Musings on Teaching English

I have recently (beginning about a month ago) started teaching English to Japanese citizens.  With some amazing luck, a little of my own PR work (i.e. posters and business cards), and a few wonderful friends to introduce me to potential clients, I have already garnered 6 students (with a few more possibly pending).  I even have one English-speaking student who is trying to practice Japanese.  It feels like business is about as booming as I could have hoped. :-)

ANYWAY....

Having several of Japanese students with which to converse, I am learning a great deal about the English language.

Growing up speaking it, I took the natural speech patterns and quirks of the linguistics behind English for granted.  I didn't have to question them.  They simply...were.  Studying English in school and cultivating my love of writing between various walls, I was able shape what I already knew into something that, at least on most occasions, made me sound more intelligent.  But I was always building upon a foundation I already had.  It was "went" not "goed" and there was little reason to ask, "why?" because the goal was simply to communicate more effectively.  It never really mattered to me "why" the rules existed.  Simply, that they did...and that I knew them...so I could follow them...and present myself awesomely thereafter.

Growing up bilingually, I don't really recall asking the "why" question very often of Japanese either.  And when I took Spanish, I was willing once again to simply do, without questioning, because "why" didn't matter nearly as much as "how."

Now I find myself having to justify the language which comes most naturally to me.  The one I always questioned the least.  The one I use most readily without thought or hesitation.  I am being asked "why" about a language in which even the "how" has become so second-nature, I never think about it.  The more I try to explain certain things, the more deeply I realize the difficulty of English.  So many things that seemed so formulaic and simplistic are now convoluted and complex.

"How come you say, 'Why did you wake' instead of 'why you woke?' "

"What is a 'matter' versus an `issue' versus a 'problem?''" 

"Why do Americans say 'you know?' at the end of phrases?  What does that even mean?"

Sentence construction alone feels like it may take me a lifetime to explain thoroughly.  The basic rules are easy.  But the seemingly infinite and impossible to anticipate number of variations on those rules, is daunting.  

I'll tell you one thing.  I have a whole new, and rather enormous, respect for my mother.  I have been so proud of how far she has come in my lifetime, when it comes to her comprehension and use of the English language.  I remember days when even the most basic ideas and spellings would trip her up.  She is, by all accounts now, a totally fluent pro.  

But now I am starting to get a much clearer idea of where she started.  Just HOW FAR "how far she has come" really is.

I have also developed a newly deepened, ever refreshed, extremely humbled appreciation for the fact my parents allowed me to grow up bilingually.  I have coupled it with an even stronger conviction to make sure my daughter has this same gift and opportunity.

The challenge of being an English teacher, especially to students of rather varied skill levels, is thrilling and aggravating.  It most certainly is forcing me to grow.  Which is wonderful.  I push through the questions, ever afraid I will let my students down, realizing how much I know, and how much I don't know.  As I have been teaching these students, I have been teaching myself. 

Nagasaki Lantern Festival

I have fallen short, once again, of my goal to blog with consistency and commitment.  Life has been getting in the way, which is actually rather wonderful.  But I do have things I want to share.  And I am going to share them, even if it is in the form of 4 posts in one day as opposed to one post a week.  At least until I get into a more solid rhythm here.

First, here are the pictures from the Nagasaki Lantern Festival back in February.  The ornate and intricate paper lanterns (well, I assume they were some sort of magical, water resistant paper, but paper-ish nonetheless), were truly beautiful to behold.  From rather basic hanging lanterns by the hundreds, lighting the way through the streets.... to artistic masterpieces depicting dragons, dogs, sea life, people, and gods, it was hard not to take pictures of every single thing we saw. Fortunately/Unfortunately, limited photo storage memory on my phone and an extremely active Aria kept me from staying in one place too long.  Meaning, I was forced to narrow down my selections.  Next year, there will be more pictures, I hope.

 

Yes, that is a Chinese dragon made of china.

