Last week my bike was stolen. At least I thought it was.
On my way to work on Sunday, I got a flat just as I got over the first big bridge. Boooo. I huffed and puffed and struggled my way to work, parked, and made it to class with just moments to spare. I took the bus home that night. The next day, I related my woeful tale to Jeff, who kindly offered to toss me and my bike in the back of his micro-mini van and drive me home, if I would just push my bike over to his house after work. Sounded good. So, after work, I went out to retrieve my injured Crispy only to discover- GASP- it was gone! I puzzled over this. Who steals a locked bike in Japan? Who steals a locked bike with a flat tire?
Nobody, stupid. After a week of riding Jeff's wife's teeny little peach bicycle, I remembered that I had parked my bike on the other side of the mall. It had a flat tire, so going the extra 200 metres was just too much trouble... Mystery solved. Now I just have to return the cobbler-mobile, and remember to bring running shoes for the long push home tomorrow night. Sigh.
The other night when I was at Bubu's house for kimchee nabe he commented on my 'new bicycle'. So related my long and ridiculous tale to him and his family, to which he replied; "En-Chan. Sometimes you are a good teacher. Sometimes you are a happy spirit. And most of the time, you are a foolish person. Baka, desu yo ne!"
Monday, February 26, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
NOVA raided after complaints over missing tuition fees
The Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry and the Tokyo Metropolitan Government have conducted on-the-spot inspections at major English-language school NOVA, it was learned Friday, after ex-students complained that they hadn't had their tuition fees returned after canceling their contracts.
Among the allegations NOVA faces is a violation of the Special Business Transaction Law. If NOVA is found guilty, it could receive an official order to improve its business practices or have its business activities suspended.
The Tokyo Metropolitan Government is also reportedly investigating the language school on suspicion of violating a consumer affairs ordinance.
The Special Business Transaction Law regulates processes such as the "cooling-off system," which enables consumers to cancel contracts unconditionally if they do so within a fixed period after signing.
Sources close to the investigation said that NOVA reduces the amount returned to students when they request that their contracts be cancelled partway through their courses, and fail to inform students about the necessary procedures when canceling contracts.
A public relations official from the firm admitted that the company had been inspected on Wednesday.
"We were asked to present data on the salaries and employment of foreign teachers and provide explanations, but as a company we are operating in accordance with the law. We're not aware of any hard facts relating to the claimed violation of the Special Business Transaction Law," the official said.
This is not the first time the eikaiwa giant has been pulled up for dishonest business practices. A court ruled against NOVA in a lawsuit filed by a student seeking the return of 700,000 yen in lesson fees in May 2003, and the National Consumer Affairs Center of Japan said that it has received 7,750 complaints and inquiries about the compant since 1996.
NOVA was founded in 1981. The company, which has opened many schools close to train stations and offers classes for people at home over its IP videophone system, gained popularity with its television commercials and grew rapidly. It operates a system under which students pay for lesson fees in advance. Information on the company's Web site said that, as of September 2005, it had about 480,000 students, ranking it the largest in the industry.
(Mainichi)
February 16, 2007
February 16, 2007
I feel a little flushed with satisfaction that my appointed leaving-time draws near. At the beginning of February, the company was in the news when a few teachers in the Tokyo area were caught with drugs... hugely damaging for the company's reputation, especially since drug possession is taken so seriously here.
But really, bad press aside, it has been a fairly decent company to work for. Lord knows, not perfect, but I think that anytime one goes to work in another country, one must expect that the boundaries of one's comfort zone will be crossed. Multitudes of times. But I've enjoyed teaching the students, and my paycheque has always been deposited to my account on time. Those two major plusses more than make up for all the little slights that assault me on a daily basis. Oh, listen to me! Passive-aggressive nonesense! It really is time to go!
On a lighter note...
