Getting nostalgic...

Tick...tick...tick...

There’s only about a month left until I’m done with teaching on the JET Programme. Until I’m out of my apartment; until I can no longer call myself an ALT. This is a pretty scary thought. But it’s an idea I’ve been getting used to over the past few months. When the day came to sign the paper saying I wouldn’t be recontracting, I could barely bring myself to do it. Nevertheless I did, and while I didn’t feel great about it afterwards, I knew I was making a good decision. Something had been telling me to move onwards and upwards (whatever that entails).

There were times in the weeks following that I felt compelled to walk up to my supervisor and exclaim “It was a mistake! Take me back! I want to stay!” But there were also times when I sat at my desk at work with nothing to do, wondering when the day would come when I would feel like I had actually earned my paycheck. And I’ve been comforted by the fact that eventually I would be leaving Japan anyway, if not this year, next year, and I think leaving might only get harder the longer I stay.

Pros and cons aside, there’s a lot of things I’ll miss about Japan. (Besides the friends I've made and the places I've visited.) Superficial or profound, they’ve made living in Gifu one of the best times in my life.

Safety and Cleanliness
These are a given- I don’t need to elaborate. It’s Japan. While occasionally the level of order and sanitation have seemed almost stifling, for the most part I pity myself and other foreigners who have to return to their comparatively anarchic and filthy homelands.

Vending Machines
They’re ubiquitous: on train platforms, in office buildings, on random street corners, in the middle of rice fields. Even at the holiest of places, temples and shrines. The choice of beverages is mindblowing: no two machines have the same selection. In summer, the drinks quench your thirst and deliver welcome coolness to your sweat-drenched body. In winter, cans serve as hand-warmers as well as suppliers of sweet, sweet coffee. But the machines themselves can seem a little sinister, especially at night. Always awake. Always on. Always glowing with that eerie fluorescent light. Despite their convenience, I fear that one day they’ll all come to life, and Japan will no longer be the place to be. hehe

Combinis
This appreciation goes along with my love of vending machines. Some of my fondest memories in Japan have been of late night / early morning drunken combini runs. I’m embarrassed to think of the number of combini attendants we’ve shocked and amused with our intoxicated foreignness. Japanese combinis are unsurpassed in their ability to give you what you need, now. Especially when that happens to be another beer, a box of Pocky and a ginger ‘anti-hangover’ drink.

(I realize that vending machines and combinis are two of the worst offenders as far as non-sustainable living goes. But they’ve been one of my indulgences over my two years here. If I lived here any longer, I’d probably feel the need to kick my addiction.)

Sashimi


Speaking of non-sustainable living, I’ve been feeling slightly guilty about my love of sashimi. Today I found a website listing the world's most endangered fish and many of the sea creatures commonly found in sushi are classified as “eco-worst” fish. Japan is probably one of the countries least concerned about overfishing, which unfortunately makes sense, given that their diet, and to a large extent culture, is based on seafood.

Matsuri
A Japanese festival is a feast for the senses. Even after two years here, when other things have become humdrum and mundane, I'm still in awe of festivals. They’re incredibly diverse and you can enjoy them on so many different levels. If you just wanna get out, get drunk and take surreal photos for Facebook, they’ve got you covered. If you want to witness a rare cultural ritual and learn about another aspect of Buddhist or Shinto beliefs, you can do that. And if you want to get really deep, and ponder what that ice sculpture symbolizes about 21st-century Japanese identity, go ahead. There must be a festival on somewhere every day of the year in Japan, and there are big ones, small ones, famous ones and obscure ones. One frustration though, has been that often they’re held on a certain date, which means that if a cool festival is happening a few hours away on a Wednesday night, you miss out.

The Seasons
Despite what Nihonjin like to believe, Japan isn’t the only country with four distinct seasons. I suppose I could be accused of not what I’m talking about, being from Melbourne where it seems like there’s only two seasons (a hot summer and a mild winter). In my defense, I’ve traveled and lived in other places with four distinct seasons before. But I suspect that the Japanese do seasonal appreciation like no one else. They’ve been observing, appreciating and haiku-ing about the changes in weather and nature for centuries, and their country lends itself well to such veneration. Sites in Japan almost require four visits- one in each season- since the same place can look so dramatically different depending on the time of year. I will miss the little touches in shops and houses here and there that correspond to the season. The hundred yen shop has been one of the most obvious indicators for me of what I should look out for and admire this month: cherry blossoms in April, autumn leaves in October, goldfish and breezes in July.

