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.

桜咲く (Sakura Saku)

As some of you may already know, I will leave the land of the rising sun this summer. Although I still have two months left in Asia to gather my thoughts and belongings, the goodbyes began in April, and I'm still not ready for it.

I've never associated the season of spring with goodbyes. In Japan, as a coworker explained, spring is a time to bid farewell, in order to welcome a new start. For this reason, the new school year begins in April and new professionals begin their careers. Because, spring -- with the blossoms and the warm weather approaching -- is a welcome transformation. It's the occasion to reveal a new face, one that is more beautiful than the former. My coworker finds it strange that Western academic and professional calendars begin in the fall, when the trees lose their leaves and look so frail and daunting in the nude. In my mind, the shedding of leaves symbolizes losing old habits, in order to make room for new and improved changes. We must reflect on our lives and gather wisdom as we endure the winter. Only when we have persevered through tests and trials do we truly emerge as beautiful beings. In this new state, we have reached our utmost triumph, we have moved into our personal spring. But in Japan, the process gives everyone the opportunity to start with a clean slate, free of the errs of the past, as pure as the flowers which bloom. Inevitably, we must say goodbye to people and places as we start our new cycle in spring. This spring, I had to say goodbye to some students, teachers and friends. And this summer, I will have to say goodbye to plenty more.

There is a saying in Japanese, "sakura saku" or "the cherry blossom is blooming," which is used to describe someone who has shown progress. I have felt myself grow these past two years, and I can only hope that the changes are apparent, that I have something to show, for the two cycles of personal "sakura" I have seen come and go.

With two months left, it's time to prepare for my return to my Golden State, California. For you, my reader, I will try to blog as much as possible, before this adventure in Japan comes to an end, as I try to hold on to spring.

In both Japanese and Western mentality, spring marks the chance to get things right. To be loved, to be pure, to be beautiful. Unfortunately, we must accept the changes that our newfound beauty brings. But when we must say goodbye, at least we have the opportunity to grow as the flowers do, adorning the branches in our lives to become more beautiful.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words, Part 3

Life is full of awkward moments.  Like that awkward moment when...

... you're caught laughing at someone's shirt, while taking a picture of it. And no one around you knows enough English to understand why it's so funny.

...you forgot you were wearing Christmas socks, until you took off your shoes in someone's home, in the middle of March.

... your childhood obsession becomes a symbol for Hooters.

... you find out someone had been using your desk while you were out. They forgot to hide the evidence one day!

...your pastry is larger than your planner.  I'm half kidding, since this particular oversized dorayaki was actually a gift from someone. But there have been others...

...the student you randomly chose, to present in front of the class, had this to say about his summer vacation. Ok, I'm kidding about this one, too. Still an awkward response, though.

Los Caminos De La Vida

Since Japan is very bicycle friendly, you can find ramps of all sorts in this country. For instance, there are narrow ramps bordering stairs, so that people can walk their bikes up or down and not have to get into a fight with the steps. Most people air on the side of caution and do walk their bikes down. However, some people don't get off of their bikes and instead speed down these ramps, risking sliding off the edge and landing on the steps.

Today, I tried to be one of those people. My local supermarket has a small set of stairs that leads into a residential street. Normally, and for obvious reasons, I get off of my bike and walk down. Tonight, I wanted to be like those carefree teens that zoom down said ramp. The warm breeze was encouraging, my bike felt so light, and no one seemed to be around, so I took off.

I was halfway down this short ramp, when I got scared. I changed my mind about the whole thing, lost confidence, and took my right foot off of the pedal in order to step on the ground and stop the bike. The bike stopped, but I lost my balance and the bike started leaning to the right, tottered onto the steps, and I clumsily made it down the last few steps. I might or might not have cursed... I thought my bumpy ride was over, but the bike was still in motion after the incline, and it swerved in front of two high school boys standing by an adjacent vending machine. My bike folded over in front of one of them, and I slowly fell over, too. One of the boys helped me up as I apologized, and he reassured me that everything was ok as he helped me arrange my bag and baguette back into my basket. If an unexpected storm doesn't fling food out of my basket, my clumsiness will. (Storm+grocery shopping = flying avocados)

If I hadn't hesitated, I definitely could have made it down that ramp, but I wavered in my resolve and failed. Later, as I was laughing at myself about the whole thing, I thought about a song titled, "Los Caminos De la Vida" or "The Paths of Life." Specifically, I thought of these lines:

"Los caminos de la vida no son como yo pensaba, como los imaginaba, no son como yo creia. Los caminos de la vida son muy dificil de andarlos, dificil de caminarlos..."

