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!

Fuji Part III - Without further adieu . . .

(First off, I apologize for taking so long with this. I've been having some issues with blogger. Very frustrating)

But without further adieu . . .

So there was a point when our group was moving way too fast. I think this is what contributed to the altitude sickness that was taking everyone out one by one. But after the last (miserable) stop, something strange happened. Gradually (and thanks in part to my nagging) our group began to make baby steps. And this, dear reader, was the key to conquering "the mountain." We took small steps, shuffling along slowly, dragging our feet and plopping down on every rock and hill that we could find. Through the darkness, cold and rain we stopped every five minutes and rested without saying a word.

It was during these times that I would look up at the sky. By this point, we were very close to the top (which in "Fuji terms" means, about 4 hours away) and I really wish that I could have taken pictures, but then again . . . I also wish that a camera could have possibly captured what it was that I was actually seeing. Huge, dark clouds of brown, gold, black, gray, silver, purple, etc, etc, etc. Humongous formations that would make you . . . well, make you feel like you have to "relieve yourself" very quickly. At times, I would look up at the sky and just get dizzy. To say that I felt "tiny" would not do it justice. I felt like a micro-organism, standing on a pebble of sand . . . on the beach. This picture isn't really close to the real thing . . . but it gives off the same kind of eery-ness that I felt whilst standing near the top of Mt. Fuji.

At times, the clouds would part and you could clearly see the moon and the stars, pulsing like heartbeats. It was like a dance going on in the heavens. Some of the thinner clouds moved quickly while the mammoth clouds stayed put, taking on large dark figures like horses or birds (and those of you who know about my phobia, know how I felt about that!). Sometimes, it got so overwhelming to look out at the sky that I would have to turn away out of fear. Now, please, allow that to marinate in your brain for a moment.

(I'm all veclempt . . . talk amongst yourselves!)

(sometimes there was a little bit of this going on . . . and yes, the clouds would take on funny little formations like that. It was really strange!)

****

So anyway, we trudged along stopping at maybe 1 or 2 more cabins. At times, we wrapped ourselves in plastic and tinfoil to keep warm. There was wind, and rain, and the kind of bitter coldness that permeates through all protective layers and grips your bones. And through this, there was pain and exhaustion. But we were close . . . only 3 hours away.

The funny thing about climbing this mountain (and I guess any mountain, for that matter) was whenever you were close to getting to a landing, you always felt like quitting. Your whole body would begin to weaken, every step grew harder, your heart pounded at one thousand beats a minute and you just wanted to sit down. Two more steps and you'd be there, but those two steps would always turn out to be the most excruciating steps you would ever take.

So I reached this point. Mentally, physically and emotionally, I just wanted to sit down and never get up. I knew that it would be nearly impossible to get help going back down the mountain and that there was no shelter or relief from the extreme conditions but I couldn't go on. So I looked around for a place to sit and die but at that very moment the guy from our group says, "That's it! The summit! . . . Over where that lion is!" Despite the fact that I couldn't see anything, I took off running. I started hopping over rocks, twisting around corners and climbing up anything that I could grip onto and when I was finally able to stand up, I started hobbling jogging toward a figure of a lion. I collapsed at a large wooden, shrine-like post and just laid there.

It was 4:50 am and we'd reached the top of Mount Fuji.

It's a little difficult to describe the summit. There was not much to see really. It was dark, cloudy and rainy. (By looking at the picture of the lion, you can get an idea of what I mean.) There were benches everywhere, and some vending machines. In the middle of everything was a large cabin. Being that the whole mountain was now under us, there was absolutely nothing to shield us from the wind and rain. Our group walked around a bit, looking for a place to sit along with the rest of the people who'd made it to the top. One of the main objectives when people climb Mt. Fuji is to see the sun-rise, so everyone sits out waiting for the big moment to arrive.

We planted ourselves on some wet benches near a group of rocks along the edge of the summit. I was exhausted and laid down beside two of the girls in our group. We huddled together to keep warm and the gentleman from our group put a foil blanket over us in an effort to help us. This did very little and the wind continued to whip at us for twenty minutes as we faded in and out of sleep. Being that we were not moving, the cold began to stiffen our bones and I started to shake uncontrollably. And then suddenly the foil blanket ripped itself from our grasp and flew off the edge of the mountain, disappearing into the darkness in a very ghostly and surreal way. I cannot describe the amount of devastation that I felt at that moment. It was like that foil flew away and took a piece of my heart with it and I just wanted to fly off of the mountain after it. The next thing I know, I was standing up. "I - I - I ca-ca-can't take it any-ni-ni-more!" I said, "I - I'm going to-to-to wa-walk around and tr-tr-try t-t-to get warm."

