Things I take for granted in Japan

After being in Japan for 7 months, the honeymoon period starts to wear down and one's perspective gradually becomes . . . well, jaded. The endless hours of work signature to the Japanese lifestyle (see karoshi) and the complexities of every day life can often serve as the smudge on one's rose-colored glasses. However, the sure fire way to hit the restart button on life in the Land of the Rising Sun would be to look at things through a brand new set of eyes.

Last week, I had the fortune of accompanying a family friend from my home planet of America. This visitor was nothing but smiles the moment he set foot on Japanese soil and it forced me, in a way, to reevaluate my perspective and remember all of the wonderful things about Japan that I'd began taking for granted. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a big fan of making lists, so I decided to list all of the wonderful things that make Japan a wonderful place to be. And here they are . . .

The Beautiful Scenery

Rushing about with my head down . . . from the train station to the hotel, to the ramen shop and past Japan's many industrial zones . . . my friend pointed out the one thing that I hadn't noticed in a while. The beautiful mountains in the distance. "Look at that!" he said, full of awe.

"At what?" I asked, squinting and looking around.

"Those beautiful mountains!" he said, pointing to the sky and taking out his video camera. It may sound strange, but it's pretty easy to forget when you walk past those very same mountains everyday. Regardless, I was brought back to a time when I actually took a moment to stop and look up at the ominous mountains. And now after having climbed Mt. Fuji, it's even more gratifying to take a gander. So that's what I've been doing lately. Trying to take it all in before I head back to the states, where I will no longer have that luxury.

The Kindness of the Japanese People

We walked out of the train station from the airport and was approached by a stranger. "Where are you going?" he asked. I answered immediately, while my friend stood by looking a little suspicious. The man said, "I help you. Let's go!" and I took off after him, not phased by his "strangerness" or questioning whether he was going to take us into some dark alley and rob us. We rushed through the streets and in and out of the train station following our mysterious navigator. He took us to the information area and asked the lady where our destination was located, asked us if we had tickets - to which we responded, "no," went to the terminal, bought two tickets and waved "goodbye" to us as we boarded the train with confusion and exhaustion. When we dismounted, we were at my friend's hotel.

"That man was amazing," my friend said with delighted bewilderment. "I can't believe he did so much to help us."

I shrugged my shoulders, "That's just how they are."

"Yeah, but could you imagine someone doing something like that in Philadelphia?"

I stopped for a minute and thought about it. The blaring answer was, of course, no. In fact, it's the complete opposite. Where I'm from, it's not even okay to look confused, because that might invite someone to rob you.

The Trains

The first time I ever rode a train (about 2 years ago) was a very low period in my life. My colleague who thought way too highly of my intelligence and who took the train everyday, decided to help me (an idiot who would drive to my own mailbox if possible) attempt to take the train all by myself for the first time. Unfortunately, the ordeal ended with me taking the train in the wrong direction and riding to the end of the line, crying in the back of the train-car as the workers snickered and pointed at me while continuing to tell me the wrong information. Not understanding how to read the schedule, my only question was, "Does this train go to Queen Lane?" and not one of the these three snickering fools could answer that single question. 2 years later, I'm in Japan. Not having been here one month, I am navigating these rails like a native. And what's better, if I am confused about which line to hop on, I don't even have to speak Japanese to get a quick and easy answer that tells me what time the train is running, where to go to catch it and if it's going to my destination. There have been times when I have walked up to an attendant and said, "Okayama" and that person immediately said, "Three" and that was enough to get me to my destination. When my friend visited, he was a navigating the rails in no time. "This is easier than I thought it would be," he said. I couldn't agree more. Unfortunately, it's not so simple to get around on my home planet.

Kakigori

The first step to admitting you have an addiction is . . . well, admitting you have an addiction. (Wait, I think I said that wrong). Any who, I am addicted to shaved ice. I would eat it every day if I could. I have always crunched on ice (due to an iron deficiency) but this place makes my addiction waaaay worst. I measure my coordinates everywhere I go by how far I am from a place that serves kakigori. It's not just the flavors that are inviting, it's the actual texture of the ice. Like pure snow. I LOVE it. I will miss it dearly when I come back to the States. I heard they sell it in Hawaii but unfortunately, I don't have "Hawaii money," so I am going to have to take this wonderful treat to the East Coast. My friend tasted the pure delight that is kakigori for the first time and decided that he is going to help me start a kakigori chain in the United States. Watch out Dairy Queen . . . we're coming to getcha!

Vending Machines Everywhere

One of the first things my friend noticed was all of the vending machines. He was amazed and intrigued by the various different drinks they had. Beer, water, hot chocolate, hot or cold coffee, hot or cold tea, fruit drinks, pancake drinks (don't ask). The snack machines contained everything from ice cream to hot corn soup. You can't walk for two blocks without coming across a vending machine. It got to the point that my friend would say, "I'm thirsty . . . eh, I'll just wait until we get to the next vending machine." It's something I've been taking for granted now, but when I get back to the States, I am going to miss the heck out of that wonderful convenience.

No Tax, No Tip

Speaking of convenience, I will especially miss not having to worry about tipping after a meal. Don't get me wrong, I'm not afraid of dropping an extra 15% on the table to further express my gratitude for good service, but I'm not going to lie...it's nice to be able to walk into an establishment and know exactly what I am going to pay within 5 minutes. There are no taxes on food, so if you are eating at a restaurant and order something for 500 yen, that will be the price of your evening out. No tax, no tip . . . just a check showing that you ate one bowl of ramen. I dig the simplicity. After a while you forget about all of the excess money you'd have to dish out in the States. When I'm in America, I KNOW I am going to overreact the first time I get a restaurant bill.

All right, that's all I got for now. To all of my Japan friends, feel free to throw in some things that you take for granted about Japan, but find absolutely wonderful.

Meet the Gaijins

I already did a post addressing the subject of "Outsiders" or Gaijin, but I'd really like to dive into that topic a little more from a different angle. Today's post is about actually meeting these "aliens."

Now amongst my friends, I call it "bumping into some foreigners." There are dozens of different kinds of foreigners who visit/live in Japan, but 80% of the time, you're going to run into a Caucasian American person or an East Indian person. When I "bump into" a Black person (from any part of the world), the result is always hilarious (but that's for a different post.) Either way, when Gaijin meet other Gaijin, it's usually a strange experience. I don't really know how to explain it except to say that there's a lot of "self-reinvention" going on overseas and the easiest way to blow someone's cover (or blow your own) is to run into someone who speaks your language.

. . . and the awkwardness ensues.

To make this easy for you, I'l categorize the people I've met thus far.

THE MODERN DAY MAGELLAN

There are people who exist that still believe there are civilizations yet to be discovered. And for the record . . . there aren't. These people have passports tattooed with an abundance of Visa stamps (that they will gladly pull out and show you).

"Yes, the sushi in Japan is great," they'll tell you, "but you haven't lived until you've been to (insert random country) and tried the (insert exotic dish)!"

