This has nothing to with Japan. I was thinking about my dear friend Des and recalled a certain novella, shall we say, that he had begun and chose to share with me. Having seemed slightly dismayed when he realised my sidekick and boyfriend, Fran, hadn’t read it, I thought maybe I should share it with all who dare wander onto this drivel-ridden webspace.

From Derby with Love

Lucy reclined on a chair in the sumptuous penthouse suite of the Romada Travel Inn Wolverhampton. She glanced over at the bed where her lover/techno boffin, Francis Boot lay comatose after a night of online blackjack and vodka martinis; sans the martini. A small noise in the room caught her attention and she smiled grimly as she eased her Walther PPK from its holster and waited with the patience of a natural born hunter. A shadowy figure slinked through the curtains from the balcony and positioned itself over the four poster bed.
Lucy flipped the light switch “Hold it, dirt bag” she intoned in a voice resonating with the clamour of Northern industry. The figure froze in position, a knife still clutched in its hand, and turned to face its gin-soaked captor.
“What are you doing here?” barked Lucy as she sipped from her pint of Bovril and stared coolly down the barrel of her pistol.
“We want the blueprints for the device, O’Melia, and we won’t stop until we have them” the would be assassin hissed in a querulous voice.
“What blueprints?” asked Lucy, pokerfaced.
“Damn your hide” yelled the black clad killer as he lunged at Lucy.
Three whispered responses emanated from the silenced barrel of Lucy’s handgun.
“You bloody Northern monkey” croaked the hit man as he tumbled to the floor.
“See you in Hull” spat Lucy in a voice that made a shower in liquid oxygen seem like a sauna in the Bahamas by comparison.
Lucy stood up and downed the rest of her Bovril. So the South had upped the ante had they, well they wouldn’t find one Lucy “Iron Balls” O’Melia wanting. And what was this mysterious device? Lucy decided it was time to rouse Fran she had to move, and move fast.

Tune in next week for the next thrilling instalment of
FROM DERBY WITH LOVE

So all’s been quiet blog-wise on the Engrish front, despite the fact that I encounter a bundle of gems almost daily. One becomes slightly immune to it after a while….

 Here is one of my favourites from a Hikari city guide:

‘SHIMATA NINGYO JYORURI

During the Muromachi Period there was an epidemic outbreak. People dedicated cucumbers modeled dolls wearing dresses and pierced with spits to Matsura shrine praying for recovery from the epidemic. This is the origin of this traditional puppet doll play. Jyoruri is played at the Civic Hall, on the 4th and 5th of August every year’.

And this I received today…

‘Memories of yesterday are carefully handed down to tomorrow today. I wish you continuous good management from now on, too. An excellent gift from a good friend. I present you with my whole heart’

…on the wrapper of a biscuit, placed on my desk by whom I have no idea in the school where I have zero friends and terrible management. Such blissful irony, such happy memories.

So graduation arrived, and while I remained invisible for much of the day, it felt like a privilege to bear witness to such an emotion-fuelled and carefully staged event.

The gym was decked out immaculately. The whole school was present, plus parents in their finest suits. I bought a new suit for the occasion, and thinking that black would be a touch morbid, I went for a cheery grey. It turned out everyone wears black at graduation; I’m only glad I didn’t show up in my fuscia pink number.

This was the second most formal occasion I have attended in Japan, after meeting the mayor. The principal wore tails, no less, and handed each student their graduation certificate in a carefully choreographed manner - held high momentarily, handed to the student with both hands, the student holding the certificate aloft, then making their way back to their seats - and making sure that any turns necessary were done only at 90 degrees.

Speeches were made by governers and the like, then by two students. One was a second year boy addressing all their sempais and thanking them for their guidance, support and inspiration. The other was by the head girl, for which all the teachers had to stand, so I could only presume it was addressed to us. This was a long speech which was hard for me to follow. At one point in which I had truly lost track, 75% of the students broke down in tears. While I expected some tears at some point from a few of the girls, I never expected to see the boys show such an open display of emotion.

The ceremony closed with a projected photo montage of all the things these students have done together - sports day, culture festival, school trips and general larking about, and I couldn’t help but well up a little too.

Any Brit worth his or her salt would probably balk at the pomp and ceremony accompanying junior high school graduation, despite our historic penchance for both pomp and ceremony. The reason we’d balk, I think, is to do with our attitude towards our young people. I remember leaving secondary school in floods of tears, and I remember at least two teachers almost scoffing at me and my friends’ sadness at parting ways, claiming we were being melodramatic and that of course we’d see each other again.

