These Eyes

This one is sub-titled: Interview With A Japanese Housewife

This was more like a conversation than an interview, but I'm told that most of my conversations have the appearance of an interview because of my bluntness.

Yumiko was my friend. I met her through an Ohtawara city English class I donate my services to for ¥10,000 ($100) for a three-hour class. She has since moved away from Ohtawara, but she and I did get together for a friendly meeting or two.

She's 26-years old, about 5'-3", with jet black hair that hangs in shiny curtains past her shoulder blades and  possesses alabaster skin that would make all of the doll makers cry in shame. She's pretty, though perhaps not the head-turning type. What catches your attention are the eyes that sparkle with glee. Her lips tell a different story, though.

Yumiko has ben married for two years, and is pregnant. She lives in a company housing project apartment and tends the daily running of the household. I rode my bicycle out 30 minutes to visit her.

"I've been out to my old hometown of Kawaguchi to buy some clothes for my baby. They are very small. Almost all of them are white or yellow," she says in perfect, but hesitant English. When I asked why she only purchased items in those two colours, she smiled at me as though I was her baby and patiently explained: "I don't want to know that our baby is a boy or girl. But my doctor knows. I want the surprise."

When she and her husband went to visit her family, she said grimly that "We have grown about two kilograms." She then puffed out her cheeks and made a tiny piggie sound. She then asked me if I liked sumo. When I answered in the positive, she said, "Good. because I am now big enough to join. Please cheer for me."  How could I not?

Then it happened. I spoiled the moment by asking what she does during the day. She let out a big breath of air and shrunk a little. The smile slowly became invisible. "I don't like to wake up early in the morning in winter. But I wake up at 6:40AM (except on Saturday and Sunday). I prepare a sandwich for my husband that he eats. Then we have a sandwich, a cup of milk and fruit every morning."

"You and your husband?" I asked confused.

"No. He quickly eats his sandwich and leaves home at 7:10AM," she continued after pouring me a cup of o-cha (green tea). "It takes him three minutes to walk to his company. Then I sleep again. I'm a bad wife!! I wake up again at 10AM and wash and clean our rooms..."

"A bad wife? A bad wife?!" I shiver incredulously. "You do all of the housework, make him his breakfast AND you're seven months pregnant!"

She seems shocked by my 'western' ravings - and well she should be - this is the way it has always been in Japan. She agrees that it is not a fair world for the women of Japan, but she is confused that I would agree with her, what with being a man and all.

"I usually have lunch alone," she continued. "But sometimes with my friend." I notice the emphasis on the singular. "Do you have a school lunch, An-do-ryu? When I was in elementary school and junior high school, I always was looking forward to my school lunch.

"My friend is a Christian and an English teacher. She teaches me about the Bible once a week. I go to the public hall to study English twice a month and to learn patchwork once a month. I'm stitching a bag of patchwork - it's my hobby besides looking after my husband."

Did I detect some bitterness? Hmmm.

"I listen to classical and jazz music, read books and watch TV in my free time. My husband used to come home at 10PM all of last year - he works hard, but his pay is very low. He would have a bath and dinner and go to sleep almost immediately. I suppose he was very tired, so we didn't have enough time to talk with each other. I often felt sad and felt like I was a housemaid."

I want to say something, but don't for fear of depressing her even more. Perhaps sensing my discomfort, she added: "It's a wonder I am now pregnant."

Ah the twinkle is back! ... fading?... "But he comes home at 8:30PM this year because his boss has changed. So we have time to talk with each other."

She's smiling again, but I can still see the sadness lingering. There didn't seem to be much use in me prying into her life further, after all I have a pretty good understanding of where she is at right now. She's merely a lonely, pregnant housewife who would like to spend more time with someone - anyone, even a gaijin (foreigner) - but mostly her husband.

Damn this country.  It's not her husband's fault, it's just the way things are in Japan.

Somewhere I have to make time to talk with my wife more,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Today's title is by The Guess Who. You can listen to it here: 20/20

Photo above is from a New Year's Eve card Yumiko gave me.
Second photo shows off the reverse of that card - you'll notice that there are some numbers along the bottom - it's for a New Year's Day lottery. Since I never saw the results, I'm unsure if I ever won - or what you did win if your numbers came up. Matthew?

PPS - Photo below - That's Yumiko's baby 17+years ago.

Money

I called this one: How To Paper Train Students

First, let me state for the record (also available on CD and DVD), that I really like my students. There. I said it. Whew. My shrink was correct. Thanks Kiwi! He's the New Zealand bartender at my local classy hang-out the 4-Carat owned by our (Matthew and myself) friend Miura-san. (Click HERE to see its location on an Ohtawara map - my apartment is in section 5, lower left corner abutting up to section 4.) (Unfortunately, by 2010, the 4-Carat bar is no longer there - probably went bankrupt after Matthew and I left as along with our bankroll, there were no longer any cool gaijin to draw in the crowds.)  

