Today I went with my friends Satoyo and Yuko to visit a preschool here in Osaka. Yuko works there as a preschool teacher a couple mornings a week. She’s an incredible woman – I’ve met very few women who are as motivated, ambitious and hard-working as her.

Yuko is single, and owns and runs a restaurant with her two best friends. They also run a recruiting company. Yuko can be found either at the restaurant or at the office at almost any hour of the day or night. She works soooo hard! And when she’s not at either of her two own businesses, I guess she’s working at the preschool! She says she likes the change of pace, the mental break from all her other duties adn responsibilities, and says it keeps her fit.

Here are Satoyo and Yuko – we took a bus from the train station, and for a short while we were the only people in the bus.

Yuko invited us to join her for a morning because Satoyo is interested in getting out of her long-time job with Japan Railways and doing something more creative and rewarding.  Here Yuko is organizing a team game in the gym.

Many moons ago, I too worked a few mornings a week in a preschool like this. We did recreational activities and crafts, and I also found it to be a delightful, rewarding experience.

It was very clear to Satoyo and me that Yuko-san was well-loved by the kids. She’s got so much energy, she’s very funny, and is a great match for these little ones.

Before snacks and meals, the kids line up at these outdoor sinks to wash up.

Lunch time! Check out the colour-coded kids. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed that genders would be separated so distinctly by colour. Now… the shirts they are wearing are supplied by the school (also colour-coded for gender of course), but look at their lunches! All of this comes from their home. The girls have pink lunch boxes, napkins, cups, utensils, and bags – not red, not yellow, not green, only pink. And blue for the boys. It’s incredible! And not just one of the kids, but all of them! And if that doesn’t separate them enough, look how the boys sit on one side of the table, girls on the other. I was amazed and very very intrigued.

But there is more wonder to behold. Their lunches! They looked like tiny wax models from a catalogue of children’s toys. Each lunch was so intricate, so carefully prepared by their mothers each morning. These kids don’t have nannies at home – their moms prepare lunches like this every morning. Look at this girl’s lunch on the left: tiny rice balls – one with a decorative sea-weed wrap, one rolled in sesame seeds – a spoonful of spagetti with a meatball, a cherry, a few slices of apple.  It’s too adorable, I can’t take it.

Check out the placemat, the utensils, the containers. And look how they hold the chopsticks. See the red and white chopstick container?  Oh  man, I DIE!

I never would have imagined that even a morning at a preschool would offer such a window into the culture.

Japan is overflowing with treasures and surprises, that’s for sure!

[This was originally written September 13, 2001]

I’ve really been blessed with my Business English students here in Japan. As a freelance teacher for the last year, I’ve had the opportunity to go and teach in companies like Sumitomo, Honda, Glico and Mitsubishi. It’s incredibly interesting to meet professionals in their own workplaces.  At Glico, I taught food scientists (one guy’s job was actually a taste tester for Glico’s new candy products – his knowledge was so impressive, and his job fascinating!). At the auto factories, I teach managers and engineers.

They work long days and (in my opinion) under unfair expectations and pressures. I’ve gained some interesting insight into why the Japanese auto sector is so successful – their work ethics and company loyalty are really something. Unfortunately, as a result, the work-life balance is greatly well… unbalanced.

Today I became impatient with a small class of Sumitomo businessmen I have been teaching for over a year now. I knew they really sensed my frustration and as soon as I said my piece, I regretted it. I am usually very patient with my students, so when I express frustration or disappointment, I’m sure it hurts them. I feel bad about it.

The cause of my frustration today: I have been giving them listening assignments to do, but instead of trying to guess a word by its context (and some of the words would be SO easy to guess that way), they assume that because they didn’t understand the pronunciation, they simply have never learned that word, and give up. I want them to guess, to try to make sense of the sentence, but it is so hard for them to think that way. My Japanese students are great with cold hard facts, memorizing lists of hundreds of words, plugging in information, but trying to elicit any kind of abstract thought or creative guessing is like trying to draw water from a stone. I feel increasingly frustrated with my adult students and friends when they feel helpless at things that seem so natural for those of us that grew up with a very different kind of educational system.

One of the things I love most about Japan is their humility, but there’s a fine line between humility and a defeatist attitude.  This is where learner training comes in – a huge part of my job is training students how to learn. And language learning is so different from science, math, engineering, etc.

The man to my left invited me for dinner with his wife recently at his home. They loaded me with handmade (by them) Japanese pottery and a painted silk scroll before I left. My Japanese friends and students are so generous!

Occasionally I am invited (or I should say occasionally I accept) dinner with the crew after our class.

It’s hard for all of us. They’re exhausted, and so am I. They don’t get paid what they’re worth, and well frankly, neither do I. But I make learning fun for them, and they make teaching fun for me.

They are family men, who treat me with respect and kindness. I’m grateful, and feel bad about getting frustrated at times.

Thank you God, for such sweet students.

[This was originally written January 30, 2002]

Flashback Japan, 2002 – Today Yumi, one of my adult students, told me about Brett, an American friend of hers who has been “pursuing” her. She wanted to know the English expression for just *knowing* someone is not right for you. “Gut instinct”, I said. “Just a feeling”. I asked her how she knew. She said she knew by the way he sometimes treated others… and even though he was usually polite and kind, there were a couple instances she has seen him be rude.

