Gypsy Punk

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Mother's Day

Because I'm so busy lately and never blog, I've decided to start re-posting my blogs I have to write on my work website (http://ecm-japan.jugem.jp/?month=201205) every week, unless they're super boring and school related. Please note they are G rated :( This one is from about a month ago and has been slightly altered...

This past Sunday in Japan, as well as many other countries around the world, was Mother's Day. When I've been asking students what they will do to thank their mother for all her hard work, some have said they will give her flowers (specifically carnations), some have said cook dinner for her (most often meal when asked what is curry rice), or give other types of presents, and some have said they will do nothing.

In Canada, there is no 'traditional' gift for Mother's Day. Most people in Canada are originally from another country and usually follow in the traditions of their heritage. As children, we often do some sort of craft in school to give as a gift. As we get older, we give cards, chocolate, or flowers, or do something such as cook dinner, clean the house, or give a back massage. The list goes on and on.

Now that I'm older, I can truly appreciate all my mother did for me. She was a teacher and vice-principal for over 30 years and was up early everyday and often didn't go to bed till late at night. She always had a spotless house, healthy homecooked food on the table (we virtually never ate at a restaurant), a huge garden and beautiful yard (no easy feat on a big farm). Besides being a dedicated teacher, she was also the best mother I could hope for. She helped with my homework, taught me responsibility, the value of hard work and being unselfish, how to make strudel and sauerkraut, was a shoulder to cry on, and a stern hand when I needed it. As I got older, she helped me learn my own limits by allowing me to go out on the weekend with my friends, but I still got no special treatment the next day and had to be up early the next morning to do my part on the farm. My mother was more than a mother; she was a role model, a mentor, a confidant, my best friend, and encouraged me to be all I can be. I miss her everyday since she passed away nearly five years ago and wish I had the chance to tell her how much she really meant to me. I can only hope she's proud of me and the choices I've made without her to guide me in the right direction. Being a teacher, even if it's not something I do my entire life, is special to me because it's how my mother chose to spend her life. It makes me feel closer to her in a way, even if it's sometimes hard when I want to call her to ask her advice on what to do about something.

I can't wait to have you tell me all about your mothers, why they're special to you, and what you did for them. And if you didn't do anything special on Sunday, don't worry, it's not too late! You can thank your mother every day of the year, not just on one designated day, I know she'll appreciate it. Mother's Day is not just for your mothers, but for anyone who has nurtured and supported you in some way along your path, whether it be a grandmother, babysitter, friend's mother, aunt, boss, etc. Have a good week and remember to give your mum a hug the next time you see her! I would give up anything to spend just one more minute with her; you don't know what you've got till it's gone!

Ziggy

Monday, May 7, 2012

When in Rome...

Read at your own risk: the following post is going to be more of a rant about something that has been bothering me so if you claim you're a traveller and are of a sensitive nature, I suggest you stop reading now. I don't really know where to start so I'll just delve right into it by saying: A country is made for its people, not for the tourists who come for a few weeks, and not for ex-pats like myself who come for a few years. Japan is built for Japanese people, Brazil for Brazilians, Nigeria for Nigerians, and so on. English has/is becoming the 'global language' but that doesn't mean every single person on Earth is going to be fluent. When I first moved to Japan, I prepared myself for the worst. I expected every single thing to be in Hiragana, Katakana, or Kanji. So when I saw words spelled out in Romaji and even better yet, English words, I was beyond excited. Maybe it's because when I went to Greece, I was so shocked that everything was in, well, Greek (silly naive me). So now I'm ecstatic when I'm able to find Skippy peanut butter or Heinz ketchup here, or better yet, sauerkraut! I'm grateful I can flip a McDonalds menu over and find English (even though I hate McDonalds, I find it somewhat comforting at times while travelling because of the familiarity...but that's a whole other blog...). I'm grateful that something like 11% of Japanese words are imported from other languages, so I can instantly say things like coffee, banana, mansion, and consent (even though the meaning is ever so slightly different). I'm grateful for these little quirks, but I've not come to take them for granted, nor do I expect it. When you set out on an adventure somewhere as a backpacker or expat, you should expect things to not make sense, to feel uncomfortable at times, to not understand, for it to be a challenge, you mentally and physically prepare yourself for it. If it's not different from your home country, then where is the fun and learning experience in it?

