I was thinking the other day about how confusing Japanese names can be within an English-speaking context. It's an interesting fact that Japan's English-speaking skills are among the lowest in Asia, despite the American influence since the post-World War II era. If you look at an itemized list, Japan ranks just above Mongolia and just under every other country in Asia in terms of average English level. Despite ALTs like myself in Japan for more than 20 years, the level is still lower than other major Asian countries. And I began to wonder ... maybe it was because of the names?
Take for example a few common female names: Ai, Yuu, Mi, Mai. Ai (I), Yuu (You), Mi (Me) and Mai (My) are pretty common among the girls I'm teaching in Jr. High. In Japanese, you don't conjugate verbs for person or gender, so encountering a linguistic system that does has got to be difficult in the first place, but with these specific names, it can be near impossible to conjugate correctly, or get a sense of the English system.
For example: Mai's dog likes Yuu. Yuu is a Dr. Yuu is Mi's father. Mi likes Ai. Ai is Mai's dog.
Exactly. No wonder we have students saying "You's likes Me's shoes?" and other such nonsense.
On another note altogether, Big-Mouth-sensei is quite the character. I'm not sure that I've properly introduced him, however. Apparently, he's very wealthy, and he loves to tell everyone about it. If I ask him how his lunch was, he'll reply "IT WAS VERY CHEAP! I DIDN'T LIKE IT!" Of course, if it was expensive, it was delicious. Such is the mind of Big-Mouth-sensei.
The fact that he is constantly yelling (many theories have been bandied about; some say he is partially deaf, others claim that he enjoys the sounds of his voice so much that he thinks everyone else in shouting-range must, too) is funny enough. But, he's got a wonderful store about a former student that always leaves me in stitches.
There was a former student who used to have a fondness for other people's weiners. By a few accounts, he always managed to sneak a handful of manhood from the former ALTs or Japanese teachers. Luckily, I've mostly escaped such behavior during my tenure in and about my town, but this particular student was notorious for it. Anyway, Big-Mouth-sensei was trying to describe it to me in his peculiar way of speaking English, and could only manage to say "HE BEAT MY PENIS! HE ... WOULD ... BEAT IT!" at a volume that all in the teacher's room could hear. And, while the average level of English is fairly low, there were a few English teachers around. In addition, the word "penis" has been transliterated into Japanese, and everyone is aware of what it means. Granted, Big-Mouth-sensei meant to say that this student was a little rough with the equipment in his perverted attempts, but sometimes, rather than something being lost in the translation, sometimes a little something can get picked up; it often makes for a good laugh.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Young Americans in Saigon, Old Souls in Shinjuku.
In less than one month, Japan will be celebrating Golden Week - a string of national holidays through a week, not counting weekends. Something like, Tuesday, Wednesday Friday off one week, Monday, Tuesday, Thursday off the next. So, with some crafty use of personal days, one can score a long trip without much hassle from one's workplace.
I have an announcement to make. I am going to Vietnam during Golden Week. It's something that I've always wanted to do since I've been aware of the American war there. It's not the war that motivates my trip - though it will be rather interesting for me to go there, since some of my family served during the war - it's something else. The strange blend of South-East Asian culture and French influence, the communism, the long strip of land united by a N-S railway.
There's something specifically about it's linear N-S orientation to piques my interest; the trip is so clear to me. Into Hanoi, train to Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), cross into Cambodia, and fly back to Japan from Phnom Penh. It's a vacation and an adventure and a linear narrative all at the same time. I'm very excited, and I will take lots of pictures, which I will post after I return in early May. That said, there will be a probable hiatus during my trip, as internet may be hard to find. Even if we find it, I may eschew it. I need a break from the internet as much as I do from my day-to-day life, if the two can be separated. I'm going with some good friends, and it should be an excellent time. My goals are flexible and my mind is open; I'm very excited.
Now, onto something completely unrelated. If you know much about Tokyo, or Japan in general, the name Shinjuku probably means something to you. Yes? No? Well, click to refresh your memory, anyway. It is the busiest train station in the entire world, serving 3.64 million people in a single day. Every day. If you've read the Wikipedia entry, you'll know that it also has more than 200 exits.