This past weekend, they were walking her dog in the park, and a group of kids, about 6 or 7 years old, came running up. America-jin da! they exclaimed. (It’s an American!) He told them yes, he was American, then proceeded to ask them if they could understand or speak English. They shook their heads no. Baka, he said. (Stupid.) Yumi said she got very angry with him, that he should never call children stupid, that kids need good examples from adults. She and I agreed that kids remember comments like that for many years, sometimes for life.

After she left, I thought about it some more, and decided that his words to them were multiplied in severity simply because he was a foreigner.

Eating noodles the Japanese way with my dragonboat friend, Chinatsu

It is one of the most difficult aspects of living overseas – everyone is watching, and they remember. When in public here, I am always painfully aware that I am being watched. When I step in the train, when I go into a restaurant, when I walk down the street, when I make a purchase, people look at the way I dress, the way I walk, the way I do my hair, the colour of my hair, the size of my breasts and my butt, the way I bow (or don’t bow), etc. They notice if I smile, and notice if I don’t. If I dare to eat while standing on a sidewalk or while sitting on the subway, they will remember. Maybe they do not conciously check me out, but it registers in their brains… I know it.

Even *I* am completely intrigued by foreigners here, I watch their moves and the way they dress, eat, talk. If I as a foreigner myself am curious, imagine how much moreso the Japanese people. So, I know that if I am kind just one time in public, it will do a lot of good. In my life, I feel I represent “foreigners”. I am also a representative of Canada, and for those here in Japan that do not know I am Canadian, I am just seen as a representative of America. For those that know I am a Christian, I represent Christians. I represent foreign women too. I represent English teachers. I feel such a responsibility to make positive impressions.

I often have friends over to my tiny apartment. We sit and eat on the floor.

In a sense, it is a burden, but also a wonderful challenge and I of course really enjoy giving people a good image of non-Japanese. I need to constantly be aware that malapropos behaviour by foreigners here may be accepted and even forgiven, but rarely forgotten. People base their opinion on North Americans by what they see here. Back home people make irrational judgements about foreigners too, and build their opinions of a whole culture based on what they experience in their own country – Japan is no different.

My business-English students are so much fun.

Tonight at the Academy I noticed an article one of the teachers had gotten from the LA Times and posted on the message board. It also touched on this subject, as well as that of learning to appreciate other cultures. I’ve copied out part of it here:

“That anyone could hate America so much may seem inconceivable, but it is no surprise to people who travel. I often encounter anti-American sentiment on the road, and not just from poor and hopeless people in the Third World. A young Canadian backpacker I met in New Zealand once gave me a dressing-down for the Gulf War, as if I’d ordered the bombardment of Baghdad from my home phone.

More poignant is my memory of a cab driver in Jaipur, India. I had spent the afternoon with him going from one shop to another in search of a bargain on a Rajasthani bedspread. At one point, he turned and asked, “Why do you hate Muslims?” Floored for a moment, I finally replied, “I don’t hate Muslims. I don’t hate anyone. I like you.” Then I showed him the paperback copy of the Koran I had in my bag. I hope he remembers the exchange as clearly as I do.

For me, the encounter underscores how travel can help knit together a hate-torn world. Meeting people from faraway places yields understanding, or at least an appreciation for how different they are, particularly if we approach them with respect.

For this reason, I do whatever I can to dispel the “ugly American” stereotype by dressing and acting modestly when I’m away. I once saw a young tourist wearing a halter top in a Marrakech cafe with her Morrocan guide. Her attire was so disrespectful in that conservative country that I wanted to shriek at her.

We travelers also have the opportunity to see social conditions different from those in the United States close up and experience the zietgeist of foreign countries. I love China, not just for the temples and palaces but because my trip there several years ago made me appreciate why a people ravaged by nearly 50 years of civil war can endure a repressive but stable communist regime.

Travel shakes you up, teaches you things, makes you reasses your assumptions. On the road, I read foreign newspapers whenever I can, because they remind me that not everyone in the world sees things the way Americans do.

Deeper still, travel is humbling. To find in Jordan or China that there are reasons for and ways of living with no reference to mine makes me a little less egocentric. And isn’t egocentrism – or ethnocentrism, on a global scale – at the heart of so much of the misunderstanding that breeds hate?” [by Susan Spano]

When Japanese people see an irascible, drunk or disrespectful foreigner, perhaps it takes five or ten other kind, friendly polite foreigners to make up for that negative reputation. I really do want to help people have a good image of foreigners. It doesn’t mean I have to read their scriptures, always dress up, or slurp when I eat noodles, but it certainly does mean that I can and should go out of my way to be kind, warm and helpful.

On my way home tonight near a busy intersection, I noticed a parked bicycle had fallen down and everyone had to walk around it. I wanted to set it back up, but I didn’t. The other day I wanted to offer my seat to an elderly woman, but I didn’t, because nobody else did, and I didn’t want to draw more attention to myself. How pathetic. Sometimes I do. And sometimes I help a stranger carry a suitcase up a staircase, or return something somebody dropped. But not always.

I tell my students and friends, “You are able to make changes in your own mind and others… if you don’t like the behaviour you see around you, set an example with your own. Start small and make a difference that will eventually snowball.” That advice goes for me too!