We've all met that tourist, whether at a hostel, in a tour group, or *gasp* someone we are travelling with. That person who loudly complains that nobody speaks English, there's no English signage, there's no ketchup, they can't read the train schedule, the bus schedule is shite. Guess what? It works for the people who live here. And in this day and age of smart phones, Hyperdia, GPS, Google Maps, etc. there's really no excuse for this kind of ignorant behaviour. We've also all seen that person speaking to someone who obviously doesn't understand and saying things louder and more slowly as though they're speaking to a deaf child, thinking they're magically going to suddenly understand English. Maybe we've even done it ourselves. Granted, my Japanese is absolute shite but I at least try and I never travel anywhere without my trusty dictionary, phrasebook, or Kanji app. In a real pinch, I use my call-a-Japanese-friend lifeline. But thank goodness, most Japanese people speak much better English than I expect my Japanese to ever be and if they don't, in this crowded country, someone who can help is sure to be nearby. A Japanese person will never walk away, letting us get lost; they will get everyone on the street involved to help before that happens! When I travel around Japan, the majority of people I meet at hostels and on tours and at bus stops are tourists - from Japan. They have a beautiful country and they are seeing it, which is more than I can say for myself - I've basically never travelled in Canada, except to Toronto or Vancouver airport to exit or enter the country. So it makes sense to have everything in Japanese, besides the fact that WE'RE IN JAPAN! Whenever I've seen Japanese tourists abroad, they're always trying to speak English, or they're in a Japanese tour group, and guess what? They never come up to me speaking Japanese, so why can't we do the same? All I'm asking is that you try.

So to those (and this is mainly expats, tourists can be slightly forgiven for not understanding the country so well) who constantly complain and compare and do not want to take advice from those who have been here longer than a few months: If you really feel the need to complain so much, maybe you're not happy here and should leave, you're taking a great opportunity away from someone who really wants it and will benefit from it. Language is a huge part of learning about a culture and a country, and not just for communication.

Peace out yo, I promise my next blog will be more upbeat...Happy end of Golden Week and back to work!

Sunday, December 18, 2011

A Typical Day for Jiggy Sensei

*Please note I began this blog in December while preparing for Christmas and before Sashimi died :( Yes, thats how busy I've been that it takes me over a month to write a blog...I've not been keeping up with any of my New Years Resolutions at all.*

I've been teaching at an Eikaiwa (private English conversation school) in rural Japan for nearly a year now. Admittedly, I didn't like it at first but now that my contract is coming to an end, I can't bear the thought of leaving some of the students I've become so attached to. My first few months I remember being really frustrated I couldn't communicate with them and understand their stories, answer their questions, or discipline them. But as the year goes on, I've come to realize just how non-verbal a language skill really is. I've discovered their personalities, their pecking orders in class, what sections of the class they like and don't like, have developed favourites (I know I shouldn't) and not so favourites. Sure, the ALT's have better hours and holidays, an easier job and more money, but they don't have the connection I have with my small intimate classes. Let me give you an insight into my day yesterday.

