Piczo

Hanami

You know what time of year it is when the beer cans turn pink, there are strange weather forecasts on TV and train stations are covered with pictures of flowers – hanami season. Hanami season in March and April is, for many Japanese, the best time of year. This is when the cherry blossom trees all over Japan come in to bloom for between seven and 10 days and people hold outdoor parties to view them. Just for reference Hana means flower, while Mi means look. So Hanami essentially means looking at flowers. The advent of the blossoms not only heralds the end of a harsh winter but also the beginning of another school year and a new fiscal year for businesses, so hanami is like a party to celebrate a new beginning. Late winter and early spring are really busy times in Japan. Then, in April, come the cherry blossoms like a breath of fresh air. Why do the Japanese love the Sakura so much? They liken the petals to the life of the samurai – a brief explosion of colour, bright for the duration of their short life, before they wither and die. They represent the brevity of life and the frailty of existence, and this is celebrated by getting roaring drunk. The parties really haven't changed since the old days. The first hanami took place in the seventh century. Originally a religious rite, it was held on a particular day and the coming harvest was forecasted from the condition of the cherry blossoms. The full blooms were symbolic of a full and bountiful harvest of rice, which the upper classes would celebrate by drinking and eating under the trees. Eventually it became a popular activity for all the classes of Japan. And the best thing to compare Hanami to is a big old picnic. In which, Families and workmates gather under the tees. They sing, drink, eat and talk until late in the evening. The state of the cherry blossoms is also revealed to millions through the media. There are "sakura forecasts" – with pink dots covering maps of Japan on television and in the daily newspapers. This is followed by information on how to find the best displays, the areas where the season has finished and where it is just beginning. Hanami parties are planned around these reports. A sort of “sakura fever” grips the nation for the duration of the fragile blossom’s life. The last weeks of March were spent in anticipation for my Host family. Everyday was another day that the Sakura could bloom, so one must always be on the lookout. March 22, 2007 was a very warm day, so it was predicted that the flowers would be opening very soon. However, rain prevented the beautiful flowers from spring to life. The Osaki's waited and watched the Sakura forecasts ever morning hoping to hear the wonderful news that the Sakura had bloomed. I really had no idea what to expect. I didn't understand the big deal behind a bunch of flowers. Osaki Okasan explained that one morning you just wake up, and all the flowers are in full bloom. It's as simple and as magical as that. I almost puked. When it comes to flowers, I am possibly the biggest anti-Japanese personality. Take for instance, back in September thru mid-November, my Tuesday morning 4th period class was spent with the Middle School Second graders participating in the ancient traditional art of Flower Arrangement. Now I am all for cultural activities, but tampering around with flowers in a pot is just plain pushing it. Teachers, upon reading my schedule, would rave about how lucky I was to have been given the opportunity to participate in such a class. Each time, I made sure to bite my tongue. I switched out of the class upon first chance. And then there was my birthday party. I didn't want anybody to get me anything. I even told them that their presence at my party, was presents enough. Did they listen? Of course not. Almost every single one of my friends brought me a bouquet of pink and white flowers. It was truly horrible. Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I really hate flowers. I just don't see in them what the Japanese see. The Japanese, the aesthetics that they are, use flowers as symbols of strength and good fortune. I often find myself seeing allergies, bugs, and messes to clean up after they die. There is one flower I really do like though, the Ume, or Plum Blossoms. I think that the reason I like them is because I feel bad for them. I cheer for the underdog on every occasion I get. Everyone is always talking about how great the Sakura are, and what kind of party they should get when they come about. Sakura get their own pick beer cans, national forecasts, and drinking parties. The poor Ume get no attention whatsoever. (Actually that isn't true, the Tosajoshi mascot is the Ume. I guess this could be taken in a few ways.) It's a light purple flower, and in my opinion, it symbolizes much more that the Sakura. While the Sakura symbolizes coming to life, the Ume blossoms at the end of Winter. It symbolizes that there is hope at the end of the long tunnel. It is how I felt when I moved out of my second host family. One afternoon, Yurie Hirosue invited me to go Hanami up at Kochi Castle. I packed a Bento lunch, Kimuchi Onigiri and Goma Salad, and wandered to the castle, unsure of what to expect. Yet, not to my surprise, Yurie managed to pick a day, when there were no Sakura flowers in bloom. It was fine with me, however. The Ume were still around and I ate my Onigiri while peering up at the beautfil purple blossoms, and thanking them for bringing the end to winter. The Sakura in Kochi finally did bloom in late March. I had gone to Nagoya by that point, and would probably not be back in time to see them. Osaki Okasan liked to joke that the bloomed because they knew I had gone. That way they wouldn't have to hear me tormenting the Japanese for their obsession with little pink flowers.

Making Sense of All Things Japan

Moving to Japan involves taking a step into a whole new world. Where Western knowledge of social attitudes, cultural beliefs, and business practices are about as useful as the ability to touch you tongue to your nose. And the word Alien, from little green manfrom outer space to long lost foreigner, is applied Westerners. Japan is and always and always will be a challenge. Existing her happily means that one has to make the best of every single curve ball life throws at you, from one's first trip to the Onsen, opening a thoughtful little bento box, and being forced to eat Nato, the world's most disgusting food. Thankfully I didn't come here with high expectations, or any at all for that matter. I came to Japan because although I was born an American, I like to consider myself a citizen of the world. And Japan was the option given to me by people who felt that I belonged there. And I sprung on this opportunity to learn and absorb a culture so different from that of my own. On Japan's flashy new age surface, it does not seem very strange at all. But behind closed doors, a top Tatemi flooring thick and rich with history and culture, Japan is different. It truly is like no other place in the world. Sometime ago, I thought, perhaps I might be able to 'unravel' Japan. By this I mean get to know how the country worked, what motivated it's people to continue, and how has it come all this way with all it's cultural baggage? And now that almost 6 months have come and gone, I wish to share my findings with you. Although I have procured enough knowledge about this country to last a lifetime, I am nowhere nearer to discovering or 'unraveling' Japan than I was on August 17, 2006, tired, culture shocked, and clueless of what the next coming months would bring. I am nowhere nearer to penetrating the strangeness of this country and it's many secrets. The truth is, I wonder if really I ever will be able to make sense of it all. Japan is a huge mystery and will remain that way for both gaijin and Japanese alike. I think though, that is why I love this amazing country. It's both fascinating beyond words and frustrating beyong belief all in one shot. In many ways, I believe Japan is a truly advanced society and country. And when we as outsiders are critical we need to remember an important philosophy. 'What is right for others, is not always the way it should be done for others.' What we have been taught be our society does not mean that it is right. What it means is that we can live our live by our own ideals, as long as we let others live by theres. An example of this would be a certain dream of many young Japanese girls. Many girls here, with talent, brains, beauty, and imaginations have a dream to grow up, get married, and live life as a housewife. As someone who has grown up being taught to strive for the best and never settle, I get so let down when I listen to a fellow classmate tell me their dream. We can pity them, get annoyed at them, and disagree with them. But then let's ask ourselves this; Is that really wrong? If that dream is deemed as being socially acceptable in the host culture, then is it really a wrong dream? The best we can do is not criticize, but to have no part in it. Understanding Japan, or unraveling it's obvious mysterious, heritage, and people is perplexing, at best. Before coming here, I would never in a million years, have guessed it to be so problematic. I can promise you that no matter what or how many books you read about Japan, not one of them can do much more than give you basic details. Nothing past the surface. The longer I'm here, the more I realize that although Japan is a baffling strange mystery, it's also a living miracle. Just look how far it has come into the world, clinging firmly to tradition and hauling along loads of cultural baggage. No book can accurately explain this, nor can I. I suppose though, no matter what I say, or write, or feel making sense of everything is just impossible. Exactly like trying to fully understand Japan.

A Moment Like This

Somewhere along the line it really hit me smack dap in the face. Yes, these past 8 months living in Japan have turned me into a spoiled brat that it isn't afraid to rough it once in awhile. I think that first night in Kyoto, on the visit from my Mother and Nana on April 1st, this strange knowledge really materialized. While the two Americanized woman slinkered around the room moaning about it's miniature size and wondering aloud how they were going to survive 11 days in rooms this tiny, I was complaing of another thing, something far more gruesome. The toilet seat was not heated. That wasn't the first time it has happened either. But it was the first time that I really realized how spoiled I have become. Here in Japan, there are many many different types of toilets. I can honestly say that I have probably encountered the good majority of them. But first let's consider the ones I encountered while inside the Japanese household. Each family had the basic design of a toilet, in which you sit, do your business, wipe, and flush. But each also had special designs and power that no American toilet has even dreamed of. My first host family, the Masaki's had the most intersting toilet. By the end of my 3 month's with this family, I left fully convinced that the toilet was much smarter than me. The modern toilet in Japan, in English sometimes called Super Toilet, and commonly known in Japanese as Washlet or as warm-water cleaning toilet seat is probably the most advanced type of toilet worldwide, showing a dazzling array of features. And if you don't believe me, look it up. The TOTO product Washlet Zoe is listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the world's most sophisticated toilet with seven functions. And everyone seems to have these Super Toilets, in 2002 it was recorded that half of all private homes in Japan have such a toilet, exceeding the number of households with a personal computer. First off, as soon as you open the door of the bathroom, the toilet lid lifts up automatically, so that you don't have to do it. And then when you plant you tush on the bowl, the pot is hot. Because let's face it, nobody really likes a cold toilet seat. And trust me, this comes in handy on those cold winter nights when one wakes up in need of relief. When one sits on a cold bowl it's like a sudden shock, and we are up for the rest of the night. But it's a very ecomomical seat heater, as well. It measures the temperature of the room, adn when it reaches a certain degree, the heater shuts off. After you sit down the warm potty, the little control panel springs to life, with bright green buttons. There are nearly a dozen of these little buttons, written in Japanese Kanji or course. And for those first few months of my life in Japan, I found myself much too intimidated by the complexity of the panel, to push any of the buttons. I couldn't exactly read them, either. For all I knew, I was pushing the button to start off World War 3, or at the very least, some sort of toilet discomfort alarm. I did eventually tempt fate, and pressed a small button with a curvy W, which I assumed was the universal meaning for buttocks. The result was Julie's first Budet experience. There isn't any word besides interesting, that I can use to describe this particular occurence. I won't go into it, I think you have to try one for yourself to really understand the beauty of the Budet. I did, however, run into a slight a problem: how to turn off the Budet. It had been luck that I was aboe to the decipher the Butt kanji for starting the Budet. But there was no such easy picture to use at this time. I would have gone for help, but then the water from the Budet would shoot up and dampen the entire bathroom. 30 minutes passed, in which I pressed every button at least 10 times, until I figured it out. I walked away from the incident with a rawn romp, and a so-so feeling on the Budet. Although my Nana's experience with her first Budet was for more enlightening. In a hotel in Hiroshima, prior to using the bathroom, my Mom explained to her which buttons would start and end the squirt. She knew what she was doing, when she pressed the button. While my mother and I waited in the next room, the noise of the squirt began. It was followed by an, "Oh! OHHHHHHH!" Mom and I were enraged with laughter, as Nana explained what really happened. She had turned on the frontal Budet. But the amazingness of the Japanese toilet only begins with the Budet. Another great feature is the mock flushing noise it makes, when a special button is pushed. Now we can all assume what this is for, but in the words of my mannerly mother, "If you have the squirts, turn it on. Then you can keep it private." Then there is also the radio, playing the latest Japanese tunes, for a boredom-free potty experience. I've heard of some bowls having massaging features, so that every time you use the Water Closet, it's like going to a private spa. I don't think I would try it if I got the chance, but there is also a Blow Dryer feature. And sometimes you have a toilet seat that talks, saying things I can never understand. Though I'm sure they are cheerful words like, "Do your best!" Just recently, I read somewhere that Will Smith spent $30,000 on the purchase of a Japanese toilet. I wonder what features he got. For that kind of money, the lid better have been lined in gold. But while these toilets of the future of wonderful, there is still another type of toilet, that needs to be discussed. This is a toilet that is as Japanese as Nato, and from some people's point of view, quite as putrid. My first encounter with one of these toilets, was an experience I will never ever forget. It was only 10 days after I had arrived in the land of the Rising Sun, when the Masaki's took me on a trip through the countryside heading to the mighty Shimanto River. In those 10 days, even though I pretty much disliked everything Japanese, I had become accustomed to heated lids. Imagine the shock. Anyway, as I was driving through the lush green Shikoku mountains alongside the crystal ocean, those 3 bottles of Tea suddenly caught up with me. I found myself having to pee like a pregnant woman, except in the middle of nowhere Japan. Luckily, there was a stop, and we pulled into this rural public restroom. I sprinted for the empty stall eager to relieve myself from the pain. But as I opened that stall door, I saw nothing but a white whole attached to a flusher. I smacked myself a few times, and wondered if having to pee really bad cuts off brain circulation. But apparently it doesn't, as my host sister pushed me in to the stall. The traditional Japanese-style toilet is a squat toilet—also. A squat toilet really looks like a miniature urinal rotated 90 degrees and set into the floor. Most squat toilets in Japan are made of porcelain. Instead of sitting, you generally have to squat over the toilet, facing the hood and the wall in the back of the toilet. A shallow trough collects the waste, instead of a large water-filled bowl as in a western toilet. All other fixtures, such as the water tank, piping, and flushing mechanism, may be identical to those of a western toilet. A miracle seemed to happen on my first meeting with a Japanese squatter. I no longer had to pee! The heavens opened up and evaporated it all. I thought that my announcement that I did not have to go would stop an inevitable suffering if I attempted the use of the thing. Instead it made it worse, as I my host parents both showed me examples of how to do it. Both parents, 2 well-to-do, lovely people squatted to show the stupid gaijin how to use one of their homegrown toilets. And they persisted in claiming it was easy, safe, and fun. FUN?! Mortification doesn't even begin to cover how I felt, but I refused to concede. I even made a pact with myself, "I will not use one of those little Japanese holes they call toilets, if it the last thing that I ever do while living on Earth." I also made a pact to never eat Sushi, and that lasted a week. Just like my refusal of the squatter. Now I'm even an advocate of the Squatter. It really is so much cleaner, at least in Public Bathrooms. This is because one's body makes no contact with the toilet whatsoever. Outside the house, I definitely prefer using Squatters over Western bowls (except heater lids on a cold winter night.) That's not to say I want a Squat Toilet in my home, but I'm happy with using them at public restrooms. There is no doubt in my mind that this year has changed me. Maybe for the better, or maybe for the worst, it depends on how you judge a person picky over their toilet seat. I guess I never would have expected a toilet to turn me in a brat, or that I'd not mind roughing it on a Squatter. Too bad I can't just whip out $30,000 and buy one of these those Super Toilets for my house in America. I bet the folks back home would really enjoy it. That is, if they could figure out how to turn it on.

Never Underestimate Japan

I think one of the problems with this world is that we seem to underestimate a certain group of people from stereotype, appearance, power, and in this case, historical happenings. I guess if you want a modern example, you may find it at your local high school. And I'm sure you've heard the saying, 'Be nice to the geeks, they'll probably be your boss one day." But on a more historical note, look at the American Revolution. The United Kingdom in all of it's policies prior to the conflict, never in a million years expected the group of ragtag country bumpkins, who appeared very dependent on the mercantalist system, to turn around and kick the crap out of the UK. And at that time the UK had the world's greatest Navy and a strong battle educated army. What can be said is that the UK underestimated Americans. And that brings me to the country of Japan. Prior to August 17, 2006, when I arrived in the Land of the Rising Sun, I would in fact, tell people I was to spend a year of my life as an exchange student in Japan. I got alot of different and interesting responses. Mostly it would be something like, "Wow! You are going to get to see Geisha/ Samurai/ Manga/ Mt. Fuji/ Anime!" But sometimes I'd get hurtful comments like, "Why? Eww... That's the last place I'd want to go." I often wondered what would propel people to say such nasty things about a country that they probably knew so little about. And I think it comes down to the following. Prior to December 7, 1941, Americans thought little about Japan. In fact, since the beginning of relations between the 2 countries, America considered Japan to be idiosyncratic and backward. We were aware of Japan's aggression in Asia. But hey-who cares about them? There all squinty eyed folks who aren't very smart. Americans never expected the suprise attack on Pearl Harbor, which ultimately made our people open their eyes and realize that Japan needed to be dealt with. But it isn't exactly our fault that we underestimated Japan's power. Japan didn't exactly take up their place as a modern world power. For example, Japan, though it had been around for well over 2,000 years, had only opened to the west about 70 years earlier, when American Commodore Matthew Perry scared the country into signing trade agreements. From that, Japan took small steps to modernize. ANd by small steps, I mean emphasis small greatly. When glass was introduced in the 1870's, Japanese people would actually walk right through the solid barrier. They couldn't belief that anything solid and wall like could be made from anything except rice paper. Stores in Ginza, Tokyo actually had to paint a wide line across the glass with a "This is Glass" sign to ensure that people didn't just walk right into them. Telegrahph lines found Japanese people eagerly watching the cords to 'see' the message. The whole process was labeled as 'Christian deviltry.' Telephones were introduced in 1912, nearly 30 years after the West created them. Everything went smoothly in the getting used to process until an epidemic of Cholera occured in Tokyo. Telephones were blamed because obviously the disease had spread from caller to listener. And what's more in 1923, after the Tokyo region Great Kanto Earthquake, most foreigners were not even rescued and left to die. Why? Because the earthquake was blamed on the anger from the God's about the foreign infiltration of Japan. So to say that we didn't have reason for underestimating them is wrong, but we did overlook some major occurences. Manchester, England, looking for customers outside the country, had people teach the Japanese to spin yarn and sell looms. Soon, Japan was booming and began sending their yarn all around the world. They even began inventing better machines and came up with a system where one woman could work up to 60 machines at one time. Manchester woman could only work 8 at a time. And thus the world was flooded with Japanese cotton, usually about a tenth of the price of Manchester cotton. When the British returned to Japan, the empire in which they had created, it was to buy rights for the looms they had essentially pioneered. And later, Japan's silk industry boomed until the world was introduced to fake silk, called Rayon, which was cheaper and pretty much the same thing. Japan promptly stole the idea of silk rayon from competitors. While putting their own silk industry in crisis, Japan became the world's leader in Rayon. But perhaps the greatest of all things that we overlooked took place in the form of in the Meiji Restoration, or the modernization of Japan. No one had believed that a non-Western country could accomplish it, especially with no help from Western sources of ideology. The leaders of the nation were given free reign to form what they thought best for a government, and the started on the fundamentals and saved less essential stuff for last. Later modernizing countries could have learned alot from the Japanese example. Japan did not jump into the process expecting to achieve all at once, industrialization or whichever form of government they set out to obtain. Japan started modernizing from the bottom by emphasizing primary education rather than second, agriculture and simple industries over modern world competition. They experimented until they succeeded, which resulted in little turmoil and great accomplishment. And we all overlooked these examples. The only people to never underestimate the Japan, are in fact, the Japanese. They have always put faith into their ideas and their culture, which is more than can be said than most. It can be seen in the the following intersting examples. World War II stimulated inventions in the weirdest forms. The US and Britain, Japan's major suppliers, had cut off the country from all it's much needed resources. But the country was at war and it needed to find a way to be able to keep alive it's resources. The Japanese inventors began with making radios from waste fiber, for felt they used seaweed and peanut mix. Fish skins became leather, while the substituted wood with soybeans, and Phongraphic needles were made from Bamboo. They also changed their machines from running on gas to running on charcoal. And then there have been the individual Japanese genius inventors. Just look at the name of your electronics to name a few. My favorite story is that of Mikimoto Kokichim, a poor vegetable salesman with a dream to cultivate beloved pearls, rather than painfully annoying process of searching in every shell. He took out a loan against everything he owned, and regardless of the many complications imposed by nature, Kokichi pledged to commit every fiber of his being to the task and he had the stubborn confidence to turn mighty nature into his ally. 5 years after he began he raised one of the bamboo oyster baskets out of the water, opened one of the oysters, and there, inside the shell, he discovered a shining pearl. This was the first time in history that a human being had ever created a pearl. Living in another country has taught me so many things. One of these lessons is that we really are capable of anything we put our minds to, reagrdless of the given circumstances. But probably the most important thing is that we should never underestimate the power of a given people based stereotype, appearance, power, or history. And finally, look at the Japanese, and never underestimate yourself. I think back to those horrible comments like, "Ew! Why would you every want to go to Japan?" and I really can't help but laugh. When will people learn?

Today is April 16th

Today it is cold in Kochi, I felt my spine shiver as I rode my bicycle across the Kagami Rover on my way to school. It was an eerie uncomftorbale chill, that is rare for April, when the Spring is in full bloom. Now, a light rain is falling and piercing the windows to which I am looking out. The beloved Japanese Sakura flowers have withered away and are being washed away with the rain. A light thunder echoes across the lush mountains in the distance. But it is not peaceful, as the gentle rain should be. Beyond the protective Shikokan mountains, providing Kochi with all the isolation is could ever want, is a world in madness. Tuesday brought in the news from my home country, America. 32 innocent college students had been brutally murdered in their safe campus, Virginia Tech. Details flooded in that the murderer was just another student, with a gun and a life full of hate. And as the world watched the tears and the heartbreak, a light snow seemed to fall on the torn campus. As Japanese people shook their heads in pity, remarking about how how unsafe guns are in the hands of civilians, the mayor of Nagasaki was killed. He was shot dead by the Japanese mafia, after standing behind his city in punishing the gangsters. And while the mayor's daughter weeped for her father, a light rain began to fall. I don't know enough about Global Warming to take a stance on it. But it's impossible to deny that 250,000 are without power in the eastern United States from a Nor'Easter, in April. While Anna Nicole Smith's daughter, truly has a father, Sanjaya looks to take the American Idol competition. While most of America sits puzzled about how a boy with a terrible voice has made it this far in the competition, North Korea looks to continue it's Nuclear program. Iran is also continuing to ignore UN sanctions on it's newly formed Nuclear power. I learned the meaning of Terrorism at 10 years old, when I peered out my front window and saw smoke coming from New York City. It was September the 11th, 2001. I had my heart shatttered while imagining the destroyed lives of those children in Hiroshima during the world's first A-bomb explosion. I know the feeling of not being safe, in one's own house, state, or country. At 16, I've been lucky enough to do more traveling than most get to do in their lives. Every country is different, yet nothing is better or worse. The world is full of beauty in people, cultures, lands, and hearts. Our Earth is such an incredible place. Yet so full of hate. Today is April 16th. There is nothing uncommon about today. It's just a normal day for our world. And the rain continues to fall....

Toilets- Because They Really Are Different

Somewhere along the line it really hit me smack dap in the face. Yes, these past 8 months living in Japan have turned me into a spoiled brat that it isn't afraid to rough it once in awhile. I think that first night in Kyoto, on the visit from my Mother and Nana on April 1st, this strange knowledge really materialized. While the two Americanized woman slinkered around the room moaning about it's miniature size and wondering aloud how they were going to survive 11 days in rooms this tiny, I was complaing of another thing, something far more gruesome. The toilet seat was not heated. That wasn't the first time it has happened either. But it was the first time that I really realized how spoiled I have become. Here in Japan, there are many many different types of toilets. I can honestly say that I have probably encountered the good majority of them. But first let's consider the ones I encountered while inside the Japanese household. Each family had the basic design of a toilet, in which you sit, do your business, wipe, and flush. But each also had special designs and power that no American toilet has even dreamed of. My first host family, the Masaki's had the most intersting toilet. By the end of my 3 month's with this family, I left fully convinced that the toilet was much smarter than me. The modern toilet in Japan, in English sometimes called Super Toilet, and commonly known in Japanese as Washlet or as warm-water cleaning toilet seat is probably the most advanced type of toilet worldwide, showing a dazzling array of features. And if you don't believe me, look it up. The TOTO product Washlet Zoe is listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the world's most sophisticated toilet with seven functions. And everyone seems to have these Super Toilets, in 2002 it was recorded that half of all private homes in Japan have such a toilet, exceeding the number of households with a personal computer. First off, as soon as you open the door of the bathroom, the toilet lid lifts up automatically, so that you don't have to do it. And then when you plant you tush on the bowl, the pot is hot. Because let's face it, nobody really likes a cold toilet seat. And trust me, this comes in handy on those cold winter nights when one wakes up in need of relief. When one sits on a cold bowl it's like a sudden shock, and we are up for the rest of the night. But it's a very ecomomical seat heater, as well. It measures the temperature of the room, adn when it reaches a certain degree, the heater shuts off. After you sit down the warm potty, the little control panel springs to life, with bright green buttons. There are nearly a dozen of these little buttons, written in Japanese Kanji or course. And for those first few months of my life in Japan, I found myself much too intimidated by the complexity of the panel, to push any of the buttons. I couldn't exactly read them, either. For all I knew, I was pushing the button to start off World War 3, or at the very least, some sort of toilet discomfort alarm. I did eventually tempt fate, and pressed a small button with a curvy W, which I assumed was the universal meaning for buttocks. The result was Julie's first Budet experience. There isn't any word besides interesting, that I can use to describe this particular occurence. I won't go into it, I think you have to try one for yourself to really understand the beauty of the Budet. I did, however, run into a slight a problem: how to turn off the Budet. It had been luck that I was aboe to the decipher the Butt kanji for starting the Budet. But there was no such easy picture to use at this time. I would have gone for help, but then the water from the Budet would shoot up and dampen the entire bathroom. 30 minutes passed, in which I pressed every button at least 10 times, until I figured it out. I walked away from the incident with a rawn romp, and a so-so feeling on the Budet. Although my Nana's experience with her first Budet was for more enlightening. In a hotel in Hiroshima, prior to using the bathroom, my Mom explained to her which buttons would start and end the squirt. She knew what she was doing, when she pressed the button. While my mother and I waited in the next room, the noise of the squirt began. It was followed by an, "Oh! OHHHHHHH!" Mom and I were enraged with laughter, as Nana explained what really happened. She had turned on the frontal Budet. But the amazingness of the Japanese toilet only begins with the Budet. Another great feature is the mock flushing noise it makes, when a special button is pushed. Now we can all assume what this is for, but in the words of my mannerly mother, "If you have the squirts, turn it on. Then you can keep it private." Then there is also the radio, playing the latest Japanese tunes, for a boredom-free potty experience. I've heard of some bowls having massaging features, so that every time you use the Water Closet, it's like going to a private spa. I don't think I would try it if I got the chance, but there is also a Blow Dryer feature. And sometimes you have a toilet seat that talks, saying things I can never understand. Though I'm sure they are cheerful words like, "Do your best!" Just recently, I read somewhere that Will Smith spent $30,000 on the purchase of a Japanese toilet. I wonder what features he got. For that kind of money, the lid better have been lined in gold. But while these toilets of the future of wonderful, there is still another type of toilet, that needs to be discussed. This is a toilet that is as Japanese as Nato, and from some people's point of view, quite as putrid. My first encounter with one of these toilets, was an experience I will never ever forget. It was only 10 days after I had arrived in the land of the Rising Sun, when the Masaki's took me on a trip through the countryside heading to the mighty Shimanto River. In those 10 days, even though I pretty much disliked everything Japanese, I had become accustomed to heated lids. Imagine the shock. Anyway, as I was driving through the lush green Shikoku mountains alongside the crystal ocean, those 3 bottles of Tea suddenly caught up with me. I found myself having to pee like a pregnant woman, except in the middle of nowhere Japan. Luckily, there was a stop, and we pulled into this rural public restroom. I sprinted for the empty stall eager to relieve myself from the pain. But as I opened that stall door, I saw nothing but a white whole attached to a flusher. I smacked myself a few times, and wondered if having to pee really bad cuts off brain circulation. But apparently it doesn't, as my host sister pushed me in to the stall. The traditional Japanese-style toilet is a squat toilet—also. A squat toilet really looks like a miniature urinal rotated 90 degrees and set into the floor. Most squat toilets in Japan are made of porcelain. Instead of sitting, you generally have to squat over the toilet, facing the hood and the wall in the back of the toilet. A shallow trough collects the waste, instead of a large water-filled bowl as in a western toilet. All other fixtures, such as the water tank, piping, and flushing mechanism, may be identical to those of a western toilet. A miracle seemed to happen on my first meeting with a Japanese squatter. I no longer had to pee! The heavens opened up and evaporated it all. I thought that my announcement that I did not have to go would stop an inevitable suffering if I attempted the use of the thing. Instead it made it worse, as I my host parents both showed me examples of how to do it. Both parents, 2 well-to-do, lovely people squatted to show the stupid gaijin how to use one of their homegrown toilets. And they persisted in claiming it was easy, safe, and fun. FUN?! Mortification doesn't even begin to cover how I felt, but I refused to concede. I even made a pact with myself, "I will not use one of those little Japanese holes they call toilets, if it the last thing that I ever do while living on Earth." I also made a pact to never eat Sushi, and that lasted a week. Just like my refusal of the squatter. Now I'm even an advocate of the Squatter. It really is so much cleaner, at least in Public Bathrooms. This is because one's body makes no contact with the toilet whatsoever. Outside the house, I definitely prefer using Squatters over Western bowls (except heater lids on a cold winter night.) That's not to say I want a Squat Toilet in my home, but I'm happy with using them at public restrooms. There is no doubt in my mind that this year has changed me. Maybe for the better, or maybe for the worst, it depends on how you judge a person picky over their toilet seat. I guess I never would have expected a toilet to turn me in a brat, or that I'd not mind roughing it on a Squatter. Too bad I can't just whip out $30,000 and buy one of these those Super Toilets for my house in America. I bet the folks back home would really enjoy it. That is, if they could figure out how to turn it on.