"Me too," I heard a small squeaky voice say behind me. The rest of the group looked at us with grim, hopeless looks. We walked around the corner and I saw some light shining from the large cabin in the middle of the summit. When I walked closer I saw that there were people inside this cabin, eating soup. Closer still, I was able to feel heat emanating from the building. "Oh my god!" I shouted. "They're letting people inside. We have to go back and tell the others!" I said and turned around.

We rounded up the other members of the "Fuji-Gomi" crew . . . the name we'd began calling ourselves after having slept out in the rain like homeless people and getting laughed at by the Japanese. ("Gomi" means trash by the way.) We sat inside this large cabin, literally thawing out. We missed the sunset, but I was told that it was too cloudy to see anyway. In another 2 hours we would be making our way back down Fuji-San.

Now (as you can expect) the journey down was way easier than the journey up. However, that's not to say that it was easy. We walked, sometimes ran down a path of red dirt, that gave way easily. Most of the time, we were sliding and trying to keep our balance. Falling here and there was inevitable. If you have bad knees, this part of the journey can be torturous. I don't have bad knees, but after about an hour into our journey, I felt the pain of all of the shock that my knees were absorbing.

For a while we just walked without thought. Despite it being brighter outside, it was still cloudy and misty and we couldn't make out how far we'd have to go so we didn't think or talk about it. We slid, and walked with the large group of people that were also making their way down the mountain. Although, we were used to not knowing how much progress we'd made, there were times when we'd just stare hopelessly out into the mist and wonder when this journey would end or at least wonder where we stood in the grand scheme of things. And then 2 hours into it, this happened.

The clouds opened up and we were able to see this beautiful view.

The path ahead was clear. We walked along, getting faster and faster, motivated by the fact that we were going to see grass again, and knowing that soon we would see trees and then we would see familiar landmarks, and so on and so forth. All in all, our journey down was about 4 hours, including the 45 minutes it took to wait in line for the (really disgusting) bathroom.

We reached the bottom of the mountain at around 10am.

We took this picture . . .

Relieved, exhausted, proud, disillusioned, angry, enlightened.

(And as Jeannie would put it . . . unmarriable. LOL) There we are . . . the bums of Fuji-Gomi. We conquered the mountain, or it conquered us, rather. I can't say if I'll ever do something like this again, but to say that I've done it once means a lot to me.

There is a million and one things I have left out of this post, but really . . . there is nothing more to say.

So, I hope you enjoyed reading about my adventure climbing Mount Fuji.

And finally . . .

THE END

Mt. Fuji - Part II - When Things Got "Real"

Okay, where did I leave off? Oh yeah! . . . slowly devoured by nightfall. :-)

So, I cannot describe the transition from day to night further than to say it was like God flicked off the light-switch. It went from dim to pitch black instantly. What little light you could make out was often blurred by the rain and midst. The wind blew constantly, tearing through my (cheap) plastic jacket and pants that I'd bought from the souvenir and supply shop at the base of the mountain.

With the wind kicking in, along with the wetness and cold . . . you can imagine how miserable things got. Every step became harder and harder. With the air being thin, we were out of breath all the time. If you were sitting down to rest, all it would take to get your heart beating like crazy would be to simply stand up. And this was only halfway through our journey. In other words, there was still another 8 hours to go.

My group continued to trudge along, plunging our sticks into the rocks and gravel. Stopping to take pictures was no longer a desirable option. At this point, we were just trying to keep moving. During this time, I started to fall behind a little. My group would call out to see if I was okay or try to get me to speed up. I hadn't experienced mountain sickness, but I knew that I couldn't possibly move any faster without some serious repercussions so I continued to shuffle along at my own pace.

Now allow me to reiterate that this was just the beginning of the struggle. (I really cannot emphasize that enough...and actually, one could argue that we hadn't even reached the "tough" part yet.) I remember that the mountain cabins were still popping up out of nowhere, so we were able to make a stop and get some coffee and even force down have another pb&j sandwich. It was at this particular stop that I remember getting my "Moses Stick" stamped with the emblem of a tiger. I looked at one of my friends and laughed out, "Uh oh, it's a tiger. I guess it's getting serious now." I had no idea how right I was.

