A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words, Part 1

A picture is worth a thousand words. So instead of the usual lengthy post, I leave you with eleven pictures and a bit of commentary (I wouldn't want to deprive you of my thoughts entirely :p).

Let's get started with pictures of some students' New Year's Resolutions for 2011:

Beautiful.

Yep, that last one sounds like a resolution I'd be willing to stick to =D

As my friend Gerard commented on this picture, "Mickey, you're so damn hard to like! But someone's gotta like that squeaky-voiced s,o,b, And when the going gets tough, the tough keep liking!!!" hahahaha
AND I have no problem with the last resolution =) In fact, this student joined the English club shortly after. PROUD!

I'm curious as to whether the other kiddies are sticking to their resolutions...:p

Through the telephone lesson, I learned which excuses my students use to blow people off...

I must say, I can sympathize with this kid for making cake a priority...

I'm guessing this kid meant that his teeth fell out. Or maybe he did mean that his teeth came out... wisdom teeth? I'm tempted to use this one for turning down a date... haha. There's no way that you can go to lunch or dinner if you're missing your teeth...

BRILLIANT. No one wants to force a mentally unstable person to hang out with them... Let's just hope they don't ask about visiting hours.

Why didn't I ever think of those? :p

I find lots of art on worksheets...

Christmas art and Halloween art together....hmmm. Don't know how I feel about that one.

I love it when they draw my favorite characters ! =)

Some of these kids are really creative!

Now I know who the artists are in the classroom.

And of course, the declarations of love...

I like to reply to their little messages sometimes.


And then when you can't say "I love you" back, the least you can do is say "thank you"...

I appreciate the declarations. Errr, even if they are grammatically incorrect.

Oh the things that make me smile and keep me amused while correcting papers! =D
Stay tuned for a different compilation of pictures in Part II.

Untitled

What a beautiful night.

It's the kind of night that you want to share with someone close: a friend, a loved one, a lover. But tonight it's just me, just me and my thoughts. So I go for a walk.

The breeze is cool, the moon is glazed over by a thin cloud. What a lovely scene amidst an otherwise ordinary town. Where are those flowers whose scent I smell? So sweet. A night that smells so sweet. So sweet that it whispers words of home and exotic places and envelops me in memories of smiles and even tears, and resurfaces feelings nestled so deep within they can't be expressed, only felt, though I do try...

Yes, that kind of night. The kind of night that I would rather share with someone else, but it's just me tonight. So I continue walking...

I find a park and I wander towards the swings. I get the sudden urge to swing... I sit on the nearest one and pump my legs. I keep pumping until I get higher, higher and higher and can go no more... So this is what loneliness feels like. I'm on top of the world and no one to share it with.

But I remind myself, this loneliness, it's only skin deep.

I look at the time and realize it's getting late. I should be getting home.

The walk back is just as pleasant. Just as cool. Feelings just as crisp. And though I have no one to walk with, and though the trees, the wind, and the moon and the sidewalk hum a song of loneliness, I'm content. For this loneliness, it's only skin deep.

Strolling Down Memory Lane

Last Thursday, I was cycling home on a path by the river. My rear tire was giving me problems, so I had to pull over periodically to pump air into the tire.

At one point, I was slowed down by two older men on bikes. They were riding side by side, and one of them was on the lane meant for incoming bikes, so I couldn't pass them. Instead of ringing my bell and making one of them move, I observed the men for a while. They were probably in their seventies, taking a leisure ride while chatting and having a good laugh about something. It was so nice to hear them laugh freely in public. Most people here are very careful not to bother those around them, and this includes refraining from having a good laugh in public, so as to not be noisy. Understandable?

Something about the man on the left reminded me of my grandfather from my father's side of the family. I'm not sure if it was the khaki colored pants, or the white t-shirt that he wore, but he reminded of my grandfather. Even though my grandfather became thin during the last years of his fight against diabetes, the man's healthy weight resurfaced older memories of my grandfather, memories from before the diabetes took a toll on him. Above all, I think the man's spirit reflected my grandfather's personality. The man seemed to be gently teasing his companion, and they were having a good laugh because of it. My grandfather was known for teasing. Every time my siblings and I would be laughing or relaxing, my grandfather would ask us, “Are you mad? Why are you mad?” Of course, since we were too young to understand that he was joking with us, we would become angry that he was “mistaking” our good mood for a bad one. How I wish that I could have gotten to know my grandfather as an adult. If he were here now and asked me those same questions, I'm sure that I could have replied with a witty remark and we'd be having a good laugh. Having a good laugh like those two men riding in front of me.