This group of gentle god-like lanterns was my favorite to look at.  Thus making this my favorite lantern-based picture from the festival this year.  Simple as the features on these hand-painted faces seem, the expressions were remarkably sincere, and really drew me in.  I stood at stared for quite a while.  

This goofy looking guy was my favorite dragon in the whole festival. :-) 

Dragon Dancers, each holding up one of the many poles that supported this giant weaving dragon as it chased a golden ball around the stage and through the audience.  I must say, while being so far back didn't make for a very good picture, being as tall as I am in a country full of short people made it much easier to see.  There was one elderly lady in front of me I felt almost compelled to hoist onto my shoulders, though.  I didn't.  But I wanted to.  

Being an American Japanese-American

I have been musing lately about the process I went through mentally as I became acclimated and genuinely happy here in Japan.  

I recall the months leading up to our move here had me wracked with doubt and fear and confusion.  Would I be accepted?  Would I remember the language well enough or quickly enough?  Would I do something unforgivably gaijin that it would bring shame on my mother and my mother's mother and my aunts and uncles who have to claim me as family?  Would I be an outcast for not being Japanese enough?  Would I FAIL here?

After so many years of being seemingly disconnected from the things that made me Japanese (my mom, her food, speaking Japanese with her, her guilt trips, etc.), I was starting to wonder if what she said about me was true.  That I really had "become SO American."  That I was only living up to half of who I truly was, or worse yet, had lost half of my self altogether.  

I came here terrified.  One would think Hubby would have struggled and feared far more.  But in my eyes, he had so many reasons and excuses not to have a clue what was going on.  The Japanese look fondly, for the most part, upon the gaijin who are trying their best and simply making mistakes along the way.  If you've never been exposed to Japanese language or culture, it's okay that you simply don't know any better.  The effort to combat one's ignorance is appreciated here, so if you're a gaijin who actually DOES speak some Japanese or enjoys the food or knows what an "ohinasama" is, you're looked upon with even more fondness.

But me?  I can't really play the gaijin card.  Or so I thought.  After all, every time I had been in Japan before, I looked and spoke and acted enough like a Japanese girl that my American-ness was never a focal point.  I had a Japanese passport. I had a Japanese name.  I had a Japanese mom helping me along.  I was one-of-them-ish enough.

Also, being in my own skin in America for so long, I didn't ever think of what my visage would be to the natives here this time around.

Then I arrived.  As an American.

I am easily 6 inches taller (or more) than almost every person here, male and female.  My eyes are bigger.  My skin is different.  My build is bulkier.  I walk differently.

The Japanese here look at me, and see a gaijin.  So much so, in fact, that they are shocked when I begin speaking relatively clean, accent-less Japanese with them.  ANY Japanese at all.  I can't count how many times I have been asked how I learned to speak it so well.  When I say my mother is Japanese, people act baffled.  When I tell a stranger my name is Michiko, there is almost always (however slight) momentary shock on his or her face.  

After all my stress and worry, it turns out this time around, I get the same excuse card that all the non half-breed American's do.  I'm a gaijin this time.  

For a time, that really bothered me.  It shook me to have to redefine my own sense of Japanese identity.  As a child I didn't even know I was a mix.  I just thought I was a Japanese person with an American dad who spoke American English and understood American culture.  It took me far longer than it should have to consciously understand that racially/ethnically, I was also a mix of those two nationalities.  Even once I figured it out, there was pride to be found in having both elements of my heritage.  Never being quite pigeon holed as just an American because I had my Japanese side to make me "unique."  I always focused on what made me different as a person.  I treasured being different.  And to me, "different" was just another word for "Japanese."

Having all of that rocked... I found myself wondering, "what now?"  What if they were right?  What if I wasn't Japanese anymore?

