Though the last 10 days have been fairly solitary compared to the constant family and friend time in Washington, the hours have sped past. A decent percentage of those hours have gone into curriculum planning... I'd say roughly 25 hours since last Tuesday.
This is work that is very difficult to start in on--the summer before my first year of teaching, I spent hours staring, helpless and intimidated, at a World History textbook not knowing how I would even begin my planning. "Should I try to get through the entire book or should I go more in-depth on selected topics? And, if I decided to go in-depth on selected topics, which events and historical figures should I choose? And, how could I teach the material in a way that would be engaging and meaningful, and...?" Curriculum planning is an intellectual work-out, which is something that teachers don't discover until they actually start teaching (as a student, even while taking education classes in college, I'd always assumed that teachers had it easy; "how hard can it be to give assignments, right?"). I've been in that terrifying place where I never got over my curriculum-writer's-block, and I know what it's like to plan a day at a time, but never really feel good about the product of that planning. Thankfully, we're only first-year teachers once.
Despite the toughness of starting the process of curriculum work, it is immensely rewarding work once started. I'm in a unique position this year... well, unique for me, anyway. For the first time, I'll be teaching the exact same classes two years in a row. This will be my 3rd consecutive year of teaching the Junior Humanities and English classes, and my 2nd year of teaching Freshmen World History (I guess 3rd if you count my very first year in which I taught a Freshmen Humanities block... but I'm choosing not to count that). This means that I had a foothold for all of my planning, going in. The bulk of the planning that had gone into my Junior Humanities class happened two years ago, before I taught it for the first time. That was an exciting summer, as I adapted a really strong curriculum that had been passed down to me from the superb teacher who had architected the Humanities class. My own planning and later while teaching the course, my own style took that class in a different direction from the notes and framework I'd been given, but those notes had a spirit of joy and enthusiasm for learning that I tried my best to inject into my teaching. It was an exciting year, through and through, fun for both myself and my students.
Last summer, I did something very illogical, something I really wish I hadn't done: I essentially overhauled the framework I'd built for my Humanities class the year before (in spite of having a wonderful year). My best excuse for doing so is that I'd read too many books on pedagogy over the summer (which actually has the potential to be very counter-productive) and was trying to work in every last piece of advice from all of those books: the result was a class that was structured thematically, had good essential questions, but suffered from a lack of concrete content, a lack of connectivity and most significantly, a lack of direction. It was stuffed with good, miscellaneous activities and assessment tools, but still stuffed in the way that a child might cram toys, clothes and other random objects into a closet when told to clean their room. All of this might have worked out smoothly if I'd at least put in the hours of careful thought and planning that I'd done a year before, but I was still riding high from the success of the previous year and I (wrongly) assumed that experience and good essential questions would be more than enough to capture the imagination of my students and to inspire them with a love for learning. Don't get me wrong, I'd still planned, just not as much as I now realize I needed to, and not as carefully either. And, students still learned, but it was very much despite my poor planning and lack of coherency in the content of the class. It turned out to be a good year, and probably about on par with what would be expected of a third-year teacher... but it was a let-down after my 2nd year, and a personal disappointment on my part. Please note that I do not blame my students in the least: they were patient with me, and did strong work--they finished the year well and not only met but exceeded my expectations for them... I just feel like I could have done more for them, had I just kept building on my existing Humanities framework rather than trying to do something new and different. Fortunately, we learn from our mistakes.
Thus, this year, I decided to revisit what had worked so well for me before, but this time I started a step back with deep consideration and examination of CAJ's learning targets (which had been conspicuously missing from my planning the first time around). I developed new essential questions based on those targets, tweaked old questions that I wanted to fit in, and launched into my planning from there, using my notes and calendar from two years ago as a reference. It was like putting a match to gunpowder: the ideas have sparked, crackled, and exploded in glorious, rapid-fire fashion. Everything seems to be falling perfectly into place, and already, I have my first semester planned out, almost to the day. I've loved every minute of it. I go to sleep at night looking forward to the work I'll get done, the progress I'll make the next day. I've crafted assessments that I feel really get at the targets, but are engaging and meaningful for the students; I've planned out activities that I feel will be helpful and fun; the spirit of joy and enthusiasm for learning that I'd tried to inject into my first Humanities class is very much present in what I'm doing now.
I must confess, it just wasn't there at this time last year. I started the year excited about one thing: storytelling and the possibility of including storytelling in my classes, having just taken a really good class over the summer. And the storytelling unit was fun, but things fizzled out after that, and I was left feeling directionless... a sense of "okay, where do I go now?" For a time, I was upset that the students weren't excited about the class, or what we were studying, but I eventually came to realize that I wasn't all that excited about it, either, and that the problem was mine because how could they be excited if I wasn't? I was working hard, and I think my dedication showed, but tireless dedication is not all that inspiring or infectious if it's not coupled with a genuine, visible joy in one's work. I'd been so focused on taking the suggestions of so many experts that I'd completely done away with the ownership I'd had before. I'm grateful for the wisdom of those whose books I read, and I hope to one day reach the level of mastery that those teachers are at... but that doesn't happen overnight, or even over a summer. Nor should I try to make it happen. I need to reflect and improve my courses and my teaching, but it's a process that needs to happen organically, with breathing room for my own style to grow, too.