I call these people "Modern Day Magellans," because in their minds, every human being (whether they know it or not) is in a competition to travel to every country in the world. Out of all of the foreigners I've met in Japan, this group is the most abundant. And you can recognize them within the first or second sentence. The 1st MDM I met described herself as an army brat (code word for MDM) and when I asked her what she thought about Japan, she tossed her hair back and said, "Well, I've been all over the world, so this is nothing to me."

Now let me interrupt this flow of consciousness to say that I am an MDM's worst nightmare. Not only have I been absolutely nowhere in the world (unless you count 2 trips to Disney World) but I am conversationally slow and don't offer the proper follow-up questions you're supposed to ask an MDM like, "Oh really! That's amazing! Where have you been? Would you please tell me all about your adventures?" No, I just smile and say, "That's nice!" And this is not to say that I wouldn't be interested in hearing about an MDM's journey. I'm not a hater afterall and my very presence in Japan speaks to the idea that travel is something that interests me. It's just that I'm not a big fan of (what I like to call) conversation date-rape. Conversation date-rape is when a person takes advantage of a casual conversation by attempting to force their favorite topic in without picking up on the social cues. No means no! Just because I asked you how you liked Japan, doesn't mean I want to be subjected to your trip to Indonesia, France and Australia. I like to let a conversation progress naturally so that I don't feel used . . . you know, in the ear-hole.

Either way, MDM's can be pretty good people once you get past the endless conversation slide-shows. If you run into a particularly generous MDM, they'll actually let you get a word in edgewise (which is nice). They're also a wealth of knowledge. Most of the MDM's that I've met have amazing information retention abilities. They'll hold onto any bit of information they receive so that they can regurgitate it at the most convenient times (which can be annoying, but REALLY helpful). So when you need to know the name of some exotic food or where you can find the best souveniers an MDM is an excellent resource to utilize, BUT I would never EVER suggest anyone spend too much time with an MDM if they decide to live overseas. Why? They will stunt your ability to adapt. MDM's can be a bit over-aggressive. If you're at a restaurant, they will order for you. If you want to go somewhere, they will take the map from out of your hands and lead the way. If you plan on depending on them for everything, this is good, but this can be terribly bad for 2 reasons . . .

#1 - These people are often wrong. MDMs can be a cocky bunch and because they have something to prove, they'll sometimes make decisions with haste and little consensus from anyone else. This can consume a lot of time while traveling.

#2 - Who goes overseas to depend on someone else completely?

One thing I've found out by living in Japan is that empowering yourself is the best thing you can ever do. So if you're ever in another country and run into an MDM, mark my words. Listen to their story, find out where you can get the best (whatever) and then run away as fast as humanly possible.

THE RUNAWAY

Now this group can be summed up pretty quickly. The Runaways are usually (not always) recent college graduates who don't know what to do with their lives yet. They use their time overseas to work some strange job or other (ie. teaching English), kill some time while padding the resume and then return to their country with an adventure under their belt and some clarity about what they want to do with their lives. Most runaways are scared out of their minds. They feel the pressure of expectations of becoming "an adult" and don't want to face the reality of being a 20-something with nothing to show for their 4 years of college except the ability to hold their liquor. In the end, most of these "runaways" decide to just go to grad school (thus easing out of the college experience as opposed to jumping out with both feet.)

THE SQUARE PEG

It's been said, "No matter where you go, there you are." I never really understood this saying until I met what I like to call the "Square Peg" (also known as "Losers Back Home" by some of the more brutal Gaijin out here).

Square Pegs are people who don't quite fit in in America. These people often travel the world looking for their "square hole" and many times, they actually find it. But unfortunately some Square Pegs find that the world is . . . well, round.

Anywho, some Square Pegs are subtle while others couldn't be more conspicuous if they tried. The tell-tale sign that you have encountered a "Square Peg" is the way you feel after you part ways. If you're confused, annoyed or creeped-out odds are, you have just come in contact with an SP.

These people are eccentric at best and absolutely nuts at worst. In the middle is a variety of desperation, control issues, insecurity, awkwardness (beyond the normal variety), defensiveness, sarcasm, fear and anger.

I met a "subtle" SP a couple months ago (back when I was brave enough to still talk to "gaijin").

I was sitting in a sushi shop on a Monday night, reading a book and enjoying a late meal alone.

(Sidenote: Mom, I suggest you stop reading now.)

(Suit yourself then! You've been warned)

So a strange looking man stood outside of the window staring at me with bulged eyes. He was obviously not Japanese (actually, I think he was Hispanic or partially Black), so I assumed that my being stared at was the result of the shock Gaijins have when they see a woman of color (in my neighborhood especially). I'm not going to lie, I've done it to other people of color myself.

So this guy walks into the shop with his eyes glued to me, as if he was literally in a trance. He grabs a stool next to me and without blinking or taking his eyes off of me, he sits down.

Him: Hello!

Me: Um . . . hi!

Him: I'm sorry if I'm freaking you out, it's just that you're the first foreigner I've seen in this town since I got here a few weeks ago.

Me: (Laughs) That doesn't surprise me.

Him: Yeah, I'm sorry.

Me: It's no problem.

Him: (Eyes still bulging out of his head) I'm not freaking you out, am I?

Me: Um, well . . . your eyes . . . uh, not blinking. That's a little . . . um . . . scary.

Him: Sorry. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. (Still doesn't blink or take his eyes off of me.)

So we talk a little and he tells me that he's from the Mid-West. The guy (I forget his name) was an engineer for some kind of company that makes a certain machine. He traveled the world fixing glitches in those machines and also helps to update the equipment. Throughout the conversation he kept asking me if he was "freaking me out." I kept reassuring him that he wasn't and this is what kept "the crazy" inside of him contained. Until, that is, I slipped up. That's when . . . well, I'll show you how it happened.

Him: Am I freaking you out? I'm sorry, I didn't really get a lot of sleep so . . .

Me: No, I'm cool really. Actually, just a couple of weeks ago I met some strange foreigners and had an experience that freaked me out a little.

Him: Really? Tell me about it.

Me: Well, um, I don't know. The people were just really strange.

Him: Strange how?

Me: I don't know. (pause) You ever think that maybe some of the foreigners here are . . . (long pause)

Him: (practically falling out of his seat) Are what?

Me: I don't know . . . running away from something?

*Snap!* (That's the sound of his crazy breaking free from it's cage.)

Him: Running away from something?!?! Why does it have to be running away from something. Maybe they had to get out. (Getting louder) Maybe they needed to escape. There's nothing in Detroit. NOTHING!!!

At that moment, the sushi guy hands me the check and says the place is closing. I said a quick "goodbye" to my crazy friend and peddled home as fast as I could. All night, I was "freaked out" remembering his bulging eyes and wondering if he ever really existed at all.

That was one of my more extreme stories. But for the most part, you'll run into the Square Pegs of the milder variety. For example, here's a quick snippet from my one of my favorite SP experiences. I met a guy who looked like Cee-Lo while on my way to my apartment one night. It was really random, especially in my neck of the woods. We both stop.