After this stop, there was a whole lot of climbing. And I mean, CLIMBING. Like on your hands and knees, gripping onto cold, wet, rocks . . . in the dark. When we were upright, it was a serious uphill walk and I honestly don't know which one was worst. An icy chill was creeping into my bones and the wind whipped at my face along with rain and midst. Although it was night, the clouds were still very much present and they continued to "work their magic." It was at this very moment that almost every scripture in the bible that mentioned mountains came flooding to memory. Moses in the mountain. Jesus on a mountain. David hiding in the mountains. The Isrealites hiding in the mountains. God being compared to . . . what else . . . a mountain. It was like I suddenly realized what it all meant. These people weren't climbing hills. And there is absolutely nothing casual about a mountain . . . NOTHING. I can totally understand God being compared to a mountain. I thought about the women, children and animals that had to walk through the mountains back in biblical days. I thought about what kind of shoe wear they had. I wondered if those people had water-proof . . . well, water-proof anything. And I got a deeper understanding as to why everyone in the book of Exodus complained so much. (Sorry if I'm confusing any of my non-believers out there, but I'm sure most of you know that I'm a student of the bible.)

So yeah, a whole lot of introspection going on. Either way, it felt like forever until we reached the next cabin. Along the way, we collapsed onto rocks on the side of the path, resting and gasping for air. Mountain sickness had kicked in for some of the people in our group and there were groans of queasiness. And forget about pictures! It was life or death now. There was an unspoken consensus when we finally reached the next stop, that we would attempt to get some rest in one of the hotels.

Now the funny thing about getting to each stop was that you always, ALWAYS felt like giving up right before you reached it. Someone would say, "the stop's ahead" and your body seemed to respond with, "I quit!" Personally, I would crawl to the first landing and literally hoist/roll my body over to the side to make room for anyone behind me. Then I sat there until my heart stopped pounding through my chest.

When we reached the landing, we saw a bunch of people standing inside of a large cabin that seemed to give off a golden glow from the inside. There was heat radiating from the building and the people inside were eating hot noodles and walking around in sweaters and tights. The thing that really stood out to my group was the piles and piles of blankets and comforters next to some of the people gathered around a huge heater. Everyone looked so happy . . . and dry.

"Reservation only!" the guy shouted when someone from our group asked about renting some beds. Everyone looked around with confusion and sadness. "Reservation only!" he repeated, and shut the door in our faces, in order to drive home the point that he hated us and wanted us to die on the top of Mt. Fuji.

Despite the fact that we couldn't actually go into this resting facility, our group had hit a wall. We weren't moving. So we just stood there for a while. At one point, we attempted to sit at the entrance to the cabin and get some indirect heat from the lights that glowed from within (I'm getting sad just typing this), but unfortunately, we were kicked out by the "Reservations Only Guy" and had to join the other "Fuji-homeless" along the side of the building.

So I turned to see the above picture. My friend (who'd gotten sick) was sleeping on a wet bench out in the rain and freezing cold. It was then that I turned to the one guy in our group and said, "Things just got real, huh?" And as funny as that might sound, reading it off of a blog . . . it wasn't funny at all. He looked at me, with the most somber face imaginable and said, "Yeah, it sure did."

We waddled along to the side of the adjacent building (which was the bathroom facility), spread out our torn up plastic jackets and planted ourselves on the ground. The smell emanating from the wall was terrible, but being next to a building was a little warmer than just sitting out in the open air. It was at this moment, that one of my friends became anointed with insanity. She literally began running around and entertaining us. She made us laugh so hard that I truly believe it gave us the strength to go on (and I mean that). I could never imagine that I would have been laughing while sitting on the ground, against an outhouse in the pouring rain . . . but it was possible.

So after a while, we stood up and started out again, aching joints and all. I can't really say we were refreshed, but we were moving again so that was progress, I guess. It was a couple of hours until we reached another landing. And trust me, we felt every second of it. Each step felt impossible. When we finally reached the next landing, the "littlest" member of our group negotiated a way for us to get inside one of the reservation only "restaurant" cabins and actually get some warmth. We sat inside eating udon noodles and drinking coffee for fifteen minutes. Despite the strenuous physical activity, I wasn't hungry but in order to be allowed inside the cabin we had to order (and actually be eating) food. So after our 15 minutes was up, we got kicked out and stood outside of the building trying to figure out what to do next. The guys from the small "restaurant" cabin allowed us to sit on some benches in front of their facility. They stood outside, smoking cigarettes and laughing at us as we huddled together to keep warm.

