Friday 22 December 2017

Small town Japan brings out the inner Matt

The residence that I visited on Sunday for karaoke and tremendous amounts of food (including a blueberry chocolate tart, which everyone in the world must try), is not new. The floors are tatami-laid, the corridors struggle to fit two abreast, and the rails on which shōji (Japanese-style doors) stand have seen smoother times.

In spite of these, the house felt newer than most. This is because of the family that inhabit it.

It’s a family of six, and a family whose hospitality comes free of any need to impress. They possess a palpable sense of humour, yet no need to be funny when the silence is doing just fine. Children and parents who are conscious of others but not self-conscious, lively but not noisy. A family whose members share their belongings without thinking twice.

Others joined us. A total of two sizeable families, plus me. We sang, ate, talked, ate again, and sang some more. My stomach and I had a fulfilling time.

Bit of a cake. Context further down.



What I learn in every interaction of this kind is that true enjoyment is found in the act of bringing people together. The intimacy of community in a single space. Nothing too indulgent, nothing visually remarkable. What’s remarkable is that a rich experience comes without any need to be rich.

There was one visual treat. Beyond the windows, upon a backdrop of rice fields, roads, and a river that crept close to the hills, snow that petalled the landscape as if endless flower beds sit atop the clouds. There was intimacy in this, too. The realisation that this place wasn’t somewhere I’d come for sightseeing. I hadn’t paid money to enter through a gate, see nice things, and leave again. Rather, I live here. I work here. And these people who live here too are my friends. Two of them are my students. Students whose graciousness I wish I’d had even an ounce of when I was their age.

The value of community is not lost on them, and in my time with them I learned it to be more valuable than almost anything else.

The karaoke and food were good, but so is a movie, so is a video game. An experience of community involves far more than just the five senses. It’s an experience that I’ll treasure and not soon forget.

One thing I certainly won’t forget was the opportunity I had to help Ayami with her English homework. She’s usually too shy to talk to me, but today that shyness fell away like autumn leaves. She even admitted that she’s often shy, but that, in truth, she likes English. As if to assure me, she said most of the students in her class enjoy English and want to use it, but find it difficult.

Ironically, in that one conversation, she spoke a lot more English than I thought her capable of, including grammar she’d learnt only recently. I was encouraged by this, and I like to think that she was encouraged, too. Excluding all else, this short exchange of words was the most important. The most cherished.

This experience of community isn’t isolated. The day before this I went to a “Kids’ English theatre group’s” Christmas party. (I put that heading in quote marks because I’m really not sure what this group does. Basically, whatever they do, there’s always English involved.) There I dressed up as Santa to be the ‘final boss’ in a rock, paper, scissors ‘competition’ in which kids could earn presents. This part of the event took longer than the organisers expected, so, towards the end, Santa became a bit absent-minded and forgot how to form scissors and paper. The kids were OK with this, because it meant they could all receive a present.

We indulged in a potluck, decorated a giant cake and then ate it, sang Christmas songs in English (though next to no one knew the meaning of the words), and played games. The games were designed for the youngest of the crowd, though the older kids had the essential roles of coordinating their younger peers, leading their teams, or ensuring that I, the foreign guy, understood what was going on at every juncture. The parents and I participated in this or that, watched from a distance, or became an opponent in the aforementioned rock, paper, scissors competition.

I should mention that eighty percent of these kids were kids I teach at some point in my schedule, and that among the parents were at least four teachers I work with.

After the event while people collected their belongings, a number of the JHS and high school kids, along with some parents, were lounging around, waiting for rides or just not yet bothering to leave. We taught each other interesting English and Japanese, and found that the two languages have a lot in common in spite of their differences.

I’d seen two of these kids – Naoki and Chihiro – the previous day at school. At different times, they each approached me to ensure I knew when the party started, where to go, and what to bring. Naoki is an impossible combination of cool and hard-working, popular yet respectful. And so is his mum, whom I work with at another school. She told me that I’ve inspired him to want to become an English teacher, but specifically one who goes abroad to teach.

Chihiro’s spoken and written English is beyond excellent for her age, and oftentimes I turn to her in class when I don’t know the answer to another student’s question. We teach each other.

That day at school was one of the busiest days this year for me, but so memorable due to how intentional those kids were in ensuring that I was informed about the Christmas party. It cemented the truth of what their parents had said about them ‘really wanting’ me to come. Not to beat a dead horse, but just the privilege of knowing them makes me feel very rich indeed.

In spite of all the events I might go to, and the many people I spend time with, I never seem to grow weary. This wasn’t the case in New Zealand. I currently pin this on the difference in culture and people. It’s not a bad difference, but perhaps the average social setting in New Zealand isn’t quite so compatible with my temperament. Combined with western culture and expectations, the atmosphere of a group environment, for instance, puts pressure on me to stand out, and, in small ways, compete for attention. When you don’t – when you’re quiet or appear tired – people often comment, or question you. They ensure that the spotlight gets to you because you didn’t voluntarily call for it.

In Japan this has never happened. You don’t have to talk, and no one’s going to force you to. Yet people are ready to listen when you have something to say. Two friends – Hayato and Ryohei – are easy to spend time with because the calmess of their dispositions is such that I don’t feel any pressure to say anything I don’t want to say.

Introversion isn't the exception here, but the assumption. Yet it seems that I'm an extrovert until I'm around non-Japanese people.

It’s somewhat rare in New Zealand for me to meet someone and feel any measureable desire to get to know them more. But in Japan the opposite is the exception. The difference between grazing gazelles and boisterous monkeys. Sort of.

Not a gazelle, but nonetheless very friendly.
There is one caveat to all this pleasantry. I’m currently inbound to New Zealand, and there’s a tradition in Japan where if you go away on holiday, you bring back a small gift (usually edible) for everyone to indulge in upon your return. The more people you know or spend time with, the longer your list of recipients becomes. So, it’s important to tell only your closest friends.

But, of course, work colleagues also need to know.

Yesterday morning at school, Chikashige Sensei, whom I sit beside in the staff room, just 'happened' to be looking up New Zealand products online. He seemed to remember that I was leaving that day.
“Take care,” he said. “Enjoy spending time with your family.”
I’d already taken note of the images on his monitor, along with the cheeky expression on his face. So, in a whisper that only he could hear, I said, “I’ll bring you something. Please wait.”
“Of course!” he exclaimed, only he didn't whisper. He turned his head so that he faced the bulk of the staff room and yelled, “Everyone, Matt’s bringing us presents!”

I guess it’s a good thing that I’m rich. 

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