It's Candy Coated

I wrote the following for the upcoming issue of the JET publication in my prefecture, but I decided to post it here too...

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It’s Candy Coated
by Elwood Brown

At first I hesitated to write this piece, for fear of sounding too critical of a country that has, in its own peculiar way, welcomed me graciously. However, it then occurred to me that not writing the following paragraphs wouldn’t make me feel that my generalizations are any less true. Thus, here you have them…

The Japanese have rarely failed to impress me in terms of forethought and respect. Too, their attention to detail and awareness of their surroundings is second to none. However, the fact remains that after eleven months in Japan, I still feel rather unconnected. After nearly a year in the same small town, I know very few folks outside the educational realm, and have very little sense of the community. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have a plush life here, a standard of living that many in the world do not share. I, as I’ve been all my life, am a lucky man. Yet, most of my days seem to pass quickly, lacking thorough interaction and a sense of actuality. Existentialism is no longer just a big word, but now, ironically, holds some meaning. See if you follow me:

I’ve got a window seat on the shinkansen (bullet train). I speed along in comfort, with my elbow and good friend Yebisu resting on the windowsill, blankly staring at the incredible range of greens that is the Japanese countryside. The scenes unveil like pages of a travel magazine, though all with captions I can’t read. The ride is smooth and the same city with a different name goes by just often enough to break the monotony of the rice paddies. Once in a while I get a view of something stunning, like Fuji-san through the haze, but it always seems more like a photograph than an experience, and an intangible, digital photograph at that. A pretty lady with nice legs comes by ever so often to offer me bentos, and Pocky, and coffee or tea. If I flash her a smile, she’ll return a tiny one, but never with an open mouth, only just enough to be polite. The other people in the car are polite too, quiet, and well dressed, but they never, ever speak, or even smile. It often seems they’ve just had the worst day of their life. Life is taihen. My Japanese is proficient enough to ask the train conductor questions, and beg for help when a shoe falls between the train and the platform, and of course to ask the lady with the nice legs for another beverage, but not nearly good enough to have a in-depth chat with the suit next to me. Even was I able, most certainly would I feel intrusive in doing so. When I reach my destination, I quickly depart, without a feeling of having traveled anywhere. There was not a single bump, or even a fast stop. My journey seems no more real than the book I was reading on the train. When I arrive home, will I have anything more than a photo album of speed-blurred memories?

I realize it is erroneous to cast blame on Japan, or the Japanese, for my dilemma, for I am “immersed” in this culture on my own accord. The causes of my detachment abound, principle among them my own language deficiency and an overall lack of life direction, and yet still I am wont to fault the passive Japanese society for my exclusion. Despite all the aspects of Japanese culture I appreciate and admire, as well as my attempts to assimilate, the Japanese core remains hidden. It’s no difficult task to live comfortably here; order, convenience, politeness, safety, promptness, and cleanliness define daily life. Yet, I remain on the outside looking in, and often through smoked glass. In a society bounded by each individual’s various “uchi” (home or in-group), I find myself with no group of my own. I live in a void between the lines, or at best, in the margins of the page. I live alone, in an apartment building with imaginary tenants. I am a part of my school, without really being included. I reside in a community where most know I exist, and no one knows who I am.

During my welcome party last August, I remember being baffled by the conversation and interaction around me, and yet not caring that much. Food, drink, songs, and laughs were plenty enough; understanding, I assumed, would come with time. On the surface, much has changed since then. I have enough Japanese to wade through the enkais (office party), I know the names of those sitting around me, and I know how to keep my neighbor’s glass full. But, actually, little has changed at all. I understand little more than I knew then. The food, the drink, and the rituals are there, but I still have no idea what folks are talking about. I observe, fill my role, and do what is expected (luckily for the gaijin, the unexpected is expected), but never being rewarded with anything but transient relations.

The two questions I am most often asked by Japanese folks are: “Why did you come to Japan?” and “What surprises you most about Japan?” Neither am I ever able to answer, the first because I have yet to learn the Japanese word for curiosity, and the second, because I can never bring myself to tell them that Japanese people are much more reticent and diffident than I could have ever imagined.
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Movie Night

I went to a movie last week, and a few things about the Japanese cinema caught my attention.

1. Assigned seating. When you buy your ticket, you can select your row and seat number, but you are not to sit anywhere else.

2. Tickets cost $17, unless you go on Ladies' Night or Men's Night (Tuesdays and Thursdays respectively) when they are $10, or if you go on Couples' Night (21st of every month) when they are $22 for two people.

3. Outside each theatre door is a rack of neatly stacked blankets (for all to use) and a bin to put them in after the film.

4. Japanese folks, without fail, stay to watch the credits. All of them. To the very end, and the house lights come on.

5. Before the previews in a "Save our movies" campaign, a beautiful Japanese girl crying a stream of black tears, reminds the viewers not to watch pirated films.

Over a week after...

