So my final classes have crept up on me out of nowhere, as today I said farewell to the first of the last of my last Year 9 classes. I say out of nowhere - you’d have thought the fretting and griping by other ALTs along with the variously sincere laments about my departure voiced by other teaching staff since around March would have gotten me good and ready for sayonara time. I’ve even been having recurring dreams about the day coming for me to leave and me being completely unprepared and distraught. Have I acted upon such worthy anxieties? Have I heck. Fran has arrived.

The sadness accompanying these sayonara-classes is multi-faceted. It would be nice to be able to look back on this year and to be able to say to the teaching staff ‘thankyou for your kindness’, but that isn’t possible, at least not at my base school (even though I’m eaking out a speech in Japanese at the moment saying just that, a process akin to pulling teeth). It would be nice if they could say to me, ‘Thanks for all your hard work’,  but that isn’t possible either. They haven’t let me work hard, and at times seem to have actively kept me away from the students. So when I told Year 9, who I am just starting to form a bond with, that I was leaving, there was a strange question in the air, a sort of ‘Are we sad? Yes, we’re a bit sad. Why are you leaving now?’

 The real annoyance with this situation is that despite the slight improvements in office and class life since April at this school, all the songs and dances (goodbye ceremonies, leaving parties of the most awkward variety) are still insincere and farcical. I’m leaving too soon for it to be sincere.  No-one here knows me, apart from the vice-principal, who has taken time out from the start to speak to me every day.

This slight bitterness is only really directed at my base school, and to place a positive spin on it, it makes leaving all the more bearable. I’m not sure how my departure from my other junior high school will feel. I have a closer bond with my students there, although one that would still benefit dramatically from another year spent with them.

Fran’s arrival couldn’t be more timely. It’s bringing into focus all the wonderful things about going home, and all the wonderful things about Japan, and is bridging the gap perfectly between the two. I’m starting to get a sense of how I will look back on this past year; the ruminating thereupon can wait until my return home….

I have 24 hours before I can jump on a train to Fukuoka and meet Fran. I have been outrageously busy with work these past couple of weeks, climaxing in a two-hour presentation given to all the English teachers in Hikari yesterday. Now that everything has suddenly stopped I am desperately trying to find ways to keep myself entertained at work, as the hours are dragging like never before.

 Yesterday’s presentation was amazingly well received, and it’s made me realise how far I have come in one year, and that within one year alone and ALT can still feel satisfied that they’ve done their job well. Having to speak at meetings like yesterday’s are very much the exception rather than the rule for most ALTs. It’s thanks to me working alongside one of the more dedicated ALTs that we had to push to get an invite, let alone a slot to speak. We originally asked for 15 minutes, and never anticipated getting two hours. After feeling initially flattered we realised we had probably gotten another teacher out of the thankless task of giving a different perfunctory two-hour performance  (last year one teacher spoke about Smartboards, at the only school in Hikari that can actually afford one).

So we weren’t sure what to expect. ALTs are the lowest of the low in the staffroom, but are the darlings of some English teachers and the bane of others’ lives. Jess was also keen for us to be relatively direct which, despite the endless tweaking and softening of critical blows that only a Brit or a Japanese would know how to temper, caused me more than a little anxiety. Yet the level of attentiveness among some of the most unexpected culprits was fantastic, and it felt like the thanks we got afterwards were sincere. We had worked damn hard on it, and it was wonderful to get such a reception in a country where neither criticism or praise are so highly sought after or received.

 We’ve dug an almighty hole, however, and I’m now especially glad to be toodle-pipping. One of the many prongs of our speech was that ALTs want to have more classes, spend more time with students and be more a part of whichever school(s) they work in. So I ended up having a very awkward lunch with Year 7 today, as we promulgated the kencho catechism of lunching with the students, even though neither Jessica nor I particularly enjoy it, and I doubt the students do much either. I have also been invited to a work’s party tonight, the invitation being impossible to refuse to a teacher I work with who has mastered the cute, hopeful and expectant look to resolve-shattering precision.  Work’s parties are….well, I don’t think I need to explain. Work’s parties around the world have a certain cringeworthiness about them. But it will kill some more time.

 My successor will have her work cut out for her if our teachers are as enthusiastic about our ideas as they seemed. It was nice to have a voice for once, and has put me in gear for more pontificating in the UK.