Onsen


At first, getting naked with strangers was a daunting prospect. But now, I associate onsens with freedom and relaxation- two things that are fairly hard to come by in daily life in Japan. Often, the water has been almost too hot for me to stand- actually scalding. It makes my skin red after only a minute or two, but it helps the muscles relax in a way they never do otherwise. It seems contradictory that a society otherwise so controlled and pressurized could be so committed to public bathing and relaxation in general. But I guess it’s more evidence that Japan is a land of extremes.

Bicycles
Everyone rides a bike in Japan. Kids, teenagers, salarymen, office ladies, farmers, housewives and grandmas- go outside for a few minutes and you’ll probably see an example of at least three of these, perched atop a mamachari. And nobody, except elementary school kids, wears a helmet. Bikes are given respect here: cars know to look out for them and pedestrians move out of their way. Unlike Australia, bikes are allowed on the footpath and there are mass parking areas near train stations. You don’t have to become a hard-core aerodynamic bike warrior decked out in spandex and a helmet to survive the ride to work. One of the best things about J-bikes are the baskets. Yep, at first you feel like a 5-year-old with training wheels, but soon you realize the convenience of it. The only negative aspect of bike riding in Japan that I can think of is that because everyone rides one, even the slowest and least coordinated riders are out and about. This includes ancient ojiichans who ride with their legs spread wide, oblivious to anyone who might want to pass, and then turn to gape at you when you finally do.


No Small Talk
At the risk of sounding antisocial, I’m not a big fan of the small talk that burdens us in Australia. I’m sure it’s pretty much the same in other English-speaking countries, but I have a feeling Australians engage in it more than other Westerners, having more of a group mentality than Americans, for example. Obviously it serves a useful purpose and I can fake it as well as anyone, but it can be such a drainer. In Japan, however, there seems to be a lot less small talk going on, at least of the kind I'm used to. Of course, this could be partly because I don’t speak Japanese well. But small talk isn’t really part of the culture. You learn set phrases and use them. Nobody looks down on you for parroting the same phrase every time you see them – you’re expected to say it. No “Weather’s nice today, isn’t it?” (my Nihongo textbooks made sure to teach “Ii tenki desu ne?” which I have never heard in Japan). You don’t have to think up new and creative ways to greet people throughout the day. Just a simple “Ohayoo gozaimasu” in the morning, and a head nod for subsequent greetings. Sure, it can seem fake and insincere, but so can the elaborate attempts we make in the West. At least the Japanese way is easy, even if you do feel like you’re on autopilot sometimes.

Karaoke
I used to hate singing in front of other people. I’m not a particularly talented singer, but at least I can carry a tune (I think). Before Japan, I had only been to karaoke once in Melbourne, which is thankfully cosmopolitan enough to have a karaoke box frequented by international students. Since coming to Gifu though, it has become almost a staple in my life. The combination of some favorite songs, good friends, ironically 'heartfelt' numbers (like “The Rose” and “Circle of Life”) and alcohol- what’s not to like? Well, actually, the smell of the rooms (B.O. and cigarettes) and the hangover the next day. But overall, a karaoke night in Japan is 6 hours well spent. I still recoil at the thought of public singing, but a Shidax room with a few friends doesn’t intimidate me anymore.

Presentation
Japan is a beautiful place, in many ways. There’s a lot more nature here than the stereotyped images would suggest. Having said that, there’s way too much concrete for my liking in most urban areas, but because almost everywhere you go is clean and neat, Japanese cities are a lot kinder to the eyes than they would be otherwise. As well as the clean factor, most Japanese are incredibly preoccupied with appearances. This includes personal grooming as well as the presentation of food and objects in general. Here there’s no shame in going to any length to ensure you're perfectly presented. Even if this means going through your entire daily beauty routine on the train or stopping to fix your hair in a shop window (girls and guys alike). In stores, the clerk will spend a good 3-5 minutes carefully wrapping up whatever souvenir you’ve bought, with none of the “near enough is good enough” attitude found in other countries. The emphasis seems to be on creating the perfect look no matter what the cost. Witnessing such blatant acts of vanity can be frustrating and has occasionally made me complain that Japan must be the most superficial place on earth(!), but it shows a level of pride and attention to detail that we tend to lack in the West. Being in a place where I see this kind of thing every day has changed my attitude. Yes, it's a tired 'Japan's so Zen!' cliche, but being here, I feel less like just getting things done as quickly as possible and more able to appreciate the small things, take my time and be more patient.

