Archive for March, 2005
March 15th, 2005
Yesterday, I was privileged enough to attend the graduation ceremonies at Hagishou Junior High, one of my favourite schools. Donning my tie for the first time in a long time, I cycled in the ever-improving spring weather to the 200-strong school South of Ichinoseki.
I didn’t really know what to expect from the ceremony. Graduations are a significant affair here in Japan and each transition to a new school level is rewarded with a graduation event. I don’t recall any such formal events marking my exit from elementary or junior high school, but here, they’re the norm.
Red and white fabric hung from the walls of the gymnasium while the heaters roared their warmth into the normally chilly space. The first and second-years of the school sang as the graduating third-years stoically filed into their seats. Speeches, songs and parchment presentations filled the schedule until all of the graduating class was positioned in tiers at the front of the gym with girls on the left and boys on the right.
There, the somber stoicism continued as the entire class recited a speech with each student completing a new line. And then the crying began’
As soon as one girl stumbled through her line as she began to sob, a trend was set. Few of the girls retained their composure and the graduation started to feel more like a funeral.
Next on the schedule was for all of these now sobbing children to sing together. Thus far, each of the songs echoing in the gym had been flowery, sentimental melodies laden with melodrama. You could easily visualize the videos that would play behind the text at karaoke for these tunes:
A young Japanese couple wistfully strolls through a park in autumn. Hand in hand, they gaze longingly at each other. They reach the edge of the park. The girl must continue one to leave the boy standing alone. Cut to a shot of their hands separating. Cut to a shot of the distance between the two figures increasing as the girl can’t help looking back on her forlorn former love. Cut to a shot the last leaf falling from a tree branch. Fade to black’
Of course these students are going to weep during such schmaltzy songs. Japanese kids eat this stuff up. So, while trying to sing what was undoubtedly some anthem for change and rebirth, the girls sniffed and sobbed forming a background noise like the hisses and pops of a dusty record.
The weeping youth eventually departed the gym, again ushered out by emotive melodies. The ceremony had finished and left me wondering when they actually got to celebrate this period in their lives.
Fortunately, a short time later, all of the kids were back in the gym for photos and their glassy eyes were now shining. Friends hugged and cameras flashed while parents posed with happy graduates. A good number of my students paid me the compliment of asking me to pose with them for photos and I flashed the peace sign with the best of ‘em.
Of course, Toshie, the girl with the crush, was ecstatic to see me. All of her friends lined to get a shot of us together: Toshie and her future husband’
I mingled with the kids and even did a couple celebratory chest bumps. That doesn’t compare with Josh, however, he told me in an email later that day that his students managed to pick him up and toss him in the air. An impressive feat considering Josh’s respectable height.
The students continued their mingling outside as they bid farewell to their school and their teachers. More handshaking, hugs and photos ensued and waves goodbye with jovial chants of ‘See you!’ punctuated the day’s events.
What a gift to watch these people grow. These third-years have been some of my favourite students to meet. They’re an outgoing group and always made a great effort to communicate with me in English as well as teach me Japanese. I have so many great memories with them and I wish them all the best.
March 15th, 2005
10:30 am
My guess is that the most remarkable thing that will happen here at the office today has already occurred. At the end of this minor catastrophe, Michiko-san’s desk was covered in coffee. Her miniature computer, calculator, papers and cell-phone all received a liberal dousing and now reek of something resembling barf.
I have no idea what prompted it, but it must have been a spectacular twitch to set so much coffee flying. My theory is that a Japanese elementary student was running loose in the Board of Education offices and snuck up behind Michiko-san to deliver a tragically on-target Kancho. If you don’t know what a Kancho is, you have obviously never taught at the elementary level in Japan’
Basically, Kancho is a bizarre ‘game’ the kids play where they clasp their hands together with their index fingers pointing upwards. Well, those two little index fingers need someplace to poke. What better place to put them than in someone’s unsuspecting ass. Yup, it’s a bum-poking game.
What strikes me as particularly odd about this game is that there really are no winners. Obviously, anyone who ends up with two fingers in their rear is on the wrong end of invasive tomfoolery. But, really, can the proprietor of those two fingers truly be called a winner? I mean, your fingers were just in someone else’s ass crack for Buddha’s sake. No hero cookie for you my friend’
Now, I haven’t exactly done a lot of research on the subject, but someone mentioned to me that there is actually a Kancho video game in Korea where you guide those same pointed fingers towards the posteriors of unsuspecting, bent-over animated characters on the screen. The more accurate you are with your penetrating prod, the more surprised the character will be and the greater reaction you will receive.
