Fruit? Vegetable?

I knew that there would be a problem teaching my special education class this week the instant I laid eyes on the worksheet that the head teacher wanted me to use. It sounds simple: he wanted to test the understanding of the students by giving them a worksheet depicting many fruits and vegetables and having them circle the answers when I say, for example, “red fruits.”

I started panicking a bit when I saw that tomatoes were one of the items of produce from which they could select. Crap. If I were to say “circle the red fruits,” would I have to count it wrong if they omitted the tomato? If I say “brown vegetables” and they circle the mushroom would I count it wrong because a mushroom is not a vegetable, but a fungus? What definition did the teacher want me to use? Culinary classification, which considers whether something is a fruit or a vegetable based on taste, or botanical classification, which defines a fruit as an edible plant containing seeds?

I’m about to go a bit Bill Nye on all of you. It’s time, once and for all, for us to understand what makes a fruit a fruit. According to livescience.com, a fruit is “a seed-bearing structure that develops from the ovary of a flowering plant, whereas vegetables are all other plant parts, such as roots, leaves and stems.” So, technically, olives, eggplants, peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, and pumpkins are all fruits. FRUITS!

However, the above only applies if you just want to follow the botanical definition. If you want to go with the culinary definition, things that taste sweet are considered fruits, and things that taste savory, like the aforementioned botanical fruits peppers, eggplants and pumpkins, are vegetables. On the flipside, rhubarb is a botanical vegetable but a culinary fruit. Confused yet?

Here’s a little history/law lesson for you, too. When deciding whether tomatoes should be taxed as a fruit or a vegetable, the Supreme Court elected to consider them a vegetable because that is “standard” and “common.” I wonder how eggplants and olives are taxed…

Well, in the end, I decided to just say “orange fruit” for which they could only circle the orange. I was immensely thankful that the worksheet’s creator didn't decide to depict a pumpkin, too, or I would have felt even more lost and confused.

But... WHAT IS A FRUIT!?

Out of Context

The first time I went out with one of the teachers from the school where I work, I asked her why she likes to go to Tokyo, which is relatively far, anytime she is free. She told me that she likes to leave the city in which she teaches because she likes to go far, far away from the students when she has leisure time. 

I didn't really understand this comment at the time. I assumed it couldn't possibly be that difficult to separate one’s work and social lives. I realised just how wrong this notion was. The city in which I teach didn't seem so small at first, until I began running into students no matter where I went, often at the least opportune moments. I’ve often almost run into something on my bike because a student saw me and called my name, catching me completely off guard. They’ve seen me at the grocery store, at the train station on the weekends on my way to a night out in Tokyo, at the convenience store paying bills... it just never ends.

Many of my students now know where I live, and I’m not sure how I feel about that either. My commute walking or biking to school may be short, but it gives me the time I need to mentally prepare myself for dealing with 600 energetic Japanese preteens and teenagers. Trust me, that time is needed for me to maintain what is left of my sanity. However, the other day, as I walked out the door I found myself face to face with one of my special education students. He watched me intently like a predator watching its prey in a nature special.  As I locked my door, all I could think was “great, there goes my mental preparation. It’s show time,” while I mustered up what little energy I could to pretend to be cheerful. Then we walked the entire way to school together. I wouldn't be surprised if students showing up outside my door in the mornings becomes a routine thing.

Now, I certainly understand the sentiments that my teacher friend expressed to me all that time ago. I, too, just want to escape on the weekends and go far, far away. Not that I don’t love my students dearly when they are inside the school. Seeing them outside of context is just too strange.

In My Own Defense

Man, people just love attacking me, or at least judging me, in comments lately. It is for this reason that I am considering ending my blogging endeavors on this site entirely. Actually though, many people online and in person have judged me on the following issue: the fact that I do not speak Japanese.

Let me just point out that I speak Spanish fluently, a bit of French and some Portuguese. I have studied Russian as well. So, by no means am I unilingual. I will also point out that prior to arriving in Japan TWO MONTHS AGO I studied no Japanese whatsoever. Already at this point, after studying on my own, I can ask basic questions, understand some answers, count, and read two of the three alphabets. I think that is pretty impressive, and I don't care if I am tooting my own horn.

