I have an acquaintance whom I would like to punch in the face.
Not really, of course, because I don't want to go to jail for battery or assault or for whatever they would charge me, even if it was a long time coming and the only rational response to the monologue.
And not because I want to cause them pain, because I don't want to, nor cause myself pain, which would be another inevitable outcome since, let's face it, I've hit myself with my drumsticks and it hurts. I could never imagine inflicting that sort of pain on another human being and I don't know how anyone brings herself to take up boxing.
With all that said, however, these days no one seems to stop and think.. I have had many a conversation with different people who have all breathlessly jumped on what I was saying, sometimes in the middle of my saying it, not because they had a response to the content of my dialogue, but because they simply could not wait to blurt out whatever they had been thinking of the entire time I was speaking. Everyone seems to have an opinion, but no one seems to have any thought behind it and even more rarely any facts at the very base of it. People just seem to be regurgitating the same things they always said in every conversation before this one without any regard for the topic or the twists and turns of the dialogue at hand. It is extraordinary the number of "intelligent" and "educated" people out there who have never been taught to listen.
Nor yet have they been taught to ask questions.
I feel like I am holding down the question boat all by myself. A neighbor told me she loved a
movie, a quasi-documentary (or maybe a full-on documentary, I never found out), she had seen and when I asked her why, she was a bit floored. This is a highly intelligent individual with a retentive memory who constantly makes herself the center of the conversation circuit (for better or worse), but synthesizing her data was an arduous task. I am a very patient person; I asked some leading questions and she got some facts together, but her concluding statement was still, "I just really liked it, you know?" and that's why it was a life-changing film. She did not ask me any questions about anything, not about similar movies, not about my opinion, absolutely nothing. You can imagine the conversations we have in general.
There are times and places for speechlessness: sunsets, beaches, coral reef diving, and maybe Stonehenge during the Summer Solstice, but if you are going to tell me that something truly changed your life, I hope you have a way to express it to me. Because if it was so important that your entire outlook and behavior were modified, don't you think it would be a good thing to share with someone else? And if you're not asking yourself what changed in your behavior, maybe, just maybe nothing really changed. Maybe you're employing hyperbole. In which case, stop it right now and learn how to speak like an adult. Everything is not "super-cool and awesome." You are cheapening your experience, my time, and the English language.
These days, my "conversations" with other English speakers would really be more aptly described as "individual rants". These days, the only people who know how to give, take, and consider are my adult English conversation students and that is because they are working with a second language, so they HAVE to stop and think about what is being said. What a round-about way to have a fulfilling exchange of ideas. I don't like empty argument or endless debate over things that don't matter and cannot be influenced by the conversing parties (if you can't vote in my country, do not tell me who I should vote for; and politics in your country are boring because people in your country seem to be pretty boring, I am sorry to tell you).
Or you could save yourself one thousand words and just use a picture. A picture of someone getting punched in the face.
2012/10/18
It's Time to Get Tough
I adore my sixth-graders. For the most part, I look on them as very young friends more than my students. I participate in their club activities, I hang out with them when I meet them at the baseball field or running around town, they're just a very good collection of kids and mostly I love them.
I loved them last year when Miyu asked me who is my favorite character in One Piece and then gave me a Sanji bookmark. I loved them when Rhyusei ran up and sat next to me during break time basketball, brilliant smile on his skinny face and excitedly waving as though he hadn't seen me in years even though he sat next to me at lunch. There are a few less than brilliant specimens, but they are not rotten apples, at least not to the core. Maybe a bit mealy and one or two worms have possessed them, at the very most.
Today, however, we had a frank exchange of expectations.
Last year, when I showed up at Tokyo Orientation, one of the things the powers that were stressed most emphatically was that ALTs (assistant language teachers) do not enforce discipline in the classroom. It is the responsibility of the homeroom teacher to keep the kids in line. I agree wholeheartedly with this concept. I am a foreigner and I don't speak fluent enough Japanese to make an impression on the kids, especially when they are misbehaving. (Recently, they take it as a matter of course that I can speak a great deal of Japanese, but seem to think I choose not to. I honor them for their lack of discernment on this issue.) I also think it's important that the kids' interaction with a foreigner be as positive as humanly possible. Most of these kids will never meet another foreigner, outside of the JET program, and it follows that the foreigner should not be someone who smacks them upside of the head in anger at their misbehaving (my fifth-grade teacher has done that to students, but I love him and they love him and they always say, "I deserved that" so apparently it's okay.)