"All Australians Are Friendly"

I enjoy teaching English here… but sometimes it can get a little mind-numbing speaking in my genkiest voice, trying to appear interested in hearing what Kenji had for lunch today, and spelling out words like ‘goggles’. So more than teaching English, I enjoy teaching culture. Luckily, the school I work at is pretty advanced in its English curriculum, and we have 異文化(i-bunka) classes, which translates as “different culture”. Awhile ago, I was helping a JTE teach a class about stereotypes. The idea of learning about stereotypes would elicit a groan from Australian high school students. The message has usually been drummed into them over their school years that “stereotypes are bad”. In Japan, however, I’m pretty sure kids never get this kind of input.

First of all, there’s no word for ‘stereotype’ in Japanese. The JTE told me that the loanword イメージ (imeeji, from ‘image’) is as close as it comes. Well, obviously a stereotype is an image, but a particular kind of image- an oversimplified image- that’s the point. The students didn’t seem to completely get the concept. Several of them had been on a homestay in Australia last year. We asked them what they had thought about Australian people before their trip. They ALL said “friendly”. We asked them if they still thought all Australians were friendly. They all said yes, without even thinking about it, and without elaborating.

One boy in the class had recently returned from a year living in Australia on exchange. I was sure he could come up with something more insightful than the other students. He used a Japanese word that the teacher translated as “carefree”, “happy-go-lucky” (or “slack”, if you put a negative spin on it). We asked if he still thought that about Australians, and he said yes. I asked “ALL Australians?”. And he replied, “Yes”. Fair enough... what we consider slack, or even carefree, in the West is vastly different from the less forgiving Japanese definition, in a country where meeting a friend 2 minutes late is inexcusable.

Of course, neither ‘friendly’ nor ‘carefree’ are bad things, and I don’t feel offended that Japanese high-schoolers perceive Australians that way. But it wasn’t so much what they thought, as how unquestioning they were of their own perceptions. The point of the class was to realize that stereotypes are often shallow and incorrect, not to simply regurgitate, and thereby perpetuate them.

This classroom experience got me thinking. The students seemed practically incapable of considering that changing their initial judgement of others is possible. They come across as extremely naïve in this respect, and really seem to lack the ability for critical thought. It’s not their fault; just a result of their culture and education system, I guess. Coupled with the lack of a satisfying Japanese word for 'stereotype', it makes me think that many Japanese people would have a hard time understanding and accepting the idea. When you think about the culture, this makes sense. Mainstream Japanese society actually relies on the perpetuation of stereotypes; more so than truly multicultural societies. Here, society is viewed as a collection of groups. The members of these groups are virtually one and the same- the individual doesn’t predominate. They stand together, united in a common role or purpose. If one member of the group does something wrong, all members are held at least partially responsible. That’s a given. Of course, this has some very positive results, like strong social cohesion and obedience brought about by avoidance of shame. But the group-centered mindset also provides fertile ground for the development and perpetuation of stereotypes… and its uglier cousins, prejudice and xenophobia.

This reminds me of another thing I’ve noticed: many Japanese perceive racism, discrimination and prejudice to be problems of other countries, not Japan. Of course when the population is 99% homogenous (racially speaking), it’s easy to be blissfully unaware of those issues. But discrimination and prejudice can exist within a relatively ‘pure’ society like Japan’s. And yet, because Japan is inclined to “spread the wealth around”, and because 99% of people share the same racial and genetic profile, the sector of society affected by prejudice and discrimination in Japan is easily ignored. So it’s not hard to see why these issues would go unrecognized and be swept under the rug. The popular perception is that Japan is homogenous – which it is- but more homogenous than it really is. I would venture to say that the senior high school student who knows anything about the burakumin, or Ainu or native Okinawans is a rare breed.

None of what I’ve just said is a novel insight- people (mainly outsiders) have recognized this about Japan for many years. And there are plenty of other more in-depth discussions out there than what I’ve come up with. But being here and seeing it first-hand in the young generation of Japanese is different, and more confronting, than just reading about it on some website.

21 Months

Twenty-one months. That’s how long I’ve been living in Gifu. Hard to believe, and hard to count. It’s such a random number. More than a year and a half, but not quite two years. When people ask me now how long I’ve been here, I take my time answering. It probably seems like I’m lying or something.

