adventures in food

Japanese food had to grow on me. When I first got here, my opinion of washoku (和食), or Japanese cuisine, was "curious but un-optimistic." From what I had been able to tell, washoku was rice-heavy; involved a lot of bowls and cups and complicated eating rituals; and was made up almost entirely of unknown spices, grains, vegetables, and cooking techniques. When people--Japanese people--asked me what I thought of washoku, I answered with 50% false sincerity, "I like it!"

But it's grown on me. Two years of force-feeding myself nutritionally-approved school lunches, grabbing snacks at the konbini (convenience stores), making uneducated guesses at the grocery store, and ending up with unexpected plates when I ordered out at restaurants, and I'm starting to figure it out. Patterns have begun to emerge. Flavors have become familiar. Certain textures no longer startle me. I've had people--mostly kids--teaching me the names of foods and how to eat them. I'm at the point where I can order from an all-Japanese menu and receive a tray full of cups and bowls and pastes and sauces, and I'll think, "Yeah, I can figure this out." Then, I do.

I'm three months into my third year in Japan and I can actually say that I like washoku. I no longer look at a Japanese restaurant and think, "I guess I'll settle for this." I have a list of Japanese dishes I really like, foods I prefer to eat when I'm out and about. (Sorry, ramen, but soba is better.)

I still run into mystery foods (usually sauces and pastes), but I'm not as surprised or put off by them as I used to be.

I can say, with 100% sincerity, that I like washoku.

happy

This past winter, when I was working at three elementary schools in Ibaraki and spending my free time sending out resumes and cover letters to every half-decent open English Teacher position in Tokyo I could find, I got an interview with a private girls' school.

I took a train down to Tokyo on Friday night after work and spent the night in a small hostel. Then, Saturday morning, I changed into the most professional attire I could (black skirt with black stockings and kitten-heeled shoes, and a black Ann Taylor jacket over a white button-up shirt) and headed to the school.

The interview went well, I thought. They told me about the school, I told them about my experience in Taiwan and Ibaraki Prefecture. They asked questions, I answered, and vice versa. Then I left the school, left Tokyo, and went back to my life in Ibaraki.

On the Tuesday of that week, I had a free period during which I was utterly exhausted. To keep myself awake, I wrote. I wrote about job hunting, about how much I was afraid that moving to Tokyo wouldn't solve my problems of anxiety, constant emotional exhaustion, and (possible) bouts of Depression Lite, but how I desperately wanted the change, anyway. I wrote about the interview, and how intimidated I'd been by the prestige and professionalism of the school, by the implied workload and responsibility therein. "I kinda really want the position," I wrote, "even though it scares me shitless. It sounds like something I'd have to work really hard at. I hope I get it. I hope I kick all the other interviewees' butts and get an offer. I don't think I will, but I WANT to."

Long story short, I got the offer. I moved to Tokyo and started working at my new school.

The change in my disposition has been almost immediate. Even living in a tiny sharehouse room and commuting 40-ish minutes to and from work every day, I am definitely the most satisfied I have ever been at a job. I teach basic English classes but also advanced English via writing and computer skills. I'm a homeroom teacher and am responsible for a small class of determined and hard-working second-year high schoolers who deserve literally nothing less than 110% from me.

I finish my days exhausted and worn out, same as before, but the feeling is different. I like going to school, because I don't feel like an outsider. I go to the same school every day. I have co-workers I can really talk to, in English, and feel that I'm making a connection with them. Moreover, I work the same hours they do, so I feel like I'm part of the community.

I have my own desk, one that isn't covered in random pamphlets or craft baskets or other school detritus when I come in for the morning because it isn't "that desk that the English Teacher uses sometimes," it's my desk.

I have so much autonomy to plan my classes' curriculums and individual lessons that it made me panic a little during the first two weeks of school.

I go out on weekends and buy clothes for work that I like. Clothes I feel professional and stylish in. I don't automatically make a beeline for the discount rack, either. Since I'm not dancing around at work trying to keep small children entertained, I feel like I can buy clothes I care about that I won't sweat through and ruin in a month.

I'm looking for an apartment in Tokyo and I think this is the least concerned about moving costs that I've ever been in my entire life.

