- English teacher: Sarah, have you heard of the movie Oceans?
Sarah: No, but I know the movie Oceans 11.
English teacher: Oceans…?
Sarah: E-le-ven. Oceans 11.
English teacher: Oceans a-lovin?
Sarah: No. Eleven. The number. Eleven. Ju-ichi (Japanese). Eleven.
English teacher: Ah, I see. Ok. Oceans A-lovin.
- English teacher: Sarah, please give the class example sentences using these words. (Points to words written on the board.) They will repeat each word after you, to practice pronunciation, and then the whole sentence.
Sarah: (Nervous, can’t think of sentences quick enough—starts playing with tunnel in ear. Accidently pushes tunnel out of loose lobe and it soars across the room.)
Oops.
Class: Oops.
September 17, 2010
Aiko wore a sky-blue satin dress; a small lock of her hair was braided and tied back to the side with the rest of it. She added a pearl necklace at the last minute. Isamu wore a button-up shirt, dress shorts, and a tie—a real one—with hiking boots and striped socks. They looked very nice. I spent an hour getting ready this night. This was mostly because I seem to have forgotten how to put on makeup and had to start over numerous times, wet-naps at disposal. I practiced my speech all day. ALL DAY. Biking to school, I spoke it out loud. During P.E., I muttered it repetitively in between setting and spiking and bumping and serving. Friends edited it over and over. I said it in the mirror as I put on mascara…I HAD IT DOWN. I SWEAR TO YOU, I HAD IT DOWN. It is vital I get this point across. So I wrote it on a small piece of paper so I could continue practicing up until the very second of my execution. I walked out of my room with two different shoes on. Fortunately, my family noticed, and then proceeded to argue which one better suited my outfit. I went with the girls’ choice; Isamu has a lot to learn.
When we arrived at the hotel, a very informal tea ceremony was held in the lobby. Japanese cake and Japanese green tea (which is nothing like the American sorts) was served by pretty women dressed in kimonos. After tea, my attendance was requested to an exclusive men’s meeting in a separate room. I don’t know why they invite me to these things. It’s not like I can offer much in a room of elderly Japanese men. So I sat with my legs crossed at the ankles, never the knee, and I practiced my speech, and I wondered if Aiko’s nose had stopped bleeding while she and the rest of the family waited in the lobby. (Apparently the excitement of an event to dress up for was intense enough to initiate a nosebleed.) They sang the Rotary song, just like the Tallahassee Sunrise Rotary Club, with the significant exception of shockingly impressive voices. I’m pretty sure you have to pass some sort of singing test to obtain Japanese citizenship. I’ll have to look into it. But the whole room fills with deep voices that bounce off the walls in all the right directions. And the floor vibrates and you look down at your feet and can almost see the pulse crawl up your legs to your spine, launching goose bumps and residing in your eardrums long after the song is ended. I really don’t think anything in the world sounds like a singing group of elderly Japanese men, except for a singing group of elderly Japanese men. Aiko’s nosebleed hadn’t given up. Half of a tissue was crammed in her tiny nostril for another 20 minutes.
The speech was rolled up in my sweating palm, dampness fading my lead handwriting. I was so afraid to lose it. Even though I knew the lines by heart, holding onto something real is much more comforting. I think that is why people write. Eventually I shoved it beneath the strap of my watch, held between that and my wrist, though continued to check its safety every minute. I was hoping for a podium to lean on and maybe steady myself from falling. Also so I could flatten the crinkled paper and peer down at it for reference when I froze. That did not happen. In fact, quite the opposite. Upon entrance to the dining hall, I noticed I would be put on stage with a microphone and a spotlight. That way, if such distress was too overwhelming, my vomit would be illuminate and radiating for the audience’s viewing pleasure.
Each 18 round tables in the dining hall sat 6. As usual, the women and family of the Rotarians were seated at separate tables, making the entire room segregated by sex—except for me. My foreign name card was placed among men. The man to my right was the principal of my school. Being already rather familiar with him, I introduced myself to the man to my left, whom I’d never seen. I was relieved to hear he spoke some English. He told me he practiced kendo, which is cool, since that’s the only traditional Japanese sport I know anything about, and that he had two kids: an 18 year old boy who is in his last year of high school, and a daughter who is in college and moved out. He then added, to my discomfort, “So my house has one empty bedroom.” This addition was confusing to me at first, but directly after such an awkward implication, a familiar Rotarian came up to my table and unknowingly clarified. Standing in-between the man and I, he elatedly told me that the man I was talking to would most likely be my next host father.
I don’t really know what to say, because I can’t describe how this made me feel. At the least I was unprepared. Since I have been here, changing host families has not once crossed my mind. I understand it is part of the process and what every exchange student experiences, I just hadn’t thought about it. So as these two men attentively waited to catch a hint of recognition upon my face, I just kind of stared blankly across the room for what seemed like minutes, imperceptibly panicking and trying not to wince at the needles jabbing my insides. This long moment of adaption passed and I gave them a big smile—a real one—because, once settled, this news was really quite alright.
However, being the over-analyzer that I have recently accepted I am, I can’t say I wouldn’t have appreciated such an alarming report to have waited maybe 10 minutes to be broken—when my speech was said and done. Obviously this was not the case, and my head swarmed with completely unnecessary doubts about the quantity of nightlights in my next family’s house as I stepped on stage. It was not particularly what I wanted to be consuming such a large apartment in my brain at such a critical time.
As predicted, I was defeated by the crowd and forgot most everything under the spotlight. I had to read most of my speech from that crinkled scrap of paper, yet kept my composure and somehow got compliments from half the room on my pronunciation and flawless grammar. I wouldn’t dare question how these things fall into place, though I am grateful.
After dinner there was a skit preformed by some Rotarians. You definitely did not need to understand Japanese to laugh at this. The president was a fully costumed Gandhi and the Secretary was dressed in a speedo, flippers, and a shark hat. There was also someone in an army suit holding a Japanese fan, and a man dressed as a geisha, make-up and all. There really isn’t anything more to say about that. Unfortunately, I was too amused to pick up my camera and capture such a ridiculous affair. Sorry.
Oh, there were also dancers. They did a silly dance, but they did it very well. And I wondered how so without laughing, recognizing that I wouldn’t have been able to. Then I noticed one dancer who was exceptionally precise, and he seemed so sure of himself and his silly dance. He looked at the audience dead on, conquering every doubt, and so I realized that you can pull of anything if you think you can.
I later found out that it was a group of mentally disabled dancers. I had suspected nothing.
I had coffee for dessert and couldn’t sleep for hours.
September 20, 2010
I went to an art museum in Matsue and saw some art. It was nice art. Some I recognized, thanks to Mrs. Hobbs. Some was photography and made me want use my camera towards something creative. Some was rather disturbing sculpture and reminded me of friends back home. And then there was a view overlooking a lake, which was my favorite.
1) Failed attempt at serious face. Had to look away so I wouldn't laugh.
2) Yes, that is an FSU shirt. Yes, this is real life.
3, 4, 5) Matsue view.
6) Matsue Lake
7) Me on sculpture.
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