Having Hope in Hiroshima

It had to happen. I had always believed that, and going to the Hiroshima Peace Memorial at the very spot made me question that belief. What I'm referring to was the fateful August 6, 1945, when an American bomber dropped the world's first Atomic bomb on enemy territoty in the Japanese coastal city of Hiroshima, killing nearly 80, 000 in one instant. I think I first really learned about what happened to the city of Hiroshima as a 6th grade student, when the class read a book told from one of the hibakusha, or bomb victims. I recall our furthur assignment was to make a Powerpoint presentation on something that had to do with the city. I chose to do what life was like Before and After the bomb. It was the year that we were all taught that the bombing was a complete necessity for both America and Japan. It saved countless lives of Americans, and probably many Japanese as well. It quickly ended the war and brought the country of Japan in to the 21st century. Now there isn't anything wrong with this belief, but it seems to tell only one side. The United States in the latter days of World War II, was faced with a terrible dilemma. The Japanese were a proud, courageous and determined people. Japanese men, women and children were willing to die for the emperor. The invasion of Japan was necessary to end the war, because the Japanese would "lose face" if they considered surrender. In August of 1944, war in Europe was over and the face off between the United States and Japan had finally arrived. The United States had to choose between sending hundreds of thousands of its soldiers, many freshly off the battlefields of Europe, to invade Japan killing and being killed by the hundreds of thousands, or dropping a newly developed weapon called the atomic bomb on two cities in Japan which would result in tens of thousands of civilian lives with little cost to US servicemen. The only hope of ending the war quickly and honorably was to drop the bombs. Calls for surrender were ignored and repugnent to the Japanese hierarchy; Okinawa and Iwo Jima had shown clearly what an invasion of Japan would be like. The decision was made, the bombs were dropped, the war was ended and both military and civilian lives were saved by both countries. I hear many people tell me that what my country did to Japan in World War II was inhumane and downright wrong. I always listen to their point of views, though I have one thing to say about everything. It is very hard to walk in the shoes of the people who made the decisions in 1945. Especially when some of the greatest "concerns" people have today are what Brittany Spears is doing or who just got booted off of American Idol. How could a president, or the others charged with responsibility for the decision, answer to the American people, if, after the bloodbath of an invasion of Japan, it became known that a weapon sufficient to end the war had been available by midsummer and was not used? Japan was given a similair decision after the defeats in Iwo Jima and Okinawa, and the Unconditional Surrender. Except that the government, run by the military, ignored the inevitable. In war, the objective is to defeat your enemy and keep your own men alive. The point of war is to win, not to make friends. When it comes to war, the moral thoughts that govern society are not the same morals that govern the military. One important argument I learned at the museum had to do with the American and Russian rivalry. The bomb was to announce to the world American superiority. It would also stop any Russian advance against Japan and create a situation, as happened, in which the US would dominate the occupation of Japan. The invasion was set for November 1, 1945. By that time, the USSR would have fought long enough to have a say in the partition of the Japanese island group and perhaps even Tokyo itself. The impact of Soviet occupation upon Japan and the part it could have played in Korea and the Cold War cannot be calculated. The only thing I want to point out is that Russia occupied Germany, and failed to leave it without a Communism government. If Russia had occupied Japan, the possibilities of an actual Cold War are really endless. Upon entering the museum, I first noticed that simplicity surrounded by silence. It was very crowded, but no one was speaking, only reading and learning. The first part of the museum described the history of the city of Hiroshima, prior to the bombing. It showed that it was a mere farm town, built up because of it's prosperous castle. Into World War II, the city became an area of manufacturing goods for the war, with a prime port location. It told that in 1945, Hiroshima, like the rest of Japan, realized that the war was becoming hopeless. Yet they refused to surrender and would die for their emperor and their land. As we walked furthur into the building, a lit up container with a small beat up looking wristwatch separated the life of Hiroshima before the bombings and after. The wristwatch is stopped at 8:15, when the atomic bomb was dropped. The museum was incredible. There is really no other way to describe the different emotions you are stricken with. One moment you feel of relief that the war was brought to an end, that lives were saved of Americans and Japanese, while the next you shattered to pieces thinking about all the deaths brought on by one powerful work of man. Some information shows you the reasons that the bomb was absolutely necessary, while other pictures and artifacts make you feel that nothing so painful could really be humane. The middle part of the museum presented information about the current state of nuclear weapons and the world. It called for the disarming of all weapons. A task easier said than done. All the information was presented in entirity and fairly. There was no unlawful blaming or harsh words involved. There was only hope. The museum could make anyone a believer that peace on earth is possible, even if only, briefly, before stepping out in to the real world. But still something happened to me during my visit. Something I did not quite expect, and can not fully explain. Something inside of me snapped, and I found myself in tears. Tears that meant little to anyone but myself as I thought about all that has happened to me on my exchange to Japan. It was in the Main building, or the final part of the museum before the exit. The exhibit was really about what happened to the lives of some victims, or hibakusha in Hiroshima. The pictures of death were brutal, but did not affect me like one particular item. The item, located in a room about the broken lives of children, was a grey and blue sailor school uniform, resting peacefully in a glass exhibit. Had it been before the morning of August 6, it would have been a white and navy blue, with probably a matching necktie, and navy blue skirt. Now it is tattered, charred, and containing all of the elements of death. The student, Nobuko Oshita, was a first-year student at First Hiroshima Prefectural Girls High School, who was exposed to the bomb at her building demolition work site. She fled to a nearby city and stayed at a private house until evening. Relief corps workers, returned her to her parents in Otake. She was still alive when she arrived. She told her parents what had happened to her and asked for water. She died later that night. This summer uniform is one she sewed herself, in which she died wearing. Almost the same kind that my friends and I at Tosajoshi, my host school, wear during the warm months. Nobuko was just one of the girls, I eat lunch with everyday. The girls that are always laughing, singing, chatting with friends, talking about boys, dreaming of what's next to come, and studying hard for a bright future. And all in one instant her life was destroyed by a war, she had little to do with. And I imagined her face, but all I could see was the faces of my friends at school. And I lost it. My Mom did not understand why I was crying. She told me to stop it, once she saw the tears. I understand why she told me to stop now. It's hard to imagine not having lived this year in Japan, but I sometimes forget that it's my life, something that others haven't been involved in. There is a good chance that no one in that museum on that day had the experience I had. No one had to picture their new friends, some of the kindest people in the world, in a charred school girl uniform. A wasted life by a war that they had not asked for. Yes, I do believe that Hiroshima had to happen. And I think that the world needs to see what happened here in Hiroshima. They need to see why it happened, who it affected, and why it can not under any circumstances happen again. Because inside that glass building, full of eternal sadness, reason, and truth, is a place of a hope.

All Shook Up

I'm writing this, later to be typed, with the worst case of shaking hands and a feeling that I can only accurately describe as, 'freaked out.' I am Julie Garner, tough as nails, and virtually not afraid of anything. Yet something happened just a few hours ago, that really jolted me. I lived through my first somewhat major earthquake. If you live in the country of Japan for a year, you better expect the occasional ground movement. But I was placed on Shikoku, with not quite as many active fault lines as the Tokyo and Osaka regions. While Hokkaido was hit in November, Ishigawa in March, I was nice and safe in the isolation of Shikoku. Or so I thought. It happened during my 1st period class of Thursday, April 27, 2007. I was teaching English with fellow gaijin, Paula Fabian, to a small group of Middle School 1st grade students. It was such a great day, the weather was beautiful, and the girls were really interested in the lesson. The lesson, however, was actually fairly difficult. Paula and I were working on pronunciations of sounds that aren't found in the Japanese alphabet. Nonetheless, the girls were really determined to try their hardest. We started the day with practicing pronouncing by as in rugby, py as in happy, and other y-type sounds. I walked around the room, while small groups of girls took their turns practicing. I corrected them when it was necessary, and praised them when they deserved it. Things were going wonderfully. The next part of the lesson, found me and Paula in the front of the room speaking. I waited on the side of the Teacher's podium, as Paula taught. Standing their, Idid the most unlady-like thing and placed my left foot in the chair. I probably looked like a lumber jack, but I didn't care. And then a heavy shaking started. My first thought was not exactly alarmingly. I have this nasty leg shaking habit, so I immediately assumed it was that. Shaking your leg in the Japanese culture is seen as having no money. I think it's just one of those weird cultural baggage things that nobody can rightfully explain. My brain told me leg to stop shaking, while also getting weird signals that the other leg was shaking. I looked down to see that it wasn't me. I couldn't stop the shaking, which was suddenly giving my brain air drill type alarms. I turned to Paula, first seeing her rather alarmed expression, and could only stammer, "It's not me that's shaking..." Before I could finish the word shaking, screaming broke out from the students. These 12 year-old girls are brand new to the school, and rarely know what's going on. Not that any of knew what was going on at that point. Paula suddenly took control of the situation, in English, I might add. She loudly urged everyone to hurry up and get under their desks. The girls kept on screaming as they leaped under the wooden desks. Fear raged through the room, as the sound of rattling desks and book bags overtook the screams. I found myself bursting into tears as I shouted to Paula, "What is it?" She turned to me, eyes widen to the point of probable pain, confusion and fear swirling in her mind, as she said in a voice filled with a sudden power, "Get under a desk. Now. Earthquake." I couldn't move. I was frozen, while everything around me was shifting from side to side. My legs had become suddenly glued to the floor, and my thoughts ran wild without purpose. I was scared to death and watching the 1st year girls take control of everything. The screaming ceased all at once, and everyone but Paula and I were secured under a desk, prepared for the worst. And then just as soon as the shaking began, it stopped with a halt. The desks remained motionless, and the girls stayed quiet. Paula looked at me, she must have seen a the most terrified looking human being in the world. "Are you okay?" she questioned. I suddenly was brought back out of my horror imagination. "I- I-," I could barely finish the sentence, for a new sensation was stabbing at me, "I gotta use the bathroom." She quickly smiled, trying to suppress a laughter, "Go!" And like that I scurried out of the room and sprinted to the nearest bathroom. Along the way I passed another classroom being quieted by my school counselor, who seemed very alarmed. When he saw me, his face turned from calm to an enraged expression. I knew then that Paula was going to catch trouble for letting me out. But she didn't have any other choice. I'm sure upon letting me go, she remembered her first earthquake. Not that it prompted her to wet herself, but it probably scared the crap out of her. I hate to admit this, but my bathroom sprint didn't really matter much. I wet my pants for the first time since I got out of diapers. In the toilet stall, I went to the bathroom, knowing that at any second the after shock would probably strike. I was not emotionally ready for that occurrence, but I hurried back to the room nonetheless. I passed the same rooms again, noticing that everyone was still tucked in safe under the desks. The after shock would be coming. Finally I reached my room, to see that the girls were already back in their seats listening to Paula talk about the pronunciation of RY. I interrupted that they were still supposed to be under the desk, but Paula wanted to move on as quickly as possible. The announcements came on soon enough, and announced that it was indeed, over with. I'd like to say that was a feeling of relief, but it wasn't. I was still too shaken to think straight. For the rest of the class, Paula bounced around class with enthusiasm and cheeriness correcting and applauding students with their English. I envied her, because I wasn't able to move. My body felt so heavy, and every time I got up, my legs would start shaking uncontrollably. I found a nice cool desk that I parked down on for the rest of the period. I got a nice view of the window, where I watched the staff hard at work. Teacher's who did not have to teach on that period, where hobbling around the school looking for damage or students in trouble. It didn't exactly give me a warm feeling. When the class ended, I realized that I had to move, get up, and leave. The girls said goodbye in their cheery, happy-go-lucky, young school girl voices. I found myself amazed that they had so quickly forgot about what had just happened. But I guess, if you have had to live with these things since birth, you have a different attitude. Paula knew it had really freaked me out. Together, we met up with Craig, a fellow gaijin teacher and Kochi resident. He and Paula both got a good laugh about my little bathroom problem, and talked about their first earthquakes. Paula recalled in 1995, during the Kobe earthquake, Shikoku got hit pretty bad as well. She lives on the 7th floor of an apartment building with steel door hinges. The hinges don't allow the doors to open during movement. So that when the quake struck, she panicked and believed that for sure, the building was going to collapse. They admitted that although today's tremor wasn't quite as serious as it could have been, we were in the worst spot for it to happen. We were teaching on the first floor of a 5 storey building. The 5th floor is home to a full pool. The conversation ended with, "There comes to a certain point when you just know. And then, you gotta just get the hell out of the building." The rest of the day sort of drifted by with me going in and out of reality. In 2nd period, I found out that I had lived through a 4 size quake on the Japanese scale. The Japanese "shindo" scale for measuring earthquakes is more commonly used in Japan than the Richter scale. Shindo refers to the intensity of an earthquake at a given location, or what people actually feel at a given location, while the Richter scale measures the magnitude of an earthquake, which is the the energy an earthquake releases at the epicenter. The shindo scale ranges from shindo one, a slight earthquake felt only by people who are not moving, to shindo seven, a severe earthquake. Shindo two to four are still minor earthquakes that do not cause damage, while objects start to fall at shindo five, and heavier damage occurs at shindo six and seven. The quake was magnitude 5.4 earthquake that was centered on the island of Shikoku, across the Seto Inland sea from Hiroshima at 9:03 a.m. local time. Quakes of magnitude 5 and more can cause considerable damage. For 3rd period I returned to teach with Paula in the middle school. Nothing had changed, and I was still pretty shaky. By the end of the class, I realized I couldn't go on much more like this. I turned to Paula and said, "Please don't think I'm really dramatic or something. But that thing really gave me a scare. I can't do much more today as a functioning person." She smiled and admitted that she understood better than I thought, gave me a good hiding spot in the school, and advice to keep it easy. When I eventually returned to my class at 6th period, my friends found themselves choking with laughter over my first experience. Chiake went on about her story, of being 5 years old when the great 1995 Kobe earthquake happened. She was lying in bed, when the tremors woke her up. Her Mom ran into the room and picked her up, and together they ran outside. What was I doing at 5 years old? Playing Hiding Seek in the Yard and not worrying about sudden deadly tremors. I think back on the incidents, and I can't believe just how freaked out I really was. I was in tears, and for the whole day my heart was racing. I try to figure out why it happened to me like that. I mean, I know most exchange students get used to them so quickly, that it doesn't even bother them after awhile. Maybe because this was my first experience with a decent sized quake that I was so shaken up. There is other reasons too. When I was frozen, unable to jump to safety, it's not as though my life flashed before my eyes or anything silly like that. But it did wake me up to another thing. I'm not a big fan of the quote, "live everyday like it's your last." Yet something as quick and sudden as an earthquake puts life into perspective. I mean one minute you maybe laughing and joking sharing the joys and horrors of the English language, while the next you are hidden under a desk fearing for your life by something you can't control. Life is so unpredictable, and often just down right scary.

The Concert~ Prologue

I am a Koto player. And that's saying something because I have almost no musical ability whatsoever. And in case, you didn't know, the Koto is a Japanese Harp. The Koto is made of Paulownia wood, is about six feet long and ten inches wide, and has thirteen strings of equal size and tension. A bridge is placed under each string. Moving the bridge up or down results in an infinite range of tunings. The strings are plucked with deer anter finger pieces worn on the thumb, index, and middle fingers of the right hand. It's really a beautiful instrument, though I may be a little biased in that opinion. I've been playing it since November, and have loved it ever since I started. Of course back in the beginning I couldn't remember what the strings were located, and had to use a cheat tape. But now I can remember and play all 13 strings. Since I last wrote about the Koto and my exchange, alot has happened. Starting the Koto by joining was difficult enough, but I soon realized that I had made the right decision. (see Jurie Ganaa the Musician for more information) After the disappointing Jingle Bells concert, in which I did horribly but realized that I had made some of great friends, a bunch of new things happened. I bought my very own pair of Tsume, or the deer antler hand finger pieces for the thumb, middle, and index finger. These pieces are crucial for the success of playing. I showed everyone just how much I wanted to be in the club. And thus, the teachers gave me my very own music to play, Sakura 21. The only problem was that the teacher's didn't seem to want to show me how to play, and left it up to the club leader, Chiake Yamanaka. Chiake would later become my very best Japanese friend, but she was really busy with her own song. I gradually learned to play the music all by myself. So twice a week, on either Monday or Tuesday and Friday, I headed straight from class or cleaning to the Tatemi floored Koto room for practice. For January and February, I still used the cheat tape to inform me what string was the one I was supposed to be playing. But one day, Chiake watched me play the whole version of the song, smiled and then pulled off on the cheat tape. I was horrified and really freaked out on her. Her smile never faltered, but when I was finished she asked me to play the song without the tape. I found that I could remember where the strings were located with almost no problem. She laughed as I begged for forgiveness, and glorified at my new skill. It was the last step out of the very beginner stages of learning to play the Koto. At practice, I arrive, usually in the company of Yukimi or Chiake. Since we are all the 2nd years on High School or, Ko Ninensei, we are all essentially the leaders of the club. Because we are also almost the oldest members, known as Sempie, every one of the juniors, or Kohi, treats us with utmost respect. They address us in the respectful language, bow, and always make sure that we are comfortable and don't have to do the harder work. I understand that it's very respectful and it's been happening since the beginning of time, but it really kind of bothers me. It's like saying age is more important than skill. Often I am refusing to accept the help of a junior if I know I can do it myself. And I usually ignore them if they call me, "Julie-SAN," (putting that into English it would be sort of like calling me, "Ms. Garner.") As leaders, we are all in charge of getting set up. Chiake is the club captain, and it is she who decides what songs are rehearsed and who gets parts in the music. While she walks around like a drill sargent, I usually dance around and sing with Yukimi and Yokoyama and Taco. Sometimes if Chiake gets in mean mode, I run around and lighten the mood by putting papers on her uniform secretly, or imitating her behind her back. The Kohi love when someone is embarrassing Chiake, and I do a pretty job. Meanwhile, the rest of the girls are putting out big mats on the Tatemi floor, so to protect the straw from the Koto stands. Then they set up their Koto's in either the Tatemi rooms or the Art practice room, where I am usually placed. It's weird for me to admit this, but I owe these girls a great deal of gratitude. They don't know it, and I don't think I will ever tell them this. They don't need to know, but it is the truth. Chiake, Yukimi, Yokoyama, Taco, Airi, Casami, and Yuki are the best school friends I have made on this year to Japan. These girls are only names to you, but they are the Tosajoshi Ko Ninensei Koto members that have put up with me since I started playing in November. And if that isn't suprising enough, they even call me one of their own, a real member of the club, rather than just a mascot, like most exchange students in Japanese clubs. Though they don't know this part. In January and half of February, I was going through a very difficult time in my exchange. The weather was bitterly cold and making me physically sick, home room friends were getting annoyed with me, and worst of all my host family life was miserable. Instead of letting it all ruin my wonderful year, I turned to the 2 things that had always been consistantly amazing to me; the first host family, and the Koto club. With the Koto club, I found the greatest most kind people who made me believe that things were definitely going to get better. Even if only in the world of music. I think it's because of this reason that this concert means so very much to me. Anyway, after fooling around, getting respect, we don't really deserve, the teachers enter the scene. The Kubamoto's are a mother and daughter Koto teaching team. I have a so-so feeling on those two. They were nice enough to give me a part in the concert, but wouldn't help me until I started paying the montly fee. After that, I even got private lessons from the daughter. She taught me a specific way to strum the strings that is much more easy for someone with long fingers. In mid-February, CHiake even took me to their studio for a private lesson, which turned into a complete disaster. The Mother actually held my hand throughout the song without me even able to show that I could do it. It was also around this time that they wanted to change my song into something easier. But I worked really hard and ended up proving myself to everyone. Including myself. And that brings me to the concert. On April 28, 2007, at Kochi City's Green Hall, the Tosajoshi Koto Club will be performing a large concert. There are 500 tickets available, while 600 people were invited. The reason that they give out so many is because most people end up not being able to come. This year, it is predicted, to be a huge exception, Cniake informed me with a suspicious smile upon her face. She went on to tell that they tickets were sold out, many weeks before the event was really advertised, because they had tried a different approach to publicity. I was curious about this approach, though I secretly knew it involved yours truly. And sure enough, I was right. The girls advertised that an American exchange student would be playing the beloved Sakura 21, this song is like the epotomie of Yankee Doodle Dandy in America, in that everyone knows it from childhood. The tickets sold out as quick as they began advertising that aspect, and I believe there is even a waiting list. There is just one slight problem: I have a gift and a curse. My gift is the ability to do a public speech in front of 2,000 school girls in a language I could barely understand, let alone speak. My curse is that because I have the musical ability of roadkill, I can't act, sing, dance, or play an instrument in the presence of more than a few people. If this makes any sense at all, then please explain it to me. Recently, with the rapidly approaching oncert, we've been doing alot of practice. During Spring Break, I came for many of the morning practices, until I left for the Grand Japan Tour. Before I left, I had a completely disgraceful performance, and one near perfect one. And when Mom, Nana, and I arrived in Kochi in mid-April, my club treated us to a mini concert. They played many world pieces for Mom and Nana, in addition to the song most often played in Japanese festivals. When it was my turn to play Sakura 21 for my family, I did pretty poorly. I had a couple freeze ups, one in which my music would turn the right way and I was stuck playing from my memory. Chiake, sitting behind me, saw my dilemma, and threw me her music, enabling me to perform a strong finish. It was a great experience for Mom and Nana, who had visualized the Koto as a small quieter instrument, and were suprised beyond words that I could actually play something. Mom pointed out, referring to Chiake's saving move, that I had some wonderful new friends. She had know idea. The fact is, I'm so nervous for this concert that words don't acurately describe it. I took a sick day yesterday, but was so scared that I didn't get in extra practice, that I biked to school to play the instrument, with a headache of the world kind. It's like for all that these girls have done for me, I mean by this, that they have been there whenever I needed friends, I don't want to let them down. I can't let them down. They believe in me. I'm the only one is a little unsure of myself. I want this night to be the one that everyone remembers for the exchange student and her friends playing a great version of Sakura 21. I want Chiake and Yukimi and the rest of the girls to tell me that I did fabulous and know that it really is the truth. Because for how much support and love these girls have shown me, it's the least I could do for them. Here I go...