Anyhow, I'm always watching my students trying to pick up some of their little quirks so I can exploit them years later in tales of half truths, but entirely consisting of half lies. Actually, everything written in these blogs happened... I just may have embellished it a smidge. Like so:

Just the other day, I noticed the antics of a multitude of junior high school students as they valiantly tried to complete an English test that was worth absolutely nothing.

In Japan, students are always passed on to the next grade regardless of whether or not they got 100% or 0%. They have an entrance exam to enter high school. The grade they get on this exam will determine if they get into a good high school and thus have a shot at going to university and thus becoming a salary man in the hopes of attracting a pretty wife and having three children and a dog that never comes in the house - there, that's the evolution of the modern Japanese man. Anyhow, if you don't get into a good high school, there are technical schools, farming schools and even barber schools. 

So... I'm watching my students do an English test. There's the usual amount of cheating (aka answering by committee) and pencil cases clanking as it smacks onto the floor - but this time, there was something else. It was graceful and coordinated and required little actual conscious thought. 

There, one after the other, the entire class twirled their pencils about their fingers.

The pencils emitted a soft whooshing sound as they revolved. I stood there with my mouth slightly agape (not from surprise, it's how this troglodyte breathes) and watched in mute fascination at the dexterity being shown. At least it looked dexterous. Occasionally, a student would suddenly fall from his/her chair and thump down onto the floor - but still would they manage to keep that pencil a-twirling. 

If I closed my eyes, I could hear sweet music fill the air: Whoosh-clank-thump, whoosh-clank-thump, whoosh-thump-thump, whoosh-thump-whoosh, clank-clank-CLANK!

What a concert! It was wonderful how the thumping-of-students-as-they-hit-the-ground perfectly accentuated the pencil case-clanking, but did not overpower the gentle pencil-spinning tone. Ahh, rapture.

At class the next day, we handed back the tests - complete with the grades written in the top right-hand corner. the students, when called, came up to receive their test paper from the Japanese teacher of English and upon sitting down at their desk would immediately fold it into an interesting piece of sculpture. This must have been the origin of origami (and now, you can learn how, TOO). The students wouldn't even look at their papers to see their grade. Their privacy was guarded like a dog would its dinner - fangs bared and hackles raised - even the kids with the good grades!

It was particularly annoying  to see such grace and humility from the kid who got the highest mark. I couldn't believe there wasn't any bragging or chest beating or laughing at their less fortunate compadres (IE the overweight kid who always sits at the back of the class who never seems to do well in school and whose nickname is usually 'Sumo'). 

Back in the western world, kids would be hanging from the rafters and shouting out their dominance over their sub-peers. They'd jump and dance about like a wide-receiver who'd just shot the winning goal in the World Series with a three-point shot on the last lap. Anyhow, I decided they shouldn't be ashamed of their good marks.

Wasn't that nice of me? I approached a girl with just such a great mark and attempted to expose her grade. I pulled her crumpled up test (I think it was an origami meatball) and attempted to unfold it. She grabbed it back and folded it into a crane. I unfolded it again. She refolded it into a flower. I unfolded it. She made it into a Mighty Morphin Power Ranger . 

Giving up on her, I walked over to a desk where the smartest boy sat. His paper was folded in half (I think it was an origami book). Using reverse psychology, I picked up his paper and made it into a crane. He folded it back. I made a flower. He unfolded it. I made a Mighty Morphin Power Ranger, but he liked it so much he decided to keep it and start a battle with the girl. 

Somewhere in the back of the class,

Andrew Joseph

Music by Pink Floyd. Not only does THIS song talk about the 'importance' of having a good job, the musical intro has a sound similar to what my students performed for me.
PS - So what the heck is that photo? It's an origami earring of a crane given to me by one of my female students at Nozaki Chu Gakko (Nozaki Junior High School)... not only were the students really nice, but so were the teachers... including a young lady who accepted an eng... y'know... we still have a long way to go before she enters this blog. 
PPS - Yes, I used to wear it in Japan. I wore it once in Canada, but I think by that time dangling earrings were on the way out.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Originally Called: Plain Trains - Not Automobiles.

Like a lot of people in Japan, I seem to spend a lot of time on the train. Of course, for me, it's weekends only, as I'm either off to visit a fellow gaijin AET friend, shopping down in Tochigi-ken's capital of Utsunomiya, partying down in Tokyo or simply sight-seeing (all of which usually involves me getting horribly, horribly lost).

It's difficult to explain why (sheer incompetence), but along with the not knowing where the heck I am, a lot of weird stuff seems to happen around me when I travel by JR (Japan Railway) rail. But, the topic is not 'why weird things happen to me' but rather it's about water sports.

"Wha-? On the train?" I hear you ask incredulously. Yup, but first I have to tell you about the time a traveled down to Mamada (it's a small little podunk of a place in Tochigi-ken, that was home to one of my good friends, one James 'Jimmy Jive' Dalton, formerly of Stoney Creek, Ontario in Canada.

