America and start Japanese restaurants, when I think Yaki-Niku would be a much better idea for a restaurant in America. I mean, it's piles of raw meat...)
Anyway, that's enough for now. I will try to post some more suggestions, as well as some food ideas for the more "adventurous" people later.
|
March 24th, 2004
01:55 am - Advice to the Tuscaloosa delegates coming to Narashino in June...
First, shoes. You will need a pair of "indoor" shoes that you will carry with you to school and change into before going inside. There are no janitors in Japanese schools, the kids have to clean the school every day, so, to help keep the floors clean, Japanese school kids have two pairs of shoes for school, one for indoors and one for outdoors. They all have the same kind of sneakers that are a part of their school uniforms, but since you won't have these, you will need to bring some shoes to wear inside. The style doesn't really matter; the teachers wear anything from dress shoes (not the kind that scuff the floors), to sneakers, to Birkenstocks. The main thing is that they are clean. Ideally, they should be new shoes that you haven't worn outside, but, you could also wash a pair of your shoes really well. Just realize that if you don't bring a clean pair of shoes to wear indoors, you'll be given a pair of slippers to wear, and these slippers are possibly the most uncomfortable footwear ever designed by man.
Next, the food.
The main reason I mention the food is that a very nice lady here in Narashino was telling me about how she hosted a student from Tuscaloosa, and the student hated the school food, and asked to be taken to McDonalds everyday. Hearing stories like this make me cringe.
If you are going to be eating school lunch food, all I can say is, I'm sorry. Even if you like Japanese food, you will probably not like the school lunch food. Before I came to Japan, I loved Japanese food, even some Japanese home-cooking that many people in America had never heard of, but I still hated the school lunch food at first. I have gotten used to it now, but it took me a couple of months, and you won't be here that long.
But, let me just say that no one expects you to like all the food you are given. It's likely to be very different from what you're used to, and Japanese people will understand that. And that goes double for the school lunch food. So don't worry if you can't eat it. However, you will earn a lot of respect for yourself if you at least try the food.
Outside of school lunch, I would say that, more than likely, your host will go completely overboard in the food department. Japanese people go to great lengths to please their guests, and, because they usually think of Americans as eating much more than they do, they often prepare endless amounts of food if their guest is an American. I have yet to be invited to a Japanese home where I wasn't given way more food than I could ever eat. The good news is that the food itself is likely to be much, much better than the school lunch food, and since your stomach will probably be growling from not being able to eat much at lunch time, you will probably be more than delighted to stuff yourself.
However, it could be embarrassing for both you and your host if you don't like the food, so my suggestion would be to come armed with a list of Japanese foods that you know you like, and don't be afraid to subtly suggest to your host that you're just DYING to try the...whatever. They will likely be amazed at your knowledge of Japanese cuisine, and probably be more than willing to provide it.
There are a few Japanese restaurants in Tuscaloosa (Bento on The Strip and Tokyo on the way to Shelton, and a Japanese steak house in Northport, though I can't remember its name) where you can get a taste, though they are all a bit expensive. But, realize also that the Japanese food in Japan is infinitely better than Japanese food in Tuscaloosa, so you shouldn't rule something out based on the fact that it was gross in Tuscaloosa. On the other hand, if you like it in T-Town, you'll probably love it here in Japan.
And actually, your host will likely ask you what kinds of food you like. But please, as a personal favor to me, please, please, please don't resort to the "American fast-food comfort diet." If you miss home and need a Big Mac once or twice while you're here, fine (though, I personally recommend Wendy's, Narashino being one of the few towns in Japan that have one), but if you start begging for McDonald's everyday you'll run the risk of reducing yourself to a walking stereotype in the eyes of your host. Besides, food is a huge part of a cultural experience, and you don't need to fly to the other side of the globe to eat McDonalds.
I will add more later. Also, feel free to add questions or comments, and I will reply.
|
March 21st, 2004
05:44 pm - A concert...
Yesterday, a Saturday, and I woke up early, thought about rolling over and going back to sleep, but then got up, got dressed (almost formal, even) and trudged out through the rain and ticked-off salarymen having to go to work on a Saturday to go see my kids playing in a production of Swan Lake.
My school's orchestra was giving a performance at the Narashino Bunka (culture) Hall, which is an absolutely gorgeous building, erected at the height of Japan's bubble economy. It's sitting on the top of a three-story Daie (a department store), but there's no entrance from inside the department store. Instead, there's a cascading set of steps on the outside of the building, Ziggerat-style, to reach the entrance to the Bunka Hall. The inside of the building is all decked out in stained glass windows (naked greek ladies - classy), really nice paintings (including some done by kids in Tuscaloosa), and the recital hall is top notch. Not quite as big as Moody Music at UA, but easily as nice.