Him: So am I the first Black person you've run into here in Japan?

Me: Uh, no.

Him: Oh

(awkward pause)

Him: What company do you work for?

Me: I work for --blankity blank-- How about you?

Him: Well, I used to work for --blah blah blah-- before they got shut down. Have you heard of them?

Me: No

Him: How long have you been here?

Me: About 3 months.

Him: Yeah, I can tell. Well, anyway . . .

(After that, I stopped listening. My mind checked back in when he said . . . )

Him: So let's exchange information.

Me: Well, I don't know my phone number yet and I don't have my phone on me. (That's my default reply)

Him: No, I mean facebook info.

Me: (immediately) Okay, what's your name? (So I don't have to give him mine)

Him: Do you know the famous scientist?

Me: Uh, no.

*crickets*

Me: (continuing) Could you tell me his name?

Him: Blah, blah, blah

Me: Okay, see you around.

So that's it for the SP's. Neurotic, insecure, awkward, condescending, etc. Collect'em all.

THE "ME LOVE YOU LONG TIME" SEEKERS

I think you can tell where I'm going with this category. Unfortunately, for Asian women, there are some men who have watched the movie "Full Metal Jacket" and only remember one scene. These men are known on the West Coast as "Todds" or "Brads." On the East Coast, they're known as "Jerks" or "Douchebags." Regardless, these men have bought plane tickets and flown to Japan with hopes of finding easy Japanese women.

You can recognize these men because there is always something "slightly off" about them. Maybe their "man-bangs" are dyed some odd color, maybe they are wearing sunglasses (at night), or maybe their skinny jeans are a bit too skinny. Either way, these guys are fun to watch. They usually roll out in small groups of like-minded individuals, and you will almost NEVER see them with a foreign female. If anything, they tend to run in the opposite direction of any female who is not Asian which is good for the rest of us, but kind of bad for the Japanese ladies. But then again, some of these Japanese ladies out here have their own motives, so I guess it all works out in the end.

THE EAT, PRAY, LOVERS

I guess I would fall into this category. This is the group of people who are well past the fear of "what am I going to do with my life" and are just trying to hit the "refresh" button on the life they've already started. Sometimes, EPL'ers leave in order to get some clarity on their present situation or just to see the world because . . . well, why not? There's not a lot of these folks out here in Japan. Actually, I think I can count on three fingers how many EPL'ers I've met. There's really not much to an EPL'ers motives and this is what confuses people the most.

"But why are you here?" I've been asked in frustration. You can guess the questions that are running through these people's minds. If you're not looking for a mate, you don't have something to prove, you're not a recent college grad, you're not a misfit in your own country . . . why Japan? We EPL'ers don't really have an answer for that, so we just do this . . .

So those are the different categories of Gaijin. Of course, there are a bunch of exceptions that don't fall into those categories. For example, those who are working real jobs over here (like engineers or corporate people) or people who have gotten married to a Japanese spouse. There are also the people who have a strong (and genuine) fascination with the Japanese culture. My favorite are the middle-aged, middle America mom and pop type who pull out their cameras and take pictures of everything. I find it endearing and a little embarrassing at the same time.

For the most part, though, the people you meet in Japan will fall into the aforementioned categories. So have fun looking for them if you ever visit another country. And don't say I didn't warn you!

Japan's Business Culture is Not Bad . . . Just Soul-Crushingly Different

So on my roughest days, I have crawled home from work, peeled off my sweaty clothes and cried like a baby cracked open a self-help book or two with the objective of learning how to cope with life in the "Land of the Rising Sun." Being that I spend 9 hours of my life at work, 99% of my anxieties are work related. "Realize that nothing about your host country is bad or wrong" the self-help books repeat, "just different." This advice is perfect. It's fair, it's logical and it's the truth. "Just different" I imagine a soothing voice saying. "It's just different," I repeat to myself.

This line of reasoning has gotten me over quite a few "Japanese-life" hurdles . . . except one. And that, dear reader, would be anything workplace related. That is where my feeble American brain shuts down and the only thought that escapes is "This is crazy!" Now I'm not bashing Japan and I'm also not saying that everyone's situation is like mine. But this is my blog and I can only tell you about the world that I see.

So when it comes to the "business end" of Japan, things get a little . . . (how do you say?) . . . tight. Pun intended.

THE most important thing to realize is that hierarchy is EVERYTHING. One of the first things that I was handed when I started my job was a notebook. On the first page of this notebook was a list of everyone who worked for the company and their respective titles. The president's name and title was first, followed by the vice president and so on and so forth. Near the bottom of the list the names started to disappear and there were only titles. And gracing the edge of the paper, at the very bottom, the lowest position on the list was that of the Native English Teacher. Of course, at the time that I received this notebook, the symbolism was lost on me. I suppose if they'd have straight out told me that this was a totem pole and that I was at the bottom, it would not have been very appealing. Especially with my coming from the United States, a country where everyone wants to believe that they are special. (Ahh . . . Silly Ahmellicans)

In America they give "the little people" incentives to make them feel special. Gold stars to wear on their name tags, employee of the month posters to display, $50 gift certificates to Best Buy or the Olive Garden. "You can call me Bill!" you're friendly American manager might say on your first day of work in order to give off a more "friendly" and "personal" vibe. Followed by, "We're all like a family here." (Which, by the way, is the kiss of death for any job and means you should probably run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.)

Which reminds me of a story. When I was on my way to meet my manager for the first time, I was flustered because I realized that I'd forgotten her name. I sat on the train, purging my memory for any detail I could remember. Finally, when I met her, I gave up.

"I'm sorry, but may I have your name again?" I said apologetically.

"Oh! No name . . . you call me manager," she said.

I remember it taking a while for this to digest. (Feeble American brain, remember?) Regardless, "Manager" is what I call her among many other things. Later on, though, I learned that in Japan employees are called by their titles and not their names. This is kind of a constant reminder of where you stand in the grand scheme of things. You are never to forget your position. You're position is prevalent in every interaction and it means everything.

Anywho, along with this whole "title" and "hierarchy" business, there's the business of decision making. And I'm definitely not knocking the Japanese way of getting things done (because it works for them), but seeing things from this side of the fence really sheds some light on how America and Japan differ when it comes to making decisions.

Okay, I'll just get right to it. In Japan's business culture (meaning my job), everything takes time. A very lonnnng time. The process to grant a vacation request takes so long that sometimes you are still waiting for approval 2 months later, while you are on vacation. And it's not because everyone is just sitting around twiddling their thumbs. The problem difference lies in the fact that when it comes to getting something done, as a friend of mine would put it, "Japan's got more hoops than the circus."

At my job there are 4 or more higher ups that must approve every decision. Book requests, vacation requests, sick day requests, etc. And often times, these people are very . . . particular. They want you to fill out a request, several months in advance and then submit it to your manager. Your manager must then add her 2 cents to the request as to whether she approves of your plan. Then up the steps of hierarchy your request goes, sometimes getting knocked all the way back down, meaning you have to resubmit and start all over again. You can track the process online and I swear, sometimes it's like watching a bill become a law.