7:30am - I wake up even though my alarms set for 8:30am. This is probably because up until last Sunday I was waking up early in the morning to study for my geography class because I'm too tired when I come home at night. I turn on my heater so the room is not so cold when I do get up eventually. Japanese heating and insulation sucks. In fact, there is no insulation.
8:10ish am - I get up and feed Sashimi (my fish), turn on the kettle and hop in the shower
8:30AM - sit on FB while drinking multiple cups of coffee, eating brekkie (yogurt and banana) and thinking I should do something productive with my morning seeing as I don't have to be at the office till 12:10pm
9:00AM - I throw some laundry in the washing machine. Clean the toilet. Decide to make okinomiyaki to take for lunch the next few days because I know I'll be too busy to again till Sunday, if I'm lucky. ADD kicks in and I decide I should wrap presents but can't decide what to give to who (I bought a bunch of foreign goodies in Hiroshima last Sunday after I wrote my exam to give to some students). Scrap that idea. Decide to sit and watch Misfits while I make goodie bags for the kids.
10:30AM - Should probably hang my laundry out to dry. Keep forgetting about my okinomiyaki sizzling away.
11:00AM - Should probably start getting ready for work
12:00PM - That's me running out the door, late, coffee in hand. How do I always end up rushing to work when I get up so early?
12:10PM - Just on time. I'm greeted at the door in a flurry. Always in a hurry as usual, but with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Oh Japan...I get my schedule and get my files together. I'm going to Yanai today and Tomas is driving me. Ugh. I hate driving with Tomas. I'd much rather take the train and stare out the window or read or write. Tomas is the other foreign teacher at my school He's American and he's an arrogant, pompous, conceited, self-righteous, anti-social twat. Our car rides usually consist of silence and the sound of the buttons on my phone while I e-mail someone. If I do say anything it's more often than not met with silence or a sarcastic remark. How he's a conversation teacher I really don't know. He also had the nerve to ask me when I'll be out of my childish phase because I was excited about Halloween. I really wish he would have quit so I could work with someone cool. But unfortunately he's a loner who likes to hike so Shitari is perfect for him. I especially like the train ride to Iwakuni. After Yanai, I can just sit and stare at the sea. I often think one day I'd like to just get off in one of the little towns I always stop in and have a look around but of course it's probably never going to happen. It reminds me of the Jack Johnson lyrics 'I hope this old train breaks down, then I could take a walk around, and see what there is to see, and time is just a melody, all the people in the street, walk as fast as their feet can take them, I just roll through town, and though my windows got a view, the frame I'm looking through, seems to have no concern for now...'
12:50pm - Arrive in Yanai and I'm supposed to prepare for my 6 classes from now until 2pm. The classes are all the same and I can do it in my sleep by now. Plus they're mainly just working on their skits for the Christmas drama day so no real learning. From 2pm to 2:20pm I'm supposed to be having my first 20 minutes of break time, so I wander over to 7-11 to buy something to eat when I get my next 40 minutes. Im so sick of 7-11 bentos, onigiri, and convenience food by now, but I don't ever have the time to cook real food. It should be a New Years Resolution not to eat at 7-11 everyday. I never ate there this much even in Canada as a uni student!
2:20PM - my first class of the day is with a cute little old man who's about 72. Kazuo's English is pretty good, even if he thinks it's not. I don't prepare much for his class anymore as we usually don't do any of it, and just sit and chat instead. Some of the adult students are like this and some are shy and you have to prepare a lot for the lesson. Sometimes Kazuo picks me up from the station and we listen to NHK and I spend the class explaining what the news was talking about in English.
3:20PM - I'm supposed to have my next 40 minutes of break time now. I hate when she breaks the schedule up like this, it's so ridiculous because it doesn't have to be done and it always means we don't get our full actual break time. One of the many reasons I'm leaving in February.
4:00PM - 15 minutes of cleaning time and then a kindergarten student is supposed to come to practice his speech for 10 minutes but he doesn't….why couldn't I just have my full hour of break time here???
4:25PM - kindergarten class. It's only 2 little boys but they are little hellions and some days they make me want to cry, they're so frustrating. The mother of one always stays but it doesn't help at all, she just sits there and yells his name (JUNKO!) or talks to them in Japanese. Today she brings me a Christmas gift of an Astro Boy mug, notebook and calendar because I once told her I like Astro Boy. I think she always feels sorry for me having to teach this class all the time. Her little 3 year old that is always with her is super cute too. The boys are actually relatively good today.
5:10PM - 2nd class of 5 in a row with no break. Its an elementary class of 5 boys, a girl, and 3 different learning levels. But of course the boss doesn't care about that, so no one in the class is actually learning anything. Sometimes they can be bratty but they've been good the last few months since I made the mistake of complaining about them to the boss and she had a talk with them and made them cry and stripped them of their youthful spirit :(. We're mainly practicing for drama day today so its an easy class. They've found the picture in their books of my introduction a year ago when I had black hair and hard core tranny bangs and have decided I look like Lady Gaga so at the end of the class when I say 'Attention! Goodbye everyone!' Instead of saying 'Goodbye Jiggy Sensei!' They say 'Goodbye Lady Gaga!' Thank goodness Daiki's mother didn't sit in today…I never know what to think of her, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me since August when she saw me at a beer garden with piercings and tattoos out for all the world to see lol
6:10PM - Next class is one of my favourites, 3 girls in the 6th grade and 1 boy in the 5th grade. Admittedly, when I first started I dreaded teaching this class because they were so noisy, but I've got used to them, plus there used to be twice as many of them. I remember talking in class all the time at that age, and I was ridiculously shy then. They're studying for Eiken 4 now so there English isn't great but we still somehow find a way to communicate and they're one of the classes I'll miss the most. They're also the only class who can say my name and calls me 'Tzigane Teacher' instead of 'Ziggy Teacher'. I think we've bonded over a mutual dislike for the boss ever since they told me their nickname for her is 'GO' (short for Gedai o kure meaning old fashioned or out of date). Today they're asking me if I have a boyfriend and if its Tomas, at which point I scream NO! and we start teasing Chikara about his girlfriend who's in the grade above him (so I of course give him a high five). Chikara also does an amazing impression of Kazushige (aka Captain Fruitloops), a Japanese teacher when I first started who was ridiculously polite. He also tries to make me say unko (poo in Japanese). When I tell them it's sometimes -50C in Canada, they tell me they would die, by first doing a sleeping gesture and then flying to the sky.
7:10PM - This class is a private class with a girl who is painfully shy. I think she's about 11 or 12 and her English is good (she's studying for Eiken Pre-2) but it's so difficult to get a word out of her. She reminds me a bit of myself at that age. Tomas once described her as a paraplegic puppy….I told you he's a jerk.
8:10PM - Last class of the day is with Yuina. She's been studying English since she was pretty much a baby and is practically fluent. She's 12 now and one of my favourite students, ever since I met her. She's so cute, I wish she was my little sister and could just give her a giant hug. She always has the cutest clothes and talks about Hannah Montana and High School Musical and Zack Effron. She's studying Eiken 2 now, but most of our class I end up just talking with her. Today I teach her to say 'for shizzle my nizzle'.
9:10PM - Our class is over and Yuina's mother gives me a ride to Yanai eki because the school is about a 30-40 minute walk away. I've walked it before but most of the time I get a ride. I usually get there just in time for the train to Hikari at 9:24PM. It's about a 20 minute train ride and I have to stop at the office to drop off the files and give the boss my schedule for the day before I can get home, usually around 10PM. I cook some noodles for my dinner, check out Facebook, chat to some friends, and watch some crappy TV before doing dishes and heading to bed around 11:30PM…I used to stay up late and get up late but now I try to keep a semi regular schedule.