Roughly translated:

"The paths of life are not as I thought they would be, not as I imagined nor believed they would be. The paths of life are difficult to trod down, difficult to walk on..."

I thought about this song, because it has been on my mind lately. I started thinking about the lyrics of this song after my family was forced to say goodbye to someone this past week. We can't ever be completely sure of where life will take us. And though we may hope for the best, we may have to deal with the worse. Tonight, I was hopeful that I would make it down the ramp, but I lost confidence halfway through. Though I can't change the outcome now, perhaps the results would have been better if I had just been more confident. Or maybe things would have turned out the same, but at least I could have said that I did my best. Tonight's incident is a silly, trivial example, but I sincerely learned from this lesson. Because other times, the road is much wider and the stakes higher.  My aunt's sons, brothers and doctors did all they could to try to save her after the accident, and that's what counts.

No matter which path you choose, you may or may not have control of the destination, but take it with confidence anyway, and be hopeful. I'm hopeful. I still have you, and you have me. We'll be alright =)

Sweet dreams!

Operation Broken Shredder

How many Japanese people does it take to fix a broken paper shredder? Take a look...

If you answered five or six, you were misled by the picture. Sorry... trick question!

In reality, two teachers managed to fix this broken shredder. However, in a community driven society, everyone feels the need to help out and do their part. Therefore, a group of teachers came to "help out" by providing moral support as bystanders. The two teachers tackling the jaws of the shredder would have fared well without them, but the other teachers came, nonetheless.

Meanwhile, two Americans had front row tickets to the event that this simple task unreeled into. The other ALT and I took it upon ourselves to document the large turnout. We couldn't help ourselves; we giggled as we not so sneakily took pictures.

Through the Good, the Bad and the Awkward: I am an ALT

Today, there was confusion on the brink of chaos in the staff room. Someone had made a mistake, and this mistake meant that no teacher was going to receive his or her pre-ordered lunch box. The lunch box, or bento, is a pretty big deal in Japan. And today, high schools in Hyogo prefecture rewarded teachers, for dressing sharply and arriving extra early to administer tests for incoming junior high school students, by arranging the delivery of bentos. Except that my base school didn't receive their bentos, because the bento distributors mixed up the dates. Therefore, when lunch time came around, there wasn't any food. Someone managed to provide all teachers with instant ramen as a "starter course," but the grumbling and mumbling could be heard across the staff room. I'm sorry to say, but improvising is not a forte in Japanese culture. And when it comes to food (or lack thereof), I completely understand.

As for me, I am always exempt from the partaking of the communal bentos, since I am a vegetarian. I always bring my own lunch instead, and they even reimburse me for having to bring my own lunch.

Well, I didn't pack a lunch this morning, so I wanted to cycle over to the nearest supermarket to buy lunch. I had intended on going at around eleven, but I got caught up organizing my desk. It wasn't until 12:30 that I finished. I was preparing to go out as the teacher who sits next to me entered the staff room and asked about the lunch boxes. Another teacher explained the situation. Mr. Hungry didn't look pleased and asked if he was allowed to exit the school to get food. Of course, the answer was no, yet I was on my way out. All for one and one for all. Such is life in Japan. Except when you're a foreigner and a vegetarian. I wanted to wait a bit before heading out of the school, but I was already wearing my jacket and my backpack was on. I sheepishly said my "ittekimasu" or "I'll be back" and exited the staff room. Awkward, considering that the other teacher had just said that everyone had to endure and wait, but a girl's gotta eat...

I saw one of the office ladies at the supermarket as she was piling store made bentos into a shopping basket. The teachers did finally get their lunch, and though I made it to school before the bentos did, I waited until the other teachers started eating before I dug into my meal, just in case any grudges would be born...

Just another day in the staff room.

Here is the lunch box my friend Lorrie, another ALT, received at her school. This is what the teachers at my school had expected to receive...

Instead, they got supermarket bentos that resembled these. Still pretty, I think. But then again, I am no bento expert...

Kids Say the Darnest Things! Part I

When I have the occasional free day from teaching, I am thankful for the break, because trying to persuade students, all the time, that English is "fun" is tiring.

As relaxing as down time may be, it starts to take a toll on me when days, even weeks pass without teaching. I start to miss the students and the things they say. Oh, the ridiculous(ly funny) things they say sometimes... One of the best things about this job is the way in which the students spark up my day with the predictable and unexpected things they say.

I say predictable, because there are certain comments that I can always expect to hear. For example, I constantly hear, "kawaii" yelled across classrooms, hallways and even out windows. "Kawaii" means "cute" and it is easily the most overused word in the typical Japanese girl's vocabulary. It can be used to describe just about anything, especially ALTs. I used to feel special, until I heard a girl call one of the other teachers "kawaii"... I'll leave it at that haha.

