Holidays (again)

Well. Apologies for the delay in posting! I've been meaning to write a post since forever ago, but life happens and I keep pushing it aside. I feel like nothing super interesting is happening, even though every day is in and of itself more interesting, in some ways, than anything I've ever experienced before. I'm having one of the most unique experiences I've ever had or ever will have, but thinking about it like that makes me intimidated by its importance, so I try to just live life normally. Winter has made me haze over, but I'll attempt form coherent themes out of my ranging, fleeting, meandering thoughts.

Checking out Kusatsu, the most famous onsen resort in all of Japan, and a part of my prefecture.


I. Winter's Cold

There were about 3 weeks that were neither too hot nor too cold. Japan is both a very hot and very cold country. In August I could be naked in my room at 3 in the morning and still be warm; in December I can be wrapped in sweats and flannel blankets and 3 pairs of socks at noon on a sunny day and still be freezing. I'm what the Japanese call a samugari, which means my body is sensitive to cold. Coming from a mild Californian climate, my body's previous known notions of "cold," "colder," and "coldest" are far, far surpassed by the sensations of coldness I experience here. When I walk to Japanese class at night, even though I'm wearing at minimum 3 layers all over, a wool coat, a neck-warmer, gloves, and a hat, the cold is disorienting. I pull my neck-warmer over my mouth and nose to keep them from turning numb, but my exhalation of breath shoves upward and my glasses fog. At school my fellow teachers ask me how I'm adjusting to the Japanese winter, and I can't begin to convey to them how new this is to me. I'm not sure how much is nature and how much is nurture, but I think being raised in a colder climate really does acclimate one's body (or at least their mind) to the cold better.

The first snow was last week. Snow is still a novelty to me so it's exciting despite the hassle and the cold. 危ない！They tell me at the BoE and at school. 気をつけて！Be careful! Don't drive over slippery snow and ice!

My body, and my mind, feel a shift; they're in a different place in winter. But I felt that way every year in California too. I have less physical energy, I want to be outdoors less, I want to do less and sleep more. Am I a bear or other type of hibernating creature?

And it's still autumn. Winter officially starts on December 21st. Three more months to go! Until then, I may be outside as little as possible.

Jumping for joy at a foliage-covered road on the way to Oze National Park. Although it was a great day, it was also an almost completely silent day. My incredibly kind friends humored me by playing charades, lip-reading, and reading my iPhone notes from me all day long.


II. Vocal Nodules

So for those of you not in the know, I was (re-)diagnosed with vocal nodules in mid-October. To try and make a long story I've explained many times short, vocal nodules are like tiny blisters or calcifications which appear bilaterally on one's vocal folds. They arise from various forms of vocal overuse or misuse. Singers and teachers are prone to them (of which I am both, hey!) because they are professional voice users. The reasons for forming nodules are multifaceted, but I think in my case, they arose due to a combination of certain environmental factors and the loud, clear, over-enunciated style of teaching I was performing all day at school. When you phonate, your vocal folds strike each other/vibrate (which produces the sound), and just like your palm can get a blister from using the monkey bars one too many times, so can your vocal folds develop inflammation from overuse, which can harden into a tough blister and--ta-da--vocal nodules. Your vocal folds are supposed to be flush with one another, but when nodules form, they can't close completely, sending air through the vocal folds. This makes your voice weaker and dries it out.

So, I went on vocal rest. I took a week off work, and I didn't talk at all for 9 days. For many more weeks after that, I only talked as needed during my 3 or 4 classes per day at school, and remained more or less silent otherwise. I have made necessary changes to ensure that all environmental factors are eliminated--I get enough sleep every night, I am well-hydrated, I eat anti-inflammatory and throat-soothing foods, I use a humidifier, I stretch my neck and shoulders throughout the day. Most importantly, I have been going to speech therapy for a few weeks now (over Skype--yay for the internet!) I have been learning reasons why I may have been damaging my voice as I was teaching and singing, and learning appropriate vocal techniques and exercises for ensuring proper placement and use of the speaking voice. For people in professions who use their voice all day long, it's very important to understand proper voice use. Especially for me since I want to be a singing teacher, and singing requires much more vocal control and subtlety than speaking, having a healthy and strong voice is essential for my livelihood for the rest of my life.