And that's my day in a nutshell.Its not for everyone, but I've grown to love it :)

Sunday, October 30, 2011

You can take the girl out of the country...

Ughghgh it's been over two months since my last post...obviously this shows how busy I've been. Not sure where the time has gone, but it's mostly been filled with work, studying for my online geography course and the occasional outing. I've been so stressed my hair has begun falling out again! But only 40 more days till the class is over! So because of this, I wrote the following blog on the train back from the Shimonoseki JET Halloween party yesterday as I forgot to bring my textbook in my rush to the train.

Over the past few months or so, the farmers have been busy with rice harvest. As I've sat on the train, watching them work in their tiny fields, I realized this is the first time in my 28 years I've not been involved in harvest. Harvest time I think is definetely my favourite time of year on the farm, and probably the time I miss home the most. Maybe even more than at Christmas time, especially over the last few years. As a child, I remember sitting on the combine with my mother or father or in the pickup truck reading and listening to the radio. Everytime the combine would make another round past me, I'd excitedly jump out and wave to whoever was driving it. As I got older, this is where I first learned to drive, weaving in and out of the bales, and practicing parallel parking. In high school, I would bring the meals to the men in the field after I got home from school. Fall was also when we would get to go to Lloyd to sell my calves and I could see my bank account suddenly increase and I'd go spend the majority of it at Lammles.

Working on farms in Australia I got to wrap silage bales and haul them home and castrate the lamb's and dock their tails. Even while in the city in university, I still got to take a small part in harvest through the ag college and fields located in the city that I walked past everyday on the way home. Most of these have unfortunately been bought by the city now and turned into huge shopping complexes of evil box stores such as Wal-Mart, Rona's, and Michaels. In Scotland, I could escape to my bosses farm in Cannich and feed the pigs. Every autumn I was in Europe I also spent about a month in Switzerland working under the table helping a friend and his family with potatoe harvest.