I think I've got that in the planning I'm doing now. I'm feeling confident and eager to bring into the classroom what is currently on paper and in pages documents. I've got a little bit more planning I'd like to do, but there's no panic; just excitement, joy and an enthusiasm for what I do. I need to hold onto this feeling!
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
Book Review: "Cloud Atlas" by David Mitchell
I'm not typically one to write reviews of books, movies or TV shows, but the book that I just finished was fairly interesting, and I felt it merited a review.
I first heard about "Cloud Atlas" roughly one week ago when a friend of mine showed me a trailer for the upcoming film adaptation (slated to hit theaters Oct. 26). The trailer caught my attention: from what I could tell, the plot followed six different stories from vastly different times and places that seemed to overlap and connect in mysterious ways. Plus, a superb cast, including Tom Hanks, Halle Berry and Jim Broadbent, appeared to give the obviously unique story some traction (at least based on the short clips that were included in the trailer).
I discovered later, courtesy of a wikipedia search, that the movie was based on a 2004 novel by a British author, David Mitchell. Mitchell's story intrigued me, as he had spent years living in Japan, met and married a Japanese women and eventually settled in Ireland with his wife and children. Additionally, the book seemed highly acclaimed, so I decided to give it a read.
The book begins circa 1849 with the journal of a young American notary, Adam Ewing, as he begins the long journey home from the South Pacific on a small ship. Out of all iterations of the English language that might now be considered archaic, mid-1800s is my absolute favorite: Civil War-era journals, letters, speeches and newspapers are precisely written, yet always with colorful description and sharp wit and Mitchell mimics the patois masterfully.
At one point, the journal is interrupted, and the reader is brought into a series of letters written from a mansion in Belgium by young English composer Robert Frobisher in 1931. Frobisher has just become an assistant to an ailing, aging composer and writes about the struggles he endures as a poor, put-upon assistant to his friend (and implied lover) Dr. Rufus Sixsmith. Frobisher, it turns out, had discovered Ewing's journal in his new home and started reading it.
The letters are interrupted and the scene shifts to the 1970s, as journalist Luisa Rey attempts to uncover a scandal that could go to the very top of a Nuclear Energy Corporation (for which Rufus Sixsmith works). This story, written in the style of a bad detective novel, follows Rey as she gets closer to discovering the truth and simultaneously puts her life in peril.
At a cliffhanger moment, the story is interrupted and a new story begins in present-day England. This story follows Timothy Cavendish, a crotchety publishing executive who goes on the run after a jailed client's brothers demand a cut of the profits from their brother's book. Cavendish happens to read the Luisa Rey novel at various points, as it has been submitted to his firm for publication.
The story then jumps to Korea in what is meant to be a not-too-distant future (perhaps 100 or 200 years). A clone named Sonmi~451 (a "fabricant" designed specifically to be a waitress at a large fast-food chain) is being interviewed prior to her execution for developing the intelligence to lead an insurrection. At one point, Sonmi mentions watching the film adaptation of Cavendish's misadventures.
The final story takes place in a post-Apocalyptic Hawaii in the far-distant future, and is narrated in the storytelling tongue of a tribal goatherd named Zachry, who describes his encounter with the Prescients, a civilized people from across the sea, and who happens to worship Sonmi as a goddess. Unlike the other stories, this one is told in full without interruption, concluding the chronological narrative. But, the book is only halfway done at this point and goes on to revisit and finish each story in descending order, from Sonmi to Cavendish to Luisa Rey to Frobisher, and finally back to Adam Ewing. The book concludes in the Pacific, in 1849 with the end of Ewing's journal.
"Cloud Atlas" is a valiant undertaking, epic in its scope, yet intimate in its characterization; the words are delightfully and skillfully crafted and each story feels authentic to its genre. However, all of these wonderful features more or less end with themselves. The book and its author clearly strive to be something new, something transcendent and because the style of the book succeeds hands down in this regard, I built up my hopes for a profound message befitting the end of such a grand adventure. Yet, the book's ultimate conclusion is somewhat of a whimper, when one considers the medium: Ewing reflects on the greed in the hearts of man, a greed that he believes will ultimately be the undoing of mankind. Considering that Mitchell puts this same thought in several other character's heads at various points, it feels tired and obvious to the reader (though perhaps not so to Ewing, to whom the future is a blank slate, unwritten and mysterious). Don't get me wrong; it's not a bad ending, or a bad message to leave in the reader's mind--it just feels flimsy considering the innovation and intelligence of the writing and storytelling up to that point.
Overall, I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys writing. As much as I was let down by the ultimate conclusion and substance of the story, the author's mastery of style and language is to be commended. Evidently, Mitchell spent months researching and reading through old letters, journals and diaries to perfect his imitation of the 1849 diction and 1931 diction. His skill and brains as a writer are obvious throughout the journey; it's just too bad they run out of gas before the destination.