Sometimes it's nice to remember.

The men noticed me riding closely behind, so the man on the right moved over to let me pass. I sped up and passed them. At this point, I could feel the metal frame start to grind against the rubber and the cement, so I looked for a clear patch of dirt or grass to stop on and pump air into my tire.

I had pulled over onto a clearing, and was in the middle of pumping, when the two men passed in front of me. I looked up, and right then, my grandfather's twin spirit rode by and beckoned for me to come along as he said something to me in Japanese. His gestures and playful smile let me know that he was teasing me about not being able to pass them this time.

All of a sudden, I was ten years old again and my grandfather was teasing me about something.

You don't always need to understand a language for it to move you. And you could have said goodbye to someone more than ten years ago, but still remember them with the same intensity of affection. Miss you, Grandpa.

Another Clown in the Circus

It seems that I learn things the hard way sometimes. Yesterday, the sunny morning turned into a rainy afternoon, and when four o'clock hit and it was time for me to go home, it started raining. And when it rains, it pours. I was soaking wet when I got home. My clothes were wet, down to every last fiber, and my hair looked fresh out of the shower. But instead of smelling like coconut scented body scrub and Dove shampoo, I smelled like a tired and wet bunny.

Today, I should have checked the weather forecast first thing in the morning. Instead, I simply looked out the window, saw sunshine, and didn't bother to think that it might start raining later in the day.

History repeats itself. Four o'clock came, and so did the rain. Luckily, it wasn't raining as hard as yesterday. However, all of the smokers on wheels and slow cyclists decided to come out to play, and make my trek home a slow and painful one. It's no fun arguing with yourself over which is better: being stuck behind the smoking man, or the woman that smells too strongly of perfume. However, my biggest annoyance was the girl on the small bicycle. No, not a girl, but the girl on the small bicycle. I used to see her regularly, but hadn't seen her in a while, and today she apparently decided to make a special appearance.

I can't decide if it's her bike or her inability to cycle in a straight line that bothers me the most. First of all, her bicycle looks something like this:



Many people here own bikes like those, and I don't understand how they can ride them comfortably. I know that some of them conveniently fold, but beyond that... Someone, please enlighten me. Personally, I'm reminded of the Simpson's episode when Homer goes to clown school and must master riding an impossibly small bicycle through a loop. Well, instead of passing through loops, this girl oscillates along narrow sidewalks, and makes it impossible for people to pass her. It makes for an annoying situation on a regular day, and it makes for a frustrating situation when all I want to do is zoom by and get to the shelter of my apartment.

Looking at her cycle reminds me of being entertained by a clown. It makes me laugh, but at the same time, it makes me uncomfortable. I chuckle when I spot her, and it kinda makes my day, but at the same time, I want her to go away. [Tough crowd, I know.] Today, it took four intersections for us to part ways.

When I finally got home, I looked at myself in the mirror. My scarf was wrapped around my head, but it didn't prevent my hair from getting wet. The front side of my pants was wet, while the backside was completely dry. My eyeliner was a faint smudge underneath my eyes, and my eyebrows were wet, flat against my face.

I'm just another clown in the circus.

9.0

As I sit here listening to Adele’s “Hometown Glory”, I can’t help but feel such pride for the dynamic, and even dull cities in the Los Angeles area that I call home. I can’t phrase this sentiment any better than with Adele’s lyrics about visiting home, “Round my hometown, memories are fresh. Round my hometown, ooh, the people I've met are the wonders of my world...” Yes, the wonders of my world. “The wonders of this world.” No matter where you go, no matter who you meet, you will carry some people forever. And they will captivate, amaze and enamor you more than anything else you'll ever come to know. So, when I look at the images of the destroyed coastal villages in the aftermath of the terrible Tohoku earthquake, I can’t help but think that someone’s hometown glory has been tarnished. What’s worse, many people, many “wonders of [someone’s] world” have been lost to the fury of the sea. What a terrible and deep loss.

For us here in the Kansai region of Japan, it’s almost unbelievable that a little more than 500 kilometers away, villages have been destroyed down to wooden planks, ashes, and belongings, all scattered away from their owners and proper places. Yet, whether it's hard to believe or not, it is a reality in numerous prefectures in Northern Japan.