The sweetest set of girlfriends ever!

[This was originally written on Monday, January 28, 2002]

Mari and I after one of her English lessons

Flashback Japan, 2002 – I have a dear one-to-one student named Mari, who works for a huge multi-national language school chain here in Japan called GEOS. They have a few hundred schools in the country, plus dozens overseas. Tomorrow she is leaving as a personal assistant to the CEO of GEOS as he takes some of his top school managers on a trip to reward them for their efforts. She is going, first-class, to Paris, Nice, Frankfurt, Rome and Malta, and staying in 5-star hotels everywhere. Wow!!! I get tingly just thinking about how much she will see and do! They chose her because she is amazingly efficient and a fabulous worker. But her self-confidence is so low; she’s always nervous about something… “I am panicking, Brenda…help me help me”, she said today. She will do FINE. Like so many Japanese women, she is so talented, but not confident in her skills.

I have been working hard on my Japanese lessons and going to Kumon twice a week. My teacher is so nice. She is actually not my teacher; everything we do is self-directed and we work alone, but we go there for help and to get a bit of testing to see if we are ready for the next worksheets.  The woman who always checks my homework and who knows me well (because I only usually ask her, not the others) is so kind and warm. But she passed me on to one of the other women the other day because she had too much to do, and I felt nervous and disappointed, because suddenly my inhibitions about speaking Japanese returned. And then I really understood how attached my students get to me, and why. Just like that woman is the only one that I feel really comfortable with, even moreso my students feel comfortable with only me, because for most of them, I am the only foreigner they know! I need to really try to wean them off me a bit so that they won’t panic when they need another teacher or need to speak English to others. I’ll be doing them a favour if I teach them to rely on me less.

Most of my high school classes are going well. But they are so undisciplined and unmotivated!  Some of the students show an incredible amount of apathy, and it’s difficult to train a class in learning behaviours when I see them just once a week for 90 minutes. Still, after all my (and their own) efforts, they are doing better, and there is one that is soaring. How verrrry interesting that two 10th grade classes can be so vastly different!  I am doing  my best to keep the classes interesting so they learn to enjoy English a bit.

Oh they're so naughty but still so loveable.

I have been working hard on pronunciation with this one class  of girls that I just love to death. I got them to say “What about you?” yesterday… about 50 times.”Whaddaboutchoo?” “Whaddaboutchoo?” “Whaddabouchoo?” This is called connected speech, and the Japanese students have such difficulty with it!

They laughed and blushed the first few times, but they are such an outgoing pleasant bunch, and did it with me, again and again. Then, “I’m in a hurry” as “I’minnahurry”, “I’minnahurry”. Again and again. All came from parts of a conversation we were reading from their textbook. “But I” = “bud-eye”. “What a beautiful day” = “waddabyoodiful day”.

It sounds so foreign to them, to speak English like that. Then on Tuesday I asked them to practice the dialogue with their partners and they were doing it! I was so happy to hear their pronunciation was amazing! When I hear them speak so well, I always feign weak knees and major shock to make them laugh. Or I kiss my fingers and sigh loudly. They laugh but I know they feel good, and it is a wonderful feeling for us all. “See?” I said on Tuesday. “Remember in November when you were using such Japanese pronunciation, and I told you that if we practiced, it would become easier? Now you all sound like American teenagers!!” [Apologies to any British or Aussie readers.] Wide-eyed, they giggled and nodded, so proud of themselves. Yay… a victory amongst all the struggles. THIS is why I love teaching.

Students working in the CALL (Computer Assisted Language Learning) Lab

I write about teaching a lot lately because I want to remember all my experiences and the stages of my own learning. I’m working so hard, and seeing such progress among some of my high school students. These are precious days.

[This was originally written on January 23, 2002]

Flashback Japan, 2002 – I am reading a book written by a Polish-Canadian immigrant who writes about another young Polish immigrant woman in Montreal, arriving on a work grant. It is set in the late 70’s and early 80’s when Poland was under the heavy burden of several failed revolts against their government. Martial law was declared, then after much more resistance, finally the people won, and Communism was overthrown.

This afternoon on the train-ride home from work I re-read several times a part where the main character’s German-Canadian husband talks of his mother with some disdain. He felt that his mother kept him at arm’s length, and that was the most suitable way he could use to express how he felt about her. Not too far, and not close enough. He was her duty, her responsibility, so faithfully fulfilled, but not her joy. It was with his nanny that he played until he sputtered with laughter, but he pined for the same closeness with his mother. All the time she (the mother) thought her relationship with him was fine. And now as an adult he felt that she could never atone for the innumerable times he had felt only her harshnesh as a child. “Well, son, this is war,” was her excuse for the coldness in her character. He didn’t buy it. He wanted to hold his head against her breast, hear her heart and feel her softness.