But leaving secondary school is about much more than leaving your friends, and that’s never more true than in Japan. I remember Louise saying once that 3rd year breaks the students; they leave behind their wonderfully child-like genkiness, and enter a world that is 100% work-centred; high school is a gruelling introduction to adulthood, and through their entrance exams they gain a taste of what the coming three years will be like.

That’s why, when I saw the students’ tears, I couldn’t help but wonder what really lay behind them. Possibly my favourite student, who we’ll call Jake for now, was sat right in front of me. He wept as he tried to belt out the school song at the top of his voice (another thing I love about Japan - even at 15 years old the students are totally unabashed to sing at the top of their lungs, even - and maybe especially - the boys). Jake normally has the brightest, most smiling eyes of anyone I’ve met; he’s a goofy lad but an absolute charmer as he is always sunny. Yet when I saw how the prospect of leaving junior high school seemed to be breaking his heart, something of the maternal came over me and I wanted to give him a big hug and tell him it’s going to be ok. 

The students have told me how mixed their feelings are about leaving. It’s not just the scary prospect of high school that makes them reluctant; these kids have spent day in day out - and during most holidays too - with the same 30 or so people for three years. While that’s less time than the five years British teenagers spend at secondary school, they have barely parted ways - the students are not setted for anything, and do not change classroom for classes, meaning they have been in one space with one another continually for that time. Their commitment to club activities also means that school is absolutely central to their lives. 

Thus being the case, when I saw one my English teachers, beautifully dressed in yukata with hair most women would only bother with on their wedding day (she got up at 4am, while another didn’t even go to bed last night, wanting to do ‘the best job he can’), she became tearful in her final address to her class. They had only been her class for one year, yet the familial atmosphere in Japanese schools meant that this was a heart-wrenching experience for her, too.

I left with a feeling of absolute admiration today, both for the students and for this particular facet of Japanese culture. The students’ achievements were lauded as they should be, and their emotion understood. There was no cynicism, and no falsehood. For most of these students, I don’t amount to much more than a token foreigner, sporadically in the midst of all that their busy lives entail. There are a small handful, however, who will probably never know how much they have helped me and who I sincerely hope will pursue their dreams of travel and adventure and stop by England along the way.

Shortly after writing the last post, I asked 5 members of staff if I could help with preparations for tomorrow in any way. They all tried to avoid answering the question. I must look like I have two left hands….

Right, time for another moan. There’s been all manner of situations to get my head around in this country; in England when presented with irks or confusing problems I always used to write them down (I kept a diary for 7 years before losing the one I wrote in Sri Lanka, following which I never really committed myself properly again).  Usually in doing so said problems would quickly unravel themselves and I would feel much better. That is more the purspose of this post, to sort myself out rather than to entertain, but I figured I may as well make it public as, like I’ve said before, it gives everyone a more realistic picture of what  it’s really been like here.

I’ve returned to the days of paranoia that accompanied my first couple of months here. The school year is winding up, and my elementary school classes have come to an end until mid-April. I realise now just how much I relied on these classes to keep me busy and fulfilled. Now it’s back to my two main junior high schools, and unfortunately my ‘base’ school (as decided by my Board of Education) happens to be the least friendly of the two. This means that on any days where I don’t have classes, I go there. There’s alot of those days coming up, given that spring vacation is approaching.

I’m at that school today. Tomorrow is graduation, which I will be attending. I wasn’t invited, nor was I told that all day today would be practice for tomorrow’s ceremony. One of the nice office ladies here asked if I would be coming, though, and I said yes. After all, I’ve had much more fun teaching the third years here than at my other school, even if that’s about all this school has going for it.

As I wasn’t told about the practice today (my supervisor here tells me little to nothing), I made use of the morning in the teacher’s room preparing some materials for next week. Then the usual worries started to kick in about why I’m in here on my own.

When these worries start to kick in, one is balancing on a tight rope; fall one side and you hit resentment of your circumstances and the way people view you as a foreigner; fall on the other side (the side I more regularly fall on), and you end up thinking you’re terrible at your job and you’ll go back to England with a head full of regrets and self-esteem at an all-time low.