How strange.  I have just written the momentous first email that departing ALTs must bring themselves to send to their successors. I remember when I received mine a year ago so well; it was the first time I became truly excited about moving to Japan. It feels like such a responsbility creating my successors first impressions of Hikari and being her main source of information and guidance in the run-up to her arrival in July.

 Yes, read July. I leave in August. Now that is strange. Jess had said to me some time ago that the relationship between successor and predecessor endlessly weaves between love and resentment, and I have come experience both sides of this now. In the case of my successor, I feel very protective of her and like I want to help her in every way I possibly can, and yet there is another part of me that is slightly outraged that I can simply be replaced overnight. I do wonder whether meeting her will ease the transition for me, and maybe even for her. I think it will be darned weird, whatever the potential benefits are. Obviously I cannot divulge too much info about her, and have omitted her name from this post, but I do know that she is very different to me, just as I am remarkably different to most of the things I’ve heard about Tammy.

These feelings directed towards my successor are part of a wider context of me trying to untangle to many realities that accompany my departure. One of those realities, one I have been denying but have now come to terms with, is that it is simply too soon to leave. My job is just starting to move places, and my opinion is just starting to count. As I’ve said before, one year is commonly considered too short a time to live in and become accustomed to the Japanese way of things, and I feel genuinely sorry for my teachers who have to become accustomed to a brand new ALT just as they have gotten used to this one.

Yet I’ve been something of a lone ranger certainly in the latter half of the year, and have pined for home more than I would like. I do think it’s time for me to go back and be around people again, or else I would be in grave danger of socially regressing, which I have noticed can happen to people who stay in Japan too long. I can see how it happens though, and have had to check myself a couple of times for being even more me me me than I am in England. When one comes from an individualist society into a place like Japan where the voice of the idividual matters less, and such tremendous language barriers exist, the opportunity to say ‘hey! Look/listen to me!’ around other English speakers is sometimes just a bit too tempting. It’s a chance to carve out one’s identity again, to be more than just foreign and to have some control.

Anyhow, this post is more a matter of procrastination than anything. I have to prepare the nest for Fran’s arrival in two weeks, and for me leaving my beautiful home shortly afterwards. The ‘posterity pile’ must be tackled, along with the room of denial. Ganbare yo!!

My time in Japan has for the most part marked a distinct downturn in the possession and exercise of any womanly wiles I may have previously possessed  (not that I think I ever did), and has generally seen me take a turn for the androgynous. This has not been through any deliberate exercise - if anything, I have been wearing more dresses and make-up than ever - but rather that in comparison to most of the gorgeous waifs here, one feels like rather a heffer. That and the fact that 75% pf Japanese men seem absolutely terrified of foreign women.

A few days ago, I had an experience where my race/ethnicity/nationality/call it what you will starkly trumped my gender. At my rather rougher school the third years are my favourite group to teach, if my most challenging. In every class there are one or two real trouble makers, the Japanese discipilinary system (or seeming lack thereof) such that they can as good as do what they please - if a female teacher is in charge.

In one class, the most troublesome of all of them was making life difficult for my teacher, ‘Marie’, who happens to be the smallest person I know and one of the soundest teachers there is. There was nothing she could do to stop this lad wandering in and out of class, throwing things at other students, and playing baseball with his English folder. The rules are that no student is to be sent out of class as it’s depriving him or her of an education (’What about the other students?!?!?!?’ I hear you cry), and Marie simply hadn’t the physical capability to make him sit down (physically moving students hasn’t been legislated against here yet).

Yet when I went into the corridor and very quietly asked him in English what he was doing, he got up straight away and went back to his desk. Every time he acted up in class, all I had to do was go and stand near him and he would stop.

 Admittedly, I clearly didn’t have the presence enough to make him pack it in altogether as everytime I moved away he’d start causing trouble again, but it was still unexpected and interesting for me to hold any sort of disciplinary sway, as usually being foreign negates my right/ability to discipline, and being female problematizes Japanese teachers’ rights/abilities to. His reaction was a double-edged sword: while it made for a calmer environment in which other students could get on with the learning, it was also indicative of a deeper xenophobia which it is my job to try and dissolve, so maybe I and my successor still have our work cut out for us.