Overall: 8.5/10
I first heard about "Cloud Atlas" roughly one week ago when a friend of mine showed me a trailer for the upcoming film adaptation (slated to hit theaters Oct. 26). The trailer caught my attention: from what I could tell, the plot followed six different stories from vastly different times and places that seemed to overlap and connect in mysterious ways. Plus, a superb cast, including Tom Hanks, Halle Berry and Jim Broadbent, appeared to give the obviously unique story some traction (at least based on the short clips that were included in the trailer).
I discovered later, courtesy of a wikipedia search, that the movie was based on a 2004 novel by a British author, David Mitchell. Mitchell's story intrigued me, as he had spent years living in Japan, met and married a Japanese women and eventually settled in Ireland with his wife and children. Additionally, the book seemed highly acclaimed, so I decided to give it a read.
The book begins circa 1849 with the journal of a young American notary, Adam Ewing, as he begins the long journey home from the South Pacific on a small ship. Out of all iterations of the English language that might now be considered archaic, mid-1800s is my absolute favorite: Civil War-era journals, letters, speeches and newspapers are precisely written, yet always with colorful description and sharp wit and Mitchell mimics the patois masterfully.
At one point, the journal is interrupted, and the reader is brought into a series of letters written from a mansion in Belgium by young English composer Robert Frobisher in 1931. Frobisher has just become an assistant to an ailing, aging composer and writes about the struggles he endures as a poor, put-upon assistant to his friend (and implied lover) Dr. Rufus Sixsmith. Frobisher, it turns out, had discovered Ewing's journal in his new home and started reading it.
The letters are interrupted and the scene shifts to the 1970s, as journalist Luisa Rey attempts to uncover a scandal that could go to the very top of a Nuclear Energy Corporation (for which Rufus Sixsmith works). This story, written in the style of a bad detective novel, follows Rey as she gets closer to discovering the truth and simultaneously puts her life in peril.
At a cliffhanger moment, the story is interrupted and a new story begins in present-day England. This story follows Timothy Cavendish, a crotchety publishing executive who goes on the run after a jailed client's brothers demand a cut of the profits from their brother's book. Cavendish happens to read the Luisa Rey novel at various points, as it has been submitted to his firm for publication.
The story then jumps to Korea in what is meant to be a not-too-distant future (perhaps 100 or 200 years). A clone named Sonmi~451 (a "fabricant" designed specifically to be a waitress at a large fast-food chain) is being interviewed prior to her execution for developing the intelligence to lead an insurrection. At one point, Sonmi mentions watching the film adaptation of Cavendish's misadventures.
The final story takes place in a post-Apocalyptic Hawaii in the far-distant future, and is narrated in the storytelling tongue of a tribal goatherd named Zachry, who describes his encounter with the Prescients, a civilized people from across the sea, and who happens to worship Sonmi as a goddess. Unlike the other stories, this one is told in full without interruption, concluding the chronological narrative. But, the book is only halfway done at this point and goes on to revisit and finish each story in descending order, from Sonmi to Cavendish to Luisa Rey to Frobisher, and finally back to Adam Ewing. The book concludes in the Pacific, in 1849 with the end of Ewing's journal.
"Cloud Atlas" is a valiant undertaking, epic in its scope, yet intimate in its characterization; the words are delightfully and skillfully crafted and each story feels authentic to its genre. However, all of these wonderful features more or less end with themselves. The book and its author clearly strive to be something new, something transcendent and because the style of the book succeeds hands down in this regard, I built up my hopes for a profound message befitting the end of such a grand adventure. Yet, the book's ultimate conclusion is somewhat of a whimper, when one considers the medium: Ewing reflects on the greed in the hearts of man, a greed that he believes will ultimately be the undoing of mankind. Considering that Mitchell puts this same thought in several other character's heads at various points, it feels tired and obvious to the reader (though perhaps not so to Ewing, to whom the future is a blank slate, unwritten and mysterious). Don't get me wrong; it's not a bad ending, or a bad message to leave in the reader's mind--it just feels flimsy considering the innovation and intelligence of the writing and storytelling up to that point.
Overall, I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys writing. As much as I was let down by the ultimate conclusion and substance of the story, the author's mastery of style and language is to be commended. Evidently, Mitchell spent months researching and reading through old letters, journals and diaries to perfect his imitation of the 1849 diction and 1931 diction. His skill and brains as a writer are obvious throughout the journey; it's just too bad they run out of gas before the destination.
Overall: 8.5/10
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Settled back in
I sat down with the intention of writing several times over the past few days, but somehow managed to get distracted each time, or else simply give up due to the mind-numbing effects of jet-lag.
I've been back in Japan for 5 days, now, and this evening, I'm not feeling remotely foggy or exhausted. In fact, I'm feeling pretty well adjusted and settled in. That's saying something, considering that I hadn't even set foot into my new apartment before Tuesday.
It's been a week of trying to feel out and craft a new normal for myself: namely, determining how living in such a nice apartment just a stone's throw from school on one side and two stone's throws from the eki (train station) on the other side will change my routines and patterns of living. When I first discovered I'd be living in this apartment several months ago, my prediction was that I'd be eating out more, due to an even closer proximity to all of the restaurants surrounding the eki. However, I hadn't banked on having such a spacious kitchen, an actual oven (which was conspicuously missing from the place I'd lived in last year), and a giant freezer that was just asking to be filled with meat and vegetables.