I was tired of those forwarded quizzes that always ask foolish questions like "what colour socks are you wearing right now," and "do you like chocolate or vanilla better"... I mean, who cares? Yet I myself always feel compelled to respond and send them on. So this time I decided to go one better and make my own smarty-pants quiz. Here are the questions and some of the replies I liked.
1) Who do you consider to be the most dangerous living person in the world?
"i consider myself to be that person. not because i'm soooo volatile or reckless or malicious but no-one has a greater effect on our lives than us. yes, there are people like president bush who wage war on abstract words like terror which lead to massive casualties etc in different countries but the greatest danger i've been in was the result of my choices. we all make choices all the time that may or may not put us in dangerous situations. i know, this is deeper than you expected an answer to be so i'll even it out by saying vern troyer(played 'mini-me' in austin powers movie) is the most dangerous b'cuz ya just don't know what the little guys are harboring."
- S. Collins
2) Why do you think it appeals to people to respond to these quizzes?
"They like to talk about themselves."
- B. Pera
"Either boredom or a profound vaccuousness of character. Boredom is my excuse."
- C. Williams
"...actually, i find responding to this to be very unappealing."
－S. Collins
3) What do you think is the best means to effect change?
"Live your life with principles and always share your ideas and passions with other people you meet."
-K. Frisque
4) If you could time-travel to any location and period in history, where would you go?
"Feudal Japan"
- C. Williams
"2000BC when Assyrians were the powerful race of people."
- B. Pera (Obviously an Assyrian, no?)
"I'd go back to Greece in the 6th or 5th century BCE because I'm a total nut when it comes to the Hellenic Age, supposedly the Golden Age of Man. I'd love to catch a Euripedes play, chat with hoplites and dig on columns. It's bizarre, I know. "
-C. Frosini
5) What is the worst advice that you have ever received?
"sure go ahead .. join the marines"
-J. Nimmons
"It's ok to lick cold metal"
-K. Frisque
6) What book/movie/album would you most recommend to a friend who was "looking for answers"?
"Hulk Hogan's 'Hogan Knows Best' because of his sweet mustache and his daughter that looks like a man but is still strangly hot..."
- S. Shepherd
7) What could potentially be different about your life in ten years?
"Screw your rules. I'm responding via video. And i'm re-writing the questions too.
7) What could potentially be different about your life if you were in a Nintendo?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soXDWL1TNF4&eurl "
- S. Maxwell
8) What would you most like to change about yourself?
"i'd like to see life as it is without filtering it through what society/ family/ friends/ tv/ books have impressed upon me to believe/ feel about life and i'd like to live from that place of clarity. bigger pectorals wouldn't hurt either. "
-S. Collins
9)Who has had the most significant influence in your life (positive or negative)? Is this person aware of their role in your life?
"My mother. I'm not sure if she is aware of it or not. I hope she is. I'll make sure to tell her tomorrow."
- C. Williams
10) One quote you would like to pass on:
"Pax et Bonum"
- B. Isoner
"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." (Margaret Mead)
- K. Frisque
Sunday, February 11, 2007
I will miss:
The little orange flowers that bloom in October and smell like candy.
Myriads of meat on a stick.
The creepy jungle smell of Tokushima Park.
Japanese college guys dressed up like crackhead peacocks.
My student, Taichi's, unusual and infectious gasping laughter.
Being proud of myself for being able to communicate something simple in a restaurant like, "I want two of those."
Green tea flavoured EVERYTHING. Ice cream. Cake. Cookies. Donuts. Even green tea flavoured green tea.
Bubu's curious and (often apt) insights.
The celebrity-like status I have among the six-to-eight-year-olds at our school.
My co-workers, my friends.
The little orange flowers that bloom in October and smell like candy.
Myriads of meat on a stick.
The creepy jungle smell of Tokushima Park.
Japanese college guys dressed up like crackhead peacocks.
My student, Taichi's, unusual and infectious gasping laughter.
Being proud of myself for being able to communicate something simple in a restaurant like, "I want two of those."
