Last night, after getting home from dinner and karaoke with a friend, I began looking through old pictures on my computer. For the first time since getting to Japan, I allowed myself to finally flip through a folder entitled "Goodbye, Chicago," which chronicles my last two weeks in the Windy City. (You can check out some of the pictures in my "Oops I forgot" set on flickr.) Though these pictures were taken a mere 6 months ago, it feels like a different lifetime already. My apartment here is definitely *my* refuge, and sitting on my tatami-matted floor on a hot summer's evening makes the icy streets and chilly memories of Chicago in January feel that much further away.



The last few weeks spent in Chicago were a pretty intense blur of planning and, when things blew up in my face, replanning. There were so many goodbyes said that I can hardly remember any of them. Looking through the lost memories of recent past--seeing the smiling faces of my friends and coworkers at parties held in my honor--made me very nostalgic. The last karaoke, the last cupcakes and cookies, the last drinks and laughs.

I'll admit that I haven't been quite fair to Chicago. I am often rather critical of its violent and condescending tendencies. It hit me a few weeks ago that Chicago and I are going through a bad break-up. I go through periods of denial, periods of hate, and periods where all I want is for us to get back together. It's hard parting ways with such a well-established partner. You see, Chicago has a lot more friends than I do and has a pretty short memory. The day after I left I was no more than another check mark on the long list of people who have come and gone from its chilly shores. The nerve!

I'm not sure what will happen between Chicago and me in the future. But I'm glad that I will always have memories that bring a smile to my face, and the pictures to remind me of the good times I forgot.

The 4th is usually a pretty big holiday for my family. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that it's on par with Christmas for us. So this year when it became obvious that I would be spending Independence Day in Japan, I knew I had to do something. After many google searches and pondering the weather forecast, I decided the best course of action would be to go to Tokyo and spend the holiday with other Americans doing what we do best: partying.

I ended up at an American bar in Shibuya called "The Pink Cow," which was filled to the brim with Americans and the foreigners who love us. (Yes, believe it or not they do exist.) A buffet featured beloved American fare such as BBQ chicken, roast beef, potato salad, and peach cobbler, and featured some incredibly good Mexican food as well. Though I was initially seated alone, the table was soon full of ex-pats. We swapped names, hometowns, careers, and opinions on Japan. We were soon discussing Michael Jackson and Sarah Palin and arguing whether "Proud To Be An American" or "Born in the USA" was the worst patriotic song of all time. A band was covering great rock tunes and everyone was in a great mood.


Clearly the best image (that has to do with 9/11, Mount Rushmore, the moon landing,
Iwo Jima, the Statue of Liberty, a bald eagle, and outer space) ever created.
One really annoying thing about Japan is that the trains stop running at night. Though some of the lines in Tokyo run as late as 1 AM, most close before then. I assumed getting back to Shibuya Station by 11:30 would give me plenty of time to get back to Higashi-Totsuka by its closing time of 12:30. I had unfortunately broken the cardinal rule of going out in Tokyo: know thy train schedule. For when I arrived at Shibuya, I found that, much to my horror, the marquee for my train line was completely blank. In disbelief at my own stupidity (and that the line would stop running so early) I ran to the platform and checked the time schedule. There it was, plainly written: the last train had departed at 11:03.

I was stuck until morning.

I quickly decided the best thing to do was to go back to The Cow. A few people chuckled when I reentered the bar but they were all sympathetic and invited me to spend my long wait chilling out with them. Someone with an iPhone checked the schedules and informed me my first train was leaving at 4:49 AM. A few people left over the next few hours but most stayed and chatted and drank. I quickly learned that almost everyone there were regulars, and they were extremely friendly and willing to open up their ex-pat circle to me. Several hours (and drinks) later, I was finally free to go home. I departed with many phone numbers and names and promises for jam sessions. Definitely a good night.

The sun was already up when I emerged from the bar, covered in several layers of cigarette smoke. I marveled at the number of restaurants and bars just closing, and the people who were out as late (or early) as I was. I passed a park where early in the night boys on fixies had been doing bike tricks. A blue tarp had since been erected and I could see homeless people sleeping behind it through the cracks in their plastic shield. Two girls chatted nearby, oblivious to the proximity of the sleeping bums. Huge mounds of garbage bags were piled all along the streets and sidewalks. The enormous Japanese crows were swarming them, trying to pick out the best pieces before the garbage trucks, which were within eyeshot, got to them. A 24-hour McDonalds was the breakfast place of choice, as people waited in a line down the street for french fries.

When I got to the station I was surprised by the number of people sitting or sleeping next to the entrances. Guess I wasn't the only n00b who got stranded. Despite the crowds outside, the platforms weren't as busy as I had expected. When the first train arrived almost everyone was able to get seats and doze for a few minutes. Most of the people on the train were obviously just making their way home from their extended evening plans, but I did see a 70-something businessman in highly-glossed shoes reading the morning stock news, and a few others were carrying golf bags or other such paraphernalia. I couldn't decide who was crazier for being up at 4:49: me or them.

