Maybe We Can Fly (if only we'd let ourselves)

It’s 9pm and I hear my doorbell ring.  No one ever comes to visit me so I was wondering whom it could be.  I answer the door and it’s the woman who lives in the apartment below me.  About a month ago, one of her kids had fixed the broken lock on my bike without me asking.  I also see her for brief moments almost every day, taking her kids to school or bringing them home.  I never really see my other neighbors, and when I do, they usually don’t acknowledge me, but she always warmly greets me, even though she doesn’t speak any English.   I always admire her bravery when she tries to talk to me, because she knows I suck at Japanese, but she’s still tried speaking to me more than anyone else in my neighborhood. 

But she came to tell me that the wind had knocked over my bike again.  It makes me feel irresponsible, but the first thing that came to mind was, “damn…now I’m going to have to go outside in the cold and pick it up.”  I bought the bike for about $100 when I first arrived in Japan because I wasn’t able to get a car right away.  My bike was definitely fun to have during the summer, but now it’s more of a nuisance because I have nowhere to put it and it’s usually too cold to ride it around.   But then she started talking about her son.  I’d met him once and he’s a junior high school student.  She told me that he’s going to start high school next year and I didn’t catch the last part, but I think it was something about it being too far for him to walk to (most students walk or bike to school).  She asked me how much I’d be willing to sell it to her for. She even had her wallet out. There's something really depressing about someone asking you how much your bike is with their wallet in hand. And for about one second, I did that thing where you tilt your head up to think, even though you already know the answer, and said, “it’s free, you can have it.” Her family of five lives in an apartment that barely fits me. I'm pretty sure she needed it more than I did.

I think the reason I’m writing this is because of her reaction.  It was almost like I had just given her a new car, she was so genuinely happy.  She asked me “hontoni? hontoni? really? really?” about thirty times, and after around the tenth time, she started to cry and held my hand.  I feel like it was one of the best and most surprising experiences I’ve had here so far. I remember feeling that same way on the day when she dragged me out to my bike, only to show me that one of her kids had replaced the lock on it after it got knocked over from the wind.  It’s funny, because out of everyone I’ve met in Japan, I’ve barely talked to this woman and we can’t really communicate enough to get to know each other well, but I feel a real connection to her.  It’s interesting how connected we can be without words, or perhaps how much unnecessary meaning we put into language.  And maybe even more interesting is the feeling I got when she held my hand for that second.  It was like a “That’s So Raven” premonition moment where my body just froze up because I’m not used to physical contact with the people here.  Japan’s culture is group oriented, but sometimes it feels like people are so disconnected from each other.  No one really hugs, there are no playful pats on the arm, instead of shaking hands, people bow at a distance, and even when you pay for things, you put your money in a little tray on the counter instead of in the salesperson’s hand.   I think that’s part of the reason why I like teaching in junior high so much.  The students haven’t lost that human interaction, that physical touch.  It seems like they’re always holding hands, hanging on each other, or craving each other in the most innocent ways – boys and girls alike.  

I guess my interaction with my neighbor just reminded me of what I’ve been missing in Japan, but coupled with the idea that perhaps what we’re missing never really lives that far away.


Camera: Nikon EM
Film: Superheadz; Fujicolor Pro 400H 

Sannai Junior High School.





First day of snowfall!




Stumbled upon at least 100 of these birds a couple minutes from my house.









-M

A Little Bit o' Love

I realized today that it's easy to teach someone...to be a teacher.  You can present facts and information all day and accomplish what your job description states.  But to be a good teacher, you have to make people want to learn.  I think that's the difference...forced learning and a desire to learn.  But students will only want to learn if they think they can.  Little by little, I hope I can instill in my students the realization that they can do just about anything...if they think they can.

Bright Spots and Struggles in Japan, Part 1

I want to spend more time reflecting on things I like about Japan, and things I've struggled with. Each week, I'm going to try to reflect on five positive thing, and one thing that "needs improvement." Part one...

Bright Spots

1. Many teachers have told me that one of my students in particular has a crush on me.  Everyday, he comes to my office and tries to speak in English with me for a few minutes.  Sometimes he'll write things in English on his hand and try to slyly read it without me noticing (I always notice).  But usually he will come with something new to talk about.  One of the teachers I work with, who is his main english teacher, told me that she gave him an oral speaking exam a few days ago and his English is incredibly better than it was before.  She attributed his progress to our daily chats.  It was the first time where I really felt like I had succeeded as a teacher. 
2. The area I live in is beautiful.  Sometimes it's hard for me to imagine that places more beautiful than this can exist in the world.  I take lots of pictures of it here, but I don't really see any locals doing the same.  But the other day, I saw a Japanese man's car pulled to the side of the ride while he was standing outside of it, taking a picture of something that perhaps he thought was special.  It made me happy to know that even though my neighbors have lived here their whole lives, they can still be just as amazed by all the beauty around them as I am.
3. Whenever I go to the photo places near my house, the workers always remember my name.  It makes me feel more like part of the community instead of just being an observer. 
4. Getting mail.  This doesn't necessarily reflect on Japan, but I think it still counts.  Every time I get a post card or package or anything in my mailbox, it reminds me of all the people at home that I miss, in a good way.  I appreciate it so much. 
5. 飲み放題。All you can drink. Most bars have specials like this, where you pay the equivalent of $20-25 and get to drink all you want for 2 hours or sometimes more.  It's.so.awesome.

Struggle

1. I feel like I have struggled with photography here.  Only because I see so many interesting or beautiful things here that I really want to photograph, but they're often while I'm in the backseat of a quickly moving car or in some way unable to get.  It silently frustrates me sometimes, but I think I need to go off by myself more and not be afraid to pull over every few minutes when I see something special. 

Communication

I think something that I too often overlook, but deeply appreciate about Japan, is the fact that I am not a native speaker. In three months, I have definitely learned enough Japanese to get by, to have some meaningful or comical conversations, and to feel connected to the community here. But unless I'm really trying to understand what people are saying, especially people just passing by me on their way to class or couples standing near me in the grocery store deciding between salad dressings, I just zone out and everything sounds like a murmur. Background noise. I like it. I think I underestimated how much I love being by myself, and being in Japan has reminded me of it. Sometimes when I miss America, or actually, almost all the time, it's purely because of the friends and family I miss. But there are definitely things I don't miss, which I often forget to consider. One in particular, is going somewhere and having this small sense of nervousness that I was going to see someone I kind of know and would feel obligated to have a boring conversation with them. I think I felt this nervousness so often that it almost didn't feel like nervousness anymore. It kind of just felt like normal, like breathing. But I hate that.

One of kids that lives next door to me is yelling something outside to his dad while they play catch. To me, it sounds like gibberish. In America, it might sound like, "don't throw it so hard!" or "what time is dinner!" I never realized how much I hate that stuff until coming here and never hearing it. Maybe I don't hate it. All I know is that I really, really like the limits of speaking and listening that I have here sometimes. Makes me feel like I'm sort of in my own world.