In addition, this was a week of small-talk:
1. I chatted with one of the regular waitresses at Jonathan's (a chain notable for making western-style breakfasts) about the challenges of studying Japanese.
2. When a ¥1000 bill that I'd used was not cooperating with the cash register at Jonathan's, I explained to the cashiers that I'd accidentally put my wallet through the wash and that had probably messed up the bill. They laughed and told me it would be okay.
3. Later that same day, I chatted with a Tully's barista about Ichiro's move to the Yankees.
4. During Friday's matsuri (festival), I asked a police officer who seemed to be monitoring traffic during the fireworks display how much longer the fireworks were going to be, and he replied that gradually the show was coming to an end.
5. I chatted with another Tully's barista about the highlights of the matsuri as it was ending.
6. I asked several of my students who I'd bumped into at various times about their summers.
7. Talking with several people at church, I asked how their summers had been and they asked how mine had been.
What's significant about each of the above conversations is that they all happened in Japanese, by and large! I still contend (and not just because it's the appropriate cultural response to a compliment) that I'm not skilled at Japanese and I still have a long way to go. This is true. I tried listening to the sermon at church today without an English translation headset and understood only individual words; very few entire sentences or overall ideas.
Furthermore, there's still a lot that I have no idea how to express in the Japanese language. Each conversation eventually ends with me asking the speaker to slow down, to repeat a word, to define a word (if they're bilingual), or to actually look up a word myself. Several conversations have ended in blank stares of confusion, and inevitable apologies from me.
However, what's changed from even two months ago is that some back-and-forth actually happens before the blank staring and confusion stage. As recently as June, I'd go to a restaurant or Tully's, perhaps, say the lines that I'd memorized, and if I was lucky, the waiter/waitress/barista/whoever would stick to the script that I'd anticipated. If they threw something new in, I'd typically panic and freeze up. No real back and forth, just a "wakarimasen" from me. Now, there's on-the-spot thinking involved; active listening; active responding. No, I'm not skilled, but I've taken a huge step forward thanks to Japanese 202! I plan to visit the shiyakusho (city hall) this week and see what courses they offer; even a weekly conversation class would be wonderful. In the case of the Tully's and Jonathan's workers, it has been strange and cool to actually have conversations with people I'd seen on a weekly (with Tully's, even daily) basis, but never actually spoken to beyond placing orders. It is refreshing.
And, I've found that no matter how limited I am in my Japanese abilities, no matter how foolish I think I sound, most Japanese people seem to genuinely appreciate the effort I'm making. It's been encouraging--I'd love to secure this level of skill as a foundation and build up from here--learning a language, even a little bit, changes the world that you live in. This Japan feels so different from the Japan that I first set foot on more than 3 and a half years ago. A little bit of understanding goes a long way.
I've been back in Japan for 5 days, now, and this evening, I'm not feeling remotely foggy or exhausted. In fact, I'm feeling pretty well adjusted and settled in. That's saying something, considering that I hadn't even set foot into my new apartment before Tuesday.
It's been a week of trying to feel out and craft a new normal for myself: namely, determining how living in such a nice apartment just a stone's throw from school on one side and two stone's throws from the eki (train station) on the other side will change my routines and patterns of living. When I first discovered I'd be living in this apartment several months ago, my prediction was that I'd be eating out more, due to an even closer proximity to all of the restaurants surrounding the eki. However, I hadn't banked on having such a spacious kitchen, an actual oven (which was conspicuously missing from the place I'd lived in last year), and a giant freezer that was just asking to be filled with meat and vegetables.
In addition, this was a week of small-talk:
1. I chatted with one of the regular waitresses at Jonathan's (a chain notable for making western-style breakfasts) about the challenges of studying Japanese.
2. When a ¥1000 bill that I'd used was not cooperating with the cash register at Jonathan's, I explained to the cashiers that I'd accidentally put my wallet through the wash and that had probably messed up the bill. They laughed and told me it would be okay.
3. Later that same day, I chatted with a Tully's barista about Ichiro's move to the Yankees.
4. During Friday's matsuri (festival), I asked a police officer who seemed to be monitoring traffic during the fireworks display how much longer the fireworks were going to be, and he replied that gradually the show was coming to an end.
5. I chatted with another Tully's barista about the highlights of the matsuri as it was ending.
6. I asked several of my students who I'd bumped into at various times about their summers.
7. Talking with several people at church, I asked how their summers had been and they asked how mine had been.
What's significant about each of the above conversations is that they all happened in Japanese, by and large! I still contend (and not just because it's the appropriate cultural response to a compliment) that I'm not skilled at Japanese and I still have a long way to go. This is true. I tried listening to the sermon at church today without an English translation headset and understood only individual words; very few entire sentences or overall ideas.
Furthermore, there's still a lot that I have no idea how to express in the Japanese language. Each conversation eventually ends with me asking the speaker to slow down, to repeat a word, to define a word (if they're bilingual), or to actually look up a word myself. Several conversations have ended in blank stares of confusion, and inevitable apologies from me.