Or maybe I just have a naturally terrifying demeanour. Grrrrrrrr.

‘Hence the major effect of the Panopticon: to induce in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power. So to arrange things that the surveillance is permanent in its effects, even if it is discontinuous in its action; that the perfection of power should tend to render its actual exercise unnecessary; that this architectural apparatus should be a machine for creating and sustaining a power relation independent of the person who exercises it; in short, that the inmates should be caught up in a power situation of which they are themselves the bearers. To achieve this, it is at once too much and too little that the prisoner should be constantly observed by an inspector: too little, for what matters is that he knows himself to be observed; too much, because he has no need in fact of being so. ‘ Michel on the Panopticon in ‘Discipline and Punish’.

The Panopticon described by Foucault was designed by Jeremy Bentham in the 18th century, and was, apart from anything, a tax-saving idea. It’s design was such that from a single viewing post, prisoners could always be seen but could never see the seer. Thus being the case, it would be possible to have no guards on duty as the inmates must constantly presume they are being watched, as described above.

I first read this chapter, which becomes a broader critique of power through surveillance in hierarchical societies,  in my second year at university. Strangely, in Japan, I’ve had cause to revisit it, and within the seemingly rather dull context of the staffing of public services.

 As I may have mentioned before, there is a change around every April in all the schools, hospitals and local authorities in Japan. Not all the staff change; rather, a chosen few will be moved to a different department or a different school, no teacher being allowed to remain in one position for more than 15 years. Fifteen years is, in fact, exceptionally rare; usually people will be moved within 3-4 years.

In the case of education, this decision is made by a small group of big cheeses at the Board of Education, the final decision resting with the kyoikucho, the chief of, in my case, Hikari BOE. This year has seen my supervisor become Vice Principal for a different BOE at a school about 2 hours’ drive from here (about which he was not best pleased), and between 6 and 8 teachers have moved from each of my junior high schools (bringing, I must say, some very interesting new faces into the staffrooms).

When I first heard about this system, my immediate reaction was to see the positive side: surely through the annual circulation of people and ideas, public services can evolve and remain dynamic without the stagnation we see in some UK public sectors? Yet upon reflection, I see how this very move maintains the very specific social hierarchies for which Japan is so renowned and in fact makes large-scale changes, for the most part, rather slow.

This annual change in staffing serves as a kind of panopticon. Authority figures like kyoikucho remain in authority without ever really exercising his disciplinary power, and it is not  for the purposes of his authority alone that such a system is maintained. Rather, it is for the maintenance of a collective and simultaenously oppressive power system through which the group is at once self-governing and self-sacrificing (’self’ has rather a double meaning here). Through the constantly moving eyes and ears of ever-diligent personnel, digression from the norm or challenges to authority seem unattractive options and the instigation of large changes (e.g. to curriculum) seems impractical to an instigator who is not certain whether they will be around long enough to see them through. Discipline rarely needs exercising, and the head honcho(s) need not always monitor the behaviour of their subordinates (which, for the record, they really don’t - my last kocho-sensei spent 80% of his time smoking fags and gardening), as omniscience is dispersed and workers do not know for certain that they are being watched, but that it is always a possibility.

 It’s difficult to put into words the thoughts I’ve had about the workings of power in Japan. I suppose the staffing example is just another example of what it is to live in a such a very collectivist society, Panopticon metaphor or no Panopitcon metaphor. This has been the biggest privilege of my Japanese experience, and the hardest to describe. Collectivist societies are by their very nature self-regulating, and the questions that living here has raised about the relationship between the group and the individual have at once provided enlightenment and have sent my head into a giddy orbit without any hope of ever being un-flummoxed. 

But then everyone needs a good flummoxing once in a while.

So I’ve not been long back from one of the best holidays I’ve ever taken. It was a pleasingly international gathering comprising two Brits, one Canadian, two Hawaiians, one American, sporadic Jamaicans and Kiwis and lots and lots of South Koreans.

Again, as with so many other adventures, it’s difficult to know where to start. Our second day saw us visit the De-Militarized Zone (DMZ), the 10km-wide borderland between North and South Korea. It was one of the strangest things I’ve ever done, as we entered what seemed to be both a no-man’s-land and a highly securitized every-man’s-land, with coachload after ogling coachload going to have a distant peep at North Korea and to travel deep into the tunnels that were to be the making of an invasion that never was.  

