The plane broke through low lying cloud surrounding Dublin airport and rain drops blurred my first views of the home I had left behind 735 days earlier. Everyone assured me that it hadn't rained in weeks, and the sudden shower was sure not to last, but I was happier to arrive into a drizzly, grey capital. It wouldn't have felt like home otherwise. The country was more golden than I remembered, and aside from near death experiences with the new LUAS rail system and dodging children who all glide around these days on roller shoes, the transition back into the so-called Real World has been remarkably smooth.
So I'm home with a new house, new flatmates, a new bicycle, a new (temporary!) job and new hopes, new dreams and new goals. Sometimes, my time in Japan seems like a strange faraway dream, but then I spot a kanji t-shirt and smile...or have to stop myself before I say "keitai" and "ganbatte"...or smell the hiba incense in my room and all of a sudden I could be there....under the skies of Aomori....wandering home....beneath the rising sun....
This will be my last journal entry. Thanks to everyone for stopping by and reading, for your comments and your thoughts and for being a part of the last two years in Japan...会うは別かりの始まり....Keep in touch, Ange x
On the day that marked my two years in Japan my former supervisor stopped by the office with a hand-made "hanko" and red ink pot in a tiny embroidered case. Instead of carving the kanji for my name, the hanko spells out "天使", the Japanese for angel. On our final Friday we went to Tea Ceremony with our Office Ladies, sitting and bowing and hurting and drinking and appreciating. But I couldn't get Mrs Doyle and the idea of a Japanese Father Ted from my head and spent the evening biting my lip with thoughts of "douzo, douzo, douzo.." My Kacho took us out for lunch on our last day of work. I ordered soba, a huge mound of yellow brown noodles landing on my plate. "Yamamori", Mr K grinned, nodding to the food. I smiled, my mind moving swiftly to home. (Click on the picture for more shots of Aomori life) The final days were spent packing in the heat and taking long night cycles in the early night. Revisiting my favourite places, spending time with my favourite people and eating all my favourite things. On my last afternoon I was buying presents at my local bakery when one of my favourite little students skipped by. "Miss Angela!" she grinned. "Are you off swimming?" I asked, looking to her swim bag. "Yep", she nodded. "Well, have fun", I smiled. "I will!" she yelled, racing down the hot pathway. The last speck of snow melted from the summit of Iwaki and the last of my good-byes said, I pulled out of Hirosaki station early on a Sunday morning. Walking back to my hotel that night in Narita City I stumbled upon a vending machine selling rice. I knew then it was time to leave. I had seen it all.
All day long the windows were open letting a warm breeze blow through the classroom. The cicadas hummed along with the noise of the math teacher's gum shoes, squeaking down the corridor. We played fun games as always with the Fungame Teacher. Read and Run, the Association Game, Hints and Clues and Changing Places. At break-time I chatted as always with my favourite student at Polestar. At one point he moon walked across the staff-room, muttering "Mikaru Jakuson" before getting to the door and calling out "shitsureshimasu" still in character. Leaving me smiling to myself at my desk, filled with my thank you cards, pens, text-books, lesson plans and a plate of kujira mochi. The third graders asked me to tell them what was the most impressive thing about Hirosaki. Iwaki, I reply. How every day it is different, but the same. And the most exciting? Neputa. The drums. The lanterns. The chants. What was the hardest thing? Being an object, but I bought into that by accepting my place on the program. Being stereotyped. But sometimes I merely confirmed that stereotype. And what will you do first when you get home? Go to the hairdressers! What will you miss most about Japan? The smell of tatami mats in the summer. How the snowflakes stick to your eyelashes. The way the lights fall on the river road after it rains. The bell sounded and the class was over. The bravest student came to say his speech. "We will never forget you, don't forget us". I wished them luck in the future, with High School and their future English studies. We took a photo. In the quieter moments, when the students ran about piecing together the Read and Run story, I looked around the classroom and taught back to that first day, when all the posters around the room were strange unfamiliar signs of messages I couldn't understand. Now I could see the timetable. Math first, then English and Social Studies. The School Trip to Tokyo. The Henri Dumant picture that used to confuse me so much - their allegiance to the Red Cross. Their goals for the summer term. On the back board "the ALT is here" written beside the 18th and 19th of July. Walking down the corridor I laughed at the messages written by the students on my cards. "I don't like English, thank you", "English is very happy", "Thank you, I love you, I want you". I opened packages filled with more beautiful presents. A pink furoshiki - "do you know furoshiki?", Tsugaru embroidery, and of course, a Pae Yon Joon mirror - what else?! As the car pulled up the students and teachers lined the corridor and joined hands to make a long bridge for me to pass under. Changing out of my indoor shoes, now old and tattered from too many self-introductions and games of Criss Cross, I turned and smiled and bowed. "Osaki ni shitsureshimasu". My days as an ALT were over.