There have been instances, especially at JR High, where I have desperately wanted to bring out the mighty hammer of righteous wrath, but I haven't been permitted to do this. I have never wanted to pull out the big guns on Kohei, Namiki, Kouki, Miku, and Riku until today.
The homeroom teacher went on vacation for the last half of the school day (she's also out tomorrow, smart lady) and it was me and an assistant who mostly sits silently during English class, sometimes jumping into games if we have an uneven team. The kids were a bit rowdy, but I put it off on the rain that's been falling since early this morning, making outdoor exercise all but impossible and disallowing any expenditure of excess energy. So I let it go, because 90% of the time, they reign themselves in.
Not today.
Today, they experimented with rambunctiousness, my good kids started distracting other students, and my bad students started being insolent. They mostly ignored me.
Until the hammer descended.
I think I slammed a stack of flashcards on the desk. This encouraged most of them to look up, since I do not ever act like this. Then I turned to them and made two very brief and solemn as an execution comments:
"You all need to get it together right now. I am not going to say this again."
There was another teacher in the classroom who could have translated for me, but I was praying against it. I stood at the front, waiting, individually calling out kids who were still acting up. When they all go the hint (which didn't take very long, surprisingly), I went back to the class with as sober a demeanor as I possibly could hold.
There were no more disruptions. And two of them apologized at the end of class.
They are a great class. Most of them interact with me regularly and positively outside of class. I don't think a little respect in the classroom is too much to require. I am the teacher after all.
I loved them last year when Miyu asked me who is my favorite character in One Piece and then gave me a Sanji bookmark. I loved them when Rhyusei ran up and sat next to me during break time basketball, brilliant smile on his skinny face and excitedly waving as though he hadn't seen me in years even though he sat next to me at lunch. There are a few less than brilliant specimens, but they are not rotten apples, at least not to the core. Maybe a bit mealy and one or two worms have possessed them, at the very most.
Today, however, we had a frank exchange of expectations.
Last year, when I showed up at Tokyo Orientation, one of the things the powers that were stressed most emphatically was that ALTs (assistant language teachers) do not enforce discipline in the classroom. It is the responsibility of the homeroom teacher to keep the kids in line. I agree wholeheartedly with this concept. I am a foreigner and I don't speak fluent enough Japanese to make an impression on the kids, especially when they are misbehaving. (Recently, they take it as a matter of course that I can speak a great deal of Japanese, but seem to think I choose not to. I honor them for their lack of discernment on this issue.) I also think it's important that the kids' interaction with a foreigner be as positive as humanly possible. Most of these kids will never meet another foreigner, outside of the JET program, and it follows that the foreigner should not be someone who smacks them upside of the head in anger at their misbehaving (my fifth-grade teacher has done that to students, but I love him and they love him and they always say, "I deserved that" so apparently it's okay.)
There have been instances, especially at JR High, where I have desperately wanted to bring out the mighty hammer of righteous wrath, but I haven't been permitted to do this. I have never wanted to pull out the big guns on Kohei, Namiki, Kouki, Miku, and Riku until today.
The homeroom teacher went on vacation for the last half of the school day (she's also out tomorrow, smart lady) and it was me and an assistant who mostly sits silently during English class, sometimes jumping into games if we have an uneven team. The kids were a bit rowdy, but I put it off on the rain that's been falling since early this morning, making outdoor exercise all but impossible and disallowing any expenditure of excess energy. So I let it go, because 90% of the time, they reign themselves in.
Not today.
Today, they experimented with rambunctiousness, my good kids started distracting other students, and my bad students started being insolent. They mostly ignored me.
Until the hammer descended.
I think I slammed a stack of flashcards on the desk. This encouraged most of them to look up, since I do not ever act like this. Then I turned to them and made two very brief and solemn as an execution comments:
"You all need to get it together right now. I am not going to say this again."