I got home tired and still reeking of smoke. After a quick shower it was finally bedtime. It was 6 AM. Though I hadn't seen any fireworks, it was by far the most unique 4th (and 5th) of July I've ever had. I definitely missed my family and friends, but spending the holiday with like-minded Americans was a great experience.

While planning for lessons today, I pondered long and hard over what to do for a lesson on colors for my 3-year-olds. A few weeks back I filched a pack of origami paper from my manager and knew I wanted to use the brightly-colored paper. But how? Create folders and have them sort colors? Bo-ring. Then it hit me: origami frogs. I would make one for each color and they can pull them out of a bag. Perfect. Twenty minutes later I was awash with the critters while my coworkers played with them and asked me to teach them how to make them.


Some of my frogs.

Fifteen years ago I was a 6th grader at May Morley Elementary school in Lincoln, Nebraska. Back then they had a special unit for the 6th graders: the origami frog competitions. Looking back on it now, I really don't see a point to it all from an educational point of view, but man was it fun. Not only did we have frog races (yes, these frogs really jump!), we had competitions for which frog could jump the highest, which could jump the farthest, who could make the biggest frog, the smallest frog, etc. I have no idea how many dozens of frogs we each made, but 15 years later I can still sit down and make an origami frog without any hesitation while I can't even remember my 6th grade teacher's name.

The kids loved them, of course. And not just my 3-year-olds. After my last class of the day (8- and 9-year-olds) I knew one of my kids was feeling down and got them out to cheer him up. I ended up with five kids around me, begging me to show them how to make them. I naturally obliged. During the impromptu lesson a coworker walked by and I cracked a joke about how ironic it was that I, the gaijin, was teaching the Japanese kids how to do origami. Life is truly strange sometimes.

I admit it. I have a classic case of "Missing the Forest for the Trees." For while I often complain about my job, the truth is that most of my classes and most of my students are perfectly enjoyable and lovely. I wonder why it is that I allow my days or weeks to be ruined because of the 50 minutes I am forced to spend with one or two kids who drive me batty. What a crock. I'm a moron. As I've spent more time in the classroom, I'm rather amazed at the things kids do. I'm not just talking about things they manage to learn and remember (which is totally rad, btw), but the ridiculous things they do and say. Like the class of 6-year-olds who insist on chanting "Yes We Can" before every vocabulary word. Or the kid who turned to me during class and said, "BON JOVI: IT'S MY LIFE!" Kids are weird and they crack me up.

In other news, much to my surprise I've become friends with my coworkers. Not just some of them, but most of them. One day I was having awkward, forced train conversations and the next they were stopping by my room just to shoot the breeze. (While I enjoy the impromptu chat sessions, I don't enjoy having to stay late because of them just to get my work done... >_>)

One of the people whose friendship I have appreciated the most is my manager. We both started working on the same day and are pretty much war buddies. When I had my shamisen jamboree, she and her husband were the only guests there. (And I mean the only guests. Period.) And when I was prepared to spend my birthday alone feeling sorry for myself, she surprised me by taking me out to dinner. I was only too happy to return the favor for her birthday yesterday. (She's been freaking out about it for a while too; this year was her big 3-0. Sad one to spend by oneself!) Though she is married, her husband is a firefighter and had to work the night shift so she was left all alone. When she told me that I immediately told her we were going out and doing whatever she wanted. We ended up going out to karaoke, just the two of us, and had dinner and drinks all on me. I can't really explain how happy it makes me that I can do things like that again; spontaneously treat a friend on a special occasion.

I really wasn't prepared for what my life was really going to be like here. I consider myself solitary in general and adaptable for sure, but the amount of time I spent alone when I got here was numbing even for me. Being able to have people to talk to again about things that are happening right here and now is something I definitely didn't appreciate enough when I had it. Having easy access to internet friends is lovely and all, but having someone you can invite over for dinner or out for drinks and karaoke (zomg a billion million thanks to starkodama and her sweetie RooG for being my friend irl) is uniquely delightful.


The physical manifestation of my psyche as a kitten getting prepared for the next phase of my Japan adventure: FUN TIMES.

I knew that while I was here I would rediscover myself; what I think and feel and need and want. I just didn't know how difficult and painful that process would really be. Hopefully the growing pains are almost over. All right Japan, let's go.

Ever since I arrived here one of my habits is checking for English-language books in bookshops. Almost none of them carry any, but I finally found the holy grail in a mall just one station away from my stop. One of my first purchases there was One Hundred Years of Solitude. I'd been meaning to read it for years, and there was no time like the present to start it. I finally finished it a few days ago, but one passage in particular stood out to me. Marquez describes a Catalonian who had spent most of his life in the fictitious South American town Macondo. He decides one day that he's had enough and wants to go home. After returning, however, his attitude changes. He wrote a stream of letters to the boys back in Macondo, telling of his mental strain:

One winter night while the soup was boiling in the fireplace, he missed the heat of the back of his store, the buzzing of the sun on the dusty almond trees, the whistle of the train during the lethargy of siesta time, just as in Macondo he had missed the winter soup in the fireplace, the cries of the coffee vendor, and the fleeting larks of springtime. Upset by two nostalgias facing each other like two mirrors, he lost his marvelous sense of unreality and he ended up recommending to all of them that they leave Macondo, that they forget everything he had taught them about the world and the human heart, that they shit on Horace, and that wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end.