Yet, people STILL say to me all the time: "you need to learn more Japanese," and ask me "why isn't your Japanese better?" or "why don't you study Japanese?" I'm WORKING ON IT, people! I have books, I have Rosetta Stone which I study often, and I always talk to Japanese people to try and improve.

Language learning doesn't happen overnight, I'm sorry to inform all you Captain Judgements out there. If you know of some method to make me magically fluent in Japanese overnight, please tell me about it. Otherwise, get off my back. I'm not taking any more of this crappy criticism. That is all. 

The Little Things Count

At first I thought it was strange how people here keep speaking at me in Japanese and expecting me to understand if they just say the same things over and over. Then I realized that I do the exact same thing in English. The other day, I was showing my pictures from my Kyoto trip to one of the teachers and I noticed that I kept rambling on and on in English and he just stared blankly, but I just continued explaining things because it just felt natural to me. 

WHAT ARE YOU SAYING??

Another thing that Japanese people often do when they are trying to get me to understand is they use gestures that perhaps make sense in their minds, but in reality don't help at all. I do the exact same thing. I was trying to explain that a picture was the view out of a window in my friend's apartment building, and I just did a broad movement with my hand while I said "view" and it probably meant absolutely nothing to the teacher with whom I was speaking. 

This steel-enforced language barrier in place has taught me that every little gesture matters. I can’t speak Japanese or English with some of the teachers, but that doesn't mean we can’t communicate. One teacher said “Merci” to me after I gave him a candy, and I responded “de rien,” and his face instantly lit up when I spoke the proper French response. Now, that is our method of communication. When he speaks a word of French, I respond in kind. It doesn't seem like much of an interaction, but to me it is.

I also learned some very basic Japanese to use with the teachers and students, and that alone has done wonders to bolster our relationships. I ask the kids the simple question “what movies do you like?” and their faces light up like a baseball stadium after dark. I got sick of the awkward silences in the copy room simply because of an inability to speak to coworkers so I learned to ask how they are and how their weekend was. Simple things like that makes them so cheerful, which in turn makes me cheerful.

And, at least in Japan, sometimes all it takes is a nod. 

Sharing Music

Before I began my first day of work, a seasoned teacher told me not to buy a second-hand guitar here and that if I did, not to tell the kids at school. He said that if they found out, they would pester me incessantly to play for them all of the time. Honestly, that was one of the worst bits of advice I have received. Buying that guitar and sharing with the students that I love to play and sing was one of the best things I have done here so far.

Leaving my guitar behind in the United States felt like abandoning my best friend. I knew I wouldn't last long without one, so I quickly ventured to a second hand store and picked up a gently loved guitar. I’d reckon it only spent a few hours in a love hotel (I really hope someone gets that joke).

It’s gotten to the point where losing my voice was a terrible disaster because it meant I couldn't play for the kids. The second I woke up one morning and could barely speak, my thoughts turned to my own devastation and the likely future devastation of my students and the other teachers. The fact that it has persisted for almost a week has made for some painfully empty-feeling lessons. The teachers were crushed that I couldn't play for their classes, too. 

But more than the fact that the guitar has become an integral part of my lessons, it has taught me to be more confident. The first day I ever played for my students, sweat rolled down my face in unattractive gobs and gave me armpit stains appearing as if I’d run a marathon. My nerves reached an unprecedented level. I doubted myself at first, thinking that perhaps my music didn't mean much to the students. However, more and more they approached me and told me how much they appreciated my music. The simplest comments, like “your music makes me happy” or “we love to hear you sing,” transform me from shy and uncertain about my guitar playing to a beaming performer. I no longer sweat like a hog on a spit at a Hawaiian luau (actually, I guess the hog is, hopefully, dead in this scenario so probably beyond the ability to sweat).  So, I no longer sweat like a person standing next to a hog on a spit at a Hawaiian luau. 

I realize that many musicians would love to be in my place. For sixteen classes per week, I get the privilege to play for a cheering audience. They make me feel like a celebrity every single day, and are truly an amazing audience. Apparently, the key to getting some rowdy teens to be attentive is to play music for them.