Then I realized from the moment I stepped off the plane at Narita, I had begun semi-sheepishly bowing and over arigato-ing and hyper sumimasen-ing toward nearly everyone I met.  The instinctual gestures and phrases and expressions of begging one's pardon at every turn hadn't faded from my subconscious.  As soon as they were necessary, they were there at the forefront with a vengeance.  Constantly apologizing for my daughter's behavior the second she made a sound or ran where she wasn't supposed to.  Trying to excuse myself and make amends for every thing I didn't know or couldn't pronounce.  Showing whatever gratitude I could for every second of anyone's time that was spent on helping me in any way. Remaining ever aware of every older person nearby so as to show proper respect for their mere existence; as if my consciousness of their wisdom was programmed into what kind of eye contact I made with them.  

As American as I am on the outside, inside, in all the inexplicable microscopic ways, I am still incredibly Japanese.  

And, within a short span of time, the external manifestations began reappearing.  My "don't touch that" was soon a "sawaranaide chodai!" and my "hurry up" was a "hayaku oide."  Shopping in Japan with my kiddo has been a fast acting catalyst for certain phrases in my mind to shake themselves free of the cobwebs.  With every day that goes by, I remember a little bit more.  My vocabulary is returning, and some days, even expands a bit.  For example, now I know what a chushaken is.  I didn't need to know that as a kid.  :)  Though the language hasn't come back as quickly as it used to when I was a child, it IS coming back.  I run into roadblocks and misunderstandings and issues reading kanji all the time.  But I haven't lost everything.  In fact, five months into living here, I realize I have actually lost almost NOTHING linguistically.

What's more thrilling, however, is the fact my culture is coming back.  In small ways, in subtle moments of guilt or the incessant desire to buy gifts for everyone who has shown me any kindness at all, I am rediscovering what has been true all along.  I am Japanese.

And, I'm also American.  

If I stay true to the part of me who revels in being different, perhaps here it is simply a matter of redefining the word for myself.

Snow in Sasebo

While this winter hasn't shown us a lot of snow, there were a few times when a flurry or two graced us, and with our scenic mountain and rice paddy backdrop, we enjoyed the experience.  Aria especially. 

The first time, it was bright and sunny with extra light snowflakes that were all but gone before they even hit the ground.  With the sunlight and the strangely bright surroundings, I couldn't help feeling an extra sense of wonderment.  Like we were being sprinkled with powdered sugar.  The warm happy feeling of the sunshine-snowfall combo made up for how truly frigid and windy it actually was outside.

About a month later we had a more significant snow overnight, and woke up to this. 

But it disappeared even faster than it came, because as the day progressed, the sun bore down and took all the snow away by mid-afternoon.  Save for one strange snow pile, about 2 feet in length and 6 inches in width, which stuck around in our side yard for several more days, providing Aria with one special area to stomp with her little rubber boots. :)

Ureshino Onsen & Omura Waterfall

Two Saturdays ago we decided to quell our desire to visit an "onsen" or hot spring resort by going to Ureshino.  There, we heard there was an onsen where English speakers would be easily assisted.  

We made it to Ureshino itself, thanks to GoogleMaps' GPS guidance, but finding the onsen itself took a while longer.  Twice in five minutes, we found ourselves needing to turn around, and both times, we used a big dirt truck lot to do so.  We thought nothing of his, until the second time a cross looking Japanese man approached us and said rather sternly, his arms forming an X in front of him, "dame da yo," or "you can't do that."  I apologized, and we went on our way.  At first I was embarrassed and sad, but then, I was irked.  This country is NOT easy to navigate, the majority of the roads are NOT marked clearly or named at all, so really, I can't imagine what else we as lost foreigners were supposed to do.   

In any case, we finally found the onsen with some help from Google, and once we arrived were pleased to discover the pricing was very reasonable.  We were able to get an onsen plus lunch package for only 2,700 yen per adult.