Green tea flavoured EVERYTHING. Ice cream. Cake. Cookies. Donuts. Even green tea flavoured green tea.
Bubu's curious and (often apt) insights.
The celebrity-like status I have among the six-to-eight-year-olds at our school.
My co-workers, my friends.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
The moon over Tokushima park glowed eerily orange; too dark to be reflected in the greasy nameless river that flowed quietly before us. Jenna and I had met up after work in downtown Tokushima. At a loss for what to do, we bought a couple of cans of Chu-hi and seated ourselves on a chilly park bench. Between us and the river ran an unremarkable path leading to the jungley dark mound of earth that Tokushima castle graced centuries ago. We drank and spoke quietly through the smoke of our breath and her Marlboro's. We surveyed the scene carefully; this wasted riverside, all paved and lawned and lovely with only the backs of factories turned to it. Natural beauty is seldom utilized in the cities; or if it is, it is sculptured and sequestered until it has become something else altogether.
Both of us are leaving soon; she is filled with anticipation and eagerness to get home to Scotland. I, on the other hand, am uncertain once again. As ready as I am for the next challenge, my next spurt in personal growth-- I am afraid of leaving this land of depth and magic, ridiculousness and futurism; this land of complete and unashamed dichotomies.
In Will Ferguson's Book, "Hokkaido Highway Blues" he speaks of the love-hate relationship that most expatriates have with Japan. Not one day love, the next day hate, but a little bit of love and awe and a little bit of antagonism and disgust in almost every daily situation. For me, the love has always been a little stronger than the hate-- it's been more like a love-mildannoyance relationship. Leaving is hard. I haven't told Bubu and his family yet that I don't plan to use the 'return' part of my ticket. They have become my family, and I'm not ready for the long goodbye.
Japan is the beautiful permanent growth in my heart; my blood will never flow clear of crushed fallen cherry blossoms and umeboshi juice. I imagine I'll be one of those annoying Japanophiles when I get home... 'in Japan, they do it like this. In Japan, they always do it that way. In Japan...' I suppose the best thing to do will be to travel a little more, to burnish off the edges of my own Canadian/Japanese dichotomy. But there is some resounding note that will always reverberate within me, and mark me as a lover of this culture and its people.
Even if they do think I'm fat.
Both of us are leaving soon; she is filled with anticipation and eagerness to get home to Scotland. I, on the other hand, am uncertain once again. As ready as I am for the next challenge, my next spurt in personal growth-- I am afraid of leaving this land of depth and magic, ridiculousness and futurism; this land of complete and unashamed dichotomies.
In Will Ferguson's Book, "Hokkaido Highway Blues" he speaks of the love-hate relationship that most expatriates have with Japan. Not one day love, the next day hate, but a little bit of love and awe and a little bit of antagonism and disgust in almost every daily situation. For me, the love has always been a little stronger than the hate-- it's been more like a love-mildannoyance relationship. Leaving is hard. I haven't told Bubu and his family yet that I don't plan to use the 'return' part of my ticket. They have become my family, and I'm not ready for the long goodbye.
Japan is the beautiful permanent growth in my heart; my blood will never flow clear of crushed fallen cherry blossoms and umeboshi juice. I imagine I'll be one of those annoying Japanophiles when I get home... 'in Japan, they do it like this. In Japan, they always do it that way. In Japan...' I suppose the best thing to do will be to travel a little more, to burnish off the edges of my own Canadian/Japanese dichotomy. But there is some resounding note that will always reverberate within me, and mark me as a lover of this culture and its people.
Even if they do think I'm fat.
Monday, February 05, 2007
"Hemorrhoids are popular in Japan." a friend assured me. I'm pretty sure he meant "common," but where would I be without the hilarity of English confusion? I would laugh a whole lot less, I assure you. It's been an interesting week; bright, clean, green, windy, cold, and full of ebb and flow, big moons, clear skies, and all of the wonderment and freshness that comes from awakening from a long dream.
