Crazy

my students’ intense love for a word they are not encouraged to use (and love all the more for that very reason) and me, fantasizing about the pedagogical possibilities: 

       Second-grade junior high school girl: “He is kurayze. Hiroto is kurayze.”

          Me : “Really? Is he crazy?”

          A gaggle of girls: “Yes, yes. He is kurayze. Bery, bery kurayze.”

          Me: “Are you crazy, Hiroto-san?”

          Hiroto: “Yes, I am. I am kurayze.”

          Or, sometimes, “No, no, no. Not kurayze. I’m not kurayze. They are kurayze.”

After a significant span of time hardly playing my violin followed by an even lengthier period of pre- and post-op recovery for my nearly good-as-new thumb, my violin’s first foray out of its case was during an elementary school music class “mini-mini concert” in front of two Grade 2 teachers and their 40+ students, who gasped and “sugoi”-ed and cheered “encoru”-ed after a variety of Canadian and Japanese folk songs and popular melodies.

crazier: unlike legitimate concerts that a performer prepares for, and, in some cases, obsesses about, the appearances I find myself making in Japan are, in general, so impossibly improvised that it’s no wonder I don’t worry anymore. In this land of non-stop preparation, my spontaneous “on a hope and a prayer” approach is decidedly un-Japanese (and fairly un-Echo, as well.)

Sports Day, when my Mochigase Junior High School girls wear yukata*, shake pompoms and dance to Avril Lavigne

Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your chorus. 
No way, no way, I think you need a new one.

while my boys do this:

Kumitaiso or "human construction" is an integral part of Japanese PE.

this:

and this:

a pyramid of 47 of the 48 boys at Mochigase Junior High
(one first-grader had a bit of a tumble in the previous attempt and is
getting checked out by the school nurse in the background)

then, they all do this:

The class that leaps together, keeps together.

instantaneous bonding with the librarian upon discovering Japanese translations of the “I Spy” series, a book of Shel Silverstein’s poems, “Harry the Dirty Dog” and “Oh, the places you’ll go” by Dr. Seuss in the Mochigase JHS library

the serene and genuinely pleasant presence of those teachers who unhurriedly inhabit a Friday night staffroom, the fact that, after finishing PTA choir practice at 9 pm, I am among them, and the realization that, long after I’ve gone for good, they will remain, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to their lives outside of school

how much my kids love John, and how kakkoii (cool, good-looking) he is to them

probably helps that I think he's pretty kakkoii, too

how applicable “working hard or hardly working” is to the lives of JETs, the Japanese, and corporate workplaces, in general

the shocking stuff that spills out of mouths after a few drinks have gone in

the volume and variety of experiences that I’m exposed to, often without time or trouble to fully absorb or appreciate them

that I’ve signed up to write the JLPT 5 (Japanese Language Proficiency Test) beginner test as motivation to study, yet still don’t…much

the scarcity of free time and the amount of it that I fritter away on Facebook

the cacophony we foreigners are capable of creating at Copo Hestia at 11:44 PM or 2:35 AM of a Saturday night and the resigned resilience of those few nameless, faceless Japanese tenants in our unfortunately resonant residence

getting stung by jellyfish in the Sea of Japan not once, twice, but thrice. It might have something to do with the fact that I swim when I shouldn't, but if you saw these pristine, deserted beaches and beautiful, blue water, you'd risk it, too.

Totally worth it!

1. Return flight to Osaka via Calgary – Vancouver – Shanghai: $921   

2. Cab fare from Kansai International airport to the OCAT bus station after missing the last shuttle bus due to a delayed flight: ¥17,200 (around $200)

3. Memories of spending the wee hours sweating in a pool of streetlamp light outside OCAT like a homeless person with ninety pounds of luggage: priceless

basically, my entire journey from Canada back to Japan, with the possible exception of a Regina – Calgary car-ride with my parents, which was lovely, but which they likely considered crazy (I’ll fly all the way next time, guys. Promise!)

that I’ll be spending my second consecutive Christmas (third in my life) away from Canada and family, and instead be in Thailand with North American friends, and how different that same bit of information makes me feel, depending on how it’s framed

the things you can buy from vending machines in this country

French fries, anyone?

how several days’ dishes amount to very few when you’re only home on weekdays for breakfast

how quickly I kill pantyhose

procrastination parading as patience and vice versa

how human are hardwired to forget the uncomfortable, the awkward, the mediocre, but (generally) do a bang-up job of recalling the amazing and the awful. A blog for another time, perhaps, but trust me on this one. 

that August is over

that September is over

that October is over

that the following conversation is true and happened to a friend of mine in Toronto in early November:

          Subway employee: "That flower on your jacket is sexy." (re: poppy)
          Me: "Lest we forget?"
          Subway employee: "What are you talking about?"
          Me: "What are YOU talking about?"


*As far as I can tell, yukata and kimono are pretty much the same, except that the former is made of cotton or linen (and the latter, silk) and thus worn during the sweltering summer.