After laughing and pointing for a good twenty minutes, one of the guys came over and gave us a package that contained a foil blanket. At this moment, me and another girl got a little . . . well, we cried. It was the mixture of that kind act and my friend's sudden remembrance of a story about some people who starved to death in Nazi Germany 70 years ago (don't ask - odd things come to mind when you are in extreme conditions.)

After being at this stop for maybe 2 hours, we finally got up and started out again.

Okay, this post is getting way too long and I need to go to bed. I guess I'm going to have to actually do a Part III.

Mt. Fuji - I barely knew thee

Mountains inspire awe in any human person who has a soul. They remind us of our frailty, our unimportance, of the briefness of our span upon this earth. They touch the heavens, and sail serenely at an altitude beyond even the imaginings of a mere mortal.

Elizabeth Aston, The Exploits & Adventures of Miss Alethea Darcy, 2005

This post is not even going to come close to giving you my full adventure of climbing a mountain. To be honest - there's no possible way to re-create that experience and I'm not even going to try. In a sense (and I apologize if I'm getting too deep here) I feel like there is a part of me that will always be on that mountain . . . forever climbing. Okay, let me get to the point.

On Friday, August 13th (yes, Friday the 13th) I climbed Mount Fuji. It was one of the most beautiful, courageous, overly ambitious, awe-inspiring, tragic, breath taking, life changing events that I have ever experienced in my whole entire life.

In hindsight I honestly don't know what it was that made me believe that I could easily just conquer a mountain but I began this epic journey with the same level of arrogance that Captain Smith had before he hit that ice-burg and sunk the Titanic.

It was 12:45 pm. Myself and 5 people started out on what looked like a long, spacious road that gently sloped upward. There were 4 girls and one guy in our little team.

The consensus was that we'd climb to the top of Mt. Fuji and then climb back down. No sleep or rest. Simple as that!

We were a lively group making jokes and singing (mainly "Baby Come Back" by Hall n Oates - a running joke that would be the theme of our whole mountain climbing trip along with . . . "the last one down's a rotten egg!") and taking pictures of the beautiful scenery. The perfectly sunny weather and crowds of people only worked to increase our optimism and enthusiasm. One girl from our group had only brought a quarter of a bottle of water and a bag of trash with her.

In other words . . . we. were. doomed! Either way, the beauty of nature was around us, and boy were we breathing it in.

Our walking sticks jingled with ribbons and little bells that were attached to the tips and at each stopping point, we got them stamped. Now let me backtrack a little and tell you about our walking sticks and the different "stops" on the mountain.

Before setting out on the mountain, I decided to buy what I'd like to refer to as a "Moses Stick." Along with the intended "mountain guru" effect it gave off, this stick was a real life saver when I needed something to grip onto for balance and support.

Also, there were many different cabins. They served as checkpoints where you could get your "Moses Stick" stamped but more importantly, they sold snacks and beverages. Some of them even allowed you to stay overnight and rest up a little before hitting the trail again. (You needed reservations for that luxury, howevver, which sadly we would find out later.)

The beginning of our journey was pretty easy and the vendor huts seemed to be one right after the other. I decided to skip the stick stamping ritual at one point because I remember being annoyed at the obvious nickel and diming that was taking place. (It cost about 2 bucks for each stamp.) At the third checkpoint, however, I regretted this decision and decided that I wanted every last stamp that I could get on this epic journey. (And I'm glad I did.)

The scenery was absolutely beautiful and we watched clouds roll up the mountain like steam from a train.

At times the large crowd of people that we followed behind would stop and start which gave us moments of rest. During that time, we took pictures and enjoyed the view.

The climb became strenuous almost immediately and combined with the heat, we decided to shed the layers that we'd prematurely put on.

These rocks were no joke. Imagine doing about 6 hours on the stair climber machine at the gym.

Maybe around 5pm at yet another checkpoint, our group began to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Japanese passersby laughed and yelled out "Dericious!" Those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were indeed "dericious" and I can't think of another moment during our journey when the morale was higher.

It was also at this moment that I remember the wind picking up. In a futile attempt to beat the darkness, we started out again with the wind pushing against our backs. The clouds began moving at a quicker pace by this time and gradually our group became quieter as we climbed along the path. The only thing you could hear was the wind whistling and the crunching of rocks and gravel.