Part of the reason I decided not to stay another year here was because I’ve felt it becoming too familiar. Not that there’s anything wrong with getting used to a place. In fact, I stayed a second year precisely because I wanted to get to that familiar stage with Gifu. But there are different levels of familiarity. And staying a third year seemed like a way of settling, in a place where I don’t want to settle… at least not now.

Last week I discovered what’s already become one of my favorite websites, matadortravel.com.
One of their articles (http://thetravelersnotebook.com/how-to/how-to-travel-at-home/)has articulated a lot of the things I haven’t been able to describe so far. How travel lets you be present in the moment, opens your eyes to every tiny detail around you, and gives you new perspectives on the world, people and yourself.

My first year in Japan went by in a blur of frantic sightseeing, new friends, parties, weekend trips, karaoke and mild homesickness. Year Two started out with some new responsibilities and a resolve to make the most of my final year here. Mostly, it’s been pleasant feeling more settled and competent than last year. But there were definitely periods when I felt I had fallen into a rut. It’s much more frustrating to be in a rut when you’re overseas than in your home country. There’s the added pressure of feeling like you should be enjoying this rare opportunity. Of course, as the article above describes, there are ways to drag yourself out of said rut.

With my remaining time here quickly diminishing, I’m trying to see and do all the things that I meant to but never got around to (I know, good luck to me). Like ride my bike to Gifu city and back. This ended up being one of my most memorable evenings in Japan. I’d always assumed it was too far, or too hard to find the way, but it was only a 40-minute ride, following the train line. Staring out the train window on my way to Gifu, I’d always felt the urge to bike through the rice fields between K-town and Gifu. The roads were so flat, so unobstructed. As wide open a space as you’re ever likely to get in Japan. So I set off, one springy evening after work. Keeping Tower 43 in my sights, I pedaled up and down hills, over streams, through tunnels and past rice fields. It really gave me a new perspective on the area, and I sensed a different vibe to Gifu. Travelling by train, it had always felt that my journey from K-town to Gifu was a country-to-city trip. But now it was more of an adventure between towns.

The way back was even better. I’d bought some donuts in Gifu station with the intention of eating them at home. The sun was setting behind me and the moon rose in front of me. It started out a faint pink color and as it climbed higher, it became redder and more visible. I stopped by the river to eat my donuts and admire the view. Everything seemed fresh and full of possibilities, more so because it was finally spring and the trees were sprouting new leaves.

You see the most affecting things when you’re not looking for them. I came across what I thought was the best view of the night- the moon through some cherry blossoms. The air was balmy and sweet with spring. A river was burbling nearby and insects were chirping. Real picture-book stuff. Further up, I saw that the stream was lined with more cherry trees in bloom, with small red and pink lanterns glowing amongst the trees. The unbelievable thing was that the area was absolutely deserted. It looked like the perfect setting for a hanami festival, but not a soul was in sight. I was touched by the fact that this spot had been decorated, almost like a form of nature-worship. Not necessarily for the benefit of the hoardes coming to admire it; just because it was spring and the blossoms were out and the world was alive once again. I almost felt like there were spirits of some sort (ancestors, river sprites?) admiring the spot along with me.

For once, I was glad I didn’t have my camera. Photos wouldn’t have done the experience justice, and there are times when a camera can be too much of a filter between you and reality. I’m grateful I got to see, hear and feel it all, completely unobstructed.

Zen and the Art of Trains

I witnessed my first system failure in Japan the other day. Ok, maybe not complete failure. But things went wrong, in a place where things rarely go wrong. Especially when they involve public transport. The train system is definitely one of Japan’s strong suits; something it rightly boasts as the best in the world. The punctuality, the cleanliness, the unsurpassed efficiency of it… all characteristics of something I hold in reverence. Trains have been my passport to Japan since I arrived- shuttling me here and there between my smallish town and the castles, metropolises, temples, villages, mountains and oceans beyond.



I’ve come to know the different types of trains well (brand-new five-star shinkansens, generic local trains, tiny, rickety ‘one-man’ cars), their various smells (the wet-dog funk of a rainy day, the sticky, sweaty aroma of summer, the acrid stench of alcohol on the last train home), and the unspoken rules of on-board etiquette (never look someone in the eyes, take up as little space as possible, don’t engage in lively conversation before 7pm on a weekday). By now, it’s pretty safe to say that where trains are concerned, I’ve turned Japanese.



