I still don’t quite know what the hell was going on at Murozumi festival. I understand it is typical of alot of Japanese (and they could only be Japanese) festivals - honoring of ancestors, hauling around of children and shrines, cute kids galore and general merriment. Oh yes, and loads of drunk men.

I think that’s one thing that amused me most about Murozumi (Murozomi, FYI, is a very pretty district in Hikari), was that there’s so much ceremony and yet so much inebriation - when my turn came to don the hapi and pull the shrine a stretch around town I was half-cut just on the smell that emanated from Murozmi’s burley revellers. For those of you wondering why I was not emitting said aroma, it was because a) I was somewhat hungover and b) women don’t always do the battered thing the way men do in Japan. But they do sometimes …:)

We’ve all been to weddings, and we’ve all met Catholics, and thus we all know booze and ceremony are by no means incompatible. The Japanese, however, bring a whole new meaning to the word ‘ceremony’. They love it. I can’t think of a party or event I’ve been to that hasn’t had an opening and closing ceremony accompanied by numerous and presumably heartfelt speeches of which I understand squat. So to see hundreds of blokes boozing in a temple in such a seemingly formal culture was both surprising and yet congruent with all the other gatherings I’ve attended so far.

Jess and I were particularly conspicuous that day. For all it was tiring, it was totally ace being chucked in (and I mean that - I was literally hauled into the parade at one stage) to the noisey festivities and experiencing, as our local friends like to bellow ’Japanese culture!’ It’s a shame I was so hungover. This weekend, however, I am hoping to attend the Fox Festival up the road, which apparently has something to do with some foxes getting married. I plan to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I believe the shrines are this time carried as opposed to wheeled, with regular biru pit-stops en route.

I’ll try and upload some videos soon so you can see for yourselves what it’s about, as it’s not the easiest of events to describe, or at least I’m too lazy to do so at length. I’ve popped a bunch of pics onto the gallery which should hopefully give you and idea of what it looked like.  The sounds, however, are a different matter. As much as the Japanese love booze and ceremony, if they want to make a noise they make it LOUD….

I wrote this post not long after having done the unthinkable by having a little cry at school. It was over a collection of relatively minor things, and  fortunately I don’t think anyone saw. While this post is by no means representative of how I feel about Japan most of the time, it was a kind of stream of consciousness explosion in my head which I had to get down on paper, and so thought I may as well share that experience with you, good readers. Sorry it isn’t the cheeriest, and it will be followed by some comments which overturn many of the angry things I said at the time but here goes….

             “Life here is getting difficult, and all the talk of ‘it’s only a year’ evokes an inoperable concept in this world where time passes so slowly, where so much of that time is just me, and where even the shortest of inane exchanges can make or break my day, and my sense of perspective is really struggling.

The fact is that there is behaviour among the students here which we simply would not tolerate in England, but there is also a line drawn when it comes to a respect for seniority. I, however, am excepted from this disciplinary boundary as I am Not Japanese. This makes me angry. I am angry that students are allowed to endlessly laugh at my expense and refuse to connect with me even when I talk to them in their own language simply because I am foreign. Sure, laugh at my weird dress sense or my stupid face; that’s warranted wherever you live in the world. They could make pretty much any personal joke at my expense and I would take it on the chin. But to have such and attitude towards ‘foreigners’ by definition, and for figures of seniority to as good as accept that stretches the boundaries of what I can tolerate when it come to cross-cultural understanding.

But tolerate I must, and with a warm heart and a genki demeanour”

Needless to say, as is the schizophrenic nature of my time here, I was offered a couple of lessons to teach at this point which (probably for the better) cut this entry short. I ended up having a great time and the above upset faded into the background.

I must overturn my accusations regarding students’ laughter at me ‘because I’m foreign’ and give them the respect they deserve a) as teenagers, who are prone to laugh uncontrollably at any old guff and b) as very nervous students who are not raised in an environment where getting it wrong is so acceptable, and so the best way to deal with anxiety of me possibly pouncing on them and expecting the Queen’s English is to giggle.  In actual fact, any negative thoughts that occur during my time as an ALT very seldom are to do with the students. The more time I spend with them the genkier I get and it’s ace. It’s the dynamic betweem me, other staff and the students that causes problems sometimes, but I am gradually working out ways to cope with the differing expectations here, and am changing my expectations of myself - for the better, I hope.

One great pleasure that comes from being in a country where I understand probably about 10% of what’s happening most of the time is finding feelings of genuine endearment towards people I barely know at all, if we take verbal communication as the only real means by which we can connect with others. As I write this, I’m thinking in particular of one of my vice-principal, who for convenience we’ll call Terry.

Terry is a  sqaure fellow physically; taller than your average Japanese, and built all at right-angles, including a well-chiselled barnet turning the whiter shades of grey. Originally a PE teacher, he sports a fine array of tracksuits most days and isn’t afraid to flash the odd sovereign ring here and there. Is the alias of ’Terry’ starting to make more sense now?