One day, I thought I was doing the company a favor by insisting that two of my students purchase a certain book as supplemental material for their lessons. Being that I decided against using a book from an outside publisher, so that the company would profit from selling one of their own books, I thought that I would get some "brownie points." But instead, I got just the opposite.

"Are you sure this is something you want to do?" my manager asked, with a little more intensity than I thought the situation called for.

Me: Umm, yeah. (confused face . . . as usual)

Her: (Deep sigh and walks away)

Apparently she had to submit a bunch of requests to get this decision to go through. And considering that along with the sale of these two books, there was a possibility that the company would have to purchase one (yes, just one) teacher's manual to go with it, well . . . this was what dragged the situation out for 2 straight months. My manager tried to explain to me that it was too much trouble, but I just didn't get it. I couldn't understand why they would make such a big deal out of a couple students deciding to buy some of their books. Yeah, they would have to buy a teacher's manual for me, but they'd still be making a profit. I've seen them sell books before. They'd even told us to push students to buy books that month. So here I was, doing just that, and I was getting dragged through the mud. Regardless, the decision was finally decided in my favor when the company realized that there was no teacher's manual for the book that I was requesting. I guess they forgot to check in the first place.

Either way this leads to something else. The "no" factor. Now this may just be my truth, but at my job, I've noticed that every request is given a "no!" before it is granted. And it used to bother me, but now I just realize that "no" is more of a reaction than an answer. It's more like, "You want what?! . . . NO! . . . wait, what did you want again?" Kind of like a grumpy old man who thinks that everyone's trying to get over on him.

Regardless, it takes patience and a quiet strength to get through the day sometimes and this is something that, I'm sorry to say, I have to work on. I've never realized how quick and impulsive America is. And as an American, I've always prided myself on my ability to (as it says on my resume) "assess a situation and react accordingly," or "my determination to be goal-oriented" and "results driven." But here in Japan, that's not a selling point. It's not about the results, so much as the long, strenuous, agonizing process. If your superior has reason to believe that you are not respecting the process (in other words, if you're making it look easy), they don't care what the results are . . . they will shut you down with the quickness.

Now there are some jobs in America where the people are like this. For example, every office has that person who walks around looking like they are going to have a heart attack. You know, the "oh-my-god-my-life-is-so-hard-why-god-oh-why-do-I-have-to-bear-the-weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders-every-single-day-'do-you-need-help?-"no, because-only-I-know-how-to-do-this-and-you-wouldn't-understand-it-even-if-I-explained-it-to-you" person.

Well, that's how most of the managers are at my specific company and if you think you are going to mosey on up to them and nonchalantly get something done, your casual-ness might come off as reason to get a quick "no" because well, you're not respecting the process which is "complicated-and-oh-my-god-what-do-you-think-you-can-just-come-to-this-country-and-get-anything-you-want-you-silly-American-things-take-time-and-work-and-seriousness-and-you'd-better-just-wait-a-minute-what-did-you-want-again?"

I say all of this to say that casualness is the kiss of death in the Japanese workplace.

So, about me. I've been working for a Japanese company for 5 and a half months now. My routine is not perfect, but it's stable. I wake up every morning, make and eat breakfast, read a few bible passages, make a feeble attempt to clean or do something useful but just end up on Skype chatting to my friends and family, I turn on my favorite dvd full of music videos (a REALLY thoughtful gift that I got from a friend) dance around in the living room for a while, get dressed and then admire myself in the mirror for a few minutes. I am a tall, lean, caramel complexioned Black woman wearing a dark suit, a silk blouse and heels. My makeup is done and I like to wear my dread-locked hair in an elegant up-do. I don't look like I am going to a job that requires me to crawl around on the floor with 2 and 5 year old babies. I don't feel like I am ready to listen to some overweight 11 year old with spiky hair attempt to be sarcastic to me in broken English. I don't look "child-friendly" and I don't feel "child-friendly." But this is the costume of a working person in Japan. So I tell myself, "it's just different" and I hop onto my bicycle and ride past other souls, who are also going to their daily grind. These brick-faced individuals, all wearing the same kind of dark suits, look like Japanese versions of me. No more thrilled to be going to work than I am. We all blend together like a swarm of black bumble bees, collectively charging toward our prison cell to be held captive for 9 or 10 hours. The whole time I ride to work, I am blasting my iPod at full volume, purging all of the happiness and rhythm that one can muster from a Luther Vandross song.

" . . . who needs to go to work to hustle for another dollar.

I'd rather be with you 'cause you make my heart scream and holla! . . . "

When I arrive at work, the music stops. I hop off of my bicycle and prepare for the (as I like to call it) "9 hours of silence." I teach English during this time and run around with "the midgets," make small talk with my adult students and just try to look as busy as possible. My interactions with my coworkers are pleasant but limited. There's something about the environment that sucks the life out of everything, I don't know whether it's my business suit, or the fact that no one understands "natural" English or that it's always too hot or too cold in the lobby but gradually my desire to converse at work diminishes and I am left with the feeling of introspection. And honestly, I don't mind this at all. Actually, I think this is something that I probably needed to work on anyway. It feels like a bootleg version of meditation. (Maybe one day I'll work my way up to real meditation.)

During these moments, I look around and take in my environment. I listen to the conversations that I hear from the parents as they gossip in the lobby. I watch the way the Japanese teachers plug away at whatever project they are working on. I watch my poor manager run around the lobby looking worried and smiling desperately at children. I wonder what kind of lives other Japanese "business-people" are living and if this is how they imagined they would spend the majority of their lives. At work for ten to twelve hours a day. My meditations have lead me to believe that "work" is a kind of religion in Japan. The purpose for life. Sometimes, I look at the children running around in the lobby, playing with hand held video games and cell phones and wonder if they are ready to worship at the shrine of corporate industry. And then I decide that I don't feel sorry for these children because they don't know any other way. Just like my boss and my coworkers. This is their way of life. As my Japanese coworker said, defensively, (after I told her that I don't like spending so much time at my job), "Life isn't about having fun!" My initial thought was, "It isn't?" but I guess that's just a reflection of American culture. Here in the U.S. we judge a person's success by how much leisure time they have, while in Japan it seems (in my opinion) that a person's success is judged by how much they work. So here I am complaining about something that any other Japanese person would (maybe) feel blessed to have. Eh, either way . . . these are the thoughts that run through my mind during my 9 hours of silence.

. . . just different.

So at the end of the day, I hop onto my bicycle and the music commences.

". . . Oh my love!

A thousand kisses from you is never too muuuuch"

Pictures

With how much I write, I don't think I post enough pictures. So in order to satisfy your insatiable desire for voyeurism . . . here's more pictures and less words.

My Hood

This is the apartment building that I live in. Good ole' Hime Tifany. Strange, all of this time I never noticed the sign in Romaji letters.

The view of my apartment from the front (or back - I don't really know which one it is. I just know that this is where I come in and go out.) I live on the second floor.

I ride down this little street every day.

This is where I park my "ride." Mine's the black one with the blue umbrella.

