In Japan, every three to seven years the teachers of one
school leave and are replaced by others. I don't really know why, but that's not the point.
It’s been a week since the new school year started, such
that the many new faces flitting round the staff room are now somewhat less new.
In spite of Japan’s adherence to the codes of professionalism and courtesy,
people’s mannerisms are never truly hidden, nor do they go unnoticed. In a way,
these codes ironically serve to highlight each person’s individuality, to the point where
they would make great fodder for fiction.
So it is, I decided to profile some of the not so new faces.
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| Prepping for a ceremony. There are countless ceremonies, one of which gets referred to further down. |
Hamaoka Sensei
Miss Hamaoka is the new P.E. Teacher, but, really, she
just wants to teach judo. This is hinted at on her drink bottle, which reads,
“No judo, no life.” It’s hinted at in her self-introduction, which includes a
lot of unfamiliar Japanese interlaced with familiar Japanese – that is, the
word ‘judo’ pops up more than twice. It was hinted at by the English teacher I
sit beside, who, just after I’d met them both, said, “She is Hamaoka Sensei.
She is number one judo player.” And it’s hinted at by herself, who half the
time can be seen going about the school in full judo attire.
Her not-so-subtle hobbies are matched only by her giant
grin, which, despite the obvious glint in her eye that tells you she could
wrestle everyone at the same time and win, still manages to display a full set
of teeth.
Nor is it a scary grin. She is in fact very kind. And funny,
and she likes to give her two cents in conversations between me and the English
teachers. This usually doesn’t work out, and we all just laugh. I then attempt
Japanese, and we laugh some more.
Chikashige Sensei
He’s the new English teacher, though you wouldn’t know this
by speaking to him. He likes to think I speak Japanese, which isn't as frustrating as it is provoking - provoking because it gave me the fun idea of seeing how
long I could speak Japanese back at him without giving away that I’ve no idea
what he’s on about. Other times I do know what he’s on about, but not how to
respond. Sometimes we go three whole sentences (single words count as sentences) without a single English word.
Every encounter is a new opportunity to beat my record. One day I’ll be
teaching him Japanese. You’ll see.
Not that he’s a man of many words anyway. “So, Matt, can you
make a 25-minute activity for class?” he said hours after I’d met him.
“Sure,” I said.
“Thank you,” he said. No context was provided, but fortunately, in this case, it wasn't needed.
His tacit nature is coupled with a generally laid-back
demeanour. He’s somehow very organised, which is noticeable because most of the
other teachers can’t manage to erase enough things off their to-do lists or wipe enough sweat from their faces. He
could be a robot (I’ve yet to see him eat).
He claims that he’s about to become a father. The evidence
will speak for itself.
Kanayami Sensei
She’s the new music teacher. Her musical worth was proven at
the after-welcome-party (karaoke) last week, where she sang a very harmonious
rendition of… well, of a Japanese song that’s probably famous or something. I
understood none of it.
But music isn’t her only talent. She can also bow super well
– a perfect 76 degrees with nary a bend in the knees. Her bow contains such
precision that it’s clear there’s something more going on underneath. Think of
all the stuff that happens inside a piano when a key is pressed. It’s all very
complicated and delicate, but all you see is the effortless down and up. She
could quit music and teach bowing; though if you proposed this to her, she'd probably say something like, "One cannot exist without the other." And you'd believe her.
When all the new teachers walked on stage to introduce themselves, I remembered only hers because of her perfect bow. “Be careful of her,” I thought. “She’s too perfect.”
When all the new teachers walked on stage to introduce themselves, I remembered only hers because of her perfect bow. “Be careful of her,” I thought. “She’s too perfect.”
That about does it for profiles, but speaking of
ceremonies, I’d made the mistake of thinking the entrance ceremony last Tuesday
would be like all the others. That is, lots of synchronised and frantic
standing, sitting and bowing, and listening-but-failing-to-understand antics.
There was this; but towards the end, something happened in this
ceremony that hadn’t happened in all the others: all the teachers were called
to line up at the front and introduce themselves. It seems the majority of
teachers hadn’t read the ceremony schedule, because, after the announcer said, “all
the teachers will now introduce themselves,” they all at once flipped their
schedules over (with a unanimous whoosh) and learned, by reading those schedules, that yes, indeed, they
would.
Miraculously, I’d accidentally planned for this when I was
bored one day during the Spring break. I’d hypothesised a scenario in which I
had to introduce myself to hundreds of people, and I’d also hypothesised a short
speech. (I'd decided that, if a formal introduction was ever required of me, I didn’t want to repeat my self-introduction from last August,
which, in English, was something like, “My name is Matt. I’m from New Zealand.
I like coffee. Nice to meet you.” I needed something new!)
This hypothetical scenario would become much less
hypothetical a week later.
I recalled that speech exactly and, as the microphone passed
from hand to hand, drawing ever nearer, I rehearsed it many times over in my
head. Some of the students must have noticed this, because they kept smiling
encouraging smiles, the way that parents smile at their children when they’re
on stage and about to do something they’re suddenly too scared to do. Thanks, kids.
In short, it went well, though I did omit the joke I had
planned because context (the ceremony was super formal; everyone was uncannily still). If there’s
a downside, it’s that the parents of the new students now think I speak
Japanese, meaning I must study fast in order to keep up pretences. I told all this
to my Japanese tutor the following Thursday, who with hand to chin, said, “Mmmm,
you are now in a dangerous position!”
She also revealed that my speech, which multiple students
and teachers had said was perfect, wasn’t perfect, and could use some work. “They
were just being nice!” she kept
saying. Sensei tells it like it is.
There’s a student here who isn’t Japanese and doesn’t really
speak the language. All the other students in his grade are doing tests today,
but he isn’t, because he can’t. Instead, he and I are about to study Japanese
together. The support teacher, who just realised she’ll also be free in that
period, is currently preparing a quiz for us. This should be interesting; but I’ll
be honest, I’ve a feeling that many pretences are about to be shattered.