 I first met him properly at sport’s day back at the start of September. He pulled up a pew for me next to him, and despite the disgusting and inescapable heat to which I was still not yet accustomed, I immediately felt at ease and comfortable in his company. At that point my Japanese was as good as non-existent, but he was the first person I met with whom I felt I could try anything and it would be well-received. His countenance is at first a little intimidating, but his laugh is bellowed across the staff room approx. every 15 minutes, and his knowing smile lets you know you’re definitely in on his joke. Even me.

Not so long ago, I was scrubbing under a desk in the staffroom (no the ALT isn’t yet just the general dogsbody - staff and students clean the school together in Japan), when I heard my name mentioned a few times by some 3-nensei (about 14-year-old) boys in the room. Obviously I hear my name quite a bit here without a clue as to the context in which it is being said, but when I emerged from under the desk I caught a general drift: Terry had picked up one of them by his breast - yes, his boy-breast - literally off the ground, and was giving him a good old telling off about something and that something was to do with me. He put him down, had a giggle, and just before the young whipper-snapper had time to escape he grabbed him by the family jewels and said something to the effect of ’say that again and it’ll be them next time’*. He laughed again, gave me a heads-up, and not long afterwards bought me an ice-cream.

I have spent quite a bit of time with Terry at this school owing to the amount of staff-room time I have - in Japan the vice-principals as good as live in the staff-room and seem to have a much nicer time than British deputy-heads, as they seem to spend most of the day chewing the fat with whoever happens to be around. That said, it’s only in the past couple of weeks that Terry and I have chewed much fat; I’ve had a very nervous time recently and plucking up the courage to try out my Japanese really makes me empathise with how nervous my students get talking to me. Yet the conversations we are now managing to piece together are perfectly comfortable, and I really feel like he’s looking out for me. Other colleagues in Japan certainly gave that air for my first few weeks here, but naturally they’ve got more important things to think about and soon enough me and my incompetencies fade into the background a little. I know everyone I work with would help me if I needed it, but old Tez seems to have made it his business to take me under his wing and include me. Some days it feels quite sad that the smallest of human exchanges can make my day here, as it shows how isolated I am sometimes. But in quite another sense, it shows how, in the words of a writer living in Japan named David Mitchell, ‘the casing of the human condition sometimes runs transparent, like a see-through Swatch’. Not sure about the product placement, but reading Mitchell’s article  (see http://www.randomhouse.com/boldtype/1100/mitchell/essay.html ) put words to things I was having real trouble articulating. I have been told that the Japanese do not have so great a concern with constant chat as we do in the West, and so I should not feel so awkard about how little banter I am able to proffer.

Reliance on non-verbal communication to form bonds with people  has bred within me both paranoia (more on that later) and feelings exultation at the commonalities we share as human beings. I have enough Japanese to function, but insufficient to show fully my intentions, my real feelings about certain situations and essentially who I am. So my peers have to rely on the same methods as I do and slowly we start to piece the puzzle together. Terry and others have helped me see the despite the knock-backs and countless faux-pas, just one exchange in which both parties can feel they’ve been heard and understood makes the effort worth it.

*Jovial violence is generally accepted in Japanese schools, as is sleeping in lessons. If anything, snoozey seito give teachers a further excuse to slap students, only for the latter to return to their prostrate position minutes later.

Most of the posts up to now have been a little on the hurried side and thus sparse both detail and literary merit. This is due mainly to my main brain turning into a cabbage and the fact that I have one heck of alot to catch up on since my internet went down six weeks ago.

I also realise that up to now I have not given my reason for being here due attention. It is much easier to report on weekends and trips away than the endless
questions, fascinations and frustrations that being an ALT entails. I was told by a random acquaintance in Tokyo that it is unwise to make comparisons with
home when trying to understand Japanese education. While I fully understand why these are wise words, it is totally impossible not to make these sorts of
comparisons; everyone, after all, needs a point of reference.

Sports festival seems a good place to start, as it is chronologically appropriate and is a perfect example of all that is truly admirable about the students
I work with…

(more…)

Trying to sift out the best of the Engrish is no easy task, as it ranges from the downright vulgar to the beautiful but unnecessary, like my recent find:

‘Enjoy the superb taste of cake made with the finest ingredients. Beautiful things are timeless. Women throughout history have never ceased to yearn for beauty‘. Lovely eh? Click the link below to see Mitchell modelling the other end of the spectrum…

(more…)

….Was fun. We saw some fish. Then we ate some fish on a stick. It wasn’t Fukuoka though, and thus my spirits were dampened both metaphorically and physically by the rain that met us upon our return to Honshu. Therefore I will save my ramblings about Shimonoseki until I feel I can do it proper justice, and in the meantime show you a picture of a child with a big fish.