However, what's changed from even two months ago is that some back-and-forth actually happens before the blank staring and confusion stage. As recently as June, I'd go to a restaurant or Tully's, perhaps, say the lines that I'd memorized, and if I was lucky, the waiter/waitress/barista/whoever would stick to the script that I'd anticipated. If they threw something new in, I'd typically panic and freeze up. No real back and forth, just a "wakarimasen" from me. Now, there's on-the-spot thinking involved; active listening; active responding. No, I'm not skilled, but I've taken a huge step forward thanks to Japanese 202! I plan to visit the shiyakusho (city hall) this week and see what courses they offer; even a weekly conversation class would be wonderful. In the case of the Tully's and Jonathan's workers, it has been strange and cool to actually have conversations with people I'd seen on a weekly (with Tully's, even daily) basis, but never actually spoken to beyond placing orders. It is refreshing.
And, I've found that no matter how limited I am in my Japanese abilities, no matter how foolish I think I sound, most Japanese people seem to genuinely appreciate the effort I'm making. It's been encouraging--I'd love to secure this level of skill as a foundation and build up from here--learning a language, even a little bit, changes the world that you live in. This Japan feels so different from the Japan that I first set foot on more than 3 and a half years ago. A little bit of understanding goes a long way.
Monday, July 30, 2012
ただいま、おかえり
As I was flying from Tokyo to Vancouver on a very long June 18th, I watched several in-flight movies. One was a Japanese film entitled ハナミズキ (pronounced "Hanamizuki", which is the Japanese name for the Dogwood tree). I am typically not someone who appreciates romantic movies, but I will admit that this one got to me. The film follows the relationship of Sae, an ambitious and intelligent girl who aspires to move beyond the small Hokkaido fishing village she grew up in and Kouhei, an earnest and hard-working boy who hopes to one day take over the family fishing boat.
Their dreams take them in different directions, as Sae attends Waseda University in Tokyo and Kouhei must struggle to support his mother and sister after his father passes away. Sae graduates and Kouhei recognizes that since he is in no position to follow her, he must let her go so that she can pursue an opportunity to work overseas.
Here's where the movie won me over: years pass. The American romantic movie would likely end with a timely and dramatic "don't go", a tearful (but immediate) reunion at the airport. Not so, here. Sae moves to New York and becomes engaged to a photojournalist she'd known at Waseda. Kouhei marries a local girl. When Sae and Kouhei reconnect at a friend's wedding, there is no infidelity to her fiancee or his wife. There is no stolen kiss. As they part ways, they embrace, with Kouhei's sincere wish that Sae "be happy." Again, years pass, and we find that Kouhei's wife has left him after the fishing business bankrupts--he now works on the crew of an industrial fishing boat, traveling the world. Sae's fiancee, we learn, was killed in Iraq and she returns to Hokkaido, heartbroken.
More time passes--10 years since Kouhei and Sae first met, and Sae now teaches English to school-children in her small home-town. Nobody has seen or heard from Kouhei since he left on the fishing boat. The movie concludes with Kouhei walking up the driveway to Sae's house as Sae is dismissing her students.
"ただいま", Kouhei says.
"おかえり", Sae replies.
They fall into one another's arms in a passionate embrace and the credits roll (with Yo Hitoto's hit song ハナミズキ , on which the movie was based, playing over them). I must confess I brushed away a tear.
ただいま (pronounced "tadaima") and おかえり(pronounced "okaeri") are standard "Lesson 1" material in any introductory Japanese class.
ただいま means "I'm home", and おかえり means "welcome back". They are some of the most commonly used expressions in the Japanese language and are spoken just about anytime anybody sets foot in the door, from school-children on up through retired おばさん and おじさん (old folks).
Here's something I love about the Japanese language that I feel is not present (or at least not as present) in English: Japanese expressions such as this one are fairly simple and spare... and as such, can carry varying amounts of meaning based on the context in which they are spoken. They can, and often do become ritualistic, perhaps meaningless... but in that closing scene, there was something about the use of these simple, common, routine expressions after all that had befallen these two characters, after so many years, that charged the phrases with meaning, beauty and power.
ただいま... not merely hanging one's hat at the end of the work-day, but discovering that one has a place to call home, that wanderings and loneliness will cease, that separation from loved ones will end, a deep joy and gratitude for a home to return to.
おかえり... a profound gratitude and joy in the homecoming of a loved one, the end of separation and the promise of love and fellowship, delight in having one with whom to share home.
I honestly believe there are few words in the Japanese language (or any language) quite so beautiful in their simplicity, in the potential depth and weight of their full meaning.
It was my privilege to say ただいま on June 18 and live ただいま over the past 6 weeks as I've spent time with family, friends, and church in my Washington home. It will be my privilege to say ただいま tomorrow as I return to my home in Japan. God has blessed me so richly in providing me with two places where to travel to either feels like a homecoming. The goodbyes sting, but they seem so minor and insignificant in the face of the promise of a ただいま , both immediate and far-off.
To my family and friends in Washington, thank you so much for giving me a place to come home to for the summer, and for all of the love, support and encouragement you show me. いってきます。I'll leave now, and return by and by. To my friends, colleagues, students, and "adoptive" family in Japan, I will see you soon and look forward to saying ただいま on that side of the ocean.
