The Final Japanese Days

The last few days in Japan didn't feel like the last few days in Japan. I felt ready, as if I’d seen all I wanted to in Tokyo. I had gotten my closure.  I did some new things like go up the Tokyo Skytree and to an aquarium, and I did some repeat excursions as well. I returned to the zoo once again to visit my Japanese animal buddies and visited the owl café a second time to see those feathery friends of mine.

I also paid a visit to the second Tokyo Disney Park, Tokyo Disneyland. I will say, however, that it was quite a different experience. When I went to Tokyo Disney Sea in December, I was blown away by how crowded it was. I hadn’t even come close to really seeing “crowded,” as it turns out. No, Disney Sea was empty when I went in comparison to my trip to Disneyland. Disneyland’s streets were so densely packed that you could hardly shuffle from one ride to the next without bumping into at least twenty other park-goers. By 10 in the morning, the fast-passes for Space Mountain had been distributed for the remainder of the day, and the wait time had skyrocketed to 200 minutes, no exaggeration. So, one could watch an extended version of a Lord of the Rings installment and still have time to spare in line. When I thought about it in those terms, I simply couldn't wait standby for that ride.

160 minute wait? Nope!

I am not sure there is any logical explanation for the fact that I ACTUALLY waited two hours in line for Big Thunder Mountain. Especially considering that I have ridden that attraction many times in the past. The only explanation for my choosing to wait two hours in line for a ride that lasts about two minutes max is that I am certifiably insane. However, that would make every person ahead of me and behind me in line certifiably insane as well, which would make Disneyland just full of crazies. So in spite of the fact that the park was magical and fun, my enjoyment was slightly dampened by only getting to ride six rides in nine hours. I guess you know you’re getting old when you realize you no longer have the patience to put up with huge lines and crowds anymore.

I also tried some new Japanese cuisine that I hadn’t before during a home cooked meal and a thick pancake with green onions called Negiyaki. I also got to visit what was likely my 15^th or so Indian restaurant in Japan.

One thing is I wish I had taken the time to give the island that I called home for six months a more ceremonious goodbye. Instead, I spent my final morning rushing to the airport and didn’t really share my sentiments properly with Japan.

Specific Nostalgia

As I depart my dear, darling students (well, most of them were dear darlings. Some were mischievous monsters) and beloved teachers and friends, I feel emotionally drained. The last two weeks I have spent in a whirlwind of rapid goodbyes and hopes to meet again in the future as I parted from those who have earned spots in my heart.

I have learned so much from my students and Japanese friends. If at any moment, which there have been some, I thought “man, my time here was not worthwhile,” all I had to do was look at the stack of letters written to me by my students thanking me for teaching them. Some students simply said they enjoyed my lessons and my singing, and others expressed their deepest gratitude and assured me that they would never forget me. The latter letters brought tears to my eyes almost every time.

Of course, it will be sad. Yet, I also feel a bit relieved as working as a teacher was NOT easy. Part of me feels like Frodo when he’s talking to Sam at the end of The Lord of the Rings and says “it’s gone, it’s done.” Okay, okay. Perhaps it is a bit hyperbolic to compare the end of a teaching job to throwing a cursed ring into the fires of Mordor, but I often have a flare for the dramatic, in case you haven’t noticed.

On my last couple of days here, I noticed that I started feeling nostalgic about far too specific of things. Saying to myself “wow, this is the last time I will ever walk to school,” or “I can’t believe this will be my last meal in the Indian restaurant where I spent many a night during my time in Japan,” is a completely normal thing to do in my emotional situation. However, all of a sudden, I realized that I began having these “wow, this is my last time” thoughts about even tiny details. While I was at the gym, I thought, “wow, this is the last time I will ever use this exact workout machine here.” Instead of the more general idea that it would be my last time in the gym.

I made myself chuckle at thinking of just HOW specific I could get with it. “Aw, sad, this is the last time I will be standing in line waiting to buy hand warmers at the random Japanese drug store near the sushi restaurant at exactly 8:16 at night, so sad!” Or, “I just might cry, it’s my last time biking in the cold when one of my headphones fell out of my ear because I hit the bump on the sidewalk at the wrong angle right next to the Pizza Hut, aww man!” Or finally, “here come the tears… this is my last time seeing the man who sometimes walks his Chihuahua outside of my apartment and always stops right under that tree so he can blow his nose and his dog can pee… I’m so emotional!”

Okay, okay. Maybe my nostalgia hasn't gotten to just such a specific point just yet. But as my time in Ageo ticks down to hours instead of days, I may find my mind going there.  

Leaving Ageo also fills me with excitement for the next part of my journey. I can’t wait to spend some time in Tokyo touring around and doing some things that were on my list of “must-do” things in Japan before taking off for Thailand. Tea ceremonies, Disneyland, and the Tokyo Skytree are calling, and who am I to ignore the call of adventure? (What a weird English saying, “who am I to…” Like, how do you respond to that?).