I've had several adventures around Shinjuku, and I've heard many horror stories. I've only recently experienced my own, which has led me to forever swear off using Shinjuku station. It appears to have a supernatural ability to confuse and disorient all who are not frequent visitors. I was supposed to meet me friend at the West exit of Shinjuku station during the tail end of rush hour, which meant that I was at all times (on the train, on the platform, in the exit hallways) touching at least one other human being, and sometimes as many as four or five. Not out of choice, mind, but simple lack of space. As I pushed my way through the crowd towards the West Exit signs, it became less and less clear which way was the West Exit. Instead of a simple West Exit sign, I began to see West Underground Exit signs, West Skyscraper District signs, Northwest Exit, etc. Everything but a West exit sign. One corridor was labelled as JR Lines West Exit, only when I proceeded through the gate, all the signs pointed toward the East Exit.
It was a Kafka-esque nightmare world.
I would ask for directions from an attendant, to discern which was the true West exit, only to be pointed in a different direction every time. After thirty minutes, I had a bit of a mental breakdown, and retreated to a corner to call my friend and find out how he managed to find his way through the disorienting and Byzantine corridors of the station to the West Exit; only to find that he was indeed at a different station altogether (due to a miscommunication or misunderstanding that I maintain was on his part), and that there was no "West Exit" at Shinjuku station at all.
Usually, I would have been a little peeved at wasting my time wandering through a mass of humanity and running the risk of losing my mind. But, I was just so pleased that the horror I encountered was really just a miscommunication, and not a M. C. Escher painting from which there was no real escape. I heaved a sigh of relief and arrived, more than an hour late, from my own personal Hell; Shinjuku station.
I have an announcement to make. I am going to Vietnam during Golden Week. It's something that I've always wanted to do since I've been aware of the American war there. It's not the war that motivates my trip - though it will be rather interesting for me to go there, since some of my family served during the war - it's something else. The strange blend of South-East Asian culture and French influence, the communism, the long strip of land united by a N-S railway.
There's something specifically about it's linear N-S orientation to piques my interest; the trip is so clear to me. Into Hanoi, train to Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), cross into Cambodia, and fly back to Japan from Phnom Penh. It's a vacation and an adventure and a linear narrative all at the same time. I'm very excited, and I will take lots of pictures, which I will post after I return in early May. That said, there will be a probable hiatus during my trip, as internet may be hard to find. Even if we find it, I may eschew it. I need a break from the internet as much as I do from my day-to-day life, if the two can be separated. I'm going with some good friends, and it should be an excellent time. My goals are flexible and my mind is open; I'm very excited.
Now, onto something completely unrelated. If you know much about Tokyo, or Japan in general, the name Shinjuku probably means something to you. Yes? No? Well, click to refresh your memory, anyway. It is the busiest train station in the entire world, serving 3.64 million people in a single day. Every day. If you've read the Wikipedia entry, you'll know that it also has more than 200 exits.
I've had several adventures around Shinjuku, and I've heard many horror stories. I've only recently experienced my own, which has led me to forever swear off using Shinjuku station. It appears to have a supernatural ability to confuse and disorient all who are not frequent visitors. I was supposed to meet me friend at the West exit of Shinjuku station during the tail end of rush hour, which meant that I was at all times (on the train, on the platform, in the exit hallways) touching at least one other human being, and sometimes as many as four or five. Not out of choice, mind, but simple lack of space. As I pushed my way through the crowd towards the West Exit signs, it became less and less clear which way was the West Exit. Instead of a simple West Exit sign, I began to see West Underground Exit signs, West Skyscraper District signs, Northwest Exit, etc. Everything but a West exit sign. One corridor was labelled as JR Lines West Exit, only when I proceeded through the gate, all the signs pointed toward the East Exit.
It was a Kafka-esque nightmare world.
I would ask for directions from an attendant, to discern which was the true West exit, only to be pointed in a different direction every time. After thirty minutes, I had a bit of a mental breakdown, and retreated to a corner to call my friend and find out how he managed to find his way through the disorienting and Byzantine corridors of the station to the West Exit; only to find that he was indeed at a different station altogether (due to a miscommunication or misunderstanding that I maintain was on his part), and that there was no "West Exit" at Shinjuku station at all.