A few weeks were really bad. I cried on more than a few occasions. Why did this have to happen to me? And here? How will I maintain relationships here? How will I do my job? Not being able to use your voice has huge psychological effects, especially for an extrovert like me. I wondered if I would have to go home. I wondered if I would have to have surgery (like Adele's, which was a success, and like Julie Andrews', which was a failure.) But slowly, and seemingly from nothing, my voice gradually started getting stronger. I could talk for longer and longer periods without feeling tired. I could speak longer sentences without needing to drink water to quench my throat. And though I still have a long way to go, especially in regards to singing, I feel I've made some good strides so far. I am able to do my job fully, which is the most important thing.

And as much as I like feeling sorry for myself, I had to admit to myself that it's rather good, opportune even, that this happen to me HERE rather than back in the states. Why you ask? There are a few reasons. One is that I have less responsibility and fewer teaching demands here. Just 7 months ago, I was student-teaching every day from 8:00 to 12:20. That's 4 hours, with just two 10-minute breaks. No co-teacher, just me and the kids. Then, I would go teach 3 or 4 private voice lessons or ESL lessons, or have a 3-hour discussion class, then I might go to a choir rehearsal, and then go home to my four roommates and my shared room. That's a lot of vocal demand, both talking and singing, every day. Here, I am at work from 8:00-4:00, but I only teach 3 or 4 classes per day. That's at maximum, 4 hours of teaching, in which I co-teach with a Japanese English teacher or homeroom teacher, and share talking responsibilities. Then, while the other Japanese teachers chatter on in Japanese in the teacher's room, I get to play my gaijin (foreigner) card and remain silent. I use the computer, I plan lessons, I study Japanese, but I don't talk much. Then, I get to go home to my studio apartment where I live alone and remain silent for the rest of the evening. I also don't have any singing demands of me here. It's the first time in my life since I was 12 years old that I haven't been a member of a choir or teaching a choir. So I didn't have to quit anything, or cancel anything--I could just live my normal life here, without talking much. Although it saddens me to not use my voice too much when I DO go out to social events, the fact that my daily life doesn't require strenuous talking or singing is very crucial to my vocal survival right now. So it's heartening for me to realize and remember that.

I have more to say about my work life but I will save it for a future post, for this has lengthened far more than I thought it would.

Thanksgiving dinner in Japan, made especially for ALTs at the Prefectural Office's own café.

I recently braved the below-freezing temperatures outside, at the top of a mountain, at night. I took in the illuminations spectacular at the top of Gunma's Mt. Haruna and her caldera lake, Lake Haruna.

Holidays

Since fall's approach I've started to think a lot about American seasonal and holiday traditions and their contrast with Japan's.

I've lived abroad twice before, in France and Nagasaki, but both were during the summer, only one season long. This is my first autumn and winter away from the U.S. of A. As I experience autumn here, I realize that it takes being separated from your home culture to be able to see it with a more objective eye. Only by being apart from something can you realize what you take for granted. Japan observes the Western holidays of Halloween and Christmas, but because these holidays lack history here, the extent and type of celebration can be very different. For example, this is the Halloween I love from the states:

And this is Halloween in Japan:

As cute as it is, that's not the Halloween I know. The cultural tradition and meaning behind the holiday isn't there. Yes, Halloween is now essentially a for-fun holiday in the states, but because we've been celebrating it for hundreds of years, it has manifested itself in deep ways in our culture. In Japan it's just another vacuous Western import.

Christmas is worse. Christmas isn't about family...it's a date night! Come December, I will feel the pangs of longing for singing winter choral music, decorating the Christmas tree with mama, lights on the trees everywhere, and exchanging gifts and cards with friends. It's such a big part of me, I can almost tear up just thinking about it.

But, experiencing all this nostalgia and yearning for the culture I know and love makes me happy, because it makes me realize that pride and warmth actually exist in me. I could spend forever bashing my country's policies, government, educational system, etc, but of course there is a part of me that feels at home being American and doing these American things. Oh wait...I actually like Halloween and look forward to it! I hadn't realized. This so-called "Western tradition" is my home, my comfort zone, as it is for all who grew up with it. By being apart from my comfort zone, I can better conceptualize that where one grows up determines their center vs. periphery, their comfort zone vs. unknown.

When I go to a matsuri, or when I read about the traditions of Sho-gatsu or Setsubun, I try to understand the the associations that Japanese people have with their holidays. Japan has a literal wealth of holidays and traditions which are much, much older than anything ever made in America. I'm very excited to experience them.