I AM awesome, you're right!

Furthermore, their constant requests force me to practice and improve my rather limited guitar skills and learn songs I never otherwise would. It also gives me a chance to improve the music taste of Japanese youths by playing songs by The Beatles and other classic rock bands instead of only the Disney pop songs they are used to. Not that there's anything wrong with Let It Go. Until I've played it about fifty times, that is. 

My only worry is that upon my return, my guitar at home (named Nathan) will have developed some serious abandonment issues. But hey, it won’t be anything beyond what some good ol’ anti-depressants can’t fix.

No, guitar dearest, I love you!

Gaijin Moments

While in Kyoto last weekend, I had the most Gaijin moments in any given period of time that I ever had. It all began with my journey from my apartment to my friend’s apartment in Kyoto. I had the journey all planned out in my mind. I knew exactly which bullet train I needed to take to get to Kyoto and when it was scheduled to leave. So, I arrived at the station in Tokyo with just enough time to buy my bullet train ticket, board the train, and bolt off to Kyoto by 7:20. I got to the front of the line and the salesman called me forth. To my horror, he didn’t speak a word of English.

Lately, I have started using a tactic when this happens that may actually be more detrimental than beneficial to getting the things I want to happen to happen. I kind of act like I understand with two phrases: “daijoubu des” and “hai,” or “that’s okay” and “yes.” So I began my enquiry with “skinkansen Kyoto” which he responded to with a slew of questions. Eventually I tried to say I didn’t understand, which led to him spewing out the SAME questions in Japanese but a tad slower. I blinked my eyes at him with a confused expression and he just did the exact same thing again. I finally sighed and went with my default response of “daijoubu des.” He handed me a ticket, didn’t tell me which track it left from or at what time. The ticket itself had no specific time written on it, as they normally do. It also turned out he gave me a ticket with a non-reserved seat. Great. I felt like a confused failure and headed over in the general direction of the bullet train tracks like a dog with its tail between its legs and asked an agent there which track. He angrily mumbled “18” handed me the ticket and pointed. Well, at least I was sort of getting somewhere.

When I got to platform 18, I encountered more problems. I got on the train and asked a passenger “kore…Kyoto?” meaning “this…Kyoto?” and pointed at the train. He was actually kind and smiled and said “no, no, next!” I thanked him and got off the train. The sign, however, said that the train I was on was going to Kyoto, so I asked a police officer. He said “yes, this. Car one, two, three.” So I walked up to car 3, and noticed a huge line outside of the door. I assumed they were waiting for the next train and began to step towards the door. A security guard blew his whistle at me aggressively, so I bolted backwards. A minute later, the train left. Well, I sure hoped at that point that the next train was correct. I was so irritated with conflicting information that I wanted to leap through a wall and hope for the Hogwarts Express.

Thankfully, the next train actually was mine, or even if it wasn’t, I still ended up in Kyoto. No one checked my ticket so who knows? I wanted to relax on the bullet train ride and listen to music and read, but the woman next to me was Japanese so of course she was working and furiously typing on her laptop the entire 2 hours and 45 minutes. I don’t think they know how to take breaks from work here.

My next “Gaijin moment” occurred on the following day. My list of “must-see things” in Kyoto basically only included the place where Scarlett Johanssen went in Lost In Translation. So, that was my first destination and it was lovely, but my actual experience lacked the emotional soundtrack playing in the background like hers did. Whatever, it was still nice.

Next, I decided to go to Kinkakuji, the famous Golden Temple, because it is arguably the most famous tourist spot in Kyoto. I knew the general direction of the temple, so just started biking and figured I would know when I came across it. So, eventually I biked past a huge temple with many student groups and tourists, so I figured it must be Kinkakuji. I walked around, took pictures, and even asked people to take photos of me in front of it. Then, suddenly, I was struck with the thought that this temple only had a little bit of gold on it, so it probably wasn't the golden temple. It didn't say anything in English, which made me even more skeptical, since this was allegedly the most famous tourist spot. Crap. I decided to keep biking, and eventually came across a sign indicating that Kinkakuji was still far ahead. Great.