So, to the Kancho ninja who so stealthily maneuvered behind Michiko-san and prompted the coffee explosion. Congrats dude, I think you just got a high score.
March 13th, 2005
Battling a cold and the exhausting side effects of my ongoing steroid treatment, I decided yesterday afternoon’s warmth wasn’t going to be lost on me. The rising spring temperatures necessitated a departure from my cloistered apartment.
Of late, a favourite location for afternoon wanderings has been the banks of the river. There, Siberian swans make their winter home and mingle with the other local water foul - ducks galore. The slow-moving, shallow river is an ideal place for the birds to flock in the middle of the city. Families swoop down the river’s embankments with bread and birdseed a plenty and a virtual torrent of gastronomic delights showers over the rivers residents.
The river is always a relaxing place for me to visit. I can always find something there to fill the frame of my camera. The swans and ducks are usually willing (and challenging) subjects and families fronted by cute Japanese kids are frequently mingling with the birds. Occasionally, some other surprise shows up too - last week, I witnessed 20 men learning how to carve wooden owls using chainsaws. I love these random encounters.
But yesterday, my random encounter of the day wasn’t quite as amusing as watching 20 grown men learn to create art using power tools.
It began as I was taking photos of my feathered friends. Since I have become a semi-regular patron of the riverbank, I have started to become attuned to the behaviour of some of the birds. At least, I can now sense when their behaviour is abnormal. Today, the ducks seemed to have something disturbing their watery peace. With a noticeable frequency, large groups of ducks simultaneously were taking flight, circling around in the sky and skimming back down in another section of the river. With limited ornithological knowledge, I guessed something was bothering them, but had no idea what.
I didn’t think too much of it drew my camera from my bag. Crouching down to put myself at eye level with the swans, I was approached by an old man who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. He had been feeding the ducks and swans and seemed curious about my camera.
Now, some of the Japanese people I meet are much better at communicating with this ignorant foreigner than others. If they can speak English, they try to use it. If they can’t, they dumb down their Japanese so that I have a chance to follow them with my rudimentary knowledge of the language. Combine that with animated gestures and expressions and usually we can cross the cultural divide - messages get successfully transmitted and received.
This miniature man, however, was not so accommodating. Barely having to stoop down to put his eyes level with mine in a crouching position, his words came quickly and didn’t slow even when they were only met with my repeated responses of, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’ He didn’t relent and continued to ask me questions about who knows what. Usually, I can catch a word or two and can start to assemble some intelligible information, but he didn’t seem to want to give me any simple words to work with.
Eventually tiring of my inability to comprehend his questions, he wandered off to feed more ducks and left me to continue my photographic pursuits in peace.
Shortly thereafter, however, I heard a strange sound and turned to see another group of ducks quickly taking flight. The only person near that now fluttering mass of feathers was the old man. Looking slightly closer, I noticed something in his hands besides his bag full of birdseed and bread. He was turned away, so I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a slingshot.
Shocked, I tried to get a better look, but his hands didn’t reveal their cargo. He wandered up the bank of the river to another group of docile ducks bobbing near the shore. He slowly approached them and, sure enough, quickly loaded and took aim with his weapon and proceeded to pelt a duck with his missile.
The duck was not killed, but he was obviously hurt by the attack. The other ducks from the same group had taken flight and the victim of the shot was now hobbling up onto the shore. The old man slowly took a couple of steps towards it before it was able to shake off its injury and take to the sky.
Meanwhile I was striding towards him, asking what on earth he was doing. I wasn’t about to start flipping through my phrasebook to try to get to the bottom of this. Japanese doesn’t exactly roll off my tongue at the best of times, but with an elevated temper, there was no way anything remotely close to a real sentence was going to be formed by my lips.
‘What are you doing? Why are you shooting ducks?’ Was about all I could stammer out. I kept asking him ‘Why?’ in Japanese and for all I know, he answered me and gave me some explanation, but I couldn’t make any sense of his responses to my angry questions. I did, however, remain composed - he could easily have gotten more of a verbal offensive than he did.
But all the while, I got a sense from him that he knew he was doing something wrong. I can’t say exactly what tipped me in that direction, but he didn’t seem like he was defending himself with any sort of self-righteousness.