Their dreams take them in different directions, as Sae attends Waseda University in Tokyo and Kouhei must struggle to support his mother and sister after his father passes away. Sae graduates and Kouhei recognizes that since he is in no position to follow her, he must let her go so that she can pursue an opportunity to work overseas.
Here's where the movie won me over: years pass. The American romantic movie would likely end with a timely and dramatic "don't go", a tearful (but immediate) reunion at the airport. Not so, here. Sae moves to New York and becomes engaged to a photojournalist she'd known at Waseda. Kouhei marries a local girl. When Sae and Kouhei reconnect at a friend's wedding, there is no infidelity to her fiancee or his wife. There is no stolen kiss. As they part ways, they embrace, with Kouhei's sincere wish that Sae "be happy." Again, years pass, and we find that Kouhei's wife has left him after the fishing business bankrupts--he now works on the crew of an industrial fishing boat, traveling the world. Sae's fiancee, we learn, was killed in Iraq and she returns to Hokkaido, heartbroken.
More time passes--10 years since Kouhei and Sae first met, and Sae now teaches English to school-children in her small home-town. Nobody has seen or heard from Kouhei since he left on the fishing boat. The movie concludes with Kouhei walking up the driveway to Sae's house as Sae is dismissing her students.
"ただいま", Kouhei says.
"おかえり", Sae replies.
They fall into one another's arms in a passionate embrace and the credits roll (with Yo Hitoto's hit song ハナミズキ , on which the movie was based, playing over them). I must confess I brushed away a tear.
ただいま (pronounced "tadaima") and おかえり(pronounced "okaeri") are standard "Lesson 1" material in any introductory Japanese class.
ただいま means "I'm home", and おかえり means "welcome back". They are some of the most commonly used expressions in the Japanese language and are spoken just about anytime anybody sets foot in the door, from school-children on up through retired おばさん and おじさん (old folks).
Here's something I love about the Japanese language that I feel is not present (or at least not as present) in English: Japanese expressions such as this one are fairly simple and spare... and as such, can carry varying amounts of meaning based on the context in which they are spoken. They can, and often do become ritualistic, perhaps meaningless... but in that closing scene, there was something about the use of these simple, common, routine expressions after all that had befallen these two characters, after so many years, that charged the phrases with meaning, beauty and power.
ただいま... not merely hanging one's hat at the end of the work-day, but discovering that one has a place to call home, that wanderings and loneliness will cease, that separation from loved ones will end, a deep joy and gratitude for a home to return to.
おかえり... a profound gratitude and joy in the homecoming of a loved one, the end of separation and the promise of love and fellowship, delight in having one with whom to share home.
I honestly believe there are few words in the Japanese language (or any language) quite so beautiful in their simplicity, in the potential depth and weight of their full meaning.
It was my privilege to say ただいま on June 18 and live ただいま over the past 6 weeks as I've spent time with family, friends, and church in my Washington home. It will be my privilege to say ただいま tomorrow as I return to my home in Japan. God has blessed me so richly in providing me with two places where to travel to either feels like a homecoming. The goodbyes sting, but they seem so minor and insignificant in the face of the promise of a ただいま , both immediate and far-off.
To my family and friends in Washington, thank you so much for giving me a place to come home to for the summer, and for all of the love, support and encouragement you show me. いってきます。I'll leave now, and return by and by. To my friends, colleagues, students, and "adoptive" family in Japan, I will see you soon and look forward to saying ただいま on that side of the ocean.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
100 Miles From Ideal
Okay, so I have to give some credit for the title above to my brother--Ben was brainstorming good blog names a while back, and came up with something similar: 112 miles to Hope. I'm not sure if he will end up using that as his blog name, but if he does, it will be a good choice: Ben is (as of last week) living in Kyle, South Dakota, exactly 112 miles from the city of Hope. I tried to find Hope on a map, and couldn't... but I did notice that Kyle is 100 miles from Ideal, South Dakota (hence my title for this post).
Either way, the geographical word-play happens to sum up, to some degree, the circumstances that Ben will be working in this coming year, as he begins a two-year contract teaching high school math on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, a placement arranged by Teach for America.
It's not ideal, and hope, indeed, appears elusive when one considers the history of this land. Pine Ridge is home to a group of Native Americans commonly known as the Oglala Sioux. Having attended college in Iowa, in a town called Sioux Center, in the middle of Sioux County, about halfway between Sioux Falls, SD and Sioux City, Iowa, I always assumed that Sioux was a legitimate name. Not so--"Sioux" is, in fact, a derisive term. The inhabitants of the Pine Ridge Reservation are actually members of the Lakota tribe; the name "Sioux", like so much else, is a battle-scar from their history, a product of the injustice and violence brought against them in the name of "Manifest Destiny" centuries ago. The most famous incident to take place on the land was the Wounded Knee Massacre of December 29, 1890, in which U.S. Cavalry opened fire on a Lakota camp, killing women and children as well as warriors and slaughtering many who were unarmed. More than 150 Lakota died that day.
