Silent Night

For the first time in a couple of weeks, I find myself home at a “decent hour”, ready to sleep and trying to unwind before work tomorrow. It’s a silent night, and the first one among many that I don’t mind. In fact, I think I am adjusting. 

Now that the whirlwind of holidays has passed, and the calm of January begins to set it, I can reflect on the holiday season and what it means to me. When it comes to Christmas, I respect how various people express their faith and love during the holiday. I believe in rejoicing for love, rejoicing for life, whether it be on Christmas, today, yesterday, tomorrow, or everyday. Therefore, it gladdens me to see families and friends come together for dinner, parties, or other celebrations. I even like how Christmas has evolved to be more inclusive – I've met many people who celebrate Christmas for the unity in family and not for the religious aspect, and I see the beauty in that.

One thing I cannot stand during the holidays is silence. Two years ago, when I stayed in Japan for Christmas, I felt a silence so deep it left me chilled. I judged by the calendar and decorations around me that the holiday was approaching, but Christmas in Japan was deceiving. Instead of feeling happy in the unity of family or friends, people sulked because they were alone and not in a relationship. You see, Christmas in Japan – for non-Christians – is a couple's holiday, a Valentine's Day of a sort. And this negativity is contagious at most, and dampens spirits at least. Coming from a Western country where Christmas is about family and generosity, and being raised in a family where it's about reflecting and divinity, I felt a cloud over my head and a breeze of homesickness on Christmas Day.

Luckily, the days leading to Christmas in 2010 had a touch of magic. A couple of weeks before Christmas, I went to Universal Studios with my Japanese family, and I felt the love of Christmas in their unity, kindness, and generosity. That night, we watched a Christmas show full of lights and traditional songs of the season. It was cold that night, but I felt the warmth of the season. On Christmas Eve, some friends and I got together to celebrate the holiday, and I felt the warmth in everyone's desire to share a home cooked meal. If it hadn't been for those people, Christmas would have passed right by my door.

Last Christmas, I came home for the holidays. I couldn't bear to pass another Christmas without some of the things or people I value the most. On Christmas Eve, we went to my aunt's house. For the first time in 30 years, my grandmother spent Christmas with all of her children. That night, after dinner, we all felt compelled to share our thoughts on the holiday and give recognition to everyone who was present for supporting us, encouraging us and loving us. It was spontaneous. It was sincere, and it was heartfelt. There was no silence that night around me, and I felt uplifted.

This year, we had a smaller reunion, and the unity and gratitude was still there. This year, too, I wasn't subject to the deafening silence of Christmas in Japan. After dinner, we gathered around to talk about the season, and some of my family members spoke about the changes they want to make in the upcoming year. This time, though, when I tried to speak, I couldn't formulate my thoughts. I couldn't think of anything non-generic to say. The dreaded silence was coming from within me. For the first time in a long time, I lost my voice. Instead of the silence being forced onto me from exterior forces, the silence was coming from within.

I haven’t been able to pinpoint the exact cause, but circumstantially, I've been gradually pushed into silence these past two and a half years. Though people want to hear about my experiences in Japan, I feel influenced by others' reactions to stay quiet. Though people are understanding and caring, the fact is that most can't relate when they've never lived through a similar experience. And the bottom line is, people can grow tired of hearing about the same subject over and over again. It’s been four months, for crying out loud! I understand this, yet I find it hard to close a chapter in my life when I can't speak about it. But mostly, I recognize that I’m being too hard on myself. I don’t want to be “that girl” who’s stuck in the past, so I don’t say much. My time abroad changed me tremendously and I am unable to fully share it. At the end of the day, it also hurts to be too nostalgic. I need closure and I have a feeling it won't be coming easily.

You're going to go through many changes, they said, and people might not understand. Relationships have changed, they warned. You might not fit in, they teased. They said it would all be a normal part of reintegration, but nothing anyone said prepared me for this echo inside of me. My voice has been extinguished and I don't know where to find a single match. That is the most frustrating component.