...a wonderful visit from my parents and aunt, I am finally getting around to recounting a bit of it, though briefly.

Some of the highlights and photos below.

1. Enjoying the wide scope of distinct flavors that is Japanese cuisine.



2. A evening at a Japanese professional baseball game. Sendai's own last-place Rakuten Eagles beat the first-place Hanshin Tigers 8-7 in 10 innings. A great game, and the baseball teams here have cheerleaders dressed in cowboy outfits.

3. Successfully communicating in Japanese to the train station officials, that my mother's shoe had fallen off while exiting the bullet train, and fallen between the train and the platform. After the train departed, they retrieved the shoe from the track with a grabber-on-a-long-pole.



4. A visit to the A-Bomb Memorial and Museum in Hiroshima. An extremely well done and sobering exhibit.




5. Nearly finishing off a plate of shabu-shabu that could have fed 8, with my father. Shabu-shabu is top grade beef, sliced very thin, and cooked for mere seconds in boiling water (along with an assortment of veggies) in a pot in the center of the table. With your chopsticks, you pick what you want from the pot, dip into a sesame or tare sauce, and then enjoy. My mother and aunt, not being big meat-eaters, left most of the beef to my father and me, much to our delight.

6. Many, many kilometers on the bullet train.



7. Visits to perhaps a dozen of the many thousands of temples, shrines, and gardens in this country, including Miyajima ("Shrine Island"), held to be one of the three most scenic views in Japan.

8. Schoolkids, both the numerous fieldtrip groups we encountered while sightseeing (many of whom asked for our autographs), and my own "groupies" (as my mother put it) at the school where I work, who were extremely excited to talk to my folks.



9. Fly-fishing with my dad, and catching our first fish (on a fly-rod at least) on the Asian continent.

10. Shopping in Naruko with my mom and aunt, and the chatty shopowner who pulled out stools and poured us green tea on the register counter.

11. And finally me, trying to explain, mostly unsuccessfully I think, the little that I know about this country and its people. A great part of having visitors is they observe through different eyes and have so many questions that I've never thought to ask...

"Kurage"

A friend, commenting on eating jellyfish:

"Its like eating rubberbands, but they taste great!"

I can't describe it any better than that.

Tentacles and all

Yesterday I met a couple local innkeepers for happy hour at a nearby noodle shop.

One of the appetizers: Jellyfish served on a bed of julienned cucumber. Surprisingly delicious.

In fact, I had eaten it several times before without realizing what it was. I've found its usually better if you don't ask.

Ain't no Slim Jim

The "dessert" on today's lunchtray?

Squid Jerky.

Good thing I had saved some milk so I could wash it down. Ick.

The rebels

From my introduction to the Japanese school system last August until the close of the previous school year in March, I was completely impressed with how well-behaved students are in class. Sure there are a few who like to cut-up in every class, but they are almost always easily manageable (and often you can feed off their energy). Almost all have a great deal of respect for their teachers and do what is expected of them. In short, the teachers speak, and the students listen/respond. Ideal.

Again this year, at the new school, most of the students are well-behaved. The 9th graders, with their all-important High School entrance examinations looming at the end of the year, are extremely studious. The 7th graders, in their first year of Junior High are mostly eager to impress.

Then there are the 8th graders. Disinterested, disruptive, disrespectful, and several other things, though none of them conducive to learning English. My co-teacher for this rowdy bunch is a first year teacher, like myself, and is equally as confused as I on how to manage them. For two reasons, it is rather impossible for me to discipline the students. One, I am an assistant teacher, and discipline is strictly the Japanese teacher's role. Two, I am neither encouraged nor sufficiently able to speak much Japanese in the classrom. My co-teacher is doing her best, but the students seem to have figured out that they can exploit her nervous and shy demeanor. Most perplexing for me is the evaporation of the rapport I built with these students as 7th graders. Students who enjoyed English last year, are now indifferent. Those who were indifferent, are now comtemptuous. As my father used to say, they need an attitude adjustment.

Today I discussed the situation with the head English teacher, an incredible instructor. Kind, understanding, patient, always encouraging, cheerful, and yet, without ever being negative or raising her voice, decidely firm. Students love her. Unfortunately, she has little time to help with the 8th graders, but she offered this advice to the other teacher and myself:

Be less strict, not more. Simplify the lessons, and make them more interactive. Forget about the textbook, it doesnt matter if they don't finish (Understand how UN-Japanese it is to not "go by the book"). And while teaching, make mistakes on purpose so students can relate to you (to translate the only Japanese proberb I know: "Even monkeys fall from trees").

Refreshing on two accounts. One, its comforting to know I have a great guide to learn from and two, I felt like my input was valued. The role of the ALT (assistant language teacher) is rather restricted, and its rare I have an opportunity to discuss education (not just lesson plans). Today my opinion was considered, and relayed to other teachers, who offered ideas (though mostly to my co-teacher) on how to correct the situation.