Tokushima never really turned brown; I was noticing that today as I zipped through the streets on my faithful blue Crispy. The palm trees still rattled their olive fronds; the tropical trees shone emerald and crisp in the cold air. All winter, something was blooming in every garden. Already bulbs are pushing up and through; I pass sweet Narcissus on my way to work, and was shocked to see a tree bursting with pink blossoms that I remember seeing a year ago. With the decision to leave Japan, I feel like the bottle of my heart has been uncorked; I am breathing again, seeing again. I'm peeking over garden walls and taking detours to watch kids practice baseball in their immaculate white uniforms. I'm rediscovering of the fantastic weirdness's that had seemed to become so routine to me.
For example-- the pigeons; I've meant to write about them a million times, but I never seem to get around to it. Tokushima has the laziest pigeons I have ever seen. They sleep laying down on the sidewalks, and in the flowerbeds in the parks, and the seem to hate to fly. They remind me of the California quail back home, who run like mad on their wee little legs across the road in front of your car, freaking you out as they launch into flight at only the last possible second. The Tokushima pigeons are similar, but lazier. I don't know how many have casually sidestepped my bike as I was bearing down on them in the park, like it was no big deal to have a massive rolling metal thing coming right at them. You have to be posing a real physical threat to them to get them airborne.
Another thing; Setsubun. I missed it last year, being fresh and uncertain and without Japanese friends to explain the right way to throw beans. One doesn't want to throw beans the wrong way and mismanage the flow of good vibes that you are meant to be directing into your house. Setsubun is on the evening of February 3rd, and marks the last night of the old Japanese year. I decided to include Kat and Joanna and Melissa in this exercise in Japanese tradition. I bought my package of peanuts (should've been soybeans, but I was shopping late and had to settle for the next-best thing) and my paper devil's mask and headed over to Bubu's for instructions. He was pleased that I was going to be participating, and sternly reminded me that we were to shout "Oni wa soto!"(get out, demons!) while we threw the beans out the front door, and "Fuku wa uchi!"(come in, good luck!) while throwing beans in to the house. Made sense to me. I knew that someone could represent the bad things that you want to be rid of by wearing the devil mask, and you could throw beans (or, in our case, nuts) at them, too. I thought this was a great idea, especially since my cousin has recently contracted some kind of nasty cancer. She's always had a marvelous sense of humour, so what could be better than chucking nuts at her 'cancer'? We weren't sure what the procedure for that was though, so we doubled them up by having Melissa stand outside the door holding the mask to her face as we hurled nuts at her and shouted "Oni wa soto! Oni wa soto! Oni wa soto!" over and over. She was a bit of a boring demon though, standing with her arms crossed and complaining that the nuts were getting too close to her face. So I switched with her. I danced around with such an abundance of demonish glee as I dodged the nuts that we were all soon laughing too much to speak the magic words. Time to chuck the nuts back in the house; "Fuku wa uchi! Fuku wa uchi! Fuku wa uchi!" Then we settled down to part two; eating the same number of nuts as there are years in your life. Luckily we were all in even numbers (24, 26 and 28) as peanuts come jacketed in pairs. We settled down to unshelling and munching. "Mmmm. I like monkey nuts," Joanna said, apparently the British word for peanuts. Which got us laughing again.
I talked about Setsubun a little more with my language exchange partner, Kenji last night. He had a compass attached to his cell phone. I wondered why when I recalled that Bubu had said something about eating an uncut maki-zushi roll while facing North East (this year's lucky direction).
"That's right," confirmed Kenji. "And you can't say anything, you must eat it quietly, until you are finished. I don't know why."
"I do!" I offered. "Bubu told me. It's to bring good luck." Kenji narrowed his samurai eyes at me.
"But I don't know why it brings good luck. Many young Japanese... they don't know why we have traditions anymore. 'Why' is the most important thing."
