August 26, 2010

This is why I love my parents:

(Type A)
Dear Sarah,

Thanks; I saw the photos.
How is your room?
Who lives in "your" house?
What is the house like?
How is school?
Does someone translate for you in school?
What classes are you taking?
How do you get to school?
Make any school friends?
Are you learning Japanese quickly?
Are you lonely sometimes?
Do you have to study a lot?
What do you eat?
What will you do on weekends?
What address should I use to mail you things?
Should I phone at a certain time? When? How often?

Love,
Dad

(Type B)
I love your blog...but I HAD TO GET IT FROM HOLLY AS YOU HAVE NOT GIVEN ME ACCESS TO YOUR FACEBOOK PAGE. I WILL DISOWN YOU IF YOU MAKE ME GO THROUGH THIS EMBARRASSMENT AGAIN!!! WHERE IS YOUR LOVE FOR YOUR MOTHER WHO SITS ALONE HERE IN MY HOTEL ROOM ON A BORING BUSINESS TRIP HOPING MY LOVING DAUGHTER WILL TELL ME TALES OF JAPAN???
I LIED TO HOLLY. SAID I COULDN'T GET ON TO FACEBOOK ON MY IPHONE OR SOME GARBAGE LIKE THAT!!

I LOVE YOU.
INCLUDE ME AS A FULLY INSTATED FRIEND.

Keller

(If Holly reads this, sorry mom. And Hi Holly!)


On Japanese Schools:

Lalalala I don’t know where to start. Ok, at the door. Slippers. You wear them. They are not attractive, but attractiveness is mostly based on what everybody else looks like, and when everybody else is wearing plastic sandals with a rubber, 1 inch heel that squeak when you walk, they become no longer unattractive. You change from your outside shoes to your slippers immediately upon entrance in a porch-like room called a genkan, which every Japanese building has. Outside shoes go in assigned ‘cubbies’ and you really don’t see them again until school is over. I’ve considered just arriving barefoot, as it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. On the hallway wall directly outside the bathrooms is a large mirror above 3 sinks, which both boys and girls often use to brush their teeth in the mornings and to wash their hands hourly. I have no explanation; this is simply an observation. Also, 3 soaps are tied to the 3 sink faucets in mesh bags. This allows the bar soaps to be utilized to their full ability without being lost and without creating scum on the counter. I think it’s pretty neat. However, I have noticed that there isn’t a towel to dry your hands off with. This bothers me. I haven’t yet discovered if it is that the Japanese do not have a problem with indiscretion, or that the boys are so confident in themselves to change from their study uniforms to their gym uniforms patently in the co-ed classroom. I’m not close enough with any of the students to ask about such behavior, but evidently I am close enough to see them in their underwear.
One significant difference between my Japanese school and most schools in America is that the teachers move to the students, rather than the other way around. You stay with the same classmates throughout the entire day—like we did in elementary school. When we arrive at school at 8:40am, the day begins with a 15 minute ‘morning meeting’ with the homeroom teacher. Believe me, the moment I understand what is said at these meetings, the world will know. When a teacher enters the classroom, all the students rise. The teacher bows slightly, and the students respond with a deeper bow. (Longer and lower bows signify a higher level of respect. For example, a younger person should always bow lower to their elders.) Then, the students are seated and take a moment of silence. (This is my favorite part. If I am ever a teacher, I will make it a rule for my students to follow this Japanese ritual.) We lower our heads and close our eyes and everyone is quiet for about 30 seconds, when the teacher breaks the silence and class begins. On the second day of school, Robby, the English teacher, told me that this was a practice meant to clear the minds of the students, to leave behind everything else and prepare for the coming lesson. The best part about this moment of silence is that everyone actually participates. I imagined this custom at Lincoln: students would inevitably be texting, listening to music, shuffling through papers, finishing due homework…etc., but I think it means a lot to Japanese students, I hope it does. It means a lot to me because I really do think it works. I feel lighter after I clear my mind. Not in the weight sense—the other kind of lighter where you don’t fear you’ll scream at any given second. I hope you know what I’m talking about.
Another thing I really enjoy about my school in Japan is the independence the students are given. So far, while in preparation for the festival, we have four 50-minute periods with a 10-minute break in between each class. These 10-minute breaks are basically free time because our lockers are in the classroom, so we don’t have to go anywhere. Sometimes students just walk around the school to say hi to other friends. I usually read LOTR and let people take pictures of me. (I am getting used to this. I have learned that being an exchange student and being shy are contradictory. It just can’t happen.) After 4th period is cleaning time. There are no janitors in Japanese schools. The students spend 15 minutes a day, before lunch, cleaning. It’s really quite a good idea because with 20 students per classroom, it’s not like any 1 person has to do much. I usually erase the chalk on the blackboards. (Blackboards are another thing I like about my school; I always found chalk more fun than dry erase markers. They remind me of those old movies where when the kid gets in trouble, his nun-teacher makes him stay after class and clap the erasers. And the kid overly-exaggerates his hatred for this punishment, as if clapping erasers together is really so unbearable.) Cleaning period is followed by lunch, which, after the first day, I will never forget to pack again, as there is no cafeteria. After lunch, the rest of the day is preparation for the festival, and back to what I said about independence: we pretty much get 2, unsupervised hours to do this. We can use the gym, go outside, use art materials, costumes, even box-knives… just about anything we can accomplish on our own, we have access to. I don’t think this would go over well in an American high school, but in Japan, somehow productivity and fun can exist in harmony.