Usually, I would have been a little peeved at wasting my time wandering through a mass of humanity and running the risk of losing my mind. But, I was just so pleased that the horror I encountered was really just a miscommunication, and not a M. C. Escher painting from which there was no real escape. I heaved a sigh of relief and arrived, more than an hour late, from my own personal Hell; Shinjuku station.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Spiders from Mars
Quick update. Spring is definitely back. The HUGE spider-family that was living directly outside my front door are back. Totally back.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Hanami, Penis Festivals and Me
It's beautiful. It's iconically Japanese. It's more season-specific than going to the beach or going skiing, much to the dismay of every Japanese poet, ever. It's Hanami.
Hanami (hana = flower, mi = viewing) is a solely Japanese past time. And it's an enjoyable one at that. For a week or two every spring, the sakura (cherry tree) offers up it's momentary bounty of wonderful light-pink/almost-white flowers. In a park area with hundreds of sakura trees, it can turn the low horizontal band of the sky a pinkish white, completely altering the park, turning it into a surreal, cartoon-Heaven-like atmosphere.
The cherry blossom stands in for Japan as an international symbol, as well as a poetic metaphor, and it is rivalled only by the chrysanthemum, the imperial flower, in these capacities (though, imperial regalia has lost most of it's national importance after WWII). Poets have focused on the temporal nature of the surreal atmosphere which heralds the official defeat of winter. The flowers fragility, transient nature and light colors clearly illustrate the Japanese aesthetic of appreciating the full beauty of nature; in both it's apex and decline. The keshiki (view) is wonderful, but so is the idea that hanami exists in a specific moment in time, and must be enjoyed on its own time; often blooming for only a week to ten days.
For hundreds of years, hanami has served as a kind of seasonal picnic for the Japanese. And if hanging out in a warm, Heaven-like environment doesn't sound good enough, add alcohol. Sometimes, I love the Japanese way of doing things. I've heard stories about the rookies in corporate offices staking out the best places in Yoyogi Park (akin to New York's Central Park), in the early hours of the morning, and simply staying on a tarp all day until their bosses and coworkers come to drink after work. It's that important. And while that story was told to me with an air that such expectations of social inferiors are unreasonable ... it would be hard for me to be angry about being ordered to sit in a beautiful park all day, waiting for the booze to arrive and enjoying nature in the meantime.
My Tokyo friends and I did hanami Saturday night, and it was wonderful. Although I couldn't really see very far because of the darkness, we were underneath a tree whose white flowers contrasted with everything else around us. It's strange for me to describe, because there's nothing similar back home. It's as if everything is covered in snow, but it's not cold, and all the snow smells like cherries, and sometimes the breeze will send some of the petals showering down on us.
Of course, there were a lot of other Gaijin doing the same thing; quite a lot of tourists, too, which provided some cringe-worthy reminders of what Americans can be like on vacation. It was still wonderful, though. Someone was throwing a techno dance party 50 yards away, there was all kinds of carnival food, and plenty of beer. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera, though I suspect I can get my friends' shots of the night.
And then the Penis Festival. Masturi (festivals) are incredibly important for Japanese cities. Every Japanese city is "famous" for something, and it usually has a seasonal festival. My city prides itself on it's strawberries, and the shinto shrines probably put on some kind of strawberry festival to bring a few tourists into the city, but also to have a banner of some kind to unite the city under; to give it some kind of identity.
And the city I went to you prides itself on it's penis identity, I suppose. There is an old story about the origins of the Penis Matsuri, which, though I'd love to relate to you in my own words, is probably best for you to read on Wikipedia ... just so you believe me. Wiener. There you are. I particularly liked the transexual men carrying the giant pink penis up and down the street while dolled up in drag. Man, if I knew it was gonna be that kind of party, I would've shown up drunk.
In any case, it was a really wonderful day, full of (extremely predictable) dick jokes, and phallus-shaped novelty foods. "Would you like a sausage?" "Can I get you some meat on a stick?" "Would you care for a penis-shaped lollipop?" I bought several of each. The only trouble with eating a lollipop shaped like a penis is that ... it's shaped like a penis. So, I can't really eat it in public, and I feel a little awkward about eating it in private; it's like I'm doing something dirty! I ate one at the festival, because hey, the atmosphere was pretty accepting. It was extremely off-putting, however, to see small children eating them. I understand that kids like suckers, and I understand that, as Freud could claim, "sometimes a sucker is just a sucker," but it made me uncomfortable.