I'm not sure what it is that I like so much about this time of the year but I think it's the sense of community and how everyone seems to pull together to help out. Sometimes in Canada/North America because of the loss of family farms and how mechanized farming has become, it seems this sense of helping out has been lost. However, in September 2004 when my father had his chainsaw accident and was laid up for a few months, neighbours and relatives all helped out with finishing my father's harvest in addition to their own. The same happened the fall my mother was in the hospital. As nice as it is, it's a shame it usually only happens now when there's a tragedy in the family. At tattie harvest in Switzerland, there were at least 20 friends, neighbours, and family helping out every day.

Another thing that has surprised me about agriculture outside of North America is the amount of work that is still done by hand, even in other 'westernized, developed' countries. But by this, I don't by any means insinuate that farming in North America is easy. Travelling through Turkey and Greece in the autumn of 2008, I remember seeing people working out in the hot fields, digging the potatoes by hand, putting them in bags, and loading the bags onto horse drawn carts. This, in direct contrast to the tattie harvest I had just participated in in Switzerland a mere few weeks earlier, thinking that was hard, hands-on work. 'All' we did was stand in front of a conveyor belt picking out rocks and bad tatties while the machine did all the work, bagging them included. Here in Japan, there were often up to 10 people in a field, probably no more than 2 acres big, often cutting the rice stalks by hand and laying them out to dry on large wooden horses. How they ever get it to dry in this climate, I don't know.

Last Christmas while I was visiting my second home in Scotland, I saw an old friend I hadn't seen since my first summer I spent in Drum. He was surprised that I had come back repeatedly every year since, stating "I thought you'd get out of here as soon as you could, you seem like such a city girl." And he was surprised to learn I had grown up on a farm/ranch and studied agriculture. (Looking back maybe he wasn't such a good friend after all!) Yet I keep coming back to Drum/the countryside in general. There's something about the fresh air, getting your hands dirty, and the feeling of satisfaction going to bed at night knowing you've done a hard day's work. I love going home and cruising down the gravel road with the window rolled down, the wind in my hair, listening to Harry Decker drone on as all my worries slip away (as cliche as it sounds). Nothing makes me happier. And it reminds me that my true passion still lies in agriculture, just not the route I first took. Everytime I've moved to another country I've always said I wanted to live in Sydney/London/Tokyo yet I've always ended up in Timboon/Drumnadrochit/Hikari. And you know what? I couldn't be happier.

Friday, August 26, 2011

The Ultimate Comfort Food

The other night I came home from work at my typical time around 10pm. After looking around my kitchen and realizing I had nothing to eat that could be made quickly, I remembered I had spent a small fortune on a tiny block of Scottish red cheddar in Hiroshima last week. Grilled cheese! As I took my first bite of a proper grilled cheese (non of this processed cheese slice crap), I realized I can follow the timeline of my life through various grilled cheese stages.

My earliest memory of grilled cheese is staying home from school sick as a child. My lunchtime meal would almost always be the perfect grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup, prepared by my dad. I was one of those kids who played sick quite often. Always the planner, at the start of every month, I would pick the day I wanted to be sick. I would begin the night before at the supper table by complaining my stomach hurt and not eating and then going to bed early. The next morning before my alarm went off I would hide under all my blankets to give the illusion of having a fever for when my mother came to wake me. Sometimes under my bed I would even hide talcum powder to put on my face so I looked pale. My mother would leave for work and my father would go outside to do chores and I was free until lunchtime when he would come in and make me the ultimate meal.

In university, it became one of my staple foods, along with Kraft Dinner, hot dogs, and instant noodles. Now, I enjoy cooking (as my waistline shows) but back then I hated it and didn't have the time to worry about proper nutrition so all I needed was a giant block of Cheddar from Costco, a freezer full of homemade bread from mom and a giant bottle of Heinz ketchup and I was set.

After my second year of uni, my true gypsy nature got a hold of me and I took off to Australia for a year. My boyfriend in Australia was obsessed with grilled cheese and he probably made the best I had ever tasted. I don't know how it's possible but I was addicted. Perhaps he sprinkled some crack into it? Or maybe the sandwich maker he used gave it a little extra something by sealing the edges and the flavour in, rather than the usual oven or stove top version.