August 28, 2010

- The Japanese do not eat the peels of grapes. Ever. They suck the inside out and put the peel on their plates.
- When I attend Rotary events, somehow the Rotarians make me feel like I’m in a room with twenty E.O. Wilsons. I don’t know how else to describe it.
- I read somewhere that when you exchange business cards with a Japanese person, you should accept it with two hands, study it for a few seconds, and then put it somewhere safe to show that you truly care. I haven’t noticed much of the two-hand thing, but I have noticed that they will seriously break apart every letter of your card, sometimes reading aloud what is written and turning it into a question. For example, “Lincoln High School?” As if they expect it to be a misprint, or as if they have a great-niece twice removed who went to Lincoln and they are leading to a story of how she scored the winning goal at the girls’ soccer championships. The point is, the Japanese definitely take their time in familiarizing themselves with business cards.
- The Japanese really do care how a foreigner feels about their food.
- I have recently caught myself smiling and nodding when someone is giving a speech to an audience. I eventually remember that I have to idea what is being said, and I feel silly. But I keep smiling and nodding.

vv Governor's head vv



What's up, I'm Salah Axerad.

August 21, 2010

I am beginning my Japanese adventures in Florida, where I met my first single-serving friend. I was shoved in between him and a Latino woman who slept the entire way. He wore a black denim vest with cutoff sleeves and the back was embroidered to proudly signify he rode a motorcycle, although I can’t remember the exact design. He told me he was a private investigator from Dallas, Texas, and that I was very brave for leaving my current life for a new one. He also inquired about my “home-church,” which I embarrassingly needed him to clarify. I told him I went to church on Christmas and Easter, and he handed me a pamphlet that read, “AM I GOING TO HEAVEN? QUIZ!” (It remains a bookmark in the Japan culture guide next to me, which I am ashamed to let the front cover visible here in a domestic Tokyo airport, as I imagine locals such as the woman across from me, dressed in a kimono, does not require a guide to learn such a beautiful culture.) My first single serving friend had terrible body odor, but he promised to pray for me and gifted me a chocolate-chip cookie the size of my head as we filed down the airplane aisles into the Dallas/Ft Worth airport. I ate it in 3 minutes.