This year, I turn 30. It's a milestone. What I think is a bigger milestone, though, is that I feel like I've finally gotten to a place where I feel like a working professional instead of someone scrambling to acquire the ability and experience to be taken seriously. I feel like I'm finally in a job where I am not only expected to step up, I am being given the room to do it. I have a ton of responsibility and the weight of it is exciting and invigorating. I wake up each day and think, "I'm going to do my best." I have to be tough on myself because my students are depending on me to be the adult, and it's empowering. I like being in a place where I feel like the needs of the work will push me to evolve and grow as a teacher and a person.

It's only been a month and a half but I'm already really happy working here. I thought I would be, but I also thought there was a chance I wouldn't be, and I'm glad that it's turned out alright. I'm still not happy to wake up in the morning (I never am) but walking into school always fills me with a renewed sense of purpose. I have a job to do. I have responsibilities to fulfill. I have people counting on me. I have work that is meaningful, work that I am excited to do.

Next week is the start of exams. I am very stressed and often very tired. But I am happy. I very, very rarely state that, because usually I am satisfied or content or fine with my life situation, but not happy about the state of it overall. I like where I am, I like what I'm doing, I like who I'm working with and working for, and I feel empowered to do my best at the tasks I'm given.

I am happy.

quest for tokyo

Now that the Board of Education in Hitachinaka has finally told my schools the unfortunate news, I feel like I can publicly say this without accidentally informing someone who shouldn't know.
So, big news: I am moving to Tokyo.

This wasn't an easy decision. Well, in some ways it was, but in others, it wasn't. What was easy was the realization that, for my own wellbeing, I need to be back in the city. The tranquility of simple suburban life has always made me stir-crazy. What others find reassuring about it, I find stifling and maddening. Suburbs are good places to settle down, invest in stability, raise kids, and live peacefully. Maybe someday, that will be a good life for me. (Sans the kids part; I want a dog.) Right now, though, I still feel like my life is in motion. I still feel like I'm growing rapidly as a person, evolving, becoming. The idea of trying to settle into a peaceful space long-term before I've gotten the need for rapid evolution out of my system makes me feel like a seedling being slowly pulled up by the roots; like I'm being cut off from the stimulation I need to grow.

Therefore, the decision to move out of the peaceful suburbs and into a dense, noisy city was an easy one.

What was difficult was the decision to leave the schools and students I've gotten to know for two years.

I love my students a lot, and they know it. My second year especially has been magical, because my 6th graders all knew me from last year, and my 5th graders had seen me in the hallways and on the playground while they were 4th graders. I'd become part of the school community, someone familiar whom the kids could count on being present in their lives. That kind of inclusion is powerful. Kids recognize that your continued and active presence in their lives implies an emotional investment in them, and they respond to that. They listen in class, they talk to you in the hallways, they say hello to you outside of school. Kids won't just hand you their respect and attention; they have to see what you're willing to bring to the table. My second year here has been incredible, because I was still here.

The most difficult part of this decision was knowing that by leaving, I'm taking the stability of my continued presence away from these three schools. The main reason I stayed a second year was because I wanted to be that stable presence. I wanted my students to see me back a second year and realize that I was making a commitment to them. The only reason I am leaving is because I can see myself wearing down, and I know that if I try for a third year, my performance and mental health will probably suffer. That's not good for me, and it's not good for my kids. My kids deserve to have a teacher who is a stable and committed presence in their lives, but they also deserve to have a teacher who leads by example, and the example I want to show is that it's okay to make a big and difficult change in your life if the ultimate result will be for your own happiness and the dreams of your future.

Tomorrow, all the 6th graders in all the schools will be graduating. Last year I attended the graduations of the two schools nearest to me, because my school year had been cut short and I was able to hop around the city. Tomorrow, I'll only be attending Kouya's graduation. I've got a suit picked out and everything. I'm going to try very hard not to cry. I cried a bit this Wednesday, when my Sano 5th and 6th graders took time out of their Graduation Ceremony practice (because that is a thing that Japanese schools do, they hold practices for the procedure of major ceremonies and events) to hold a short thank-you ceremony for me. They sang a song, which I only understood a little of, but the refrain was "Sayonara tomo yo," which means "Goodbye, friend."