My friend Mayumi and her parents:

This reminds me a little of the relationships among Japanese mothers and their adult children. All Japanese women I’ve met are warm and gracious – I’m not saying they are cold. But, well… in Toronto my Japanese students (mostly in their twenties) would sometimes mention how hugging among family members is not a part of their culture. The touchy-feely affectionate South American students would listen with disbelief. “So you didn’t hug your parents goodbye before you came to Canada to study?” “No.” Wow. I’ve often found this trait of Asians to be incredibly intriguing. My experience with Asians is that they are so family oriented – incredibly loyal, sacrificial and generous with each other. But affectionate? Not really. It is just an observation that leads me to the next one…

Me with my friend Kanako and her mom

In one of my junior high school classes as we have been showing parts of the video “The Parent Trap”, where two twin girls who were separated at birth when their parents divorced, have accidentally met and are trying to set up their parents again. The students just LOVE the movie and I have been watching their reactions to the lives of young teens overseas. At one point the girl Haley comes home from summer camp and runs up the stairs to greet her mom, who runs down. They hug and hold each other for some time, swaying back and forth and expressing their affection. These girls squirmed in their seats watching it – as if they were watching a romantic kiss! – but on their faces they had big smiles that they tried to cover behind their sleeves. Everyone longs for that kind of love. I can’t believe anyone would not want a warm loving hug from a mom. I feel sad that these girls do not have that at home, even though their mothers probably love them very very much.

Atsushi’s mom teaching me how to make dumplings

And that leads me to my final observation. Today at (a different) junior high school, I did a team-teaching class with a middle-aged man named Mr. Nomura. Sometimes I prepare the lessons; sometimes he does. Today he prepared a really creative and fun activity that had the kids laughing and learning at the same time. It was perfect and I was so impressed with it that I asked him to please send me a copy of it by e-mail. His reaction to that was like a child. “Oh, I am so happy you like it, I’m so happy you like it! That makes me feel so good. Thank-you, thank-you!” he said. By the time I got home he had already sent it. “Thank you so much for asking me for today’s materials,”  he wrote. “I am so happy!”  Wow, of course I feel good when people acknowledge my hard work and show appreciation… I sometimes forget how good others feel when I acknowledge their work. I am ashamed that I have not done it with him enough.

I have read that “sowing seeds of love is like sowing beans. You don’t really know why it works; it just does. Seeds are planted, and topsoils of hurt or shame or shyness are shoved away.” Well that oversimplifies things a bit, but I like the image.

We all have a limitless supply of little seeds of love to give. We have the ability to love people, whether it’s with a hug or a word of appreciation and thanks. I need to remember this.

[This was originally written on Friday, January 13, 2002]

Flashback Japan, 2001 – A couple days ago I was unusually cold at the high school. Shivering uncontrollably. That should have been the first sign. I was done at 1pm, and headed home. On the way home I realized something was up. My skin was really sore to touch and my head started to ache. Oh no. Fever.

I cancelled some private lessons for this week but went to the high school today and to the Academy last night. It is so hard to teach when I am not well but I felt I should go.

The high school is sooooo cold in the hallways and some classrooms, and so hot in the teacher’s room. The trains are boiling  inside, but it is freezing cold on the platforms. This can’t be good for me. My skin aches, my head kills when I cough and even when I move my eyes. I didn’t eat for a day and a half, but drank lots of OJ and tea and water. I just came home a couple hours ago and decided I should make chicken soup. I did, and I guess I was hungry after all, because I devoured it. I don’t like having to make chicken soup for myself when I can hardly make it to the stove though. Now it is 5pm and I have cancelled the rest of the lessons for the day. What a flippin drag. I am so pissed off about it all. I hate to let things get to this, but now I am paying the price for my busy schedule of late.

I feel incredibly frustrated with my situation. I am working so hard but half of my effort is going into planning lessons and getting to my work places. I teach at 7 different places. Plus the private students of course.  It’s my own fault – I’m the one who says ‘yes’ when people ask.

There are numerous things that keep me from getting my lessons planned the way I want to. I have no printer. My recorder on tape player wont work, and on my MD player it is broken too, so the listening lessons I want to make for my students are non-existent. I feel frustrated that I don’t have the resources or equipment I need. This is the problem with free-lancing – you just don’t have the base to work from, where all your supplies are provided.

I am overtired. I need sleep to put things into perspective. Last night I slept in chunks but was so so so sick. Fever is strange, isn’t it. It makes you get strange symptoms. I suddenly became so hungry around 4am that I felt pain… I ate a slice of plain bread… and promptly threw it up. Okay so then I sat in the shower, hot hot hot shower, and that always helps. Then I had no energy to dry my hair or anything, so I lay on my bed for an hour, shivering under the hot electric blanket, praying for some kind of relief.

There’s nobody to cover me tomorrow at the high school, so calling in sick is absolutely not an option.

MUST sleep!

Teaching – how can you love it and hate it so much at the same time!

Hey, maybe the students will all be sick too! Yay!

[This was originally written on Dec 5, 2001.]

Flashback Japan, 2001 – Today I took the best prescription against my lingering hebetude – a day trip to KYOTO! Kyoto is a quick 30-45 minute train ride from Osaka and it’s my favourite place ever.

Mmmm… I knew it would be good and it was! My friend Etsuko and I have gone several times together, and we always have a blast. She is cute and sweet, and it is SO easy to make her laugh.

Flashback Japan, 2001 –

No matter how often I get on the trains during rush hour in Osaka, I always have a little shock awaiting me when I do. Ick. The trains are packed, and I have to back myself into the door so nobody is breathing into my face. I edge in, and just push gently (or not-so-gently) – it is amazing how many people can be forced in, even after I think the train car is full!