Perhaps my most fond memories of grilled cheese (or cheese toasties as they're called in the U.K.) are of in Scotland and coming home to the hostel in Drum at a ridiculous hour with the munchies. Because it was Drum, there were no shops open at 3am to get the usual British drunk food of kebabs or chips. So it was up to us to feed our own cravings and it more often than not ended up being a cheese toastie (unless of course a tour group had just been in and then we would steal their leftover chicken). The whole gang would ascend on the outside kitchen and we would drunkenly slave over the stove making our cheese toasties, with more than a few accidents, leading us to the motto 'Cooking when drunk is a recipe for disaster'. At the festivals we would even sometimes serve various cheese toasties such as cheese and leek, cheese and tomato, or *WAIT FOR IT* CHEESE AND BACON!!!! How did I not think of such a brilliant concoction before? I do apologize to all my vegetarian friends, but this is literally the most amazing sandwich in the world and you don't know what you're missing.

Returning to Canada after any extended travelling I also have fond memories of Harry Potter days with my best friend while eating grilled cheese or my room mate bringing me a plate of greasy goodness as I lie in bed hungover after a very welcoming welcome back party. One of the few remaining happy memories I have of 'the ex' is even of cooking grilled cheese over the campfire at Pike Lake.

In Japan I've been making Japanese grilled cheese. The recipe is as follows: Squeezy butter, crappy processed cheese slices (or expensive imported cheese from shop in Hiroshima), and expensive Japanese bread. Make as you would in any other country but eat it in Japan. And there you have Japanese grilled cheese.

The history of grilled cheese, according to Wikipedia dates back to ancient times. Apparently it was a common food in the Great Depression of the 1920's, due to its cheap ingredients. It is common in cultures around the world, due to both cheese and bread being a staple, easily available, cheap(ish) food. I even like cold grilled cheese sandwiches. But this is coming from a person who prefers cold coffee and warm beer. Grilled cheese is the food that goes with me wherever I go, the ultimate comfort food.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Nights out in Shitari

A few months ago, my fellow teachers and I renamed our new hometown from Hikari to Shitari, due to the non existent nightlife. The streets are literally dead after 9pm and the only people who live here are senior citizens and children. Small by Japanese standards, the city is still roughly around 30,000 people so you would think there would be a few decent bars, but we haven't even been able to mind one measly club.

Then two weeks ago, my boss invited us to a Japanese beer garden on Saturday night. It was my Saturday to work and admittedly I thought all of day of an excuse to get out of it, but never came up with one good enough. We walked to the 'beer garden' which had a beautiful view of the Inland Sea. To me, a beer garden has always been a big striped temporary tent at a rodeo or festival, consisting of rows upon rows of tables, drunks, and a smokey haze upon entry. Most Japanese beer gardens are on roof tops of buildings overlooking the city but this one was inside a large Italian restaurant with a buffet of food, an entrance fee, and unlimited beer and food. The only thing similar was the smokey haze upon entry. We stayed a few hours and got a good buzz, before we decided to move things to 'Stage Two' (the bosses exact words). We wandered over to the Jazz Bar. It was about 9:30pm on a Saturday night when we entered and the place was deserted. After a few drinks everyone started parting ways to catch trains home (the last trains leave around 11pm...I told you it was the middle of nowhere!). Eventually it was just Tomas and I and and the Master (bartender). Suddenly in walked a group of three. One of the girls could speak English quite well and began translating for us with another newcomer. The new guy found out I was from Canada and started telling me how he had spent a week there 10 years ago. He stood up abruptly and left, and I figured he was going out for a cigarette. Ten minuted later he's back with a photo album he had run home to get. I politely flipped through it until I got to the last few pictures, which were of him in bed...with a man. Tomas turns to him and asks him what they're all about. He looks at them and says 'Oh! That was my lover. I was gay, but I'm happily married now...to a woman!' And he holds up his left hand and points to his ring finger. Suddenly he stands up and leaves the bar again, taking everything with him. We didn't think he was coming back but suddenly he walks in again with bags from 7-11 that he hands to the Master. The Master opens them and lifts out enough cakes for everyone in the bar. He hands one to each of us and goes around pouring a shot of Tia Maria on everyone's. Soon after we finished, Mr. Happily Married gets up and leaves again, this time never to be seen again. His seat is replaced soon after, however. It doesn't take long before the new customer strikes up a broken conversation with the only gaijin's for miles around. Turns out he's a magician, who's also happily married. Do you see a pattern here? Surely it can't be Tomas, as he's not exactly the David Beckham the boss says he is. Obviously I won't be finding out if the myth about Japanese men is true, not in this town anyway! We sat while he did card tricks for us, but couldn't have been too good as even in my drunken haze I saw him mess up a few times. He gave me a card with his website on it: Hono Bono Magic, Mr. Mane. I have yet to find the website however...eventually we meander home through the empty streets stealing figs on the way...