What struck me most about our tour (we could only visit the DMZ on guided tours, for security reasons), was the optimism and hope for reunification instilled in us by our guides and by the film we saw in a visitors’ centre at the entrance to the third tunnel. The tour itself was political, in attempting to convince us that unification is possible and imminent, its operators might bring it one step closer to happening. Yet despite North Korea’s increasing visibility and communication with the outside world, the ramifications of unification are so great - economic, social and political - that I think it will be some time yet before we see it happen, if at all.

A place that gave me a strange sadness was Dorasan, the final train station in South Korea before the track crosses the border. Opened by dearest Dubya in 2002, it’s a sparkly new construction that is at once hopeful and farcical. Its only patrons are tourists, and a train has yet to stop and collect passengers there. There was the most beautfiul painting on one of the walls though, almost Dali-esque (not in the gallery yet as needs some photoshopping to merge all the takes needed to capture the entire piece), which depicted all the fear and sadness that the two Koreas have experienced and made it seem like hope is the only thing left.

 It was at Dorasan that our guide posited the idea that one day it may be possible to take the Transsiberian railway all the to Seoul. For various reasons I have had to postpone my journey on the TS for the time being, and hearing this made me resolutely decide that I will wait until North Korean borders become safe to cross and will return to Seoul from Europe by train; while I am skeptical about reunification, I do remain optimistic that in my life time North Korea will become foreigner-friendly enough for others like me to make this journey.

So that’s the DMZ. The remainder of our time on Seoul mainly consisted of shopping, eating (YUM being the operative word) and drinking, which most readers will be familiar with so I’ll spare the details.

The atmosphere of Seoul, however, is definitely worth a mention, especially as contrasted with Japan. I think I expected the Koreans to be much more like the Japanese, but I was way off the mark. While most people were polite, the general aura could be likened more to London than Tokyo, although I get the impression that Seoul is much safer than either of these places. As it was a festival weekend, the entire city felt like one enormous playground and boy, do those Koreans like to drink. It was also interesting just how stylish the Koreans are, as the Japanese have such a reputation for looking brilliant in all manner of outrageous outfits. Yet the Seoulites looked individual and classy without needing to be wacky, and if I’m honest I had sympathy with my friend Tasha as she groaned upon arrival back into Fukuoka, ‘these people make me cringe’.

 Not one of us was happy to return to Japan. The constant pussy-footing and living-to-work mentality is one which, 9 months in, one tires of frankly. Seoul was an Asian reminder of life back home, where we don’t have to feel guilty about having fun and it’s ok not to work at the weekend, and where saying what you think doesn’t cause instant panic. But I still feel glad that I chose Japan over South Korea (I was very close to choosing the latter), as not only do the seemlingly endless Japanese codes of etiquette provide a peace and sense of decorum here which I doubt I will find anywhere else; living in Japan is also a daily challenge in uncovering the many depths beneath these codes, and the many and hidden realities that exist for people here will never cease to fascinate me.

 Seoul certainly hasn’t seen the last of me though.

Readers beware: this entry may be long and badly composed. It’s been over a month since I’ve posted anything and there has been so much happen in that time it is difficult to know where to begin. I take it as a good sign overall; in the days when I kept a diary things tended to go quieter during the happier times in my life.

 So undoubtedly the most exciting event of April was the descent of my sister Alison and brother-in-law Roland on old Nihon. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of driving (mainly around Kyushu) and alot of cavorting. The details of where we went and what we did I will leave to them to write up and will post a link to it when they do, mainly because I’m too lazy to do it myself and because I’m far too self-obsessed to be recounting amazing sights and sounds when there’s me to write about.  

 One of the most wonderful things about Alison and Roland’s visit was seeing Japan through fresh eyes. I always knew it would be in an interesting experience, but the actual subjects of amusement and intrigue did surprise me somewhat, the main culprit being the Japanese Gait. In Alison’s words - and I hadn’t noticed until she flagged it up - ‘Heel to toe does not seem to be standard practice’. Said gaits were a source of mirth throughout their trip, and a moment of hysteria in the dark resulted in Alison and I shouting at Roland to ’sort his gait out’ as it was ‘looking a bit weird’, only to discover that the object of our admonitions wasn’t Roland at all but an unsuspecting Japanese sightseer at Miyajima.