So there I stand, practically kissing the glass on the door. I am surrounded by suited business men and can literally feel their breath on my neck. The body heat pervades the car, and the windows begin to drip with condensation.  Thankfully I only have to go a few stops. Then I switch platforms to another train, and go a few more stops. This train is less crowded but still full. When I get to the final stop, I am surrounded by about two billion school kids in their dowdy uniforms, trudging towards their schools. I just want to walk through the groups quickly, but can’t very well push my way through without being rude. So I try to catch openings when I can, walking with my head down, hoping none of the high school students recognize me and expect English chat along the way. I just want to get to school and prepare for my lessons. The walk is about 15 minutes, and by the time I get there,  I am already exhausted from making my way through the crowds.

Sometimes I wonder how and why I put up with this lifestyle… but you know, even the crazy commuting is an exciting part of life here.  I can chuckle at the absurdity and discomfort of it all… and truth be told, the fact that it’s different simply makes it an adventure.

And I’m all about daily adventures.

Shove over, make room for the foreigner!

[originally written Nov 16, 2001]

Flashback Japan, 2001 – When I walk into a new classroom I feel so good.  I have all these unique challenges before me. I want to try to make the whole group feel like a cohesive unit, so they feel that when they walk into the classroom, they are part of a learning team.  On the other hand, I also have  the task of seeing each student as an individual with an absolutely unique set of life experiences – which will determine to a great extent how they learn.  By getting to know them individually,  I can help them in the way that works best for them.

So many high school students would rather be somewhere else, so the biggest challenge and absolutely the most exciting one for me is the thrill of seeing students get motivated about something they were not motivated about before.

These challenges are magnified significantly by the facts: I only see each class once a week, there are almost 50 students in the class, and they speak almost no English! Ahhh. And their names are all so new and difficult for me, not to mention the fact they all have black hair and wear the same clothes.

Today was my first day teaching at this high school. I had three classes. The first class was a NIGHTMARE. They were all 16-year-old girls, and despite the stereotypical view of Japanese students being quiet and disciplined, this group was insolent, disrespectful and noisy! I was really shocked. About half are genuinely interested, the other half completely not. Of course the interested ones were drowned out by the noisy slackers.

I want them to enjoy learning, and I will do my best to make it fun for them, but I can’t accept them sleeping or talking on phones during class!  Kana, one of the girls, was really being a disturbance in the back, so I asked her to come and sit in the front row. I knew this would be a risky move, separating her from her friends.  Maybe I would turn her against me for the semester, or maybe my quick action would help earn her respect.  I took the risk. She gathered her books to move, and grumbled and complained loudly as she did so.

But later in the day I was walking through the halls and heard, “Sensei! Sensei!” (”Teacher! Teacher!”) and was really surprised to see HER waving and smiling at me. I had really tried to be kind and warm to her, even while being strict, so I think she knew I wasn’t trying to piss her off. I gained back a little confidence after I saw her in the hallway.

The other classes were wonderful. The girls are so beautiful – natural and fresh, bright-eyed and friendly. They are old enough to be genuinely interested in me as more than a teacher, and young enough to not be burdened by the worries of adulthood. I feel they are so very special, these girls. They welcomed me openly and warmly, and we had a lot of fun. I know that if my students are to improve in their English this semester, it is largely up to ME, and that I have a huge responsibility. I am also aware that the way a high school student feels about their subject or teacher can drastically affect career choices in life. I want to be a positive influence in their lives, even for the short time I am with them.

God, help me to see each student’s individual needs and talents. Help me to love them and make them feel important. They are so special. Help me be efficient, resourceful, creative and patient in my teaching.

What a welcome challenge these girls will be for me.

[Originally written Nov 1, 2001]

[This picture was taken on my last day at that school. I ended up developing a great relationship with the girls. I learned a lot, and was of course sad to leave!]

Flashback Japan, 2001 – I climb over the hill that separates my apartment from the recreational paths and river, and take in the view of the city about a kilometre away, across the Yodogawa, the largest river in the Osaka region. Though in the morning mist the city still seems to be sleeping, I know a closer view would reveal streets reeming with traffic and people.

But I am out to enjoy the solitude, so I descend the cement steps and head across the baseball diamond to one of the benches on the sidelines and proceed to do some warm-up stretches. I don’t feel so flexible in the mornings. Today I am distracted by a pair of teens lying together on the hill. As he pulls her close and hugs her, I note that I have never seen such affection in public in almost two years of life here in Japan. Intriguing.

I set off on my walk.  I start at a brisk pace across the rest of the field and turn onto the path. A soft, unexpected melody suddenly grabs my attention. There, under the shade of a cherry tree, stands a middle-aged man in his business suit. His shiny black briefcase hangs from a stub on the trunk, and a music book sits open on a lower branch. With his back to the ball diamond and me, he is playing what sounds like a flute but looks like a big shell. He turns slightly as I walk by. A prize-winning photo if only in my mind.

Although I am surrounded by trees and grass, nothing is well maintained. Litter is strewn amongst the tall weeds and although I can’t smell it, I know the river water is far from clean. I walk along, with the river past the weeds and trees to my right, and an untidy golf course to my left. That plastic fencing is only a few metres high. I wonder if anyone on this path ever gets struck by a golf ball.