In any case, I have a handful of penis-shaped lollipops. I affectionately call them cocksuckers.
Hanami (hana = flower, mi = viewing) is a solely Japanese past time. And it's an enjoyable one at that. For a week or two every spring, the sakura (cherry tree) offers up it's momentary bounty of wonderful light-pink/almost-white flowers. In a park area with hundreds of sakura trees, it can turn the low horizontal band of the sky a pinkish white, completely altering the park, turning it into a surreal, cartoon-Heaven-like atmosphere.
The cherry blossom stands in for Japan as an international symbol, as well as a poetic metaphor, and it is rivalled only by the chrysanthemum, the imperial flower, in these capacities (though, imperial regalia has lost most of it's national importance after WWII). Poets have focused on the temporal nature of the surreal atmosphere which heralds the official defeat of winter. The flowers fragility, transient nature and light colors clearly illustrate the Japanese aesthetic of appreciating the full beauty of nature; in both it's apex and decline. The keshiki (view) is wonderful, but so is the idea that hanami exists in a specific moment in time, and must be enjoyed on its own time; often blooming for only a week to ten days.
For hundreds of years, hanami has served as a kind of seasonal picnic for the Japanese. And if hanging out in a warm, Heaven-like environment doesn't sound good enough, add alcohol. Sometimes, I love the Japanese way of doing things. I've heard stories about the rookies in corporate offices staking out the best places in Yoyogi Park (akin to New York's Central Park), in the early hours of the morning, and simply staying on a tarp all day until their bosses and coworkers come to drink after work. It's that important. And while that story was told to me with an air that such expectations of social inferiors are unreasonable ... it would be hard for me to be angry about being ordered to sit in a beautiful park all day, waiting for the booze to arrive and enjoying nature in the meantime.
My Tokyo friends and I did hanami Saturday night, and it was wonderful. Although I couldn't really see very far because of the darkness, we were underneath a tree whose white flowers contrasted with everything else around us. It's strange for me to describe, because there's nothing similar back home. It's as if everything is covered in snow, but it's not cold, and all the snow smells like cherries, and sometimes the breeze will send some of the petals showering down on us.
Of course, there were a lot of other Gaijin doing the same thing; quite a lot of tourists, too, which provided some cringe-worthy reminders of what Americans can be like on vacation. It was still wonderful, though. Someone was throwing a techno dance party 50 yards away, there was all kinds of carnival food, and plenty of beer. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera, though I suspect I can get my friends' shots of the night.
And then the Penis Festival. Masturi (festivals) are incredibly important for Japanese cities. Every Japanese city is "famous" for something, and it usually has a seasonal festival. My city prides itself on it's strawberries, and the shinto shrines probably put on some kind of strawberry festival to bring a few tourists into the city, but also to have a banner of some kind to unite the city under; to give it some kind of identity.
And the city I went to you prides itself on it's penis identity, I suppose. There is an old story about the origins of the Penis Matsuri, which, though I'd love to relate to you in my own words, is probably best for you to read on Wikipedia ... just so you believe me. Wiener. There you are. I particularly liked the transexual men carrying the giant pink penis up and down the street while dolled up in drag. Man, if I knew it was gonna be that kind of party, I would've shown up drunk.
In any case, it was a really wonderful day, full of (extremely predictable) dick jokes, and phallus-shaped novelty foods. "Would you like a sausage?" "Can I get you some meat on a stick?" "Would you care for a penis-shaped lollipop?" I bought several of each. The only trouble with eating a lollipop shaped like a penis is that ... it's shaped like a penis. So, I can't really eat it in public, and I feel a little awkward about eating it in private; it's like I'm doing something dirty! I ate one at the festival, because hey, the atmosphere was pretty accepting. It was extremely off-putting, however, to see small children eating them. I understand that kids like suckers, and I understand that, as Freud could claim, "sometimes a sucker is just a sucker," but it made me uncomfortable.