The truth is, my time away has had a curious effect on me. In terms of relationships, they have changed, and I feel that I am not entitled to complain, to be confused or to be hurt by it. I'm the one who left, after all. But just like everyone else, I was chasing my dreams, and mine inspired me to chase the sun far, far away. I don’t want to have to justify my happiness, my sadness, nor my confusion. Maybe one day we can understand each other, but for now I’m just trying to understand myself and the ways in which I’ve grown.

One thing I hope others can understand is how I've learned to deal with simple and complex problems. I was used to living alone, so I internalized issues, and mostly dealt with them myself. One day I woke up and didn't need everyone's opinion on everything, as valuable as it might have been.

The aspects of living in Japan that took a lot of getting used to became my comfort. Being anonymous – despite standing out – in a crowd full of people that couldn't fully understand me, became my comfort. It explained why I felt confused at times, why I stood out, why I was different. But returning to a place where I look like everyone else, where I speak the same language, doesn’t explain why people still can’t understand me nor why I can’t understand them.

I've lost my voice, and she needs to be found. As you may have noticed, I also disappeared from this blog. I am facing major writer’s block, when writing used to be something relaxing.

I’m learning that no matter how hard you look and think you’ve found the better and stronger version of yourself, you can't fully find yourself in one experience. Challenges present you with puzzles and lots of mysteries along the way, and many of us like to constantly challenge ourselves, so we must endure the transition periods. Every new adventure is a time to rediscover the things you enjoy, to find your motivation and your muse in a foreign place, and to be comfortable with change. It's a lot more difficult to do this when you return to a place you’ve previously been in, a place with history, a place where you've formed friendships, fallen in love, spent your childhood. When you return and want to start anew, you feel as if you're taking two steps back before you can move one forward. That’s how I feel right now, and I hope it's true when they say the harder the struggle, the more you learn.

Until then, until I can move with ease in this city, I will have to persevere.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, my mind drifts off to a far away city. It recalls a train system so complex you might end up at your starting point. It begins to sparkle with an image of hundreds of lit-up windows on massive buildings. It feels the density of cities, and the serenity of the countryside and its evergreen mountains and clear water. I can feel cold, and instantly switch to humidity. I remember faces that I used to see regularly, some of which I’ll never see again. I think of my students and the joys and challenges of teaching them. I think of my friends and how much I miss them. In this process, I begin to find my voice. I begin to feel inspired to describe, to write, to share, to dream, to chase. As usual, I am optimistic and confident in my ability to be fierce again.

I can’t revisit my two years in Japan, nor would I want to relive them if I could. For one, I have experienced enough delight and wonder to last a lifetime. And then, some of the lessons I learned were earned at a high price. I wouldn’t want to relive those moments. I have my memories, my moon watching over me, and the connections I’ve made with people. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for those, Japan.

I am reaching the end of this blog post, and with it the end of this blog. I find myself stalling, without an effortless way to end this entry, reading back and noticing a lot of fragmented thoughts. Looking back and counting the stories I left untold. That’s the thing about life – there are many unsmooth transitions and unfulfilled promises. Sometimes, we just have to admit that we’re stuck, and go forward as best as we can. I started this journey (and blog) in tears, full of things to say and emotions that I could express clearly. I continued this journey with enthusiasm, critique and optimism. I end this journey feeling grateful, touched, but at a loss for words. Don’t you worry though, it was all worth it. I’d do it all again. Even though I feel the impact of these silent nights, I’d do it all again. I’m happy.

Thank you for sharing my adventures (or mishaps!) in Japan with me. I'm a grateful bunny. I’ll be back before you know it, with a new adventure to share.