An elderly woman is walking towards me on the other side of the path.  As she gets closer, I notice the tell-tale signs of one who has lived her entire life in fear of sun damage on her skin. Her brimmed, cotton hat is pulled down over her ears. Her shirt collar is unfolded up and covers her neck. Long sleeves and white cotton gloves ensure no part of her arms and hands see the daylight. I walk past her in my t-shirt and shorts.

I approach the heavy metal swinging gate that stops unofficial vehicles from entering the park area. Next to it stands a thin small man in grey coveralls with an orange arm-band. (That makes him official). He peers at me from under his oversized helmet and smiles. “Ohayo”, he says with a bow, and I feel surprised but pleased with his informal choice of words to say “Good morning.”

There is a railing on the right side of the path now, because a few steps beyond it, the cement drops into a 2 metre wall to the water. With bare feet hanging over the edge, a swarthy old man in a worn, straw hat is drooped sleepily over his fishing rod.

A short distance further a small wooden dock protrudes from the wall, and two more men sit facing each other cross-legged, chattering and laughing, oblivious to me and seemingly all else.

I am startled as a bike passes me. Startled not by movement or sound, but because the rider is a blonde young Caucasian woman. How unusual! I smile at her waist-hip ratio that only a foreigner could boast.

Along the Yodogawa there are dozens of homeless men who live in small huts constructed with poles and tarps of bright blue. I pass by one of the huts, built among a grove of bamboo. A separate shelter has been created, I note, solely with old umbrellas. A few painted pink wire coat hangers are hung like a mobile from a tree branch nearby. For home decor an old embroidered calender and a dusty framed painting of Marilyn Munroe lean against the outside of the hut.

And so on I walk. Different faces and images all become snapshots in my head. My daily walk along the banks of Yodogawa never fails to give me fresh perspectives of life outside my world.

The view from the hill behind my house. You can’t really see the Yodogawa river, but it’s there, in the far right…. behind the long grass. The bridge goes over it.

Here’s  one of the makeshift huts of one of the homeless men.

[Originally written Oct 3, 2001]

Flashback 2001 : Well now I am back in Japan after my break in Canada. Getting through the airport stuff here was so so fast compared to all the added security measures back home. No questions, no baggage checks. I guess they have made no changes to security here.

Walking around in the airport in Osaka, and taking the train, I didn’t feel like I had really been gone. But of course I was a bit more sensitive to some of the differences between Canada and Japan. My friend Satoyo kindly met me at the train station and took me home. It was nice to see a familiar face, especially hers. She has been very helpful to me, and never fails to impress me with her thoughtfulness. When we got to my apartment, I was surprised! She had been preparing salad and curried chicken and rice, and had decorated my apartment with a long string of colourful origami paper cranes, and scattered little origami paper balloons. We had dinner together, though I couldn’t enjoy it as much as I would have liked to. At that point I had been awake for about 25 hours and was also feeling somewhat overwhelmed with all the work that was waiting for me after my absence.

She had stocked my fridge with food and my favourite drinks too. I know my friends are happy to see me back, and of course I am happy to see them too. I have now unpacked my two humongous suitcases, and am really feeling good about being in my own private little place again. I absolutely love this apartment. The furniture, stuff on the walls, plants, and other small decorations all combine to really provide me a place that feels just like I want it to.

I miss Canada already… but there are lots of good things to come back to, and I am grateful to have a home here. Sometimes I have what I call “Japan moments” – where I just feel a little overwhelmed by the fact that I am actually living in Japan, so very far from home. Sometimes this is not simply a different country to me. It is like a whole different planet.

I brought along a few cookbooks from home, new sewing patterns, a couple workout videos, as well as some books on spiritual growth. I really really want to use my time wisely and not waste days or hours. Of course I don’t mean I should always be busy, because even the right kind of silence is very profitable.

One of the many blessings in my life is the symbolic changes, and the chances to “start again”. Kinda like people make resolutions at New Years. When I move into a new job or home or country or just another stage in life somehow, I feel inspired to really make conscious efforts to “grasp life at it’s depth”.

That has been my desire for so long… I wonder if the struggle to get there will ever get easier.

[Originally written Sept 31, 2001]

Flashback 2001 : (I wrote this on a visit home to Canada while living and working in Japan).

In Japan there is a very small selection of English language TV shows. I often wonder who decides which shows make it to Japanese television, and I am puzzled by the curious choices. One of the shows that comes on weekly is called “Big train, small town USA“. At least that is the folkish theme song – perhaps the show title is shorter, I forget. It is a really hick show, and the music, dialogue and film footage depict a completely rural America.  This show follows a train on one of its routes, and meets station masters and locals on the way, talks with the train engineers, and boasts the scenery between the small towns. It’s kind of grown on me!

As I write this, I am on the train ride from my hometown to Toronto. It will take about an hour and a half. Train-riding here is so vastly different from in Japan. There, riding the train between major cities is like hopping on the subway in Toronto. You missed the train? No problem. Another one will be there in five or ten minutes. The train stations are always busy and trains often full. The ride I am taking right now, however,  is perhaps the busiest railway in Canada, and still it arrives in Toronto only three times a day! The train is never full. And it’s not light, fast and swooshy like Asian trains – it’s a huge lumbering mass of inefficiency.