Besides the usual "kawaii," the girls always have something to say about my image. One girl told me that I must be "motemote," or in other words, very popular among the Japanese boys. (Do we live in the same Japan? :p) Other girls tell me that I'm beautiful. Even some of the boys will pipe in and call me "beautiful" or "cute," except that their intentions aren't always as pure. Often, messages get lost in translation. During Halloween, I dressed up as a male student. The sleeves on the uniform were too short, and the blazer fit awkwardly. I had just finished joking about it, with a group of girls, when one of them turned to her friend and said, "No, no. Kelly, nice body!" Or another time, a group of girls were walking past me in the hallway, and I heard one of them say, "Kelly-sensei is cute!" I replied, "thank you!" They hadn't expected that -- they thought I hadn't been listening. My response triggered a flow of comments that started with a louder, "Kelly-sensei is cute!" Then, "Kelly-sensei is beautiful!" And finally, one of the girls yelled, "Kelly-sensei is perfect!" Unfortunately, this girl got scolded by a teacher for being too loud. Oops.

But things aren't always peaches and cream. For about a week, a male student insisted on running past my classroom everyday, while chanting, "Kelly, fat!" Once in a while, he would add, "diet!" to the end of the sentence. I would simply smile at him and let it slide. It's attention that he wants, of course, and I won't indulge him unless he has something less rude to say. I really hope that he doesn't go around commenting on girls' weights, because that I wouldn't tolerate.

Often, I wonder where the kids first heard some of the things they say. One boy always greets me with a "hey, crazy!" During the holidays, he signed his Christmas card to me with his new alias, "Crazy Boy." One girl discovered the word, "baby" and for about a day added it to the end of every sentence. Her one-liners included the following: "Hello, baby!", "I don't know, baby.", "Really, baby?", "Kelly, baby!" and "See you, baby!" I had to try my best to act professionally, instead of laughing like I really wanted to. She paused before saying "baby"and her tone changed dramatically from the rest of the sentence when she said it. Comedy!

Sometimes, the students' curiosity catches me off guard. One Friday, my third-year students were supposed to be doing group work, when one of them flagged me over to ask me a question. I expected him to ask about the dialogue, but instead he asked, "If you're American, why is your hair dark?" I wasn't expecting that, so the first thing that came to mind was, "there are many kinds of people in America." He still looked puzzled, so I added, "Not everyone looks the same. And some people's parents were born in a different country. For example, my parents were born in Mexico and then immigrated to the United States." The Japanese teacher had to translate that bit. He thought about it for a moment and then said, "that's so complicated." This kid has no idea just how overly complicated we make things in America.

So, yes, I miss the students. And though I'm not anxious to work within the confines of my position, I am looking forward to meeting the new first years in April. Just out of junior high school, these teenagers are full of "kawaii"s and other "keen" observations.

KAWAII OVERLOAD

It's the Little Things in Life...

In August of 2010, my sister, brother and two cousins visited me in Japan. I had been in Japan for a very short time at that point-- just a few days shy of the one month mark. They were here for about three weeks, and during the last few days, they stayed in Amagasaki. Their last morning in town, I had to leave to work before they left for the airport. So, I gave my sister my spare key, in order for her to lock up as she left. I left the apartment before they did.

When I came home that evening, I found post-it notes sprinkled and posted around my room. My sister, brother and cousins had left little thank you messages for me to find-- some funny ones, some sweet ones, and some ridiculous ones, of course. I found most of them right away, because they were conspicuously placed. However, in the following days, weeks, and even months, I discovered the strategically placed notes that were hidden in my apartment. One of my favorite finds was a note from my sister that I found while cooking. My predecessor had left me two giant Costco bottles of olive oil, so it took me a few months to get through the first one. When I finished that first bottle, I reached into the cupboard for the second one. I was delighted to find that it was decorated with a post-it note from my sister.

Today, tired and slightly discouraged with my Japanese studies, I decided to push my Japanese books aside and reach for a more interesting read instead. I am currently reading a book that my friend gave me in 2009 for my birthday. It has been a slow, but enjoyable process, of finally reading all those books that I had to put aside in college.

As I skimmed through the last section of the book -- curious about the number of pages left to read-- I noticed a bright orange square on one of the pages. The bright square turned out to be this post-it note:

For those of you who may not know, Rudy is my brother. And my brother wrote this note a year and a half ago on September 1st, chose a book from my shelf, and stuck the note on one of the pages. I had no idea. Little brother, I'm sorry it has taken me so long to find your note, but I'm glad that it took me this long to find it, because it truly, truly made my day. I love you, too.