The Concert

Outsukaresamadeshita! The full meaning behind this word can't be translated into English. I've come to find that many Japanese words are like that, and many English words have the same issue. But the best way to describe the meaning is something like, "It's over." And by it, I'm referring to the thing that for the past few weeks has been the most important thing in my life; my Koto concert. To start, I really love playing the Koto. It's like when the Tsume are on my fingers, plucking the strings, and making a gorgeous melody, things just make sense. That's not to say I'm very good at it. But I like playing the instrument, and that's what really counts. One thing I like just as much, if not better than playing the Koto, is my club members. The girls that are also in my grade are the most amazing girls I have ever met. They have all been friends from the club for many years, and have only known me since November. Yet it doesn't seem to matter, because everyday, they make me feel like I am just one of the girls. And there is no better than feeling than that. Since the moment by cell phone alarm rang that morning, I had a horrible nervous feeling eating away at my insides. The previous night I had a nightmare about the concert. The nightmare included me messing up and then walking off stage in the middle of the concert, humiliating my club members and myself. I trudged to complete my morning routine, knowing that the concert was approaching at an alarming rate. At 8:10, Chiake and her father picked me up from in front the house on the way to school. Since later that night I would be driving home with the Osaki's, it would be an inconvenience to have my bicycle. Chiake lives only 5 minutes away from the Osaki's and volunteered to give me a ride. She burst into laughter upon seeing my face, which much have resembled a dog about to throw up. Together, we got dropped off an a Convenience Store and bought lunch, not that we would have much time to eat it. Soon we made out way to school, Chiake squeezing my arm and telling me not to be nervous. Easier said than done. For the High School and Middle School members of the Tosajoshi Koto club, the concert started as soon the final school bell rang on April 28, 2007. My classmates, the Ko Ninensee girls must have flew over to Green Hall. I was teaching English in the Middle School, and by the time I got back, Chiake and everyone had already left. I wasn't worried though, because I soon found the High School 1st Grade, Ko Ichinensee, members of the club. Together we took the 20 minute walk through the middle of the city to Kochi Prefecture Green Hall, where the concert would be held later that day. A few of the Middle School girls, who were having their very first Koto concert, looked and felt about as nervous as I did. And it was quite a relief to see. As soon as we arrived, even before we could put down our bags, we were needed to carry in the Koto's. There were more Koto's than there were members, and they aren't exactly the lightest things to carry over long distance, so it was quite a hassle. The Koto with 17 strings is supposed to be carried by 2 girls because it is twice as heavy and a lot longer than the usual 13 stringed instrument. And as I waited for help, nobody came. So I carried this incredibly enormous and heavy wooden instrument through the entire Green Hall, while many of the little Middle School girls watched in awe. It was probably something like Goliath carrying a coffin for a giraffe. As I placed it down on the ground, hoping for a gold medal or at least a 10 minute break, I was whisked a bag full of the little bridges you place under the strings for tuning. So before I could catch my breath, I was onto the next task. The Ko Ichinensee saved me at some point. Together we ate lunch, which took about 3 whopping minutes. I pretty much tipped the salad bowl in the my mouth and swallowed whole. Back in the main hall, we were putting on bridges under the strings, tuning, and working hard. I don't know how to tune the Koto yet, so I ended up becoming a Taxi cab for the instrument, up and down the stairs with the long wooden instrument I traveled. I hope you understand what I mean when I say that it was tiring. But there was one good aspect about the whole thing. I had no time to let the nervousness catch up with me. That was until we were finished. At around 4 the Koto Taxi, was finished with her duties. I had an hour and half to kill before the beginning of the concert. During the free time, select groups attached to a song, practiced getting on and off the stage. The more difficult pieces got one last opportunity at practice playing the full thing. The Ko Sanensee (High School 3rd graders) went first. Since this would be their last concert as students of the school, they were going to get dressed in a Kimono, and with a Flute player accompanist. Not surprising any of the younger students, they did incredible. And the beautiful sound of flutist made it that much more magical. Yokoyama, Ko Ninensee and friend, burst into tears upon the end of the song. It was really beginning to sink in that this is the last big concert for the 3 Ko Sanensee girls. Next, the Ko Ninensee led by Chiake, practiced their astoundingly difficult piece of music. Seeing their smiles and excitement, and the big thumbs up I got from Yukimi, and then the horrible nervousness returned. A feeling that I just couldn't let them down. So I found my Sakura 21 sheet music, and studied the notes very diligently. It didn't help with the nervousness, but at least in my heart I knew I was doing all that I could. At 5, the girls were told to wait downstairs and keep the noise to a minimum. The doors to the 500-seat Green Hall, were being opened. Guests were being seated, programs were being handed out, the Gaijin club member was trying not to be sick. Some parents ordered in dinner for everyone, though I couldn't bring myself to eat it. I think, honestly, I would have been sick with food in my stomach. But I wasn't alone in this feeling. By 5:15, the food beginning to digest, my club members were all looking a little green. The young girls, that would be experiencing their first concert, looked as if they were about to put into an electric chair. Even the Ko Sanensee, who were at their 5th and final performance, were looking a bit queasy. At 5:30, Chiake Yamanaka, Koto club leader, did the opening speech. First, doing the obligatory opening welcomes and bows to the audience. She talked about how hard she and her classmates have worked for this concert. She remembered starting the club all those years ago, along side scared little girls who would become her closest friends. Those same little girls had grown up and become incredible musicians and people, who all wanted this concert to be the very best. She reasoned that there is never a dull moment concerning the club. People seem to thing that what we do is boring, because we practice a few songs for an entire year to be performed only once or twice. Yet in the process, we learn little things about the instrument, our club members, and most importantly ourselves. She laughed about how lately the club has been getting a little cultured. The newest member of the club, and one of Chiake's best friends, is an exchange student from America to Japan. The speech ended with a resounding applause, and a teary-eyed Club leader. The curtains opened almost immediately. And the concert began. The first 2 songs went a swiftly and alluring as expected. When the first piece was finished with, the Koto teacher, Kubamoto-sensei, had me help the younger students clear away stands and selves. I was relieved to have a job, to help get my mind off the inevitably approaching performance, even if it was only supposed to be for Kohi, or younger students. The second song, which I believe is called in English, 31, is a superlatively difficult piece reserved only for the best students of the high school girls. This summer, every Koto club in Japan, will compete in Kyoto for a chance at the title. My school always ranks in the 30th percentile, which is considered average. I can't understand why they rank so averagely though. They are really brilliant musicians. This song, 31, is the song that Tosajoshi is using to compete with. Listening to them play, and I can't imagine anyone beating them. I guess, maybe I'm just biased because my best friends are the musicians. But the music involves memorization, rapid movement, constant change, and doesn't allow one mistake. Not that these girls needed it. But as the song approached an ending, I gulped knowing that it was time. The Kohi, seeing my bedazzled expression, did their best and got me ready. They watched as I slid on my Tsume, one by one, and pushed them down hard. I couldn't have them falling off during the music. So at the expense of my finger circulation, I made them as tight as possible. They next brought me over my Koto, an ancient wooden block that has seen more concerts than I have seen sunsets, with an orange tattered cloth coated with withered paper fans. This Koto and I have been through alot together. It had seen my beginning days of my newly found talent, when I covered it in Cheat Tape about the placement of the strings, through my first unsuccessful concert. It went on to finally get the tape removed, and it's user finally accept that she could actually play the Koto. Last week, it was discovered that it was in fact broken, though I had been saying that for months. The strings were probably stretched too far back when Koto first made it's way into Japan from China in the 8th Century. But I don't speak Japanese well enough to suggest that. Anyway, Kubamoto-sensei wanted to pull it from the concert. But I couldn't allow that to happen. So the poor distorted thing now had 2 extra bridges under the strings to fill out the sound. I carried my Koto to the stage edge, so that when the curtain closed, I made a quick sprint to my spot, behind Chiake and in the middle of the stage. It was finally time. This concert, which I had been training for since January, was about to begin for me. I placed down my Koto, which got a couple loud snickers. Chiake rolled her eyes as she whispered that nearly everyday I manage to pick up the Koto the wrong way. And everyday she patiently explains to me that it is the wrong way, though she can't seem to explain just why. I smiled and retorted, some things won't ever change. She didn't reply, but looked away. I realized then that Chiake, who I had taken for being one tough cookie when it comes to performing in stage, was nervous. I wondered if it was because she was worried about how I would perform. But Chiake has been one of my biggest supporters, always assuring me that I am doing well. She is also one of those people that I just trust. I finally comprehended that it was the more difficult pieces she would be playing later on. But seeing her nervous made it okay for me, though I suddenly found myself feeling calmer. There I was sitting in front of my weathered Koto, center stage, between by new best friends, when time seemed slow up, if only for me to absorb the whole moment. The teachers ran around behind the stage barking orders to the Kohi. The other Kohi were scurrying in between the instruments placing down stands, shelves, and sheet music. And for how nervous I had been prior to the event, I suddenly found myself calm, relaxed, and happy. Many of the Kohi went out of their way to pat me on the back and wish me good luck, before trampling out of visibility. Yuki, Yokoyama, Yuki, Taco, Casami, Chiake, and Airi sat stiffly in Saza leg position, configuring their music books to the right page, or pushing down their finger Tsume so they wouldn't fall off during the performance. The frontal line went from Chiake, Me, Yokoyama, and Airi, while to the right sat Yukimi and Taco. Flanking us on the left was Casami and Yuki. Each section had their own part to the song. Only together, would the song, Sakura, come together beautifully. Takemura-sensei, school teacher and club leader, stood before us once more with a big warm smile. She told us all to go our best, and added an extra thumbs up for me. I looked around at the smiling faces of my friends, and came to the conclusion that even if I did poorly, I wouldn't let them down. I've been so worried about not letting them down, that I had forgotten about one of the best moments of playing the Koto at Tosajoshi. That moment just before the starting of the song, when I look around and see Yukimi give me a peace sign, Casami stick out her tongue, Yokoyama, Airi, and Taco say, "Everybody do your best!" And best all, Chiake give me a thumbs up before placing her hands of the strings. Outside the curtain covered stage, the announcements blared on. In translated form the speaker said, "The next song is a rendition of the famous Sakura. This year we had a special guest join the Koto club. Julianne Garner, and American exchange student, came to Japan to study Japanese. She says that Koto is difficult but very excited. We are all very happy to have her." And then the curtains rose. Chiake shouted the mandatory, "Rei!" And the group of high school musicians dropped into a 4 second bow. I watched as Chiake nodded her head, the signal for begin, and then we were off. My middle finger playing the first note, floowed by the thumb. And it was then that I knew, I was going to do great. I played with heart and soul, giving it all I had. All the remnants of that earlier nervousness had dispersed, and were replaced by an exciting feeling. It was just me and my Koto, playing with a couple with a couple friends for the fun of it. One of the rules is that you are supposed to look as serious as possible. This is so if you make a little mistake, your facial expression doesn't show it. Actually I don't really know why you are supposed to look so serious, but my facial expression always gives away my mistakes. It's one of the biggest things that the teacher's are always reminding me to work on. I had practiced it and thought that I had had down packed. Tonight, though, I couldn't help it. This time instead of a look of fear in messing up, I wore a dignified smirk. My lips couldn't help but curl up as I played near perfectly. Up and down my fingers traveled over the strings, never faltering. My eyes traveled from my fingers on the strings to the mark in the book. I lost myself in the sound of Sakura 2l, the song that was first composed during the Edo period for children learning to play the koto. And here I was, 400 years later playing the very song that had inspired so many Kotoists before me. In this day and age, Sakura is often sung in international settings as a musical representative of Japan. Tonight, though, it was the song that represented an American exchange student to Japan, me, Julie Garner. This song that I had been so worried about performing, had become so simple for me in a matter of a few seconds. It did not matter that there were hundreds of people watching, many just to see if I was capable of playing such a difficult instrument. What mattered was that I proved I was capable of it, to myself. The final part of the song involves a very difficult form, where one's fingers must virtually attach and slide back and forth over the string as rapidly as possible. I have a real hard time with this part, and the teachers were very worried about having me perform it. I nailed it perfectly with no problems. And the smirk grew into a full blown smile. The song ended, as I placed my arms on the vibrating strings to cease the sound, copying the motions of Chiake. We did one final bow, as the curtains began to fall. The clapping went from a quiet indoor type, to a full blown roaring train. When I curtains reached the floor, I sprung out of Saza position and nearly shouted, "I did it!" Yokoyama was the first one to reach me, followed by Taco and Yukimi. Soon all the members of Ko Ninensee Koto club were in a whole-hearted tender group hug and bouncing around as quietly as possible. The teachers knocked the Kohi out of the way to get to us. They joined our gracious hug, bouncing with us and silently cheering for our success. My heart was bursting with joy, as everyone said just how proud of me they were. It was me who was the proud though. Not proud of how well I performed, but proud that I was a true memeber of this wonderful club. Proud to say that my best friends in Japan are in the Tosajoshi Koto club. A club that calls me one of it's own members. We returned to the stage, picked up our Koto's and returned to the place of no visibilty. I watched as the Kohi scurried out to replace stands and sheet music for the next performance. I placed my dear Koto in the spot where it was supposed to be for the next girl to use. The Kohi all cheered for me as I exited the stage. What made it better was that I really believe it was all genuine, rather than just them being nice to a senior student. The Kubamoto-sensei team pulled me aside and with delightful grins, told me that they were impressed beyond words at how well I did. I thanked them for their kind words and for all the help that they gave to me in teaching me how to play. As they walked off, heckling a new set of Kohi, Chiake came up to me. Her chubby cheeks, usually the color of peaches were slightly green, and her easy smile was looking really forced. She gave me a huge hug and told me she always knew I could do it. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me in secret that she felt like she was going to throw up, from being nervous. Inside, I laughed, because I knew the exact feeling. The rest of the concert went on according to plan. 10 songs were played, beautifully, I'd like to add. After Sakura, the former Tosajoshi Koto members who were now all grown up, played a reunion song. Then Yukimi led a group Chugakkou Sannensee (Middle School 3rd graders) into a lovely song that ended with a 10 minute break. I followed by fellow Ko Ninensee downstairs into the dressing room during the break. While they ate dinner, I watched as the Ko Sanensee got dressed in Kimono for their final Goodbye song. Only halfway through the dressing up process, and they looked astounding. Upstairs on the stage, the Kohi got ready for the next few songs. These songs, which ended up being world classics like, the Nutcracker and Walking Down the Aisle music, went smoothly. Mostly they were played by the Kohi, so I was happy to return the wonderful support they had given me. As I helped put out stands, and patted them on the back and told them to keep their chins up. Then the Ko Ichinensee (High School 1st Years) played their song with relative ease, and almost no nervousness. Behind stage, I sat with Chaike, who had then taken to resting her head in a wire bin, and trying not to throw up her last few meals. In between each song, she managed to stand up, step back into drill sargent club leader mode, which involved bossing around the Kohi. Then as the they began playing the song, she found another wire bin to rest in. When the Ko Ichinensee were finished, I found a Kohi and together we lifted Chiake's 17 string Koto onto the main stage. We placed it right in the middle, as it was surrounded by 7 other Koto's on the left and right. This song, was probably the most difficult of the whole concert, and Chiake, as club leader got the main part. I guess seeing that her Koto was smack dap in the middle of everyone, made me understand her situation a little. And I knew she too, was worried about messing up because she couldn't let down her friends. As the curtain rose, Chiake looked over to the no visibility area where I was standing. Her face wore an expression that showed she was scared beyond words, even more than I had been. The language barrier is too thick for me to tell her what I was really thinking. That she was made the leader of the club because she was the best Koto player in the school. And that even if she made a simple little mistake, everyone would still be really proud of her. No matter what she thought. Instead I did the only thing I could do without being seen by the audience. I flashed her a simple thumbs up. And I think it helped, even if just a little bit, because as she bent into her bow, a saw a faint smile. Needless to say, the Ko Ninensee did amazing. Chiake did not make one single mistake in her brilliant performance on the 17 string Koto. Yukimi lead one part, while Casami led the other part of the song. A combination of the 3 made for an absolute breath taking performance. When it was over, I was the first one on the stage, tears falling out of my eyes, hugging the girls. It was hug to remember. As we all cried in each others arms, the Ko Sanensee, dressed in an absolute gorgeous Kimono attire, trekked on to the stage. Everyone held their breath as the final memorable performance of the Sanensee took place. It was a magical performance. Not only were the Koto notes mystical, but they were played with the sound of a flute. The lights flashed making the effect of falling Sakura. By the end of the heart-wrenching song, Passion, everyone was in tears. As the Kimono-clad girls walked off the stage, everyone went into the deepest most respectful bow we could find in our hearts. The curtain closed, but the the Sanensee went back onto the stage for speeches. Meanwhile, the rest of us made our way into the visible zone, surrounding a select group of girls on Koto's. I was put almost in the front of the stage, next to Yukimi's Koto. The final song of the night, Hanamizuki, was sung by the remaining girls with the Tosajoshi chorus. Arm in arm, we all smiled and cheered while the music flooded the hearts of everyone. I looked out into the crowd and saw everyone who I wanted to see. The Masakis, The Osakis, and Sae and Yurie Hirosue, along with a couple of other school friends all smiling and waving to us. It ended on the best note possible, with smiles and laughter, mixed with sadness and relief. When the curtain closed a final time, the rush of cleaning up set in. Kotos were taken apart by the bridges, then placed in carrying bags. I was back on Koto Taxi duty, carrying them into a rented van. After 20 minutes of pure craziness, we were all finished with Green Hall. I volunteered to help the remaining girls head back to the school and clean up, but Chiake put her foot down. So arm in arm with Yukimi and Taco, I walked out into a lobby. Yukimi and Taco jumped into the arms of there parents. For the first time in my life, I didn't have a family member to come and watch me. It didn't bother me too much, though. Soon I spotted Hikari, my host sister, and she pulled me to wear my host mother was waiting. The other club members were scouring long tables filled with gloriously wrapped presents. I didn't even bother to look in my pile, until Hikari discovered a HUGE unclaimed pile marked with my name. The first thing I spotted was a cute little potted plant, from Chiake's Grandmother. Later in the night I opened a white Rose bouquet from Sae and Yurie Hirosue, Kobe Cookies from an anonymous source, a smiley stuffed animal from Taco, a pink towel from Aimi and the Track team, and best of all a big stuffed pillow in the form of a Japanese monster from Chiake and her mother. It's amazing but this place never ceases to suprise me. Sometime that night I thought to myself, that I am the luckiest person in the entire world. I belong to an amazing club at an exciting school, friends that love me for who I am, langauge barrier or not, but most importantly 2 places to call home, Verona, America, and Kochi, Japan. I wonder how I got so lucky.

Conflicting Cultures

All great traveler's have to live by the most important principle, "It's not better or worse. It's just different." For 3 American girls in Japan, that principle became a lifestyle. Throughout my entire life, I could never understand what the word Americanize meant. When I heard people use it, it was never in quite a good way. But I never understood the full meaning behind the word. Sure I knew the basics: it refers to someone who does stuff the American way. Whatever that meant. But now after spending 11 days with my Mom in Nana, 2 exciting woman who left my host country of Japan, saying, "Thank god I am an American," I have learned the real meaning of the word. I'd like to say I first started to notice the differences between Mom and Nana verses myself on the first day. However, I noticed it the night before that, a mere hour after our long awaited 8 month reunion. It happened when together we arrived at the Kyoto Traveler's Inn. The sweet little hotel in the eastern part of Kyoto seemed to the perfect place I was looking for for our excursion. And when we checked in, everything seemed to be in order, our reservations were set, the room had 3 beds, we had a private bath, and above all I was with my Mom and Nana again after 8 long months. I figured nothing could go wrong, until I heard some choking noises from Nana and Mom. I turned to see Nana's jaw stuck on the floor, while Mom's eyes were bulging out. Our room was located on the 4th floor of the hotel. A hotel with no elevator. I couldn't understand why there was anything wrong with this. But it didn't end there. When we made it into the room, Mom seemed to think it was some kind of joke I had played on her. Now for the record, the 3 of us are not exactly small people. Not to say we look like beached Whales, but I don't think any of us would be entering a Bikini contest in the coming months. Since this is a Japanese hotel, made for Japanese rooms, the rooms are a little smaller. Mom and Nana almost died. The useage of the bathroom was the funniest for me. Nana and Mom kept smashing into things and cursing off items like Shampoo bottles, and toothbrushes because they got in the way of things. And sitting one certain way on the toilet, meant that you probably wouldn't be able to shut the door. The night ended with everyone wondering how they were going to survive the next 10 days in Japan. But they did survive those next 10 days. I'm not quite sure how they did it, but I think has something to do with this quote, "Oh good there is a Haagan Daaz Ice Cream machine, at least we won't starve tonight." It seemed as though at every destination, the knowledge that there was a nearby McDonald's kept the two woman alive and well. And eventually I introduced Nana to the Convenience Store Sweets department, where she developed a tongue for Strawberry Short Cake, Shu Cream (Cream Puff), and various other sweets. In Kyoto and throughout the rest of the travels, they sampled chop sticks, and learned that they favored forks and knives. But I can not honestly say that they didn't try their very hardest. One night, I witnessed Nana taking one stick in one hand, and one in the other, and begin cutting her food like the sticks were a fork and knife. I snorted water through my nose watching her make a fool of herself. She responded with profanity, and carried on her interesting cutting routine. I really think she managed to cut the food as well. She also took to stabbing the chop stick directly into the food, which I explained is a horrible gesture that in Japan, actually means death. She responded that that was the stupidest thing she ever heard, dropped the chop sticks, and picked up a fork. But Mom and Nana's encounter with Japanese toilet's was by far one of the more priceless experiences. Since Nana actually doesn't have a properly working hip, it was impossible for her to even try the world renowned Squat toilets. Mom, on the other hand, beasted a Squat Toilet on the first day of the visit. I was so proud of her, and a little shocked. It had actually taken me something like 2 weeks to get into the mindset of actually squatting to relieve oneself. The two also got a taste at Japanese super toilets. It first started in Kyoto, when I had to explain to Nana, that when you pee, you only need to use the light flusher, not the heavy duty Hoover Damn type. She couldn't seem to get over the fact that the Japanese would actually create two ways to flush. Then in Hiroshima, the 2 woman encountered a Bidet. Mom, again, continued to shock me, and had a successful experience. Nana, on the other hand, ended the first attempt in an, "Oh! OOOOHHHHH!" The poor woman had actually turned on the frontal Bidet, when she was aiming for the back. Dictionary.com says that the definition for Americanize is, 'to make or become American in character; assimilate to the customs and institutions of the U.S.' Now after my experiences, I could confirm that sentence ten times over. Nana, and Mom on occasion, is the reason for the sentence, "American as Apple Pie." But on the flip side, maybe it was me who had issue. The dictionary also gives the definition for Japanize, 'To make or become Japanese in form, idiom, style, or character.' If that is the case, then, yes, I have become Japanized. Besides the fact that for 8 months I have lived daily life as a Japanese person, with little or no problem, let's look at all the times on the Grand Japan Tour with Mom and Nana, where I Japanized the situation. On that very first day, walking up the 4 floors to minuscule hotel room, my first thought was not, 'oh dear god how are we going to fit.' Instead it was, 'wow this is cozy.' I did not complain that the size of the bathroom was about the size of a cardboard box, but I did get quite annoyed that the toilet was not heated, did not have a Bidet, or make a mock flushing noise like all of my other Japanese potties. The following day after kilometers and kilometers of walking, I could not understand why Nana and Mom appeared to be dying a slow and painful death. Exercise is fun and important, I reasoned as I pushed them forward on to the next Buddhist temple promising it would not be that far. I also found myself in a state of disbelief when the two woman looked like they would kill me, when I suggested we get Fried Octopus for lunch. They laid down the ground rules of nothing Raw or nothing that could possibly be alive. That pretty much shot a whole in nearly all of the Japanese specialities. And I sat there thinking what was wrong with these woman. How could they not even want to try the delicious food of Japan? That night, while Mom and Nana, took private comfortable showers in the room, I headed down the 4 floors of the hotel, stripped off all my clothes, and took a public bath with fellow hotel goers. I knew it was hopeless to get Mom and Nana to try, but I reminded them as often as possible just exactly what they were missing. The following day, as the two woman, eagerly trotted off to eat their delicious McDonald's meals, I refused. Instead I jumped in a Taxi and went touring the city by myself. For lunch, I went into a food store, where I haggled over the price of expensive food. Because no one I know would pay that much for Kimchi Tentacles. That night for dinner, while Mom and Nana happily skimmed the English menu, I forced myself to read the Japanese one. And when the meals arrived, I asked them to take by the fork and knives for chopsticks. Mostly because I'm much better with chop sticks than a fork and knife, and because I'd be embarrassed to eat with something I really am spazzy with. And if you haven't read between the lines by now, in all the places we went, while Mom and Nana ate pizza, fried shrimp, bread, salads, and other things from home, I ordered Curry Rice, Kimchi Pork, Seaweed Tuna Rice, Okonomiacki, Fried Octopus, and all other Japanese dishes. But just simple acts of living or the different kids food we eat, doesn't quite explore the whole idea of conflicting cultures. It's a way of thinking and feeling, that gives the definition of Americanize and Japanize. All in all, Mom, Nana, and I put aside our conflicting views on how things should be done, to have an amazing experience in Japan. Because even though both cultures were always conflicting with each other, we all ended up enjoying ourselves while learning and growing, the ways things should be done.

My First Ensoku

I often find myself wondering if the people who create Japanese school schedules have any concept of vacation, or at least down time. I'm not complaining, because I am about used to rarely being able to sleep in. That being said, Sunday was the Tosajoshi school Ensoku. Ensoku literally means 'far feet', and often ensoku are actually 'field trips', involving hiking. These trips are part of a school's official activities, and to some students, the most memorable event of the school year. It's a chance to visit places with lots of greenery and to have fun playing with one's school friends. The places and activities on Ensoku are all supposed to have some sort of educational value. In the lower grades this can be just a hike in the woods to gather seeds, and you study them in science when you get back. Usually after an ensoku you have to write an essay about what you did in Kokugo class, or Japanese. My host school, Tosajoshi Girls Middle and High School, in Kochi, Japan, is no exception to having an ensoku. But because it is such a large school, due to the fact it contains both a High and Middle school, the classes all went to different places. The Middle School 1st Years went to Kochi Castle. The Middle School 2nd and 3rd years, as well as the High School 2nd Years, traveled to Godaisan, home to a famous temple and Botanical Garden. Finally the High School 1st and 3rd years enjoyed Katsuruhama, Kochi's famous beach. My class, the High School Second Years, would be the oldest class at Godaisan, which meant we would get the best treatment due to the Sempie system. This didn't matter to me though, because I was just excited to be able to spent an entire afternoon with my school mates. The night prior to the Ensoku, I performed in the Koto concert. When it was all over with, my best friend, Chiake Yamanaka, asked me how I was getting to Godaisan. From where I live, it would probably be able an hour bike ride, which I explained was no problem. She choked thinking about the long ride, and invited to give me a ride the following morning. We both live in the same town, so it would be no trouble for her father ot just pick me up in front of the house. I felt bad, but accepted. Then she explained that I had better pick up some good food for the activities. I didn't understand what she meant by this. Before I could ask, she skipped away. I quickly learned that the first, and a probably biggest part of Ensoku is the preparation. On Ensoku, you are supposed to bring your own lunch in a Bento box, which is a cute plastic box full of various rice, vegetables, and meat. On this day, everyone gets their mother to make a lunch they especially like. There is also a thermos full of something to drink, usually cold tea or fruit juice. Then there is perhaps the important thing, 'Okashi', or treats. Picking the okasi is the major part of preparing for Ensoku. During the Ensoku, friends always trade candy and treats and compare who has the best of what. If you don't trade candy, you are seen as being stingy. Everyone gets something cheap and large and liked by everyone. Usually this ends up being some sort of chip or Pocky stick. They also buy their favorite candy just for themselves. Then with the leftover money they buy lots of cheap candy for trading. On Sunday morning, my cell phone alarm rang at 7. I quickly got dressed in my summer uniform, the white sailor suit. Yesterday, at the Koto concert, I began wore the Summer uniform again. Since the weather has gotten much nicer, it it time to pack away the Navy Winter uniform. Downstairs, I got my morning coffee, and began questioning my host Mom about the activities at an Ensoku. That's when I learned all about the candy prospect of the Ensoku. Realizing I had no candy for trading, I jumped on my bike and pedaled to the nearest Convenience Store to pick up some sweet treats. Inside I bought lunch, a Strawberry Yogurt, and a big bag of Milk Candy. I was sure that it would be enough, and that I had succeeded to doing something right by Japanese school activities. So when 8:30 rolled in and Chiake and her father picked me up, I turned bright red when she told me I got it all wrong. I showed her my lunch and the big bag of candy proudly and asked how well I did. She just rolled her eyes and said something like, "You are just really lucky you are cute." She then pulled out her own bag of candy. Her cute little Hello Kitty Bento box was 3 layered and filled with delicious rice balls, vegetables, and fried chicken, compared to my dinky little yogurt. For treats, she needed a fork lift to help her haul out the bag from her bookbag. It was filled with 5 full boxes of Pocky and Toppo, long stick like crackers covered in chocolate. Then she had 3 full bags of bulky Milk Candy, 2 Fruit Gummies packages, 2 Ume and Sakura flavored candy boxes, and a bag with over 100 pieces of milk Chocolate. Underneath these decent sized bags were well over 300 packs of little Japanese traditional sweets. Just looking at all that sugar made me gain 10 pounds, have a sugar high, and a clogged arterie. I stammmered something like, "Holy CRAP! You have ALOT of candy." She looked at me like I was crazy and replied, "Actually this year I didn't have any money. I only brought about half of what I had last year. I hope nobody says anything." Meanwhile, I sat their trying to imagine how she managed to carry twice as many sweets to Ensoku. If I thought about how she managed to eat it all, I would have probably thrown up. When we arrived on the outskirts of Kochi City, at the foot of Godaisan Mountain in front of a tiny shrine, Mr. Yamanaka parked his car. I wondered out loud why Chiake and I didn't just enter and wait with our class, which had started to form by one of the gravestones in front of the shrine. Chiake explained that one of the important things to do at Tosajoshi's Ensoku is to make an entrance with you friends. We were waiting for Taco, Casami, Yuki, Yukimi, Airi, and Yokoyama, the members of the Koto club. When everyone arrived, we all walked arm in arm through the Torii gates and into the meeting area. As we walked, I felt so happy to belong to such an amazing group. Upon entering, many of our classmates looked up and clapped for us. I was embarrassed by this, but Casami explained it was because of the success of how concert. Word had gotten around about how well we did. That was a good feeling. Soon enough, the group dispersed among homerooms, meaning Chiake and I went to check in with our teacher, Fukumoto-sensei. We were put in a line of all the girls in our homeroom. Nearly everyone congratulated us on our amazing concert, including a Paula Fabian, my friend and English teacher at the middle school. This was her last school event, because she had been fired from the school. While the homerooms all took the gruelling hike up the steep and dangerously rocky mountain, Godaisan, she and I walked together remembering all the fun times we have had teaching together. It was really difficult saying goodbye to her, but she promised that she would keep in touch. She knew I needed someone to complain to, since it's nearly impossible to white in Japanese. It was hard for me to leave her, but Chiake and my classmates were calling for me to return. And so I did. When the class finally reached the top of Godaisan, we were all out of breath from the Mountain hike and in pain from the rocks. Since we were required to wear the Tosajoshi mandatory shoes, our feet were throbbing. The shoes are these black and leather things that resemble what the Pilgrims wore at Plymouth Rock. They are by no means the proper shoes to wear on a hiking excursion, and 2,000 blistered feet could confirm that. My classmates, and the girls I spent the day with, have rather difficult names to remember. I'll just refer to them by their nicknames. First there is Jack Bauer. Jack Bauer and I became friends at a Rotary meeting in December, as her father is a Rotarian. She tries very hard to speak English, because she wants to learn it very badly. Her dream is to be able to understand 24 in English, because of her mad crush on Kiefer Sutherland's character, Jack Bauer. Jack Bauer's best friend is Chika. Chika's real name is Chika, and there is no way I can change this. The girl is not the brightest crayon in the box, but trys very hard. She gets kind of annoying, but I like her. Bucky is a Badmintton player with the worst case of Buck teeth I have ever seen. She is very nice, although a bit loud. White Eyes and I ate lunch together everyday last year. She's pretty quiet except during class, when she falls asleep and snores. Her eyes also roll back in slumber giving the eerie appearence of White Eyes. Vacuum is this little tiny girl who rarely talks. I'd even wondered if she opened her mouth, until I started eating lunch with her. She pours her Bento box into her mouth, and vacuums out the food. It usually takes her a whole 20 seconds to eat her whole lunch. And then there is Di-chan. It took me 6 months to get her name right, but in the meantime I always called her Di-chan. Her name is Ritsukaue, by the way. Bullet Train is the name another girl I spent alot of time with, although she isn't in the same homeroom. Her name is Nozomi, which is the name of the Bullet Train. There are other too, but I only gave the nicknames of the girls I really spent alot of time with on the Ensoku. As High School 2nd graders, we were given preference of where we wanted to sit. The group chose a spot under the shade of a tree. Though the stinging sun burn on my face will confirm it didn't stay shady for very long. Some girls were smart enough to bring mats, while the rest of us just mooched for space on the mats. When everyone had a seat, shoes were taken off and bags were opened. At 10:30 the feast began. The Ensoku feast rivals that of an American Thanksgiving. I watched at all the girls cracked open their Thermo's. Each was painted with Manga characters, Pokemon, Hello Kitty, and other famous Japanese characters. Inside was galleons of cold Tea, Calpis Sweat, something like a gatorade, Cola, Orange, Apple, Tomato, and Mixed fruit juice. All had little portable cups, which were used for sharing and sampling each others likings. And then there were the Bento boxes. Each was filled with a glorious portion of delicious Japanese food. The air was soon fragrant with the smells of the Bento boxes of about 10 Fukumoto homeroom students. I peered into each box, not suprised to see that each was different. Each contained a healthy balance of the food groups, while still holding the favorite lunch of the student. All filled with rice covered in seaweed or Ume boshi, pickled plum, or large dark green Nori Seaweed wrapped rice balls. Inside the Onigiri, or rice balls, were mouthfuls of Tuna, Sour Ume sauce, Dried Fish, and Mayonaise. The rice part took up one layer of the Bento box. The next tier had the main filler, which was various typed of meat and vegetable. There was Karage, fried chicken, Hamburger, Mayonaise Meat, mini Okonomiacki, Tempura galore, Shrimp, Tuna, Salmon, many variations of fish, and Katsu, or fried pork. Chinese noodles, Udon, and pasta overflowed the box, perfectly situated with Yaki Tamago, or fried egg, and pumpkin bits. Broccoli, carrots, spinach, and corn, neighbored apple slices, pineapple, mango, banana, and kiwi. There were potatos, salads, puddings, yogurts, sandwiches, and much much more. A small African nation could live for a month on everything that I was seeing 10 Japanese studemts consume at a pace that would annoy even the Tortoise. And the worst part was that the Bento made up only about 10% of what was going to be consumed today. The Okashi, or sweets, still lay nestled in everyone's school bags. While the girls practiced for the World Title of the most food eaten by a single school, and I enjoyed my low fat Strawberry yogurt. At first I felt like a total idiot, but then it turned into a feeling of being repulsed by the amount of food one girl could consume. Meanwhile, the girls talked and joked about the upcoming school year, as well as the stuff that has happened in the past. Most of the girls have been going to Tosajoshi since Middle School, and have known each other for about that long. It was difficult for me because I have to really focus on listening to understand even the simplest things they they talk about. And since they were talking about thing I wouldn't even be able to understand anyway, I found myself sitting lost from time to time. But I wasn't along, Di-chan and a few others had not gone to Tosajoshi for Middle School. So we formed our own talking crew. Jack Bauer came over, and she and I talked about alot of stuff. We fought over Avril Lavigne's new hair style, why Jack Bauer was not cute, and how Spider Man 3 is going to be amazing. For the first time since I was back at home with my friends, I remembered what it was like to be a teenager complaining about silly things and pop culture. Soon enough, other girls at the Ensoku were opening their candy boxes. The smell of sugar wafted over to where we were sitting. Not one girl could resist the temptation. Chiake led a couple girls to go and buy some Ice Cream, while the rest of us stayed on the mat. I opened my Milk Candy, and passed it around to everyone, making them all believe right away that I actually had Sweets for the Ensoku. Everyone was shocked as I chucked the little wrapped candy around the Mat. I got a bunch of thank yous. Mostly they were all surprised and asked me how I knew about the customs of an Ensoku. I just smiled and told them I was always trying really hard. Since I initiated the sharing festivities, everyone began swapping candy. I got Green Tea Caramel, Nato chips, Strawberry Parfait Toppo, Sweet Corn Chocoball, Fried Potato covered in Chocolate, Red Bean Kit Kat, Dew Bew Fruit Candies, Sesame, Sakura, Ume, and Green Tea flavored chocolate, Dried Squid, Seasoned Cuttlefish Crackers, Onion sticks, Raw Fish flavored chews, some suspicious chewy that was actually furry, and many many other odd little delights. While I was sampling probably the strangest flavored candy in the world, one at a time, pacing myself, I watched the others. Eventually I was so grossed out by their eating, I couldn't finish the rest of the food. That might have actually be the repulsive feeling I got from the Nato Chips, though. Anyway, watching these girls eat was probably one of those experiences you have to have once in your life. It's like you have to see New York City, the Eiffel Tower, and a 10 Japanese girls gorge on enough food feed the Chinese army. Earlier I mentioned Chiake's candy bag. Imagine that very same bag times two. Next picture all 10 girls gorging on every piece of that candy. I didn't have to imagine it, I watched it. I watched as Vacuum dumped an entire bag of Dried Squid into her mouth, stopping only to pull her cheek wider to make more room for the food. I watched as Chika and Bucky traded their won creations. Chika's creation was a miz of Sweet Corn Chocoballs pickled plums and Green Tea Caramel. Bucky's food was too faul for me to describe without you feeling sick. Within one hour, Chiake had finished every last piece of chocolate, Milk, Ume, and every other piece of candy she had earlier showed me. And she was not alone. Each and every girl ate the same amount of food the average American eats at Thanksgiving, over the entire course of his or her life. The proof was in the colorful wrappers, now strewn all across the mats. It was sickening for me to watch, and yet I couldn't keep my eyes of the most amazing eating festival I have ever been to in my life. During the eating festival, we all continued talking and enjoying ourselves. Besides having to watch White Eyes shovel 4 huge Kit Kat bars in her mouth in under 30 seconds, I was having an absolute blast. Chiake made sure that I was always included in the conversations and games. I can't imagine what I would do without her though. At some point, she introduced me to a new face, a girl who's name was, 'very difficurto.' I asked her to just tell me, and promised to do my best in remembering it. She nodded and said, "Nozomi." I laughed, shocking everyone, and exclaimed that that was an easy name to remember. It is after all, the name of the fastest bullet train. The girls burst into laughter and screamed how cute I was. Chiake laughed so hard that she choked on the Milk Candy was chomping on. And when she was finished devouring her weight in candy, she pulled me up and together we walked to a famous ancient Temple. Godaisan, a hill overlooking the south-east of Kochi City is host to the Chikurinji Temple. The temple is one of the 88 Shikoku pilgrimage temples, and has an interesting collection of old Buddhist statues. Overlooking Chikurinji is a five storeyed pagoda. Di-chan and Bullet Train accompanied us, as we climbed the old stair case and onto the shrine. There were many Pilgrims making the 88 Temple Pilgrimage, some even stopped to talk to us. They were mostly interested in why a Gaijin would be wearing a Japanese school outfit on an Ensoku. Chiake patiently explained that I am Tosajoshi's exchange student from America, as well as Chiake's really good friend. That even though I may look weird, as a foreigner in Japanese clothing, I am more Japanese than gaijin. She told them this as she held her arm over my shoulder, in a half hug sort of way. There is nothing like the feeling of having good friends. When we reached the temple, Chiake, Bullet Train, and Di-chan all bought fortunes, buy placing 200 Yen in a little box, and taking out a piece of paper. The fortunes use very difficult Kanji, and CHiake warned me that I wouldn't be able to understand. But monkey-see-monkey-do and I, too, bought a fortune. It's a Japanese custom, that when you get a bad fortune, you are supposed to tie the paper around a lanyard outside the shrine. This is too ward off any bad luck surrounding you in the presence of the ancestors. I must have really bad luck, because every time I have been to a Shrine or Temple, I've always been forced to hang my fortune on the lanyard. None of my host families would explain why, I needed to do this for fear of offending me. I had to do the research to understand this fact. Today though, Chiake read my fortune and assured me I wouldn't have to do any lanyard hanging. She couldn't explain to me what it meant, but that it was very good and I was very lucky to have gotten such a pleasant piece of paper. I later found out what it said, and was suprised by it's optimism. Basically I would be surrounded by friends and family that would be their for me whenever I needed them, find love in a faraway land, and be happy with everything life hands me. I had a funny feeling that this fortune was too good to be true. After some pictures with Chiake, Bullet Train, and Di-chan, we took another hike up to the Makino Botanical Gardens museum. There wasn't anything fun to do up there. But I saw some of the younger Koto players, who bowed to Chiake and I. I yelled at them for bowing to me, and threw up my hands in a high 5 over our successful concert. After we were finished walking, blisters on our feet throbbing, and cameras a little bit fuller, we headed back to the group. Along the way, I ran into Aimi and some friends from my old homeroom. I got many hugs from them, and was told how much I was missed. I was shocked that Aimi would give me a hug. She was the very girl who shyed away from my embrace at my Sweet Sixteen party back in November because of being uncomfortable with hugging. 5 months with me, has really taken a toll on her though. Back at the main mats, the group had all returned from the hikes and garden explorations. The clock was about to reach the 2, meaning that Ensoku would be officially over with. Everyone packed away their mats and garbage. That was another fascinating thing. Since Japan has almost no garbage cans, the girls had to carry all of their empty bags and thousands of wrappers. After everything was cleaned up and cleared away, the Fukumoto homeroom girls traipsed to the meeting spot. Their out class leader took attendance, and then dismissed us. Our class was the last to be dismissed because we were the slowest in getting ready. CHiake and I took the caboose of the long line of school girls. Back down the steep rocky trail, we hiked. On more than one account I found myself trip and fall. I couldn't but think that we would never be allowed to do this is America for safety issues. I'm glad that Japan hasn't been run down whining parents and lawyers. When we reached the bottom, back at the main Shrine from earlier in the morning, our thighs and knees were oozing with pain. Everyone was so tired and full from lunch. I found myself thanking god that I was getting a ride back home, rather than biking. When the offical ending of the Ensoku came, Chiake's father came and picked us up. Before we could return home, we had to drop off some presents at the Koto room at school. In our school, we ran into the Middle School 1st years who told us that their Ensoku had gone wonderful. I later met up with Yurie and some other High School 3rd years who said that the Katsuruhama Ensoku had been alot of fun, but very hot. Yurie also made a comment that mentioned Godaisan Ensoku being very hot as well. I asked her how she could tell, and she said my face was Fire Engine red from sun burn. Sure enough, upon looking the mirror, I resembled a bright red Tomato. I was assured that getting a little sun burned was part of the fun of Ensoku. All in all, my first Ensoku was alot of fun. Not many people can say that they saw world records being broken for eating as well as spending a wonderful afternoon picnic with a group of Japanese school girls and friends.