I really admire Kenji. He really makes an effort to speak with clarity and good humour; the result is a brutally honest exchange that never offends. He's also got such a perfectly cut face that I itch to sketch him every time I see him. He's kind of like my mirror; a reflection, similar but opposite. Me: Female, Canadian, age 28, has lived in Japan for one year, creative, craves the next adventure. He: Male, Japanese, age 27 & a 1/2, lived in London for one year, creative, craves the improvement and deepening of his lifestyle. There's a saying that I came across years ago and have never forgotten, although the source escapes me. Something to the effect of: There are two ways to live. You can live Wide and Shallow, or you can live Narrow and Deep. I admire Kenji because he's just starting to get the hang of Narrow and Deep, which is something I think I aspire to. There are wild parts of me that balk at the thought of anything that hints at "settling down," but I also know that there are riches in being grounded that are beyond my imagining. He made the choice to come back to his hometown, to be near his family, to carve out a life for himself of meaningful pursuits and solid dedication. That's very cool. For me, a little scary, but not without its allure.
Tokushima never really turned brown; I was noticing that today as I zipped through the streets on my faithful blue Crispy. The palm trees still rattled their olive fronds; the tropical trees shone emerald and crisp in the cold air. All winter, something was blooming in every garden. Already bulbs are pushing up and through; I pass sweet Narcissus on my way to work, and was shocked to see a tree bursting with pink blossoms that I remember seeing a year ago. With the decision to leave Japan, I feel like the bottle of my heart has been uncorked; I am breathing again, seeing again. I'm peeking over garden walls and taking detours to watch kids practice baseball in their immaculate white uniforms. I'm rediscovering of the fantastic weirdness's that had seemed to become so routine to me.
For example-- the pigeons; I've meant to write about them a million times, but I never seem to get around to it. Tokushima has the laziest pigeons I have ever seen. They sleep laying down on the sidewalks, and in the flowerbeds in the parks, and the seem to hate to fly. They remind me of the California quail back home, who run like mad on their wee little legs across the road in front of your car, freaking you out as they launch into flight at only the last possible second. The Tokushima pigeons are similar, but lazier. I don't know how many have casually sidestepped my bike as I was bearing down on them in the park, like it was no big deal to have a massive rolling metal thing coming right at them. You have to be posing a real physical threat to them to get them airborne.
Another thing; Setsubun. I missed it last year, being fresh and uncertain and without Japanese friends to explain the right way to throw beans. One doesn't want to throw beans the wrong way and mismanage the flow of good vibes that you are meant to be directing into your house. Setsubun is on the evening of February 3rd, and marks the last night of the old Japanese year. I decided to include Kat and Joanna and Melissa in this exercise in Japanese tradition. I bought my package of peanuts (should've been soybeans, but I was shopping late and had to settle for the next-best thing) and my paper devil's mask and headed over to Bubu's for instructions. He was pleased that I was going to be participating, and sternly reminded me that we were to shout "Oni wa soto!"(get out, demons!) while we threw the beans out the front door, and "Fuku wa uchi!"(come in, good luck!) while throwing beans in to the house. Made sense to me. I knew that someone could represent the bad things that you want to be rid of by wearing the devil mask, and you could throw beans (or, in our case, nuts) at them, too. I thought this was a great idea, especially since my cousin has recently contracted some kind of nasty cancer. She's always had a marvelous sense of humour, so what could be better than chucking nuts at her 'cancer'? We weren't sure what the procedure for that was though, so we doubled them up by having Melissa stand outside the door holding the mask to her face as we hurled nuts at her and shouted "Oni wa soto! Oni wa soto! Oni wa soto!" over and over. She was a bit of a boring demon though, standing with her arms crossed and complaining that the nuts were getting too close to her face. So I switched with her. I danced around with such an abundance of demonish glee as I dodged the nuts that we were all soon laughing too much to speak the magic words. Time to chuck the nuts back in the house; "Fuku wa uchi! Fuku wa uchi! Fuku wa uchi!" Then we settled down to part two; eating the same number of nuts as there are years in your life. Luckily we were all in even numbers (24, 26 and 28) as peanuts come jacketed in pairs. We settled down to unshelling and munching. "Mmmm. I like monkey nuts," Joanna said, apparently the British word for peanuts. Which got us laughing again.