Ain't it the truth. Is it the constant fate of the expat to be longing for something and somewhere we can't have? I think back to the times I spent yearning for Japan. The ache in my heart was so real that I could feel it. My body was in Chicago while my spirit was here. I imagined the sun on the flowers in springtime, Mt. Fuji overseeing my life, the otherworldly chanting of Buddhist monks in their temples, the transcendent smell of the incense burning in my shamisen teacher's house, the jan-jan sound of my shamisen. Now that I'm here, I hardly take advantage of any of it. I'm too busy missing the friends, family, and job I left behind. My nights are spent chatting to friends overseas and plotting my return. Yet I know in my heart that when I do return, nothing will be the same. Friends move and marry and change careers and paths and hearts and minds and I'm left in their murky memories. I'm left with forging an entirely new path. I'm not ready but I know there's no other option. I chose to leave and so I chose a different life. Somehow I think I already knew that; my head just had to catch up. My heart will follow eventually. Thanks for remind me to live in the moment, GGM. This is a time in my life that can never be recovered. I will make the most of it.

It's still Daddy Day in the States so I figure it counts.


My grandfather, my father, and me.

My dad got a little care package from Japan which he opened last night while I watched on Skype. Enjoy the new summer jinbei, dad! <3

I've been pretty malcontent lately, but most of it stems from homesickness and other personal issues. I have considered returning to the States a number of times but my conscience just won't let me. Tonight after getting home late from a job I can't stand (just like every other night) I decided to get out my shamisen for a change. It really did me a lot of good and reminded me of all the things I wanted to do here. I'll be going home soon enough, and in the meantime I can't afford to spend my time moping about. What I really need to do is make a list of things I need to accomplish while I'm here. 

Here's my list so far, though it's sure to expand*: 

• Play the shamisen in Hirosaki (where all the shamisen masters are)
• Come up with an amazing interpretation of Jongara-bushi (THE shamisen song)
• Learn how to fold, tie, and store a kimono and obi
• Climb Fuji-san
• Take that pesky JLPT (Japanese Language Proficiency Test)

*Feel free to add suggestions, if you have any Japan-related goals that can be done vicariously and documented through flickr/LJ.

Like most other human beings, I ponder what my last moments will be like. Will I be young or old? In my home or far away? Will it be painful? Will my affairs be in order? For most people, these uncertainties work themselves out through the inevitability of old age and disease. But far too often people act against nature and remove themselves from the mortal coil by their own hands. This is an all too common occurrence in Japan, where a favored method of dispatching oneself has long been via train. Despite many precautions on the side of the train companies, (including charging the deceased's family for any delays in service, installing gates on and heavily monitoring the platforms,) the jumps continue.

This evening, as I arrived at the station for my commute home, it was obvious something was wrong. A crowd of people were huddled near the turnstiles, while a train employee with a loudspeaker was giving out information that I couldn't understand. I was hoping that the trouble was at some other station and that the people crowding around were merely trying to receive vouchers, but luck was not on my side. When I reached the platforms all trains were stopped. The digital schedules at each platform showed the time each train had been scheduled to depart with the note, "delayed 15 minutes" scrolling in bright red characters. They didn't move for another 50 minutes.

During that time, staring at a practically-empty train car, my mind made the assumption that someone had jumped. I think that almost every time a train is delayed, although there are many other causes, such as mechanical problems and high winds. But a delay as serious as this one really only means one thing to me. I wondered if the other people on the platform were thinking the same thing I was. I wondered whether they are even phased by it anymore.

We've all had our bad weeks, months, years. Some of us have had bad lives. Sometimes when I'm feeling especially gloomy, I watch the train pull into the station and wonder for a split second what it would be like. So easy . . . just one step. But it's not for me; I'm too attached to life. It's just too easy. Too cowardly. And too messy. Feeling the wind of the train rush past is very life-affirming.

When the first of the four stopped trains finally announced its departure an hour late, I was reminded of the sadness of suicide. That's it, huh? One hour of inconvenient delays to a few hundred weary people on their way home from work and all memory of the event is wiped from the collective conscience. Someone who had a name, a mother and father, a story, and all that's left is . . . nothing. A lump of unrecognizable flesh and a family in mourning. What a sad way to go.

I got some bad news at my lesson today. Ishikawa-Sensei dutifully called the kokyu Sensei like I had asked, and she informed him that she only knows *one* song on the instrument. One song! They both tried to find an actual teacher but the only one around is in Kobe, a mere 320 miles away. ._. Guess the kokyu is even more rare than I thought...