In any case, I have a handful of penis-shaped lollipops. I affectionately call them cocksuckers.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, March 27, 2009
The Good News, Open Secrets and Poor Communication Skills.
Good news. It's really been a while since I've had a lot of good news. I mean, daily life is generally pretty incredible, and that's good news. But it's been a while since I've gotten good news from my employers. It seems like the very few times where my employers have actually contacted me to tell me something, it was always a change in my job that made things more frustrating or difficult. So, it's extremely pleasant to get some information that makes things a little easier.
I had resigned myself to the horrors of the elementary school - possibly every day until my return to America. Really, I'd just much prefer to have it sparsely distributed through my workweek/month. And it's not that I can't stand going at all. But, much like Bartleby the Scrivener, I'd prefer not.
So, imagine my surprise after hearing the news from the elementary school meeting (that, again, I wasn't invited to attend), and found that they had decided to eliminate the month-long blocks of elementary school. Instead, both Nigel and I will be pulling two-week stints of
Monday: Jr. High
Tuesday: School 1 (me), School 4 (Nigel)
Wednesday: School 2 (me), School 5 (Nigel)
Thursday: School 3 (me), School 6 (Nigel)
Friday: Jr. High.
Which is nice, right? I only have three days in a row at any time, and I can relax over the weekend, and not get rushed back into elementary school. It makes me feel much better about the coming months, knowing that I won't be dealing with the youngest students on a constant basis. And, it's only from May-June! So, April and July, I can enjoy my regular schedule at the Jr. High. So, I'm pleased. Very pleased.
Now, onto something that might strike you as odd. In Japan, not only does the school year stretch from April to March, but at the start of every year, 1/10th of the teachers perform the new school shuffle. That is, due to some unknown Japanese laws, teachers must switch schools every few years, with no less than 10 percent of school staff (including secretaries and tea-ladies) being exchanged with other schools. In the abstract, I suppose this makes sense. For instance, if there's a great teacher, they'll be spread around the different schools to teach a much broader base of students. That way, the school system doesn't have strong single schools, but strong regions, within which the exchanges occur.
But in reality, it doesn't always seem to play out that well. Take for instance Table-tennis Sensei (who is, incidentally, awesome at table-tennis). He teaches the special students at the Jr. High, and the kids have really grown to be totally dependent on him. At school events, one of the students always seeks him out for cues on behavior, and when the student begins to misbehave, Table-tennis Sensei just needs to speak to him. None of the other teachers seem to be able to calm the students down as well as Table-tennis sensei. But, his years are up, and now he'll be going to a new school. And the disabled students will just be left to deal with his replacement, though I'm not sure a few of them will be able to understand why he left in the first place.
One of the most frustrating things about these new assignments (at least to this gaijin), is that they are supposed to be a secret, despite the fact that the teachers are told a month ahead of time. But the very process of informing the teachers that they'll need to move, and the associated packing and everything, makes it totally obvious who is leaving and who is staying, with very few surprises. Despite this open knowledge, everyone has to pretend that they don't know who's leaving in April. And even the teachers who know their leaving can't tell anyone at school! Not their students (who will come back in April expecting to see their teachers, and instead be told that they're now working two towns away), not their fellow teachers, nobody.
It seems like this bizarre policy of open secrets is pretty widespread through the Japanese school system. And possibly, a lot of the communication issues I've had with my BOE stem from these same types of open secrets. Perhaps because the previous schedule change was so well known in their office, when I was actually informed about it, it was old news that nobody wanted to think about any more. Or, take for instance, Nigel's case. He wants to stay and teach in our town, and has been waiting for six months to hear a positive or negative reply from the man in charge. At this point, the BOE certainly has to know what course of action they'll be persuing come next August, but for whatever reason, there's an obvious hesitation to communicate it to Nigel. Which is a shame, because Nigel's waiting to know what he'll need to be doing in the fall; find a new job, find a new place to live in another town, go back to England, etc.
In short, it seems like many of the issues plaguing the ALT experience stem from these types of cultural differences in communication practices that don't seem to make any sense from a western perspective. Only, it isn't just us who are confused! Many of the teachers are extremely frustrated to have to move to new schools at the drop of a every few years. The main difference between us and them is that they're much less willing to voice their opposition.