Youths!

I consider myself a morning person, as long as I’ve gone through my AM ritual of drinking at least one cup of coffee and eating my granola while sifting through the various stories in the news. I consider myself to be a morning person not necessarily because I am particularly bubbly or vivacious in the wee hours of the day, but because I enjoy them. I love sunrises, I love the newness associated with the fresh, pure early hours, and I love morning activities such as the aforementioned. However, like I said, it doesn't mean I radiate enviable amounts of energy at the start of the day.

My students at the junior high school, however, are another story entirely. Whereas it takes me a good quarter of the day to actually wake up and feel like a human being, they scamper up and down the halls of the school like Energizer bunnies on mass amounts of amphetamines from the moment they enter the building. I have never seen any of them at the second they wake up (how creepy would it be if I had?) but I imagine they spring out from under their covers with the same zeal for life they possess all day long. 

I wish I could borrow just one tiny bit of their constant energy. I used to be confused as to how they could eat such gigantic school lunches until I witnessed the sheer amount of activity they go through on a day-to-day basis. First they walk to school. Then many of them jog around the track. Then they spend all day in class, and in between periods they run boisterously up and down the halls, screaming at their friends or at least chatting animatedly. Then they chow down an unimaginable amount of food, which makes me feel like Jabba the Hut after eating just half of what they do, and then rush around and visit with their friends again. The students are just a whirlwind of activity at all moments, which is exhausting just to behold. 

After half the day is over, it seems as though they haven’t spent a single ounce of energy. Following lunch, they go to two more classes, spend a half hour cleaning the school, and then go to their after school activities. A few hours after practicing their chosen sport, they walk home, often up to a mile. Then they study, study, study and sleep. Whew. That made me tired just writing about it. Ah, to be young again… 

New Neighbor

I didn't realize until yesterday the degree to which I took my living situation for granted. I never realized how good I had it. Instead, I complained about the bad. Boo hoo, my apartment is so small. Boo hoo, I am so lonely. Boo hoo, it’s cold in here. Wah, wah, wah, First World problem after First World problem.

I suppose I didn't realize until last week how beautifully quiet it was in my apartment. All of this was because until Monday of last week, I had no apartment neighbors. No one lived in the spaces directly above, to the left, or to the right of me. Then, all of a sudden, everything changed.

Japan made me notice that I am not one for a traditional Asian bed- a thin mattress on the ground. Having lived my life until my arrival here sleeping on a thick American mattress, it was a struggle adjusting. The thin futon also happens to be in a loft in my apartment, which is sometimes nice when I feel like escaping to my little cave. It was always a quiet little place to which I could escape, until Monday.

Someone moved into the apartment above me. Now, when I am in my loft fighting for sleep, I am about a foot beneath him as he walks across the floor. I have discovered from the amplified sound of rushing water cascading above me that my loft is directly below his shower.

Now, whenever the neighbor above takes a shower, which oddly enough occurs at about 3 in the morning most days, I feel like I am right in there with him. That’s way closer than I’d ever want to be to a stranger. 

Not the 3 AM shower!!!!

Needless to say, I am going shopping after school. The first thing on the list? Earplugs.

Converted to a Crier

So, generally, you are either a crier or you’re not. I don't mean the town criers of old, pronouncing breaking news in raised voices for all to hear. I mean people who bawl at the end of tearjerker movies and touching romantic novels. I mean people who behold a shockingly beautiful sunset, a horizon laced with vibrant reds, purples and oranges and have tears instantly well up behind their eyes.

I always put myself in the category of “occasional crier.” Anytime I see an installment of the Lord of the Rings film series, the optical dam breaks and streams run down my cheeks. I couldn't help but get teary-eyed during Bambi. How can people hunt after seeing that?? Yet I sometimes I can watch a movie or read a book intended to be tragic and sad and not flinch.

Not Bambi's Mom!!

I realized this week the degree to which leaving Japan will push me into the full-fledged “bawler” category. I thought I could be strong and bolster up iron-clad defenses to not cry when leaving the school here. Yet, what was I thinking? This school is ingrained in my life now. It is a memory that will always be there in my mind. So perhaps it is only right that I cry.

I didn't predict the frequency with which my tears would flow, however. The other day, a student gave me a letter saying I am the best teacher EVER. Today I got a going away gift from some parents at school. I had lunch for the last time with a class and they gave me a parting present. I had to think of the funniest SNL skit possible to keep from having a humiliating emotional breakdown in the teachers’ room.

This has all been in the past two days, and I still have two more weeks left. I can’t imagine what my last day will be like. Emotionally trying, that’s for sure. 