I'm not taking it too hard. Plan B is to skip over the kokyu and go directly to the biwa. Kuroda-san will probably be getting a phone call from me in a few weeks about starting up lessons. She already agreed to teach me, but the lessons are a little expensive ($100 each), so I'll have to wait until I've saved up a little before jumping into that.

In other shamisen-related news, Sensei has started to teach me Jongara-bushi. This is a pretty big deal for me because Jongara-bushi is the end-all, be-all of Tsugaru-jamisen songs. Sensei is hopeful that I'll be able to learn it by September for a big folk jamboree. He's also finally going to take me to get a kimono made, which will be identical to the one I borrowed for the performance last weekend, only hand-made for my measurements. The kimonos are specifically made for sensei's studio, so they are uniform in color and carry the same crest on the shoulders, back, and sleeves. (Sensei's kimono is black because, well, he's the sensei. Otherwise they're all deep blue.) I'll also need to buy an obi and who knows what else, but it's an investment I'm happy to make. After all, it means I'm truly a part of the studio.

I've been learning a lot more about the shamisen and its inner workings as well. Sensei informed me during my last lesson that I need to start moving my thumb position on the bachi depending on where I'm striking the string. I just about died when he told me that. Holding the bachi has been my biggest struggle so far, and knowing that I'm still using a beginners' hand-position is slightly depressing. Actually, knowing how far I have to go in general is depressing, but I have little choice in the matter. Either learn now, or don't learn at all.


Basic hand-position for the bachi
The bachi itself is a rather strange beast. The player grasps the bachi firmly between the ball of the hand and the pointer, middle, and ring fingers. The pinkie is wedged beneath the handle, ensuring the grip is firm. The thumb is left to control the stroke itself. The entire hand acts as a lever, with the wrist turning to create force to strike the drum of the shamisen. The bachi was originally made from ivory, and later tortoiseshell was added. The ivory has been replaced by plastic, but many bachi, including mine, are still made with tortoiseshell. Tortoiseshell is a surprisingly supple material. Sensei is always bending his with his thumb between pieces to make sure it has maximum flexibility. Mine is rather hard and hardly bends at all, but Sensei explained that just makes me louder. Oh boy. ^^;

At any rate, after I've mastered Jongara-bushi I will start working on my improvisation skillz and maybe even shoot to compete in Hirosaki (aka Tsugaru-jamisen central) next year, at Sensei's suggestion. Already I'm daydreaming about how best to integrate bluegrass banjo quotes into my shamisen improv... but first comes Jonagara-bushi.

Today I woke up bright and early at 7:30 and beautified myself in preparation for a folk concert I was performing in. Though it wasn't the first time I'd performed on the Tsugaru-jamisen since my return, it was the first time I was expected to wear a kimono. Since I'd never worn a kimono before, I was rather excited to get to the performance space and get suited up. One of my coworkers and her husband accompanied me to the concert, and they turned out to be the only non-performers there. I felt bad but they thought it was pretty funny and didn't mind at all.

Getting into the kimono was an interesting experience. First I had to put on the bottom-most layer--thin, white-cotton top and bottom pieces. After those were all tied up they padded my waist. Yes, I'm too skinny for even the Japanese it seems, for several hand-towels were strapped to my body. Next came the under-kimono, and finally the kimono itself. Because this was a performance and not a formal ceremony, the kimono was very simple and not heavy brocade silk, much to my relief. Of course the obi (sash) was heavy and tied on so tightly I was forced to sit up straight the entire time I wore it. This isn't so bad for the first hour or two, but the concert went on for five-and-a-half hours, which is far too long for this gaijin's back. (And her ears. Those folk singers can really belt it out! ^^;)


Ishikawa-Sensei and Me
One of the highlights of the whole performance was getting to see some master folk musicians at work. One woman in particular was the real backbone of the event. She is the sort of person who can sit down at a piano and accompany myriad songs in any key with a minute's warning, and who picks up any instrument that needs to be played and does it masterfully. In the US, this sort of woman always seems to end up in a church somewhere, conducting choir and playing piano. Here, they teach folk instruments. Besides the piano, she played shamisen, taiko (drums), sang (and was the best singer imho), and played a bizarre little instrument called the kokyu. I spotted the instrument right away and was thrilled when she got it out, even if she did play it for just one song. Honestly, it was love at first sight. How could it not be with an instrument that looks like this:



It was clearly calling my name...

( Learn more about the curiosity that is the kokyu )

I talked to the woman after the show and told her I want to learn the instrument. Everyone laughed at me (oh what a precocious gaijin I am) and then I told her I was serious and really wanted to learn. She agreed to teach me. I guess that's it then, another instrument goes on the pile. And you know, I'm ok with that. :)

As I've mentioned before, one of the things that drew me back to Japan was the folk music community here. I felt like I'd merely scratched the surface and was enthralled by what I had experienced. I've been diligently going to lessons and practicing since I got here, and though I feel like my progress is kind of slow (I've only learned 2 new songs!) my teacher told me that I'm one of the quickest learners he's ever taught. Apparently the only other student who learns as fast as I do is this 8-year-old wunderkind named Ma-kun. Hey, I'm not complaining; Ma-kun is amazing. I'd be happy to be as good as he is! XD One of the reasons I've been practicing so much is because I know my time is limited and I want to cram as many songs into my skull as possible before I make the trip back home. My song count is now... 5.