The creepy graveyard I have to pass by every night on my way home from work.

The driving course next door.

The main road off of my street.

A woman doing some gardening alongside the river stream gutter I don't know what it is.

The Family Mart around the corner.

The grocery store across the street from me. It's called "Co-op." Thank God for this place.

"Sir Barks A Lot" - The annoying dog in front of my apartment.

Yours truly. (I know it's blurry, but I like how brown my locs look in this picture.)

I found heaven an art store.

Visiting Bob

This guy is one of my dearest friends from High School (and one of the reasons that I came out to live in Japan in the first place.) So yeah . . . he's kind of a big deal.

I thought his living room was really cute, so I took a picture.

After trying to catch up on the past 6 years and reliving High School memories, I crashed on his futon/couch for the night.

Bob had gone to work when I woke up, but left out some coffee, cereal and this nice little note.

. . . now that's a real friend!

When I saw the "New Jersey" postcard on Bob's refrigerator, I got a little nostalgic.

A store with a very strange name.

Taking a "Me Day," visiting the local Art Museum.

Summer Festival

Strange girls at the festival who were not shy about posing for this picture.

I've seen quite a few of these kinds of ladies out here.

A Few of my Favorite Things

I caught "the cooking bug" a little before I moved out to Japan. Occasionally (despite a long day of work), I'll go home and whip up a meal. On this particular night I made spaghetti.

My kitchen is microscopic as you can see.

Every week, I have dinner with the wonderful people from my congregation.

And they. can. COOK!!!

A sister from my congregation was kind enough to bake this for me.

It's like a huge loaf of chocolate chip bread, but they were calling it a "pancake."

I'm addicted to reading and eating kakigori (shaved ice).

Every other day I go to the same Udon noodle place and order dinner and kakigori as dessert. The people get a kick out seeing me so much, but they know I'm a good customer and are always very kind.

I have wonderful friends and family who send me all kinds of awesome goodies. This is the first of many boxes I would receive.

I received some flowers from home the other day.

More pics to come . . .

The Good, the Bad and the Chubby (7 - 9 year olds)

My mother (who is one of the wisest women I know) once told me that by the age of 6 years old, a person's character is pretty much cemented and the only thing you can do beyond that point is damage control. After four months of teaching 7 year olds, I see EXACTLY what she means. Actually, it didn't take a full four months. After about one month, I knew which classes to walk into and actually try to teach a lesson or the ones to walk into, throw a pack of UNO cards at the little savages, go into a corner and pray for God's kingdom to come.

To further elaborate on my mother's theory, it seems that beyond this age, certain learned behaviors are hard to break. (And for the record, I'm not saying it's impossible . . . just really, really, really, really, really . . . Really, REALLY hard.) The fission between the mindset of a five year old and a seven year old is pretty grand canyon-like when you get to experience it. After teaching a class with malleable five year olds where all I have to do is give an angry look or a dramatic gesture and I have instant obedience from even the roughest kid in the class, to my seven year olds where I have to literally smash a glass bottle against the whiteboard and tattoo my own face just to get eye contact . . . well, it makes me wonder what could have possibly happened within a one year period to make these seven year olds so rigid (and brave).

All right, enough with the introduction . . . I'll just get right to it. The classes with this age group aren't all bad (but most of them are.) I teach about 11 students between the ages of 7 and 9 years old and only four of these students are not absolutely dreadful. On one particular day, I have 3 of these classes. That is the day I will focus on.

It all starts with Sonny and Cher. (That's my nickname for the first duo). The boy, 9, is tiny and resembles a monkey. (He also screams and throws things like a monkey too. "Eeeh! Eeeeeh!") The girl, 8, is rather large (even by American standards). She has long, flowing hair and giggles a lot. I don't know who dresses her, but she always comes to school wearing skirts that (in my humble opinion) are a little too short.

I walk into the classroom and the kids are already running around, the tiny boy talking a mile a minute and the big girl following behind him squealing and giggling. I used to spend most of the class trying to get them to sit down and pay attention but most times, I was unsuccessful. (Until I found the secret, but I'll get into that later.) Anywho, Cher is always easier to teach than Sonny. (Sonny is a lost cause - loud, obnoxious, and just plain crazy.) Cher, however, is madly in love with Sonny (as she once told me during a particularly interesting - yet strange - conversation we had when Sonny was absent.) So she pretty much follows him around and does whatever he does.

One day, when Sonny was late, I was shooting the breeze with Cher. I was secretly, praying that Sonny was absent but lo and behold, I see the door open and the small strange looking boy swaggers into the classroom and swings his bookbag around, placing it on the desk.

"Hello, Sonny!" I muster up, with false enthusiasm.

"Hello $%&!" he says, his face expressionless. (I don't know what he called me, but I'm sure it wasn't Most Honorable Sensei). He opens his bag and pulls out a foam gun. And almost like clockwork, like they're on an assembly line, he hands Cher the gun and before I can say "Don't shoot!" (which I tried) I had a foam arrow hitting my head. And for a split second, I thought to myself, "If that were a gun, I would have been dead." Either way, these are my students for a full hour. A full hour of running and threatening and anger, and head shaking and finger waving. By the end of the class, I always have a headache. And then they walk out of the room chirping "Goodbye!" and four 7 year olds walk into the room without even saying "hello!"

This class, I like to call "Our Gang." All of the children are small and chubby but they are not cute because they each have their own level of badness and they are indeed a little gang. First, there's the one with the ring worms all over his body. (He's Sonny's little brother by the way). I get no "hello" from him. Just a quick "breast squeeze." That's right! He walks into the class with his hands cupped, skips the pleasantries and goes straight for my breasts. I used to fight it, but I found out the hard way that when I attempt to cover the top half of my body, his hands just find another inappropriate place to grope. So that's "Chester."

Next, is "Boogers." (I think you can deduct why he has that nickname.) His entrance is not so dramatic. Actually, besides the constant booger eating and classroom roaming, he's not so bad.

The next kid is "Brain." He's the most devious of the gang operation but he's also just 7 years old so there's but so much rebellion he can pull off (and he's also addicted to stickers). He's like the big head mouse on Pinky and the Brain . . . super smart, but still just a mouse.

And then there's "trailer boy." I call him this because he has a buzz cut, missing teeth and always wears a white tank-top shirt and torn up jeans. Of course, with the "no shoes" policy in Japan, he walks around barefoot and the only thing missing is a Budweiser in his hand. While I find this hilarious and adorable . . . he's still, pretty bad and fits right in with the rest of the gang. Although to his credit, he and Boogers are the easiest to manipulate . . . ahem . . . I mean, handle.

So all four of them walk into the classroom and act like maniacs. Screaming, hanging from the curtains, hitting the walls and fighting each other, picking up tables standing on the chairs, etc. It's amazing. Generally, it's Chester and Trailer Boy doing the non-stop screaming and talking, Boogers is pulling the tables apart and Brain is deliberately keeping the madness going by helping Boogers to pull apart the tables and punching Chester over and over again.