I, as per my norm, was sitting in the non-smoking train car watching people speak without actually opening their mouth or moving their lips (more on this later). I was sitting at the far end of the car taking in the freshness of the air (or rather the freshness of the air, such as it is, when you inadvertently sit beside the washroom), when a tiny old man who must have been 90-years-old if he was four-feet tall (usually a given, but in this case, it was pretty close), ambled into the car and sat directly opposite me.

He squinted at me and then spat on the ground (not the water sports), apparently to reclaim his territory. He then reached into his coat pocket and fumbled around for a few seconds. His gnarled right hand emerged with a pack of Lucky Seven extra-strength smokes. His gnarled left hand pulled out a lighter and flicked his BIC lighting one of the cigarettes.. He inhaled. He exhaled and bathed himself in a haze of blue-grey smoke. He continued to puff away like the little Nihonjin that could until he finished. Then he lit up another.

That was when a young salaryman (that's any person not defined by a major career - journalist, policeman, etc., who earns a salary, and is considered the ideal job for any upstanding young Japanese male) who was sitting to my left leaned forward and in no uncertain terms told the old man to stop smoking in the non-smoking car!

The old man said: "Eh? (Huh?)", looked away and continued to smoke. Mr. Salaryman leaned over a little closer to the old man and spoke with extreme loudness, that if the old boy didn't immediately extinguish the cigarette, he would do it for him.

(Believe it or not, while I couldn't speak enough Japanese to seem intelligent, I was very adept at understanding spoken Japanese! Actually, it works that way for everybody learning a new language).

The old man wiped away some of the salary man's spittle from his eyes (not the water sports. Later. I promise.), he replied: "Eh? Iie (Huh? No... ii-e is pronounced eeee-ya or eee-eh, depedning on where in Japan you are from)." and looked away again.

Now that's when the cannon to the left of me (salary man) grabbed the cannon to the right of me (a fire extinguisher), pulled the green tab and squeezed the trigger.

A white powdery substance exploded all over the old man's cigarette, face, hair, clothes and of course, seat, window and gaijin (me). The entire train car was silent except for that clickety-clack sound, but you know what I mean.

Everyone in that car quickly looked back down into their comic books (later blog), unsure if they had seen what thought they had seen happen here in boringly polite Japan. I took that as my cue to laugh my head off. Mr. Salary Man pipped in, followed by the rest of the car. Even the old man cracked a white-faced toothless grin as he dropped his fire extinguished cigarette. I decided to look at the bigger picture, and thought this young man probably saved the old man from having his lower jaw removed after it becomes riddled with cancer. he may even have saved his life.

Okay. An interesting story, but no water sports yet. Wait. I almost forgot to tell you how the Japanese are probably the world's best ventriloquists. On those occasions when I forget to bring a book on the train and get tired of counting the number of women with knock-knees, I look at faces. I've noticed that people on the train seem to talk without moving any part of their mouth, save their tongue, and I'm unsure about that because they speak with their teeth clamped shut. Their lips are usually spread a few centimetres (an inch) apart. Come to think of it, the only time I've seen the Japanese open their mouth really wide is when they are yawning in my classes or cramming their entire lunch in so they can swallow it whole in one gulp.

Right. On to the water sports. The Japanese, true to form, love to sleep as much as they can - perhaps because of the long hours spent at work, at school or working around the house or farm. They try and grab a few winks whenever they can.

So it's no surprise that when they board a train, they sit back in their seat, drop their head forward and are asleep. I have only known one person who isn't Japanese who can do that, and she'll remain nameless - okay, it's my ex-girlfriend Ashley who still sleeps with me (this is really confusing to me). Anyhow, some of these sleepers bear closer scrutiny - why? - because they drool.

This is the water sports portion of the story, although it's not about my ex-girlfriend because she doesn't drool - she made me say that. Incidentally, five lines later, she is no longer sleeping with me.

Just yesterday (it won't be yesterday by the time you read this. It might be a week, a month or possibly even 19 years ago), but there was a guy beside me who had dropped his head in sleep. (Aha - I see a pattern forming!)

He parted his lips a few centimetres (a real pattern!) and dropped a big goober down onto his paisley tie. It was hilarious! Every time the train hit a bump, which was often due to the clickety-clack (few people seem to care that the bump actually occurs on the 'clickety' section and not the 'clack' section - we just don't feel the bump until the 'clack' sound hits our ears)  - now where the heck was I? These annoying segues confuse the heck out of me.

Oh yeah, every time the train hit a bump, he spilled more saliva all over himself. Every bump, a whole new pattern. And, after watching him intently for a while, I noticed that his tie wasn't originally paisley.

Somewhere with a squeegee,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is by The Platters: Give a LISTEN and here's a different version from Fred and Ginger CLASSY.
PS: Picture is me wearing a JR (Japan Railway) hat given away for some purpose - make fun of gaijin day or something like that. I'm standing in a junior high school teacher's lounge. It must either be October/November or March/April judging by my sweater and brightness of the day. I'm kidding. How the hell would I know that.