With me angrily shaking my head at him, and both of our words failing to reach their mark, he started wandering further down the bank of the river. Bewildered by the exchange, I tried to determine if there was some good reason for his actions. Given the information I had, I just couldn’t see how it was okay for him to arm himself with a slingshot in the middle of the city to try to pick off ducks in an area frequented by families.
I decided there wasn’t going to be any more ducks hurt by this man today. He slowly ambled away, but constantly kept turning back to see if I was looking at him. Indeed, my icy glare greeted him each time and he nervously turned back towards his path.
As he approached another group of unsuspecting ducks, I followed at a distance. He stopped next to them and appeared ready to repeat his previous actions, but he took one look at me and apprehensively restarted his walk. He continued on to a distant park bench where he sat and continued glancing in my direction. Not having a tight schedule for the afternoon, I was free to remain in position, at the ready to shoo him away from the riverbank if necessary. Not on my watch, buddy.
He eventually yielded and I saw him wander over the embankment. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to be bothering the ducks any more, I strolled to a nearby tennis court where a group of my students were practicing. While I chatted with them, I noticed the man was now sitting inside the tennis courts watching the practice. I don’t know if he was somehow related to any of the students, but he didn’t remain there long. I didn’t see him leave, but when I was departing the courts, I saw him walking his bike away. He noticed me and resumed his uncomfortable backwards glances in my direction as I steered myself in the other direction.
I’m confident he didn’t return to the river that day, but I have no idea if he makes a habit of inner city hunting. Hopefully, the thought of the scary, duck-defending gaijin is enough of a deterrent and he won’t be disturbing the peace of the riverbank again soon.
March 1st, 2005
1:40 pm
My Hagishou girlfriend has struck again. At lunch time, two of dear Toshie’s friends entered the teacher’s room with a Hello-Kitty-adorned gift bag in hand and presented it to me. They stammered out, ‘From Toshie,’ and giggled when I reacted to the cuteness of her crush.
As they laughed and left the room, I opened the package to find one heart-shaped chocolate wrapped in pink foil, a bag filled with incredibly delicious soft chocolates (I want more of these, they really were wonderful) and a letter from Toshie. Her note reads as follows:
‘This is a little days late valentine’s chocolate. I heard you come today. So I made it yesterday. Be my valentine! I love you.
I will graduate from Hagishou junior high school soon. So let’s keep in touch. Let’s exchange letters.
Please write me back if you have time.
Lots of love,
Toshie’
She neatly transcribed her address in both Japanese and English and also provided her email. I can’t really think of too many reasons not to give her my email. The only concern I would have is that it might get passed around among the students resulting in a few unsolicited messages, but that probably wouldn’t be a big deal. I could tell her it was secret too. She’d probably like that.
March 1st, 2005
10:00 am
I’m fairly tired of being preoccupied with my eye. I would like to be able to move on and resume a normal life (insofar as that is possible for me here in Japan), but every time I look at something, I am reminded of my niggling concern.
In a way, becoming focused on this one worry has been beneficial. All my other cares fell by the wayside and healing myself became my one and only priority. The only real stress I’ve felt has been related to my health. Problems that once kept me awake at night have been swept off the table.
But now, as my eye begins to heal, I have to find some way of tidying up the messes without getting overwhelmed again. This ordeal has brought in a little perspective, so I hope that will sustain me for a while. I do feel a certain carpe diem drive that hasn’t been present for a couple months, so maybe I’ll be able to ignore the door when my troubles come knocking.
Of course, as soon as I write about getting better, I notice a new symptom. I’m now seeing small spots. Maybe one at a time will dance through my vision like a fly on potato salad. When I try to look at them, they dart off and can only be found in the periphery. Let’s hope that’s a symptom that doesn’t last long.
March 1st, 2005
I’m sure I must look like a bit of a curiosity right now. I’m melting in my chair from exhaustion and wearing sunglasses inside the teachers’ room at Hagishou Junior High. The teachers all now seem to know of my eye’s condition, but any student that sees me today is just going to think I’m hungover or something. If only there was an equal part of pleasure to go with this pain’
I have had my one and only class today and managed to stumble through it without too much trouble. If I didn’t have Prednisone coursing through my veins at present, I would be feeling chipper and playing basketball in gym class with the kids right now. That’s a bit more fun than chronicling this dreary disease afflicting me.
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