I am in Japan. I want to observe Japanese cultural tradition for what it is, and not get caught up in what I'm missing out on back home....but it makes me happy to realize that I do miss it. :)

Phase Two

The stages of culture shock.

(Which, by the way, is a misnomer: we don't feel "shock" in the sense that we're surprised or baffled; "Cultural Fatigue" or "Cultural Adjustment" are better names.)

Obviously the chart is simple and depends on so many other factors, but no matter what, there are bound to be those occasional moments where you feel discontentment or hostility for your host culture. In the JET world, we call it "stage-twoing." After having ridden the honeymoon wave of culture explosion, you settle in to a second stage in which you're more prone to homesickness or frustration. In our schedule, this just happens to coincide with the onset of colder weather, which for me means lethargy and laze.

My outlook hasn't changed, and neither have my circumstances per se. But the combination of approaching the 3-month mark, the arrival of the cold autumn winds, and the onset of unexpected health issues has lately given me less reason to celebrate and more reason to stew.

From afar, it must look like my life is simple and great. That's how others' lives looked to me when I saw their pictures of life in Japan. That's because pictures string together a simple story of a simple life. They're each a square on a patchwork quilt called My Life, but they're only the cover, the surface. My life feels so much more complicated than my collections of pictures can reveal.

But, it's all a reminder to me of the quote I have written on my wall. The agent of change is you. You guide your own life. You guide your actions and your attitudes. And it is your attitude which determines everything.

I'm very lucky that I have a workplace which supports me. I don't know where I'd be if it weren't for my kind 校長先生 (principal) and JTE (Japanese Teacher of English.) I'm very lucky I have a network of friends and acquaintances, those who can empathize with me and help me, throughout Gunma and beyond. I'm very lucky to BE HERE. NOW. Securely employed doing something I'm passionate about. Learning a culture and a language. Yes, I need other facets of my life in order for it to feel complete, but they're all second fiddle to those two things.

So I choose to be content.

直島

Despite a froggy voice and perhaps The World's Worst Cold, Naoshima, Japan's Art Island, was a beautiful dream. I was blessed to experience this tranquil island of rich culture, beautiful art and even more beautiful weather.

2-Month-Mark: A Check-Up.

Cross-hatched concrete riverbanks are normal.
Streets too narrow to go both ways are the status quo.
Spiders as big as my palm don't faze me.

Food is something else.I can't quite claim washoku (Japanese food) as a comfort food. I'm continually underwhelmed by kyuushoku (school lunch.) I try to eat Japanese food most of the time, but I'm a greasy American and Japanese food isn't bread-y or fatty or sweet enough for my disgusting westerner tastes. So, although the Japanese foods are among the cheapest and healthiest you can buy at the grocery store, I still ring up cereal and ice cream and fruits and loaves of bread and pasta. On rainy nights like these, I just don't want miso soup, I want CARBS and lots of them.

A picture from one of my walks. From Hokkitsu looking over into Shimogo on a stormy dusk.

My daily-ish ritual of taking evening walks is a beautiful one indeed. My town is still novel to me so there's almost nowhere I can walk that I find uninteresting. I branch out in every direction from my home and almost always find somewhere new to explore. There's still about an hour of daylight left after I leave work and I intend to use it.

It makes me brim with pride to see my students take Sports Day so seriously. They truly all give it their all and support their team to the end. Team Yellow got first place. I think if I had been given this opportunity (i.e. coerced into athletic participation) as a child, I wouldn't be so abhorrent to sports and exercise as I am now.

Watching my student cry while making a speech to his classmates during Sports Day fueled the fire in me to be there for my students as much as circumstances allow. These kids are so honest and pure and hard-working. There is not a single one who doesn't take his or her education seriously, no one who doesn't work hard every day, not a single one who disrespects a teacher. And yet, they don't value their own individuality, they downplay their strengths, and hesitate to answer even the simplest of questions because they fear risk. The vast contrast between American students and these students strikes me every day. The love that I have for them developed quickly, and it frustrates me that the language and culture barrier impedes my getting to know them. I need to affirm my presence and my goals every day. I feel positive about my place at work and my ability to influence my students. I feel inspired and I have a whole nestload of ideas in my sleeves. However, change is very slow, and I must be patient. I remind myself daily that as Rome wasn't built in a day, neither can I so quickly build a program at this school. Gradually, my influence at my tiny school will grow, and my relationships with students will deepen. I will worm my way in and make English the big thing here, as well as showing them that I care deeply about their development as individuals.