My kinfolk’s take on Engrish also took up many hours of hilarity; again, I feel the details of this is for them to recount as Alison in particular put alot of time and effort into compiling her Engrish poem, which rumour has it her band may be utilising lyrically…

 Aside from outright laughing at the Japanese (albeit in a benign way), Alison and Roland’s visit reminded me once again of the grace and kindness of Japanese people - ’such courteous people’, as my mother once said.

The day they left was far more difficult than I had ever anticipated, rendering me unable to go to work or do anything much.  I spoke to my friend Phoebe about it and we concluded that while we have made wonderful friends here in Japan, both Japanese and gaikokujin, having people - and especially family - come and visit does transport one’s whole self back to a more ‘real’ state of being, one that comes from having a shared history. Here in Japan we are so radically removed from that history, it doesn’t seem like a part of you but as some kind of exogenic text about you. So while I only have 3 months to go until my return to the UK, the transition back from UK Lucy to Japan Lucy did at first seem too difficult a challenge to surmount.

 Luckily said challenge was very quickly overturned, thanks to a series of happy occurrences since the start of the new school year. Thew new 1-nenseis (Year 7s) are an absolute delight to teach, if incredibly noisey. The big changes in staffing which take place in April every year in Japanese public services have meant that I am now working with a fantastic new teacher at my rather rougher junior high school and have been granted a wonderful new supervisor at the school which has up to now caused me quite a bit of head and heartache. I’m teaching regularly, and frequently alone. It’s reminded me just how much I love working in schools.

Socially my life has been picking up pace too, and so the combination of all these things and the lovely weather is once again making me hurt at the idea of going home in August. Even in the bleak chill of January when I handed in my decision not to recontract I was slightly disbelieving of what I was doing; it was a very painful day which I won’t forget for a long time.

 It’s difficult to convey to people who have never lived in Japan just what a difference a second year could make. The first year here is about making mistake after mistake and about getting to grips with the language and culture. The second year is about truly living here and starting to feel part of things (although a foreigner is always first and foremost foreign in Japan). Most importantly, as I’ve been told by various JET-veterans and am coming to understand myself, Japanese shyness and reserve is such that friendships take much longer to form here than they would in the UK, for example. There’s no denying there have been lonely times during this past few months, but more recently I have developed closer relationships with many of the Japanese people I know. It’s so sad to think that just as they’re starting to blossom I will be leaving.

HOWEVER, I still feel both logically and instinctively that I have made the right decision. All the Japanese friends and job satisfaction in the world could not compensate for potentially losing Fran, and for the heartache that we would have to endure for yet another year.

I think I will just have to make as many Japanese friends as possible in England and hopefully return to Japanese people some of the kindness that’s been shown to me on this strange adventure.

But this is all sounding laced with sayonara and finality, when in fact I have three months left to pull out all my ganbatte and make it special. I have no doubt that it will be.

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 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.

Yesterday I visited an enormous primary school, and in total taught around 150 under-7s.

 It was easily one of the best days on record, and I received more affection on one day than I have in my entire time here. I felt almost fraudulent as these kids hung on my every word, despite understanding nothing, playing every game and singing every song with full gusto and trying as much English as they could as often as they could.

 It bordered on the bizarre when, on the way to the playground after lunch, I realised that I, a big old gaijin, was actually being moved by the 30 or so 5-year olds who were fighting to prize my fingers off of my their friends’ so that they could have a turn. And once they latched on, they weren’t going anywhere.

I went to say goodbye as they all trooped off home, and one tiny little person refused to leave, her hand clutching mine and her telling me allsorts of something very intently, and when she finally did let go, she insisted on waving her way down the road until I made the first move and went indoors. All I really caught of her ramble was ‘Lucy-sensei, England’s very far away isn’t it?’

A few days ago I had a couple of hours to spare at work and was at a bit of a loose end, so I ended up writing a semi-fictitious and rather romantacized piece of prose in adoration of my good friend Becca. To write about her in this way wasn’t so much a conscious decision, she just entered my thoughts in this light and it felt necessary to put it into words. Let’s just say it needs some fine tuning, and I have been reading Marianne Keyes recently, so it’ll not be published in this here post.