There is something I've discovered recently when it comes to packing. Whatever amount of things you imagine you have multiply it by 7 and you will find the amount of things you actually have. So, I was standing the kictchen surrounded by the-things-that-were-supposed-to-fit-into-one-box-but-had-filled-three when the doorbell rang. There on the doorstep was the most beautiful bunch of pink and white roses sent across many seas. And the second surprise only minutes later when the birthday belles arrived to whisk me away to the party room filled with all my favourite things.
Thank you so, so much birthday belles. I was truly spoiled.
And to everyone for phonecalls, messages and for filling my post box and my inbox - 23 has been wonderful, can't wait to see you all during 24.
I made a movie! Unfortunately, even youtube only allows movies up to 100MB, which meant I had to upload it at the lowest resolution, so the quality is really poor. But, you get the picture.
This answers the "so what have you been up to for the last two years?" query.
32 Elementary Schools, 120 School Lunches, 500 Self Introductions and approximately 10,000 autographs. (No kidding). Life as a "One Shot ALT" is endlessly exciting, utterly exhausting and always energetic. Each day, as you cross the genkan and change into your indoor shoes you have absolutely no idea what lies ahead. But you can be sure of one thing. It will undoubtedly be madness, mayhem and, hopefully, (after a few goes at least) magic.
And so, the time has come to pass on my gems of wisdom to those who follow in my footsteps. Without further ado, here is my......
1. Know that Hard Gay does not refer to a lewd sexual act but to a mainstream, child-friendly comedian who graces TV shows wearing little more than a pair of leather hot pants. This will explain why most seven-year-old boys you meet will greet you with a pelvic thrust motion and why it is impossible to teach numbers to any grade without everyone collapsing into giggles when you get to the number 4. (HG's trademark slogan is the chant "Fuuuuu") You will also be asked at least once a day "do you like Hard Gay?" For months before I discovered who this "talent" was I was utterly disturbed by the teachers lack of concern at the seemingly inappropriate question and muttered a slightly embarrased, "em...no" before wondering what of my apperance seemed to suggest I might.
2. Remember that if you learn Japanese from eight-year-olds you will speak like an eight-year-old. I arrived in Elementary School barely knowing my sashimi from my sayonaras and quickly realized I would have to do some serious study if my classes were going to be even moderately succesful. (Just for a laugh now, try explaining "What Time Is It Mr. Wolf" using only your body and the verb "run" to forty of your most hyperactive friends. You get the picture.) But the best thing about Elementary School is that you have hundreds of teachers on hand at every given moment to teach you a thing or two about their language. Children are the best communicators as they are seemingly oblivious to butchered verbs and scewed sentences and will happily babble away to you for an entire lunch-time as you gaze on in silent stupor. In my first year, my students were my only teachers and I learned everything from them. This is why I can now converse for at least thirty minutes on the entire species of the beetle family and the varying characters in the Pokemon series, but have absolutely no idea how to get my shirts dry cleaned. It is also why my Japanese is far from the polite standard expected of a foreign university-schooled ALT. I discovered this only recently when, out to dinner with an older (and very refined friend) I turned to her before the meal and announced "hara heta ga?" to her absolute horror. It turns out the phrase I had been taught for "are you hungry?" by a sweet little third grader in my first week (and which I have been using ever since) translates roughly as "je*us I'm f**king starving".