In this morning's school assembly, each class grade (in groups of 15-20) stood up and presented a short speech, about 2 minutes long, completely in unison. All voices speaking together, with nary a consonant out of place, for two minutes. The robotic, metallic-tinged mélange of voice timbres and ranges sounded like the devil himself speaking through these students. After the assembly, my Japanese Teacher of English told me that next time, students will recite English sentences. I asked her "what is the educational goal of having students memorize speeches to speak in unison? Why do you have them do this?" To my awe, she paused to think for a moment, cocked her head to the side, sucked in air through her teeth, and walked away to talk to another teacher before I could reiterate my question. There are some things I don't understand about Japanese education, and cultural manners, which I probably never get used to. But it's not worse, just different. Not worse just different not worse just different not worse just different.

All this and it's only been two months. Let's imagine where the next two months will take me...and the two after that, and the two after that, and the two after that.

Routine

Autumn came in a day.

Wednesday's hot rays of the sun turned into Thursday's cold breezes. The enveloping humidity gave way to a rainy calm. I was outside without a sweater on Thursday night and I felt...cold. That night, I knew I wouldn't need the air conditioner. I have never been subjected to such an abrupt seasonal change. The trees which line the countryside are still largely green, but the red and brown leaves are appearing one-by-one, more every day.

I will now regale you with the heart-warming and detailed tale of my typical workday.

I wake at around 6:45. I try to do good things in the morning, like stretch, eat a good breakfast, make my bed, and do my hair, though I usually only have time for three out of the four. Grabbing an umbrella as I walk out the door (because you never know,) I begin my drive to work at 7:30. My 1999 Nissan Pulsar has a toll-card-system that beeps at me: BEEEP! kaado ga sounyuu sareteimasen! (The card is not inserted!) I hear it every morning as I'm backing out of my parking space. I usually play my iPod via the tape player. The sound that comes out sounds like what comes out of a dinky cell phone, but it's so much better than nothing.

I turn left onto my tiny narrow street that only one car can fit on, onto the main street, and then onto the highway. A few minutes later and I'm on the narrow, windy, road that I take all the way to school. Mountains always on my right, the river on my left. I pass dozens of small businesses: restaurants, car repair shops, barbers, grocers. I fight to keep my eyes firmly on the road lest I be tempted into gazing through the window at the sound-of-music view of the mountains and the meadows and the rolling river. I drive parallel to both the river and the local train line. The shinkansen bullet-train track once juts incongruously through the valley. If I'm lucky, I get to catch it flying by, spending only a few seconds in the open air before it's back into another tunnel. After half an hour on the road, I turn into my school, drive a couple hundred feet down yet another way-too-narrow path, and park in a dusty gravely lot with room for about 10 cars. I turn off my iPod, step out of the car, and take in the humidity and bug sounds. My work shoes crunch the gravel and clack on the concrete. I reach the entryway, take off my work shoes (which I guess aren't work shoes after all) and put on my indoor slippers. Then I step into the teachers' room.

Ohayou gozaimasu!!!! ("Good morning!") is the first thing you must say every day. And everyone must say it back to you. Then I stamp my name-stamp on my attendance sheet. It is a small round stamp that says "Rebecca." And it means I was there that day. Then I sit at my desk. It's only about 8:00, and my work start time isn't until 8:15, but you have to get there early; you have to, or else it seems like you're not dedicated to your work. God forbid you EVER get there late. The morning music plays on the PA system; it's the same song every single day. By the end of this year I will forever and always associate this song with the morning meeting time. I organize and try to read some Japanese materials being passed around, or check on which lessons I have that day, plus a few more rounds of ohayou gozaimasu, until the morning meeting starts. The principal and VP give a few announcements, as well as any other teachers who have anything to say. I try to understand but usually understand about half at best.

This is the teachers' room. Lots of messy teacher desks, lots of conversations. We use the adjacent kitchen to prepare green tea or barley tea for ourselves.

Classes start. My JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) and I traipse up to the 2nd floor classrooms, picture cards, textbook, and pen in hand. Ms. Muto: "Okay let's start." Students stand up. A student: "Hello, Miss Muto. Hello, Rebecca." All other students echo in unison. Ms. Muto: "Hello everyone!" Me: "Hello everyone! How are you?" Students in unison: "I'm ____, thanks, and you?" Me: "I'm ____!" Every class must start this way. Then they sit down.

A classroom. Natural lighting is utilized much more than in the fluorescently-lit classrooms of the States.