Gaijin Takes On Beast-sensei

Last week I had a school uniform test. Now there really isn't anything special about this. Excpet that for the first time since I started school, I actually passed. Now for those of you who know me, you're probably thinking, "Wait! Whoa.. I must have read that wrong." How could Julie Garner, a girl who's never in her life worn a mini skirt, originally though eye liner was a variation of face paint, and have never, even in dreams, broken a school dress code rule, fail a uniform test? Once upon a time there was a Japanese teacher, who I will nickname Beast-sensei. She was a Japanese Obachan, full of secret strength and power, but was also the spawn of Michael Myers, despotic Shogun's, and for the full right-faul Japanese effect, Nato. Standing at about 5 foot, 2 inches, with balding grey hair and a scowl that causes babies to sporadically burst into tears, Beast-sensei teaches middle school first year students manners. It is in that first year that she distills to each and every girl who is boss, and drives a fear through them, that they all carry with them until graduation. Her theory is very simple. Tosajoshi, my host school, was originally founded to teach girls how to become proper well-respectable housewives. Though things changed at Tosajoshi, as woman gained more power in society. But as I mentioned earlier, Beast-sensei is an Obachan, who remembers the rigid strictness of the school of it's early days. Like most Obachan, she is a firm believer in not letting old habits die. Early in the year, she started a war with the exchange student, whom she saw as untamed in her wicked ways. It was in mid-November as the summer weather turned brisk and cold, when the first attack happened. I had been suspicious of her for some months, when she tried to ambush me for a rolled skirt. I was saved by the English language, and my lack of Japanese. But I couldn't use that excuse forever, as my Japanese was beginning to come together. Though lately it had looked as though things might be at peace. I had stood by and watched her ridicule and threaten my friends and classmates for crinkled socks and rolled skirts. Her hawking brown eyes turned to me, and then look away, as if I was the most repulsive thing she'd ever seen. But still she remained quiet. Since school had started, I had been following the strict rules regarding hair at Tosajoshi. They state that you are not allowed to have the hair go past your shoulders, unless it is in a pony tail or pigtails. 3 months had left me annoyed with Pigtails, and I was ready for a change. The best way to follow the rules, while still looking somewhat decent, was to wear a side Ponytail. I looked something like Sailor Moon from the 80's, but it appeared to be following every rule set at my strict school. And when the ringing bells marked the beginning of school, my friends did nothing but compliment my change of hairstyle. If I was breaking a rule, they would have surely tipped me off. By the end of third period, I got up from my seat and got together my belongings. My next class was Caliigraphy, in the other building. In the corridors, I scurried along with all of my other classmates, who were heading to the bathroom or to their next classes. The atmosphere was that of a typical school day, hectic, and full of new infortmation, but still filled with the joys of friendships. As I walked along, a sudden chill filled the hall. My breath turned visible, and the few blond hairs that were left on my arms climbed up stiffly (this was happened only days after the Great Plucking Incident.) Suddenly out of nowhere the shrill raspy voice, I had learned to fear, came pounding down the corridor. Think about that voice that comes from the little girl in the Exorcist. "Jurie! JUURRIIEE!" Yes- the devil had spoken. I tried to make a run for it, by getting lost in a crowd. But I noticed that the halls were empty. It would have taken a real miracle to clear the halls that quickly. But it wasn't so much as a miracle as it was an unnatural fear of the Beast-sensei. All of my classmates felt the chill, which they had learned to handle by jumping under a desk, hidden from Beast's iron fist. But I was not so lucky, and I soon found myself cornered. Literally cornered in a staircase, by an insane Japanese woman 5 times my ages, and a full head shorter than me. She waved her wrinkly old sagged hand, with 5 long talons old death, that soon began yanking of my Side Ponytail. In the fastest Japanese I had ever heard, she spat out something I could not understand, other that that it concerned my Side Ponytail. When I responded, I used the wrong form. In Japanese there are two ways to speak, causal, and formal. Mind you I had only been in Japan for barely 3 months, and could barely say, "I'm hungry," let along something like, "Yes I now understand you teacher." I seemed to have struck a nerve, because she suddenly went ballistic, raving, psychotic, the whole 9 yards. Her beady little Asian eyes bulged to an alarmingly piercing glaze, and that world-renowned forehead vein looked like it might be impersonating a hot air balloon. She ruptured into an explosion that I couldn't understand. She was puncturing me with all of the anger she had worked up in her life of being Japanese. All that anger bottled up from her husbands late nights at 'the office,' son failing out of high school, and daughter having a shotgun wedding to someone from the lower class. Not that these events happenened, but it sure seemed like she was angry about something other than me. Still erupting on me, bringing tears to my eyes, a friend from the Track team witnessed some of the action. Quickly, she found my main school counselor, or ran to the scene. He was lucky enough to witness a mad old lady ferociously yanking an innocent little Gaijin's side ponytail. Then there were two insane Japanese teachers I had to be apart off. My counselor freaked out on the Beast-sensei for what she was doing to me. While the two of them remained in the stairway, loudly bickering for most of the school to hear, I scampered off to class. My counselor came to meet with me later that day. He explained that the Beast-sensei had been warned to have nothing to do with me again. I breathed a sigh of relief, and the wondered out loud what the reason for the sudden outburst had been. He explained that a school rule is that hair must be held in pony tail in the back of the head, or pigtails. There is no other way that is allowed, and no exceptions to the rules. The reason the Beast went looney on me is because previous exchange students had never followed these rules. She wanted to make sure I got it through me head, that I was no exception. I apoligized, and assured him that I wasn't told of these rules. Adding that an American high school couldn't even dream of imposing hair rules on students. He laughed and not me not to worry, because he knew I'm too much of a goody-two-shoes to go out of my way breaking rules. The good news was that the Beast was going to stay away from me. Well, at least that's what was supposed to happen. Uniform checks are a very stressful time for students. Once every few months, teachers go around and inspect every aspect of the school uniform. If one thing is out-of-order parents will be called, and possibly be forced to purchase a new and extremely expensive uniform. The prospect of a uniform check has always amused me, especially since I missed all the checks in the first term of school. It seemed almost too eerie and coincidental that Rotary meetings, excursions, or illnesses would fall on the day when my home class was set to be inspected. And it wasn't as though, I really wanted to miss the check. Quite the contray, in fact. One December morning, my school mate, Aimi came in bestowing the longest and stiffest skirt I had ever seen. Aimi was always know for having a short skirt, because she got it hemmed since she never grew very much. She explained to me the one of the teachers called her mother and forced her to buy a new skirt. Something so strict that could force parents to purchase a new set of uniforms, was something I did not want to miss an opportunity to witness. Though only a week after Aimi got a new skirt, it was hemmed to the same size. No one seemed to notice, at least until the February uniform test. In February, I was finally going to be able to partake in my first uniform test. My homeroom, Yano-home, had been reportedly breaking uniform codes. It was a suprise test, so none of the girls had time to unroll their skirts, put up their hair, and button everything to perfection. We all lined up in a straight, somewhat chillingly perfect line according to number order, which meant I was last. My homeroom teacher, Yano-sensei, saw me standing uncomfortably, awaiting my turn, and led me back inside the classroom saying that it wouldn't be necessary for me to be in the check. Back in the classroom, I waited for news on the results, when my breath turned to ice. The sliding doors opened to reveal the Beast, with a frown that looked as if she was sucking on a pickle. "What do you think you're special? Get out for the check!" she demanded. I looked into her cold dull eyes and responded, "But Yano-sensei said..." "I don't care what he said! Get out!" I've been here long enough that arguing with her was like trying to melt butter in a freezer, and would result in questionable consequences. Though it is againt the law in Japan for teachers to hit students. I once saw a teacher smack the back of his student's head. The Beast's vendetta against me, might have ended in death. It doesn't matter that she's a head shorter than me, half of my weight, becasue she contains the strength of the Japanese Obachan. (See the Obachan Factor) I followed the stocky little fiend out of doors and into the back of the line. Yano-sensei, who I noticed was quivering slightly, came over immediately wondering why I had made my way back in the check. I shot a look in the direction of the Beast, who was now heckling a classmate about a Red Ponytail holder. Yano-sensei, at 6 foot, 200 pounds, muscular and fit, suddenly wore an expression of a little boy seeing the Boogie Man combined with a French Poodle with it's tail between it's legs. "Well perhaps... I guess... erm. Beast-sensei is in chanrge so..um. Good luck!" he said while skipping off to hide in the Teachers room, currently a safe zone from the Beast. I noticed that as he passed her, their eyes met, and he bended into a respectful bow. While he got passed her, I observed straighten his tie and brish back is hair into an orderly combination. After the amazement that she could control even the teachers, I accepted the worst. I was alone. Time sped up, unfortunately. And within a few moments of cowering in fear, the Beast approached my positions, clipboard in hand. The clipboard was for jotting down the exact problems with the uniforms. I earlier noted that when she spotted something, she would make a nasty comment, like, "Congratulations. You've failed." First her ghostly eyes skimmed me over, then she walked up to where I stood. She lifted my top slightly, pulled my hair off my ears, yanked the necktie, and many other throurough inspection points. I figure, if she goes and works for the airport, there will never be another terrorsit attack again. Yet through the entire thing, she made no comment or any rude noise. And when she moved to her next victim, I felt as if I had been spared by the heavens. The uniform check ended right then and there. Soon I was following the girls standing in front of me back into the classroom and into our seats. Each and every girl wore the same glum expression. 34 out of 44 failed the test, which is about 80%. From failing, parents would have to be called, which would surely result in a punishment. But if the uniform couldn't be fixed, families would have to spend their hard earned money on a new pricey set of wear. Suspension was another punishment held over the neads of the students who had consistantly failed. I noticed Aimi frantically pulling her skirt as far down as possible, for reasoning that the Beast had been wrong. Yano-sensei entered the room quietly, hoping not to attract attention. But none of us could help but notice that his hair looked tidier and he was wearing a less flamboyant tie. This man, who could probably chew up the Beast for breakfast with his size and strength had been beaten away. I smiled, knowing the Beast had made her way to the Teacher's room and captured those who were using it as a hideaway. As he reached his podium, he announced that as a class, everyone had failed. All of the girls who had failed, had done so for the rolled skirt, and possibly other reasons. Then told them to get it all fixed for the next uniform check, but that no parents would be called until next check. The atmosphere become reasonably lighter after this announcement. The girls began cheering up and laughing as they swapped horror stories of what had happened with the Beast. Some portrayed the Beast as a fire-breathing dragon, while other admitted she was just like their Obachan. Soon the girls were asking Yano-sensei about other offenses and who had committed. He tried to ignore them or use the excuse that he coudln't announce them to the whole class. But the nagging continued. He was forced to read off the other offenses, and who committed them. Some girls turned bright red, as he read off things like, "Sayaka, for plucking her arm hair." When he was finsihed, someone asked if he had ever had a student get them all. He replied no, but one student certainly came close. I had one of those moments where I knew exactl what he was going to say. Sure enough, he informed the girls that I had failed on 6 counts. The Beast had actually failed me. Though failing is a bit of an understatement. She pretty much torpedoed my record of perfection in a glorious battle. 6 counts! How does that happen? I wondered while listening to my classmates choke themselves with laughter. Curiosity poked at me, while I asked Yano-sensei to tell me the reasons why I had failed the test. He shifted uncomfortable, and tried to say that it wasn't a big deal. That all the teachers knew that I always follow the rules, but the Beast is just a little old-fashioned. The whole class began pleading with him to read off the list, and he realized there was no way he was going to get out of it. He cleared his throat, gave me a nodd, and began reading the list. The first, and entirely expected, was that of the rolled skirt. Everyone in the course of being a student at Tosajoshi fails this test. I think it's actually one of those things that had to happen, for you to become and 'unofficial' student at this school. You see, our uniform skirt is absolutely too long, falling far past our knees. Only Middle School 1st years wear their skirt like this because they are too naive and scared to break the rules. What is acceptable is having the same skirt all 6 years at the school. People think that naturally as you get older, you grow, and the skirt becomes shorter. But Japanese girls are not like Western girls. Most never grow past the height they were when they entered the school. The only logical thing to do is roll the skirt. So yes, my first crime, was a short skirt. The second offense was that my socks were crinkled. Perfection is a must at Tosajoshi. The only thing I have to say is that I am glad she didn't make me take off the shoes. This is because I have more holes in these school socks than a moth-ridden Sweater. The third reason begins the offenses that I received for the dumbest reasons. When I was in 2nd grade, as a present from my Mother for making my first Holy Communion, I got my ears pierced. Now the tiny holes never get occupied and become more of a nuisance. Especially living in Japan where getting your ears pierced is something like getting a Tatoo is America. Like, it's not unacceptable, but it's seen as dirty. I broke this school rule at the ripe age of 7 years-old, never knowing it would come back to haunt me. The fourth reason, I actually didn't even committ this offense willingly. The students are not allowed to dye their hair. Since all Japanese girls are born with black hair, the rule had been made stating, black hair is the only option for students. I can really blame my parents for this one. Mom and Dad are 2 brunnettes, so I ended up getting the genes for the brown hair. To think, even my birth foreshadowed failing this test. The fifth reason is actually pretty comical. I have horrific circulation in my hands, causing a lack of blood flow. In the winter time, my hands turn to ice cold, while the skin under my finger nails changes to purple. I do not know why this happens, but it's something I can't help. The Beast believed that I had obviously painted my nails purple. The sixth and final reason is somewhat embarrassing and silly at the same time. I got this offense for plucking my eyebrows, which I just started recently. In Japan, girls like to secretly dye their hair lighter. But eyebrow color always gives away the girls natural color, causing many to fail uniform tests. So what they do is pluck off their entire eyebrow and then color in the lighter new dyed color. Tosajoshi doesn't allow dyed hair, and doesn't take the chance at giving the girls an opportunity to get away with it. But this offense is so weird to me. It's hard to accept that a school can have this much control over it's students. If you aren't even allowed to do soemthing as minimal as pluck eyebrow hair, imagine what other rules they could impose on students. There was another short list of things below my offenses. The Beast had written her own version of 'additional comments.' She listed other things that teachers needed to be calling me on. Things like that mu Tosajoshi school pin was not directly over the pocket and my heart, that my hair was not as orderly as the other girls, and a few other strange little directions. I sat in my desk, awaiting the girls to roar with laughter over these comical offenses. Instead, the hall seemed to get quiet, and try to change to subject. I figured out that I hadn;t been the only one who had been ripped to shreds by the Beast's intake of rules. It seemed though, after the Uniform Check, the Beast kept her distance. Yano-sensei probably tipped off my host counselor about her little report concerning my rule breakings. I assumed that she had been warned for the very last time to stay away from me. Just recently, a new school year has begun. I have moved into a new grade, while a new set of Middle School 1st Graders are being broken by the Beast. On my very first day, I made a vow that things were going to get better, and that I was going to make things even more wonderful than last year. That very day, while the last bell had rung, signalling dismissal, I met up with my friends from the club. Together, arm in arm, we bounced around and made our way to theclub room in the other building. Somewhere along the way, the chill overtook the group of bubbly High School Second Graders. While my friends cowered in fear, trying to find an empty room to hide in, I stood tall ready to face the Beast. Just for the record, my skirt was rolled as far as it could go, socks folded and crinkled, sleeve clips unbuttoned, and hair as disorderly as usual. As she stormed into my direction, trying her best to ignore me, I stopped her with a simple, "Good Afternoon Beast-sensei!" She turned to me and I watched her pickled puss change into a horrified expression upon how many rules I was breaking at one time. The shock could have gievn her a heart attack, but she dosn't have a heart so she was stayed healthy. Before the shock could wear off, causing her to go into ballistic angry Spanish bull mode, I grabbed my friends, who were standing with their mouths open at my daring feat. We scampered off the the club room. As I ran off, I turned around to see the Beast, smoke pouring out her ear and her fists being thrown up and down like an angry toddler. In my mind, a thunder cloub burst, and I knew that a battle was coming...

Prayers for the Dead

Just when you think that you've got Japan all figured out, or at least, somewhat understood, the country throws a curve ball at you. It's not even like a little dinky little league curve ball, but more like Bruce-Willis-Is-Actually-Dead-in-The 6th Sense-kind of thing. What I'm saying is that I was really beginning to think that nothing about this country could surprise me anymore. I've seen and eaten all the weird foods, experienced all the freaky cultural aspects, and all those sort of things. But, I know that I keep saying this, yet oddly it never seems to sink in. When will I ever learn? My current host mom, Osaki Okasan, was born to a Buddhist family, though later marrying into a Shinto family. It really doesn't matter which religion the family claims or claims not to be practicing, because religion in Japan is different than the rest of the world. Shintoism is the ancient and homegrown religion which basically comes down to ancestry worship and respect. While Buddhism is the 'new' religion which has some different practices and customs. The two have become interchangeable, feeding off each other's ideas and practices. They have existed together in Japan, peacefully, rather than fighting to convert members and gain a majority. What's more is that each is so deeply nestled into Japanese culture, that it is impossible to distinguish whether it is a cultural custom or religious custom. In my opinion, Japan is not religious at all, but a country highly mindful of it's rich culture and ancient customs. 7 years have passed since the May 6th, in which my host mother's father, Gado-san, passed away. The family practices a form of Buddhism, in which a Memorial Service is to be conducted for the deceased upon this Deathday anniversary. Memorial services depend on local customs and family practices. Usually, there are a number of memorial services following the death. For example, daily for the first seven days, or a number of services within the first 49 days, or on the 7th, 49th and 100th day, depending on the local custom. After that, there is a memorial service on the Obon festival in honor of the dead. The festival may be held in the 1st year, sometimes in the 3rd and 5th, 7th and 13th years, and a number of times afterwards up to either the 39th or the 50th year. As for the Gado family, the 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and many more years will have Memorial services on the Gado-san's deathday. On May 5, of Golden Week, I found myself with the Osaki family touring the Tokushima prefecture. Afterwards, we headed through the Shikokan lush countryside to the Ehime prefecture. There we stopped for the night at Okasan Osaki's mothers house, where we helped prepare for the following days big activity. The next morning, we were all prompted to awaken at 8:30, and be ready. When I was packing for the occasion, my host parents told me to wear dark colors as the Memorial Service is somewhat like a funeral type thing. They were very serious about this hinting, probably because I'm someone known to wear obnoxiously bright colors and make every cultural faux pas possible. But when I packed, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't mess up at all. Even though I'm beginning to think that messing up on all these little rules is part of the culture. Sure enough, I made a big mistake by wearing silver bracelets and a necklace. Apparently only pearls should be worn at a funeral, as they signify tears of sadness. Gold and Silver is disrespectful to the deceased. Downstairs, I watched Okasan Osaki get ready. She was placing traditional Japanese sweets in a huge bowl to give to the guests. Afterwards she got out envelopes with red/white and yellow/white ribbon, into which she placed a large sum of money. Though the money was later given to the priest to perform the ceremony, I could not guess why she used celebration colors. Black/white, usually used for condolence money, would be the most logical choice, I had assumed. The colors she used are used in celebrations, like weddings and congratulations. The money had been given to her by the guests who had come to pay their respects. It costs between $30 and $300 to attend a service, in only Condolence Money. Services are morbidly expensive, and the money helps if only just a little bit. The strange part is that the family is supposed to somehow reciprocate a small sum. And there will always be things about this place that I'm not meant to understand. The guests began arriving, shortly afterwards. I would like to be able to say the mourners, but guests seems the most appropriate. Nobody seemed to be mourning. All were dressed in dark colors, but bestowing cheerful faces and exchanging laughs. My younger host sister and I sat and watched television, while the guests continued their giddy conversations. At promptly 10, the Buddhist priest arrived at the Goda household. This large man was dressed in a Toga suit, until he went into the Tatemi room and changed. Then he wore a bright Purple rub set, with a radiant yellow sash. Briefly, I contemplated whether he was trying to look like the Purple People eater. He really stood out among the black dressed guests. The room, in which the Memorial would take place in, was a tradition Tatemi covered room. Usually Memorials take place at the Buddhist temple, but the Goda's preferred to have it at home. On one side, there was a huge Buddhist altar, made of dark thick wood and holding various types of religious items. Next to it, in the middle of the room, was an even bigger wooden altar. On this altar was various amounts of candles being burned, a huge amount of food, the daily offering to the deceased, and a picture of a stocky Japanese man. I assumed the picture was Goda-san, the man who would be receiving the Memorial, but at the rate I'm going in mistakes, it could very well have been a Japanese Santa Clause. When the priest was dressed and ready, he ushered in the guests to the room, while the kids, Me, Ebuki, Yu, Kaho, Maako, and Hikari waited for instructions. When it appeared that there would be enough room, Okasan Osaki called in her kids and told me to wait for the ceremony to finish. To say I was not disappointed would be an understatement, but I realized it was probably something that had to do with respect for the dead. Though, just when the disappointment subsided, Otosan popped his head out from the room and called for me to enter. Inside I shared a floor cushion with Ebuki, my host cousin. All the woman in the room were sitting the politest Japanese Sazae-style, which meant that I should too. I don't mind Sazae so much, because I have to sit in the style for Tea Ceremony and Koto. The only problem is that I can't last very long until my legs begin throbbing in pain. Meanwhile, the Buddhist priest began the ceremony. He did a little speech about the Goda family as well as Buddhism. Then he passed out little black books to each and every one of the group members. Inside the book were scares of incredibly difficult Japanese kanji, that most Japanese couldn't even read. Luckily there was Furigana, or easier Japanese alphabet on the side for those who couldn't understand. It didn't matter because I couldn't understand what was being said anyway. I later learned that the manuscript was so old, that it is was written in mostly Chinese, the language that ancient Japanese tried to speak. The books also had no binding, so that the paper was attached enabling you to pull it out and share. Everyone opened to the first page, which I suppose in the Western world, is actually the last page. There we began skimming from top to bottom and right to left the Kanji of the manuscript. Then the Priest began. Imagine an overweight Japanese man, who resembles a Purple-People eater, singing an opera in Japanese. He sang it at an incredibly rapid pace and at a note that makes you question the existence of Tone Deftness. I assumed that since the Memorial had begun, the odd cheerfulness would cease, yet I couldn't help but sit in awe. While the purple Priest attempted Don Quixote in Japanese, Kaho and Ebuki poked each other, some others whispered quietly, and the rest of us attempted to mimic the Priest while suppressing our laughter. I tried very hard to keep up with the words. But it was really very difficult, since the words were inconsistently sung. Instead I just studied the difficult Kanji, which was kind of like trying to teach a recently arrived immigrant Shakespheare English. Since there was no binding to the book, it was very easy to pull apart. It seemed like every time there would be a moment of quietness, mine would come undone, and I'd scurry to scoop it up. The book took us about 30 minutes to get through. And when it was finished I half expected champagne to be passed out, followed by a "Kanpai!" (CHeers) Instead another book was passed out to us. This time, Ebuki, Kaho, and I unraveled it as an accordion and shared it. Luckily it took about 4 minutes only. I breathed a sign of relief, then groaned as another book was passed out to us. It was like the second book, in that it only took us about 4 or 5 minutes to get through. When finally the Priest finished, I sat in painful Sazae and waited for another book to be passed out. Instead it was confirmed that the ceremony was over, when the other guests, began climbing out of Sazae positions. Each and every woman was whining as they stretched their legs. I was even too cramped to stand up. The kids were pushed outside the room to wait for everyone. I waited with my host siblings and listened to them make fun of the priest and talk about how boring the ceremony was. Led by the Priest, the remaining group left the room and then the house heading for the family grave. In Japan, the Family Grave is one of the most important rituals in life. The remaining family members have to clean the site as often as they can, which means that where the Grave is purchased is where the family must live near. Luckily, the Goda Family Grave was up a little hill overlooking the side of the house, a mere 5 minutes walk. Ebuki, Kaho, and I flanked the group as we made the little hike. When we arrived the immediate family members formed a circle around the grave, while the Priest lite hundreds of sticks of incense candles. Okasan Osaki began handing out the incense, 3 or 4 to each of the guests standing around the grave site. The closer family went first by lacing the curning incense in a small dedicated hole of the grave stone. Then they clasped together their hands and prayed for the deceased. My Obachan Osaki grabbed my arm and pulled me forward to contribute to the incense. Together, she and I put the burning sticks in the hole, and bend down to pray. In prayer, one is supposed to ask for something from the ancestors. I asked for them to help me learn Japanese. When we were finished, Obachan Osaki and I headed back to house together. She was curious as to what my feelings regarding the Memorial were. She explained that the Osaki family is Shinto, and has an entirely different and less elaborate ceremony for the dead. When we arrived back inside, I waited with my host siblings for more directions. Soon, the remaining guests returned and directions to the Restaurant were given. I got into the car with the Osaki's as we headed to the most expensive and fancy restaurant in area. The only word that I can use to describe meal and celebration, was Party. Everyone gorged on Raw Fish and other delicious Seafood. They toasted and laughed and enjoyed themselves and the company. At one point Hikari tried to pass me a piece of fish with her chop sticks. Passing food from chop sticks if probably the worst and most rude thing you can do in Japanese culture. This is because the only time you are allowed to do this is when you are putting your dead family member's cremated bones into Urn. Someone called Hikari on this, "HIKARI! What are you doing? This is isn't a funeral!" I looked at her and said, "Then what exactly is this?"