3. Note the difference between "suwaru" (to sit) and "sawaru" (to touch). I don't think this requires much more explanation.
4. "Dame" is your friend. Meaning "no!" or "don't do that!" it will come in handy. Especially when little hands are reaching for anything they can grab onto. And that's not always going to be your hair or your hands.
5. Harry Potter is your friend. I can't stress enough how grateful I am to JK Rowling for getting me through many a lunch-time of feeling like an oversized outcast. Thankfully, the boy wizard is as popular here as at home and on almost every child's shelf you will spot a copy or two of the latest volume. Even better is that words like "Ron", "Snape" and "Voldemort" are simply katakana-ized in the Japanese versions which means you can have endless chats about who likes who and which movie is the best. The Harry Potter Action Game, where five students are picked as "Voldemorts" and run about brandishing chopsticks as wands commanding their friends to "skip" or "jump" is one of the only times I have seen too-cool-for-school Sixth Graders get excited. Harry Potter is also a brilliant reference when the time comes to explain about Halloween (bear in mind as a One Shot you may be doing Halloween lessons in April!) and perfect for relating your world to a class of ten-year-olds who have trouble even contemplating life in Tokyo, let alone life in a tiny little island a few hundred kilometres away. One of my most memorable moments in Shogakkou came a few weeks ago when, walking into a class of Fifth Graders who I had not seen in a year I asked, "do you remember where I am from?" and they all chorused back at me "the country beside Harry Potter's country!" I was overjoyed!
6. Ditch the jiko-shokai (self-introduction). Seriously. You will soon come to realize having spent thirty minutes drawing elaborate maps of the integration system of the European Union that all Elementary School children care about is "what is your favourite shape?" My self-introduction over time has evolved from Euro coins, family photos and bobbling shamrock hairbands to my name and a picture of my "sukinamushi" (favourite insect) - a ladybird. With the older grades I sometimes go into the differences between life at an Elementary School in Japan and life in a Primary School in Ireland. (Funninly enough the kids are always very accepting of the fact that my school was run by nuns, was devoid of males and allowed us two whole months in the summer to spend at our leisure. The thing that continually gets the biggest reaction and level of incomprehension is that we wear the same shoes inside and oustide.)
7. Expect personal questions by the bucketload and don't expect the teacher to stop the children asking. Often, they are just as interested to find out about your weight, love life and age. What you choose to reply is your own peference, but go easy on the sarcasm. On one particularly tiresome day I got agitated by the "do you have a boyfriend" question and smartly replied, "yes, I have three" to a poor inquisitive fourth grader. The look on the teachers face swiftly told me that was not the right thing to say.
8. Jazz it up. Though it may be your sevenhundredandsevntyfifth time that month singing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes", it is the first time for that child, and the last thing they want is a bored looking ALT standing by the CD player half-heartedly touching their toes. As a One Shot what you can teach in a forty-five minute class is hugely limited and the standard of English from First to Sixth Grade is essentially the same (the Sixth Graders having understandably forgotten what they learned the previous year.) To keep yourself from going insane from the endless rounds of "how are you?", "i'm fine" stilted conversations be sure to shake things up as often as you can. I've been lucky to have KT there every day to share materials and games that work and to bounce ideas off. Generally we have found that teaching kids about the weather, the days of the week and shopping is about as disastrous as it sounds and that insects, dice, sticky balls and shaking your bum are the way to go. The stupider you look and feel the better the class. (Though that doesn't go for sixth graders. In that case, you will also feel stupid.)
