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. 

Bella and Ana: What's the Difference?

I’m not nearly as embarrassed as I should be about the fact that I read both the Fifty Shades trilogy and the first book in the Twilight series within a two-month period. In doing so, I realised that one author, whether intentionally or otherwise, completely copied the other in her characterisation of the lead female of the story.

Let me begin by pointing out the similarities in the names of the leading ladies. In Fifty Shades, we have Anastasia Steele, who goes by Ana for short. In Twilight, the main female is Isabella Swan, who goes by Bella for short. Seriously? The similarities don't even come close to ending there. Both are described as plain looking and extremely pale with mousy, long brown hair. Both girls apparently are never hungry and rarely eat, sometimes only at the urging of their beaus, so are rail-thin. They both claim to completely lack grace when it comes to attempting to play sports.

Even their interests coincide. Ana and Bella both share quite frequently during their narrations that they love literature, especially the classics, and spend a good deal of their free time reading. They both grew up as outcasts in a way, lacking many friends and not dating much if at all. They are also both old souls.

Aside from the fact that one is a vampire, the men with whom these similar ladies fall in love are also surprisingly similar. Both have classic, somewhat-antiquated names. Edward and Christian. Both spend a substantial amount of time warning the leading ladies that they are dangerous and that they should “keep away from them.” Both are rich and drive fancy cars and save the main females from peril multiple times. Both, of course, are “gorgeous” and “flawless” and drive other females crazy, making the “plain” and “ordinary” women they choose so confused as to why they chose them.

Even the SETTINGS of the stories are almost the same. Both take place in the Northwestern United States, in Washington. Bella and Ana take trips to Seattle. Both have mothers who are divorced and who live in far away states.

In conclusion, Bella and Ana are clearly the same person.