I talked about Setsubun a little more with my language exchange partner, Kenji last night. He had a compass attached to his cell phone. I wondered why when I recalled that Bubu had said something about eating an uncut maki-zushi roll while facing North East (this year's lucky direction).
"That's right," confirmed Kenji. "And you can't say anything, you must eat it quietly, until you are finished. I don't know why."
"I do!" I offered. "Bubu told me. It's to bring good luck." Kenji narrowed his samurai eyes at me.
"But I don't know why it brings good luck. Many young Japanese... they don't know why we have traditions anymore. 'Why' is the most important thing."
I really admire Kenji. He really makes an effort to speak with clarity and good humour; the result is a brutally honest exchange that never offends. He's also got such a perfectly cut face that I itch to sketch him every time I see him. He's kind of like my mirror; a reflection, similar but opposite. Me: Female, Canadian, age 28, has lived in Japan for one year, creative, craves the next adventure. He: Male, Japanese, age 27 & a 1/2, lived in London for one year, creative, craves the improvement and deepening of his lifestyle. There's a saying that I came across years ago and have never forgotten, although the source escapes me. Something to the effect of: There are two ways to live. You can live Wide and Shallow, or you can live Narrow and Deep. I admire Kenji because he's just starting to get the hang of Narrow and Deep, which is something I think I aspire to. There are wild parts of me that balk at the thought of anything that hints at "settling down," but I also know that there are riches in being grounded that are beyond my imagining. He made the choice to come back to his hometown, to be near his family, to carve out a life for himself of meaningful pursuits and solid dedication. That's very cool. For me, a little scary, but not without its allure.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
If you're interested in the wild world of my fellow female art-making friends, please have a look at the following blogs: http://www.artgoddessmyth.blogspot.com/ or http://www.violette.ca/blog.html or http://jessicatitley.blogspot.com/ ... Just doing my part to raise awareness!
I discovered from a student the other day that Tokushima means something like 'Integrity Island'. Hmmm. I'll have to consider that one seriously.
Recently there was yet another Farewell/Welcome Party celebrating the ever-more familiar shift in staff at our two branches. We had the most wonderful meal in recent memory at Doma-Doma; vegetarian nabe (with a meat option for the omnivores) , a variety of little fried fishes and exciting Japanese vegetable chips (mmm... crisp-fried lotus root), pizza, chicken, daikon salad, potatoes drizzled with anchovy paste and garlic chips, etcetera, etcetera. And of course, lots and lots of beer and nihon-shu (sake). I sat next to my wee favorited friend and across from her knob of an English boyfriend. I poured her drinks and listened to her self-absorbed boyfriend drone on about himself and his extensive knowledge of Japan (gathered over the course of what-- 5 or 6 months?). I also tried to make conversation with our newest addition, 'New' Neil who weirdly enough was slated to be the room-mate of 'Old' Neil (who is not old... he's just got seniority). I think we've got to start calling them by their last names. Anyway, the party went on and my good intentions to have an early night were gone with my second pint. I went around to the Japanese staff ladies, assuring them that if they couldn't find husbands (their collective worst nightmare) that they could come to Canada and I'd sort them out.