Class lessons and activities are varied but usually entail me assisting Ms. Muto by pronouncing lists of words to the students, which they echo, and reading picture cards to them. Students learn grammar points by memorizing dialogues and sentences and learning direct translations. Each lesson is a unit which uses dialogues to incorporate grammar points and sometimes-random-sometimes-useful vocabulary. At times the students' lessons are counterintuitive to my own notions of what makes learning fun and interest-grabbing and I feel they aren't learning real communication at all. Although I sometimes feel aversion to the Japanese method of classroom learning, I try to remind myself that it is not "worse", just different. And you certainly can't argue with the fact that Japanese students for the most part are beyond well-behaved and respectful. The Japanese school system and cultural views are intertwined, and the longer I live here the fuller idea I have of exactly how the cultural system manifests itself in all aspects of life. However, this will be its own entry once I process it more.

Lunch is spent eating in the classrooms with the students. All food is doled out by the students themselves, wearing cute little lunch-lady outfits and masks. Three or four students on a rotating basis serve to their whole class. Once everyone has all their food (which can take long enough for it to become lukewarm,) we say "itadakimasu" ("I receive [this meal]".) I pick one class a day to eat with. Since I've decided to (mostly) speak English with them, and they (mostly) don't speak any, this usually entails awkward silence at whatever table I happen to be sitting at. But I'm told this will improve as they warm up to me more. Lunch time is also the time where I pick the strips or pieces of meat out of the school lunch and receive confused stares from all students. There is always meat but rarely is a meal so meat-based that I don't get enough to eat. The lunch time music also plays, usually 4 or 5 songs. When lunch is over, we all say together "gochisousama deshita("it was a feast.") I think these pre- and post-eating chants are beautiful and show a deep gratitude for the privilege of having enough to eat.

Since our whole school is only three classes, I usually teach three classes a day and sit in on another one, leaving at least two periods of the day free. Sometimes I perform personal duties such as budgeting, trip planning and meal planning, sometimes I study Japanese, sometimes I read my lesson-planning books, and sometimes I not-so-inconspicuously use my phone. I always check, grade and correct students' English notebooks, though that doesn't take long. Feeling underutilized and struggling through the communication barrier every day in the teachers' room is one of my biggest stressors at work. I can never be a normal member of the team. I am a special little fawn who must be told what to do. But guys, I'm not really that stupid. I'm actually quite capable and independent, just not with this massive communication barrier. You don't see the real worker-me at all. It's handicapping, but not miserable. I know my co-workers realize it too and we try our hardest to make things work. I try to help out as much as I can and work hard as much as I can, although there is only so much I can do, and my true amount of responsibility at school is small indeed. The more comfortable I get at school, the more clearly I see how I can go above and beyond my stated responsibilities so that I will actually feel like I'm accomplishing something at this school.

At 3:15 school is over and cleaning time begins. I usually forget it's happening and run upstairs in a rush to help the students clean their classrooms. I've become quite the master of the hataki or Japanese duster. Instead of feathers it uses strips of cloth. I dust the chalk-covered shelves and the items on them. I organize stacks of books and pick up tiny straw wrappers from the floor. I do not usually do the heavy cleaning the students do, such as cleaning out bathroom drains or rubbing the classroom floors with a cloth. (Even in my elementary school the first graders clean their classroom and bathroom in this way.)They play the same cleaning music every day too. Here is one of the songs.



By 3:45 most students are gone for the day. The 3rd-graders (a.k.a. 9th graders) go home, ostensibly to study, while the younger two grades stay at school and do bukatsu, or club activities. I've heard tell that some larger middle schools have clubs such as sewing club, English club, drama club, kendo club, etc. Since my school has only 52 students, we have soft tennis and basketball. And that's it. So my final hour at school is spent hearing their club chants: A giant "ganbarimasu!" ("we will try our best!") before starting their practice, continuous shouts of "nice serve!" and "nice catch!" as they practice, and a rousing "arigatou gozaimashita!" ("thank you very much!") when they finish. I'm technically able to leave at 4:00pm, but unless I need to catch a train or something, I usually stay until at least 4:15 or 4:30, so it doesn't look like I'm dying to get out of there. All JETs are told to do this. It is the Japanese style of working. As younger and newer workers, we MUST be dedicated, hardworking, and obedient. (Note that being creative or having an optimistic personality are not similarly valued.) As I'm exiting the teachers' room, I must say "O saki ni shitsurei shimasu" ("It's rude of me to leave earlier than you!")Since I do leave earlier than almost all my co-workers, I absolutely must say this every day when I leave.