I’ve had this sort of inclination with a number of my female friends recently. The obvious reason would be the rose-tinted lens that goes with the distance between us, of course, but it’s also happened with my friends in closer proximity.  Louise is destined for romance with a takoyaki boy soon (despite her panics over text messages secretly sent through our friend and translator, Wakako), and I’m dying to make a rom-com out of it. I have Japanese friends, too, whose existences are forming very fluffy little narratives in my head which may signify, surprised as I am to admit it, that I’m succumbing to the Japanese ‘cute’ obsession.  I think it all began when I started watching Sakura, a sugary anime series who’s namesake has a beautiful and eccentric best friend who is constantly filming Sakura through all her supernatural pre-pubescent adventures in complete awe of her loveliness.

 Thus occupying this slightly saccharin but completely genuine (and not unpleasant) headspace, then, my revulsion at a conversation I had last night is not so very surprising; although once it’s been recounted I would be interested to see if any of you reading this who are familiar with Japan would agree with the man in question.

I went to an Irish bar run by an American which served Mexican food, not far from my house, with a teacher from one of my schools. Having been decidedly unsure (is that an oxymoron?) about the owner on the previous occasions I had met him, this bar which shall remain nameless would not have been my first choice for food in Hikari, but my colleague and companion had never been before and fancied giving it a go (plus it was local meaning we could both get a few beers down us).

My sempai asked me during our meal, ‘what kind of behaviour have you found strange or funny since you came to Japan?’ Shortly after I answered this question, the owner came and sat with us for what turned out to be a more-than-is-customary-in-any-country amount of time for a chat. Making talk with him, I asked him the same question that my sempai had asked me, expecting him to say something about sniffing or slurping or somesuch. Instead, he launched into a spiel about how Japanese people don’t make friends, owing to the strict hierarchy of social relations which dictates that in any relationship one individual will occupy and inferior position while the other is superior. At first his words had a toungue-in-cheek tone, but as he went on at length I realised, to my horror, that he wasn’t joking. Japanese people, he said, could be friends with foreigners, but with a few exceptions are incapable of forming genuine friendships between themselves.

 This offended me deeply, and I was embarrassed to be sat next to another foreigner who spoke this way. Of course my sempai laughed it off, being Japanese, and I did the same, being British. The difference was that when we left the bar I exploded while she omitted to comment and merely told me she’d had a fun evening.

I don’t doubt that the vast majority of relationships in Japan do function on a junior/senior basis, but to claim that this precludes genuine friendship I find a little gross. It’s true enough that I’ve had little chance to talk openly with anyone Japanese about this. My teacher half-agreed with the owner of the bar, but said that true friendships do form between classmates.

One thing that came into stark focus when I arrived in Japan was how we in the West exist in a culture of reciprocity which differs from that of Japan. At first it unsettled me, and even now I make mistakes at the most basic level. For example, I try and learn as much Japanese from what I hear around me, but if I echo the words of my seniors in the staffroom, I am not showing due respect. Seniors, when speaking to juniors, use an entirely different lexicon, and vice versa.

The use of such language may indeed reaffirm power relationships which mean that two individuals are never truly ‘equal’. Yet this should not prevent such individuals finding affiliation with one another and eventually coming to care for each other as friends. The differing codes of behaviour do not automatically dictate that seniors will abuse their power and behave unfairly towards juniors. While I’m sure this does happen, I have not born witness to it yet, and I certainly have born witness to such abuses in the UK. And I have been privileged enough to spend time with Japanese people whose friendships with each other are visible and real.

It’s sad that a post which began fluffy and nice turned into a rant, and yet last night’s encounter has in a strange way made me love Japan all the more, not least owing to the dignity with which my teacher received such tactless and ill-informed statements.

No-one should have the genuity of their friendships called into question, whatever culture they’re in. And while my headspace may be full of cotton wool and soft-focus, I’d much rather have it that way than to be as depressed as this bar-owner must be at the sight of a world devoid of friendship.

Whether our schoolmates, our colleagues, our bus-buddies, our drinking pals or our bosses, wherever they’re from - long live chums!