There was another teacher in the classroom who could have translated for me, but I was praying against it. I stood at the front, waiting, individually calling out kids who were still acting up. When they all go the hint (which didn't take very long, surprisingly), I went back to the class with as sober a demeanor as I possibly could hold.
There were no more disruptions. And two of them apologized at the end of class.
They are a great class. Most of them interact with me regularly and positively outside of class. I don't think a little respect in the classroom is too much to require. I am the teacher after all.
2012/10/10
Gaijin Be Gone!
It's like a spray that comes in a little can.
Those who know me will tell you that I am not very flexible, but I can pat my own back, when it really needs to be done.
So I'm going to take a moment to brag.
I joined a community taiko (太鼓) group last year in August. I attended club meetings about twice a week, every week for the best part of the year. If I missed it was because of inclement weather, I was traveling, or my ride or I had a work party we simply had to attend. We also went to the vast majority of the concerts and played almost every song, so we had quite a lot of practice. Not years upon years of experience, but enough to not completely embarrass ourselves at each event.
Last year there were three gaikokujin (外国人) (foreigners) who participated.
This year we have four newbies and me. Gonin gaijin. (五人外人.)
We have a concert on Saturday (in Aki Shi (安芸市), if you are in the neighborhood! we play at the city office at 10.30 AM), and today we had a pre-dress-rehearsal-rehearsal, where the sensei (先生) explained where we would each be for each song and what drums would need to be moved around. They settled important dilemmas like: should we take our bachi (撥)with us or should we leave them at our station for the next player to use? and Who plays the shime (しめ) during wuijin (ういじん)? Because it ain't me.
All of us whiteys (ワイーチス)(and one Chinese-Canadian) played the first number and then the teacher explained that due to our short rehearsal time this year, only the repeat members would play the next two songs and the newbies would please be so kind as to help arrange the stage. Pretty standard procedure for performance practice. Novices through sempai (先輩), there's a pecking order of sorts.
What made me secretly pleased was not that I was expected to play all the songs, but that the sensei several times referred to what the gaijin would do and what the rest of us would do, and for once, I was in the rest of us.
It sounds silly, because of course, I'm a foreigner too, and that is the only way any Japanese person will refer to me, no matter how close we become as friends. You're not an American, you're not a Canadian, a Congolese, or a Haitian; you're an outsider. There are only two countries, Japan and Not Japan, but for one rehearsal, at least, I was admitted into a kind of inner circle, reserved for people who had been there before. I am not the kind of person who insinuates herself into a clique, nor am I the sort who ever feels (EVER) like I am on the inside of anything, so it meant a lot to be grouped with the experienced players, the reliable performers, the sempai.
It made up for the fact that this morning a whole gaggle of school kids walked down the other side of the street pointing and shouting "Gaijin! Gaijin!" at me as though I am the stranger, even though I live here and they live in a different town. I tried to smile and wave, but mostly I just wanted to point and shout "日本人! Nihonjin!" back at them. Sigh.
Our concert is on Saturday. Please come. It will be outside and there is no admission fee.
Yo-oh! よーお！
Those who know me will tell you that I am not very flexible, but I can pat my own back, when it really needs to be done.
So I'm going to take a moment to brag.
I joined a community taiko (太鼓) group last year in August. I attended club meetings about twice a week, every week for the best part of the year. If I missed it was because of inclement weather, I was traveling, or my ride or I had a work party we simply had to attend. We also went to the vast majority of the concerts and played almost every song, so we had quite a lot of practice. Not years upon years of experience, but enough to not completely embarrass ourselves at each event.
Last year there were three gaikokujin (外国人) (foreigners) who participated.
This year we have four newbies and me. Gonin gaijin. (五人外人.)
We have a concert on Saturday (in Aki Shi (安芸市), if you are in the neighborhood! we play at the city office at 10.30 AM), and today we had a pre-dress-rehearsal-rehearsal, where the sensei (先生) explained where we would each be for each song and what drums would need to be moved around. They settled important dilemmas like: should we take our bachi (撥)with us or should we leave them at our station for the next player to use? and Who plays the shime (しめ) during wuijin (ういじん)? Because it ain't me.
All of us whiteys (ワイーチス)(and one Chinese-Canadian) played the first number and then the teacher explained that due to our short rehearsal time this year, only the repeat members would play the next two songs and the newbies would please be so kind as to help arrange the stage. Pretty standard procedure for performance practice. Novices through sempai (先輩), there's a pecking order of sorts.