And I had the odd experience of confirming my semi-celebrity status in this small town. Two young ladies, too old to have ever been at one of my schools, probably in High School, recognized me by name and started giggling and whispering before one of them came up and said, "Hi, Mike!" I said "hi" and started trying to figure out how the heck I knew them, but nothing came to mind. And as I'm walking through this very crowded building, I start noticing people noticing me, and some parents are staring and smiling and waving to me, and I was a little bit freaked out. One of the teachers said it was just unusual for an ALT to come to an extra-curricular activity, so the parents were really grateful. Which is great, but now I'm gonna be a little paranoid about what I do in public while I'm in Narashino. Which, maybe, isn't a bad thing...
Anyway, I found a seat, up in the peanut gallery, because I didn't notice that the teachers had reserved seats in the front until after the concert started, and then I didn't want to move.
The performance itself was incredible. It just reconfirmed my theory that "talent" is nonsense. There's no way ALL of these kids could be super-talented. But they played like they were. I mean, I was expecting a junior-high sqeeky band concert like in America, where you smile and try to stay awake and pat them on the head afterward and lie about how good they were. No way. This was breathtakingly beautiful music. Not just mistake-free, but with genuine feeling that came through in the performance.
And it's because, of course, these kids work themselves to death, practicing an hour before school and two hours after school every day, then another three hours on Saturday. And one part of me feels bad for them, because I think, "they should have free time to just be kids," but then another part of me remembers that in my free time I just wasted hours and hours playing video games, while these kids are becoming awesome musicians. So, I dunno... But they were great. And the ballet team that they accompanied was great, too.
When it was over, I was leaving, and the orchestra was standing in the lobby getting ready to leave, and they all screamed when they saw me and started thanking me one by one. And I was so glad I didn't sleep in...
Michael
|
March 19th, 2004
06:10 pm - Priceless...
My 1st-year students had Sports Day today. Each of the four homeroom classes competed against each other, the boys playing soccer and the girls playing dodgeball.
Though I stepped out once to make an appearance at the soccer fields, I had a hard time tearing myself away from the dodgeball. Just imagine, tiny, cute-as-a-button, quiet, shy, Japanese 13-year-old girls, hurling a volleyball as hard as they can at each other, often inflicting pain and punishment in the process.
The great thing was, they would be vicious one minute, and immediately be cute and innocent the next. Like, one little girl smashed another who was standing literally right next to her in the back with the ball, and then immediately covered her mouth and cried, "Gomei!" (I'm sorry!). They looked as if they really felt bad about beaning each other with the ball, but that didn't stop them from doing it to the best of their ability. So cute.
And I was shocked to see how hard some of the girls could hurl the ball. They look so small and sweet, but some of them had rocket arms, and whenever they hit someone it was a loud "thud" follwed by a high-pitched yelp. Then the thrower would usually cry out an apology. By the end of the day there was a whole line of girls sitting on the wall with ice on their fingers, faces or legs, and some girls had huge red marks on the legs and faces from being hit with the ball. Carnage, but cute carnage.
It came down to the last dodgeball match to see which class would win, and when it was over, the girls on the losing team just started bawling their eyes out, while the winners were screaming and yelling and basically going crazy as if they had just won the Olympics or something. So great.
Michael
|
March 17th, 2004
06:56 am - A trip to Hiroshima...
Even almost sixty years after that quiet summer morning in 1945, there is something lingering in the air of Hiroshima. That horrible dark cloud has long since dispersed, but a different cloud hangs there in its place, invisible; a misty sadness, humble ghosts.
On the way through the city, you find yourself constantly searching the skyline for that black cloud. How high would it have been?
The first sight of that domed shell is a breathless moment - it all becomes too real. Your imagination takes over, and the terrible images of Hershey's Hiroshima and Ibuse's Black Rain become pathetic sights drawn in invisible ink on blank tracing paper and draped across everything. There is the bridge on which the American aboard the Enola Gay set his sights. This is the river that ran red with blood, where burned children swam with bodies of dead fish and dead neighbors. There is where the high-school students were working, were vaporized in an instant.
I just stood and stared, the weight of it all oppressive. The Peace Park is a popular place these days, couples taking romantic strolls, hand-in-hand by the A-bomb Dome. Friends having a picnic. College kids banging pop songs on acoustic guitars. But it all melted into the background, overshadowed by that dome looming somewhat accusingly oppressive.
"Shashin wo torimasshouka?" one of my fellow teachers asked, wanting us all to take a picture. But I couldn't. It just doesn't seem right. I think they understood. The group was silent after that.