The Old West and the American Frontier are long gone, but time has not been kind to the descendants of the Lakota who endured such tragedies as Wounded Knee. The list of societal challenges is grim, the statistics staggering: high suicide rates, low life expectancy, high diabetes rates, high alcoholism, high rates of pedophilia, not to mention high drop-out rates within the schools on the reservation... sadly, the list could keep going.
This is the situation that my brother has stepped into, and it is in the small town of Kyle, South Dakota that he will strive to be an agent of healing and at the very least, care, as he teaches 9th and 10th grade math classes. As Christians, we live (or should live, anyway) as those who have hope. Even when life is difficult, we can rest assured in the truth that our hope is built not on earthly success or failure, but on Christ's love and righteousness. We also know that it's a struggle to live this way consistently, and very easy to get caught up in our own problems when things aren't going well. Imagine, then, how very difficult it is for a person who is born into a world where the numbers predict that you're likely not to graduate from high school, likely not to have steady employment, likely to die before you turn 50... how difficult it would be to hold onto hope.
No, it's not ideal. Yet we know that hope is not just an ideal, but a reality and a reality worth sharing. Ben is a wise and talented guy and I know that the LORD will use him to do great things in this situation. I invite you to join me in praying for Ben as he becomes a part of this community--prayers on his teaching, prayers on his relationship with his colleagues, prayers on his relationship to a group of people who have essentially been beaten up by history and prayers for his own spiritual walk in a challenging climate.
On behalf of Ben, thank you for your prayers!
Either way, the geographical word-play happens to sum up, to some degree, the circumstances that Ben will be working in this coming year, as he begins a two-year contract teaching high school math on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, a placement arranged by Teach for America.
It's not ideal, and hope, indeed, appears elusive when one considers the history of this land. Pine Ridge is home to a group of Native Americans commonly known as the Oglala Sioux. Having attended college in Iowa, in a town called Sioux Center, in the middle of Sioux County, about halfway between Sioux Falls, SD and Sioux City, Iowa, I always assumed that Sioux was a legitimate name. Not so--"Sioux" is, in fact, a derisive term. The inhabitants of the Pine Ridge Reservation are actually members of the Lakota tribe; the name "Sioux", like so much else, is a battle-scar from their history, a product of the injustice and violence brought against them in the name of "Manifest Destiny" centuries ago. The most famous incident to take place on the land was the Wounded Knee Massacre of December 29, 1890, in which U.S. Cavalry opened fire on a Lakota camp, killing women and children as well as warriors and slaughtering many who were unarmed. More than 150 Lakota died that day.
The Old West and the American Frontier are long gone, but time has not been kind to the descendants of the Lakota who endured such tragedies as Wounded Knee. The list of societal challenges is grim, the statistics staggering: high suicide rates, low life expectancy, high diabetes rates, high alcoholism, high rates of pedophilia, not to mention high drop-out rates within the schools on the reservation... sadly, the list could keep going.
This is the situation that my brother has stepped into, and it is in the small town of Kyle, South Dakota that he will strive to be an agent of healing and at the very least, care, as he teaches 9th and 10th grade math classes. As Christians, we live (or should live, anyway) as those who have hope. Even when life is difficult, we can rest assured in the truth that our hope is built not on earthly success or failure, but on Christ's love and righteousness. We also know that it's a struggle to live this way consistently, and very easy to get caught up in our own problems when things aren't going well. Imagine, then, how very difficult it is for a person who is born into a world where the numbers predict that you're likely not to graduate from high school, likely not to have steady employment, likely to die before you turn 50... how difficult it would be to hold onto hope.
No, it's not ideal. Yet we know that hope is not just an ideal, but a reality and a reality worth sharing. Ben is a wise and talented guy and I know that the LORD will use him to do great things in this situation. I invite you to join me in praying for Ben as he becomes a part of this community--prayers on his teaching, prayers on his relationship with his colleagues, prayers on his relationship to a group of people who have essentially been beaten up by history and prayers for his own spiritual walk in a challenging climate.
On behalf of Ben, thank you for your prayers!
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Phase 3
It feels to me as though my time at home in Washington this summer has been divided up into three distinct phases. Phase One revolved around my Japanese class, which consumed nearly all of my spare time and attention. Phase Two began several days after my class wrapped up, when Ben came home. He'd been in "Teach for America" training in Phoenix up through the first week of July, and came home for a quick rest before leaving this morning for Kyle, South Dakota, where he will be teaching this coming year. Phase Two involved a lot of down-time (since that was what Ben needed the most while he was home), and a lot of time spent in fellowship with folks from my home-church, Wiser Lake Chapel--to be precise, a Tuesday evening potluck and discussion lead by Ben, two weeks' worth of Wednesday evening softball games/barbecues, a Wednesday morning prayer meeting and, of course, both a morning and evening service this past Sunday. It was a relatively uneventful 10 days, but provided a chance to catch up on rest after the intensity of the class I took (and really, the end of the school-year at CAJ, which had been followed closely by my summer class). When Ben's Ford Explorer turned out of the driveway early this morning, Phase Three began. This will last until I fly out for Japan on July 30. It will be a quiet phase, with my brother away, my sister working and my parents leaving for several days next week. It will be a time of reflection on what has been, of preparation for what's to come--both my return to Japan and the impending school-year.