9. Practice your signature, you be "sign"ing up to 100 times a day. Once, I even had to sign "Angela 180cms" for a group of adorable second graders. And recently, KT came back from school with the story that not only did she have to sign her name but the enthusiastic Elementary Schoolers had asked for her to forge my name too. Bless. Buy a little chopsticks set so you don't feel like the environment damager as you munch through a few hundred pairs of waribashi a year. And yes, get used to being told how talented you are at using them, every day. Learn the rules of dodge ball to avoid being whacked in the face as the tallest target in the yard. Know your blood-type and "doshi" (Chinese Year of Birth) as you will be asked after every self-intro. Know your Orange Range from your Katun and your Crayon shin-chan from your Kitty-chan. Don't ask what you are eating for school lunch, just eat it. (I went from pushing the food around my plate and trying to pawn it off on my neighbours to looking forward to it and gobbling it down. And natto has never made the school menu in Hirosaki.) Enjoy the variety of broadcasts during lunch-time from story-telling to quizzes to classical music. On one particularly fun day I got to eat my rice to a the profanities of Eminem, whilst everyone else bopped on obliviously.
10. And lastly, if everything is going to the dogs, just stop, take a deep breath and let the Engrish found on every student's t-shirt and pencil case entertain you. You'll be smiling for days.....
Glazed strawberries and bright red arches. Silent prayers and smiling faces. Simmering devil's tongue in smelly broth. Sizzling pancakes. Purifying water and dozens of dreams handwritten on small hanging plaques. White paper ties against colourful umbrellas. Doreamon balloons and Hello Kitty Masks. Tall bottles of syrup in every flavour. Crushed ice and scoops of ice-cream. Ringing bells mixed with laughter and noisy "irrashaimases". The smell of frying chicken and incense. Pink bananas with chocolate sprinkles. Rainbow obis. Clunking geta. All in the shadow of the darkened five-storied pagoda.
What is this Angela? Why, it's a photo of hundreds of sparkling fireflies shining in the night sky taken tonight at Jousenji. It was going to be the most magical of evenings and we drove all the way into the mountains to witness the natural display of glowing green against an almost full moon. But we had only been there five minutes when I realized the litre of soda water I had drunk on the journey was probably not the best idea and I sort of hopped around for the hour and a half in time to the rising and falling of the shining flies.
(I blame my distraction on the lack of even one fleeting picture of the scene - I'm afraid you'll just have to use your imagination.)
The Lovely Ladies of the Iwaki Office (minus one Lovely Blonde) July 5th, 2006
The most memorable moment of our final office farewell was when my former Kacho re-enacted the moment when he opened mine and KT's JET applications in June of 2004. (He jumped in the air shouting "yeesssss!") (J, don't fill me in on the real reaction!)
We stumbled upon (or rather, were dragged into) a concert of shamisen and yosakoi at the Onsen Village.
Everyone marvelled at our ability to eat onigiri and tsukemono, and when the concert was over and the performers had been applauded warmly for their talents, we got a clap too.
Just for being there. (Or perhaps for my tsukemono prowess. I'm not sure.)
I was only thinking about them the other day. Sorting through my shoe boxes of faded ticket stubs and crumpled school reports I found the diary I kept from my early days in Japan, way back in 2004. Sitting down with a mug of coffee last week I started to read through the scribbles, the feelings and the myriad of thoughts of those early days, which are as vivid as yesterday. Before we got caught up in the hum drum of routine, when days faded into one another as life took shape and began to pass by.
That day we had gotten up early and decided to drive to Lake Towada. We rented swan boats and raced each other around the lake. The weather was beginning to change and that late September coolness chilled the air. Back in Hirosaki we stopped into an izakaya for dinner. I remember it because the owner couldn't fathom the word "vegetarian" and poor Ms. C ate three grilled peppers on a stick all night. And because of the dusty Guinness on the shelf. And the locals. Full of chat. It was up to M to do all the translating that night (though not much has changed there!) They were talking about salsa dancing, weren't they? Or maybe I'm wrong. And afterwards we had gone to Papa Soul and had a heated debate about politics. We cooled down in Sakurano Onsen at 4 in the morning. That was the night she lost her locker. We still laugh about that sometimes. Those were the early days. When everything was still so new, so wonderfully strange and yet somehow so familiar.
The owner had taken a photo. But, I had forgotten about that.