"Everyone sit down!" I yell again and again. The rhythm of my screams of "sit down" travel throughout the classroom like background music. Sometimes I'll hear the students repeat it like a song. I can tell it means nothing to them. Like "yes, yes . . . sit down. Why do you always say these crazy things you big silly?" Occasionally I'll catch Brain stealing glimpses at me to see if I've given up. (He's the only one that actually does this. That's how I can tell he's misbehaving on purpose.) Sadly, one day I did give up. I sat down and began to rub my throbbing head. At that moment, I looked up and saw an expression of satisfaction on Brain's face. This must have been the motivation I needed because I stood up and started grabbing bodies and throwing them into chairs, Nanny 911 style.

"Sit down, sit down, sit down" I said until everyone was in a seat, looking scared and confused. I turned and looked at Brain's face. He was not happy.

It took me three months to figure that class out. Actually, it happened by accident. I made up some worksheets for them to work on for a supplementary lesson and when I saw how consumed they were with getting the work done, I realized that I'd been going about things all wrong. This class wasn't begging for activities and physical games which is what I had been brainwashed to believe originally thought. "The native speaker's class is supposed to be fuuuun," I was always told. But I noticed that the more "fun" the lesson was, the less the students took me seriously. So I gave them what they wanted from a real "Sensei." Actual work. And oddly enough, they go nuts for it. As soon as I pull out the pamphlets they say a collective, "Yaaayyyy!!!", snatch the papers out of my hand, bury their little faces into the page and write so hard that I can hear the pencils scratching and digging into the paper. I wish that I could say that all I hear from that point on is mouth breathing - like with my 5 year olds - but no, these kids like to sing songs and talk. On one particularly rough day (before I got my routine rock solid), I heard a conversation that went something like this . . .

Boogers - She's being mean today.

Brain - Yeah (pause) Where's she from again?

Trailer Boy - Wazu Land I think.

I'm not going to lie, that made me a little angry. But on second thought, I got a good laugh off of it after telling some friends and family.

I wish I could say that the students walk out of the class, but they don't. As soon as the clock hits 4:50, I break the heck out ( . . . like I have the chicken pox). You should see the expression of confusion on the students' faces.

Two classes later, I have my last student in this age group and she. is. an. angel. She walks into my classroom after hugging her mommy extra tight, and proceeds to undo all of the anger and frustration brought on by the other students in her age group. I'll call her "Hope."

Hope is the most adorable, tiny little girl with one missing tooth up front and straggly hair that she's always brushing out of her face, despite the fact that it's always tied up extra tight. Her class is everything I thought teaching her age group would and should be. We play the same games that I used to attempt with the other classes. I give her the privileges that I used to attempt to offer my other students. We laugh and make jokes. We draw pictures and write on the board. I even let her play "Angry Birds" on my iPad. (Now that's love!) She's everything that I remember about being 7 years old. Wanting to do well in school. Excited to be able to play games with my teacher, but never losing sight of the fact that a teacher is in fact an authority figure. She's truly a blessing to teach at the end of a long day. She's like God's little reminder that all children aren't bad and that when I start to think horrible thoughts about these children (which, I'm not going to lie . . . I do) at the end of the day, there's always Hope.

Real Talk . . . Love in Japan

One of the main questions that I get from friends and family at home is . . .

"So do you have a Japanese boyfriend yet?"

My answer is always, "I can barely get a date in my own language." (Which of course, is not true at all . . . but I try to stay humble, you know? ;-) Regardless, finding a man is the furthest thing from my mind right now. I'm just trying to get through the day without beating up a child or running over little old ladies on my bicycle. (Ever see the TV show, "Locked Up Abroad"? That's my daily motivation to stay legit.)

Don't get me wrong, I am flesh and blood, I do have eyes and I am attracted to the opposite sex. In other words, a sistah be lookin sometimes. Occasionally a tall, handsome father will come to my job and drop off his child or a good looking business man will be walking down the street, but when this happens I am caught off guard and find myself sneaking glimpses here and there. I guess it's because I'm surprised and delighted. Regardless, I'm not looking for love (aaand I'm terribly shy) so I keep the "blinders" on and try to avoid all eye-contact.

I've been told by the ladies out here that Japanese men are not interested in any woman who is not Japanese. "Be prepared for a year of never getting hit on," one of the girls told me. I smiled and pretended to sympathize, but on the inside I was thinking "Speak for yourself sister . . . I will not only get hit on, I will get approached!" Sure enough, my speculations were correct. It took 3 months, a few flirty Konnichiwas and someone following me around in Tokyo, but I was finally approached "for real" when I least expected it . . . while I was getting my bike at the train station one day.

I had just come back from my Fuji/Tokyo Obon vacation. I was exhausted from traveling all day while lugging around a bunch of bags (as well as climbing up a whole mountain), and all I wanted was to get home and get out of my sweaty, smelly clothes. My face was super greasy and all of the bags that I carried were digging a hole into my shoulders. The sun beat down on my brow and I carried a permanent scowl on my face as each step on the hot concrete sent shocks through my flip flops and up to my pounding brain. Needless to say, I looked like . . . (fill in the blank - and be creative!).

I went to the bike parking garage. Up and down the aisles I walked, looking for my bike. I turned around and saw a guy (not bad looking) about my height, big Japanese hair, not skinny, not fat . . . looking for his bike as well. He was walking in my direction and then stopped suddenly.

"Hello!" he said, pleasantly.

"Hello!"

Him - English teacher?

Me - (laughing) Yes!

Him - (laughs) Okay. (pause) Give me your number!

Me - (laughing dies down) Huh-what?

Him - Give me your number?

Me - No (stops and tries to make sense of it all)

He asked if I was an English teacher, and then asked for my number.

Me - Oooh! I see! Do you want to learn English?

Him - Ehhto (long pause . . . thinking, thinking) . . . yes!

Me - (relieved smile) I can give you the number of my company.

Him - (laughs) no, that's okay.

Me - I can't teach you English outside of my company.

Him - You teach me English at you house?

Me - Um, no.

Him - Where do you live?

Me - Down the street, across from the McDonald's.

because apparently, in Japan I feel comfortable telling strangers where I live . . . Sorry Mom!

Him - Okay!

Me - How about, I take your number and call you later so you can find out about taking classes?

Him - Okay! 0-9-0-5-5-5-5-5 My name, Masako. (pause) call me.

Me - Yes, I'll call you.

Him - Now.

Now I know that trick from a mile away.

Me - (laughing) No! I'm not going to call you now.

Him - Do you have a boyfriend?

Me - Yes.

Him - (sad face) Oooh, okay.

Me - (smiling, "sorry for ya" face) Okay, Masako. Sorry!

Him - Sayanora!

Me - Sayanora!

And with that he walks out of the bike parking garage, which leads me to believe that this man was not looking for a bike at all. I saw Masako one more time at the 7-11 down the street from my job. He was very friendly and waved really hard to get my attention, (because my blinders were on.) "Heeyyyy!!!" I heard. "It's me, Masako!"