Last Saturday we went out again, this time to the bosses condo which overlooks the Nijigahama Beach. In my six months here, I have never seen Shitari so packed. It was the biggest event all year in the city; the annual fireworks celebration. We had a barbecue which Bruce, the new teacher/retired ex-sniper had cooked for us. When we got there at 6:30pm he was already hammered. By the time the fireworks began at 8:00 and I had half finished my box of wine, I was well on my way as well. The fireworks lasted for exactly one hour, finishing at 9:00 on the dot. Tomas, Bruce, and I decided to continue the party at the Irish bar near the station, taking two of our adult students with us. We stopped at 7-11 on the way to get a drink for the 30 second walk. The parking lot was filled with Japanese teenage rebels with orange hair and sparkly Hello Kitty outfits (for the boys) and yukata (for the girls), drinking grape Fanta and bragging about the time they came 2 minutes late to class. After walking through the crowd yelling 'Kampai!' about 30 times we arrived at our destination. Bruce was dancing with the locals and we were having a great time. Atsushi asked to see Bruce's bullet wounds and he showed them to us, but after that the mood seemed to change. Bruce eventually passed out in his chair and suddenly he fell right out of it. Some of the locals ran over to help him up and we got him sitting again. They kept asking 'Are you OK? Are you OK?' until suddenly all hell broke loose and Bruce opened his eyes and knocked the Japanese man closest to him out, sending his glasses flying. Suddenly, the table was thrown over, glasses broken, salsa on the walls, and Tomas held up against the wall by an ex-Marine sniper, capable of doing who knows what? Poor innocent Masako jumped up to get the tiny barmaid, as if she could do anything. I tried to pull Bruce off of Tomas but could feel his muscles flexing, the bloode and adrenaline coarsing through his veins, and knew it was pointless to try. All the while the Japanese fools (no racism intended, but they were getting annoying and only making matters worse) were behind me, yabbering away. I don't know what I said exactly, but I finally felt Bruce relax and managed to get him sitting down, but Tomas wouldn't let go of his wrists for fear he would hit me. I can't remember the words that were said, but all I remember is looking into his eyes and seeing sadness and pain, like I've never seen before. Suddenly he was hugging me and telling me he wanted to go to the beach. We got our things together, paid a ridiculous amount, all the while muttering gomen nasai to the barmaid and when we were ready to go, Bruce was again nowhere to be seen, his phone and glasses sitting on the table. After searching around the station and beach we found him passed out on a set of stairs, convinced him to get up and crash at out apartment, only to have him sit down on on of the chairs at the train station, where he remained until we left him there at 6:20am after refusing to get on the first train home.

Although these nights out have not been the best of my life, I did meet a few people who will stay in my mind for awhile. But the most important lesson learned is, it's not the bar or the city you're in, but the people that you're with. You'd think I'd have figured that out after two years in Drum!

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Yasuko-san

Last Sunday I went on a wee roadtrip with a co-worker to the city of Hiroshima. For over 60 years now, the name of the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki have been synonymous with the world's first and hopefully only atomic bombs. Although I have lived in Hikari for almost six months, and Hiroshima is less than two hours away by train, this was the first time I had been. We took the highway and arrived in just over an hour. We headed first to the Peace Park where we were greeted by the A-bomb dome as soon as we got off the streetcar. Standing in the middle of such a vibrant, bustling city, this hollowed out building is a stark reminder of the tragedy that took place. The building was once Industrial Promotion Hall until the bomb was dropped nearly directly above it, the reason why the majority of the building has remained standing. In 1996, after much controversy as to whether it should remain standing or be torn down, it was declared an UNESCO World Heritage Site. We walked further along into the Peace Park, where there is something called the Flame

of Peace, which will be extinguished when the last nuclear weapon earth is destroyed. We also took in the Atomic Bomb Museum. Every year on August 6 (August 9 in Nagasaki), demonstrations and memorials are held in the Peace Parks in both Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