To think of Japan’s train lines as its arteries and veins (with Tokyo the heart, and Nagoya and Osaka other vital organs) wouldn’t be too fanciful.

So when trains here are late, you know something bad has happened. You learn that the most likely explanation for a train delay in super-efficient Japan is a suicide. Yep, someone has jumped onto the tracks, and usually succeeded in their mission.

Yesterday, my Belgian friend Aurelie (who I met in Canada and was now hosting in Japan- hello globalization) and I boarded the train for Takayama. We were heading up there to see an ukiyoe exhibit, lured by the offer of free tickets from another friend. All was well at first, bar a run-in with the third middle-aged man in two days to forcibly engage us in English conversation practice. Having shaken him off with a train-change, we settled contentedly into our seats on the express bound for Toyama. But on arrival at Hida Kanayama station (i.e. middle of nowhere), the train stopped, and didn’t get going again FOR FIVE HOURS.

Of course there was no indication that we were in for five hours of suspended animation. As far as I was concerned, this was an unusual, if not unprecedented, train delay, and we would be only a little late meeting my friend. At first Aurelie and I were wrapped up in conversation so it didn’t bother us in the slightest. But after two hours we were getting restless. There had been announcements, but no explanation of the problem- that I, with my conversational Japanese, could decipher. After hour three, I was starting to think that this wasn’t a case of “someone on the tracks”. We were even getting to the point of losing sympathy for the hypothetical victim, and discussed how long it should reasonably take to clean up after such an incident.

A few times, Aurelie and I left the train and sauntered around the platform, to battle a growing case of cabin fever. Passengers in the train stuck going the other direction stared woefully out at us. A local wandered out of his house to gawk at the motionless trains and peer down the tracks, all the while tucking in his shirt. At least the view was pretty. That part of Hida is gorgeous. The station was nestled among small mountain houses surrounded by lush spring greenery spilling down from the forest.





What struck me most about the whole experience was the behavior of the other (Japanese) passengers. For the most part, there was no behavior. They stayed in their seats and dozed, or stared at their mobile phone screens. There was an air of resignation about the whole thing. And this was despite a lack of information from the authorities. No one really knew what was going on, but apparently no one really cared. There was a middle-aged woman scurrying around, hassling the conductors with questions of “when?”, but mostly people just stayed put and waited it out. With not so much as a sigh of impatience.

It got me thinking. I know I’ve changed, being here in Japan. I’ve definitely developed more patience and a greater ability to just ‘let things go’. This is a result of both absorbing some of the cultural norms and the fact that there’s so much more I can’t control here, being a foreigner. For the most part, patience and endurance are a virtue. Certainly they were in the delayed train situation. But I maybe they can also signal apathy and aversion to change. I couldn’t help but think that had there actually been an emergency, where passengers could have done something to help or escape danger, that they would have just stayed put and waited for instructions from the authorities.

I’m sure plenty of people were fuming inside, in their own way. But Japanese culture trains them (no pun intended) to hide outward expressions of strong negative emotions, so they’re masters at concealing frustration. Although strange, the quiet atmosphere in the face of a major disruption to the day was refreshing for me. For the time that I was able to, it was soothing to just accept that our day of sightseeing was shot, sit back, and listen to my iPod, safe in the knowledge that whoever needed to was busily and efficiently working at a solution to the problem.

Yes We Can In Japan!

The US election is old news, I know. But it’s taken me this long to get my head around Obama-mania in Japan.

Take election day, for example. It was a normal day like any other in Japan. But lacking in other forms of engagement at work, I made good use of my internet access by refreshing news websites every couple minutes. At the end of 5th period, the teacher who sits next to me came back to his desk and asked, 「オバマかった?」 “Did Obama win?”.

That night, I went out for dinner with a few ALT friends. Passing by the train station, we noticed several posters up on a wall. I might add that posters are never put up on this wall; I think it’s even illegal. Anyway, the poster was a news bulletin announcing that Obama had won.

Later, during inauguration week, an English teacher came by my desk to remind me that around midnight Japan time, Obama would be giving his speech live on TV. There was definitely been a higher level of excitement about the election than I would have expected, here in a country that has traditionally been relatively self-contained and self-absorbed.