Forever Yours,

Kelly Sensei

ケリー先生

Untold Story 1

Here's a post that I started to write in June and never finished until now. Please enjoy...
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There are certain scenarios that ALTs come across. For one, ALTs are asked typical questions by students and coworkers. Among the common ones are "do you have a boyfriend?" and "do you know how to use chopsticks?" Those are silly and maybe annoying, but easy enough to answer. Sometimes, we're faced with awkward questions. It is not unheard of for ladies to be asked, "what is your bra size?" and for male ALTs to be asked, "how many centimeters?" I won't elaborate any further, you get the picture. Along with being cultural ambassadors, ALTs must come up with quirky answers to questions that are just plain awkward. It's a rite of passage, so to speak, and only when we succeed in coming up with witty answers are we getting closer to becoming clever ALTs that can avoid embarrassment  The true moment of victory is when we can sense the questions forming and create a diversion to change the subject. Unfortunately, I haven't reached that point. Some of them still catch me off guard.

In addition to the questions, there are certain incidents that occur at school. ALTs may witness other teachers softly (or loudly O_o) smack students on the head -- a situation that would be met with nothing short of a lawsuit in the States. ALTs also have the pleasure of observing teachers clip their fingernails in the staffroom, or of listening to teachers gargle and rinse their mouths in the staff room sink. To be fair, these don't happen on a regular basis, but that they do happen is my point.

Then, we hear stories of violent behavior in the classroom that have happened to "a friend of a friend," but that we don't often see. We wonder whether they really happened or if people embellish the truth. I can tell you for a fact that they do happen.

In the beginning of this semester, things got a little crazy in Hyogo. It was a lovely spring day in April, and everything was moving along smoothly in class, when a student decided to add excitement to my day. All morning, I had been asking students to introduce themselves in front of their peers. Most students were enthusiastic about participating and received their first participation point for their "passport". The "passport" is a thin, handmade booklet used to keep track of participation points. Students can earn stickers, and in doing so, move through countries. It motivates students, and even the least enthusiastic students like collecting the stickers in order to "zoom across the world".

During this first lesson, my day took an unexpected twist after second period. We were finishing up student introductions, when the bell rang. I had just made a student stand up -- seconds before the sound of the chime -- and he thought he had gotten off the hook. However, I surprised him when I told him to do his introduction anyway. The student resisted, and when he saw that I wasn't backing down, he slid his passport away from him. The JTE pushed the passport back towards the student. The student then crumbled his passport, and started talking back to us. It was then that I awkwardly announced to the class that we had finished for the day, and rushed to the front of the classroom for the closing greeting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the student kick his chair and we all heard it hit the ground. I couldn't tell you who was more shocked, me or the students. Now, this is the kind of story that circulates the JET community, but that not everyone experiences. After all, we're  told that Japanese students are among the best behaved students in the world... Teachers made the student apologize, and he very humbly did so during lunchtime. I accepted his apology, and since then I cautiously ask him to participate. I must admit though, I secretly fear he's going to through a chair at me when I pass by his desk...

A few weeks after that, I was unprepared for the sudden crying that began in the middle of a lesson. I don't remember what kind of activity we were doing, but one of my female students had started crying and wailing for no apparent reason. And there really was no apparent reason -- this student is prone to anxiety in unfamiliar situations, but the teachers aren't too sure about the main triggers. Everything about my classroom is unfamiliar: I'm a foreigner teaching a foreign language in a classroom that they only come to once a week. I didn't know about her anxiety at the time, so I wasn't sure how to approach the situation, especially since the JTE was already by the girl's side, trying to calm her. I tried to continue teaching, but it was impossible to practice pronunciation, or anything else, when all we could hear was crying and all of the sounds that accompany it. At that point, I went to talk to the girl and suggest that she go to the bathroom for a breather, or to the nurse's office if she wasn't feeling well. However, the girl reported that she wanted to stay in the classroom. I was really lost at that point. The student went to the back of the classroom and sat on the floor, and eventually calmed down. She completed all of the worksheets, and occasionally we would hear whimper-like sounds coming from the back of the classroom. The JTE never left her side. It was the first and last time it happened in my classroom, but I really wish I would have been in the know about my student's bouts of anxiety.

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My job might have been repetitive, but there was hardly a dull moment with these kids.