Tonight I had my Farewell Party for my English Club. Saying goodbye to the amazing group of people I have been lucky enough to spend every Wednesday evening for the last year with. It was in that izakaya. I hadn't been back since that night. And when I walked in he spotted it straight away. There, on the wall, blown up to A5 size and laminated, was the picture. Four gaijin girls smiling back at me as I opened my beautiful presents and gave a somewhat garbled speech in Japanese, hugged everyone good-bye and left with a page of addresses for Christmas cards and a stack of photos, all ready for my new, as of yet unfilled, shoe box.
Hirosaki's Eigo Club 2006 Started by an Irish ALT in 1990 and now passed on to my fellow Irishite to continue the conversations into 2007 Because it's important that the local English speakers understand the correct usage of the terms "knacker", "grand" and "langered".
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ange_s's journal
The plane broke through low lying cloud surrounding Dublin airport and rain drops blurred my first views of the home I had left behind 735 days earlier. Everyone assured me that it hadn't rained in weeks, and the sudden shower was sure not to last, but I was happier to arrive into a drizzly, grey capital. It wouldn't have felt like home otherwise. The country was more golden than I remembered, and aside from near death experiences with the new LUAS rail system and dodging children who all glide around these days on roller shoes, the transition back into the so-called Real World has been remarkably smooth.
All day long the windows were open letting a warm breeze blow through the classroom. The cicadas hummed along with the noise of the math teacher's gum shoes, squeaking down the corridor. We played fun games as always with the Fungame Teacher. Read and Run, the Association Game, Hints and Clues and Changing Places. At break-time I chatted as always with my favourite student at Polestar. At one point he moon walked across the staff-room, muttering "Mikaru Jakuson" before getting to the door and calling out "shitsureshimasu" still in character. Leaving me smiling to myself at my desk, filled with my thank you cards, pens, text-books, lesson plans and a plate of kujira mochi. The third graders asked me to tell them what was the most impressive thing about Hirosaki. Iwaki, I reply. How every day it is different, but the same. And the most exciting? Neputa. The drums. The lanterns. The chants. What was the hardest thing? Being an object, but I bought into that by accepting my place on the program. Being stereotyped. But sometimes I merely confirmed that stereotype. And what will you do first when you get home? Go to the hairdressers! What will you miss most about Japan? The smell of tatami mats in the summer. How the snowflakes stick to your eyelashes. The way the lights fall on the river road after it rains. The bell sounded and the class was over. The bravest student came to say his speech. "We will never forget you, don't forget us". I wished them luck in the future, with High School and their future English studies. We took a photo. 
"I don't like English, thank you", "English is very happy", "Thank you, I love you, I want you". I opened packages filled with more beautiful presents. A pink furoshiki - "do you know furoshiki?", Tsugaru embroidery, and of course, a Pae Yon Joon mirror - what else?! As the car pulled up the students and teachers lined the corridor and joined hands to make a long bridge for me to pass under. Changing out of my indoor shoes, now old and tattered from too many self-introductions and games of Criss Cross, I turned and smiled and bowed. "Osaki ni shitsureshimasu". My days as an ALT were over. 
There is something I've discovered recently when it comes to packing. Whatever amount of things you imagine you have multiply it by 7 and you will find the amount of things you actually have. 
Glazed strawberries and bright red arches. Silent prayers and smiling faces. Simmering devil's tongue in smelly broth. Sizzling pancakes. Purifying water and dozens of dreams handwritten on small hanging plaques. White paper ties against colourful umbrellas. Doreamon balloons and Hello Kitty Masks. Tall bottles of syrup in every flavour. Crushed ice and scoops of ice-cream. Ringing bells mixed with laughter and noisy "irrashaimases". The smell of frying chicken and incense. Pink bananas with chocolate sprinkles. Rainbow obis. Clunking geta. All in the shadow of the darkened five-storied pagoda. 
What is this Angela? Why, it's a photo of hundreds of sparkling fireflies shining in the night sky taken tonight at Jousenji. It was going to be the most magical of evenings and we drove all the way into the mountains to witness the natural display of glowing green against an almost full moon. But we had only been there five minutes when I realized the litre of soda water I had drunk on the journey was probably not the best idea and I sort of hopped around for the hour and a half in time to the rising and falling of the shining flies. 
Remember these girls? 