The second plane I boarded was a direct flight to Tokyo. It was huge, with 9 seats a row and a TV screen on the back of every seat. However, I was not surprised, as all international planes are around this big. I was assigned seat 44F, which turned out to be the second to last row. Seat 44F was next to seat 44E, filled by an older man. I never got his name, because our friendship was so short-lived (due to reasons not yet addressed), but he worked with the Navy and it was his 4th time visiting Japan. He spoke very fondly of the country, but also very softly, making my responses limited. He told me that the Japanese always follow the rules, then continued with a teaser, “but I can’t tell you what the rules are.” This killed me. The duration of our conversation only lasted as passengers boarded, when Phil, a flight attendant, informed Navy-affiliated man and me that the last two rows were for the crew, and it was a mistake that we were assigned these seats. Therefore, Phil moved us both to different parts of the plane, and I never saw Sir Navy again. My new assigned seat was next to a thin, middle-aged man who wore glasses identical to those of my Economics professor (who was West African and had a sweet accent). The frames were perfectly round. This man and I did not talk much, but we were next to each other for 13 hours. There are not many people I have spent 13 straight hours with, so this alone made us closer. This alone is not all, however. About 4 hours and 23 minutes into the flight path (I followed the times on the TV monitor), the man next to me started crying. He put his elbows on the tray and his head in his hands and cried. There are even fewer people whom I have been next to as they cried, and I love and care about all of these people very much. As I thought about these people whom I love and care about very much, I concluded that I would never forget this crying stranger. Later he told me he had never been out of state before, let alone across the world. I think he was trying to consulate his tears, but I still don’t quite understand. I think maybe he is lonely. Two of three of the airplane meals given were not vegetarian, so I gave them to the man next to me. He seemed so surprised when I did this that the second time I had to explain that I didn’t eat meat, as if he thought I was giving him charity food for his misery. This makes no sense, but I can see how many people would think it. He gave me a bottle of water near the end of the flight. People are so strange.

Observations:
1) The Japanese are incredibly eager to take my bags/open the door/give me gifts and any other act of flattery.
2) Yes, the showerhead is too low for me.
3) My siblings, Aiko (6) and Isamu (9), are the best. They have more personality, tolerance, and obedience than the average, mature American.
4) Air conditioning is a privilege, not a norm. EMPHASIS ON THIS.
5) I am grateful for how much I didn’t pack.
6) 6ft tall translates to 180 centimeters tall. The Japanese translation is even worse.
7) I need to get used to the idea of not seeing my reflection daily, which is somewhat refreshing. For desperate measures, use photobooth as a mirror.


August 22, 2010

Isamu plays the Japanese equivalent of KGB. This is great.
First of many baseball games with Isamu and Kazuhiro—seriously hit myself in the face with the bat. Strike 1.
In the Ito household, there are three meals a day. This is not flexible.
I learned at tea today that Junko’s husband, and Isamu and Aiko’s father, was killed in a car accident 4 years ago. This makes me sad. As Buddhists, they have a small temple in the house for Hiroshi, they each pray before it every day.
When you see how finely woven and finished a tatami (rice straw) mat is, you will understand why shoes are not a good idea.
Second night, first emergency—a tree fell and damaged the train tracks Junko and the kids were approaching on their way to Osaka to visit Hiroshi’s parents. They waited on the train for 5 and a half hours before coming home to Izumo.
Soda the color of Shrek dyes your tongue. In America, green is supposedly the most unpleasant color to digest. This notion does not apply to the Japanese, apparently.

August 23, 2010

I went to City Hall today to register for something or other. Also ate a fish. Not raw. Not really sure how it was cooked, but it reminded me of beef jerky, except it was an entire fish. Aiko and Isamu say that if you eat the head of the fish first, it will make you smart, and if you start at the tail, you will run faster. Initially, I couldn’t bring myself to eat the head. This made them laugh. They laugh a lot, which I like because laughing is universally understood. The Japanese word for octopus is tako. Eating tako in Japan is as common as eating tacos in the USA. Kazuhiro lines up tissue boxes across the middle of a table in the kendo store so he and the kids can play ping-pong. This brings me infinite happiness. Takashi is taking me to my first Rotary meeting tonight. It’s supposed to be a big deal. I know this because I was told to dress formally. Takashi speaks no English.