Courage in the Face of Change

Courage is moving on without knowing what lies ahead.

Courage is reminiscing without getting overly nostalgic.

Courage is seeking opportunities, despite the fear of rejection.  

Courage is accepting the changes around you and trying to find a place for yourself in them. 

Courage is fighting for the changes you want to see. 

Courage is reaching out to others.

Courage is forgiving others -- and yourself. 

Courage is something I find in you! Courage is contagious! がんばります！

Waiting for everything to come together, but in the meantime...

Flying Through Time Zones

Before Japan, I would have never rated excellent customer service as a must-have. Our customer service in the States isn't the worse in the world (ahem, Spanish waiters and snobby Parisians!), but it's not uncommon to encounter an impolite waitress, store clerk, etc. Air travel is no exception, I've learned...

The first time I arranged a flight by myself for a five-week study program in Paris, I hadn't realized that special meals needed to be ordered beforehand. When meal time came around, I asked for a vegetarian meal on board. To my major disappointment, the flight attendant told me that I had to have pre-ordered it a couple of days before the flight. She then asked if I preferred chicken or beef. >_< The passenger sitting next to me came to my rescue. He had ordered a vegetarian meal for religious reasons, but only needed to eat it during certain days of the week. But just as a precaution, he always ordered vegetarian meals when flying. Luckily, the man was able to eat meat that day, so he took my meal and gave me his vegetarian one. I consider him one of the “guardian angels” that I have been lucky enough to encounter during my travels.

Last year, when I was going home to visit my family, I had forgotten to order a vegetarian meal. I realized this less than 24 hours before the flight. At the airport in Japan, I bought some onigiri, “rice balls”, in preparation. Still, when the flight attendant came around, I mentioned to her that I was vegetarian and couldn't have the meal they were offering. The flight attendant was a Japanese woman, and when I told her I wasn't going to eat due to my lack of planning, she told me to wait a moment and started scrambling around the airplane. I could see her talking to other flight attendants, until she disappeared out of sight. When she came back, she had two bread rolls, two salads, and a small bowl of fruit in her hand. She apologized for the “meager” findings and only felt comforted when I showed her my onigiri. And that my friends, is what I call superb customer service, and I frequently encountered it in Japan.

I'm sure you can see how it's hard to go back to average customer service once you get used to the star treatment.

I had only been back in the US for about a week, but I had already noticed the differences between my host country and my home country, tremendously. For one, having polite flight attendants on board is a hit or miss. On my flight from Los Angeles to Washington D.C., one of the flight attendants made me so angry. I was waiting for my turn to use the toilet, when the seat belt sign came on. I really had to pee, so I figured I could go quickly and then return to my seat. I know, dumb. Mind you, I was running on one hour of sleep. As I waited, I had a hand on my face and was leaning on the wall. At this point, a flight attendant approached me and mockingly copied my pose. He then said, “Do you see that sign, ma'am?” and pointed to the lit up reminder that I was not supposed to be there. His tone was so condescending!! I apologized and returned to my seat, angry at his attitude, angry that he was right about the rules, and angry at the fact that I still really needed to go pee. I was angry, because a simple, “Excuse me ma'am, the seat belt sign is on. Please return to your seat,” would have sufficed. Now, the me before Japan would have probably returned to her seat, rolled her eyes, and forgotten about it instantly. But this new me, Kelly post-Japan, gets really irritated by incidents like these. She has Japanese standards for service, but responds in a self-righteous American way, though she conceals her true emotions, like a Japanese person. I wish it weren't as complicated as it sounds.