When the earthquake hit, I was sitting at my desk in the school staffroom. I didn’t feel the earthquake. If I remember correctly, my area felt the earthquake at a magnitude of 3 on the Richter Scale. But as I said, I didn't feel anything. The only indication that something was wrong was from the messages I received from people back home. They were coming in quickly, as people wanted reassurance that I was fine and out of harm's way. I didn’t realize the extent of the disaster, until I saw the devastating images later that evening. The same images that had shocked viewers around the globe, and had prompted my family and friends to write to me. I received so many messages from family, friends and acquaintances inquiring about my well-being. It was heartwarming to see how many people cared, and took the time to write a message.

I won't deny it though, the constant messaging made me worry, because some messages I received were alarming, and asked me to come home, while others made me feel that the problem was more grave than the actual situation (regarding the nuclear plant in Fukushima). Because of all of the fear swimming around me, I was a mild case of nerves in the week following the earthquake, and it was hard to fall asleep at night. I didn’t want to admit it to anyone at home, because I felt that only the people here could understand my emotions. Sure enough, many ALTs were able to relate, and I found comfort in talking to them. I also did some research on radiation and the current state of the nuclear plant. It is true that the nuclear plant in Fukushima presents a danger, but I have faith in the men currently risking their lives to repair the damage. I can’t predict what will happen, but I have taken precautions to be as prepared as possible. Prepare for the worse, hope for the best.

Other foreigners have not approached the situation in such a cool-headed manner. So many people have left the country in an anxious flurry to escape the radiation. I don’t blame those around the nuclear plant for panicking, not at all. I probably would have done the same. However, I know of some people near me that have been forced by sponsors or parents to go home. I think this fear stems from sensationalist headlines abroad. There has been a scramble to acquire iodine pills, in order to combat radiation. People as far as the United States and Canada are panicking about the radiation. It is a small world, after all, but there is no reason for panicking. None. And yet, according to an article in The Economist, a packet of iodine pills that usually costs $10 was priced at more than $500 dollars online. Ugly panic. On the other end of that equation, it’s sickening to think that some people take advantage of people’s fears in order to make quick cash. Furthermore, it creates a low supply for those that are near the plant and might need to take them in the future. Here, in my area, I’ve noticed empty shelves in the water aisles in supermarkets. People are storing bottled water in their homes. Now that, I don’t blame the people of Japan for doing. This is directly affecting their nation.

Risk. I mentioned that the workers in Fukushima are risking overexposure to radiation. Risk is associated with solutions and discoveries. So, some people fear that I risk my health by staying here. I beg to differ, but there is some truth in their words. Anytime you leave home, you tamper a bit with uncertainty. Some people never go abroad, because of the fear of the unknown. Yet, I think that the pros of traveling and living abroad outweigh the possibility of disaster (which can happen in our own hometowns anyway.) Yesterday, I read a well-written article from The New York Times about why we travel. I find that the opening paragraph gives a good enough argument in itself, without disposing of reality. It is as follows:

“In the bungling and bellicosity that constitute the back and forth of history, worsened by natural disasters and unprovoked cruelty,  humble citizens pay the highest price. To be a traveler in such circumstances can be inconvenient at best, fatal at worst. But if the traveler manages to breeze past such unpleasantness on tiny feet, he or she is able to return home to report: 'I was there. I saw it all.' The traveler’s boast, sometimes couched as a complaint, is that of having been an eyewitness, and invariably this experience — shocking though it may seem at the time — is an enrichment, even a blessing, one of the life-altering trophies of the road.”

Indeed, in this recent disaster, ordinary people have paid the highest price. And true to this article, for some travelers, the tsunami was a fatal occurrence. An American woman, a fellow JET, passed away in the aftermath of the earthquake. I wish she could have left Japan enriched, and blessed with a new experience after being adventurous enough to leave home. Instead, we are left with a heavy heart as we long for an alternate ending. I know I speak on behalf of ALTs here, that our thoughts and prayers go out to her family and friends.

In times like this, it’s necessary to look at stories of survival, and to capture and radiate the smallest rays of hope. There’s no use in letting sorrow make us numb and weak. There are ways to channel that energy in order to help, with the end of restoring hope in the people who have been affected firsthand. First, we can donate money and materials, in order to ease the suffering of those in northeast Japan. Secondly, we must not forget about the disaster. I worry that months from now the victims will be forgotten and the ongoing needs will be regarded as a thing of the past. Let’s not allow that to happen.

There's no place in the world where we can be one-hundred percent safe from risk and danger. You take chances, in order to be rewarded with experiences and knowledge. In the end, if you don’t overcome your fears, they will overcome you. I don’t know about you, but that’s NOT a risk I’m willing to take.