I'll probably never see most of them again. I'll probably never know how their lives turn out, how they turn out, if the things they dream of become reality. That's one of the hardest things about being a teacher, the not knowing. The next best thing you can do, short of knowing, is to hope; hope that you did some good, hope that your students achieve their dreams, hope that they know you always learn just as much from them as they do from you. Probably more. I told one of the Sano teachers that his students gave me the dream of being a homeroom teacher, and it's true. I came to Japan knowing that I enjoyed teaching, but it's the kids who showed me how much. It's the students who've made me get out of bed on my worst days, put on a smile when I'm tired, stay up late working on a lesson plan, because I know they deserve no less than my best.

I'm going to try to take everything I've learned from my students in Hitachinaka to my new school in Tokyo. If I am at all successful in this new endeavor, I will owe it to the lessons I learned teaching the ridiculous, hilarious, hardworking students at Kouya, Mitanda, and Sano Elementary schools in Hitachinaka.

I hope next year's teacher cares as much about these kids as I have. These kids deserve no less than their sensei's absolute best.

One week 'til Tokyo.

Sayonara, tomo yo.

...and volleyball

I've never cared about sports before.


I hail from Ohio, where the entire state is obsessed with the Ohio State University football team and annually works itself into a frenzy over the progression of OSU games. Serious fans will joke that they "bleed scarlet and gray," the team colors. I've spent half my life being surprised every year when football season crops up, because even after fifteen years I've paid it so little attention that I couldn't even tell you when it starts and when it ends. It was always around, but I was never enticed to learn more. For me, football season in Ohio is like winter in Ohio: a natural cycle of the seasons that is recognized only for how it consumes the entire state, confronting me every time I step outside, and making me long for it to be over.

Volleyball sneaked its way into my life via anime called Haikyuu!! The show, which centers around a fictional high school volleyball team working to reclaim its former glory as national champions, is ridiculously enjoyable to watch. I haven't been this all-around excited and emotionally invested in an anime in a while. It helps that Haikyuu!! has no panty shots, no groping, no side plots about romance or crushes. When you've grown up asexual, and have had to turn a blind eye to the nods to sexuality and sexual desire and sexually-charged romances (something you can't identify with and, after having it shoved in your face so often, frankly makes you uncomfortable) in essentially any piece of media you might ever decide to consume, a show that is entirely free of this nonsense is like encountering a water park resort in the middle of the Sahara.

Also? Haikyuu!!'s writing and animation are GOOD.

In Haikyuu!!'s most recent episodes and the current arc of the manga, the volleyball team has a chance to play in Japan's Spring High Volleyball tournament, which is a real thing that actually exists. Thanks to Tumblr, I found out that the final rounds of the 2016 Spring High would be playing during the first week of January, in Tokyo--just a short train ride away.

However, at the time, I had never attended a live sports event. I had never watched any sport being played live. I had no idea whether I could enjoy a live sports event on its own merit, or whether I needed the context of TV show characters and animated drama to make it exciting.


So I got on Youtube. I typed in 春の高校バレー (Spring High School Volleyball) and watched some games. I astounded myself by not only enjoying watching the games being played, but understanding what was happening in them. In watching a season and a half of Haikyuu!!, I didn't realize that I'd been accidentally learning about how volleyball was played. I didn't realize that, even though the anime doesn't go into meticulous and cumbersome technical detail about volleyball, it includes enough that you can actually take what you've learned from the show and apply it to real games played in real life. I have never in my life watched a sport that wasn't swimming (which I did for ten years) and actually understood what was happening. 


The combination of delight at finding I genuinely enjoyed volleyball and the desire to see the real life event that was depicted in my new favorite anime prompted me to purchase a ticket to watch the 2016 Spring High semi-finals (men's and women's) in Tokyo on Saturday, January 9th.

Higashi Fukuoka (in black) vs Souzou Gakuen (in blue)

Before attending, I did some research on the teams and tried to find videos of them playing. Higashi Fukuoka were last year’s Spring High winners, with the winning point scored by the captain. It was a really amazing and emotional moment. I discovered that Higashi would be in the semi-finals this year, too, and that their 2015 ace player was this year's captain. My affection for them solidified, and I decided to tentatively place my vote of confidence with them.
However, I didn't realize how invested I was in the Higashi Fukuoka vs Souzou Gakuen semi-finals game until it was happening. I clapped when Higashi scored and felt pride on their behalf when they pulled off a brilliant serve, receive, or spike. I didn't realize I was so invested until Higashi won the first two sets and then Souzou won the second two sets and it came down to the fifth and final set who would go home and who would get a shot at the championship.