Still, the woman working at station was friendly and knew several of the people coming in to take the train – about eight of us. She talked a bit outside about the old wooden station – the building is over 100 years old!  One older man in coveralls and a Pioneer Corn cap walked in and I recall seeing him at the station before. “Hi Eileen, this is my friend Ron from Michigan” he says to the station master. I watch this guy and his friend Ron, and after a bit of observation and eavesdropping, I notice that they are railway buffs and enjoy just watching the train come and go, and have been doing so for years.

I am intrigued by people who know the history of their small towns… its churches, markets and railway stations.  They know the history of the rail lines, remember the old stations, recall station masters from their youth, etc. Wandering around the town, meeting visitors, chatting with neighbours, observing buildings coming down and going up, really feeling the heartbeat of one’s hometown… how wonderfully intriguing compared to the fast-paced, me-centered busy life of the new millenium. I talked to an online friend today who once lived with her husband in New York City. Both were caught up in the whole city life -  professional careers, dinner parties, expensive shopping, etc. It ruined her marriage, she said. She packed up, moved to rural Maine, simplified her life, adopted a baby girl from China, and now, four years later, she says she feels incredibly more happy and fulfilled.  My sister and her family enjoy the charm of small-town living. Certainly my own family had it when I was at home too, though at the time I wanted desperately to live in the city.

Today my dad and I drove to a farm of friends of his who live about 45 minutes away. On the way we passed several small towns and neighbourhoods that were so much a part of my childhood. We passed homes and farms of former schoolmates, family friends, church friends, neighbours, etc. My dad updated me on so many people’s lives. “Mr. H has cancer. The T’s live over there now. Do you remember that couple that lived across from the Y’s? She runs that youth centre. Let me just run into the bakery and see if Linda is working. Oh there’s Mr. S. Do you want to see John and Terri’s new house? Look, this is where Rob works now.” As I waited in the idling pickup truck at the gas station and my dad chatted to the attendant, a big dumptruck drove by, honked, and the driver waved hello to my dad. Small town living.

Now I sit here in this railway car, and the sun has set. I see long stretches of black pines silhouetted in the dark blue sky by a white moon. Behind me two boys around 10 years old have just met and are discussing the fact that they both love to read and play hockey. Occasionally we pass through a small town of twinkling lights.

For four weeks I have hibernated from big city life and my friends in Japan. I have spent time camping, swimming, hiking, canoeing, gardening, and relaxing in small-town Ontario. After almost two years of life in Osaka, I find crickets, geraniums, and a clear night sky full of stars overwhelmingly attractive. Yet I am still ready and excited to head back into the city and see some dear friends.

And so, once again I have this familiar ache deep inside – the warm pain that comes from desperately longing to keep my worlds together.

Flashback Japan – 2001:

Ahh… the wonderful irreplaceable fun of racing day… team spirit, water, hot sun, music blaring over loudspeakers, prizes, water fights, making new friends… we had it all today.

Our team competed in a big dragonboat race today, and there were about hmm… 30 teams there. The team that won the Japanese national championships last year was there too… and they looked so good! Actually it was on their turf that we had the races today. A beautiful river flowing through the tree-covered mountains… it was a wonderful setting. The host team is SO good. They look so smooth, synchronized, and downright cool! We placed third in the first heat, which was against that team, and three others. We lost to them, and another team called the Frogs – how humiliating!  Anyway, there were about four members on our team for whom this was the first race, and they had so much fun. One of them asked me after the first heat why everyone looked so gloomy… “It’s just for fun!”, she said. Well, not really. We love competing. We love doing well. I myself get such a thrill out of it all. We have worked so so so hard this season, and we thought for sure we would do better. After a good pep talk and nerves were eased a bit, we did much better in the second heat. We made it to the finals, and got SECOND behind the host team. We were very happy with that, and felt good.

It is such a wonderful atmosphere. I wish so much I could put a sample of it into this diary to remember forever. It was so so so so hot. Each team has a canopy to sit under for the day, but still it is very difficult to keep cool. I guess that adds to the day… the whole scorching sun vs refreshing water thing. The loudspeakers never stopped blaring upbeat music and excited commentating from the race staff. At the opening ceremony they played the Japanese anthem and raised the flag… and at the closing ceremony there was such an ado with the prizes. Podiums, ceremonial music, and so many prizes. It was wonderful. I remember last year, my first rowing race, how thrilling it all was, and I am really happy the new members had fun! We chose them to go up on the podium to receive the prize, and they were so excited!

So now I sit here with droopy eyes, blistered hands, sunburned shoulders and aching muscles, but really happy to have spent the day with my teammates and friends reaping the rewards of all the effort we have put into our practices. Yokatta!!

Flashback Japan 06/12/2001: This evening I was teaching my weekly lesson to a class of young business men. They are really fun-loving, and we have good times in that class. They really laugh at each other, and I am glad that they all can laugh at themselves too.