What made me secretly pleased was not that I was expected to play all the songs, but that the sensei several times referred to what the gaijin would do and what the rest of us would do, and for once, I was in the rest of us.
It sounds silly, because of course, I'm a foreigner too, and that is the only way any Japanese person will refer to me, no matter how close we become as friends. You're not an American, you're not a Canadian, a Congolese, or a Haitian; you're an outsider. There are only two countries, Japan and Not Japan, but for one rehearsal, at least, I was admitted into a kind of inner circle, reserved for people who had been there before. I am not the kind of person who insinuates herself into a clique, nor am I the sort who ever feels (EVER) like I am on the inside of anything, so it meant a lot to be grouped with the experienced players, the reliable performers, the sempai.
It made up for the fact that this morning a whole gaggle of school kids walked down the other side of the street pointing and shouting "Gaijin! Gaijin!" at me as though I am the stranger, even though I live here and they live in a different town. I tried to smile and wave, but mostly I just wanted to point and shout "日本人! Nihonjin!" back at them. Sigh.
Our concert is on Saturday. Please come. It will be outside and there is no admission fee.
Yo-oh! よーお！
2012/10/08
Lonely, Courageous, Free, Single
My Ladies' English Conversation Class and Dinner Club asked today why I haven't gotten married yet.
This is my beginners' class, the ones with mad cooking skills and limited English ability. We get together twice a month, where they provide fabulous Japanese home-cooked meals, they chat in Japanese for about forty minutes, then we work on English skills for another forty-five and they spend the last twenty minutes of class comparing notes and distributing cooking orders for the next class.
Our English isn't improving, but my experience with Japanese cuisine is broadening daily and I get some curious insights into Japanese culture.
For instance, of our six under-fifty-looking-but-over-sixty-really students, one is widowed and the other five are still married to their first husbands (I think).
My acquaintances seem neatly split between those who enjoy being married, those who don't mind it, and those who are living their lives much more fully now that their husbands are dead.
Take for example, Ikeuchi-san who moved to Kochi from Kansai (Osaka/Kyoto/Kobe) area and told me when she first got here, "I cried every day. I missed home so much." But when I ask if she is happy, she says, "Oh, yes. We do everything together. I am very happy."
Making the statement for opposing counsel is one of my Japanese teachers who taught us all that the common word for wife "Oku-san" means "Mrs. Inside" (my colloquial interpretation).
"I am sotto-sama," she smiles broadly. Queen Outside. She spends the whole day driving from one end of the prefecture to the other, volunteering to guide foreign tour groups, participating in local committees, and studying to become a professional expositor of geographic anomaly at Muroto Geopark. When I asked her why she got married, she murmured obliquely, "saaa, you know, it's what you're supposed to do." Marriage is the only respectable option for young educated women of good family.
Many of the difficulties that confront married couples in Japan are tied to work. Because the Japanese mentality is closely linked to the community and the insulated world of loyalty to the company, work often becomes more important than family life. While I often see fathers or mothers running around with their kids in their free time, I very rarely see the whole family out together (at least around here). But as far as perspectives from women go, I rate a happy marriage on how much time the couple seems to spend in each other's company, without the kids.
And a happy widowhood is even easier to figure out.
Every time I walk into Matsumura-sensei's house, I get the feeling that this lady loves living alone. She can run around without dressing up, she can drink beer at dinner, she can have her friends over whenever she wants, and she can travel the world. During our conversation, she laughed and said, "yes, many of my neighbors are sympathetic and worry about me, but I am so happy by myself."
And Miko-san is a prime example of that lady from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest: you know, the widow whose hair turned gold from grief. For the last ten years, that lady has been carrying on a joyful, active existence, doing two hundred sit-ups a day and building her own karaoke room into the front of her house. She spends her days looking up new song lyrics and grooving to the enka-oldies.
On the other hand, Arisawa-san continues to put small offerings of every gift she receives in front of the shrine built to her late husband. (This is not something I have observed in Miko-san's or Matsumura-sensei's homes...)