I think the universe realized that throwing me back into American society, full force, is rather cruel, because of what happened after that flight. While I was waiting at the departure gate for my next flight, some beautiful children came running towards me and started marveling at the airplanes seen from the window behind me – in Japanese! Not only were they speaking Japanese, but they were speaking the regional dialect from the area I had been living in, Kansai. The children were half-Japanese and half-American, had been born in the US, but now live in Kyoto. They were on their way to San Francisco with their parents, and they were very curious as to why I was able to speak Japanese. (Don't be impressed, I have the ability to keep up with a 5 and 2 year old, apparently. And may I add that the 5 year old corrected me several times.) When their father apologized to me about his children “bothering” me, my Japanglish came rushing back. I replied, “It's no problem, I enjoyed it.” I sounded like a weirdo, but this kind of English is commonly heard in a land far, far away... I need a transition period, as awkward as it might be.

I'm happy to be home, but I really miss Japan. There, I said it!

Landing in Osaka after Thailand.

Never Mind the Calendar

Aug. 30, 2012

This morning, today but yesterday in my current time zone, I said goodbye to a dear friend in Paris and tried to gracefully make my way into the metro. I blame it on all of the bags I was carrying, but I got stuck through the turnstile. Somehow, I managed to get only one leg through, while the other leg remained on the other side of the turnstile. I didn't realize this until one of the revolving bars was beating against my you-know-what. Leave it to me to entertain Parisians during rush hour.

Eleven flights later, I am finally home after my two years in Japan. My work contract hadn't officially ended, but I was already in Thailand enjoying my freedom. Soon after, I spent a week in Los Angeles before taking off to Europe for a dose of friends, cheese, wine and perfect bread. I said goodbye to Japan three weeks ago, yet I'm not sure what that means, or what effect it will have on me. It's too soon to tell, I think. Was it all just a dream?

I feel that I should write a single blog post to conclude my two years in Japan, but if you've been in my shoes, you know it's not that simple. Instead, I will ease my way out of this blog with a few more posts. I hope you don't mind. And if you're still keen on reading my stories, I might start another blog about life in America and then you'll really never get rid of me.

Ok, jet lag beckons me to sleep. Speak soon!

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I wrote this entry over a week ago with the intention of publishing it immediately. Unfortunately, I fell asleep in front of an open laptop and then I got caught up settling in. Never mind the calendar, I still feel that way. 

P.S. This song came up on my playlist right before I landed in Washington D.C. from an international flight. Welcome home, it said to me.

  

I may be pursuing different things than Kanye and Jay Z, heck I don't even agree with them most of the time, but something about this country, that flag and the people here has got me wanting to scream in bliss like the duo. Home sweet home. There's nothing like being in a very familiar place, one who's flaws and strengths you know so well.

When It Rains, It Pours

This morning, I got on the wrong bus. Normally, I don't take the bus, but today I was wearing a pencil skirt and it was pouring, so the times called for a bus ride.  The bus I use passes at 7:35, so instead of checking the destination, I got on the bus that passed at that exact time. Bad call. I should have known better! I snagged a seat and was in the middle of one of Haruki Murakami's short stories, when I happened to glance up from the book. I noticed that the bus was turning left at a major intersection, when I needed it to turn right... I asked the bus driver if the bus would stop at my stop, and he confirmed my fear -- I was moving away from my destination. Luckily, I wasn't too far from a bus stop where I could get the correct bus, so I paid the bus fare, hopped off and ran to another bus stop. When I got there, my heart sank. According to the timetable, the bus had already passed. I couldn't afford to be late nor find an alternate route (the bus I needed only comes twice a day), because I was supposed to give a farewell speech to my colleagues during the morning meeting. As I was reaching for my phone to call a friend for advice, I noticed the bus coming! I love the sweet feeling of relief! My bus had been late and that's why I had made the careless mistake earlier.

I felt triumphant as I boarded the bus, and I looked for a seat, in order to continue reading Murakami's tale. But first, I wanted to get my bus fare out and have it ready. This is when I noticed that my wallet was missing. I had dropped the wallet somewhere while changing buses. And so, my heart took another plunge. I didn't want to get off the bus, because I didn't want to be late to the morning meeting, so I continued on. If there's any place you can be almost certain that a lost wallet will be returned, it's Japan. If I had been in L.A., you bet I would have gotten off the bus and raced back to search for my wallet. When it was time to get off the bus, I apologized to the driver and explained my situation. He let me off, but made me promise to pay double the fare the next time I used a bus. Scouts Honor!