In the evenings, I return to my cubicle of an apartment and do normal things such as going on the internet, cooking dinner, grocery shopping, or cleaning. Sometimes I go for a walk (not by the places where bats live though.) Some nights I eat dinner out with other Shibukawa people or travel to Takasaki by train. On Tuesdays I go to Japanese conversation practice. I think my evenings will get busier as I take on more responsibility at my school and in my community, but for now I enjoy the freedom I get from ~5-10pm most nights. Since I find myself frequently tired at work (because I am bored and not challenged enough so I naturally feel my fatigue more) I try to sleep early and get a decent amount of sleep.

Life is happening both slowly and quickly at the same time. While some workweeks seem to last forever, I cannot believe it's been nearly two months. My routine, my comfort, my baseline, is turning into this lifestyle. It's not a novel and uncomfortable experience but my new normal.

walk home

Through my various weeknight and weekend adventures, and because it gets dark here so early now, I often find myself walking home alone from the train station at night.

I'm lucky to live only a 10-minute walk from the train station. But in order to achieve that time, I must take a shortcut route which leads me down an unlit concrete path, through a spiderweb-laden tunnel, down dark unpaved side streets and finally to the side gate of my apartment complex. On more occasions than not, my own walk has been accompanied by the quick steps of men's dress shoes no more than twenty paces behind me. The unceasing shrill chime of Japan's many insects and the distant whoosh of passing cars complete the symphony. To say I have at times been slightly unnerved is an understatement. I feel a brisk, permeating alertness which prohibits me from listening to my iPod or checking my phone. I walk quickly and determinedly, more than ready to jump over that meter-high gate. I try to remind myself of many things. Yes, those are literally thousands of potentially large insects, but they probably won't bug you if you don't bug them. Yes, that is a man walking behind you, but he's probably not going to chase you. Yes, it is dark, but everything is actually exactly the same as it exists during the day.

My feet reach the gate, and I throw my purse over my shoulder, gladly jumping over the gate, running up the steps to my apartment, jamming my key in the door, and stepping inside. Phew, back to safety once more. I've done this walk a dozen times already and I will do it hundreds more. And each time, though I still feel unnerved, it gets easier and easier to make it home without worry. It takes guts to step outside of what you know. You open yourself up to risk and fear. You pass new things which you didn't know would scare you. But at the end of the day your old fear can become your new comfort zone.

This has been your cliché analogy for the day.

One-Month Mark

I went to Tokyo this weekend to visit friends. The big, bustling city life appeals to me on a temporary level but in the end I feel it's too crowded and rushed for me. The frenetic pace, crazy high amount of people and consumerism EVERYWHERE is exciting, but I actually feel overwhelmed by it after a short amount of time. I grew up in cities, but obviously none this big. New York City affects me the same way.

BUT, I was immensely happy to see friends from many different walks of life who all found themselves in Tokyo. :) And after a day of the big city, I was happy to stumble upon Inokashira Park in the Kichijouji area of Tokyo, a brilliant glimpse of nature in the metropolis.

And let's not forget about the HAMMOCK CAFE:

School is in full swing, so to speak, and while I do find myself experiencing the phenomenon known as trained-teachers-find-JET-too-confining, for the most part things couldn't be better. My students are absolute ANGELS, the schools and their surroundings are beautiful, I'm developing good relationships with my JTEs and other coworkers, and the summer mushiatsui swelter is beginning to cool off into a cool suzushii. (Not that that makes me any more excited for autumn's approach...my favorite season is coming to a close. But, thinking about the green leaves actually turning red/yellow/brown is exciting nonetheless.)

I also started my Japanese conversation "class" at the community center this week. It was me and five Japanese people having a choppy conversation, no joke. But more foreigners will come next week (so I'll have some support), and it's just another great opportunity for all-Japanese conversation practice for me. It's easy to get deluded by every other Japanese person saying "Ohh you're so good!!" every time a single word pops out of my mouth, but really, I'm still such a beginner and have so far to go. And I'm not just saying that because I'm humble or whatever, I'm truly still a beginner, despite what the love-to-humor-you Japanese people may have to say.