The song I'm currently working on has given me a lot of problems. A lot of Tsugaru-jamisen songs are specifically crafted to trick the listener, so they have irregular meters, lapse into different meters entirely, and often switch styles. Tsugaru Aiya Bushi (津軽アイヤ節) has been a prime example of all of these, and to make matters worse, I've had a difficult time picking out any melody to grasp onto. This was the first time I literally had to learn a song note by note; two on this tone, then three on that tone, then one then one.... it's exhausting. But eventually something in my brain shifts and it makes sense. Though when I have to do that process several times for one song (since I learn section by section), I really have my work cut out for me. Here's my teacher playing Tsugaru Aiya Bushi, in all its glory.

One reason why I've been pushing myself to learn Aiya Bushi is because I'm going to be joining my studio in a concert on May 10th. Way back in early March, after I had breezily learned another song in just two sessions, Ishikawa-sensei told me that I *might* be able to learn Aiya Bushi in time for the show. "Psh," I told him with a flick of my hair, "of *course* I can." Now I'm the one doubting it can happen while he's so confident he put my name in the program, which he showed me at my last lesson. Yes, my name was indeed there, a blaze of katakana betwixt row upon row of kanji. No last name, either. Just "アニー" (Annie). Like "Cher" or "Madonna," I'm clearly too fabulous to need anything more.

Another exciting thing about this show is that it's the first time I'll ever get to wear a kimono. Not just a yukata, but a real kimono. One of the other students, a woman about my size, loaned me a beautiful deep-blue kimono with all the fixings (obi, the underlayer (whatever that's called...), etc). The only thing I had to go out and buy were shoes. A few lessons ago Ishikawa-sensei measured my foot and discovered that we have the same size feet (US women's size 8.5). This was considerably amusing to him but he was concerned about me being able to find zōri shoes big enough to fit my freakishly big feet. This proved a big enough issue that Ma-kun's (busybody) mother looked up gaijin-sized zōri on the Internet and found some... for 30,000円. I told Ishikawa-sensei I was confident in my abilities to find my own (cheaper) zōri, and find them I did, for 1/10th of the price Ma-kun's mom quoted.

At any rate, a lot of people have been curious about what I'm playing, so aside from Aiya Bushi, the songs I'll be performing include Kuroishi Yosare Bushi (黒石よされ節) and Adohatari (あどはたり). The recording of Yosare Bushi starts out a little rough but gets going after a bit. Another student and I are playing, and Ishikawa-sensei is on drums. The Adohatari recording features Ishikawa-sensei and me.

I also made a video of one of the shorter tunes, Ringo Bushi (リンゴ節):



So there you have it, my shamisen story in its full glory. Wish me luck conquering the beast that is Aiya Bushi and rocking out on the 10th. Till next time...

The cherry blossoms have died and gone but I still find petals blowing down the sidewalks. For a while they were everywhere; on train-station stairs, in gutters, in my hallway. It's kind of amazing how briefly they were out, considering the fuss they receive from the Japanese. Maybe that's *why* they are considered so beautiful; because they're so fleeting.

The Japanese have a strange relationship with nature. They love to surround themselves with artificial greenery such as potted plants and manically-pruned topiaries, but pave over every inch of grass. (This is one of the reasons why Tokyo gets so hot in the summer. The city is all cement and asphalt. The sun shines and the heat is trapped. The city literally bakes.) Even Mt. Fuji in all its glory has succumbed to human manipulation. Once upon a not-too-distant past, Fuji was considered so sacred that women were banned from climbing its slopes until 150 years ago. Now it's so covered in trash from the steady flow of pilgrims that it was denied a spot on the World Heritage list.

Living in Chicago I grew used to living with somewhat altered nature. You could see snippets of greenery behind wrought-iron fences and trees planted calculated distances apart in parks. Clear nights mean a few stars and a lot of airplanes, while overcast skies glow an eerie orange. Nights here are even worse. The sky never really gets dark, and I have yet to see a single star. The moon always looks lonely, which makes it more beautiful, because it's the only thing we have left in the sky. Coming home on cloudy nights like tonight is the strangest. Living on the top floor of an apartment building affords me somewhat clearer views of my surroundings. (Living in a city like this you never really get a clear view of anything. Buildings are constantly interrupting one another.) When I reach the top of the stairs I can't help but pause to consider where I am and what I'm doing. Off in the distance is Tokyo. Its unmistakable glow is so overpowering it looks like a neon sunrise. It's a false promise from a sun that will never rise, provide any warmth, or nourish any life.