Summer is a precious time to me, and each year, I wonder if I am really making the most of my summers. Recently, someone commented that I must really like taking pictures of sunsets--as a matter of fact, I will drop what I am doing to go outside and watch a summer sunset from the field behind the house. To stay inside when such a breathtaking show is taking place would seem a waste. So, I go outside, and I watch, and I take pictures on the off-chance that at least one of my pictures will do justice to the scene I am enjoying.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Imagination
"At last, we meet again... Ganon, king of thieves!"
I am Link, the hero of time, and I have scaled snow-capped mountains, fought through dark forests and crossed a treacherous ravine high above unforgiving rapids to reach this moment, this showdown to end all showdowns.
The beast Ganon lifts his head, tongue lolling obscenely, and a taunting sneer curls his lips, revealing yellow fangs. This intimidates me, but I approach, unwilling to let the fear conquer me.
"You have stolen the mythical Triforce for the last time, you vile pig monster. Now draw your weapon, and meet your maker!" I draw the legendary Master Sword and brandish it.
Our 10-year old Belgian Terveuren, Tango, is not amused by the sight of her 8-year old master yelling at her and waving around a dull machete, so she trots past me and back through the stream that I just put so much effort into crossing.
"Ohoho, a coward, are we? Come back and fight like a man!" I call after the slovenly beast, who has beat a hasty retreat and somehow cleared the ravine in 5 seconds.
"Probably dark magic from the Triforce of Power", I mutter to myself.
I have no option but to give chase. I sprint along the ravine to the rickety rope bridge that spans the chasm, and deciding that this is no time for caution, I bound across the bridge, which sways and creaks uncertainly below me. Far below, I can hear the rushing of the rapids, warning the brave and inviting the foolish.
The logs that I had placed across the shallow stream are, unfortunately, more IN the water than they are over the water and are, as a result, somewhat slippery.
"GAAAH!" I'm nearly across the bridge when the rope snaps under the pressure of my footfall and for a brief, sickening moment, I am in free-fall...
Then, I catch a shrub that was, most fortuitously, jutting from the otherwise bare rock-face and I climb the cliff quickly, finding the right foot-holds and hand-holds on the first try. Hoisting myself back onto solid ground, I spy the retreating form of the despicable Ganon disappearing behind a bend in the path ahead.
"Stop in the name of the law of Hyrule!" I bellow, and decide that this is the time for a new strategy. I sheath the legendary blade and take my bow from across my back. Deftly, I draw an arrow from the quiver, string it, and pulling back the arrow, I aim high above the tree line. I adjust, noting that the wind seems to be strong today. If my aim is true, I will stop Ganon in his hideous tracks, and have done away with the shroud of evil that has darkened the land as of late.
My bow-string is made of slightly too much barn twine, and is not at all taut. The arrow that I'd made by whittling a point onto the straightest twig I could find in the woods falls lamely to the ground at my feet.
"Drat! I've misfired. That never happens--it's dark sorcery, that's what it is. Curse you, Ganon! Curse you from the dizzying heights of Death Mountain to the bowels of the underworld from whence you came!"
I search my pack for a tool that might just save the day... surely there must be something that I have forgotten.
"YES! PEGASUS BOOTS!" I exclaim, retrieving the fabled footwear from my pack. The Pegasus Boots endow the wearer with extraordinary speed.
Using more barn-twine, I tie two cardboard wings to my muddy rubber boots and begin to run as fast as I can.
I feel as though I am flying, that my feet are like the hoofs of the winged-horse of myth. Except, the myth has been born into glorious reality on this day, as the boots carry me swiftly across a journey that had taken oh, so many days to make the first time. The terrain changes below me, from cliff, to moss, to marsh, to sand, to field... and then, in front of me:
"GANON!" I gasp, coming to a sudden, yet graceful halt.
Tango lazily walks in a small circle three times, and then plops down on the grass for a nap.
The beast teeters, and collapses before my eyes. As its bulk hits the surface of the earth, a mighty quake rocks everything around me, but when the shaking stops--stillness. Perhaps it was the chase did him in. Perhaps it was fear of the legendary blade, or the wrath of my bow. Perhaps it was the power of the seven sages. One thing, and one alone is clear: I have defeated the beast; I have defeated Ganon!
I draw my blade and wave it in the air triumphantly.
"Long live Hyrule!" I shout, and the sky seems to clear all of a sudden, the despair and gloom lifting with the demise of the grotesque Ganon. I sheath the blade for what may be the last time and the giant, revolting carcass of Ganon disappears in a puff of smoke. When the smoke clears, I spy the fair Princess Zelda, waking from her enchanted slumber. I kneel before the princess.
"M'lady. I have slain the ferocious monster, Ganon, and freed Hyrule from the grips of evil. I do not ask for anything in return, no reward, no land, no kiss. My sole request is that you rule with justice and with goodness."
Tango, who seems relieved that her new role involves no yelling or machete-waving, licks my face forcefully, and with no shortage of slobber.
I withdraw, revolted.
"Uggh, Princess! I said 'NO KISS!'"
The End. Because it was dinner-time and I had to go inside.
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