So I’ve made a list of all the times I heard something Obama-related pop up in everyday life, all the way over here in small-town Japan. Each of these were completely unprompted- in every case it was the Japanese person who brought Obama up, not me. I suppose it’s because in the Japanese subconscious, ‘Westerner’ tends to equal ‘American’. So I’m automatically seen as someone who will appreciate spontaneous outpourings of devotion to the 44th President of the United States. None of the people in question were aware that I’m a US citizen (the concept of dual nationality is an alien concept in Japan, so I tend not to mention it).

1. Visiting the Koizumi family one day back in October, K-chan, the 8-year-old, says “Obama”, completely out of the blue. Maybe her mother and I were talking about traveling, or America, or something, but it took me completely by surprise. I was completely amazed that an elementary kid in Gifu would even know the name of an American politician.

2. In class, teaching the 2nd grade students (16 y.o). Their task is to write a “Guess Who” quiz for their partner. I read over one kid’s shoulder: “He has black face. He will be next president of America.”

3. Again, teaching the 2nd grade students, who are doing a writing exercise. I go to check one student’s work and urge him to write a little more. This boy is obviously smart, but under-stimulated, so in the past he’s been a bit of a smart ass. This time, though, he exclaims “Yes we can!”.

4. The day after Obama’s inauguration, my supervisor brought it up. He commented that “now, an Okinawan can be Japan’s president”.

5. Teaching the 1st grade English stream students... we are having a 'written conversation' instead of a verbal one. I ask, "What do you do on weekends?" The student's answer: “I play baseball game. It’s very exciting. But Obama spoke more exciting.” Do you like Obama? “Yes I do... And I like ‘Yes We Can’.”



6. The other week in English Club, the students and I were writing letters to a Canadian ALT who used to work at my school. Somehow, Obama made it into their letters:



Just before the election, CNN published a book in Japan of Obama’s speeches, and it became a best seller. It contains transcripts of his speeches in English, alongside Japanese translations, and a CD. I found out about this book a couple months ago when I arrived at work to discover it on my desk. Underneath were some typed pages of several lesson plans for my second grade English class. Looking through them, I realized that my JTE had decided on the theme for our next batch of classes- Obama’s speeches. I was surprised and strangely moved. While I know how important this next era in America politics will be for the world, I could hardly believe that a teacher of English in Gifu, Japan would find the speeches worthy of committing five lessons to.

Since I found out about this book, I’ve come to realize that it’s only one of many. The ‘Obama section’ is pretty much standard in Japanese bookshops these days. And in the case below, it was also the bestseller section.


Why is Obama such a big deal in Japan? I’ve got a few theories… Some are based on shallow reasons the Japanese might identify with him and his message. So these first few are novelty theories.

1. There’s a town in Fukui prefecture called “Obama”. I think this in itself has been a catalyst for igniting the collective Japanese imagination for all things Obama. The first time I heard about Obama city was back around June when the election was starting to heat up. I remember seeing footage of hula dancers there performing a Hawaiian dance for the candidate from Hawaii. (It should be mentioned that Japan has an intense fascination with Hawaii and sees it as the world’s premium “international” holiday destination, bar none.) I visited this town just a couple weeks ago. It’s a pretty unremarkable place, as far as I could see. But I went on a hunt for signs of the Obama obsession, and wasn’t disappointed…



2. “Obama” sounds like a Japanese word. Several Japanese people have discussed this with me. One even mentioned that there are some families named Obama in Japan.

3. Obama is kakko-ii (cool) in the eyes of Japanese youth. In the last few years, African-American culture, and Jamaican culture to some extent, has become the epitome of cool in Japan. Shallow it may be, but this fact can only help Obama's cause.


4. His motto during the campaign was “Yes We Can”. This is in simple English, and mentions the collective first person. So it actually sounds exactly like something an English conversation school in Japan would cook up as their motto. It’s catchy and easy to remember. The fact that it’s in English makes it extra-cool and modern. Hence it has become my students’ latest catch-phrase!

But of course there must be deeper reasons to explain why Obama has been embraced as a figure relevant to Japanese society… His message of “change” seems particularly relevant in a country where people have traditionally not questioned or challenged authority or their own place in society. Ninety-one percent of Japanese are dissatisfied with the political system.
(http://www.eastasiaforum.org/2009/03/21/the-japanese-people-lose-hope/)
They perceive it as especially staid and impenetrable, where politicians rule completely above the people and are utterly removed from the concerns of the average citizen. (Of course this is the case to some extent everywhere, but in Japan there are certain privileged families who have ruled the political world for decades.) Recently there’s been a lot of talk in Japan about wanting politicians people can identify with, as opposed to the blue-bloods that have dominated the political world so far.