"Oh, hello Masako!" I said and smiled. I haven't seen the guy since, although sometimes I think about calling him just to see how the date would go and also, it would make for some good writing material. (But I would never waste someone's time like that, and I wouldn't want to waste my own time either.)

I write all of this to #1 - tell you a funny story and #2 - shut down any myths that people may have about Asian men and Black women. I understand that we are the two largest demographics that do not date/marry outside of our races, but that doesn't mean that we aren't attracted. Human beings were just not built that way.

I've heard some of the ladies out here sigh and say "nobody wants us foreign girls" and I even heard someone say about one of the other Black girls here (concerning the odds of landing a relationship), "she doesn't stand a chance!" My mind was blown when I heard this. I couldn't believe it. I wanted to ask, "Why doesn't she stand a chance?"

Sidenote: The "foreign" people out here can be a little strange. They say a lot of things based out of insecurity and fear.

Any woman that believes that a man is not going to look at a (human) female because of their country of origin or their race, is sadly mistaken and confused about the nature of men. Some of these men have never seen a foreigner before in their life, but I assure you, this means absolutely nothing when it comes to attraction.

I know a few (cool) girls out here who have dated and been pursued by "the natives" and the stories are pretty interesting. Maybe I'll have them do a guest post one of these days (hint, hint J and K - if you're reading).

Ah . . . I can talk all day about this, but I have to go to bed. I will conclude this by saying don't limit yourself. Don't limit others. This world is huge, but people are all the same.

Goodnight!

Gaijin

Gaijin (外人^?, [ɡuy-jean]) is a Japanese word meaning "non-Japanese", or "alien".^[1] The word is composed of two kanji: gai (外^?), meaning "outside"; and jin (人^?), meaning "person". Thus, the word literally means "outside person". The word can refer to nationality, race, or ethnicity.

If you are visiting Japan from another country, you can expect to hear this word. As noted in the above definition, it pretty-much means "outsider."

One thing that someone told me weeks before I boarded an airplane to go to Japan was that I will never fit in. They said you could learn the language, land a good job and even move up the corporate ladder but you can only get so far as a gaijin. "You will always be an outsider."

Now when this person "cracked that egg of knowledge on my head" (so to speak), I was not disappointed or offended. If anything, I thought it was fascinating (in my Spock voice). While I've always been interested in Japanese culture, my intention was never to become "Japanese" and I wouldn't think any less of myself if someone thought of me as an "outsider." For lack of a better term, I am an outsider.

But I guess this is a concept that can be a little hard for some folk (particularly Americans) to swallow. And when you look at a lot of our movies, it's easy to see why. As a TV/Film major, I have been forced to analyze the American mindset through the lens of a video camera and in so doing, I see that there is still a need to conquer be accepted into every country's culture. Not only to be accepted, but to be given the keys and permission to cross every boundary, gain access to their innermost circles, find out every secret and to be given a "pet name," which inevitably leads to becoming their leader and showing the culture how things should be done. Maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but do any of these titles sound like something that I've just mentioned . . .

Dances With Wolves

The Last Samurai

Last of the Mohicans

A Man Called Horse

Avatar (a.k.a. Pocahantas)

I'm sure there are more that I can't think of right now. But you get my drift.

I guess that's why I can appreciate Japan's approach to "gaijin." Sometimes I wonder if other cultures like say, the Native Americans or Africans had taken that approach, maybe their countries would not have been dominated and taken over by "outsiders." But then again, it wasn't that simple. Either way, given history's many tragic examples, I can't blame the Japanese for putting a limit on how much a foreigner can do.

However, as with every country's mindset in this world, I do think that there are a few flaws with the logic. First of all, if someone does not look Japanese, that doesn't mean they aren't. In other words, there are people who were born and raised in Japan that are of mixed race. It's not uncommon for these people (mostly school age children) to be told to "go home" to their country. It is unfortunate and really unfair for these people to be denied the same acceptance as their fellow citizens just because they don't look the part. Also, the whole "outsiders" and "them/us" mentality not only works to shut others out, but it also keeps a lot of Japanese people closed in. This mindset has (in my opinion) stunted the cultural maturity of these people. On a daily basis I watch grown men and women staring at me with the same wonderment that I've seen my 2 year old niece stare at people of a different skin color. And honestly, I think it's a little sad.

But those are just my thoughts. What do you think?

My First Trip to the Doctor

So yesterday, after a full month of my hacking, choking and coughing (on poor innocent babies), my manager became concerned that maybe I was sick. "Sensei," she said, "are you feeling okay? You have been coughing (on babies) and I think that maybe you should go to the hospital tomorrow."

"Okay," I said, even though at this point, my voice had finally recovered and the coughing subsided a little. What the heck, I thought to myself, I'll finally get to see what all the fuss is about. What I mean by "fuss" is that my coworker warned me to never, by any means, EVER go to the hospital. She said that it is a bad experience and that you will end up being there for hours and on top of everything, you may get over-diagnosed and even quarantined. In hind sight, this was the worst advice possible and those were some sick days that could have been put to really good use. Regardless, I was at work hacking up phlegm and coughing the words to "Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" with no voice, a migraine and a fever just to avoid something that I really needed . . . a doctor and a few days off from work.

So I arrived at work extra early this morning and my manager managed to convince the unsuspecting Japanese teacher (who happened to stumble into work early) to take me to the doctor and do some translating.

We walked 5 minutes down the street to the hospital. On our way, the JT decided to get a quick rundown of my symptoms so that she could accurately translate them to the doctor.

"Headache," I said.

"Headache," she repeated. "okay."

"Coughing," I said.

"Okay," said she.

"Congestion."

She paused. "What's that?"

"It's, you know, when your chest is uh, well . . . when your chest is full of . . . you know? Like, when your chest hurts," I said. Of course my Webster's dictionary definition of congestion didn't quite do the trick so we decided to cross that bridge later.

When we got to the counter, the lady asked us to fill out some forms. I wrote my name in Romaji (English letters) and the JT looked a little anxious. "Sensei . . . uh . . . can you write that in Katakana please?"

"Okay," I said, excited at the idea of being able to show off my skills. At that moment, my mind went blank and I couldn't think of the character for the sound "Eh."

"Eh - eh - eh" I said, repeatedly (like the intelligent representative from America that I am) until finally she made a mark in the air for what the letter looks like. 4 letters later (ri-sa-be-su), and she took the form out of my hands and said, "I'll do it!" We walked over to some chairs and sat down.

"Please take your temperature," the JT said, while handing me a thermometer. I grabbed it from her hand and laughed a little at how odd it is to take your own temperature out in the waiting room. Either way, I opened my mouth to insert the thermometer and the JT snatched it out of my hand with an impressive reflex.

"No!" she laughed. "Put it under your arm."

"Aaah," I said, relieved.

"What's wrong with you today?" she asked me. I looked at her for a moment, wondering where this bold line of questioning came from. She laughed and pointed at the form. "That's what it says here, 'What's wrong with you today?'"

We both got a good laugh from this and moved onto the next question which was "Why are you sick?" which was equally hilarious.