Tonight we were talking about “What kind of movies/books/tv programs/food etc. do you like?”. When discussing movies, “SF” came up. I asked them, of course, “Do you know what SF means?” There are soooo many English words that have been adopted by the Japanese and made an official part of their language, and everyone knows SF but I wasn’t sure if they knew what it meant. But they all said yes right away… and answered in unison, “Spectacle Fantasy!”. I laughed, then made a point of writing it down in my notebook. They love when I find Japanese English funny enough to make a note of it. When I told them it means Science Fiction, they laughed hard too. They said it is common knowledge in Japan that it means Spectacle Fantasy. Sweet!!

It reminded me of a couple other incidents from back in Toronto. I always intend to write down the funny incidents, but sometimes I forget. Here are two I will never forget:

Once in Toronto, with a small class of students from all over the globe, I was showing pictures on a calendar of Canadian wildlife. I held them up one at a time to see how many they knew. Beaver. Racoon. Mountain Goat… no problem. Then, I held up a picture of a polar bear. They knew it was a bear, but… what kind? After a bit of hemming and hawing, Sasha, a Ukrainian guy suddenly and confidently spoke up. “I know!! It’s a Toon!” Umm… toon?

Nobody laughed, but everybody thought maybe he was wrong because they had never heard that before. Why a toon? I asked him. I didn’t tell him he was wrong. He said, “Because I know there is a loon on the Canadian loonie (which is our nickname for the one-dollar coin, because it has a loon (bird) on it), so I know this must be a toon, because it is on the toonie!” (We call our two-dollar coin a “two-nie”). It was cute.

One more. I asked one of my Japanese girls once about her recent trip to Thailand. “Oh, it was wonderful!” she gushed. “How was the weather?” “Well, it was so hot and humi… humi… humiliating!” Of course as English speakers we never imagine that to others’ humid and humiliating sound similar – but can you blame them?I know I make the same kinds of mistakes in Japanese.

Language teaching and learning sure lends itself to so many memorable moments.

(This entry is one of my new ‘flashbacks’ series: earlier entries from a private blog.)

…I was thinking today a lot about my life here in Japan. I just feel full of appreciation and love for these people. I am treated with such respect and warmth here. It is quite refreshing to walk on the streets and not come across any rude people. Even teens don’t mumble, stare or ogle or cuss. Everyone is just *nice*. To some people ‘nice’ might seem bland. But to me, nice is good. They are self-controlled, kind, generous, and fun. (And no, they are not perfect… there are a lot of things that are annoying too, but I sure do love them!)

…And these are exciting times in the lives of some of my Japanese friends. I am so happy for them! Every day I sit in here talking to students and friends, almost all of them young women around my age. I want to encourage them as much as possible. So many of them give up on their dreams because they think they are not smart enough, brave enough, young enough, old enough … whatever. I guess getting people to quit their jobs might not be something to feel good about for most people… but if they are not happy, I enjoy watching them quit and decide to make changes or take some risks.

… Asking me not to saturate those around me with my passion for other countries and cultures is like asking me not to breathe. I have had such positive and stimulating experiences by living in, working in and travelling through different countries, and tasting all these beautiful cultures… I just long for my friends to experience the same. Of course some are not interested at all, and it brings me no pleasure to blather on to them. I need not try to inspire those that are not hungry for it. But most of my friends, especially here, are those that long to see and do and learn and grow… 04/16/2001

Flashback Japan 05/23/2001:

Springtime in Japan is short, and so precious! Before long, we will be in the middle of a sweltering, humid season that can be described only in words unfit for my fingers to type. I dread the Japanese summer. These days I am trying to appreciate every mild beautiful day and each soft evening. These days the sky is still blue. And these days the air still feels wonderful on my skin.

Today I decided to explore a new neighbourhood, and am I ever glad I did. Neighbourhoods in Japan are just that … neighbourhoods. Behind the high rises and gas stations and supermarkets… along the small narrow streets, one can imagine what the towns in Japan used to look like. It is not difficult to find traditional gates, roofs and windows. The crooked streets are lined with small houses with almost no space between them. These neighbourhoods have no space for yards. You walk out of your front door and the first step you take is your own little walk, and the next time you put your foot down, you are on the street. But the traditional style homes are so cute! The little traditional slatted wooden gates are my favourite. And Japanese people love plants, flowers, and gardens. So many of them have their 4 square feet of space packed with flowers on the ground, on shelves, on racks, hanging from the eaves, etc. I regretted so much not having my camera with me tonight.

Evenings are my favourite time of the day. The sun is mellow, no longer harsh and bright, and green becomes even greener. When I was a teen, I used to love heading out through the orchards and fields with my camera to take pictures of hayfields, fruit trees, cows, and flowers in the woods. I think the late day sunlight does more for photos than any filter ever could.

In the evenings neighbourhoods here are peaceful too. Dinner is finished and people are tired. You can here kitchen dishes tinkling and family chatter as you walk down the lanes. Here most men are still at work till late in the evening, but young moms can be seen chatting in small groups with babies in arms or toddlers in tow. Old men are outside watching passers-by or watering their bonsai trees. A wrinkly old woman hunched over a tiny cart she is pushing down the street at a snail’s pace. Teens sit on a curbside, sipping from bottles of cold tea. And kids somehow creatively use small spaces to create their own outdoor fun.

For now, people are happy it is spring, and they enjoy being outside. For now, it is not yet oppressive. I wish spring would stay till it was time for autumn.0
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