Coincidentally, I sang this One Direction song "Moments" in class today

I Drank Bath Salts

So, many a time I have forgone buying products at drugstores in Japan simply because I couldn't read the box and therefore had no idea what I was about to buy. My reasoning went as follows: yes, I could attempt to buy Japanese cold medicine, but it’s just as likely I’d leave the drugstore with rat poison. I could also go through a nice game of charades with the pharmacist and leave with the right medicine, but not understand the dosage or the proper time to take it. The one time I did go to a drugstore to buy fiber capsules, I found myself scratching my head in sheer confusion later when I couldn't figure out how many I was supposed to take in a day. Even looking up translations of dietary supplement labels online didn't provide the answer.

However, one product often piqued my curiosity in drugstores. Many times, I saw little different-colored bags with men and women performing various workouts on them. One day, I decided to pick one up and inspect it more carefully. These individually-packaged bags felt like they contained some sort of powder. The only English on the front was the phrase “fine heat ” which I considered a sports-related term. So, eventually I decided to try one. I felt confident enough based on the packaging that it was some sort of sports drink powder. 

So one morning before heading to the gym, I opened the bag and poured some powder into my water bottle. It began to fizz, which was promising, and gave off an aroma of lemon. Also promising. Yet when I brought the bottle to my lips, I realized that something was wrong. It was soapy and had a chemical taste. I looked at the package again which I thought I had scrutinized thoroughly, and realized that at the bottom in fine print it listed the brand name "Bathclin" Yes, I accidentally drank bath salts. I am an idiot. At least one sip probably won't kill me. 

Behind Enemy Lines: Fighting the Flu

For a long while, we teachers were winning the war. Many of the students had already fallen in battle, but our troop held strong. Our enemy? The dreaded influenza, or as they say in Japan, “influ.”

Last Tuesday, one of the teachers felt sick so he went to the clinic. We got the news shortly after. The devastating news came that the enemy had taken him.

We sprang into action to defend our remaining soldiers, opening windows to ensure air circulation. I am stationed directly next to the infected fighter, so I repelled from my desk faster than two magnets pushed together.

Thankfully, despite my personal apprehensions regarding wearing one, I decided to overcome my awkward feelings and don a mask before school that day. To further bolster my defences, I washed my hands as if I’d developed a sudden obsessive-compulsive fear of germs.

Yet, our efforts began to seem futile after our enemy took one of our own as a hostage. He went missing, and it wasn’t until the next day that he was returned to us. He didn't fall to the flu as the first soldier had. (Is my analogy getting too convoluted? Basically, the second teacher felt ill and went to the clinic, and so he didn't come into school the next day but he got the results that it wasn't the flu). 

Anyways, on another note, I have come to not just tolerate, but passionately adore face masks. They are not only saviours keeping me from getting the dreaded influenza, but also a really nice thing to wear when you are having a “bad face day.”

We all have “bad hair days.” When I have one, I either pull my hair into a sloppy ponytail or wear a hat. But on bad face days, when I had a bit of dry skin in one spot and a huge zit on my cheek, I never knew what to do.  Now, the problem is instantly solved by my new friend, face mask.

Yes, I truly wish it would catch on in the States, but as I discovered first hand, they still induce fear and confusion outside of Japan. When I arrived in Denver still donning my face mask, a terrified looking little boy pointed at me and asked his dad, "what happened to her?" Oh man... I assured him I was fine and let out an involuntary chuckle. 

Yet, it clearly works- guess who is free of the flu? That's right, yours truly!

See? It can be sexy!

Merry Christmas in Japan!

Knowing that December 25^th is not a national holiday here as only 1% of Japan is Christian, I hardly expected to see any decorations. I assumed, quite mistakenly as it turns out, that stores would go about playing synth versions of random American songs from the 1960s-1980s.

I began to realise this would not be the case when I saw how nuts stores went over Halloween decorations. Despite the fact that many children here don’t actually trick-or-treat and some don’t even dress up, it seemed a bit odd that they went all-out with the decorations.

Yet immediately after October 31^st, I realised just how wrong I was in thinking Christmas wouldn't be a massive deal here in Japan. On November 1^st, Christmas lights began to pop up all over the place, and stores changed their soundtracks to playing Christmas carols of all kinds on a loop.

While it’s true that many people have no idea what Christmas actually celebrates, that doesn’t stop them from making merry and participating in the festivities. They do, however, do some things quite differently than we do in America.

Most notably, the Japanese don’t view Christmas as a time for family togetherness, but a day more akin to Valentine's Day. People don’t look forward to cooking turkey, but rather buying some Kentucky Fried Chicken to chow down on. Families also look forward to one thing much more than presents or watching Christmas movies by the fire. No, no. Here, they count down to the day when they can eat Christmas Cake.