Rafting the Yoshinogawa

I was wide awake and really excited at 5:30 in the morning. The rest of the Osaki family was sleeping soundly, while I excitedly threw on a bathing suit and tee-shirt. By the time the alarm clock in the other room rang, I was dressed and ready to go. After all, we were heading for the Yoshino River, in Tokushima/Kochi for a full day rafting adventure. The Yoshinogawa, is Japan's most intense rafting river. In fact in the top of rafting spots in all the world, the Yoshinogawa is rated among the best. At 7:30, the Osaki cars left the city of Kochi heading for the border of Kochi and Tokushima. There we would stop at the rafting company, Happy Raft, to begin our adventure. The drive took us about an hour and 20 minutes, where everyone but myself, slept soundly. I must have acted like a little 5 year-old on a driving trip to Disney World. "Are we there yet?" "No" "How about now?" "No" "Now?" For those that don't know me, I'm one of those insane people that enjoys dangerous and crazy thrills, for fun. Most Japanese people think I'm absolutely mad when I tell them I went Bungee-Jumping at 12 years-old, Parasailing at 10, and rode my first Roller Coaster an 1 and 1/2. Rafting qualifies, at least in my book, as one of those insanely awesome extreme adventures I so much enjoy. When we arrived at the small, family-owned, river rafting company, Happy Raft, I was immediately shocked that they spoke English. On rural Shikoku. Oddly enough, Happy Raft was founded by an Aussie, and most of the staff speak a little bit English. We all sort of split into our rafting groups by this time. Since Hikari is only 7, the strict regulations say that she is not allowed on a full day rafting tour. Obachan and Chizuko-Obasan, decided the take Hikari on the half day tour on the less intense, half-day course. The Oboke, literally meaning 'Big Danger,' half-day tour is perfectly suited for first-time adventurers. The tour begins at Toyonaga where it’s straight into the action. Big rapids are interspersed with crystal clear pools as the river winds its way through the Yoshino valley down to Happy Raft base. Since they wouldn't start till later in the afternoon, they trekked out to the Iya Valley Rope Bridge (See Mysterious Iya Valley) That left Me, Otosan and Okasan Osaki, Ebuki, Kaho, and Maako getting quickly prepared for the Full Day Tour. From the brochure, "This is our premier tour and a must-do for adventure-lovers. There is no better way to refresh, relax and immerse yourself in the beauty of the river. The Koboke section stands above all other rafting trips offered in Japan. HappyRaft will ensure your day is safe and memorable. The Koboke is the big one! Japan’s ultimate white-water rafting adventure. The Koboke One-Day Trip boasts big challenging grade 4 rapids, breath-taking scenery, and crystal-clear pools!" We waited for the company to open it's doors officially, then we began getting into the rafting gear. They provided us with everything that was needed. Luckily, they had lots of heavy clothes, because the weather was cold! There was a huge wind blowing and I had 'bird-bumps' (Japanese translation of Goosebumps) from the chill. First I put on a heavy sweatshirt. Next came the wet suit. Now the wet suit, is really not the most flattering thing I had to wear. And Japanese wet suits aren't quite good for the the long legs of a gaijin. It was so short that my ankles were hanging out the entire day. The wet suit resembled overalls, in that they went over the sweatshirt with suspender type things. It was tight, and began thanking god that I lost some weight recently. Next game this horribly obnoxious colored bright yellow jacket. The younger girls put on another set of wet suits, but I really don't think it would have fit me, Okasan, and Otosan. We were then given helmets for head protection. Mine was bright red, making my outfit the most unmatching thing I have ever worn. The guide then, wrote our names in Japanese on a piece of tape and stuck it to our helmet. And with that, all of us were ready for our big rafting adventure. Into the Happy Raft van we went, briefly stopping to say goodbye to Hikari and the rest, as they set out for the Vine Bridge. The ride to our first spot was really exciting. The guide talked to the Osaki's about the last rafting adventure they all went on with Happy Raft. When we arrived at an abandoned riverside parking lot, the group exited the van, which was to be dropped off further downstream. We walked along a deserted highway, besides the huge green mountains of Shikoku, and listened to our guide talk about some rules. I really couldn't understand anything, so I didn't bother to listen. After we climbed down a hill to the Yoshinogawa riverbank, where 2 rafts floated silently waiting for us, the guide handed out paddles. On the riverbank we sat and listened as he showed us some tricks and ways to avoid danger. In the boat, I sat alongside of Okasan Osaki in the back, later to be changed. The first long stretch was not very fun at all. Mostly we just practiced techniques, which were quite embarrassing for me. My host father told the guide that I'd been rafting before. Even though I insisted I couldn't remember it, because I was like 9 years-old, he seemed to think I would be a pro. So while everyone knew exactly what to do, I sort of sat around looking clueless. The wind was blowing very harshly, causing us to paddle heavily. But our first rapids changed all of that. Soon we were beasting category 3 rapids in an attempt to stay in the raft. Kaho and Ebuki, in the front of the boat, were drenched within the first few rapids. But it wasn't until later, that the rest of us got the water. About an hour of category 3 and easy paddling passed, when we reached a spot that made our raft get stuck. When we were freed from that madness, our first category 4 of the day loomed in the distance. We were very successful in getting through it, but Happy Raft had another idea. The company has this special feature, where the drag the raft underneath the front of a huge rapid. Basically the only way to get out of it and keeping it from doing a total flip over, is to fight with all of the weight in the boat. Maako and Otosan, who had switched to the front, followed by Me and Okasan in the middle, were suddenly found in the a bathtub. The water poured into the boat, up to our shoulders and as we screamed and laughed. The guide, Ebuki, and Kaho, stayed in the back and fought to keep the boat from flipping. I was screaming at the top of my lungs, while water that was the temperature of slightly above freezing, poured into my wet suit. It was so much fun and so cold at the same time! It was definitely the most enjoyable part of the whole rafting trip. When we finally escaped the grasps of the rapids and slight hypothermia, a 20 minute paddling stretch awaited us. We all sailed along in a synchronized manner, among the chorus of Ichi-Ni, or one-Two. By the time we reached the shores, out arms were burning with pain, and crying for a break. We climbed up the side of a slight hill to where we saw Hikari and some other people from the Happy Raft company. They set out a huge table full of lunch. I was starving, but noticed there wasn't much food. So I only ate one and 1/2 mini ham and ketchup sandwiches. At some point I had to go to the bathroom. On the side of a bridge was a couple Port-a-Potty, with a Japanese touch. When I got back the rafting group, they had lit a charcoal fire. I was so frozen that I almost sat on the fire, though it wouldn't have made much difference. The wind was just so strong! Hikari, Obachan, and Chizuko, were the first to head back to base as their tour would be starting shortly. The rest of us climbed back down the hill and boarded the raft. This time, Okasan and I were put in the front of the raft, probably because it was supposed to be the wettest spot. I wasn't very happy with this idea because of how cold I was. The wind had died down alot, but I was still frozen from the coldness of the water. Sure enough, our first rapids left Okasan and Me sopping with water. The funny part was that these rapids were really dangerous and the guide called for everyone to sit in the boat in a protective way with the paddle above one's head. Okasan and I couldn't hear the directions from the roaring of the rapids. So we fought and braved the rapids in a really dangerous position, while the rest of the group thought us to be stupid. When we were told what had happened, we couldn't help but burst into laughter. After those major rapids, we made some side stops, like a rock with a huge bath carved into it. The younger girls took a little dip in the 'Onsen,' which was filled with algae rather than sulfur. They got their suit covered in the green slime, joking that it would be a good souvenir to take back for Hikari. The next part was a long boring stretch, in which the guide crafted some fun paddle games for us. Along the way we got to look out at the beauty of the Shikoku landscape. I'm convinced there is no place quite like it in it's utter beauty and mystery. The Koboke canyon, which we rafted, is crystalline schist ravine running through central Shikoku, carved out over thousands of years by the Yoshinogawa river crossing the Shikoku mountains. The steep sides and rugged terrain of the area are said to have given the ravine the names Ooboke, meaning "it is dangerous to walk at a stride", and Koboke, meaning "it is dangerous to walk even with small steps". Many strangely-shaped rocks and abysses are visible at Ooboke and Koboke, sometimes considered to have a rather masculine shape to them. These features, formed over time by the river, are the Yoshinogawa's natural "works of art". There is no good way to describe the breathtaking views of rural Shikoku. The first game that the guide crafted for us on that long paddling session, was a game where you push down your paddle into the water. When it comes back up you have to catch it. If you do, a wish will come true. Maako was the only one to catch her paddle. But I didn't make a wish, the guide however, made my wish. That I would get a boyfriend. Luckily, the silly paddle wasn't caught. The next game was my least favorite part of the whole day. The guide stood on the back of the boat, while the rest of slide to where he was standing. Slowly he pulled it back, claiming he wanted to see how far he could full it without flipping. What stupid person would really fall for that? Unfortunately the raft flipped, and since I was the furthest up from it, it crashed into my head and pushed me all the way under the water. I can't really remember what happened next, except that everyone was roaring in laughter. My Host Mom said that when I reached the surface I started screaming in English, "Oh My FREAKING God!" The water was sooooooooooooooooooooooo cold. The girls swam around in the water, whileOkasan, Otosan, and I climbed back into the boat. I think it must have been because we weren't wearing 2 wet suits that we were so uncomfortable in the water. When everyone was back on the boat, the guide asked if anyone was crazy enough to some cliff jumping. I didn't understand his question, but I did understand when 5 Japanese people pointed their fingers at me as if on cue. So we paddled down the river, my lips were blue and my teeth were chattering as the wind blew strongly. When we reached the last stretch of our tour, the raft was stopped at a huge rock on the side of the river. The girls and I all climbed out, and onto the rocks. The guide helped us as we slowly climbed the huge rocks to midpoint. Kaho went first and jumped straight into the water. Maako and Ebuki were too scared to go, but I asked the guide to take me to a higher spot. Hey I didn't care that I was suffering from Hypothermia, a chance to some something crazy and stupid and dangerous is like my life called. The guide wouldn't even climb to the spot he showed me. It was sooooo high! But as soon as I reached it, I lept off the stone into a 360 Twist. I hit the water quite painfully, especially since my life jacket wouldn't allow me to go all the way under. But I popped out of the water laughing and cheering, while my body wondered how I got from Japan to Antarctica. Back inside the raft, I watched as Ebuki and Maako had to be taken to a lower rock, nearly right above the water. There is no word for Chicken in Japanese. Ebuki did a flip, while Maako did a simple jump. Back inside the boat, we paddled to our final set of rapids. The first portion, we sailed through while all standing up. I have terrible balance, and nearly took out Kaho with my paddle. The last rapid, we did while laying down in a relaxing style. I was sad to get off the raft when it was all over with, but everyone seemed relieved. They were all exhausted! And it showed when we climbed into the van for the 40 minute ride back. Within 5 minutes snores filled the van. I just sat back and laughed.

Miss Independent

When I arrived in Kochi-Ryoma airport on August 17th, 2006, I knew as much Japanese as a can of Tuna. Just for the record that can of Tuna, does not have a Japanese label. And on top of that I was just 15 years-old. While most 15 year-old were getting squashed as Freshman in High School, I was standing in an airport on the other side of the world, knowing no one or anything. Most people who met me on that day, thought I was absolutely mad. Some were even making bets about how long I could last away from home. I don't think anyone really believed I could do it, that is, except for myself. Now, 9 months later, I officially say that I have done it, or am doing it. It hasn't always been a walk in the park with Chocolate ice cream, but I figure what dream was every really special without it's nightmares. And there have always been people supporting me, especially once they got to know me and mostly come to love me. So far, over the course of this year, I've lived with 3 of the 4 host families. Like every family in America, and probably the rest of the world, each host had it's strengths and weaknesses, it's great moments and it's disappointing moments. The Masaki's, my first family, were the ones that made me know that I was going to have a wonderful year in Japan. The Oono's, were difficult but rewarding in that they showed me how to fight and stay strong. The third and my current family, the Osaki's, are busy and unpredictable but exciting all at the same time. The Masaki Family were pressured into hosting an American exchange student, only 2 weeks before my arrival. They had been really reluctant to open their home when they had heard rumors of the previous terrors, or last year's exchange students. The packets containing my application showed a fat American girl, who was not the same girl who walked off the airplane. That girl was a tall, blue-eyed American girl, who tried her very hardest to speak Japanese. That girl was me, at only 15 years-old. I have always been the youngest girl in my class, and age doesn't matter to me anymore. But in Japanese culture, the teenage years don't exist, instead one is a child until reaching the age of 20. The Masaki's basically saw a little innocent school girl walk into the terminal. This was combined with the fact that the Masaki's only have one daughter, Naoko, who is a college student and grown up, leaving behind an empty nest. Mr. Masaki had always been very protective of Naoko, and seeing her all grown up was hard for him. But when I came to with the Masaki's, I sort of became the daughter. I was so much like the High School Naoko, with my constant studying, love for books and movies, and my cunning sense of humor, that by halfway in my stay, Mr. Masaki would tell people I was his daughter. Because I was so attached to the Masaki's, a great deal of independence was really not needed, or allowed. For instance, I was prohibited from running at nightime, because of 'drunk old Japanese men.' And when the silly Japanese mafia drive by, Mr. Masaki would hurry me inside. Basically I was treated in the style of every Japanese child, with even less freedom than at home. I even had a certain time I needed to be in my room by. All in all, I didn't even notice the lack of independence. There was always something to do or somebody to talk to. One of the strangest things for my host parents occurred in December. I was living with a new family, but I was still traveling with the Masaki's as often as I could. One morning for Brunch, I ordered coffee. My host father spat, "You drink coffee?!? But you are only 16." I explained that I had only just started drinking it, after my birthday and at the new host family. In his eyes, I saw a sudden sadness as he replied, "Well you are 16, though I don't like you drinking it. All grown up, then." I think things really changed for me when I moved into my 2nd family, the Oono's. I often find that I give the impression of disliking this family, which isn't exactly the case. Actually, I loved my host mom, Mari-chan, and found myself bestowing in her all of my activities, problems, joys, and problems. I enjoyed having a host brother, Yo, and weird host cousin, Eri. But there is no way to get around the fact that I strongly disliked my host father. In this family, I was again treated like a young child, with strict rules regarding when I had to be home, which often cut into my club life. At first, I kept an open mind, assuring myself that the rules were in place for my own good. But there was nothing to but go on the computer and be immersed in the English world. All I really wanted to do was run, but by the time I arrived home every day, it was too late. Night running was out of the question. Things got really bad in January, when I was invited for the movies with the Masaki's. My host father went berserk that it was much too late and that they didn't have the right to invite me because I wasn't living with them anymore. Though I kept my mouth quiet, rather than argue with me. Instead I started watching, and learned that it wasn't only I who was treated like this, but his one family. What bothered me the most was that they just sat back and accepted the mean comments. Somehow, through all the hard moments, I grew stronger. And I don't mean like Action Super Hero strength, this strength came from the realization that there is only one person I really need to rely on in this life, myself. I began to fight back, but not noticeably. I spent less and less time involved with the host family, and more time at school or on the computer locked in my room. I had been forced to eat a large amount of food every night, and I found myself fighting that I wasn't hungry. Mari-chan and I worked out a morning running routine for me, before anyone could get up and stop me. In the end, leaving the family was not very hard. My third and current host family, the Osaki's, are a busy bunch. It's a lot of fun being in the house of 4 kids, 4 adults, 3 cats, and 1 exchange student. There are 4 kids, all with more activities than your average wedding planner. All 4 are really very active, and somewhat spoiled. When I arrived, I expected to be treated like a little child, after all the youngest girl is only 7 years-old. On the contrary, I have more freedom here than in any of my families. My host parents are so tied up in their children's activities that it is hard for them to enforce rules that I really just don't need. Plus my host mother was an exchange student to America during her college days. She told me that her least favorite part was being treated like a little kid with strict rules. So, I can run whenever I want to, be home at whatever time the clubs end, and hang out with friends anytime at all. Basically I'm allowed to come and go as I please, as long I don't cause any trouble, which is quite easy. Things are still somewhat difficult in this family. Don't get me wrong, I love them very much, especially my Otosan Osaki, who has tried very hard to make my stay wonderful. He's planned many little day trips, and always included me into everything his own kids get to do. And I love little Hikari and Maako, who are just like goofy little girls. But I don't quite feel like a real member of the family. That's not to say I feel like a guest, either. Something in the middle of the two is the best bet. I still find myself feeling like I'm the only person that I can really rely on. But I've also become aware of how hardened I've become. It's like I'm hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. So in the end, things don't make me all that upset. I'm moving soon, and I'm anxious to see what life is going to be like with that family. Looking at this year from a perspective such as, how independent I've become, is somewhat weird for me. It makes things really clear about how quick this year is flying by. I don't want to leave, because I love all that I have here. It hasn't always been easy, but it's always been enriching. I'm a different person from that Can of Tuna that arrived in August of 2006.

You Can Just Call Me Tree Pear

One thing I really admire about Japan, is the clever use age of Kanji in people names. For the record Kanji are the Chinese characters, adopted by Japan, and used as one of the 3 Japanese alphabets. The other two alphabets, Hiragana and Katakana, have about 48 characters within each of them. Nobody knows how many Kanji there actually are in existance, although some rumors estimate there to be about 50,000. That's not even the most intidating fact. The worst is that one Kanji can have multiple meanings. An easy example is the common 中. It can either be pronounced as naka, meaning in or inside, or chu, which is an abbreviation of China. Within names of Japanese citizens, Kanji are probably the most difficult to read. What I really like, though, is that every one's name has a different and special meaning with Japanese Kanji. Japanese names usually consist of a family name, followed by a given name. And middle names are not recognized in Japan, like in the Western sense. When someone addresses another person, they usually use the family name. Only close friends and family members use a persons given name. According to estimates, there are as many as 100,000 different surnames in use today in Japan. Though there are only about 1/100th of that sum in used Kanji. Family names almost always refer to something in nature. For example, Ishikawa (石川) means "stone river," Yamamoto (山本) means "the base of the mountain," and Inoue (井上) means "above the well." While first names can have any sort of meaning, as long as it is of kind nature. For the examples I use, I put the family name first, followed by the first name, in Japanese style. Unlike most Western names, every Japanese name has a meaning. Though each and every one of these names means something important in Japanese, translated into English and they sound a little bit funny. 矢野 愛実 Yano Aimi, who is a friend of mine, has a very interesting name. Ya means Arrow, while No means Field. So Yano (矢野) means Arrow Field. Ai means love and affection, and Mi means fruit. Aimi (愛実) literally means Affectionate Fruit. The names almost never work together. Another example, is Hirosue Yurie, 球末 友里恵. Hiro (球末) means Globe End, while Yurie means (友里恵) Royal Friend of Mercy. When I first arrived in Japan, I couldn't read any Kanji. But 9 months later, it is my strongest Japanese language skill. Actually I can read more Kanji than previous students who had studied the language in the past. I think it's probably because I have a knack for reading and remembering things. One of my favorite things to do in my spare time is go outside the school Teachers room and read the names of the teachers. My current homeroom teacher is Fukumoto-sensei (福本) meaning Base of Happiness. There is also Matsuoka-sensei, (松岡) my school counselor, who's name means Pine Tree Hill. And then there are the names of my host families. My first host family, the Masaki's (正木) are the Truthful Tree's. The second family, the Oono's, (大野), is the Big Field. The third family is the Osaki's (尾崎) or Tail Cape. While my final family name is Kato (加藤) or Add Wisteria. In Japan, one of the rules and regulations to become a Japanese citizen is the adoption of a Japanese name. My host counselor had a friend who's name went from John Brown to Minamoto Yohei. Now as much as I love Japan, becoming a citizen is not one of my priorities. However I did want to adopt a Japanese name, and with a stroke of luck, I was able to put my name into the Kanji characters. For the record my name in Japan is pronounced something like, Juri Ganaa. As you can see, because it began as a Western name, my first name is used first become the family name. Now the Kanji name ensures that the strange pronunciation sticks, and backward name reading sticks. A few months ago, I was sitting and eating dinner with the Osaki host family, when we all decided to craft me a Kanji name. They liked the Kanji, 授里, which is translated into Giver of the Village. I thought the Kanji was kind of ugly, so it was back the drawing board. After many failed attempts to please my strict Kanji decision, a really nifty looking set of Kanji was selected. My host parents were somewhat annoyed that I selected the name because of the way the Kanji looked, rather than the meaning. But when I picked the final Kanji for Juri, nobody could argue that it wasn't perfect. Otosan Osaki even said that the Kanji had a really pretty meaning for girls. Though he couldn't explain what the meaning was. Next we crafted the Kanji for Ganaa, which was really difficult. There is only one Kanji for Ga and A. Though I was able to pick a pretty cool looking Kanji for Na. Plus the name had a really special importance to me. I didn't know the meaning in Japanese, but the Kanji I used had outside meanings. The A Kanji was taken from my host sister in the Osaki family, Maako (真亜子) Her name means Truth child. While the NA kanji was taken from my first host sister Masaki Naoko (菜?子)Thus my Japanese Kanji name looks like this: 我亜菜 樹梨. (Read Gaana Juri) About a month after the adoption of my Kanji name, I discovered the real meaning. I had a Japanese lesson with my homeroom teacher, Fukumoto-sensei, when I write out my Kanji name. She's a very Westernized teacher, and when I was finished she burst into laughter. She told me that the Kanji had a wonderful meaning for a Japanese person, but that I was going to crack up when I found it out. She wrote out Ju (樹) and explained that this is a smarter term for Tree. The she wrote out Ri(梨) and then attempted to draw the shape of pear. 樹梨 means Tree Pear. I now give you permission to call me Tree Pear. Contrary to Fukumoto-sensei's belief, I actually like the meaning for the name a whole lot. Okay, sure I don't actually like Pears, but it's still pretty cool. That is until you add it with my last name. Ga (我) means something like I. A (亜) doesn't have any meaning. And NA (菜) means Vegetable. 我亜菜 I Am Vegetable. My English translated Japanese name is Tree Pear, I Am Vegetable. My name is more organic than a Vegan's refrigerator. For as bad as it sounds, I actually really like my name. It's got beautiful Kanji, even though the meaning is bizarre to say the least. Julie Garner doesn't have any special meaning in English. Though I know it does mean something in Latin. I'm pretty sure Julie means Youthful. Garner has something to with farming, but what exactly I have no idea. In conclusion, when I return to America, I'm not going to go around by the name of Tree Pear. But having a Japanese name is really special. I'll never ever be Japanese, and I'm informed that quite often. But having a name written in ancient characters with a pretty interesting meaning, makes me fit in that much more. Tree Pear, I am Vegetable. A Vegetarian's dream.

Pushing Myself To The Limit

I'm getting really tired of being bad at everything. This post is not intended to be something all about complaining. Because I don't really have alot of things to complain about. Except that everything I have gotten involved in, whether I like it or not, is something that I have a hard time doing. Just a few things to start with for example, Japanese. I feel like my language skills aren't very good, even though a million people tell me otherwise. I arrived her knowing nothing, and have had to teach myself everything I know. I'm not annoyed, because I love the language. I once studied French and Spanish, and even though I did seemingly better with these languages, I hated them. Japanese is utterly different, and even though I struggle with it daily, I like it. Nihon Buyou. I was forced into joining the art of traditional Japanese dance, though I strongly dislike it. I'm not good at it, and so I don't really but much effort into it. Calligraphy, or Shoudo. I try my hardest, I really do. But Japanese Kanji is so incredible intense. The teacher tells me I do my best, and my characters are beautiful, but I know he is just being nice. Koto. I am in love with my school club, Koto, or Japanese Harp. But since the moment I started, my lack of musical talent has been a bot of a road block in all of my endeavors. Math. Okay so I haven't had to do any such Math this year, but I felt the need to throw it in with the mix. I hate Math, and I'm horrific at it. I don't reckon that will ever change. Synchronized Swimming. I know most of you are probably laughing about this one now. Why should being bad at Synchronized swimming both anyone, you are probably wondering. It doesn't bother me, but it's the activity that I have been heavily exposed to in the past few months, while living with my current host family, the Osaki's. I tried the sport, and got my butt whooped by a group 9 and 10 year old elementary school kids. What's the point of listing all these things? Proof. I'm trying to make a point of something. Imagine going through your entire life, being bad at almost everything you do. Now, since I arrived here, I have developed an enormous self-esteem, and little things like being bad at Koto don't even effect it at all. But when I look at everything going on in my life, and see that it's not just Koto, but EVERYTHING, that I have trouble with. Well, it's not exactly comforting. But there is something I'm good at it. Except that being good at it, is a bit on the questionable side. It's more or less something I do for fun, that I like doing, and don't have any competition, and thus people telling me I'm not good at it. I run. I once did track, but I don't like competition. What I Du like is the feeling of coming home after a long run, and feeling accomplished. My host sisters Hikari and Maako's Synchronized swimming takes place at Kuroshio Arena in the far outskirts of Kochi and possibly Nangoku City. I have, an 3 occasions, participated in the practices. I wrote about the first experience in 'Week in the Life of Ko Ichinensee: Wednesday.' But all 3 practices were utterly torturous. I thought I was a fairly good swimmer, till a 5 year old whooped my butt in a Freestyle stroke race. Eventually, I couldn;t take anymore. I got out of the pool and began exploring the arena. The arena was built for rural Kochi to host an All Japan swim tournament in 2002. Afterwards it became a place for local teams to practice sports and swim events. Since it is so far from the middle of the city, there is a lot of flat land around the arena. Recently it was coverted into a half a dozen tennis courts, 3 large baseball fields, a soccer field, and another empty land. Inside the building, it houses a small pool, and an enormous pool that is actually converted into a gym during the winter months. I stumbled into the area of the gym, which is normally packed with people. It is a huge gym and so there are 4 areas in which 4 teams are usually inhabiting. I had been in here before, to watch my host sister practice dry synchronized dancing. Usually a Volleyball team, Dodge ball team, Ballet team, and an open free space are using the resources of the gym. However, at the time of my exploring, no one was there. It was just me alone in a giant gym, the the size of a small football field. On top of the area of the gym is a small running course, or walking course. Walking along it and you can get to one side, where is is about 3 stories worth of stairs and seating for big events at the arena. I counted out 20 flights of stairs, that day as I looked around scouting the area for a place to do my thing. The lights were dim, and the heating was off making the area quite chilly. I was wearing a bathing suit cover and a thick pair of socks. I had no shoes, but my body felt compelled to do what it loves to do. I dropped my bag and I began to run. It wasn't just a simple run around the jogging course, I found myself facing the stairs. 20 flights of stairs makes it easy for me to climb one and then down one, thus making 10 sets of stairs to climb in one go. The stairs, as I mentioned before are 3 stories tall, so essentially I would be running 30 stories each time I finished. I would go up and down and when I was done, make a flat surface run around the course until I reached the other side, where I had the choice to climb up again. On the first day of running, I was able to complete 5 magnificent times around the arena, without stopping running once. I was so proud of myself, but at the same time the runner inside of me was already scheming. Once a runner reaches his goal, celebration last a few seconds until a new goal is made. In my mind, knowing I had 5 more weeks of practices before I changed host families, I made the goal to be able to do 10 times around the stairs and course. Usually, I make the goal of 8, because this is my lucky number. But I was feelimg ambitious. And so it was decided that each week, I would increase the laps by one. I was successful in increasing each lap by 1 each week. It wasn't easy, not because my body was not ready to complete these tasks but because people began to notice me. The second week, there were a few teams practicing, and people looked up to see an insane running Gaijn frantically zipping up and down the stairs in a fast pace. Sweat pouring out of her head, and a loud out-of-breath type sound wheezing from her mouth. I had no reason for pushing myself as hard as I did, other than a goal with myself. But these intense running episodes coincided with another thing. My mom had just left Japan, and I was in a new class. Though I loved the new class, I was stuck in the corner alone, by myself very very often. I was thinking about home alot, never in a homesick type way, but always wondering what I was missing. When I ran, even though my knees throbbed with intense pain upon climbing the stairs, my own toe had been stubbed so bad that it was back from a bruise, and my body screaming at my mind to stop, it took away the thought of home. I was in my own world, running and doing everything possible to reach my goal. I was all set to leave the Osaki's on May 20th, making my final attempt at 10 laps, May the 16th. The rumor that a Gaijin crazy enough to attempt the running course up and down the steps every Wednesday had reached the ears of many of the Arena goers. Many parents of the team members had come to watch their daughter swim, all the while peeking in their heads to see if it was true. Even Osaki Okasan came, though it was for a 'meeting.' I told her about my goal the night before, and like the rest of the world, she thought I was crazy. She asked me I was pushing myself so hard, for no reason. I told there was no reason other than wanting to be able to do it for myself. I started the run, climbing up and down the cement stairs, my heart pounding in my chest, while fierce adrenaline kept me going. The Lion in me was roaring, and I finished each lap and the started again. On the 8th lap, I tripped, and landed heavily on my already throbbing knee, But I kept going. When I reached 10, I stopped. I finished. Asking myself again, why I did it, what possessed me to do something so insane, and I really can't give anyone an answer. Part of it, was of course, proving to myself, that I'm not terrible at everything I do. Though that's silly, because I already knew that. In all, I think the real reason, is because I've been pushing myself to the limit since November of 2005, when I went for my Rotary interview. It's just the kind of stuff that I do.