It was then that my positive opinion about clouds began changing. When it was sunny and warm, I remember looking up the mountain and seeing these large, white fluffy figures and admiring their beauty. "They look like big -insert cute, fluffy, white unassuming object here-. Now that we were actually walking through the "big, beautiful marshmallows/snow clumps/pillows/etc." in the sky, they looked as menacing as the "Stay Puffed Man" on Ghostbusters. They were cold, super-windy and wet. Whenever you saw a cloud approaching (and trust me, they were visible up close) you cringed and took a deep breath to prepare to be roughed up by mother nature. Remember, these are the things that cause airplanes to tremble. I will never EVER look at clouds the same. So we're battling gravity, we're battling rocks, we're battling clouds and this is all before the darkness set in.

At around 7pm, we stopped at a checkpoint and grabbed a cup of coffee. By this time it was really cold and windy. The cost of coffee went up by about 2 bucks. We sat and listened as a friend from another group played his "mountain flute" for the nearby crowd. Everyone clapped and laughed and it was all very funny and surreal. We took a bunch of pictures and I remember getting my "Moses Stick" stamped with the emblem of a mountain. At some point someone mentioned the impending darkness and the next thing I know, we were trudging into an abyss of dimness, being slowly devoured by nightfall.

. . . Part II to come!

"Kaminoke" Talk

One thing that I remember asking one of the ladies during the final stages of the interview process for my current job was, "Are Japanese people used to seeing . . . uh, I mean . . . how do they feel about . . . umm . . . foreigners, specifically . . . (whispers) Black folk?" The lady seemed horrified that I would ask such an ignorant question and I was pretty sure that from that point on I'd just ruined my chances of getting a job.

"Look, I don't know what you think it's like in Japan, but it'sreally a modern country. Japanese people are used to seeing all types. And yes . . . they will stare, but that's because they stare at everyone who doesn't look like them." She went on to explain that she's Japanese, but gets stared at whenever she's in Japan because she doesn't look Japanese.

To say this lady was right would be an understatement - though I think her indignation at the question was a bit exaggerated. I get stared at ALL THE TIME but it's a little different with me. If I could go back in time, walk into my own interview and answer my own question in more detail . . . I think I would probably tell myself, "These people will be very kind to you, but you will always be stared at as if you were a freak of nature. It will be different for you, however, because people will recognize that you are a foreigner way quicker than they will recognize your White/Hispanic/Asian American counterparts. They will ask you what part of Africa you are from and last but certainly not least they will touch your hair as if you were a llama at a petting zoo." These are the things that the lady failed to tell me.

Now I don't want to come off as angry or - I don't know - bitter. If anything, I find it amusing that I can grab the attention of everyone in a room by just being "boring ole me." I sit quietly in a corner, reading something off of my iPad, eating some noodles, and (out of habit) twisting my locks around in my fingers and when I look up, I swear the whole room is dead silent and all eyes are on me. Sometimes I run through little scenarios in my head. Like what would be the repercussions of me getting up and screaming, "Boogity-Boogity-Boo!" while shaking my head and sticking out my tongue. Then I have a little chuckle and get back to reading. Either way, sometimes I find it funny and sometimes . . . let's just say, I don't. Either way, I can't wait for my whole family to come visit me. It's going to be HILARIOUS!

(me . . . on a typical day)

One thing that has really stood out about my experiences out here has been the "hair" talk. I go through the "hair" conversation so much that the person I'm speaking with doesn't even need to know English for me to understand how to respond.

It's like a dance, and it always starts like this . . . First, the person stares at me - which is pretty normal. They smile and nod when they notice that I am staring back. Next their eyes deliberately shift to my hair. They tilt their head a little and give a confused look. Next they say something to themselves - or a friend - in Japanese (probably, "what's up with her hair" or something like that, I don't know). Sooner or later they make a gesture toward my hair and say something. I tell them, "They're called locks."

"Lockus?"

"Yes, locks."

"Oooh. Hmm." They say. More smiles and staring. Then they say something in Japanese.

"Yes, you can touch it," I respond. This almost ALWAYS seems to be the answer they were looking for, because at that moment they reach out and touch my hair.