The night ended in shambles; my little friend's prat of a boyfriend dumped her shortly after they left the party, assuring her that it was 'she' who had to figure out what to do when 'she' went home, and not a 'them' or 'they' situation. She rejoined us in tears and with a fierce determination to get numbingly drunk. I went on with her and the rest of the staff to Ingrid's for whiskey and tequila and horrible renditions of Red-Hot Chili Peppers songs. I hugged most of my co-workers argued with Martin when he called me a 'jobbie' for poking him with the karaoke-song-selector-stylus. (We arm-wrestled to solve the dispute. He won.) Tomomi got predictably floppy and hammered and fell asleep in consecutive laps-- first Neil's then Chris', then Kat's. We decided to move on. Outside. Down the spiral staircase. Into the narrow street, lit with signs for the Soap-Land shops and the red night-district lanterns. Somehow I found myself rough-housing brother-and-sister-style with NewNeil (who started that? I just met him for the first time that night) when I realized that my little friend had been left behind. My crowd filtered away as I worked my way back up the stairs to retrieve her. The following scene lasted approximately three hours: Enlist a kind New Zealander to get her down the stairs. Retrieve her shoes, her bag. Retrieve her as she tries to get back up the stairs. Accidentally drop her head-first onto the pavement. Worry that I've killed her. Wake her up. Ascertain that she doesn't have a concussion. Enlist further help from the New Zealander to struggle her into a taxi. Use limited Japanese vocabulary to navigate to her house. Drag her out of the taxi. Catch her as she tries to run away. Get her up the stairs, hand her off to her none-too-impressed room-mate. Start walking through the still blue night, through narrow streets and past emptied rice paddies. Stop to stare up at Orion's belt and ponder a little, before continuing to my apartment. Realize that I don't think I'm cut out for many more nights like it.
I've been phoning home a lot more recently, feeling things out and passing updates along to my mom and dad and my Aldergrove family. There are a variety of reasons compounding and compelling this weary traveller to wend her way home. To mention a few: My grandmother's 80th birthday, my high school reunion, my grandparents 60th wedding anniversary, and (breaking news) my friend-since-forever Corrin's wedding. I'll be her maid of honor besides!
The Tokushima adventure met its natural end when my original contract concluded, but I fought against it tooth and nail. What?! Leave Japan? Now? Just when things are getting good? Now that I have the postcard indicating my acceptance into another year of life in the Japanese working world in my sweaty little hands, I feel... meh. I don't feel sad, or disappointed, or anything really. I am certain that I could ferret out new challenges; for example, fervently study the Japanese language, or tea ceremony, or kendo... but the pursuits strike me as rather hollow at this point. I feel satisfied, satiated. Why stuff myself on one experience when there are so many more to be had?
What scares me a little is not knowing what's next. And I don't mean that I am afraid that there won't be anything for me to do; I foresee a myriad of doors flung open for me, and I am rejoicing in the boundless opportunities. What I want to discern is what opportunities will best suit my needs and goals at this time, which pursuits will help me to grow into a better, fuller, more rounded human being. (And I'm not talking about getting a gig at Roger's Chocolates!)
I phoned my little friend the next day to check up on, make sure she was doing okay. I was surprised to hear her sounding genuinely... chipper.
"I'm going home in April!" she announced. "I'm so excited! When I was at home, I hated everything there; I think I needed to get away from it all to realize how much it all meant to me." My sentiments exactly. I'm ready to approach the things and people once familiar and taken-for-granted with fresh enthusiasm.
So I bought a plane ticket today.
Recently there was yet another Farewell/Welcome Party celebrating the ever-more familiar shift in staff at our two branches. We had the most wonderful meal in recent memory at Doma-Doma; vegetarian nabe (with a meat option for the omnivores) , a variety of little fried fishes and exciting Japanese vegetable chips (mmm... crisp-fried lotus root), pizza, chicken, daikon salad, potatoes drizzled with anchovy paste and garlic chips, etcetera, etcetera. And of course, lots and lots of beer and nihon-shu (sake). I sat next to my wee favorited friend and across from her knob of an English boyfriend. I poured her drinks and listened to her self-absorbed boyfriend drone on about himself and his extensive knowledge of Japan (gathered over the course of what-- 5 or 6 months?). I also tried to make conversation with our newest addition, 'New' Neil who weirdly enough was slated to be the room-mate of 'Old' Neil (who is not old... he's just got seniority). I think we've got to start calling them by their last names. Anyway, the party went on and my good intentions to have an early night were gone with my second pint. I went around to the Japanese staff ladies, assuring them that if they couldn't find husbands (their collective worst nightmare) that they could come to Canada and I'd sort them out.