For a different perspective, at a recent faculty wedding party, I asked a male teacher if he was happily married (because he asked when I was getting married - I never start this shit). He was taken aback and thought about it, but in the end said, albeit shakily, "Yes. Yes, I am."
It still seems odd to me that regardless of personal experience or present contentment, the inclination in the mind of every one (Japanese or Western and women in particular) is it is better to be married.
When I explained that I enjoyed living abroad, I didn't know where I might go next, and I would rather wait for the right man than hurry into a relationship with the wrong one, Matsumura-sensei encouraged me, "Well, I think you are very brave. And you are so happy here, it's better that you haven't married."
"Oh, yes!" the rest of the class chimed in. "So happy here, and you're learning so much, and you have so much freedom! You must enjoy your life!"
They then proceeded to make a list of every single man they knew in the immediate area.
This is my beginners' class, the ones with mad cooking skills and limited English ability. We get together twice a month, where they provide fabulous Japanese home-cooked meals, they chat in Japanese for about forty minutes, then we work on English skills for another forty-five and they spend the last twenty minutes of class comparing notes and distributing cooking orders for the next class.
Our English isn't improving, but my experience with Japanese cuisine is broadening daily and I get some curious insights into Japanese culture.
For instance, of our six under-fifty-looking-but-over-sixty-really students, one is widowed and the other five are still married to their first husbands (I think).
My acquaintances seem neatly split between those who enjoy being married, those who don't mind it, and those who are living their lives much more fully now that their husbands are dead.
Take for example, Ikeuchi-san who moved to Kochi from Kansai (Osaka/Kyoto/Kobe) area and told me when she first got here, "I cried every day. I missed home so much." But when I ask if she is happy, she says, "Oh, yes. We do everything together. I am very happy."
Making the statement for opposing counsel is one of my Japanese teachers who taught us all that the common word for wife "Oku-san" means "Mrs. Inside" (my colloquial interpretation).
"I am sotto-sama," she smiles broadly. Queen Outside. She spends the whole day driving from one end of the prefecture to the other, volunteering to guide foreign tour groups, participating in local committees, and studying to become a professional expositor of geographic anomaly at Muroto Geopark. When I asked her why she got married, she murmured obliquely, "saaa, you know, it's what you're supposed to do." Marriage is the only respectable option for young educated women of good family.
Many of the difficulties that confront married couples in Japan are tied to work. Because the Japanese mentality is closely linked to the community and the insulated world of loyalty to the company, work often becomes more important than family life. While I often see fathers or mothers running around with their kids in their free time, I very rarely see the whole family out together (at least around here). But as far as perspectives from women go, I rate a happy marriage on how much time the couple seems to spend in each other's company, without the kids.
And a happy widowhood is even easier to figure out.
Every time I walk into Matsumura-sensei's house, I get the feeling that this lady loves living alone. She can run around without dressing up, she can drink beer at dinner, she can have her friends over whenever she wants, and she can travel the world. During our conversation, she laughed and said, "yes, many of my neighbors are sympathetic and worry about me, but I am so happy by myself."
And Miko-san is a prime example of that lady from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest: you know, the widow whose hair turned gold from grief. For the last ten years, that lady has been carrying on a joyful, active existence, doing two hundred sit-ups a day and building her own karaoke room into the front of her house. She spends her days looking up new song lyrics and grooving to the enka-oldies.
On the other hand, Arisawa-san continues to put small offerings of every gift she receives in front of the shrine built to her late husband. (This is not something I have observed in Miko-san's or Matsumura-sensei's homes...)
For a different perspective, at a recent faculty wedding party, I asked a male teacher if he was happily married (because he asked when I was getting married - I never start this shit). He was taken aback and thought about it, but in the end said, albeit shakily, "Yes. Yes, I am."
It still seems odd to me that regardless of personal experience or present contentment, the inclination in the mind of every one (Japanese or Western and women in particular) is it is better to be married.
When I explained that I enjoyed living abroad, I didn't know where I might go next, and I would rather wait for the right man than hurry into a relationship with the wrong one, Matsumura-sensei encouraged me, "Well, I think you are very brave. And you are so happy here, it's better that you haven't married."
"Oh, yes!" the rest of the class chimed in. "So happy here, and you're learning so much, and you have so much freedom! You must enjoy your life!"