The obvious reason I’m in here alone is a) because I wasn’t told about the practice and b) I didn’ ask. I wasn’t told probably because they thought I wouldn’t understand and therefore wouldn’t be interested in the rehearsal. I didn’t ask because I felt so fed up having to invite myself to graduation at this, my ‘base school’, that freezing my arse off in the gym on a Saturday morning seemed service enough without doing it all day today when I have far better things to be doing - although I did ask my supervisor if there was anything I could help with, which he either didn’t hear or avoided answering. They’re right though, I wouldn’t understand anyway.

 This little angst falls within a much wider context of concern, mainly at this school but on occasion at my other junior high school too. I am very, very quiet at work here. I tend to want to mind my own business and don’t strike up conversations with other staff members that often. This became the case more recently as I grew tired of feeling like a child in every exchange I had. I also feel like I make alot of people nervous when I speak to them, and so am naturally inclined to not want them to feel that way.

 Yet my predecessor Tammy experienced the same problems at this school that I have - that no-one seems to want to talk, bar the lovely office ladies. Most dispiriting of all is that the English teachers seem to want nothing to do with me; my supervisor ropes me into classes when he can but then my role never stretches beyond that of a human taperecorder. This, I think, is the root of my sadness here. If I don’t feel utilised and valued by those who should value me most here, what hope do I have for feeling I belong among the other members of staff?

I know damn well that I need to try harder. I could strike up more conversations, but I was never good at small talk in England, let alone a country where the small talk’s even more inane than that of the UK.  It’s just a constant ricocheting in my mind between wondering if I should be trying harder but also asking - shouldn’t they be trying harder too?

Of course, I doubt I’d be feeling this malcontent with such magnitude if I hadn’t spend two consecutive days here, which thankfully these days is a relatively rare occurrence.  The persistent chilliness I doubt is doing much to life my spirits, either.

I always find that after days like this going to taiko does me the world of good, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do this evening. Then it’s graduation tomorrow morning, lunch with the staff and off home to forget that this place exists for a few days.

When you next find me, I will be cheerier.

I’m not sure if I mentioned earlier that I went to Tokyo. I didn’t really feel able/arsed to write about it, but go to the link on the left to Louise’s blog (Collydog) and you’ll find she’s written a lovely little piece which sums it all up nicely. She used my photos so I see it as a collaborative effort ;)

So I sacrificed both my lie-ins this weekend by way of musical pursuits. The first was another brass band practice, which involved me playing a ‘British Folk March’ written by Takeshi Hasegawa, whom I wonder has ever listened to anything British as it all sounded rather Balkan to me. It was my two-bobs’ worth for my bad school though, and despite the hangover, it was all in all quite an enjoyable experience.

 Today was something rather special. I went on a roadtrip with my taiko group to Shimane-ken, where my sister Rachel used to live. There we saw a whole range of taiko performers, but the stars of the show were a taiko virtuso, who I know only as Yu-san, and these wonderful female specimens, Hono o Daiko.

As the above images may indicate, I have become an instant groupie. Sherona and I came away with signed posters after a a serious papping session post-performance, which also included a SIGNED POSTER, now taking pride of place on my living room wall. We couldn’t take pictures during the performance, and I didn’t have the gumption to film during the show, so the best I can offer is this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1p548QWGh8&feature=related

This in no way does justice to the spectacle and the sound that these women produce. The woman on the right is Mizue Yamada, and she’s my new hero. The sheer speed with which they powered out these incredible sounds absolutely blew my mind, only augmented by their finale with 10 other taiko groups, where about a hundred perfomers aging from 6 to 60 took to the stage and made the entire concert hall shake. The muscles on these women were quite something, and there was certainly a sense of the androgynous about Mizue as she performed. Yet meeting them face to face, they still retained that beautiful, gracious and enviable femininity that goes with Japanese womanhood.

 One thing that strikes me about the Japanese, particularly since starting taiko, is their seemingly innate sense of cyncopation. Hono o Daiko are of course something extraordinary, but even the humble junior high school brass band players seem to be able to pick up a piece and hold together some of the most complex rhythms for western musicians to sight-read at the first attempt. Poor Baba, my taiko teacher, has had his patience tested while I ask him to show me ‘just one more time’ how this or that phrase is supposed to sound. I managed to do some bonding with him today though, along with the rest of the group, and surprised myself with just how much Japanese I understood.

Splendid times indeed.