Finally I found it, and this time I was positive because the temple was…well, golden. Also it cost like $5.00 to get in. If it isn’t free, you know it must be a big tourist attraction. So, I made it there with only minimal obstacles.

The language barrier became a little easier to deal with on my last day. I successfully got a ticket back to Tokyo with a reserved seat thanks to my friend’s ability to understand Japanese. Also, I ordered coffee at a Starbucks and the employee said that my Japanese was “really good.” That’s pretty sad actually, but I will definitely take the compliment. Go me and my sad amount of Japanese! I’m not even embarrassed about my “foreigner moments” anymore. Bring them on, they make for entertaining stories.

Up Against Leukemia and Dementia

In the Ageo-city speech contest a couple of weeks ago which my student dominated, the race was only close due to the ability of some speeches to tug mercilessly at the heart strings of the judges. One girl in the previous contest spoke about how she never met her father. Another chose to recite the depressing tale of the elephants killed in Tokyo during the war. 

I knew that my student and I would be facing tough competition at today's prefectural speech contest, the next stage en route to the national speech contest, but I had no idea just what we were in for. As my eyes scanned the list of the titles of the other students' speeches, they stopped cold in their tracks when they beheld the one called "My Sister's Message." I flipped quickly to it, and instantly felt nerves wash over me. Crap. It was about how the speaker's little sister DIED of Leukemia and how her new goal in life is to convince others about the importance of organ donation because through it, her baby sister can now live on in someone else. I felt crushed. Were there any other super emotional speeches that judges would look like completely heartless jerks for not giving the top score Of course there were. In addition to a baby girl dying of Leukemia, there was a speech about a girl's grandmother and her increasingly crippling dementia The first two lines were as follows: 

Hi, Grandma, how are you? Are you all right? 

Yes, I'm fine. But, who are you?

After that introduction alone, I knew there would not be a dry eye in the auditorium. My student asked me if I was nervous about any speeches, so I expressed my concern. Her expression turned to worry. "But, I have not had any experiences like that, so how could I have written about one?" she inquired. I told her that she was lucky that she could not write with honesty about such things and reminded her how amazing her speech was anyways. I am getting good at my speech contest pep talks. 

Thankfully, due to the large amount of students in the contest, the speakers were split up into two groups containing 22 students. There was only one speech I was a bit disappointed I didn't get to hear because the speaker wasn't in my group. The speech was about how the boy hated his father and chose the speech contest as an outlet for him to finally express those sentiments. He wrote in the speech that he invited his father just to inform him of his hatred. Honestly, I couldn't tell if it was a joke, but if it wasn't, that would make for some good, Japanese soap opera-esque drama. 

After each successive speaker, I felt more and more at ease. The content of their speeches may have been good, sure, but their pronunciation didn't even come close to the native perfection of my student's. There were a couple of kids whose speeches made me a bit worried. However, I was far from surprised when my student made the finals. I might add, by the way, that the judges ended up looking like completely heartless jerks since the girl whose sister died of Leukemia didn't make the final round. 

Before I recount the nerve-racking final round, I want to discuss how sick I am of the stupid song "Let It Go" from Frozen. It is such an obsession here that MULTIPLE students wrote about it in their speeches. One student actually wrote her entire speech about the song, and broke up her own text with lines from the song. It made me cringe. Two students related their own lives to Frozen, like the woman who tried to sue Disney claiming it stole her life story. One girl said she cried when she first saw the film because it reminded her so much of her past. I guess she is struggling to suppress the power to freeze things with her emotions.

So, the final eight students began reading, and boy, they were amazing. Their topics were well thought-out, the grammar in the speeches was flawless, and some of them had near-native pronunciation. I was biting my nails so hard and sweating buckets when the results were read from last place to first. I didn't care what place she got as long as it was first, second or third because all three get to move on to the next round. After the fourth place student was read and my student still hadn't been called, I began to hoot and hollar like an obnoxious parent at a little league baseball game. 

Of course, she was upset that she didn't get first place, because she is Japanese. But I was ecstatic and beaming, and can't wait to start preparing for the next contest!