"Wow!" they exclaim, while bulging their eyes and laughing. Now of course, so as not to be rude, they tell me that it's beautiful and they wish that they could do that to their hair too. This is usually done by smiling and saying "kirei" as well as pointing to their own hair with the question mark face. This also serves as my cue to tell them how I got my hair this way. At this point, I pick a random lock from my head and roll it between the palms of my hand tightening it until it stays in place. This is the part where everyone gasps. The last question is always, "Well, how do you wash it?"

I could easily take this the wrong way, but I'm pretty sure they're wondering whether I have to take my hair out of the locks in order to wash it because they always make a gesture that looks like pulling one's hair apart. I tell them that I wash my hair the same way that they do and I give the gesture for washing one's hair. "Ooh!" They say. Then, "Hmm." Next, they get one last "hair touch" in and the dance is officially complete.

Now, some people don't like letting others touch their hair but personally it doesn't bother me too much (because I wash my hair quite a bit) and also, I'd like to think that I'm showing these folks something they've never seen before. I think it's cool that they are bold enough to ask about something they don't know and if anything, it inspires me to do the same.

My Students - (The Babies)

I spend a large part of my time in Japan teaching people English. For these people, they are taking one hour out of their day to interact with the brown-skinned, gaijin with funny hair. For me, it's like an endless parade of the same people walking in and out of my classroom, creating a collage of experiences and conversations that paint a picture of my day, and then week, and then month.

So being that I spend nearly 70% of my time with these people, I might as well tell you about some of them. Every week, I'll write a little about my experiences with the more interesting ones out of the bunch (until I run out). I'll start with the youngest of the group . . .

The Babies

The babies are cute, chubby and adorable . . . AT FIRST. Then you realize that you have to keep their attention, make them happy and actually teach them something. That's when they start to look like little samurai warriors that you have to conquer.

I have about 3 of these classes. In one of my classes (my most interesting one), I have a 2 year old student, who is adorable, energetic, talkative, curious and outspoken UNTIL I step foot into the room, that is. That's when she transforms into a limp, sarcastic, straight faced, bored, cigarette smoking, 50 year old woman that I can't get to do ANYTHING. "Can you say Apple?" I desperately plead. She gives me "the brick face" shakes her head "no" (sometimes actually says "no") yawns and looks out the window. Her mother smiles at me with the "kids will be kids" look. I plead some more and she smirks at me, goes limp and lays out on the floor. Try to touch her and she angrily jerks her body away from me as if to say, "Don't TOUCH me." And it's 40 minutes of this. 40 minutes of me (and her mother) begging, dancing, and pulling out a million-and-one props to try to get this kid up off of the floor. It's during this class that I always thank God that there are no video cameras to document what my life has been reduced to. I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I am when her class is finally over and I can relax my face from the fake smile that I have plastered on the whole, entire time. I guess the little girl is relieved too because she hops up off the floor, grabs her bag and cheerfully says "Goodbye Sensei!", goes wobbling toward the door and ushers her servant mom to follow. The funny part is that when I walk into the lobby, she tries to play with me and even attempts to have a conversation. By then, I'm so exhausted and frustrated that it doesn't even matter to me anymore.

My other baby class is with 3 three-year-olds. These children (2 boys and a girl) are cute and pretty smart but one of them is really strange and hilarious. When I first taught this class, the other two students were absent and he was crying and begging not to come in. With his strangely large head and tiny, frail body, I didn't even think he was old enough to be in the class in the first place. I ended up just holding him and singing the ABC song over and over again as he quietly weeped on my shoulder. The next week when all of the students were in the class, his mother carried his limp body into the room, propped him up against the wall and left. He slumped over in the corner and wouldn't move. His eyes were glazed over and he stared up at the ceiling in silence. At first, I was worried . . . and began checking his vital signs to make sure he was still alive, but then when I felt a pulse and noticed that nobody else seemed to care, I assumed that he was mentally handicapped and decided to treat the situation like Japan treats the mentally ill . . . just ignore it and act like everything's fine. Occasionally, I made attempts to involve him in the activities but being that he'd mentally checked out, my efforts were futile and I didn't waste too much time begging him.

In these particular classes, the parents aren't involved in the lesson, which is actually fine because at this age (for the most part) the children's independence level is starting to develop and they want to play games and be physical more-so than sit on mommy's lap. So the next week in class, everything is going as usual. "Silent Boy" as I called him in my mind, laid slumped over in his usual corner of the room and I sat on the floor showing flash cards to the other 2 children, singing songs and playing games when the weirdest thing happened. He stood up. And I have to tell you, it creeped. me. out. It just happened out of nowhere. He's slumped over in his regular spot, I reach behind me to grab a prop and when I turn back around, he's standing at eye level, right in front of me. My heart silently exploded in my chest. "Wha-what are you doing?" I tried to say in my bubbly, cutesy voice.