In case you were curious, Higashi won.

Even though I got up at the literal crack of dawn on Saturday in order to get down to Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium by 10am, this was easily one of the best days I've ever had in Japan. Possibly one of the best and most fun days I've had in my life. Which leaves me wondering what made it so enjoyable, and why it was volleyball, of all things, that has suddenly grabbed my attention and gotten me so invested in watching a competitive sport.

Firstly, I think the reason I enjoyed today so much is because I was alone. I like hanging out with people, but when it comes to new and meaningful experiences, I enjoy them infinitely more when I'm by myself. My trip to Kyoto last Christmas was one of the most relaxing and pleasant vacations I've ever been on, and I really think it's because I was by myself and had absolutely no one else's needs or worries to think about. I'm very conscious, to an stressful degree, of the people around me. I'm constantly worried how my actions are affecting them, whether I'll need to drop my own desires and needs suddenly because of something that comes up with them, and whether my own needs should, at any given time, be something that I ought to fight for, or just let go of entirely for the sake of group harmony.

Arena seats are AWESOME.

I stress about this to the point where it keeps me up nights, makes me lose my appetite, and then ultimately drives me to tears and an inability to separate myself from it; I become the stress. But when I'm alone, I'm accountable to no one. I can enjoy my day on my own terms, as awkwardly and as slowly as I need to, and I don't have to think about whether I'm inconveniencing someone else. There are some things that I like to enjoy with others, but when it comes to important and meaningful experiences, or just anything profoundly new, I need to be alone or at least given room to breathe in order to take things in at my own pace.

Anxiety sucks, but I deal. Going on adventures like this on my own helps me feel in control and capable, and when I manage my day successfully, it's a victory I can remember the next time I feel off-balance.

My Haikyuu!! train card holder,
and my new Higashi Fukuoka keychain!

Volleyball, though. Why volleyball. I think the most noteworthy element of my experience at the Spring High semi-finals was how Japanese it was, how structured and organized it was. Each team had a section of the stadium set aside for its supporters. Before each game, the supporters would file in and sit down. During the game, they'd chant individual school cheers when their team scored or pulled off a good move. Then, when it was over, everyone in that area left to make room for the next team's fans. Food wasn't allowed in the arena, so the steps and seats were clean. People were really considerate of each other's space, and since it's Japan, I felt perfectly comfortable leaving my things at my seat repeatedly to go to the bathroom, visit the food court, or just go walk around.

This is my first experience with Japanese sports fan culture, but it didn't feel threatening at all. It felt respectful. Nobody was shouting at the players from the sidelines, there were no boos, there was no fighting or crassness (that I could see or understand, anyway). When it comes to group organization and moderation, Japan excels. Japanese culture puts a lot of emphasis on showing proper respect to those around you. When the teams that lost in the semi-finals games (both the women's games that I watched and the Higashi/Souzou game, I didn't stay for the second men's game) were awarded their medals, the whole gymnasium acknowledged them, applauding them for a game well played. Losing was obviously very hard on these kids, with some of the senior girls wiping away tears and the senior boys looking stony-faced and stiff as they received their medals.

The one thing that's really kept me out of American sports culture is how much some fans seem to enjoy HATING their opponents, which to me is ridiculous. How can you play a good game if you don't acknowledge and respect your opponent's determination and skill?

One of my favorite things in Haikyuu!! is how the show humanizes the opposing teams that the main team, Karasuno, faces. All the players in the opposing teams are made up of genuine people with friendships and dreams and lives of their own, and have worked hard in order to be good enough to play as well as they do. I can't imagine treating that kind of dedication with disrespect.


I don't know if I'd like volleyball in my own country, but so far, I really, really like it in Japan. There's no shame in losing, and the mark of true sportsmanship is how you treat your opponents, before and after a game. You face them as equals, as fellow humans who are working towards something and are determined to make it happen. You respect their strengths, and the way to win is to simply make your own talents work better.

I'm tentatively going to explore volleyball in the context of professional sports and see how I like it. And I'll definitely be attending the Spring High next year and cheering for Higashi again if they make it through the prefecture qualifiers!

(EDIT: Higashi played in the Sunday finals against Chinzei High, and won 3-0. For the second year in a row, they are the Spring High Volleyball champions. I am so happy for them!)