I'm also learning that it's okay to make cultural mistakes and that I am expected to, so it's not a shock or surprise or catastrophe when I do. It's not my fault or anyone's fault, it's just part of life. And in general Japanese people are very nice about it. But that's a catch-22: as part of my acclimation I've got to learn to read in between the lines and figure out what people mean and not what they are saying.

You're looking at my junior high school, facing west. (If you couldn't tell by the lowering sun.)

(BTW, every single time I write on this blog, I feel like it's so boringly serious, because I can't be myself, because that wouldn't be professional/mature of me [typing in caps, swearing, etc.] and I can't bring myself to do that on this public blog-for-the-archives. -_-;;)

English has so many arbitrary-yet-important conventions that I'm continually becoming aware of. Like above there, I used brackets inside parentheses. Because that's what you do. And my students like to reach the end of a line and just continue their word on the next line, mid-word, no matter where they were in that word. I could teach them about hyphenation and syllables but it's too complicated (literally the entire concept of syllables is different in Japanese) so I just told them never to break up a word between lines. You gotta pick your battles because if you fight them all your end result will be much worse than if you only fought a few.

Fuji | 富士山 --> "As long as we stay positive, nothing bad can happen."

It goes without saying that climbing Mt. Fuji was an unbelievable experience. I feel so lucky that opportunity fell into my lap to go on this trip, with friends, so soon into my time here.

Most of our climbing was done at night. To say that we "climbed" Mt. Fuji is a bit of a misnomer, since it was technically hiking and not rock-climbing, but the steep graded scrambles that comprise much of volcano's surface require both hands and both feet in order to ascend.

Mt. Fuji has 10 stations from bottom to top. Most of the stations have some amenities ranging from outhouses, to tatami mats to rest on, to incredibly overpriced food and canisters of oxygen. We started at the 5th station, which is where the car road ends, so the last outpost of humanity before your world is nothing but loose gravely dirt and other mars-like rock faces (and the hundreds of other climbers.)

Sometimes it felt like enternities between each station. The endless uphill climb requires you to go slow and take baby steps or your legs will give out. Every so often one of us would yell "kyuukei!" ("break!") and we would stop on the slopes for a few minutes to rest our muscles. That was also when we pulled out our snacks and water. (That was also usually when I felt my sweat grow cold on me, such a gross feeling.) I was drinking constantly to try and lighten my load. Two liters of water weighs a ton.

It's not like I ever seriously wanted to turn back, but there were times when I didn't feel the motivation in my legs to keep going. My friend Michelle said something like "do this hike for someone. Think of someone you love and use that as your motivation to keep going." So, mom, this hike was for you. Because of all you've done for me, you gave me the motivation to keep going.

Despite our labored breathing and the often single-file trail, we were still able to converse. We talked about family, friends, life in Japan. Michelle kept saying positive things, and I was so inspired, I said "I feel like as long as we stay positive, then nothing bad can happen." After a moment Chelsey said, "that's the greatest thing I've ever heard." So that became our motto for the trip.

At one of the 8th stations (oh yeah, that's right, there's not just one of each station, there's like, four or five, those tricky tricksters) we began to see the sunrise on the horizon. At this point we knew we couldn't make it to the summit by sunrise, but it didn't matter.

Watching the sun slowly rise while ascending a mountain brings on a peaceful high that's hard to describe. I guess viewing something so beautiful, which you know was created by nature and not by humans, makes you feel more connected to the universe.

We started where the ground was green.

In what literally looked like the phoenix spreading its wings, somewhere along one of the 8th stations, the sunrise happened.

And then it was light, and we saw that we had been climbing on Mars the whole time.

A series of three torii gates marks the summit of Mt. Fuji. Two hours later, we had passed the second one.

This is the last one. I'm really-really at the top now!

12,000-something feet. (3776 meters.) Highest point in Japan.

The way down was gruesome (read: endless endless switchbacks in foot-deep loose red dusty dirt with dozens of other hikers kicking it up into your face such that you need to wear a mask to avoid getting dusk in your eyes/nose/mouth and to avoid getting sunburned, all while jamming your toes into your shoes with every downhill step) but afterwards, we were overjoyed to drink a cool beverage, take a nap, and relax in a hot spring in the cute town of Fujiyoshida. I'm proud of myself that I did it, and overjoyed that I got to share the experience with other Gunma JETs. Gunma prefecture has one of the most active ALT communities in all of Japan, a fact I'm grateful for every day. If it weren't for them, this trip wouldn't have happened.