I didn't cry until we were walking back to the car. Everything within a 2 km radius turned to ash. How far did we park from the dome? A kilometer? So everything we pass would've been destroyed. You find yourself counting off the steps, looking at everything around you. High-school girls buying ice-cream. A couple riding the same bicycle. Old ladies, backs bent, grasping shopping bags. They all would have been dead. Department stories and grilled-chicken-kabob stands and McDonalds and Cellphone shops. They would have been gone. A mother and a child, holding hands as they crossed the street, did it for me. Tears came, and I didn't try to stop them.
The English teacher told me not to be ashamed. Japan should be ashamed, he told me. The people of Hiroshima love Americans, he told me. I wanted to tell him I didn't feel ashamed as an American, I felt ashamed as a human being. But I couldn't. I just nodded and walked in tears and silence to the car.
|
March 5th, 2004
01:54 am - More random Japanese junior-high school kid English...
Today's episode:
(Two girls are whispering to each other down the hall, while I'm talking to another kid. They keep looking at me and giggling, so I'm wondering what's up...after a while, they 'janken' or 'paper-rock-scissors,' and the loser comes, slowly and shyly, walking towards me.)
Me: Yes?
Girl: I...ehto...I want...brown...paper...tape...
Me: Huh?
Girl: Eh?! I want... eh!? Sumimasen! *laughs embarressedly and runs away*
(No idea what she was talking about. Not a clue.)
Michael
|
March 2nd, 2004
06:00 pm - On the morning train...
They always get on one stop before I get off. They're always together, but he always steps in before her. It's not rude; it's just the way things are here. They both wear school uniforms, different because he's a boy and she's a girl, but similar enough that, because they're together, it's obvious they go to the same High School.
The station is a large one, and before they get on, the crowded local train that takes me to work every morning becomes much less crowded; people get off to wait for an express, leaving a few scattered empty seats. But when the young couple gets on, they can't sit together, so they stand.
The young man is tall. As an American, I've grown used to being the tallest person on the train, but this young man stands a few inches taller than myself. Still, as he steps into the train, his movement betrays none of the awkwardness of a teenager unaccustomed to his size. Even in his school uniform, it is obvious that he is ready to become a man, even though he carries himself with a slight timidity that confirms that he's not yet there.
His features are sharp and handsome, a face that reminds me of the exotic wonder I felt in this culture before it all became the everyday mundane. His hair is cut short, mature, but it still retains a slight golden tint on its tips, and a slight unnatural curl, the remnants of a hairstyle that is all the rage among teenagers in Japan. It is almost Spring, time for college entrance exams and interviews, for which looking conservative is a must. He will do fine; he projects an air of a young man destined to succeed. He is probably popular at school.
She probably is too, but not as much. She's cute, her golden-dyed hair draped over a baby-blue scarf, the one outlet for self-expression in a world of navy skirts and gray overcoats. She probably saw it on TV, but it's still stylishly charming. I recognize in her an adorable shyness, something of a self-consciousness that some probably mistake for snobbery; she's just cute enough to teeter on the edge between shy and aloof.
Still, next to him, she's tragically average; her cheeks a little too plump, her eyes a little too small, her nose a little too short. Her popularity is likely the result of drafting, overshadowed, in his wake.
As they settle into their space and the train jerks to life and motion, my attention is drawn to them, a portrait of something recognizable. A sadness hangs about them, in the way that she clings to his arm and looks up into his eyes, eyes which look beyond her, to the world passing in the window. In the way that, when she leans into his chest, he instinctively pulls away, a movement subtle enough that an optimist could call it the swaying of the train; I know better, and so does he. I can see it in his face, even as he stands up straight and accepts her embrace, a nervous melancholy that springs from a knowing fear for her sake. And though her eyes look content, they are not oblivious; the scene is bittersweet.
The speedy efficiency of the Japanese public transportation system ensures that my time with them is short, and it is not long before a voice on a speaker announces my stop. As the train squeals to a stop, I feel bad that I have to interrupt them with an "excuse me." I step off the train, and as I head for the escalator I glance back to catch one more glimpse of them through the medal doors, now sliding shut as the train prepares to hurtle them toward the future. And, though I know better, I allow myself to indulge in the hope that they will be happy.
Michael
|
March 1st, 2004
01:12 pm - It's snowing...
...but it's not sticking. So just cold and wet. I was giddy watching it fall outside the window at school today, but there's nothing on the ground.
Disappointing...
Michael
|
February 29th, 2004
11:54 pm - Dinner and a Movie...
Tonight I went to my friend Ryoko's house to eat dinner and watch a movie on TV. Ryoko's little sister was in my seventh-grade class last year, and when she found out that I'm from Tuscaloosa, she told me that her sister had lived in Tuscaloosa for three years. So their family invited me to a baseball game, and it turned out that Ryoko and I had met at the University of Alabama...it's truly a small world.
Ryoko's family is great; they have hosted several exchange students from Tuscaloosa, and they have friends all over the world. I was really lucky to meet them.
Michael
|
|
|
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
tako_koen's journal