The night ended in shambles; my little friend's prat of a boyfriend dumped her shortly after they left the party, assuring her that it was 'she' who had to figure out what to do when 'she' went home, and not a 'them' or 'they' situation. She rejoined us in tears and with a fierce determination to get numbingly drunk. I went on with her and the rest of the staff to Ingrid's for whiskey and tequila and horrible renditions of Red-Hot Chili Peppers songs. I hugged most of my co-workers argued with Martin when he called me a 'jobbie' for poking him with the karaoke-song-selector-stylus. (We arm-wrestled to solve the dispute. He won.) Tomomi got predictably floppy and hammered and fell asleep in consecutive laps-- first Neil's then Chris', then Kat's. We decided to move on. Outside. Down the spiral staircase. Into the narrow street, lit with signs for the Soap-Land shops and the red night-district lanterns. Somehow I found myself rough-housing brother-and-sister-style with NewNeil (who started that? I just met him for the first time that night) when I realized that my little friend had been left behind. My crowd filtered away as I worked my way back up the stairs to retrieve her. The following scene lasted approximately three hours: Enlist a kind New Zealander to get her down the stairs. Retrieve her shoes, her bag. Retrieve her as she tries to get back up the stairs. Accidentally drop her head-first onto the pavement. Worry that I've killed her. Wake her up. Ascertain that she doesn't have a concussion. Enlist further help from the New Zealander to struggle her into a taxi. Use limited Japanese vocabulary to navigate to her house. Drag her out of the taxi. Catch her as she tries to run away. Get her up the stairs, hand her off to her none-too-impressed room-mate. Start walking through the still blue night, through narrow streets and past emptied rice paddies. Stop to stare up at Orion's belt and ponder a little, before continuing to my apartment. Realize that I don't think I'm cut out for many more nights like it.
I've been phoning home a lot more recently, feeling things out and passing updates along to my mom and dad and my Aldergrove family. There are a variety of reasons compounding and compelling this weary traveller to wend her way home. To mention a few: My grandmother's 80th birthday, my high school reunion, my grandparents 60th wedding anniversary, and (breaking news) my friend-since-forever Corrin's wedding. I'll be her maid of honor besides!
The Tokushima adventure met its natural end when my original contract concluded, but I fought against it tooth and nail. What?! Leave Japan? Now? Just when things are getting good? Now that I have the postcard indicating my acceptance into another year of life in the Japanese working world in my sweaty little hands, I feel... meh. I don't feel sad, or disappointed, or anything really. I am certain that I could ferret out new challenges; for example, fervently study the Japanese language, or tea ceremony, or kendo... but the pursuits strike me as rather hollow at this point. I feel satisfied, satiated. Why stuff myself on one experience when there are so many more to be had?
What scares me a little is not knowing what's next. And I don't mean that I am afraid that there won't be anything for me to do; I foresee a myriad of doors flung open for me, and I am rejoicing in the boundless opportunities. What I want to discern is what opportunities will best suit my needs and goals at this time, which pursuits will help me to grow into a better, fuller, more rounded human being. (And I'm not talking about getting a gig at Roger's Chocolates!)
I phoned my little friend the next day to check up on, make sure she was doing okay. I was surprised to hear her sounding genuinely... chipper.
"I'm going home in April!" she announced. "I'm so excited! When I was at home, I hated everything there; I think I needed to get away from it all to realize how much it all meant to me." My sentiments exactly. I'm ready to approach the things and people once familiar and taken-for-granted with fresh enthusiasm.
So I bought a plane ticket today.
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