Nights like this make me recall the coldest nights of winter in Nebraska, when a million stars were out. I'd bundle up and look at the sky with awe as my mother taught me about constellations that I never remembered. The sheer number of stars was so overwhelming and beautiful that I never knew where to start. One day I'll leave this electric jungle and be back to a more natural environment. But for now I have to rely on the knowledge that although I cannot see them, the stars will be there long after Tokyo is gone.

Lately I've been feeling rather homesick. A lot of this is due to the lack of friends I have here, so in an effort to meet some people, I joined a book club. My first meeting was yesterday, to discuss Middlesex. It was a beautiful spring day and to celebrate, we decided to meet in Yoyogi Park, a place that holds a special place in my heart. (During my sophomore year of college, I went on a month-long study program to China and Japan with my Asian Studies classmates. We stayed at a hostel right next to Yoyogi Park for about a week.)

After an hour-long train ride from Yokohama, I arrived at Harajuku Station. As soon as I alighted the train I remembered why I hardly ever come to Tokyo: the sheer amount of people that live there. It was kind of overwhelming, actually. But once I had left the station the crowds thinned a bit and I was able to find a pay phone to call the contact person. (Yes, I'm a luddite and still don't have a cell phone.)

Once the troops were rounded up, we scouted a spot in the park to lay our blankets. Talking about the book was nice, but not talking about the book was nicer. Most of the afternoon was spent chatting with other ex-pats about this and that, munching on food we brought, drinking wine and chu-hai, and playing frisbee. The park was full of people taking advantage of a beautiful day in the park. People were playing double dutch, badminton, practicing dance routines en masse, and doing whatever else struck their fancy. The girls one blanket over were letting their pet rabbit hop around. Somewhere in the park a bagpipe was being played. Though the cherry blossoms were no longer in bloom, other trees were flowering and provided bits of pastels in the otherwise green foliage.


Saturday in Yoyogi Park

It wasn't until after sunset that the few of us who were left decided to head home. We left through a different entrance and ended up passing through Earth Day Tokyo 2009, where an open-air concert was in progress. Japanese hippies and their bad hair and ill-fitting clothing were everywhere. The others decided to stick around the concert for a while so I asked directions back to the station, which I knew I really had no chance of finding. I wandered around Tokyo for a while, sticking to main streets, knowing if I *really* got lost I'd ask for help. But the sidewalks and shops were bustling and I was enjoying being somewhere different.

I started seeing signs for Shibuya, and eventually saw the key landmarks: Scramble Crossing, Shibuya 109, and Shibuya Station. Not wanting to miss the chance to see what the Shibuya girls were wearing, I wandered into 109. I always feel like a complete outsider when I go to Shibuya, not because of my race but because of my clothes, and yesterday was no exception. Jeans and sneakers? Psh. I had no chance. I was acutely aware of my faux pas but held my head high (which is rather easy to do among the Japanese) and shopped away. I left with three fashionista-approved outfits (all on sale!!!) and the knowledge that at least next time I could go shopping in a proper shopping outfit.


Shibuya

Going to Tokyo is always an experience, but I was quite relieved to get back to Yokohama, where the pace is more manageable and the population isn't breaking records. I was very happy to finally get a chance to relax share a beautiful day with some friendly expats. Though I had fun, it reminded me what I had been missing these past few months. I really miss my friends a lot! Hopefully I'll be able to meet some people soon and not feel quite so isolated in this jungle of people.

For the past three weeks I've been teaching and, in turn, receiving a crash course in teaching. It's been going relatively well, but it will take a while to fully get into the swing of things.

At my schools (I work at two; one on Mondays, one on Tuesdays-Fridays), I typically teach 6 classes a day. Each class runs between 30 minutes (for the Baby Classes) and 60 minutes (for the Junior High School students). The students can be anywhere between 2 to 12 year old, but most are between 4 and 10. I find it interesting that they break down the classes according to age instead of ability, but it's a system that usually works out pretty well. Students who are new and join older classes can learn quickly independently, and catch up quickly.

One of the biggest drawbacks to working for an Eikaiwa is the hours. Since my students are typically in school (or pre-school), they can't make it to class until later in the day. Half of the week I am teaching until 8 PM. Even though I don't have to be there until 1 PM on those days, it's still rough getting home so late, since it usually takes me 1-2 hours to plan for the next day, prepare my space, and commute home. After chasing kids around all day I'm pretty tired by the time I do make it home. (I don't know how Real Teachers (such as my old roommie, Jane,) pull the insane hours they do.)

I have to admit that the work is a lot more challenging than I thought it would be. Preparing and getting down the timing of lessons are by far the biggest challenges. Both of my classrooms also have gigantic windows for the parents to watch the classes, so I kind of worry about what they think too. But overall I've received a lot of positive feedback from the parents and managers, so I'm pretty happy. The kids seem to enjoy themselves for the most part, too. ;) There have really only been a few incidents where the kids were scared/intimidated/in a terrible mood, and only one of those cases was really caused by my presence. As a foreigner, I'm bound to scare a kid or two, but I don't take it personally. At least I'm not a dude! (They're much scarier to the kids! XD )

Overall I've enjoyed teaching, but it's going to take a little while for my body to catch up to the demands of the work. The kids are pretty adorable and there's always an incident or two throughout the day that I remember on the train-ride home that make me giggle. I guess I'm the sort of girl who can be rejuvenated by a good laugh, and there are always plenty of those available when kids are around.

