I Don't Know Why You Say Goodbye, I Say "Herro"

Last night, I went to an enkai (a Japanese work-related drinking function. I think I've made it clear in the past, but just to be sure...), and had a lot of fun. Enkais have been an amazing way for me to build a personal relationship with the teachers. It's a little bit of a bummer, but it seems that Japanese people don't really like to open up unless they've had a few drinks in them. I believe I've written about the important social function enkais serve in Japan; without them, people would just bottle things up and never let them out. In a country with a suicide rate as high as Japan's ("We're number one! We're number one!"), it's wonderful to let off a little steam every now and again.

The highlights of last night's enkai were numerous: I got to try my hand and Japanese conversation more-or-less successfully, I got to given a drunken farewell to many of my favorite teachers, I got to record some funny video of a Japanese guy telling me why he really likes Kevin Costner movies, etc. But, the most memorable moment was when the retiring Kochou (principal) gave his parting words to everyone assembled there.

He told us about how his mother had died in a hospital four years ago, and how at the time, he felt that was too busy with his work to go to see her in the hospital right away. She died before he got the chance. He said that there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't regret his having chosen his profession over his family, and reminded the teachers that working should not be the highest priority in their lives. This is a statement which strikes me as particularly against the Japanese character. Blanket statements are always lies, but working 14 hour days is a virtue in Japan, and I've heard from many younger Japanese people that they don't really know their father because he hardly came home while they were growing up. If you don't believe me, you can check the stats on how many people die from exhaustion due to overworking in Japan. Like suicide, I believe they're number one in the world.

In any case, after shedding a few tears (again, fairly uncharacteristic), the Kochou said "My mother is gone, and I cannot bring her back. But my father is still alive. Tomorrow, I retire. And I will spend all day with my father. Please consider this, in the future." I'm really going to miss him.


Today was the first day of the new staff's arrival. Of course, I thought today would be a little relaxed, consider that everyone at the enkai last night was getting pretty hammered. As usual, my assumptions proved incorrect. I made it unfortunately obvious that I am a slacker. Wearing a hoodie, slightly worn trousers, and a three-day beard, I sauntered into the office, nursing a slight hangover, at 11am. ...To be greeted with all the new faces. But, hey, I guess I am a slacker, and you get what you see. No lie.

It was a bit like stepping into Bizarro World, though. All the same desks, same positions, occupied by all these new faces. To the occasional visitor, it would appear that nothing is changed at all. But, they had. It's strange, because Japan is a very title-based society. You can call someone "sensei" instead of their real name. The principal is never referred to by name, but by "kochou". So, for me, hearing someone ask the kochou something, and having a stranger reply - as if he is the kochou ... which he now is - is a bit unnerving. In a way, those positions served as the names of all the people I work with. And now the names and functions are the same, but the faces and personalities have all changed.