And perhaps most obvious to anyone who’s been in Japan longer than a few months: “Yes We Can” is reminiscent of Japan’s national motto, ganbatte. But to me, the Japanese phrase seems to put more emphasis on effort or enduring a struggle for something, while Obama’s version implies success and actually reaching the goal. I only hope this nuance helps Japan to actively strive for change instead of just admiring the concept from afar.

生徒たち - Students

It’s hard to believe I haven’t written an entry exclusively about my students yet. I guess that’s because at first, it seemed like there was too much to cover, and later, they became just another part of my daily routine. As harsh as it sounds, as a whole, they became a little boring and predictable. Not individually, but collectively. After a full day trying my hardest to bond and connect with Japanese teenagers, the last thing I wanted was to go home and think more about them. But recently, I’ve gotten more resilient to the trials and tribulations of being an ALT in Japan, so I’ve felt compelled to get a few words down about the kids I’ve been sharing the joys of English with.

To set the scene, I teach 11 classes a week, for 1st, 2nd and 3rd graders in senior high school (that’s 10th, 11th, 12th grade; ie. 15-18 years old). I teach about 120 first years, 120 second years, and 20 third years. So needless to say, I don’t exactly know each of them by name… which is shame, but almost impossible to accomplish, short of making them wear nametags all day (like elementary school kids). Remembering names is even more difficult than usual for me because they are all Japanese, and while they sometimes want to be called by their first names, usually teachers address them by their family name. So I would effectively have to learn two names for each student in order to keep on top of things (500 names). But I do what I can, and I do know a lot of kids’ names.

On top of those issues, I don’t see each student all that often. Most first and second years I only see once every two weeks, at the most. That’s assuming the school schedule isn’t interrupted by Sports Day, tests, assembly or work experience. There are a couple of classes that are doing a special English course, so I see them twice a week.

The Bad

About a year ago, I described how my students seemed pretty ‘catatonic’ in class, but now, after more than a year of teaching, I’m totally used to this. I know the best techniques for eliciting responses from them, and I no longer feel uncomfortable standing in front of 40 pairs of eyes (only half of which are open) and 20 blank faces. And I now understand why they’re like this- it’s pretty much the ‘ideal’ classroom environment. They are supposed to be like sponges, absorbing information. Questioning, being critical, and offering opinions are not considered important in the Japanese education system, and are even looked on as delinquent behavior.

I won’t embark on an exposition of everything wrong with the Japanese education system. But I will say that I feel sorry for the kids I teach. In fact, in some respects, there is a lot to pity about being Japanese. By valuing perseverance and duty to the extreme, this society pushes people to their limits. It seems like the majority of students and teachers are seriously sleep deprived, and that it’s the norm, rather than the exception, for people to hate what they do in their day to day life. Yet they do it anyway, because they know no other way.

This became painfully obvious the other day when I gave my second year students (16 year olds) an “About You” worksheet to complete. They had to finish six sentences: “I like…”, “I hate…”, “I always…”, “I’ve never…”, “I’m scared of…”, “I’m looking forward to…”.
Two boys (in a class of 20) answered the following:

I hate rugby.
I always play rugby.

I hate baseball.
I always play baseball.

Another kid wanted to finish the sentence “I’m scared of…” with the English word for 人生. I didn’t know what it meant until after class, when I looked it up. It means ‘life’, or ‘human existence’.

In the case of my students, school is their life. But it doesn’t merely encompass study and homework. In fact, club activities are taken just as seriously, if not more so, than schoolwork. In the most extreme cases, a student will get up at 5am, do their club activity (e.g. soccer), go to classes from 8:30 to 3pm, do more club activities until 6, go to juku (cram school), and get home around 10 or 11pm. Day after day. Weekends and vacation periods are also often taken up with their club activity. There are plenty of kids who don’t belong to a club, some of whom dedicate all their free time to studying. And then there are others who don’t have a club and don’t study, either. But such ‘lack of motivation’ definitely isn’t encouraged in Japan, and these kids seem to have other problems (family, personal) that have led them to be in this state.