I'm definitely looking forward to settling into my schedule and becoming more comfortable in the classroom. But I'm confident that will happen, sooner rather than later.

It's no secret that there are quite a few Western men living in Japan whose primary interest lies in dating as many Japanese women as possible. A quick browsing of the m4w ads on Tokyo Craigslist will support this. (For the most hilarious example, please see this ad: http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/tor/881177993.html) Many of the ads come from gaijin men across Japan or even from other countries, looking for the perfect Japanese woman to fulfill their dreams. As I well know, there are plenty of Japanese women who are more than willing to help these men out.

This very subject was broached during training this week. The trainer laid out several examples of foreign staff dating the Japanese staff (or mothers), and how it almost always ended badly, with people transferring, quitting, or getting beat-up. During the entire lecture I was seated across from M, the prime example of a J-girl obsession gone awry. M is still in hiding from his soon-to-be ex-wife, who is suing him for $80k AUS and lawyer fees. He's also still currently living with his now ex-girlfriend, the girl who convinced him to reenter Japan after he "ran away" from his wife. M and I actually got along pretty well. He has a great sense of humor and knows better than to take himself or his ridiculous situation too seriously. Since there was 0% attraction on either side, I kind of felt like I was hanging out with a gay guy.

I decided that it was time to create a new classification of men--of which M is the prime example--who are so into J-girls that all other races of women cease to have any sexual attraction to them. I call these men "nihonosexuals."

It's inevitable that the more time I spend here the more nihonsexuals will annoy me, but for now I'm content to shake my head at their foibles, laugh along with their stories, and be happy to know that I won't be the one being beat-up in my own classroom. ;)

3/22 Update: I knew I was hardly the first person to notice this phenomenon, but I didn't realize there was an LJ community dedicated to chronicling their foibles. The United Anti-Pinkerton League (antipinkerton) prefers this definition:

Pinkerton
n., adj., a male of any descent, though in many western cultures is seen as predominantly white males, who possesses an acute sexual interest in Japanese women or Asian women in general. See also: Yellow Fever. A male Asian fetishist. Will often try to justify his racist preference by expressing an 'interest' in Japanese 'culture'. May have an accompanying interest in anime, manga, or the like. May also make such claims as to be 'Asian at heart', or similar statements. Pinkertons are generally middle to upper middle class, of any political persuasion, of any geographic location, but in larger numbers concentrated in the United States and Britain, with both of their rich imperialist traditions. The North American subspecies of Pinkerton may futilely attempt to justify his sexual objectification by offering bizzarre explanations couched in warped logic. "I just like girls with light skin and black hair" or "Asians just look better to me", ignoring the fact that other races possess such physical traits. Will quite often take college Japanese courses in order to further his lecherous pursuits.

etymology: taken from the name of a character from Puccini's Madame Butterfly, Pinkerton, a United States Naval Officer who pursues a fifteen year-old Japanese girl while stationed there, despite having no intention of staying with her, eventually returning stateside to his American wife after impregnating Cio-Cio-san, or Madame Butterfly. He later returns to Japan with his American wife to take the bastard hapa child of Butterfly and Pinkerton home with the two of them to take care of, which ultimately drives Cio-Cio-san to suicide.

See also: White Devil
n. "The pinkerton was surprised when the Japanese exchange student declined his invitation for dinner and sex."

adj. "Rivers Cuomo is feeling mighty pinkerton these days."

Disclaimer: I have nothing whatsoever against interracial dating of any sort. I myself have dated a J-boy and have known many wonderfully happy white boy/J-girl couples. I am merely poking fun at the boys I have seen who have taken their preference of the Asian persuasion to the extreme.

Today I did something drastic, all in the name of my new job, which begins tomorrow. It took me a while to work up the nerve, but my mind was set. I made my way to the mall near my apartment and began looking in the ladies' department.

And then, dear friends, I bought a pair of plain nude pantyhose.

This might not seem like such a big deal to many of you, particularly those of you who posses a Y chromosome. But for this lady, wearing nude pantyhose is rather objectionable. You see, I haven't worn nude pantyhose since I was probably 12 years old. I associate them with shapeless church dresses, Girl Scout functions, and horribly unfashionable adolescent girl shoes.

Here in Japan companies tend to take a more conservative approach to what their employees should and should not wear. For one, OLs (office ladies) are not allowed to wear any color of pantyhose other than nude or tan, and may not go bare legged. At least I don't have to wear a tie every day like my male counterparts. Suckers.