Anyway, many teachers are leaving, and we're getting a new principal. I hope the environment doesn't alter too much for the worse. We'll see.
I had resigned myself to the horrors of the elementary school - possibly every day until my return to America. Really, I'd just much prefer to have it sparsely distributed through my workweek/month. And it's not that I can't stand going at all. But, much like Bartleby the Scrivener, I'd prefer not.
So, imagine my surprise after hearing the news from the elementary school meeting (that, again, I wasn't invited to attend), and found that they had decided to eliminate the month-long blocks of elementary school. Instead, both Nigel and I will be pulling two-week stints of
Monday: Jr. High
Tuesday: School 1 (me), School 4 (Nigel)
Wednesday: School 2 (me), School 5 (Nigel)
Thursday: School 3 (me), School 6 (Nigel)
Friday: Jr. High.
Which is nice, right? I only have three days in a row at any time, and I can relax over the weekend, and not get rushed back into elementary school. It makes me feel much better about the coming months, knowing that I won't be dealing with the youngest students on a constant basis. And, it's only from May-June! So, April and July, I can enjoy my regular schedule at the Jr. High. So, I'm pleased. Very pleased.
Now, onto something that might strike you as odd. In Japan, not only does the school year stretch from April to March, but at the start of every year, 1/10th of the teachers perform the new school shuffle. That is, due to some unknown Japanese laws, teachers must switch schools every few years, with no less than 10 percent of school staff (including secretaries and tea-ladies) being exchanged with other schools. In the abstract, I suppose this makes sense. For instance, if there's a great teacher, they'll be spread around the different schools to teach a much broader base of students. That way, the school system doesn't have strong single schools, but strong regions, within which the exchanges occur.
But in reality, it doesn't always seem to play out that well. Take for instance Table-tennis Sensei (who is, incidentally, awesome at table-tennis). He teaches the special students at the Jr. High, and the kids have really grown to be totally dependent on him. At school events, one of the students always seeks him out for cues on behavior, and when the student begins to misbehave, Table-tennis Sensei just needs to speak to him. None of the other teachers seem to be able to calm the students down as well as Table-tennis sensei. But, his years are up, and now he'll be going to a new school. And the disabled students will just be left to deal with his replacement, though I'm not sure a few of them will be able to understand why he left in the first place.
One of the most frustrating things about these new assignments (at least to this gaijin), is that they are supposed to be a secret, despite the fact that the teachers are told a month ahead of time. But the very process of informing the teachers that they'll need to move, and the associated packing and everything, makes it totally obvious who is leaving and who is staying, with very few surprises. Despite this open knowledge, everyone has to pretend that they don't know who's leaving in April. And even the teachers who know their leaving can't tell anyone at school! Not their students (who will come back in April expecting to see their teachers, and instead be told that they're now working two towns away), not their fellow teachers, nobody.
It seems like this bizarre policy of open secrets is pretty widespread through the Japanese school system. And possibly, a lot of the communication issues I've had with my BOE stem from these same types of open secrets. Perhaps because the previous schedule change was so well known in their office, when I was actually informed about it, it was old news that nobody wanted to think about any more. Or, take for instance, Nigel's case. He wants to stay and teach in our town, and has been waiting for six months to hear a positive or negative reply from the man in charge. At this point, the BOE certainly has to know what course of action they'll be persuing come next August, but for whatever reason, there's an obvious hesitation to communicate it to Nigel. Which is a shame, because Nigel's waiting to know what he'll need to be doing in the fall; find a new job, find a new place to live in another town, go back to England, etc.
In short, it seems like many of the issues plaguing the ALT experience stem from these types of cultural differences in communication practices that don't seem to make any sense from a western perspective. Only, it isn't just us who are confused! Many of the teachers are extremely frustrated to have to move to new schools at the drop of a every few years. The main difference between us and them is that they're much less willing to voice their opposition.
Anyway, many teachers are leaving, and we're getting a new principal. I hope the environment doesn't alter too much for the worse. We'll see.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Ninja Bar, etc.