Many Japanese streets are one lane, but two-way. This frightens me.
I think I ate a snail today. Not really sure what it was actually, but Rotarians were incredibly amused by my careful examination of the food item prior to consumption. I have found it difficult to decline a Japanese delicacy when crowds of white-haired men in suits are staring with wide-eyed grins.
I’ve heard lots of people tell me I’m beautiful, and either I don’t believe them, or it doesn’t really mean anything. Somehow, when a Japanese person tells me this, it means a lot.
The Japanese word for ‘expensive’ and ‘tall’ are practically the same, only with accents on different syllables. Incidentally, both were used frequently at the fitting for my school uniform.
There is no such thing as dry sweat in a Japanese home. You shower before you cool off—end of story.
It took me 3 days to fall in love with Japanese tea (which kind of tastes like wheat). It also took 3 days for me to bow automatically upon introduction.
There is no law in Japan to wear a seatbelt in the backseat of a car. This quickly settling habit may be problematic come my return to Florida.
In Japan, if you don’t have a business card, you don’t exist.
Eco-bags are a must when grocery shopping. If you happen to forget your cloth bags at home, you pay about 5 cents for each plastic one.


August 24, 2010

School starts tomorrow. I won’t get my uniform for another two weeks—as if I won’t stand out enough already, I’ll be wearing average clothes when the entirety of the school population is dressed in uniform plaid. Also, the principal said that a plain v-neck was too “sexy” for school. Oh, what a different world we live in.
Fact: the Japanese are extraordinary at EVERYTHING they do.
^^(After touring the art and music programs at my school)^^
The English section of the bookstore consisted of 9 books. One was The Catcher in the Rye, five were of the Harry Potter series, and the last three were the Lord of the Rings series. Hello Tolkien.

August 25, 2010

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!!!!
Kawaii is the Japanese word for cute. After today, I will never be able to forget this. They also think I smell fantastic. All of them. I don’t smell anything. I had to give a short introduction—first in front of the teachers, then in front of the entire school. I was completely unprepared, and it went something like:
Konnichiwa! Watashi no namae Sarah des. Junana des. Summimasen, yoku wakarimasen ga Ninhongo. Dozo yoroshiku. Arigato gozaimasu.
^^(Insert pauses and stutters)^^
The boys and girls are completely segregated here. They hardly talk in class, let alone at lunch. I think the Japanese are just really shy. I don’t know. But that doesn’t make so much sense because I get hit on a lot—but maybe that’s only because I’m American. Also, no one understands me when I talk. But we both try. I forgot to pack my lunch, so I went to the vending machines to buy some tea, and was interrogated by a group of guys. I asked them why they didn’t sit with the girls, and several offered to be my new boyfriend. This is one example of the many issues lost in translation, but I suppose company is nice, no matter the circumstance. The whole school is in preparation for a festival, where each class does a performance in front of all the students. I am currently watching my classmates dance the choreography played at the end of High School Musical 3. I’ve never been happier. They want me to be in the performance, but after my speech today, I don’t think I can handle another foreign stage. However, I might end up participating in tug-of-war. I can’t wait until spring, when everyone isn’t drenched in sweat. That will be nice, I think. I’m super excited for the Australian students coming next month. SUPER EXCITED TO SPEAK COMPLETE ENGLISH SENTENCES.

My host family is the best. Granted, I went without a lunch today, and someone forgot to pick me up from school at 3:25, resulting in the principal driving me home over an hour later. But all this is ok because I am starting to identify a few words in Japanese conversation (even when they speak 100 words a second), and because when I walk in the door I take a deep breath and smile because it smells like home, because Aiko and Isamu are watching an episode of The Suite Life of Zach and Cody (in Japanese) and I can laugh when they laugh because I’ve already seen the episode, and because Junko excessively apologized for not packing me a lunch and had a full meal ready for me in 20 minutes.

I am just now realizing that the only probable reason I am keeping up with these document entries is because I rarely have internet, leaving photobooth and Microsoft Word to play with. Even if this is the case, I’m glad I’m typing.