Now it's important for me to describe this kid because he has a really unique look. His hair is the typical "bowl cut" that you see from time to time around here. He's always sweaty (which isn't unusual because it's very humid in Japan right now) but the sweat makes his hair stick up in a strange way accentuating his large, egg shaped head. His mouth is always slightly agape and his eyes are always half closed, but rather than opening them completely, he tilts his head back to look at you. Also, he has the longest, straightest eyelashes that I have ever seen on a child.

So he's standing in front of me and staring down at me and saying something in Japanese. The other children are in shock because I don't think they've ever seen him move. I nod my head and say, "Hai" a couple of times and then he turns around and plants himself in my lap and slumps over. I guess this is progress, I thought to myself.

So the next week in class, he does the same thing. Except this time, he quietly wanders about the classroom, standing and staring at the ceiling (or me, or the wall). The little girl in the group, notices that occasionally I attempt to place the little plastic bowling ball into his hand in order to initiate his participation but he pays me no mind and allows the ball to drop from his limp fingers over and over again. When it's her turn to throw the bowling ball, she walks over to Silent Boy and places the ball in his hand and essentially tells him (in Japanese, of course, and in her 3 year old way) to say the funny English word that "Sensei's" been repeating over and over again and throw the ball at the pins. The little boy looks at her with his head tilted back and says nothing. She repeats herself in a gentle, coaxing voice and attempts to guide his hand in the direction of the colorful pins. They throw the ball together and knock down a few pins. He smiles a little bit. Success!

The next week, he participates a little bit more, as long as the girl is there to help him (typical boy). But for the most part, he still says absolutely nothing, pays no attention to the lesson and occasionally slumps in his favorite corner, stands in random parts of the room staring at the wall or just sits slumped over in my lap.

At the end of class the parents walk into the room and watch as I show them what their children learned that day. This usually consists of me holding up flash cards with pictures and a word and seeing if the children will say the associated language. In this class, the children never remember the word and I usually have to coax them into saying anything at all in front of their parents.

Well, one particular Saturday, the parents walk into the room and sit down next to their children and wait for me to start going through the day's vocabulary (as usual). I hold up a card and no one says anything (as usual). After a lot of coaxing and a weak, mispronounced response from the usual little girl and boy, I moved onto the next card - a picture of a bird - and to my amazement Silent Boy yells out "A bird, a bird!" I almost fell over and died. This child, who's slumped over in every square foot of the room at any given time and had never looked up at anything that I was doing (or so I thought) had grasped the English vocabulary better than the other 2 who were active participants at every stage of the lesson.

Even his mother was shocked. It was amazing. Now, every week I look forward to seeing what this strange child will do next. He is now an active participant in class, but it's always something different with him. Like last week, he and the other boy had some kind of huge falling out. They were both competing for my attention and things got heated to the point where they were arguing, ignoring each other and exchanging these prolonged, silent "hateful" stares. (I in no way condone "hateful staring contests" but I have to say it. was. HILARIOUS). This continued for about 30 minutes of the class until, I guess, they both came to a truce and decided that they would work together. It was nice to see them make up and for a moment, I wished that mankind would take a lesson from these three year olds boys.

All right, so now you've met some of my younger students or as I like to call them, "birth control."

Next week, I'll be talking about the kindergardeners.

What's Different?

If you look at my page, you may see something different. If you haven't already guessed I've changed the name of this blog. Anyone that knows me (and I mean REALLY knows me . . . not "Facebook" knows me), knows that it's in my nature to switch things up from time to time. However, I assure you dear reader, this will probably be the first and last time I change the name of this blog.

You see, the other day I was at work and one of my students, a bright and energetic 7 year old with a toothy grin began smiling at me as she usually does. She turned and tugged at her mom and said, "Look Mommy, the lady with the choppu stick in her hair." At that very moment, the room began spinning, some bells started to ring, "Sweet mystery of life at last I've foooound theee . . . " began playing and it hit me, THAT'S my blog's name.

So it's done. Oh, and for the record . . . I wear chopsticks in my hair.