Basic psychology says that people don’t do anything without some kind of reward, on some level. So pushing yourself to the extreme does pay off in some way, if only to reassure yourself that you’re ‘doing the right thing’. This, to me, seems to be at the heart of why so many people in Japan live what could be described as ‘lives of quiet desperation’. I’m not saying people here don’t ever enjoy themselves, but from my perspective, it seems that when faced with the choice of doing what they want, or doing what they should do, most Japanese would choose the latter. Perseverance is valued above all else. Of course, there is much to be admired about this, but day-to-day, I tend to see the negative results of this, in the sheer exhaustion of students.

The kids also seem to suffer from a huge lack of confidence, by Western standards, anyway. In places like Australia and the US, we’re used to hearing the old “You can do anything!” spiel. As cheesy and clichéd as this seems, it IS a big part of the Western outlook these days. I think it does sink in for most kids, who (barring any conflicting messages from parents) hear it throughout their 13 years of education. Another key message is “Be yourself!”. But these aren’t a given in Japan. In fact, a famous Japanese saying is “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down”. My students are terrified of taking risks, for fear of making mistakes. Even if that risk is answering a simple “Yes” or “No” question in English class. Or writing an answer in pen, which is permanent, rather than pencil, which they can erase.

So these are some of the negative aspects of my students. I won't go into experiences I've had with kids acting out in class - that's another story...
But overall, the good outweighs the bad, so I'll get to "The Good" next time.

The hills are alive...

Ahhhh Nagano. What would Japan be without you? Well, it would still have Hokkaido, but that's a whole 'nother island, way up in the north. Nagano must be Honshu's Hokkaido... if that makes any sense.

A few weeks ago, I spent a weekend in this wonderful neighbouring prefecture. The occassion? A soccer tournament. The thing is, I am not a soccer player. Until last June, I had never played a game of soccer. And yet I signed up for two days of non-stop soccer action- on two separate occassions. Anyway, it was for the 'All-Japan ALT Soccer Tournament', held in the green, green mountains of Nagano-ken. Back in June, what really drew me to it was the prospect of running and jumping on a lush carpet of fresh green grass. And, since we were in the middle of the spring/summer season, I definitely wasn't disappointed. The fields we played on are quite possibly the most beautiful soccer fields ever. The view is spectacular- and not at all what you would expect in Japan. You can see the Japan Alps, a wide blue sky, and green fields everywhere:



Contrast this with my typical day-to-day view living in the so-called inaka (countryside) in Gifu:



This time, though, it was an autumn tournament, so the view was just a little less than vibrant green. But no problem; the weather was pretty much perfect for running, jumping, falling head-over-heels, getting bruised, and sweating like a pig.

Anyway, back in June we managed to place second out of about 10 teams. This time, with a different line-up, we came fourth. Which is still a good effort... especially given that these tournaments invariably involve playing multiple games back-to-back. (Although they are mini-games with 15-minute halves, and on a small field.)It doesn't help that the fields are at a bit of an altitude. Needless to say, the two tournaments really took it out of all of us, but most of the returning players felt a lot less like a piece of chewed-up meat the second time around. Here's something I meant to post back in June:

By the closing minutes of the final, my legs were shot. My quadriceps felt like over-stretched rubber bands and I could barely jog off the field, let alone run back on to shake hands with the other team. I also had several Mercedes-Benz imprints on my thighs. That is, from the soccer ball slamming into me. Shrugging it off as battle scars, I managed to join the rest of the team in accepting our second place trophy and 6 packs of Asahi beer.



This time, there were no fountains of beer to help us numb the pain away. I returned to Gifu with a nice bruise on my shin, which emerged despte me wearing shin-guards!

Besides the injuries, the other highlight of the weekend was what I'll call the 'Gaijin Party' on Saturday night. Basically, all players (there were over 100 of us) headed down to the hotel's party room to relive the high school days we never had. It's an all-drinking, all-dancing evening filled with cheesy tunes and even cheesier moves. I don't think any song played that night was released this century. The combination of dated music, alcohol and soccer exhaustion created a dance floor like no other. All I can say is I'm glad I didn't bother bringing my camera. Or maybe I regret it. Either way... No one seemed put off by either the music or the dancing. In fact, apparently a few people journeyed in from Tokyo solely to come to the party. It's not every day you find a foreigner-only party in Japan!

Suprisingly, we pulled up ok on the Sunday after the party. The whole soccer experience is pretty intense, but well worth it. If only to return to the 'burbs of Gifu and boast to your friends of your conquests in the Japan Alps.