Here are some of the articles I referenced, and a couple of others that I found interesting:

The Economist: Herd Behaviour

The New York Times: Why We Travel

The Washington Post: In Ishinomaki, Japan, stories of survival and loss

BBC News: Q&A: Health effects of radiation exposure

Links and ways to help Japan (if you have more, please add them as a comment! Thanks!):

American Red Cross

Japanese Red Cross

The Crunch Heard Around the Staffroom

I usually bring an apple and an orange to school. The other teachers rarely eat fruit with their lunch. Fruit is expensive, and I've been told that fruit is one type of gift that you can bring to others' homes. However, I decide to "splurge" on myself, and enjoy my fruit in the staffroom.

Without fail, someone looks up from their work when I start munching and "crunching" away at my apple. Usually, someone will look at me and say "apple" in Japanese, and giggle. At first, I didn't understand their reaction. Then, one day, a teacher offered me an apple, and it was cut up to resemble a rabbit. I've heard that this is usual. In fact, the least they do to an apple is cut it. They never simply bite into it. At home, they peel their apple, and all other fruit for that matter. I have never witnessed it, but I have heard that they even peel their grapes. (I believe it.) So when I take out my apple, and give it my most heartfelt bite, I am a scene walking out of an American sitcom, and it makes them laugh.

The first-year teachers around me are all used to my apple-eating ways by now. Sometimes, other teachers will see me, and reaction or not, I can guess what they're thinking. Once in a while, I wash my apple in the kitchen sink, and start eating it as I head to my desk. I "crunch" as I walk by the third-year teachers. A few heads look up as I "crunch" my way past the second-year teachers. I slow down a bit to smile at the vice-principal, then I take a another bite of my apple, and continue past the printers. Finally, my "trail of crunch" ends at my desk, where I perform the grand finale. That is, I eat the entire apple, including the seeds. Even for Americans, this is weird, and I can imagine how it makes my Japanese coworkers inwardly cringe. For that last part, I apologize, kinda.

I must admit, that for the most part, I like to see my coworkers react to my foreignness. Yeah, it'd be great to eat a cute-looking apple, but as long as I keep on getting reactions from people, I plan on biting into my apple with the most deafening crunch possible. CRUNCH!

The Return of Candy-sensei

Every morning, students trickle into the staffroom after the second bell has rung. They come into the staffroom, because they need to get a late slip. The teachers are never happy about this, so sometimes when I'm the only one in the staffroom, the kids look excited that I'll be the one to sign their late slip, because I'll surely spare them the lecture. Well, I sympathize with the students, because I was often late in high school, but there's nothing that I can do, but turn them over to the next teacher that returns to the staffroom. I don't think I have the permission to sign their slips.

This morning in particular, the teachers were especially annoyed at the tardy students. All students were taking a test during first period, so you can imagine the frustration of teachers when students walked in late, because it would interrupt the testing in the classroom. Most of the tardy students were late by minutes, so when a student walked in three hours late, you could practically hear all of the first year teachers mumble to themselves in disbelief. The student was no other than the leader of the talker pack from my former seventh period class on Tuesday.

As soon as the student spotted me, a light bulb turned on in his head. He caught me looking at him, and so he "informed" me, "my name is Nagano." I answered with an "I know." He looked delighted at this and asked me, as he reached into the drawer for a tardy slip, "what is your name?" Although he had asked me a question, he proceeded to fill out the tardy slip. Therefore, I thought our little conversation was over, but I heard him ask again, "what is your name?" I looked up. I knew where this was going. I gave him my best shot at sounding exasperated, and said, "you know my name!" He had this knowing smile on his face, and I had a good guess as to what I was about to hear. Sure enough, he said, "your name is Candy!" A bit anti-climatic, but it still made me laugh. I shook my head and humored him, "no no no... my name is Kelly!" He laughed at his own joke. At this point, he had finished filling out the slip, so he approached me with it and asked, "Candy, please sign." I shook my head again and said, "Sorry, I can't," and I motioned to the teacher sitting two desks over. He took the slip over to him. As the teacher checked that the form had been properly filled out, an English teacher walked into the staffroom. He pointed at me, and told her in Japanese, "she isn't Candy!" The teacher frowned and starting scolding him, probably because he had been three hours late. I hope it wasn't because he had called me "Candy." It became evident that the student was further stalling from having to go to class, so the teacher started to show him out. When he wouldn't move, she started to gently move him along. His last words as he was pushed out of the staffroom were, "Candy, help me!" Sorry kid, you're on your own.

The school term is over, but "Candy" lives on.