The Earthquake Drill

I know people often say, better late than never. It's a good line, but in safety drills, I don't agree with it. Especially in the case of the Tosajoshi once annual Earthquake/Fire Drill, which took place after my first experience with an earthquake. (See All Shook Up for details) So about a month after my pants wetting experience, I finally participated and learned what exactly to do when an earthquake strikes. Well, sort of. At most schools in Japan, earthquake drills are held once a month. Though at Tosajoshi, the drill is only held once a year. If an earthquake strikes while in a classroom, students learn to get under the desks, head first, and to hold on to the legs of the desk until the quake is over. After that the teacher leads students out of the building and, once in a safe area, counts to make sure everyone is present, making sure everybody is safe. At schools with three floors, the older students may also practice using emergency chutes to get to the ground from the top level. Another feature of the drills is to pretend that a fire has broken out and to find a safe way out of the school. The location of the imaginary fire is different every time, so we can learn what to do no matter where it breaks out. If a serious earthquake strikes during school hours, we are supposed to stay at school with teachers until somebody from home comes. Anyway, on possibly the hottest day for an early spring fire drill, the girls were informed that the Kochi Fire Department had arrived and would soon begin the drill. My classmates were all highly anticipating the drill because it meant a free afternoon of no classes. I, too, was quite interested in the drill. After all, when I first learned about Japan, way back in 2nd grade, we watched a movie about the events of a Japanese school. One of the only things I remember was footage of the students flinging under desks, during an earthquake. Since I'd experienced an earthquake, in which I was too scared to get under a desk, I wanted to learn how to get better prepared. Now I warn you, this is incredibly biased. Which is probably because I come from a school in America, where drills for disasters are more common than fat people. Well, maybe not. The type of drill also various with the location. Like in the Midwestern states, students all know what to do with a Tornado. In California, with the active fault lines, everyone is well versed in Earthquake safety. My school, Verona High School, is a safe one story building far from active fault lines, tornadoes, or other regional mother nature furies. Yet, still, every month we hold Fire Drills, and none of the students are ever warned ahead of time, so that instant preparation is key. Everyone considers the drills to be more of an annoyance, but no one can deny that we aren't fully prepared. And on top of the Fire Drills, due to the increase in school shootings, Lock Downs are held on special occasions. In the classroom, prior to the said time of the drill, we all waited in silence and patiently to begin. I should have taken this as a bad sign from the start. Honestly, earthquakes don't give time to wait. My homeroom teacher, Fukumoto-sensei, talked to her class about how to pass the upcoming tests. Suddenly, as soon as the clock struck exactly 1:00, the said time of the drill, the PE blared on. The sound that came out was the most dramatic attempt to recreate the sound of dangerous fire savaging a building. It sounded like it came right out of Back Draft the movie. Even my silly Japanese classmates, who usually find these things cute, remarked how lame it was. Fukumoto-sensei ushered everyone to quickly get under a desk. The girls, all experts in these stupid drills, rushed underneath a desk at rapid speeds. I on the other hand, learned that Japanese desks are not gaijin proofed. For all my strong attempts, I could not squeeze under a desk to save my life. I did manage to get under, with just my head exposed, which I suppose defied the whole reason for the desk, which is so to protect you from falling objects. Suddenly the principal came on the PE and in the world's most unenthusiastic voice said, "Okay the drill is beginning. Please be careful when exiting the building." When we exited the room, I quickly headed towards to staircase. Then Chiake pulled me back and informed me that we had to stand in number order for the attendance. So we all lined up in the middle of the hallway on the 4th floor, blocking the entryway to the stairway and wasting alot of time. I knew that it was was only a drill, but I couldn't help wondering allowed the point of the attendance. Chiake, overhearing me, informed me that the teach needed to get a full head count to see that everyone was alive and safe. Well if he stayed in a burning, crumbling, or whatever building much longer, we were all going to be dead. Then a head count wouldn't be necessary. But I kept my mouth shut, again. Instead I looked an the bright side, knowing many teachers would have done the head count prior to the starting of the drill making it even more pointless. What came next was pure chaos. Tosajoshi High School has 5 floors, and just about 750 students and teachers. When Fukumoto-sensei was finished with her head count, she directed the class to the closest. Given the chance between staying in a possibly damaged building, and making me way down the staircase, I would probably just take my chances. It seemed like ever student in the entire school had sardined themselves into the stairwell and were pushing slowly to make a way through the crowd. I reckon if someone tripped, they would have most certainly been trampled to death. Luckily, since I'm taller than most of the girls, I stood above their heads and was able to get some air. The rest had to suffer, while contributing to the greatest fire hazard in the history of fare hazards. Outside, I seemed to have lost my class, and looked for someone to help me find my way. I ran into an English teacher, who asked my thoughts about the drill. He was smiling in a way that meant he expected me tp reply that it was really well done, and that everyone was prepared. I shook me head and said it was 'eye-opening.' Eventually I found my class, and we all sat in the scorching sun, while the slower classes met and took a seat. The unenthusiastic principal welcomed us all and mentioned the success of yet another drill. While he spoke, I thought about where we were sitting. The courtyard is located in exactly the middle of the 2 buildings of the school. So if they caught fire, we'd be sitting ducks. He continued to ramble on, when he announced we would all have one more go. I was heart-broken. But back in the classroom, I vowed to do this drill right. SO that when the dramatic music began, I dove head first underneath a table, leaving only my legs were exposed. When it was finsihed, I lined up at the headcount skipped through the sardine can staircase. Back in the courtyard, the Kochi Fire Department began doing their share of the program. They had set up long slide chutes from the 3rd and 4th floors, as well as extra stairwells on the middle school side. Earlier in the week, girls from each class were chosen to represent their school in the practice. They all wore their gym uniforms, and had plenty of practice to impress the guests. Japan has totally overlooked that element of sup rise. While we watched the drills, I had a moment. I was sitting next to my best friend, Chiake, laughing at a stupid joke. I was just one of the 2,000 Tosajoshi students sitting and roasting in the courtyard, wearing the sailor suit, hair pinned up, and laughing alongside friends and classmates. Alot of times, when the whole student body gets together, Chiake and the other girls make comments about how weird it is that everyone is virtually the same, Everyone is wearing the same uniform, hair and eye color, and close in height. But I think it's really amazing. This is probably because no matter how much I say that I think fit in here, I never really will. I'll always be a gaijin, and outsider. But it doesn't matter, because I love it that way. Ri-chan and Haruka, or class representative on the chute, stood on top of the chute and waved out to the crowd. The Fukumoto-homu girls all screamed and waved back. Haruka let out a huge cheer, "I love Fukumoto-homu!" and then slid down the slide. Ri-chan then screamed, "Best class in all of the school!" then took her turn. Meanwhile, the girls in my class, gushing with pride, had started cat calling their names. At the bottom of the chute, Haruka and Ri-chan spoke to the Firemen about how important it was to do that chute practice. Then they ran back over to where we were sitting and were greeted by immense cheers of affection. As Japanese fire/earthquake drills go, it was a resounding success. I think it’s safe to say the teachers and kids at that school are going to be 100% prepared for if such a disaster actually happens. Of course, they’ll need to be told about it days in advance and given a special 5 minute warning before hand. What’s that you say, fire drills in your country are random, and meant to actually simulate the experience of being taken surprise by a disaster? That’s so silly.

Saying Goodbye: A Different View

I hate saying goodbye. It's just one of those things about a person that never changes. FOr me, it's the inability to say goodbye. It's not as though as I dislike change. What I think it really comes from is letting go. Letting go of a person, a lifestyle, or whatever may be the case. Because letting go means accepting that things won't go back to the way they were, no matter what the circumstances. On May 20, I moved from my third host family, the Osaki's to my fourth and final family, the Kato's. I think that the goodbyes came the night before, when they held a going away dinner party type thing. It was never meant to be as hard as it was. Earlier in the week, with the looming knowledge that I would be moving soon, I wrote out a somewhat mushy goodbye and thank you letter. I don't what prompted me to make it the way I did, because the Osaki family is not exactly a mushy type household. But in the end, I think it contained exactly the right words. Basically it said that I don't want to move and that 3 months is way too fast to really get situated in a host family. WHen I left my first family, the Masaki's, I was crushed. And that the feeling had returned upon leaving this family. I apoligized that my Japanese wasn't very good, but that I tried my hardest. I even threw in an inside joke. Saying that I will never ever get married, but if by some random miracle I meet someone I actually like, I'll be sure to invite the Osaki's. The feeling is the same one upon leaving this family. I also put some truth in to the letter. That there were many times when I was sure that the Osaki's did not like me. But in the end, I know that was wrong to think. We come from two different cultures, and live two different lifestyles. But I was so lucky to have such a wonderful third family. A little before the party, I found myself drowning in sadness. I was up in my room, looking around and thinking it would be the last time I would ever be able to lay around in here doing nothing. Instead of letting it really get to me, I decided to go for a bike ride, and see if Chiake, my best friend at school, had arrived home. She lives only 5 minutes away from my host house. And having her live so close in another wonderful benefit of living here. Because on the days when Koto ends really late, I always had someone to laugh alongside of as we navigated the streets of Kochi. She hadn't arrived home from her practice, and I had about 1 hour to kill before the dinner. I found a nice quiet spot overlooking the main streets of Kouda, my host town, where I sat and held in the tears. I've become such a strong person, ever since I moved into the second family. After that incident when the Masaki's dropped me off at the Oono's, my face crimson and wet with tears, I vowed to never cry in front of anyone in Japan ever again. And oddly enough, I never broke that promise. I grew so strong with that second family and into the third family. I stopped relying on other people. And even when my second host father made me cry, I did so with the door closed, not letting anyone see my weakness. My host Aunt Chizuko found me first and invited me to come inside the house. Together we walked in, and she told me that the past 3 months were much too quick. I smiled and told her that I thought so too. At 7, Obachan called everyone into the main living area, where the food was already set out on the table. The whole family had been able to make the dinner, Okasan and Otosan Osaki, Obachan and Ojichan Osaki, Aunt Chizuko, and Ebuki, and Yu, Kaho, Maako, and Hikari. When everyone was seated, the little girls began whining for food, but Otosan wanted to do a thank you speech. He basically just said that the family was very lucky to have had an experience of hosting such a nice American exchange student. By this point, my stomach had twisted into a painful knot and the damns in my eyes sprung little leaks. He gave me a look that indicated he wanted me to say something, but I knew that the little leaks would soon become massive overloads if I did. Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the note, handing it to him. He opened it and read it aloud. Everyone sat and listened intently, and waited for him to finish before making comments. Just as I suspected, they laughed at the Inside Joke, and were saddened at the idea that 3 months had actually passed so quickly. Okasan and Obachan asked some more questions regarding why I suspected that the family didn't like me at some points. I didn't even answer the question, but responded in that we grew up in different cultures. But I couldn't say anything else. My eyes were burning and I started to pinch my thigh in a painful way to hold them back. I dug into the food, before anyone could say anything else to make me cry. The hardest part of the night was when Chizuko and Ebuki left. They both even gave me a hug, which is probably a first time for both of them. But they reminded me that this would be the last time I would see them before changing families. Both were too busy to come see me off the following day. And that's when the tears came. I kept them to a minimum, with the most painful pinch on my thigh ever. Ebuki didn't shed a tear, because she sort of didn't give me much of a goodbye. It was more of a half-hearted hug, and then she walked away. I understood, though. If she stayed and said a proper goodbye, she would have been crying a lot harder than I was. After the living room had been vacated, I got into the shower and cried. They always say that the best way to let go of your sadness is to cry out in the shower. That way no one sees or hears you, but you can still get everything out. And so I did. I spent alot of hours wondering if this family really even liked me. But now that it is all said and done, I realize that they never stopped liking me. My main worry came from wondering if my host mom thought I was more a nuisance. But in all, she understood me the very most. For one, she was an exchange student to America for over a year. She never much liked to talk about it, because I'm pretty sure she didn't have as wonderful experience as I'm having. The one time I did get her to reveal some details about her exchange, she told me that lived with one family for an entire year and that it was so very difficult. She told me that even though she was in her late teens, the host family treated her with strict rules. When she told me this, many things regarding my life in her house began to make sense. For instance, I was never given a curfew, rules of the household, chores, etc. Instead I was given as much freedom as I could possible want, making it possible for me to leave whenever I wanted. Since at the time I didn't know Osaki Okasan was just treating me the way she would have wanted to have been treated, I assumed she thought me as a house guest, not really a part of the family, which is what my goal was. The following morning, Sunday, I had to attend school. I was all packed and I left everything out in the room, waiting for someone to carry it to the car. When school was finished, I left my bike at the building and took the long walk home. There I had a quick Ramen lunch with my host family. It didn't feel like it was going to be the last day, because everything seemed so normal. Hikari and Maako were running around screaming and fighting over food, all the while climbing into bath suits for Synchronized Swimming practice. Otosan was watching my host brother's Karate match on his camera, while Okasan was cooking. At 1, Hikari and Maako sprinted through the door shouting 'Bye Bye.' It was the easiest goodbye I have ever had to say, partially because I didn't actually say anything. But at 2, it was time for me to leave the house for the final time. Obachan came in and with all her Obachan Strength, empowered me with a huge hug and wiped out her tears on my uniform. I, too, was bursting with tears at this point. In the Mini Van, packed with all my bags, I listened as my host parents talked about the kids. I stayed quiet taking in the fact that this was my last time. After a 20 minute ride, we arrived in the town of Mama, my new host town. I was ushered into the house of the Kato family, with my Osaki host parents. We all sat around my next dinner table, while I began bleeding from from pinching myself so hard. If I let the Kato's see me cry, would they think I didn't want to be here? When it was time for the Osaki's to leave, my Okasan had begun crying. It was a total shock for me, because I really thought she was a bit of a cold person. Instead, she threw her arms around me and told me that I was welcome to visit anytime. My host father followed in her hug, which was even more suprising. Japanese people hate hugs. As they walked to the door, Okasan Osaki turned around and in a smile reminded me that I had to come back to their house next week for Hikari and Maako's School Undokai, or field day. I smiled, and replied that I wouldn't miss it. Saying goodbye has and always will be the hardest thing to do. The thing about saying goodbye here in Japan on my exchange year, is that I can never be too sure that goodbye it's just temporary or the real thing. What I mean by this is, does goodbye mean forever? I have less than 3 months, but even when those 3 months are over, what does goodbye really mean? When I left America, and said goodbye to my family and friends, I always thought that it would be the hardest part of my exchange year. Yet it may have actually been the very easiest thing. Saying goodbye to my life in America was not quite has difficult as saying goodbye in Japan. Because with America, I always knew I would come back. I always knew I would sleep in my own bed and eat breakfast at the kitchen I grew up in. Then I would go to school with the friends I've known since I was little, and life would go back to being the way it was before Japan. But with Japan, saying goodbye, usually means the end. I'm never going to be sleeping in a bed in the Osaki household for 3 months and living as though part of the family. Although I'm sure I will continue to see the family, what about all the other people I have met and befriended becauseof living with the Osaki's. Letting go is accepting that things will never go back to way they are. As a Rotary exchange student, we are forced into letting go, even if we aren't ready.

Judi-Sensei

At 16, I consider myself to be one of those lucky people who has gotten to experience alot of amazing things. I mean obviously, not many people can say that they have lived for over 9 months in a foreign country, especially one as foreign as Japan. But there is one more thing. How does it happen that a 16 year-old American high school student, with basic Japanese skills, teaches an entire Middle School English Conversation class? By herself. On May 19, 2007, I arrived at my host school, Tosajoshi prepared for another fun filled Saturday. My schedule on Saturday is as followed: English Conversation, English Conversation, English Grammar, and English Conversation. English Conversation is the period that I head to the Tosajoshi Middle School and help a foreign teacher teach English to the Chugakkou Ichinensee (Middle School 7th graders.) I'm really just an assistant, but I feel like I do certainly play a big help in teaching. While the teacher teaches the pronunciation, I usually walk around and correct the students. The girls really like me, and I really love teaching. It's a wonderful opportunity to see what it is like to teach and to teach English in a foreign country. For the first 8 months of my assistant teaching stint, the lead teacher was Paula Fabian. She was a great teacher who used really connected with the students. What the students liked best about her, was that she wasn't a typical Japanese teacher. The kind that stands in front of the 40 students and lectures. Paula was interactive, forcing the girls to learn by speaking English to them, and pressuring them for a response. Unfortunately, Japan does not like the type of change that Paula tried very hard to advocate. She was replaced with another woman, who couldn't start till June. In the meantime, a substitute, Paul, from Great Britain, is filling in for the new teacher. For all the given circumstances, Paul is a decent teacher. He studied Japanese in college, and worked at a ski resort in Hokkaido. The only downside is that he just arrived in Kochi 3 weeks ago, and has never taught a class before. There is only way to describe Paul, in that, no one will ever forget him. In his first lesson with all the classes, he gave them all 10 minutes to ask him whatever they wished to know. Every class asked the same first question. And it wasn't the important stuff like, "Have you ever taught before? Where do you come from?" Instead they all asked if he had a girlfriend. When he responded no, in laughter, the girls all nearly wet themselves. As he turned away I told them all that they are only 12, I'm 16 and I already called first dibs. On that May 19th, I headed to the Tosajoshi Middle School, mentally preparing for some teaching with Paul. By this I mean, I had looked up how to propose in Japanese. Some of the girls in last weeks class had asked me to teach them how to propose to Paul.　I arrived in the quiet classroom, which held 22 petrified looking schoolgirls. In each homeroom, there about 40 to 45 girls to one teacher. But Paula had succeeded in making one important change. She got the Tosajoshi English department to split the classes down the middle, so that the teach could work a little harder on every one's individual skill. When I walked through the sliding glass doors, I greeted the girls of Ohama homeroom, and received shy smiles in return. This class is not one of the smarter class, but I can't say that they don't try. Mostly I think they are just intimidated by English. I had arrived a little early, so I used the time to speak with the girls. Even though I am the English teacher, before class, I always speak Japanese. The only　problem is that Ohama homeroom is full of girls who have trouble believing that Gaijin can speak Japanese. Most of the girls refused to answer me, as they blushed and avoided eye contact. When the bell rang, I headed back to the front of the classroom, and leaned against the podium in waiting. Often the first period teachers would be a little late, as they only had less than 5 minutes to scurry throughout the building to their next class. So it was no surprise that Paul had not arrived yet. I kept and eye on the main hall, waiting for him to come,　while the girls sat and waited in silence. A few minutes passed, none of which gave me the slightest worry as to the whereabouts of Paul. Then a few minutes turned into a full 10 minutes, it was then that I think I knew、Paul was not coming. I kept hope, as I walked back in forth in the front of the room peering out the windows looking for him. The girls began to chatter amongst themselves in a quiet manner. I heard one girl say, "I don't know why Juri-sensei doesn't just teach." And taking that in, I knew what I had to do. I picked myself off the desk, grabbed a piece of chalk and started teaching. "Good Morning Class!" As soon as I began, 22 confused Japanese girls suddenly turned to bright cheerful smiles, "Goodo　Moringu Juri-sensei!" As I stood in front of the class of girls, eager to learn a language from their teacher, I sort of freaked out. I was not their teacher, I was just the assistant helper. If I continued teaching, I was be giving these girls a false image, and possibly breaking education rules. I don't actually think that people without teaching degrees are allowed to teach, but then in Japan, pretty much anyone is allowed to teach. Instead of continuing, I jolted from the room, looking for the fellow English teacher, Craig. Craig was teaching the other 22 girls of the class, one floor below where I was placed. He saw me coming, but he continued to teach. I burst threw his doors, causing quite a scene and yelled, "Paul didn't show up!" Craig looked at me and said, "Can you do it?" He must have seen how scared my face was because he then said, "If not, just bring them down here with this class." I think everyone has a moment, once in a while, where they are just faced with a big decision, knowing that either way has consequences. The 22 girls, I has supposed to be helping with, would fall behind and not be prepared for their upcoming exams. Even if I sheep herded them down to Craig's class, it would waste alot of teaching time. Plus the girls weren't used to Craig's teaching style. They all knew how I taught, and had previously excelled in. On the other hand, I thought that the girls parents might call and complain to the school that their daughters had a 16 year-old American exchange student teach the class. I couldn't allow Tosajoshi to get into trouble. But the choice seemed obvious.　"It's okay, I can do it!" Craig smiled, and then gave me some tips on what the lesson involved. When I trekked back upstairs, I climbed a set of stairs in total shock. I was going to teach and entire class all by myself. And what made it even stranger, was that I was no longer scared, but excited. It was finally my chance after months of just helping out. I opened the sliding glass doors, wearing a big smile. The 22 students looked at me, again confused and clueless. One girl asked me where Paul was. I replied that today, he probably wouldn't be coming. But that I would be teaching. And with that, I started the lesson. " How are you?" I walked around the room and got each girl to individually answer. Many just said fine, but I also got quite a few sleepy people. After this activity, the girls seemed to relax a little bit. Everything was back to normal, they had their teacher and were learning English. Since I had been thrown into this whole thing,　１０ minutes after class had started, I had no preparation. I also had no teaching material, lesson plan, or ever stationary! On the previous Thursday, the classes all got through pages 13 and 14, in preparation for their exams.　Deciding that staying on the schedule was the best way to go, I had the girls take out page 13, and we began to go over some sounds. I borrowed one of the front row girls page, and began reading off the new vocabulary. After I read, the girls would repeat it until I was sure everyone got the correct pronunciation. That　was difficult, because in Japanese many of the English sounds don't exist. After they got the write pronunciation, I had them write the word twice. My greatest hope was for them to remember exactly what the meaning of the words were. I couldn't help but switch into speaking Japanese sometimes, because I don't think they quite understood all my English. When we were finished with page 13, I decided to be a little mean. I had the girls who were not participating in the speaking portion, come to the board. I wrote out some of the new words. Then I explained the rules; that after I said the word, the girls were to smack the proper word. The winner would get to sit down. The shy girls of Ohama's class, suddenly become not to shy. Two girls in particular, amused the whole class. I called up the tiniest girl, who resembled Tinkerbell in a sailor suit, to face the tallest giraffe Japanese girl in the whole country. Tinkerbell was actually about 1\3 of the Giraffe's height. Both girls stood in the front of the room, wearing the most competitive grins I had seen all year. Tinkerbell shot Giraffe a look, that gave even me shivers. I called out the word, 'Shrimp.' The Giraffe slapped the board at a speed, breaking the sound barrier. Tinkerbell began howling that she couldn't reach and that's why she lost. So I agreed to send out another word. This word was 'what.' Both girls locked eyes, before looking at the board to find the word. At the same time, two arms flew in two different directions. The Giraffe reached for the right answer, while Tinkerbell knocked her arm into the Giraffe's shoulder. This threw her off the front podium and into a desk in the front row. Then Tinkerbell carefully placed her hand on the 'what,' while turning around and giving the class the cutest most innocent little smile I had ever been fooled by. In that single moment, we all learned how Napoleon conquered Europe. Yet Napoleon would not have stood a chance against Tinkerbell. After that round, I realized if I continued, someone might end of dead. I asked the girls to return to their seats and take out the next page, 14, which was dedicated to the learning of the TH sound. Even English speakers have a hard time with the pronunciation of the TH. Most small children can't even do it, saying words like, 'fing' rather than thing. In the Japanese alphabet, TH sound doesn't even exist, and it is never taught. In all of my High School English classes, the teacher used the ss pronunciation. Like thing, would be said as sing. I knew looking down at the sheet, I was in for a long struggle. And sure enough they had an enormous amount of trouble trying to overcome the difference between Bus and Bath. The sheet contained many different examples of the TH sound, which I read off, making sure to emphasize ever TH sound. This. That. Thing. Bath. Thin. Thick. Math. I also went around to each and every one of the girls and pointed to a word on the sheet. I made them say it out individually, and in a loud voice, until I was content with their pronunciation. One girl was forced to say Math, about 25 times. But in the end, I was sure she had the perfect TH sound. I soon discovered that giving certain students individual teaching rather than spending time with an entire class, had it's downsides. The girls who weren't getting one on one help, decided to do other work or began chatting with the friends around them. I found myself yelling at them for silence. When we had gotten through the terrible TH, I looked up at the clock and was shocked by the time. It had reached just 2 minutes before the ending of class. Looking around the room, I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. Then I ended with the Japanese word 'it's all over with.' Looking out at the 22 faces, I couldn't help but feel immensely proud of myself. It's true, that I probably didn't teach them anything that they will remember in 20 years or even next week, but I did my job. I kept them on pace with the other classes. And I taught an entire class, by myself. Craig was the first to congratulate me. But I didn't need the congratulations, I was so proud of myself. The teacher of Middle School English department, who is also my school counselor, actually seemed annoyed about what I did. I knew that it might cause some problems, but I thought he could at least pretend to be impressed or something. I didn't let it get me though, and it seemed like nothing could really get to me after all that I managed to do. Later on in the week, I went to my counselor and asked him if parents had complained that it was a problem. He smiled and instead, apoligized for not thanking me for covering and keeping the girls had an even pace with the other class. He then told me earlier that he went to speak with the girls and aploigize that Paul had not shown up. He said that the girls couldn't understand why he was apoligizing, after all, they had a teacher, Judi-Sensei.

Understanding the People of Two Cultures

Culture, according to my incredibly handy Japanese English electronic dictionary, is defined as "the customs and beliefs, art, way of life, and social organization of a particular country or group." Differences between Japan and America are so numerous that it would take me years to even get down the very noticable differences. Yet, something that falls in between the factors of social organization and way of life, may help clear some of the reasons for why the differences exist. And that something is the way we think. The way Japan and Western countries think as individuals or as a whole society. Now I don't claim to be a sociologist, psychologist, or any one of those individual professions that can claim they know all about they way we act and think. These are just my speculations at best. The Japanese mindset is based on a group mentality. What this means is that their is is a leader of some sort, who makes all the decisions for the everyone. The group never questions the final decision, because they don't know any better and because they know that decision was made for everyone. In the nation, this leader is the government, is the goverernment, in the family it is the fatherly figure, at work, the boss, and at school it is always the teacher. Taking away the leaders leaves the people at a real loss for making their own moral decisions. An example of this is during school hours, when a teacher calls on a student to give the answer. The student always takes a few moments to look around and ponder if the teacher is actually referring to him or her. Even if they know the answer, they remain quiet, hoping the teacher will reassume his roll of the leader and answer the question. When he doesn't the student, even if he or she knows the answer, will quietly ask of the surrounding students if they a know the answer and please share it. The whole process shows that individuals don't make decisions for themselves without the consent of a group. And this scenary happens everytime a teacher calls on the student. Where does this group mentality come from? Take a look at a map of Japan. It's a small extremely crowded island with barely any room to thoroughly express oneself. For throughout history Japanese people have had to live in tight homes with large families and close neighbors. They have had little room to shout, or stretch their boundaries without rubbing their shoulders against someone else. The usual Japanese person has formed an intracate technique of obligations for small group life. They have a saying, 'Go ni itte wa, go ni shitagae,' or 'Obey the customs of the place where you are.' Essentially it's 'Do in Rome, as Romans do.' Now take a look at a history of Japan. The country has never been a democracy, and probably never will be one either. The people have never had a say in the way their life is going to be carried out. Instead the have had 125 emperors, hundreds of Shoguns and ruling clans, wars among feudal colonies, and not to forget World War II. All of this run by the 'leader.' The Japanese have never doubted their group mentality for more than a second. Probably because they have never been allowed to and because Japan is not a big fan of change. They have never needed the certain questions answered, like where do we belong? or How should we act? and who can we trust to lead us safely? They have always known the answers to these questions. They have discovered the answers to one what I believe is one of the West's biggest problems. Not enough people understand who and what they are, where they come from, and just as importantly where they are going in life. Wherever the Westerner turns it seems, they meet a discouragement. In some cases Westerners in the pursuit of friends, suitable jobs, and following lifelong dreams turn into disillusioned people. Much of the cause of this absense of loyalty and the lack of decisions made for the good of all the people rather than for just the benefit of one. And the Japanese moves at a pace all their own, with well-prepared statements and pre-planned ways to soothe over ruffled feathers. They have their group behavior at the expense of their artistic expression. Living in small conditions has made them aware of the fact that a gain for themselves most ikely comes at the expense of someone else. The Western Civilization is based on Judeo-Christian ethic due to the rich history of the ages when Europe spread ideals throughout the world. This ethic stressed the utmost importance of having a great deal of individual moral strength, that is to be adaptbale when any and all of the situations arise. What this means, is that the Western civilization does not use a group mentality, instead it's more of an individual mentality. I make moral decisions for myself without needing the approval of the group in which I currently belong to. Sometimes I think it is better to be able to think for oneself, but then the West has not done a proper job at teaching how to make a decision properly. Minds are polluted by television and lack of personal discipline. We all lack a sense a tremendous sense of group cooperation and tolerance when a decision is made that doesn't immedately benefit us. Look at the following example on the aftermath of education systems of the 2 cultures. The West has always encouraged that it is the only way to get a good job is to be educated. In Japan, people are are also assured of safe, life long jobs. And if they attend a good University, than they are guarenteed a good high paying job. In the West, being thoruroughly educated doesn't mean anything. Look at the Philosophy doctors pumping gas and disgruntled law majors working as waitors. They found that their dreams were disillusions. But then do we get rid of these sort of goal? The result would force many generation to have their hopes and dreams thwarted. But look to the Japanese, these 'outcast' professions don't exist. So what is better? A synthesis of the 2 would make the best of both worlds. The West must relearn a thing about itself starting with teaching the children a thing about themselves and realistic aspirations. While the Japanese need to learn how to make decisions for themselves. Both easier than said done. I am truly thankful for this year living and learning here in Japan. In all of this, I have come to understand mankind a little bit better, with its truimphs and it's drawbacks. I figure when the 2 societies can really teach other about themselves, life's little perplexities will come into some sort of understanding.