They then proceeded to make a list of every single man they knew in the immediate area.
2012/10/06
Eto ne...
When making a speech in English, professional speech coaches tell their clients, "don't say 'um'". And they are right. It fills audio space, but it's a horrible little syllable made up of two the most banal letters in the alphabet. "Um" is a little groan, produced by the vocal chords in stressful situations when the brain is still loading.
In Japanese, the common place-holder is "eto, ne" which takes up two more syllables than does "um" and includes the middle syllable "toe" which acts as a pivot around the melodious "eh" bookends. I vote we adopt it in place of "um".
In Tosa-ben, the regional dialect of Kochi Prefecture, they have another syllable which is also frequently used by everyone and seems to be rather favored by my students, particularly my 6th graders who are just on the edge of adult conversations rather than kid dialogues: "sa". "Sa" (pronounced "saaaaaaaaaaah" or "saaah", but hardly ever "sah") fills the air during school lunch and break times when students embark on meaningful conversations about schoolwork, the kid with food allergies, or annoying classmates.
There are a variety of other conversation fillers you can use if you're not hyaku percent sure what is being discussed. Their effective utilization is dependent on your vocal inflection, but even if you are only giri-giri and non-committal on tone, you can generally get away with not understanding everything and sounding like you are following part of the conversation. A few of the most useful of these are:
"Hounto ni" - really? Really? For real? Are you sure? Wow. I can't believe it. I see.
"Sou desu ne" - That's about the size of it. Hmm, you're right. I should have thought about that myself... I see.
"Sou desu ka?" - Really? I. Never. Knew. How about that? Is that right? Whoa. Shut the front door. I see.
"Naruhodo" - I see. I see. I see. I see. I see.
(When you read an English textbook from a Japanese school, you might often find "I see" in sample English dialogues. The teacher will then ask me if this is "natural English" and when I reply that I rarely use that phrase and it sounds translated, she assumes this is because I don't really understand English and don't have much call to use it at home. Sometimes it seems like Japanese people think English speakers get by with body language and grunting...)
So if you happen to find yourself walking through the rice paddies and an obaachan stops to fill you in on the weather, just throw out a few of those useful nuggets of colloquial chat. Even if you have no idea what she's talking about. It will impress her no end.
And if you can't remember those, just go back to "um".
In Japanese, the common place-holder is "eto, ne" which takes up two more syllables than does "um" and includes the middle syllable "toe" which acts as a pivot around the melodious "eh" bookends. I vote we adopt it in place of "um".
In Tosa-ben, the regional dialect of Kochi Prefecture, they have another syllable which is also frequently used by everyone and seems to be rather favored by my students, particularly my 6th graders who are just on the edge of adult conversations rather than kid dialogues: "sa". "Sa" (pronounced "saaaaaaaaaaah" or "saaah", but hardly ever "sah") fills the air during school lunch and break times when students embark on meaningful conversations about schoolwork, the kid with food allergies, or annoying classmates.
There are a variety of other conversation fillers you can use if you're not hyaku percent sure what is being discussed. Their effective utilization is dependent on your vocal inflection, but even if you are only giri-giri and non-committal on tone, you can generally get away with not understanding everything and sounding like you are following part of the conversation. A few of the most useful of these are:
"Hounto ni" - really? Really? For real? Are you sure? Wow. I can't believe it. I see.
"Sou desu ne" - That's about the size of it. Hmm, you're right. I should have thought about that myself... I see.
"Sou desu ka?" - Really? I. Never. Knew. How about that? Is that right? Whoa. Shut the front door. I see.
"Naruhodo" - I see. I see. I see. I see. I see.
(When you read an English textbook from a Japanese school, you might often find "I see" in sample English dialogues. The teacher will then ask me if this is "natural English" and when I reply that I rarely use that phrase and it sounds translated, she assumes this is because I don't really understand English and don't have much call to use it at home. Sometimes it seems like Japanese people think English speakers get by with body language and grunting...)
So if you happen to find yourself walking through the rice paddies and an obaachan stops to fill you in on the weather, just throw out a few of those useful nuggets of colloquial chat. Even if you have no idea what she's talking about. It will impress her no end.
And if you can't remember those, just go back to "um".
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