In May, I had the opportunity to also visit the Peace Park and museums in Nagasaki. The Peace Park is much more beautiful in Nagasaki, especially because the rotodendrons were in full bloom when I was there (even though at the time of the bombing it was predicted there would be no vegetation for at least 75 years). It had rained the day before and because Nagasaki is very hilly the Peace Park can see over the whole city, to where the mountains were covered in thick fog, giving the whole scene the sort of stereotypical feel we get from movies set in Japan. To me, Nagasaki has a different feel to it than Hiroshima. All over the city in random places are huge posters all listing the statistics of the outcome of what happened on that fateful day. While I think they should definietly not forget what happened, if I lived there and especially if I was a survivor, I would not want to look at these everyday. What stands out the most for me from visiting Nagasaki is watching an interview with the man who dropped Fat Boy on Nagasaki. Years later when he was asked if he regretted what he had done, his answer was a surprising no. I understand that if you are fighting for your country in a war, you do what you're told. But years later, to feel no guilt or regret over killing and injuring so many thousands of people is unimaginable. I think it's important for visitors of Japan to visit at least one of these two cities.

But what stands out more in my mind and will stand out in my mind for the rest of my life is a class I had a few weeks ago with my oldest student. Yasuko-san is 78 years old and has been my student for the past five months. The first time I met her she to

ld me she had grown up in Hiroshima and I was interested in asking her if she had been there during the war, but obviously that is not a subject to bring up. She has been learning English at Eiko School since it opened 19 years ago but she's a very quiet, reserved woman. In a way, she remind me of a Japanese version of my grandmother, in the way she carries herself and speaks. Over the past few months as I've gotten to know her, I've learned bits of her life, such as how she has never driven a car and she's married to a man that she had only met twice before their wedding day. She's very active, and often goes to visit her remaining siblings in Hiroshima and goes to traditional Japanese dance classes and spa days with her friends in nearby Tokuyama. She is also a huge fan of Exile (a J-pop group very popular with teenagers) and dyes her hair a funky dark purple-auburn colour. She is, in every definition of the term, young at heart, and I can't help but wonder if it's because she feels she was spared and given a second chance at life on that day in August 66 years ago.

We were having our regular class and started it off with doing two pages in our Oxford Picture Dictionary. As I was rushed in preparation time, I hadn't had time to look the pages over, and if I had, I probably would have changed the lesson plan. The topic of the day was a timeline of American history. We read through it and were soon at the end of World War II. As we usually do, I would read it and she would repeat after me. There was no going back, I had to read it, I couldn't skip over it. "August 6, 1945, the world's first atomic bomb is dropped on the city of Hiroshima." The classroom was quiet for a moment and she looked up at me with tears in her eyes, "I know, I was there, I saw the mushroom cloud." I didn't know what to say...what do you reply to that? We talked about it for a few minutes and she told me she was 12 years old at the time and when I asked her if they knew what was happening, she replied with a simple, "Yes, we knew." Thankfully, she had stayed home from school on the day it happened to help tear down houses in order to clear the streets for people to run as they were expecting a fire bomb to be dropped. When it was dropped, there was a large gust of wind that knocked her down. She lost several classmates and a younger sister who were in the downtown area when it happened. The days following the bomb were surreal. The city centre was destroyed, apocalyptic, as though nothing had ever existed. What is now known as the A-bomb dome stood alone amidst a terrain of devastation. There were people lying everywhere, some unrecognizable from the burns. The victims who were alive did not last long, from far she saw someone running towards her in rags and when the woman came closer, she realized she was naked and her skin was hanging off her in strips. Unfortunately, the overwhelming majority of medical personnel in the city had also been in the downtown area and had not survived the blast. I did not ask her any questions as I did not want to pry, I just let her say what she wanted to say. She only talked a minute or two at the most but by the end I was in tears. She finished by telling me this is the reason she wanted to learn English.

That two minute conversation will be with me for the rest of my life. Nobody deserves to have to witness such atrocities. But I do know this: Yasuko-san is truly one of the most inspirational people I have ever met.