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Published: March 15th 2009
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Graduation Day
Graduation...or military send-off? For this edition of the blog, I will share some of the amusing stories that I have been “privileged” to experience here in Japan. Basically, a lot happens here that is not necessarily a big enough deal to write a WHOLE blog about, but they’re certainly enough to give me a quick chuckle, or more often than not, leaving me utterly confused. Enjoy!
--Back before Christmas, I wrote about going to the schools in the small countryside town of Saita. I mentioned that one of the best parts of going there was riding the bus with a handful of elementary school students. Well, there was one little girl who was far from shy, and when I sat in my seat, she tapped me on the shoulder and in plain English said, “What’s your name?” You have to realize that a lot of Junior High kids probably couldn’t do this with a gun pointed at their heads, so I was quite startled. I replied, “I’m David. What’s your name?” The little girl looked at me matter-of-factly and said, “I’m Narumi. How old are you?” Reeling from the shock of having a more thorough conversation than I do with Junior High kids,
SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH
"This year, we worked very hard. Let's continue to try our best next year." I gathered my self and said, “I’m twenty-four”. Meanwhile, the other students have gathered around to marvel at their friend having a fluent conversation with the big white monster, so young Narumi excitedly translated my age into Japanese. Of course, they were impressed. I asked the little girl, “How old are you?” and with this “gimme-a-break” expression on her face, she looked at me and calmly replied, “I’m eight.”
Last month, during another visit to Saita, young Narumi and the others got on the bus after school. Narumi says to me “Tegami dozo” (here’s a letter) and hands me a small folded envelope with “♥David♥” written on the front in Japanese. Inside was a small piece of paper that read like this (in Japanese): David. Please come to our school soon. I love you. Narumi.
--As you can tell from my pictures, I was sporting a beard from December to February. This is significant because most Japanese men are incapable of growing full beards, and even if they could, their jobs would not allow it. For all I know, I wasn’t allowed to have one either. But since I’m a gaijin, I can choose to not be held
Bento Box
Graduation lunch box...very tasty to the same standards, nor would they ever tell me that I was not allowed to have one. This is what we affectionately call “Gaijin Power”, and when used correctly, can wield significant force. One afternoon, I’m sitting at my desk in the teachers’ room and one social studies teacher who has finally mustered up some courage to attempt to speak English says to me, “David…beard…look…Arab.” Thinking I just heard him tell me my beard made me look like Osama bin Laden, I asked him to confirm what he just said. His response: “You go to Arab…same. Turban.” Grasping for something to say, all I could manage was, “I’m white.” As he walked away satisfied that he had successfully communicated in English, I couldn’t help but think: Does this guy have any idea what an Arab person looks like? Apparently not.
--Back in the fall, I was riding the train on a Saturday when I noticed I was only person not carrying a camera, tripod, lens bag, and dressed in standard “photographer” costume. I thought nothing of it until at our first stop, EVERYONE gets off the train and starts taking pictures. They were photographing the station, the signage,
Feast
New Japanese friends prepare the "sukiyaki" and "shabu shabu". Translation--MEAT even the train itself. I found it odd, but who knows? Maybe this particular station had something special about it. Next stop, SAME THING. EVERYONE but me is off the train, taking pictures OF the train. I began to wonder if this was some sort of gang or cult, but when they got back on, no one really said anything to each other. These were all solo photographers. I, of course, was speechless and completely confused so I never asked anybody what he was doing. And I still don’t know, but it makes for a good memory.
--After a meeting with our supervisor after school, me and another ALT named Ciaran decide to get some ramen before heading back to the train station. We go in and find no one inside to greet us. We wonder further into what appeared to be someone’s house, when we heard the TV. Ciaran says, “There’s a woman here sleeping. Either that or she’s dead.” This roused the old woman from her slumber and she groggily got up to show us to our seats. The whole time mumbling in thickly accented Japanese, began pouring our green tea. While pouring the second cup, she
Good times
Dinner and drinks with some other ALTs and a Japanese English Teacher began to miss and spill all over the table. The problem was, it didn’t seem like she even noticed. Ciaran and I, meanwhile, have been exchanging silent looks the whole time that seemed to say, “Are you watching this? What the #^*#@^$ is going on?” The old woman finished pouring the second cup and as she was about to hand it to me, she INTENTIONALLY poured some tea on the floor, as if to say, “This is for my dead homies.” Seriously, WHAT THE F*#^$&*@#?!?!?!?!
Of course, there are many many more stories to be shared, but hopefully this gives you a peek into some of the funnier/stranger times one can have in this far away land.
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