NPR wrote a nice in-depth piece about why they love Christmas Cake so much and what it represents. I can tell you from first hand interaction with Japanese pre teens and teens that they look forward to the cake and their KFC far more than the presents. During one particular assignment in which they had to write what they wanted to do for Christmas, a vast majority wrote "I want to eat Christmas Cake." 

Seriously, though, click that article link, it's quite good.

Here are some of my students' interpretations of Christmas:

The Good, The Bad, and The Far-From-Ugly Part One: Why You Gotta Be So Rude?

My Korean seat neighbour described two blogs ago turned out to be an accurate representative of most Koreans I would encounter during my time in Busan. I'm going to go ahead and expect a slew of comments from upset readers berating me for making generalisations, so let me just go ahead and address that now. These are just opinions based on my observations. I know that people from every country are all unique and have their positive and negative personality traits. However, as an outsider, there were things I observed. My observations based on a short period of time, good and bad, are all that this blog details. So, everybody chill in advance.

Because it's just a blog

I initially wrote all of my observations in one long blog, but I know how short attention spans are these days, so I have turned it into a multiple-blog series. Enjoy.

Why You Gotta Be So Rude?

As I previously mentioned, living amongst the Japanese for months has likely tainted my perspective on how people should act. Japanese people are some of the genuinely kindest I have ever met. They rarely have ulterior motives driving their actions and will go out of their way to help anyone at all, even someone they barely know. Greetings are of utmost importance in Japanese culture as well as cleanliness and politeness. Had I travelled from New York to Busan, I may not have noticed a thing.

However, I was traveling from Japan to Busan. So imagine how I felt the first time I heard a Korean man hacking up a spit wad right there in the metro station. Shocked would describe it pretty well, though the more it happened the less it surprised me.

Also, in Japan people generally walk in a direct path to their destination in the train station. If they divert from said path and bump into you, they are quick to apologise. I know at least three ways to apologise in Japanese because of this. In Korea, people often walked directly into me and didn't even hesitate. No "excuse me" or "I'm sorry." Sometimes, it even seemed like they were INTENTIONALLY trying to run into me. For example, when I would walk down a practically empty hall and someone was walking the opposite direction, they still found a way to bump into me. How!? Why?!

Also, the staring. In India, people ogled me like I was a bearded lady in a freak show and didn't even try to pretend they weren't staring. Even when I returned their gaze they kept starting. Koreans weren't as bad, but some still stared at me to the point I felt very uncomfortable. That is another thing that I never experience in Japan.

Finally, the train situation. In Japan, people line up alongside the doors when the train arrives and wait for the passengers to get off before they file in. In Korea, forget it. The method there was "barge right in as soon as the doors open and don't wait for anyone to get off first."

When push comes to shove, Korea is a dog-eat-dog world. 

Fight Do!

Move aside, hot yoga, I’ve fallen head over heels for a new kind of workout.

Okay, okay, perhaps that is a bit rash. I’m not ready to thrust aside my beloved yoga, which has served me so well for over two years now. But, it will certainly be sharing time in my workout schedule with a newcomer: kickboxing.

I would have never ended up participating in a kickboxing class in Japan if it hadn’t been for one of my students inviting me to his gym after my Sunday morning class. I somewhat reluctantly agreed.

My reluctance stemmed from a rather disastrous experience at a dance class I attempted last week. I say attempted, because by no dictionary’s definition did I complete a single dance step correctly. I was a horrible whirlwind of spastic motions flailing about the studio, posing a massive hazard to those around me like a renegade tornado.

I felt crushed after and vowed not to attend a dance class in Japan ever again. Sticking with yoga seemed a safe option: despite my lack of comprehension of the instructor’s directions, my previous knowledge of the postures enables me to succeed to some degree.

So, back to the story at hand: kickboxing class. The class is actually called Fight Do, or フアイト゛ウ, because it is a brand name like “Bikram yoga” or “P-90X.”I should prefix this by saying we attended a yoga class beforehand. So, I was already a bit tired physically, thus augmenting my anxiety about my ability to do “Fight Do” class. Yet, my anxieties were, as usual, completely unnecessary.

I plan to.

Jabbing, punching, elbowing, and kicking the air is one of the most cathartic and stress relieving workouts I’ve ever done. Also, focusing on the instructor meant I had no extra mental capacity to think about my daily woes.

I hope I look this cool...

Not only did I enjoy the experience, but it also turns out that I am shockingly apt at doing the moves properly. That has never happened before, as I am completely uncoordinated. In middle school, I had to stay late after the rehearsal for musicals because I needed extra lessons to learn the dance moves. The only dance class at which I have ever slightly succeeded is Zumba, because it requires no grace whatsoever. Or, perhaps it does, but it also doesn't matter if you flail around like an uncoordinated baboon, like I do. On that note, are there graceful baboons? I always think of primates as flailing creatures. Especially when I think of myself.

Thankfully, my gym has its own Fight Do classes. And I plan to attend every weekend.