Now while filling out the forms, a man in a wheelchair was staring and pointing at me. Of course, this is nothing new so I ignored it. Regardless, he wheeled himself over to us and offered me candy.

"Does she speak Japanese?" he asked my coworker (in Japanese, of course - but I could get an idea of what he was saying). My coworker said, "No" and explained that she was translating for me. "Ask her if she knows about Deep Purple." he says.

"Do you know Deep Purple?" she asked me.

"No," I said.

"Oh" (pause) "Well ask her if she knows (some obscure name that I forgot to write down)."

"Do you know --?"

I shake my head.

He eeks out a few "Eh-toes" (which is Japanese for "uh") and then barks out "Sayanora" and wheels himself back to wherever he came from.

We got up, handed the clipboard to the nurse and fifteen minutes later, we were ready to be seen. Now my being in the hospital felt a little more attention grabbing than usual. I got a lot of stares and points, and nurse's heads poked from out of doorways and hallways all over the place. It was actually a little creepy. The nurses looked very 1950's with funny, paper hats, white uniforms covered by a pink smock and white, knee-high stockings and white sneakers that squeaked as they walked by with their clipboards. At one point, one of the patients (an elderly gentleman) that was getting his checkup was talking so loud and pointing at me so adamantly that he decided to hop up from off of the "check up bed" and walked over to me to get a closer look. It was really awkward.

A nurse came out into the waiting area and began asking about my symptoms.

"Do you have headache?" my translator asked me.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you have cough?"

"Yes."

"Do you have . . . eto . . . ehhh-to ne . . . green stuff? Stuff in your . . . eto ne . . . is your cough make yellow, green stuff come out?"

Me - Mucus? (pause) Phlegm? You mean phlegm?

Her - Eto ne . . . (pulls out electronic dictionary)

Me - Phlegm . . . yes! There is phlegm.

Her - Ehhto ne . . . (pushing buttons on electronic dictionary - points to word) this? phlegm? Do you have phlegm?

Me - (sigh) yes.

Her - That's probably why you have congestion in your chest.

Later on, they called me into a small room that looked like the nurse's office at my middle school, to get my height and weight. The nurse had to climb on top of a stool to reach the top of my head.

Everyone got a kick out of this but I didn't really feel like being a "happy" human-spectacle today, so after they finished, I rolled my eyes, mumbled "Arigato gozaimas!" and sat down to wait for the doctor.

When they called me into the room, a man who looked like a younger, Japanese version of Walter Matthau was sitting at a desk in a small room. There was a chair, embedded into the floor, right in front of him. I sat down, feeling a little too close for comfort. He asked me a bunch of questions, with the JT translating and then he reached for a metal tongue depressor and stuck it in my mouth. Now what bothered me about this was that the depressor was, first of all, not disposable and number two, it had just been sitting in a cup with other instruments. He didn't clean it beforehand and he didn't clean it after he finished putting it in my mouth. He just returned it to the cup on his desk without so much as a second glance. (I'm shivering right now, just thinking about it!).

So after all of the normal line of questioning, he prescribed some cough syrup, a packet of antibiotics, a packet of fever pills and a packet of stomach pills to subside the side effects of the antibiotics and fever pills. Receiving all of that medication was a bit overwhelming. Especially since all of the directions and precautions were written in Hiragana and Kanji.

Regardless, I shrugged my shoulders and gave the nurse a warm smile. It'd only cost me $12.50 and one hour to survive my first visit to the doctor, but the experience of bringing a little bit of excitement to my local hospital by just being me . . . priceless.

The Little Rascals

So before Mt. Fuji took over my blog, I mentioned that I wanted to feature another age group to talk about in my posts. This week, it will be the kindergartners.

I have a bunch of classes in this age group but one class in particular is very special to me. I won't say that I am always super-excited to teach these students, but I can tell you that this is the one class that makes me feel like a real life Ms. Crabtree. I call them my "Little Rascals." There are four of them and every week they file into my classroom, each bringing their own brand of cuteness and humor.

The Smarty Pants

Let's start with the smart one. First off, I'm going to be honest with you. I'm partial to intelligent children. And on top of that, this child looks like a little monkey. He has big, full cheeks and ears that poke out awkwardly. His eyes always look slightly closed and his spikey hair-do completes the look. When I do races or test the vocabulary with the children, he is almost always the first one to respond with the right answer. And I can tell he is quite sensitive. He tries to keep up with the trouble-maker in this class, but it always leads to his feelings getting hurt. Which leads to the . . .

The Trouble Maker

He's the tallest one in the group and (to be honest) I think he's the one with the most potential to grow up and be a real "looker." But I also think he's going to grow up to become a real jerk and I already feel sorry for his future ex-wife. Isn't that always how it works, though? The tall, handsome one is always the one with the character flaw . . . but I digress. He is the most talkative of the group, always wants attention, always tries to get the other students into trouble and he always ALWAYS has something nasty to say. The other day, he called me a "gorilla" and I had to hold back every muscle in my body from getting up and giving him a quick slap to the mouth. But the redeeming factor was when I told him not to say that. I held my hand against my chest and said that he'd hurt my feelings. The whole class got quiet, and everyone's face became sad.

The next is my personal favorite . . .

The Little Princess

As a good friend would say, "don't let the smooth taste fool you!" This little princess can hold her own in a room full of rough-necks 5 year old boys, so she's definitely got some spirit. She is absolutely adorable. Every week she comes into class wearing a pink tutu, a glittery pink t-shirt and a string of pink and purple beads around her neck. She has a big, round head, that almost doesn't fit her tiny, chubby body. She wears a single, long braid and smiles so hard that her eyes turn into two small slits and all you can see are eye lashes poking out. I try to watch out for her to make sure that she doesn't get trampled on by the little boys, but she seems to do pretty well on her own. Her voice is soft and sweet and she often wanders around in her own little world. I try to be more delicate with her and always give her extra high-fives when we do activities.

And last but not least . . .

The Funny Guy

He can't just say, "The ball is blue" he has to stand up, dance around the classroom, make a funny face, do a kick in the air and stretch out the words in a silly voice. "The ball is bluuuuuueee!" he says, imitating me. I don't mind it so much. His jokes are not mean-spirited and actually, he makes me laugh with his goofy-ness. The interesting thing about this character is that he gets very serious at the oddest times. Everyone else will be jumping around the classroom like frogs or crawling around the floor, pretending to swim and this kid is standing against the wall just watching. And when it's time to say the language, he's often the one letting everyone know what they should say. What makes him especially funny is, he looks like a cute, little old man. When he smiles, his face creases up in a strange way. His lower jaw juts out as if he has dentures. His hair falls over his eyes and (I hope no one takes offense but . . . ) he looks a little like Jackie Chan. It especially makes him hilarious when he is making funny faces and doing kicks in the air and/or striking karate poses. I could totally picture this kid in a movie as a stereotypical Japanese character.

All right, that's all I got. Hope you enjoyed. Next group . . . the "inbetweenies." (8 to 11 year olds).

Goodnight!