I was rather fortunate to have worked in a relatively relaxed office in Chicago. I know there were some days that I came in with a shirt that was a little too beat up, pants that were too creased, or a skirt that was too short, but nobody ever said anything to me about it. And, most important, I was allowed to wear the hosiery style and color of my choice. Ahh, sweet freedom. America, how I miss you. [wipes tear from eye]

Last night's bout of insomnia has left me drained, yet I couldn't help but look up more information about various programs today. Mind you, I'm not even looking to enter grad school until 2012 at the earliest. I kept telling myself that, but pretty soon I would be looking up yet another search on google.

I have to admit that I have a rather love/hate relationship with the notion of studying the Tsugaru-jamisen in an academic environment. It comes from years of researching various programs, developing projects, and being rejected again and again because nobody likes to fund performance-based grants for individuals such as myself. Apparently all the money is wrapped up in trying to get someone to fix the economy and international relations. Good luck, Japan. You'd think they'd be more interested in spreading more dynamic aspects of their culture, such as their performing arts. OH WELL. The hardest part was being told by grant selection committees that they loved my projects but just don't do those sorts of things. It was heartbreaking.

Unfortunately, looking up information about ethnomusicology programs brought back a lot of those feelings of rejection, and reminded me how I got to where I am now.

Desire to Learn Japanese Folk Music --> No Grants Available --> Independent, Self-Funded Study
There is a big difference between then and now, though. Before I was just looking into getting grants to do research projects. Now I'm looking at getting a degree, and I think having the backing and resources of a University would make all the difference. Even though there really isn't much (if any) academic support for Japanese folk music (at least that I've seen), I am hopeful that most ethnomusicology programs would be flexible to support my odd tastes. I'm guessing a lot of programs would actually be excited to work with something new, but who knows.

At any rate, it feels nice to have a plan brewing, and to have it far enough away to not think about it too much for a while. In the meantime I'll concentrate on building a solid foundation in Japanese and obtaining my true goal: becoming a shamisen rock star.

\m/

It's nearly 3 am and here I am, wide awake. This is partially due to the fact that I have been sleeping in every day for the past 6 weeks, and partially because I have started to ponder LAJ: Life After Japan. This is something new and frightening to me. I have had a very solid mental block up until the past few days regarding this topic. But now that my job is lined up and I'm settling in and setting long-term goals for myself, my mind is wandering. Tonight it wandered right over to the Columbia website, looking up information about their highly competitive and highly desirable (at least for this lady) ethnomusicology program. This was not the wisest thing to do at midnight. Now my mind is alight with ideas and "what ifs," an incredibly dangerous thing. I'm making outlines of scenarios in my brain of when I could take the GRE, when I could write an article about X for Y magazine in order to submit a real-life published article to the selection committee, and how my earth-shattering personal statement would begin.

This was not supposed to happen. I didn't want to go to grad school. I didn't... now I do? :<

Insomnia blows.

It's no secret that I was a rather lazy student in high school and college. I never really learned how to study properly so rarely did. Sure, it got me in trouble a few times, particularly in my science classes, but I got through college with a decent GPA and was happy to join the workforce after graduation. It wasn't until I lost all of the benefits of being in an academic surrounding that I began to really appreciate the things I used to take for granted, such as having music and Japanese instructors. On my own, well, for someone who has little self-motivation, it was a death sentence.

Japanese is something that has never come naturally to me, and I pretty much never had the chance to speak in Japanese in Chicago. I took one class with the intent to return, but my increasingly busy schedule and the rather high price tag prevented me from doing so. I quickly forgot nearly everything I had learned, and it was (and still is) rather embarrassing and frustrating to fail to recognize or stumble over vocabulary I used to know once I returned. And my grammar... well, that's always been my weakest point. It's horrible.

I decided before I left that I wasn't going to waste my time here like I did before. I am kind of horrified at the lack of studying I did during my time as an exchange student. So I made a tangible goal for myself: for every year I spend in Japan, I want to pass one level of the Japanese Language Proficiency Test. If I took the test today, I might be able to pass the lowest level, but as I mentioned, my grammar is terrible. I bought a study guide and am determined to learn my particles and conjugations once and for all. I also downloaded a flashcard program specifically designed for Japanese-language students a week or two after I got here and have been studying vocabulary every single day. They have pre-made decks that contain all of the vocabulary for each JLPT level. This has been the single biggest help so far, and I'm always giddy when I hear somebody use one of my "new" words. (The program is called Anki and I highly highly recommend it. You can create your own flashcard sets and use it for any subject, not just Japanese.)

I also find being practically illiterate and not being able to carry on a decent conversation or understand the television to be incredibly boring. How I stood it for an entire year I'll never know.

Even though passing the lowest level of the JLPT (Level 4) isn't really a huge accomplishment, I feel it's at least a step in the right direction. It's a goal that I feel I can manage for the time being, and if I master the grammar points for Level 4 quickly I'll start studying for Level 3 instead. We'll see. My long-term goal is to pass Level 2. If I pass Level 1 I'll be completely ecstatic, but a Level 2 certification will make me a very happy camper.