Lack of East Asian Peace

"I could never live in America. It looks so scary! Everyone has guns and kills each other!" said a fellow Japanese classmate while we discussed what my life in America is like. If this comment offends you, take my word for it, it shouldn't. Though Japan is probably one of the safest countries in the world, full of people who believe in a calm orderly society, I know that until East Asia makes working relations, there will never be peace here. News in America shows us horror stories about the lack of peace in the Middle East. We rarely hear about East Asia, which currently has a problem that can be fixed with working relations. Unfortunately both sides would have to give up something, and neither will do so willing. One of the biggest problems is the nonexistent Japanese-China relations. Restoration of relations with China is probably not difficult, but it would force Japan and it's leaders to give up alot, which is not what they want. Looking to the past China and Japan have had a long history relationship in dealing with each other. China strongly influenced Japan, with it's rich culture, ancient writing system, and religion. Japan's actions during the 1930's in China are the major component currently affecting China-Japan relations. In today's day and age, strains between the countries seem minor and insignificant, but the blood runs deeper than appears. A huge problem is found in former Japanese prime minister, Koizumi, visits to the Tokyo Yasakuni Shinto Shrine. The Shrine honors all the Japanese soldiers killed in battle, including 14 Class A war criminals, mostly involved in the 1930's "Rape of China." Though Koizumi made a speech in 2005 expressing, "deep remorse" for Japan's actions during the 1930's, Chinese protesters felt that it meant little because of his Yasamuni visit. Current Japanese Prime Minister, Abe, made a trip to Yasakuni on his own time, and has yet to make a formal Yasakuni visit. Abe has already angered China enough. His beliefs include that Japanese soldiers did not use "comfort woman" in China and Manchuria, and that those facts should be taken out of history books in Japan. He has also expressed annoyance over China and South Korea protesting about Japanese text books lacking 'historical fact' about comfort woman and Japan's invasion and role in the 1930's. Other thorns in this rocky relationship include China's wish for war reparation from World War II, American/Japanese agreement to back up the 'rogue province' of Taiwan in the case that China wishes to invade, and China's constant increasing military spending. Prime minister Abe once declared about Japanese/Chinese relations, "Relations must not be based on emotions." Relations with North Korea are in a much worse state of affairs. First off according to the Treaty on Basic Relations between South Korea and Japan, Japan recognizes South Korea as the only government on the Korean peninsula. The second and probably most unofficial thorn in the side happened from 1978 to 1983, when probably about 70 to 80 Japanese citizens (13 confirmed by North Korea, 16 confirmed by the Japanese government) were kidnapped right off the Japanese soil. Most of those kidnapped were in their mid-20's, but the youngest, Yokota Megumi, was just 13 years old. They were kidnapped for the purpose of teaching Japanese to North Korean spy schools. After many years of denying and calling it the Japanese 'conspiracy theory,' Kim Jung-il, in 2002, admitted to 13 of the alleged kidnappings. He claimed they were taken my patriotic and adventurous citizens, not on governmental orders. He also presented Japan with 8 death certificates and allowed the remaining 5 to return to Japan for a 'brief' visit on the pretense that they must return. At the time cabinet member, Abe, led a campaign to go against North Korean rule of return and disallow the 5 returnees to return to North Korea. It angered North Korea so much, that for nearly 2 years, relations between the two countries were thrown away. But in 2004, Prime Minister returned to North Korea and secured the family members of the 5 returnees, including the children of abductees Yasushi and Fukie Chimura and the Hitomi Soga's American POW husband, Charles Jenkins, and their two children. With that North Korea wants the issue closed. But the Japanese people believe that the majority of the evidence given by North Korea is in fact, forged. Putting further pressure on countries around the world has gotten a response from UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan, mentioning it and sympathizing with victims, as well as expressing a settlement. While Yokota Megumi's mother, who chooses not to believe her daughter is really dead like North Korea states, met with George W. Bush in April of 2006 and 'moved him.' All these events anger North Korea even more. I believe that the crisis won't get resolved for a long time, because Japan does not really want relations with communist North Korea, which brings me to my next point. The main strain is the North Korean nuclear program. On July 5, 2006, North Korea conducted multiple missile launch tests. Several short range missiles and a long-range were fired despite international pressure to cancel the launch. The long range missile failed and fell into the Sea of Japan just 45 seconds after launch. Each small or large leap North Korea takes in perfecting their nuclear program, seems to strengthen the Japanese want for the revoking on their Section 9 Constitution. The 1947 clause states "in order to accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized." Recently Japan sent troops to Iraq, causing domestic dispute over the interpretation of the clause. Abe also seeks to revise or broaden the interpretation of Article 9 in order to permit Japan to maintain military. He has stated that "we are reaching the limit in narrowing down differences between Japan's security and the interpretation of our constitution." After the July nuclear crisis with North Korea, Japan pushed for a "first strike theory" within the UN, but would have been vetoed by China, South Korea, and Russia. We always hear about the lack of peace in the middle east, but perhaps we ought to look to East Asia for just a moment. Perhaps the following is too optimistic, there could easily be peace, if both sides could just learn to give up something in order for the welfare of all. Japan will need China if things in North Korea keep going the way they are going. And China needs Japan to maintain a strong East Asia. Will there ever be peace? Who knows, but we can hope.

Tea Ceremony

"The tea ceremony requires years of training and practice . . . yet the whole of this art, as to its detail, signifies no more than the making and serving of a cup of tea. The supremely important matter is that the act be performed in the most perfect, most polite, most graceful, most charming manner possible. " -- Lafcadio Hearn One of the most incredible things I have been able to experience and learn as an exchange student in Japan, is the traditional art of Japanese Tea Ceremony. In Japanese, Tea Ceremony, is Sado, which literally means 'Way of the Tea.' To most people it is a long drawn out process of politely serving green tea. TO others it is a mystifying experience of culture and respect, deeply rooted in Zen Buddhism. Every Tuesday morning 3rd period, while I was a High School Ichinensee, I would head over to the South Building of the school. On the third floor there are 2 rooms, with deep Japanese tradition. The rooms are covered with Tatemi flooring, wooden walls, hanging Calligraphy scrolls, and traditional carved pots with beautifully arranged flowers. It is in the room on the right, that I participate with the Middle School Ninensee in a class on Sado. It is not like any other class, where students learn from books, new materials everyday. Tea Ceremony discourages learning from a book and makes sure all movements are learned with the body and not with the brain. The goal is not the intellectual grasp of a subject, but the attainment of presence of mind. In the process, we students learn not only how to make tea, but also how to look after utensils and prepare the powdered tea, how to appreciate art, poetry, pottery, flowers, and recognize in which season they bloom. We learn how to act in a Tatami room and to always think of others first. Upon arrival, we must take our slipper shoes off and change our socks into a cleaner pair. There is a very old, but strongly followed, Japanese cultural rule stating that one must never walk on Tatemi flooring in anything other than socks. We change socks because it is more of a clean manner to drink the Tea in. When the bell rings, the girls all form a line, in which we collect the mini paper fans. The teacher sits and hands up a fan, as we bow on our knees and accept the fan gracefully. Then into our designated spots, we sit in Seiza position. To sit seiza-style, one first kneels on the floor, and then rests the buttocks on the heels, with the tops of the feet flat on the floor. The hands are sometimes folded modestly in the lap and sometimes placed palm down on the upper thighs with the fingers close together. This is because sitting cross-legged is considered informal and is inappropriate for certain situations, but is sometimes permitted, with the elderly and the Gaijin. I fight every week to prove I can do it. In position, we place the paper fans in front of us and turn to the Calligraphy and Flower vase. Then we say a prayer and bow to each item. Lastly, placing the paper fan into a breast pocket, we can then begin the day's lesson. The first step is the placing of the Fukusa into the skirt for later use. The Fukusa is a small red cloth. The red, in some schools of Tea Ceremony, signifies that we are all beginners to Tea Ceremony. It is a square silk cloth used for the ritual cleansing of the tea scoop and the tea caddy, and to handle a hot kettle or pot lid. After that, we begin. Since the class, is fairly large, half the girls start with making the tea, while the other half gets served. I am part of the group that first gets served. While the Tea making group does their duty, we watch until it is Okashi time. The first girl in our group stands up and walks to the teacher. The teacher hands her a large try of Japanese sweets. The student returns to the second girl in the row and bows and she hands her the tray, turning it twice. This way the napkin and Sweets are easier to grab. While the tray is being passed down, the student bows to the girls on her left, takes a napkin, then places the sweet on top of it. She then passes the tray down. The tray eventually makes it to me, last in the line. I take a napkin and place my sweet on it. Then I take the tray, turning it twice, bowing once, and hand it back to the teacher. My group then eats the Okashi, which is usually very traditional old sweets. They may be Japanese cookies, Sugar rolls, or Strawberry mochi. I really suprised myself in that I really thought that all the sweets were very delicious. Usually Japanese sugary things are pretty awful. We eat the sweet in the politest and cleanest manner as possible. Crums are frowned upon, and garbage is placed in our breast pocket, for later use. When we are finished, the Tea making group is finished with out Tea. Still in Seiza position, we hobble over to our Tea making partner and collect the traditional old-style bowls filled with delicious Green Tea. First we have to hold the bowl in all carefulness. Usually the materials are hundreds of years old and full of history. I don't think Tosajoshi's bowls are that old, but it is important to respect the Way of Tea. As we hobble backwards, grasping carefully on to the tea bowl, we return to our spots. Then we take a sip of the Green Tea, which is immediately followed by "Kako de Gozaimasu." (Thank you for the Tea/ Respectful thing to say upon receiving the Tea, after all the Tea is served to us as if we agre the guest of honor at an actual ceremony.) As a Gaijin, it is almost certain that I am to loathe Green Tea for it's harsh bitter taste. I nearly shocked the teachers to death, when on the first lesson, I asked for more. Sure it is bitter, but it's also incredibly tasty. And I don't know the whole details, but isn't Green Tea one of the most healthy foods in the world? After about 3 hearty sips of the drink, we finish and are to wipe the area in which our mouth touched. We use our fingers and then wipe our fingers on the garbage in the pocket from the Okashi. Then we do the two turns and hobble back to the Tea maker and present the empty bowl. Upon returnal to our Tatemi spot, we do another thanking bow and then sit quietly. The other group goes through the process of cleaning, while my group sits in Seiza agony. After the first group cleans the materials, it is our turn to make the Green Tea. We get up and make our way to the Tea making area. Each utensil - including the tea bowl, whisk, and tea scoop - is then ritually cleaned in the presence of the guests in a precise order and using prescribed motions. If I went into the prescribed motion, this cloumn would be the size of a book because it's that complicated. The utensils are placed in an exact arrangement according to the ritual being performed. When the ritual cleaning and preparation of the utensils is complete, we place a measured amount of green tea powder in the bowl and add the appropriate amount of hot water, then whisk the tea using set movements. The tea is finished, and the second group, hobbles over to collect their Tea. Conversation is kept to a minimum, just like actual tea ceremonies. Students, like guests, relax and enjoy the atmosphere created by the sounds of the water and fire, the smell of the incense and tea, and the beauty and simplicity of the tea house and it's Traditional Japanese feeling. The objective of a tea gathering is that of Zen Buddhism - to live in this moment - and the entire ritual is designed to focus the senses so that one is totally involved in the occasion and not distracted by mundane thoughts Each week there are slight variations in the routine, dictated by the utensils and the season, to guard against students becoming complacent in their practice. The student is reminded that a tea ceremony is not a course of study that has to be finished, but life itself. The process of learning is what counts; the tiny accumulation of knowledge and gradual fine-tuning of the sensibilities; the small but satisfying improvements in the ability to cope gracefully with the little dramas of the everyday world. The power of the tea ritual lies in the unfurling of self-realization. After being imported from China, green tea came to be drunk in monasteries and the mansions of the aristocracy and ruling warrior elite from about the 12th century. These Tea Ceremonies were gaudy affairs, in which articrats would show up their wealth and power while serving Tea. Sen no Rikyu, in the mid-1500's was an avid follower of Zen Buddhism, under the influence of others, broke all traditional Tea Ceremony rituals. His background brought him into contact with the tea ceremonies of the rich, but he became more interested in the way priests approached the tea ritual as an embodiment of Zen principles for appreciating the sacred in the everyday. Rikyu stripped everything non-essential from the tearoom and the style of preparation, and developed a tea ritual in which there was no wasted movement. Instead of using expensive imported vessels in a lavish reception hall, he made tea in a thatch hut using only a simple iron kettle, a plain laquered container for tea, a tea scoop and whisk whittled from bamboo, and a common rice bowl for drinking the tea. Owing to the very lack of decoration, participants become more aware of details and are awakened to the simple beauty around them and to themselves.The central essense of Rikyu's tea ceremony was the concept of wabi. Wabi literally means "desolation." Zen philosophy takes the positive side of this and says that the greatest wealth is found in desolation and poverty, because we look inside ourselves and find true spiritual wealth there when we have no attachments to things material. Tea Ceremony class for me finished on February 26, 2007, and I was very sad to be finished with it. But I learned the basics and simple steps to perform one of the most incredible Japanese cultural experiences. If only briefly, I connected with Zen-Biddhism philosophy in finding the 'desolation' inside me. I don't know that Tea Ceremony will be something that will help me porsper in life. But I know that it's something that I hope to never forget.

Annual 7 Rotary Clubs of Kochi Dinner

Once a year, the Kochi City 7 Rotary clubs get together and have a huge banquet. There really isn't much of a reason for it, though it is said to celebrate the togetherness and spirit of Rotary Fellowship. Now no disrespect to Rotary, Especially after all that they have done for me, but the men in Kochi had one thing one their mind, and it didn't have much to do with fellowship. It might have had something to do with the seemingly endless bottles of Sake that flowed from the kitchen. Or the enjoyment of the company of old friends. I had known about the upcoming dinner party for a few weeks, because my third host father, Osaki Otosan, had told me about it. He told me about it because he was trying to assure me that I would see his family after the move. The night before the party, my first host father, Masaki Otosan, who is just easier called Captain Jack Sparrow, emailed me and told me to get ready for another speech. He went on to tell me that since I was the best exchange student Rotary has had in a few years, now was my chance to prove it in a speech. Last years exchange student didn't actually learn Japanese, so her speech was, "Konnichiwa. Arigatou. Sayonara." I'll bet that even if you can't understand Japanese, you would at least know that all she said was hello, thanks, and goodbye. Captain Jack furthur gave me some advice on my speech, but I told him not to worry about it. Lately, I've been feeling really confident about my Japanese. I know it is not fluent or even close to it, but people can understand me. I can joke and I can whine in Japanese, which I think is got to count for something. Nevertheless, an hour before Kato Otosan and I left for the Rotary dinner, I jotted down some ideas for the speech. At 6, Kato Otosan called me down to get into the Taxi. In the car, I nearly talked his ear off, telling him random things about America and the differences between Rotary. I even practiced my speech, and he bowed at how well it went, complimenting everything about it. He was interested in hearing about my host families, and I told him the whole truth. But he soon learned it for himself. When we arrived, a large group of Kimono-clad woman greeted us. Kato Otosan, turned a bright red, when I asked him who they were. I know I keep saying this, but there is always something about Japan that never ceases to suprise me. And I don't mean basic stuff, like how they can eat Fugu, a fish that if cut the wrong way, gives a 60% of death. I mean the fact that Rotary, hired about 30 Kimono-clad 'Nightclub hostesses' to pour drinks and serve food for them. I'm going to pretend that that is all they were used for, as well. Inside the great hall, filled with tables dedicated specifically to the various Kochi Rotary clubs, Kato Otosan and I took our seat at the Minami Rotary CLub, which is Kato-san's club. Together we sat and watched as the hall began to fill with hundreds of elderly Rotarian men, greeting each other with kindly bows and words of respect. People would come up to our table to speak with Kato Otosan, because he is a pretty famous business owner in Kochi. When he would introduce me, I would bow in the way I had been attempting for 9 long months. Kato Otosan pulled me aside at some point, and I expected to get in to trouble for some cultural faux pas. Instead he praised my bow. I know that sounds a little bit funny, but it was the greatest compliment I could have received all night. I have been trying to master that stupid greeting for months! The host Rotary club was Chuo Rotary, or Oono Otosan's club. The club presidents scurried around the stage getting ready for begin the meeting, while I felt a familiar poke. "Captain Jack!" Masaki Otosan had poked me with my insurance bills that keep going to his house. He smiled and greeted me warmly, and introduced me to a friend of him. Earlier in the week, he told Paula Fabian, my good friend who teaches English at Kochi University, that he was worried that I didn't enjoy my stay with his family very much. When she told me this, I was at first upset and wondering what I could have done to prompt this thinking. But then I realized that he was actually somewhat jealous. He knew that I loved my third family very much, and worried that I even liked them better. This is not the case, because I've accepted that both the Masaki's and Osaki's were 2 incredible families that I was ever so lucky to have host me. But they were so different that it is is impossible to compare the two and determine, who I liked better. In all I like them both, equally, and will spend every the day of the rest of life, thanking fate for giving me these 2 families on my exchange to Japan. In English Captain Jack said to his friend, "This is my daughter, Julie." I haven't lived in his home for 6 months, but hearing those words and it felt great. Before he could tell me about the upcoming American short stay to Kochi, the Chuo Rotarians began asking everyone to sit down. He flung the letters at me, and told me to give them to my new host father. At that moment, Kato Otosan turned around to meet Captain Jack for the first time. In the words of the pirate, "Oh my god!" Now Captain Jack isn't exactly a midget, but next to Kato Otosan, he may as well be French Poodle. Kato Otosan could probably eat Captain Jack for breakfast, but I think he is more of a Gentle Giant. Intimidated, the pirate, skimmered off to his club's table. I told Kato Otosan about Captain Jack's famous nicknames. He nicknamed himself after his favorite character, Johnny Depp's Captain Jack Sparrow. He called Oono Otosan, Hideki Matsui, because they both like baseball. (But I think it is because Captain Jack doesn't like either person.) And he called Osaki Otosan, Sleepy, one of the 7 Dwarves, because of the striking resemblance. I figured that as he was running off to join his club, he was concocting a new name for Kato Otosan. Probably something like, Jolly Green Giant. The Chuo club presidents started the meeting by ringing the famous Rotary bell. Then they sang Japan's national anthem. It's quite a beautiful anthem, but not by a large room a old men. As we all sat down, I noticed Oono Otosan scampering around the hall taking pictures. He is the photographer of his club, and so tonight he was the main camera man. What disappointed me was that he avoided me at all costs. I know that he did not like me, and I was not exactly fond of him myself, but it was really upsetting to think that he would really dislike me so much that he wouldn't even give a friendly wave. This contact avoidance lasted all night. I would have gone up and said hello to him, but I was supposed to stay with Kato Otosan during the whole time. Plus I honesly don't know what he would have done in response. I was disappointed for only a few minutes, until the presidents began annoucing all the special guests. What is supposed to happen is the person is to stand up and do a few brief bows to the audience, as the loudly clap. I was the second name called, and had no idea what to do. I stood up and began walking to the stage. The Chuo president quickly told me to sit down, adding in a joke that I was certainly eager to get on the stage. Many people burst into laughter, as I embarrassedly headed back to my seat. Back at the Minami Rotary club table, my face a crimson red, the Rotarians all smiled and signaled for me not to worry about it. They would have probably told me not to worry about it, but I noticed that they all seemed to be a part of the huge majority of Japanese that believe no foreigner is capable of speaking the language. Throughout the night, my host father kept assuring them all that my Japanese was excellent, which isn't exactly true. Though I'll admit it was gotten much better lately. One of the club members introduced himself to me, as Urete's host father. Urete was an exchange student the year before last, from Lithuania. She was also a very good student, and a great house guest, according to her host father. He was amazed that I knew about Urete, and we talked a little bit about the pros of the Youth Exchange. He admitted sadly, that after the terrors that were last years exchange students, that many of the Kochi Rotary clubs wanted to discontinue the program. Infact one host family from Minami Club actually dropped out of Rotary after the whole ordeal. He was disappointed that people could forget about all the good students in the program, like Urete, and remember just the bad examples. He also mentioned that I have a high reputation in Rotary. Enough good things are said about me, that Kochi Rotary is no longer even considering discontinuing the program. When the Chuo Club members were finished introducing everyone, it was time to dig into the huge piles of Sushi placed at all the tables. Before I began, my host father asked me to intodruce myself to the Minami Club's most oldest member. I reckon he was probably about 112. Large heavy looking wrinkles drooped over his eyes, while his mouth never quite closed the whole way. Parts of the skin on his face were missing. Actually he looked like something out of museum. I don't mean because he was so old, but I mean because his face was so aged that it almost looked fake. I bowed to him and introduced myself, mentioning that I came from New Jersey, America. "New Zealand?" he asked. I started to correct him, but he wasn't finished. "I always thought people from New Zealand sleep with sheep." My host father snorted through his nose, and tugged me away from the old Rotarian. He explained that the man was more or less a mascot for the club, because he had been in Rotary almost since it was started in Japan. Throughout the rest of the night, my paths crossed quite often with the Ancient Rotarian. At dinner time, he tried to do shots with him. He wouldn't take no for an answer, and it was only when my counselor came and scolded me for even letting the man offer me a drink, did he get the hint. Later he sent me and my host father a large glass of white wine, which I pretended to drink to please him. But the single most entertaining part of the night was seeing the man leave the party. One each arm he held 2 of the 'Nightclub hosts.' Both woman were in their early twenties, probably about a 5th of the man's age. Yet they all walked out in style laughing and celebrating. There was really only one thing on the Ancient Rotarian's mind at that point. As the men started to eat the meal, which had just been opened. The hostesses woman walked around and got the Sushi for everyone. I was served last, probably because I had no intention of asking these woman to go out after the party. As I began eating my delicious raw Tuna, first by dipping it in Soy Sauce, then by savouring every bite, I heard a rip roaring laughter from behind me. Captain Jack had returned for some more poking fun at me. "Back in August, do you remember your first Rotary meeting?" he asked. I nodded in response. "How the only food that they served was raw fish, and you flat out refused to even try it?" Again I nodded, unsure of what he was getting at. "And do you remember when all the Rotarian's pitched together to buy you a steak. Isn't it funny how after 9 months you are eating raw fish?" He continued to roar, though I didn't think it was that funny. After he decided to be serious for a full 5 minutes, he told me about the upcoming Short Term exchange to New Jersey. He has to host 2 boys, but that's not all. Now the Osaki's have to host 3 boys. Now it was my turn to laugh. When I saw Osaki Otosan, I burst into laughter. He looked at me as if I was crazy, a look that I have grown quite accostumed to in the past few months. "You have to host again! hah!" I nearly shouted through my cackles. Then he punched me good and hard in the arm, for no other reason then to stop me from making fun of him. "OWWW!!!" I screamed, but he burst into laughter. It actually hurt, too. He then told me that I would have to come and help out with the hosting. Okasan may speak English, but it's easier to talk to me in Japanese. I said that I would have no problem helping out, even though Captain Jack had already asked for some help as well. What made me feel happy was knowing that I would probably get to attend another Osaki family dinner with the 4 kids, grandparents, Aunts, and cousins. That alone is worth helping. Thus, I realized, as I arrived back at my new host family house, this is my story. The story of one American girl and all she has accomplished in only 9 and a 1/2 months of living in Japan. I realize that if I left tommorrow, I would have succeeded in everything I was meant to accomplish. I have become an honorary family member in two Japanese households, and quite possible a third. The family that I did not feel welcome at will always be looked upon in high respects. Because even though, I have already lost contact with them, they home stay taught me the most about myself and the direction in which I wanted my exchange to be going. And there is my new language. I have learned enough Japanese to feel confident in telling people that I would like to speak Japanese only. I mentioned earlier, that I can whine and joke, which I think are probably the two most important ways to get around in Japan. I have fixed a bad image on Americans set by previous exchange students who ruined host families, did not learn Japanese, and made the Japanese Rotary seriously doubt the direction of it's exchange program. I have succeeded, and this is only taking the Rotary aspect into consideration. And the fact that I have only completed 80% of my exchange. There is still plenty of time for more.

Funny English Words Related To Me

The weirdest thing has happened. I suddenly find that one of my favorite things to do is just talk. It doesn't seem to matter as to who I'm talking to. All that matters is that I'm sitting there telling someone all about myself, not knowing if they understand me or even caring whether or not they do or don't. And this is coming from a somewhat shy girl, who can barely speak Japanese. The thing about Japanese is that it is an incredibly difficult language. Way to state the obvious, right? With French, Spanish, and other Western society languages, people seem to have an easier time learning the language. I like Japanese much better than French and Spanish, but I can't deny that it is at least 10 times harder. What makes it even harder for me is that in Japanese, it is impossible to express oneself. Even people who are fluent in the language can't express themselves, because there just aren't any words for it. What I mean by expressing oneself, for example, is cursing. Now don't get the wrong idea. It's not as if I'm some foul mouthed punk, who came to Japan to learn some new dirty words. I strongly dislike cursing back at home. But everyone has those moments when something really annoying happens, and it all kind of just slips. Like say stubbing your toe on a desk, anybody will start screaming, "Oh Sh*t! That hurt." Japanese just doesn't have words for these moments. But there is another thing you can't do in Japanese. In America, it's a social topic, a conversation starter if you will, and often it bonds people in a common goal. Complaining. Getting around with a large group of friends and moaning, whining, criticizing, gossiping, and all around just complaining about something is an occurrence that happens on a daily basis for the majority of Americans and English speakers. I have become convinced that the single reason that English has become an international language, is not because it's one of the most highly spoken languages, but because you can complain about anything and curse at everything. Here in Japan, no one ever complains. It's not as though they are all happy, they just don't have the words to really express what they want to say, or complain about. Plus it's just not part of the culture, and it never has been. But even with all these road blocks, I still find myself talking off the ears of anyone who will take the time to listen. I talk about all kinds of things, nothing necessarily having anything to do with my life. I talk about the places I liked to run to and from back in Verona, New Jersey, that I was bald and fat as a baby, that my sister has one green and one blue eye, that in America Tomato's are actually fruits. Pretty much, anything and everything. And surprisingly enough, most people just listen. What's the most surprising about it is that I have the worst Japanese grammar, so I probably sound something like a Caveman, and not the smart Geico cavemen either. Sister... has... eyes... blue... one... green... one. It must be difficult to keep up with what I'm trying to say, but no one seems to mind. Most are probably just baffled that I'm even trying to attempt their annoyingly difficult language, that they can't help but listen to my rants. Whatever may be the case, I'm just happy to be talking. One of my favorite conversations is always about the Japanese pronunciation of certain words. Come to thing of it, this conversation is really my way of complaining. Often I find myself speaking certain words that I just know, no matter how hard I try to help, Japanese people will never be able to pronounce it if their very lives depended on it. Sounds like anything with an L and/or TH are perfect examples of things that the Japanese just can't say. This is because they don't have these sounds or anything like these sounds in their alphabet. Therefore they never learned how to say them rightfully in school or by speaking. It's sometimes even hard for English speakers, though. Almost all little kids say, "fing" rather than "thing." Some of these words mean alot to me, but instead of being annoyed that my friends and family can't say them, I turn it into a conversation starter and joke. Julie Garner. It's amazing how much I have grown to love my name this year. Okay so my real is Julianne, but I have never actually been called Julianne, and despise it very much. Everyone in Japan, like America, just calls me Julie, or something to that effect. Julie, after all, has an L in it. Usually with foreign words containing an L sound, an R/D sound replaces the L. The sound is right in the middle of an R sound and a D sound. So that even though, in Japanese, Julie is spelled Jurii, it's pronunciation is more or less like Judii. And that's why for the past 10 months, I have been known to everyone as Judii. I hated Judii for the first few days. Every time someone would call for me and say Judii, I would angrily answer, "What?!" You don't realize how important your name is, until people are calling you something else. I became so annoyed at this name, that it became my mission to correct people. My first, and last, person that I vowed to correct was my first host father, Masaki Otosan, better known as Captain Jack Sparrow. On the 5th day of Japanese adventure, at the Masaki family dinner table, Captain Jack said my name. "Judii please pass the Sushi (or some other strange Japanese food)!" Smoke must been steaming out my ears in fury, because the next thing I did was look at the pirate. "Otosan, juLie. JULIE! My name is juLIE! JULIE, not Judii! Say it! Julie!" He looked at me like I was absolutely insane, which I probably was at the time. "I'm so sorry. It's very difficult to say the L in your name, but I will try very hard," he promised. "JuwLEEIGH. JuwLEEIGH. JuwLEEIGH. How's that?" The way he say the Lee part was so strained, that his whole face resembled someone who looked constipated. "That's a little better, but a little less LEE." He concentrated very hard, thinking very hard how he was going to move his mouth. I watched as the wheels in his head turned and he imagined every possible way to pronounce my name. Finally he smiled, sure that he could do it. "Okay I got it! Juureeeee! How'd I do?" It was in that moment that I knew that for the next 12 months, I would no longer be Julie, but instead Judii. Garner is even more funny for me to listen to. In Japan, the family name, or surname, is actually considered to be the first name of the person. For example, my best school friend is named Chiake Yamanaka. But it's actually set up as Yamanaka Chiake, with people referring to her as Yamanaka, which is the family name. Japanese people have long tried to figure out how Western names could fit into this jumble. As for me, people just introduce me as Judii, rarely giving my last name. They also rarely give it because barely anyone can actually pronounce it. Even though it contains no L or TH sound, the combination of R's in the middle and end always throw people off. The people that do know that my name is Garner, actually call me 'Ganaa' which sounds a little bit like the African nation of Ghana. Funnily enough, Ghana is also a famous Chocolate brand in Japan, so when people do learn my name it isn't very hard to remember. A few days after I moved into my fourth family, the Katou's, I tried to help them pronounce Garner the correct way. Needlees to say, nailing jello to a tree is probably an easier task. But they were really curious as to what the name means. The family name if Katou has the Chinese characters, also known as Kanji, making the name mean something like Add Wisteria. For me, it was just another chance to be a right old chatterbox. I explained that most names don't really have meanings, or that even if they did at some point, today the meaning is rarely known. However there is a family legend about the Garners. I do not even know of it is really the truth, but it is a story that is too brilliant not to share to the world. It also explains how the Garner family became an all American family. Smiling and holding back a chuckle, I explained that when I was really young my Grandfather told me that one of my Ancestors was born in the country of Wales all the way in the far away land of England. My Grandfather wasn't sure of they were really poor or just really stupid, but my ancestor apparently stole one of the Welsh King's horses. His punishment was to be sent to America. My host father nearly wet himself laughing about this whole thing, even though I assured him that it was only a family legend. Still, when I finished the story, through his chuckles, he said, "I wonder what the Horse Thief would have said if he knew that one day one of their descendants would end up in Japan." Back in October, when I knew about as much Japanese as a rock, every Tuesday, my school counselor would give me private Japanese lessons. Matsuoka-sensei is a Chugakkou Ichinensee (Middle School 1st year) English teacher, who speaks fluent English. Though the lessons were always supposed to be about me learning Japanese, I would find myself drifting in and out of Japanglish telling him about anything I could think about. I'm sure he could really care less about the Verona Track team, or that I got all A's in AP Us History, but he always listened and smiled. Since he is fluent in English, he also can pronounce alot of things that most Japanese can't. He even calls me Julie Graner. The GRA in Garner is the closed he can get to it actually sounding like Garner. Now 6 months later, he often sends his student to come and ask me to help them pronounce certain words. The Chugakkou Ichinensee just recently learned how to pronounce Gi and Je, and thus Matsuoka-sensei came up with a wonderful idea. He never could have seen that I would teach his students an English word so difficult, that it would go down in Tosajoshi's history as a 'bad' word. After the word was learned, it became an instant legend. Like when young Elementary School students discover how to use 'bad words.' Think back to those days on the playground when the boy that Mommy always told you to stay away from, comes running and announces he know a 'really really really bad word.' Then he proceeds to say 'Poop,' which causes everyone to gasp. The word that I taught these little Japanese girls, isn't actually a word, but more of a name that a 4 year old came up with. My Jack Russel Terrier is named Gidget, which may actually be the hardest thing a Japanese person can EVER pronounce. At some point, I decided to count all the different ways I heard Gidget pronounced. 3 weeks after it became a school legend, I have 62 different ways and counting. Matsuoka-sensei, one of the few Japanese people, probably in the world, who can somewhat pronounce the word correctly (Gidjuet) is considering teaching it as the first word to every one of his classes. I told him not to, because you wouldn't want the girls immediately hating English, that is supposed to come in Japanese High School. There is still another word, that causes problems. I think I learned the word for the American famous fast food restaurant at the tender age of 1 and 1/2, upon opening up a Happy Meal and revealing a toy. McDonald's. The fast food chain has most certainly globe trotted to Japan, and even found it's way into the rural countryside of Kochi. It's an incredibly popular restaurant among teenagers, who always eat there when out with friends. But because this is Japan, the Menu's are slightly different. My first experience at a Japanese McDonald's found me eating a Fried Shrimp Burger with Apple Tea. I've also eaten the Chicken Teriyaki Patty. Don't get me wrong, though, I actually strongly dislike McDonald's. And when I tell my Japanese friends and families that I don't like McDonald's, I usually get the same response, "Why? You're an American!" Ignoring this, I command them to tell me how to pronounce the fast food restaurant in Japanese. "Makudonarudo" Then I try to get this to say the English pronunciation, "McDonalds." I have yet to meet one Japanese person who can actually pronounce it in the right way. Luckily, English speakers don't usually have a pronunciation problem with the Japanese language. Because with all the taunting of Japanese pronounciations, if I made the slightest mistake in Japanese, I would so deserve to get laughed at.