 The food was very tasty, with a leanness and healthiness that made us feel extra alive and revitalized.  Among the offerings was onsen-dofu, which is a special silken tofu that sits in hot spring water and boils, dissolving as it does so.  The resulting soup is a white broth with a soy milky, slightly rice-y taste to it.  I was a fan, though I wouldn't necessarily eat several bowls of it in one sitting.  But I have to admit I felt strangely refreshed and energetic after eating it.

Once done with our food, we headed to the bathing area, where we found out there were separate bathing areas for men and women.  You'd think I would have remembered something like that.  But I had forgotten this detail from my childhood visits to the onsen, especially since some of them are in fact co-ed.  Forced to adapt, we just agreed to meet up in an hour or so.

Once Aria and I were stripped down and rinsed off, we headed outside to the outdoor onsen pool.  It was very chilly outside, but the water was incredibly toasty, so the combination was rather refreshing.  The best part, however, was that the outside bathing pool was filled with hot TEA!  Yes, tea.  I don't know if it was oolong or green or some combination but whatever it was, it felt and smelled so very relaxing.  There were even green tea bags that one could soak in the hot water and then place on one's face to detoxify the skin.  I swear the bags under my eyes were less pronounced for several days afterward.

Hubby's experience was a bit different, as he has tattoos, which are still frowned upon by many people in this country.  He said he got avoided as he moved from bathing pool to bathing pool, until one kind gentleman came and chatted with him and simply explained it was a cultural thing.  Nevertheless Hubby still says he enjoyed the onsen experience itself, and that in the future all we need to do is get a private onsen for a slightly higher price and enjoy the bath in peace, without judgment.

Finished and satisfied with our hot spring adventure, we drove toward Omura, which Hubby claimed was beautiful and worth seeing.  On the way we saw a sign pointing toward a waterfall, so we decided on the short detour.  Turned out to be well worth it, because while it wasn't especially big or grand, the pleasant little waterfall was surrounded by boulders and rocks we could climb and sit on.  So we spent some time enjoying the view, communing with nature, and rescuing Aria's stuffed kitty cat from the water into which it was dropped accidentally.

Here are some pictures.   Please enjoy.

Hubby conquering and reveling in nature.

And here is a picture from Omura where we stopped for dinner.

First Trip to Hirado

On Oshogatsu, having very few other plans but wanting to take advantage of the day off, we decided to head to Hirado and "find out what that's all about."

The drive was a ramble through misty jade mountains, past giant white windmills, curving along small rivers and jigsaw puzzle coastlines.  In other words, it was quite lovely, evoking several classic images of Japan's natural beauty.

The longer-than-expected drive took us through several smaller towns and past a couple different insect museums (we were unaware there was such a big demand for those in these parts), until at last we came to a fork in the road.  One prong took us toward a waterside fish market, while the other took us over a big red bridge (sort of like a miniature of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco).  Having no set plans other than "to have an adventure" we chose the bridge, thus ending up on Hirado island. 

 

We drove around some more, trying to find a good place to stop and start exploring on foot.  After a short but awkward detour into what may have very well been someone's private backyard distillery, we at last found what looked like the parking lot to a natural park of some sort.  We parked.  We took a potty break.  We started walking. 

And this is what we saw:

We began with a climb up a grassy hill.

Then came across a rock monument of some sort, and a very severely leaning bench.

Then Aria took the lead and decided we were to climb the nearest giant hill, to see what was on the other side.

Where we found these views, and a large stone compass rose.

Daddy played pony on the way back to the car.

New Year, Old News

Akemashite Omedetou and Happy New Year as well!

Sorry for the long hiatus from this blog.  Being better about updating is on my list of resolutions.  Dedicating myself to so many resolutions at once, however, is making things a bit more challenging.  Here is some stuff I meant to post about forever ago:

Thanksgiving

Our first Thanksgiving in Sasebo meant our first Thanksgiving without access to a full size oven.  Or any oven at all.  It was readily apparent if the traditional turkey and sides were to be consumed this year, it would have to be through acquisition of pre-made dinners on base.  Luckily, we knew of at least two places on base that were offering cooked full size turkeys and all sorts of traditional side dishes for fairly reasonable prices.  We'd seen the signs on base.  So we were set.  With that, the stress of Thanksgiving prep went away.