Oh my God, you guys. Oh my God. I went to a ninja bar. A bar. Run. By. Ninjas. (note: Please realize that this marks the culmination of my childhood dreams regarding hanging out with ninjas. I understand that I'm getting to be a grown man, and that I should have overcome my juvenile fascinations with ninjas. But, chill.)
Okay, okay...so, they're obviously not real ninjas. Actually, the ninja bar was kind of a bizarre, Disney-fied theme park. It was excellent, when taken with 1 part wide-eyed amazement and 1 part sense of humor about the whole thing. In fact, the ninjas especially provided humor. For instance, we got an appetizer that was shuriken-shaped crackers on a little model tree. One of the people I was with jokingly asked if they could eat the tree, to which a female ninja somberly responded in Japanese "....You need more practice." There was even a card-trick ninja, which isn't the most fear-inducing ninja spectacle. It was really surreal to walk inside from busy, downtown Tokyo, and find a dark artificial ninja-village.
But, hey, I got drunk with "ninja" and got to hang out with some good friends. I'll be putting up photos shortly, so be sure to click the photobucket link on the left-hand side of the blog, when you have a little time, okay?
I have many things to blog about, but I don't want to jumble this poor old entry with more than she can handle. So, I'll keep it to a short non-sequitor. I had my first experience with the Japanese Healthcare System. Which was incredibly painless. It's a remarkable testament to precisely why it will be so difficult for me to leave Japan and return to America. Everyone was curteous. The waiting room was clean and full of respectful people. I was in an out in THIRTY MINUTES, after paying only 65 dollars for a Hepatitis A shot. It's a far cry from my memories of waiting in Amerian hospitals for hours to get rushed into and out of a room as quickly as possible before getting stuck with an incredible bill. What a wonderful place Japan is. Really!
This Friday, I'm headed to the dentist. I've had a bit of an ache in one of my front teeth, and I figure I'd better get a check-up while I'm in Japan. I am a little bit leery, though. Some Japanese people have some pretty jacked-up grills. Mostly, though, they're older people. But, I'm a little worried that through some bad translations, I'll come out with a mouth full of metal. On the plus side, though, if all of my teeth are replaced with metal fascimiles, I just need a stylish suit and I could be a Bond villian. And all for pennies on the dollar, compared to American healthcare! It's a win-win situation.
Okay, okay...so, they're obviously not real ninjas. Actually, the ninja bar was kind of a bizarre, Disney-fied theme park. It was excellent, when taken with 1 part wide-eyed amazement and 1 part sense of humor about the whole thing. In fact, the ninjas especially provided humor. For instance, we got an appetizer that was shuriken-shaped crackers on a little model tree. One of the people I was with jokingly asked if they could eat the tree, to which a female ninja somberly responded in Japanese "....You need more practice." There was even a card-trick ninja, which isn't the most fear-inducing ninja spectacle. It was really surreal to walk inside from busy, downtown Tokyo, and find a dark artificial ninja-village.
But, hey, I got drunk with "ninja" and got to hang out with some good friends. I'll be putting up photos shortly, so be sure to click the photobucket link on the left-hand side of the blog, when you have a little time, okay?
I have many things to blog about, but I don't want to jumble this poor old entry with more than she can handle. So, I'll keep it to a short non-sequitor. I had my first experience with the Japanese Healthcare System. Which was incredibly painless. It's a remarkable testament to precisely why it will be so difficult for me to leave Japan and return to America. Everyone was curteous. The waiting room was clean and full of respectful people. I was in an out in THIRTY MINUTES, after paying only 65 dollars for a Hepatitis A shot. It's a far cry from my memories of waiting in Amerian hospitals for hours to get rushed into and out of a room as quickly as possible before getting stuck with an incredible bill. What a wonderful place Japan is. Really!
This Friday, I'm headed to the dentist. I've had a bit of an ache in one of my front teeth, and I figure I'd better get a check-up while I'm in Japan. I am a little bit leery, though. Some Japanese people have some pretty jacked-up grills. Mostly, though, they're older people. But, I'm a little worried that through some bad translations, I'll come out with a mouth full of metal. On the plus side, though, if all of my teeth are replaced with metal fascimiles, I just need a stylish suit and I could be a Bond villian. And all for pennies on the dollar, compared to American healthcare! It's a win-win situation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)