It's the little things in life...

A Deck of Cards

Last week, I hit a new low in regards to English education in Japan.

I was in the middle of teaching a noisy class when certain factors completely upset me.

In the second to last column, on the left side of the room, sits one of our unruly students. He talks over me. He has to be told many times to turn around, look forward, and stop talking. Yet, there is no real consequence for a boy who talks in class. The lack of discipline only promotes this kind of behavior. Last week, he jumped to a new extreme. While I was explaining an activity, he and his friend ganged up on another friend. His accomplice was sitting two seats behind him, and their victim in between them. No, it wasn't bullying, but it was such a game where the boy in the middle feigned to have no control. The boy to the back held Mr.Supposedly-Powerless's arms, while my main disturber unbuttoned his sweater. It was very cold in the classroom. They were having a great time, but they were having it at my expense. Needless to say, I was fuming at the ears, and I hoped that the contrast between my steam and the cold air in the classroom wouldn't give it away.

When I redirected my attention to the rest of the class, I saw the faces of the students that were trying to pay attention. Yes, among this noisy class there were students that wanted to listen to me, and wanted to learn, and that were being robbed of this opportunity by these three students. The naughty boy's beloved little game was at the expense of these students, too. And among those faces, I met the gaze of one of my most dedicated students. And he also looked disappointed in his peers. Maybe even sad for a second. But his expression was multidimensional. There was in fact another feeling there, and I recognized that look. I recognized that unfocused gaze, that neutral facial expression. He was discouraged to the point of apathy.

I had to keep on teaching once the situation was under control (though it never fully was), but I felt that disconnected, discouraged gaze on me the entire time. It burned as I read a script aloud, it burned as I checked the answers to a quiz, and it burned as I wrote on the chalkboard, but it especially scorched me when the gaze was no longer on me, but behind eyelids. It was at this moment when it hurt the most -- when the boy arranged his arms on his desk, nestled his head within them, and closed his eyes. I felt so powerless. I felt so angry on behalf of him and the other good students. And I was angry at myself. Angry, because I haven't been able to achieve balance in the classroom. Angry, because in reality, it's not up to me. The truth is that the class sizes are too large, and there is no true consequence for an unruly student, and therefore a deep disturbance for those trying in class.

In that classroom, in this school, many logistics are not mine to decide. I could move to another prefecture, but that wouldn't make a difference. In this country, English education as a whole needs major improvements. Students begin learning English in junior high school, yet most can't speak basic English when they graduate high school. I understand that there are rare opportunities to use English in this country, but I believe that the amount of years of study should amount to a basic level of English. I say this kindly, lovingly and with confidence, because I have seen what people in this country are capable of. I have no doubt that this country has the resources and brain power to master a foreign language. And I also have confidence that this country will overcome that obstacle, since the Japanese Ministry of Education is currently working on reforms in English education.

But for now, I am living and working in this struggle. In fact, I feel so vulnerable at times. A few months ago, I was confident in my ability to change certain aspects through program contributions to the school, and through cultural exchange. And while I have implemented some English programs, I can't get past certain barriers. And in accepting those barriers, I feel as if I have grown complacent. And in growing complacent, I am no longer challenging myself, and I realize how vulnerable I am to the system.

I definitely felt vulnerable during this single class. My mood shifted from anger to grief, and for the first time since I've been here, I had to hold back tears in class. Composure is a beautiful thing, I tell you. And it's frightening when you're on the brink of losing it in front of a crowd where you're supposed to be the leader. And so, I decided to focus my attention on my good students. My tone changed by the end of class. It softened dramatically. I made sure to go around and compliment each student who was doing his or her work during the writing activity. I felt such tenderness and love for those students, and I hoped they would feel it, too. I wanted them to know that I was not only aware of their effort, but appreciated it, too. Perhaps they will travel through an environment that doesn't completely nurture their dedication to self-improvement, but they should know that someone believes in their ability to persevere.

During the writing activity, I tried to relay this feeling to my discouraged student. When I asked to see his work, he had his head down on the desk again . Of course, he had finished his work in a fraction of the time that it took for the other students to focus on the task. I handed it back and talked to him for about a minute. I asked him about his English test scores, his club activities, and I complimented him on always participating in my class. He smiled at me, and that gave me hope that he hadn't completely lost interest in the unbalanced, weekly English lesson.

I continue to feel vulnerable. But to feel vulnerable is to be aware, right? And to be aware clears the path for action. The heart of the matter lies in this question: will I be able to shuffle the cards? Or will I have to make do with the cards I've been dealt?