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I'm having a great time at work, although I have my daily share of confusing/embarrassing/frustrating moments, as do in all aspects of my life. But that entry will be for another day.

Shibukawa Dashi Matsuri

WA-SHOI! WASH-OI! わっしょい！Just a day after we Gunma newbies had to be forcefully torn apart from each other kicking and screaming (okay...maybe that was just me...) we had the great and glorious fortune to be semi-reunited at the biennial Dashi Matsuri, occurring in my MY VERY OWN CITY, Shibukawa! I was astonished and elated when as many as 30 Gunma JETs showed up to the festival on Saturday, and another handful on Sunday!

What is a dashi you ask? You're looking at one! Dashis are large floats with people on them, hitting drums and bells, playing the flute, or in the case of preschoolers, just going along for the ride. But these dashis aren't your run-of-the-mill Goodyear-tire parade floats, they are completely human-powered--meaning that dozens of Shibukawans pull each dashi, holding onto two long ropes, parading it throughout town!

Each dashi has a creepy mannequin which can be raised or lowered at the top of it. This mannequin represents a past emperor or a character from Japanese folklore. Pulling the dashis throughout the city is traditionally supposed to cleanse the city from demons and bring the city together in a spirit of community. In Shibukawa's dashi matsuri, each dashi is maintained and represented by one neighborhood of the city! The one in these pictures belongs to 寄居町, Yorii-cho, one of Shibs' many neighborhoods. I heard my neighborhood, Shimogo, practicing drums and flute every night the week leading up to the festival. I also live right by the community center, so I got the see the dashi being all gussied up. :) The dashis and the peoples' happi-coat uniforms have corresponding colors (in this case navy blue.) Sometimes, four or five dashi converge in an intersection, starting what I call a DASHI FIGHT:

AND let's not forget about the crazy two-lines-bash-into-each-other-and-jump-up-and-down-dance!

R.B. and S.C. get in on the fun.

Matsuris like this remind me of a few things:
a) how much Japanese value "everyone working hard and doing the same thing for the good of the team." You're not an individual so much as you are a cog in a machine. No one person is glorified or highlighted; it's all for the team.
b) How much modern technology and incredibly old tradition are beautifully intertwined.
c) How culture shapes our perceptions. By changing my lens and viewing this as normal rather than exotic, by recognizing that little kids grow up with these kinds of festivals every summer, I can see how it contributes to why they are the way they are today. I think it concurrently breaks down and reinforces the "humans are all the same inside" idea.

So that's that! Now that the weekend is over, I have a full week of school (but no classes yet...more on that later) until ~*~ThE FuJi ExPeRiEnCe~*~ next week. Yay!

Prefectural Orientation

I've only been here a couple weeks, but man oh man have I been up to stuff! Even "normal" things like driving to school, getting gas, or going to the grocery store are still kind of an exciting adventure for me. I often make observations or think of insightful things I want to put in my blog, but of course when I don't write them down, I forget them. But here's a quick run-down of the past few days, as well as some cultural observations.

Last Wednesday, I visited my friend Stephanie (who's also from San Diego) in Takasaki. She lives five minutes away from a big mall called AEON (the biggest mall in Gunma maybe?) so we walked around the mall and got food. Unfortunately, since we hadn't received our paychecks yet, we didn't buy much. My favorite-Japanese-store-of-all-time FrancFranc is still desperately out of reach. But hey, what are possessions except tangible reminders of how grounded we are to money. I got a pillow for my "couch" (THOUGH I STILL REQUIRE MANY MORE.) Then we walked to Stephanie's apartment, which, don't be fooled, is in the suburbs and *not* in the big city. I helped her clean out her closets, whereupon I had the amazing luck to stumble upon not one, not two, but THREE dream-catchers, MY FAVORITE THING EVER! Stephanie was nice enough to let me have them, so now I have one in my car and two in my house. :)

Thursday and Friday were our newbie JET Gunma Prefectural Orientation in Maebashi. We had workshops and info by day, Karaoke and drinking by night.

CRAZY KARAOKE PEEPS IN THE HOUSE

Practicing calligraphy. This kanji means "flower."

Learning the koto! I didn't think I would really be into it, but I totally was! I would love to take koto lessons if they have them in my city.

A group of Gunma JETs (from Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Singapore, and the US) wearing yukatas (not kimonos, which are only for winter. Yukatas are made of cotton and are lighter for summer.)

Me with Gunma-chan, Gunma's lil' horsey mascot. Gunma means "group of horses" so there you go.