The Great Plucking Incident

I often find myself referring to the incident that changed my life in, probably in a bad way, too. It is referred to as the Great Plucking Incident, though I recently realized that no one has any idea as to what I'm referring to when I talk about. Thus I shall enlighten the world on my right arm's worst nightmare. Japanese girls have thick black arm hair. I'm pretty sure all Asians have this feature, but I'm not sure that they all are as obsessive over is as the Japanese girls at an all girl school. Obsessive is actually an understatement. The girls at Tosajoshi, my host school, are willing to do anything to get rid of hair. In the warm season, when the Summer uniforms exposing the arm, are worn, every girl has a pair of tweezers nicely tucked in an easy reachable spot. And even if they don't have Tweezers handy, their finger nails are long enough to just pull of the tiny shred of hair. I'm quite sure that they would bring Razors to school and shave during periods, but there is most likely some rule against it. Anyway, the first host homeroom of the my exchange to Kochi, Japan, was Yano-homu, a class with slightly above average students. This means that these girls had all scored very well on their tests when they passed between the last year of middle school and the first year of high school. After getting to know many of these girls, from their kindly personalities to their snores during Chemistry class, I have come to wonder what exactly was on that test. Don't get the wrong idea, I eventually came to love these girls very much, even though I often found myself staring in awe and hoping that my IQ wasn't dripping out my ear. From the first day of class, I was assigned a student to help me get through my day at school. Most everyone assumed that it would take me months to get used to the hectic lifestyle of a Japanese student, with 6 days of schooling, different teaching methods, none in which involved the way I was used to, and intense club schedules. That girl, who was assigned to be my helper, was Aimi Yano, Track star, pretty, popular, and fiendly arm hair plucker. Around October, Aimi and I had become very close friends. It was inevitable, as our desks were planted right next to each other, cleaning schedules were synchronized, and both were proud members of the Tosajoshi Track and Field team. We also shared many of the same friends, and thus ate lunch together everyday. My Japanese was still really nonexistent, but Aimi didn't care. She was so kind and patient with me. And whenever I needed help with finding the meaning of an English word, she would be the first to search her dictionary and help me to discover what I was looking for. All in all, Aimi really liked me. Communication was difficult, but we agreed to not let it get in the way. There was only one thing that really bothered me about Aimi, and subsequently one thing about me that really bothered Aimi. Though Aimi was the smartest girl in the class, as well as class president, she would still stop listening in class from time to time, and roll up her white uniform sleeve. Then she'd reach into her front pocket, that contained the little metal pair of Tweezers and began furiously hacking away at her arm. While Furuchan-sensei was going on and on about the Roman Empire slaughter of Christians, Aimi was doing some slaughtering of her own. The little black arm hair that was hardly noticeable was being plucked off her arm. And it wasn't just an occasional happening. She would dedicate one full period, that's 50 minutes, of each and everyday to gloriously ripping off her arm hair. At first, I watched in awe. I couldn't help but feel intimidated by a girl who could resist the pain of constant hair plucking. Though I've never actually tried to pluck the little hairs off my arm, I cant imagine doing so in a painless way. Yet watching Aimi, and it seemed like it wasn't painful in the least. Actually she seemed to be enjoying it very much. I ended up wasting about a week's worth of free period watching Aimi mutilate her arm, knowing all these wasted time periods could have been used to study Japanese, read a book, catch some shut eye, or solve World Hunger. Finally I looked at her, one moment, and asked would honestly possess her to pluck off her arm hair? Annoyed that I seemed to be insulting her daily ritual, she replied, "It's enjoyable, and I hate arm hair." I rolled by eyes and reasoned that I never pluck my arm hair, and that it could not honestly be enjoyable, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that. Angrily she replied, "It's not a necessity that you pluck. You have blond hair, I on the other hand have noticeable black hair. Although-" she said peering down at my exposed arm, "-you could really use a good plucking yourself." And it was then that Aimi put away her tweezers, quite content with her own plucking. The wheels in her mind were turning as she contemplated how she was going to get me to pluck my blond arm hair. It must have come as a blow when I replied, "I will NEVER EVER in my entire life pluck my arm hair." She smiled, "You might not pluck your arm hair, but I might." In the classroom, my desk was put in the very back left corner, right between a wall and Aimi's desk. From her unofficial declaration of war on my innocent blond hair covered arm, I soon became very aware to all of her strategic moves. With the wall, at least my left arm was totally safe from one particular insane Japanese girl. My right arm, on the other hand, was totally left in the wide open danger area. Everyday, Aimi continued her fiendly plucking, while I refused to make even eye contact with her. I had made one mistake by glancing her way, when I received a mischievous smile, followed by the taunting open and closing of her metal tweezers. Sometimes, while my nose was in a book, the teacher in the front of the room, not paying any attention, the insane Japanese girl, holding a weapon, would quickly lean over the aisle and make a quick pluck at the tiny blond arm hairs. To my sup rise, it wasn't as painful as I had previously assumed it would be. Though I still had no intention of allowing anyone to touch the hairs on my arm. Aimi, on the other hand, had big plans of her own. And even barely two months into my exchange in Japan, I had learned that when a Japanese student really wants something, they'll work their butt of to get it. But obsessive strange fiendly arm hair plucker's will work even harder than that. It was a breezy morning in early November, that I found myself barely able to keep my eyes open. I had just recently returned from the Rotary exchange student trip to Okinawa, where I had a a great time, at the expense of very little sleep. I struggled to keep my eyes open in first period, probably because it was English class, and there was always the chance I would be called on to actually answer a question. But it was really quite a difficult task to do. In fact, I didn't even notice when Aimi took a huge amount of my arm hair off, until she gave herself away with a noisy giggle. I shot her a nasty look, and then forcefully told her to stop plucking my arm hair. By Second period, Japanese History, I was no longer able to keep my eyes open. I felt horrible as I began drifting into a deep sleep, especially since I had always complained to the teachers than students were just allowed to slumber away without any problems. Teachers would always just reply, that since Japanese students have such hectic lifestyles, occasionally sleeping isn't a bad thing. Occasionally I whispered to myself as I dozed off. Nobody bothered me until the middle of 4th period, when some of my classmates tried to feel my pulse. They all thought I was dead, because I had not moved once since I fell asleep. They told me that most Japanese girls thrash around on their desks, knocking things over, or let out a really loud snore. I had not done either, and they had begun to worry. When I was awake, I was feeling overjoyed and refreshed. And I even opened a Japanese text book to study. When the bell rang for our lunch break, I pulled out my little Bento box, full of Japanese lunch food, and slid my desk over to Aimi's. I then noticed that she not making any contact me, and that when I spoke to her, she was forcing herself to ignore me. I was sure she was made at me for yelling at her to stop plucking my arm. I began profusely apologizing and trying to explain that in America, we don't actually pluck our arms and that I'm just not used to it. Still she ignored me, and I assumed that she could not understand my attempt at Japanese. Then I noticed she was shaking in her seat, forcibly suppressing a painful looking laughter. I had no idea what she was doing until the girls that always eat lunch with us, wandered over to our pushed together desks. They took one look at me, and began roaring in laughter. "What? What's wrong?" I frantically grabbed a mirror and began looking to see if there was something on my face. It wasn't until Aimi finally turned to me, no longer holding in her laughter. In English, she shouted "Arm!" I didn't need to look at my arm to know what was wrong with me. Because it made perfect sense. While I had peacefully slept through Japanese History, and whatever happened third period, Aimi had taken her tweezers out and mutilated my arm. The worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she had done a good job, I no longer had a single shred of blond hair poking out of my freckle covered arm. What amazes me is that those girls who pointed it out in the first place were actually able to see that my arm contained no arm hair. I have blond hair, which is virtually invisible! Yet Japanese girls, at least at my school, notice everything. That's probably why for the rest of the day, Aimi failed to maintain 5 whole minutes of not laughing. Because girls from all around the school were poking her and my other classmates and asking why the Gaijin had arm hair on only one arm. I'd almost like to add dramatic effect and say I was mortified for the rest of the day, but honestly, I wasn't. I stayed true to the principles that plucking ones arm hair is stupid and weird. Though I will admit, that I went home that night and dug out the Summer Uniform with long sleeves. This way no one be able to see was missing arm hair... on only one arm. But mostly it was to protect my left arm from the dangerous of psychotic Japanese girls with a dangerous pair of Tweezers. The Great Plucking Incident forever changed my life. I no longer was a safe innocent little American girl in Japan, but a mutilated one armed hairless wonder. What prompted me to finally enlighten the world came just last week at school. In April, I changed homerooms, and moved into an even smarter homeroom. And finally I feel surrounded by people who at least are trying to learn. I mean, no one actually snores during class, so that has to count for something. I thought perhaps, that the plucking would cease as well. After all, these girls seemed to be spending more time studying and less time, making sure their pubic hairs were in the right order. Yet on a hot spring morning, after I climbed the four floors to the homeroom, the first thing that greeted me was not the warmness of my fellow classmates in an "Ohayo!" Instead, as I slid open the sliding glass doors and crept into the room, I became a witness to a curiously busy young woman ferociously plucking her nose hairs. And I thought I'd seen it all...

I Dream In Japanese...

This year has given me the opportunity to analyze people. Okay, so that is definitely a weird first sentence. But it is the truth. When you can barely speak the language, and spend most of your time in quiet, you tend to become a little more aware of your surroundings. Now there is a million things that I have learned from just being quiet, but I just want to talk about one thing in particular. And that is, what makes people happy. It's like the attitude may change, the birds may start chirping, there may even be a mini spring in ones step. Whatever may be the case, when something good happens, people get happy. My best friend, Chiake, for instance, gets happy when I tell her how much I love the Koto club. Masaki Otosan gets happy when I call him Captain Jack Sparrow. As for me, I'm a really happy person, in that alot of things make me happy. Yesterday, in a middle school class that I assist in teaching, one of my students told me that she wanted very much to learn English so she could speak to wonderful people just like me. And then are things like last December, when Mrs. Fabian brought me a a giant jug of 100% Orange Juice. I was happier than a fat kid on Thanksgiving. This constant ray of sunshine, called happiness is a somewhat new feeling for me. I had a really hard time in Middle School, and was rarely happy. But the only person I can blame is myself for letting it all get to me. Now, I don't understand how I could live without that warm and fuzzy feeling of being liked or liking something. Oddly enough, I woke up yesterday morning in a incredibly depressing state. When I opened my eyes, I felt like I a worthless horrible person who had just gotten something really special about themselves taken away. I felt like the only thing I could do was crawl under a rock and pretend I didn't exist. And yet as soon as I thought about why I felt like a dejected piece of trash, a sudden burst happiness and feeling of pride swept through me. Now I'm sure none of this makes any sense. And at the time, it didn't make much sense to me either. How could a dreary gloomy feeling suddenly make me overwhelmed with happiness? Perhaps, because for the first time in 10 months of living, eating, breathing, and now sleeping in Japan, I had a dream in Japanese. I can never remember my dreams when I wake up, unless I think really hard about them and try to force them into memory. I don't know if that makes any sense, but that's what happens. When I woke up, miserable, and then suddenly exuberantly happy, I decided to fight really hard to remember this dream. The dream goes something like this: I was sitting in my desk in the second row at Tosajoshi All Girls High School in Kochi, Japan. It was just another day, where I was decked out in uniform, smiling, listening to the sounds of screaming excited girls, and pretending to be Japanese. I was sitting at my desk reading a study book in English and Japanese, really concentrating and not paying attention to the girls around me, who were laughing and talking. I took out a pen and starting writing a letter to a friend in Japanese, and was having a really easy time with it, which surprised me even in my dream. Then the bell rang, and my friends all filed into their seats, and quieted down. After a few minutes, the homeroom and Japanese teachers, Fukumoto-sensei hurried into the classroom. When she got to the podium, we students stood up and did the mandatory bow and greeting. Then Fukumoto-sensei began speaking in English, or what sounded like English, I couldn't tell. I guess she said things about she was changing from Japanese teacher to English teachers. But she said it in English, or some weird language, I couldn't understand. The girls all took out their English books and began speaking in English, or some weird language I couldn't understand. Fukumoto-sensei next looked up and down the rooms and said my name, "Julie?" When I opened my mouth the words came out in a weird, yet familiar way. "Fukumoto-sensei? Watashi wa wakarimasen yo" (Teacher, I don't understand!) She looked at me and began yelling at me in Japanese, "We don't speak Japanese in English class. You are embarrassing. You can't even speak English." I was shocked, but ready to retort and I planned on saying something like, "Excuse me? I'm fluent in English, it's you who has the problem." But as soon as the words left me mouth, a horrified gasp came from my classmates. I was rude to a teacher, in Japanese. Fukumoto-sensei smiled and said, "Don't be shocked class. We should feel bad for her. We stole her language." And I sat in my desk horrified, but still in disbelief. I started to argue with her, but all that came out was caveman Japanese. She continued to smile and I listened as my classmates began to laugh at me in ridicule. I began to cry as I couldn't speak my own language because a bunch of Japanese girls had stolen it. Then I woke up, feeling as gloomy and saddened at my lose of the English language as ever. But when I thought about the whole thing, I realized that I was speaking in Japanese. My classmates were speaking in some language, which was supposed to be English, but I really couldn't understand what they were saying. And the teacher spoke to me in Japanese, as that was the only way I was able to communicate with her. So yes, the dream was probably more of a nightmare then a dream. Yet thinking about the whole thing, and I can't help but feel so proud of myself. I, Julie Garner, am now dreaming in an entirely different language. Come to think of it, I should probably even more proud at the fact that I'm having nightmares in a different language. That's got to count for something extra, don't you think? I know it usually takes people less than 10 months when they are fully immersed in another language, but at this point, I could care less. I turned the frown upside down and smiled, thinking that I finally have a grasp this impossibly hard language.

In Your Langauge

I'm a total history geek. There, I said, it. Now I'm officially out of the closet. Though anybody that's knows me, could have easily have told you that little fact. When people say something like, "why do we ever need to learn about [American Revolution]? It's not like we're going to use it." I always annoyingly retort, "If you don't know history, you may as well be doomed to repeat it." If the same is said about Math, I'd have no reason to argue. In fact I'd probably jump in and agree. But then I'm one of those people who loathes Math on principle. The fear of History Repetition is not the only reason why I am always thirsty for facts. It has something do with being in the know. Like when you standing beside the brilliantly crafted ancient 'trick gate' of Kochi Castle, in Japan. And you look at this fascinating piece of history and know exactly what it was used for. And maybe if you are lucky, you can tell someone else about the information you know, pass it on. I guess I've always been a bit of a know-it-all. I remember at the tender age of 10, during the family vacation to Bar Harbor, Maine, my family and my cousins went on a whale watching tour. While everyone stood watching the graceful whales out in the distance, I stood throwing out facts about this beautiful mammal's way of life, eating habits, and danger to it's population. I must have thought that someone actually cared as to what I was talking about. But at some point, my mother pulled my aside and said, "Julie, do us all a favor and shut up." I mentioned before, that I strongly dislike Math. This is, perhaps, and understatement. I loathe Math with a fiery burning passion. I have never been very good with numbers. I do not think that this will ever really change. Back in school, there was another subject, that I did not like either. In middle school, I studied Spanish, while as a High School student, I studied French. I quickly learned to hate both these classes. In school, language classes do not teach students to speak. Students learn the polite and often unused form of the language. I think the real reason I struggled with language in school, is that just studying the language is utterly boring. After spending over 10 months in a foreign country, speaking and living in a new language, and fully immersing myself in a faraway culture all at the same time, I can honestly say that the study of a foreign language is an insight into to something more powerful than even my beloved history. In class at school you can read all about how different a country is. Reading helps you to understand and accept it. Yet experiencing is so much better. What I mean is that every book you take out about Japan, will tell you something about the country. A book about the Japanese people will often start off with something really stupid like, "The Japanese people are very different." Besides that being on of the most obvious facts in the world, even to someone who knew next to nothing about the Japanese. Yet knowing another language, or at least a few words and phrases, is enough to go to Japan and discover that this fact is true. What I'm trying to say is that knowing even a little bit about another language is enough to go out and discover that the Japanese are more than different. Every single thing, from language, school, to ways we take baths, and throw out of garbage. It's the big things and the little things that living in another culture and speaking another language teaches us. Although it is not an easy task, surely there are benefits from learning another language. I once heard a great story from an exchange student from South America, I'd like to share. A skinny cat stood for hours waiting for the mouse to walk out from behind the hole, so he could nab him. He was having little success. A fat cat walked by, inquired about the nature of the difficulty, and volunteered to show the skinny cat the ropes. First thing, he had the skinny cat move out of the way where he could not be seen and did likewise himself. Next, he barked, "Woof, woof." The mouse, thinking a dog had scared the cat away, and it was safe, ventured out only to be nabbed and devoured by the fat cat. "You see," explained the fat cat, "it pays to be bilingual." And it really does. Language is a unique invention by humans with the ability of speech. The particular language we are raised in, knowing from birth, and speaking in every day life shapes the way we live our world. It's like language makes everything possible for us as a species: culture, technology, art, music, and much more. Within our words lies a history and a rich source of human wisdom. A wisdom that can only be found in the particular language. Every language has it's own window to the world. Every language is a living museum attested to a the culture it has been used by. In the real world, new technology sparks the idea out with the old in with the new. But that's just not the case with a language. About a month ago, I got my hair cut at a local salon in Kouda, Kochi, Japan. Cutting my hair alone in a huge task for me, but doing it all by myself in a country where I can barely speak the language is another thing. Amazingly enough, the hair cutter was a Half. Her mother was Japanese and father was Chinese, and she grew up in China, only recently learning the Japanese language. She didn't speak English, and I don't speak Chinese, besides "Ni hao." Yet, together we decided what kind of cut would be best for me, with very little trouble. It really puts things into perspective when you and another person are having a conversation with little difficulty, in both your second language. What made it even funnier was that both of us were also speaking in Tosa Ben, which is the dialect of the Kochi prefecture in Japan. It shows how being at least partially bilingual can be beneficial. I think for me, I really realized how important and fascinating knowing another language is, two days ago. My host father, older sister, and I drove all the way to Matsuyama, where I met up with Australian exchange student, Bron Parks. Bron and I met in February at a Rotary exchange student orientation, and became good friends through our "gaijin alliance." She came to visit me in Kochi, and so it was my turn to visit her in Matsuyama. My host sister, Michiyo, was happy to tag along and watch us. Michiyo, studied English for 6 years, and can understand a good lot of it, but can't speak it to save her life. Bron and I, both crave English on a daily basis, and were excited for the oppotunity to be using it. Yet, we didn't want to leave Michiyo out. When we first arrived in Matsuyama, Bron and I immediately used Japanese. I don't even think we realized that we weren't speaking in our native tongues, until I came across a word I didn't know and said it in English. Meanwhile, Bron introduced herself to my host family and we continued using Japanese from there. Though, both of us agree, it is so much harder to express yourself in Japanese, the mere fact that we can communicate in 2 languages is amazing. Though Bron is near fluent, because of studying Japanese for 4 years and doing a prior exchange to Japan, I found I had little trouble understanding what she was saying. It is true that I could not speak as well as she can, but I still felt pretty cool with understanding her conversation with Michiyo. Together we went shopping, and when Michiyo wandered off to look around, Bron and I were back to English. Like, I mentioned before, it is much easier to speak our native tongue, there is no doubt about that. And it became quite apparent when Michiyo returned, and Bron and I stuck with English for a while. But whenever we felt bad about leaving Michiyo out of the conversation, we switched back into Japanese mode. I don't really think many people have the ability to do something like that. Realizing, you are leaving someone because of a language barrier, so just easily without question switching into their native language. I don't claim to be fluent, but I will say that I'm somewhat conversational and can understand a good lot of what is being said. The girls and I continued shopping in the Matsuyama main mall area, running into amny odd little Japanese quirks. This included the Half- naked madcot for the Matsuyama Pachinko parlor. We also ran into the mascot for the Matsuyama Baseball team. In English, Bron and I both agreed that only in Japan would it be okay for a main team to be called the Mandarin Pirates. Mandarin as in Mandarin Orange. Afterwards, we got the mandatory Purikura, mini friend pictures to celebrate the occasion of hanging out in Matsuyama. From there we conversed in all the little things we've learned about Japanese in our exchanges, like schools, clubs, friends, and just Japanese life. None of which we would have ever gotten the opportunity to learn about had it not been for knowing the language. For dinner, we ate our favorite Japanese meal, Okonomiacki, and switched in and out of Japanglish for Michiyo and our own benefits. Then on to shopping, and finally to a Starbucks. The crazy thing is that I totally Japanized the situation. Instead of ordering the delcious looking White Chocolate Mocha, that I'd been craving for months. I decided to get something I would probably only be able to eat once in my life. Traditional Japanese Azuki, or Red Bean Frappucino. It was suprisingly, the most delicious drink on the whole menu. And as I sat at the table, speaking Japanese to Michiyo and Bron, I thought about the Fat Cat. I reckon he'd definitely have to acknowledge that the skinney cat finally learned the ropes.

Me and My Best Friend

Here is Japan, I have made a lot of friends. I've made more than probably any other exchange student of the past. I'm fully aware that there are some who only want to be my friend because I am a foreign novelty. Yet there are others, that like me because of who I am. These are the people that want to hang out, not to run back and tell their friends that they spent the entire afternoon with the Gaijin, but because they know I'm a fun person. These are the people that I know I'm going to miss with all my heart come August 13th. There is still another category. Best Friend, which fortunately enough, I am able to say I have. Chiake Yamanaka, who I often depict as being a strict goof in these columns, is my best friend. She and I became friends last November, when I joined the Koto club. She had just been moved up to the position of leader, and was in charge of teaching me the basics. We were friends, but it wasn't until March, a few weeks after I moved into the Osaki's, that I began to realize how important Chiake's friendship was. My new host family lived in Kouda, a 5 minute bike ride from Chiake's house. So together, everyday, after club, we would vroom down the Densha Dori, make a turn at the big bridge, and slowly leave the hustle and bustle of the city. All the while we laughed and talked about life, club, friends, and family. What really proved that we were friends was that we did not let a language barrier stand in our way at all. After Spring Break, I returned to school, moving up an entire grade, to find myself in the same homeroom at CHiake. So even though we didn't bike home together after I moved to the next host family, I ate lunch with her everyday, laughed with her in between classes, and helped her with English class. Her family had also taken an amazement with our friendship. After the bog Koto concert, her Grandmother sent me a huge basket of flowers, and her mother presented me with an enormous Well Done Stuffed animal. They wanted me to come to their home when the opportunity presented itself. And even though we were all really quite busy, in late June, CHiake invited me to the Ochina, a town about an hour and a half outside Kochi City, to visit her grandparents. The Katou's amazed me. When I asked for permission, I half expected them to have a freak out, like my second host family would have. instead they kind of said, "You can do what you like, just make sure to have fun!" So on June 24th, in front of the Kochi Dollar Store, CHiake and her parents picked me up bound for Ochina. In the car, Chiake and I talked directly through the entire hour. It amazes me how easy it is to talk to her. I find trouble having basic conversations with most people, but CHiake is not like that. I don't care about butching grammar, because she always seems to know what I am saying. Sometimes I tell her to practice English. Her English isn't as terrible as most people, and she has a great vocabulary, but no idea how to use it. As we drove along, I told the family about all my language mistakes, and had them cackling in laughter. Eventually we stopped at a food store to pick up some cake and juice. When I ran off to the bathroom, Chiake and her mother ran to the gift shop to buy me a secret present. But Chiake can't keep secrets to save her life. When we arrived in Ochina, we traveled along a road parallel to the greenest of green rice fields. The road itself was no wider than a pipe, and I kept wondering why we didn't slide of the side and into a field. CHiake's Grandmothers house is a modern country style home jammed in with a bunch of old style Japanese homes. I can imagine the neighbors remarking about it being an eye sore. Before I even introduced myself, her grandfather called me into the living room. CHiake laughed as I bolted into where I was being called. On a Tatami surface mat, I had become face to face with an huge plaque, the quarter a size of an entire wall. It was brown and it was written in really difficult Kanji that I couldn't even read. On one ide was a small medal with a red ribbon. My first thought that it was a War Medal, but Chiake explained that her grandfather received it upon retirement from the police force. He thought I would like to see it , because CHiake had told him that my grandfather was former policemen. I couldn't help but think that was incredibly kind of her grandfather, and I thanked him for showing me. Back outside, with her Grandmother joining us in the car, we headed for the destination of the day. A famous Soumen restaurant on the side of Mountain. We had previously planned on attending a Paper Carp festival, but it had begun to rain. The rain meant to festival. But we had a backup. We arrived and filed out of the car. The people at the restaurant led us into a back room, only covered by a tent, and quite wet from the rain. The sat us at a huge rock table that had a fountain type thing carved into it. The fountain connected to a circular river that rapidly flowed in a circle around the table. With 2 full plates of Soumen, I watched as the family members dropped the noodles into the icy water. The noodles were then jetted around the circle in a heavy flowing current. That is until someone reaches their chop sticks into the river and pulls out the Soumen noodles. I was in amazement, never had I seen something so exciting and brilliant. We played a bunch of games, like fighting to get one set of noodles. It much harder than you think because, the current is like a breeze. I lost every round. It was hard, what can I say. But I did end up eating a hefty portion of the noodles and was quickly filled to the brim. CHiake and I took some pictures with this brilliant eating contraption before we headed back to the Grandma's house. At the house, with nothing to do, CHiake and I sat and watched a special on famous Japanese desserts, while scheming how we were going to get CHiake the money to get her to come and visit me in America. After about 2 hours of doing nothing but talking, looking through her baby pictures, and throwing things at her slumbering dad, it was cake time. Now I was disgustingly full, but I knew I would feel bad not eating the cake. Chiake and I each savored a huge piece of chocolate covered in vanilla and strawberry sauce. At the table, her family raved about my Japanese. Her Grandmother even apologized to me. When asked why, she said, that she had been staring at me throughout the entire day. She told me that I was the first time she had ever been close to a foreign person. Her entire life had been spent in the middle of nowhere Ochina, and seeing a foreigner was like and early Christmas. I realized that Japan needs as much foreign intersection as possible, if I was an early Christmas present. After Cake, we decided to head home. The car ride was significantly shorter, but no less interesting. I love spending time with CHiake, but am fully aware that I only have a little over a month, and she is really busy with the All Japan Koto tournament. I guess, she will just have to come to America.