When I arrived at school, it looked unusually empty. That's because it was practically empty; the students had been told to stay home, due to a weather warning. The teachers had to discuss the matter, so the morning meeting was postponed, and Lorrie's, the other ALT, and my speech had been postponed, too. Needless to say, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed at this point.

I calmly told a teacher that I had dropped my wallet, and then I started to realize, aloud, what I'd have to do if I couldn't recover my wallet.  I'd have to replace important identification cards and bank cards before I leave in about 9 days. I could probably manage to replace some Japanese cards, but it'd be almost impossible to get my American cards replaced in that amount of time. And that would mean that I wouldn't be able to withdraw money during my travels, and so would have to probably cancel my two week trip to Thailand. Yeah, I would have been entitled to panicking, but instead I kept calm and carried on. The teachers, however, had a mini heart attack and proceeded to make phone calls. A half an hour later, my wallet had been reported to the police box (mini, mini police station) nearest the scene. It so happens that I dropped the wallet near my other visit school. Although we had made the report, a teacher was going to take me to the intersection to search for it.

An hour later, I received a wonderful phone call. My wallet had been turned in! The teacher took me to retrieve it, and I was so relieved to see all of my cards and my roughly 3万円 ($300) in cash were in the wallet. Japan, I love you!!! Now, before you call me stupid for carrying that much cash, it's perfectly normal AND necessary here, as it's a cash society and theft rates are low.

My kind Samaritan turned out to be one of my students. And I have no idea if she knew this when she turned it in. She would have only known this if she had opened the wallet and looked through the cards.

I learned today that in cases like mine, where a wallet is returned with all money intact, the person who lost the wallet is expected to offer a 5 to 10% reward. It is then up to the person who found it to accept this reward or not. They called my dear student, and she turned down the reward. I will still make sure that she receives a thank you letter and a gift certificate for Starbucks. And you bet I paid double the fare when I took the bus home.

Relief, relief, relief!

My wallet, however, has seen better days. It is now recovering and drying, but the stained leather doesn't look so good...

When we returned to school, I had to translate my farewell speech for the students into Japanese. Needless to say, this was a lengthy process, and I should have started earlier. Again, I should have known better!!! I made teachers wait while I finished, until I had my Japanese checked and edited. Since the students didn't go to school, they recorded the speech to show at a later date. I don't know how I would have managed if the students had been there... I would not have been finished writing and editing by 11AM, especially with the unforeseen rescue mission in the morning.

It was an emotional morning, and it continued to be emotional, as I said my goodbyes and received thoughtful presents all day. Some ESS students came to school to give us short speeches and spend time with us.

At the end of the day,  I could hardly contain my tears as teachers stood up to bow to us and bid Lorrie and I farewell.  They remained standing as we exited the staff room and I relished in their heartfelt "otsukaresame deshita." Thank you for all of your hard work!!

What a day! I had a bittersweet final day at my other visit school yesterday -- again, full of surprises and thoughtful gestures. And today was just as lovely, just as sad. I am glad I have another week until I have to say goodbye to my main school.

Japan, I don't know how I can ever repay you for your kindness, but I will humbly receive it and cherish it.

My wallet drying out.

Teary-eyed. These were presented to me after I gave my farewell speech.

A Year and Eleven Months Worth of Laundry Later...

...I realized that I had been putting fabric softener in the liquid detergent tray this entire time. To the best of my knowledge, I have now remedied the situation, with only a little over a month to go. Yay, me.

Good thing I have been buying most of my hygiene products at home. I can't wait to be literate again!

Kids, stay in school -- knowing how to read pays off. But God help you when you move to a country that uses over 2000 characters AND creates an interesting hybrid of your language (known as Engrish) that's even harder to decipher sometimes.

That's all for tonight, folks.