Three days prior to the feasting holiday, I went to Popeye's to reserve a turkey.  As I stepped up to the counter, I read the sign closely for the first time.  In small (but legible enough that it's not a fair excuse) print, I read the words "orders must be placed at least two weeks in advance." 

"Oooops," was all I could really think.  I texted Hubby, and he called Brody's, only to discover the same rule applied there.

With that, we determined a traditional Thanksgiving meal wasn't in the cards this year.  Refusing to feel defeated, we simply decided to go out for a nice meal somewhere out on the town.  After some discussion, we solidified a plan to get Thai Food at a wonderful hillside restaurant we found.  Just to be clear, while "liking it fine" I have never been a Thai food zealot.  This restaurant's green curry changed all that forever.  I could eat there every day.  But at the heart of it, the decision was based on the following logic:

Thanksgiving & Thai start with the same three letters.  Plus Thai food is delicious.  This was meant to be.

We functioned under this logic all the way through the week, and Thanksgiving day, right up to the moment when we drove up to the restaurant... and found it closed.  No lights on whatsoever.  A big dark black hole of Thanksgiving failure. :-/

We then proceeded to get cranky, because we were all getting increasingly hungry and fed up.  After a bit of snippiness and disagreement, I got the idea to go to Bistro Bijou.  It was a French-influenced family restaurant, and just our luck, it was open.

The rest of the night was a great success.  The food was tasty, I got a massive dessert sampler plate that made me especially happy, and Aria not only got a delicious meal, and ice cream, AND candy, but she also got a lovely yellow balloon poodle from the nice waiter.  We ended the holiday with satisfied tummies and smiling faces.  That, and several key lessons learned for next year.

I wonder if Popeye's will start taking orders now for next year's turkeys... 

Christmas

I will keep this Christmas portion brief, and simply say it was low key, but wonderful.  Aria received some truly beautiful clothes from her grandparents, aunt & uncle, and great aunt and uncle as well, along with several other very kind gifts.  And since she decided (especially when reminded) to be a good girl for Santa, he brought her the special pink kokeshi doll she had asked for.

Hubby got himself a PS3 and Madden, and had been enjoying the gift several weeks prior to Christmas.

I was blessed with a new USB hookup microphone to record music, a pair of amazing Bose earbuds, and a super cute mini skillet brownie making set.  

The whole family also got some super sweet Nike shoes from "Obaachama."

The other element of note was that Aria had a big hand in the decorating around our house this Christmas.  She and Daddy decided to put everything up one evening when I had other stuff going on, and I was informed our little girl dictated where everything should go.  Not to brag, but she has a really good eye for interior design.  I was impressed (and not just "I'm her mom so I'm biased" impressed... LEGITIMATELY impressed).

We enjoyed a special Christmas brunch at Harbor View Club on base, and otherwise just focused on being a family and sharing lots of hugs.  Even without the hoopla, I couldn't have been happier with how this Christmas turned out.

New Year's/Oshogatsu

We rang in the New Year with a combination of traditional Japanese cuisine and American champagne at midnight, and very little fanfare beyond that.  We bought our door hanging, with lobster and daidai attached, along with our kagami mochi for the sacred shrine.  It was tiny, and looked even tinier in the shrine space.  But it was Avery's, and Avery's little daidai given to her by the nice lady at the market sat atop it.  So for us, it felt perfect.

And yes, Mom, we cleaned the house thoroughly.  I know the rules.

I was fairly proud of myself for making the traditional foods on my own from scratch, with a bit of careful research, a bit of panicked phone calling to my mother, and a little luck.  It may not have been as ornate as most people's meals, but it was tasty and made with love.  And yes, I carved all those carrot slices individually.  NEVER AGAIN. Next year I am just buying a shaped cutter.