I left.
I gave warning that I was leaving, but nevertheless, I left. I left a full 12 days before I was supposed to.
The house is a disaster. Almost nothing is organized. I can't find the right cat food or cat litter half the time. I spent my time wading through piles of stuff that I and the other volunteers had pulled out of bins and shelves and corners, things that needed to be washed and aired out or just thrown away because of their moldy or mildew-y sate.
The atmosphere in the house is one of defeat. No one feels like they can do their job right, nor well. Every act of cleaning results in another act of cleaning. Want to organize the dishes? First you have to empty out the shelves full of other stuff. Then you clean the shelves and put the dishes away. Now you have another pile of stuff. Find a place for it; but first you have to clean that out and remove the stuff there. Okay, organized. Now there's another new pile of stuff to find an organized place for. It's endless. I spent almost 20 days there and I can tell you, it is endless.
There is physically no where else for anything to go. I could go on and on and on about all the useless items in that house, and all the strange places I've found them. We have trash days but there is so much trash. And a lot of it wouldn't be, if people had organized or someone had routinely checked in and made sure there was a system in place.
Hardest of all is that there is no solid system in place for anything. Not dishes, not laundry, not personal items, not even who gets what bed. Speaking of beds, four available beds are shoved in a corner of the living room (one bunk, two flat) and all within six inches of each other. What strangers are going to sleep crammed together with no privacy? And even the girls who had been in the house for seven months knew where the bedsheets were (not any of them) until I came and spent my first week going through all the drawers and donation bags and doing loads upon loads of laundry.
Apparently the local community thinks the place is an abandoned "gomiyashiki," which basically translates to "trash house."
I don't know how the place got to be like this. People say that it was fine eight months ago. Maybe it was. Maybe it went downhill in the last eight months, or maybe it's been going downhill for a while and nobody noticed because people's standards for cleanliness were low.
I think one problem is that people don't think of it as their home, and so they forget that they need to take responsibility to clean up after themselves and keep the place going by leaving it better than they found it. There's no hotel staff to strip their beds and wash their sheets and clean up the litter they leave and toss all their trash. There's just the next batch of volunteers, and if they don't clean up but still leave their own mess, and if the next group fails to clean up and leaves their own mess...
At least I stripped down my own damn bed and put the sheets in the laundry before I left. I also cleaned my extra food out of the fridge.
Nobody can stay sane in that house. The sheer weight of all the work that has to be done, and the lack of a systematic way to accomplish it, married with the confusion a lot of people suffer when they arrive and find the situation drastically different than what they expected (plus a lot of people are just visiting and they don't know how Japan works, just no idea about food or which cleaner to use or how trash works or anything) is what drives people crazy and makes them leave. There's nobody in the house with enough morale to keep everyone going. I tried to be the morale, to be the answer to all questions about the house and Japan, and on Friday, I cracked. I just broke down crying and I couldn't stop, I cried myself to sleep and woke up ready to cry again. I hid from everyone all Saturday, read fanfic and watched Youtube and scrolled endlessly through Tumblr. On Sunday I spent five hours lying in bed, not quite sleeping, just sort of unable to operate. I couldn't talk to anyone until Monday evening.
Suffice to say, that house is a mess, I can't be the glue that holds a mess that big together.
It's Tuesday, and I'm in a little AirBnB apartment in Koriyama, about 40 minutes away by train. I'll go back up to the shelter on Thursday and greet the new volunteers, since they'll need a major orientation into the unfortunate situation they've inherited.
I cried so much on the train ride to Koriyama. I feel like I let everyone down and abandoned the volunteers and the animals. I think Chacha, the dog that I bonded with most, knew that I was leaving, and I think I made him sad. I miss him so much. I can't adopt him, because he's over the size limit for my new apartment and my job is so busy that I'd never be around to take care of him properly, and also it's important that he be adopted with his friend Addy, because she kind of needs his emotional support. But I feel like he's mine, and I feel like I spent so much time loving him only to let him down, and I feel like shit, and it's all because of that fucking house that takes good, hard-working, animal-loving people and breaks them.
I'm so mad and I'm so sad. I don't care if I disappoint people, but I let down a dog. I feel like a piece of shit.
I've got alcohol and an empty apartment and I've never felt more tired, lonely, and powerless.
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
Monday, July 31, 2017
JCN shelter day 9&10
Well, let's just say it's been an eventful couple of days.
The good news is that I have excellent friends. I asked for people to come help me clean up here, and people did. I had one friend stay for the weekend, and another two come up on Sunday to help out as well. They assisted with several projects that needed to get done, and now have been. They were also a huge boost in morale, particularly mine. I am so thankful that I have friends who are so selfless and kind and will work so hard simply because they know there is work to do.
There is still a massive amount of mess and disorganization in the shelter. Honestly, no matter how much we clean, it always feels and looks like we did very little. That's the scope of this disaster, though. Every level of upkeep has been neglected, and so we have to clean and reorganize down to nearly the very foundations.
Fortunately, I am no longer the only person who recognizes that.
The details of the last twenty-four hours are long and convoluted and not for public distribution. But suffice to say, our situation is now being taken seriously. A volunteer from the Kyoto program was sent up to Inawashiro on an overnight bus, and within an hour she could see the utter lack of organization or cleanliness in the house. She comes from a place that is very organized and structured, and it is a huge relief to have her on-site to give advice about how to set up a work schedule for volunteers both present and future. It's also a huge relief to have someone on-site from within the JCN program who agrees whole-heartedly that this shelter is in distress and needs a lot of help. For the last week, I've felt like everyone in upper management has been blissfully unaware of the situation, and has dismissed reports of excessive mess as the exaggerations of young people far away from home who can't deal with living on their own.
Unfortunately, young people who are far from home and can't deal with living on their own have been exactly what lead us here. Because people who are far away from home and have never lived on their own do not understand the sheer magnitude of constant work that it takes to keep oneself alive and one's own surroundings clean. This unending cycle of daily tasks is added to the work necessary to care for animals. When you try to put young people with no innate sense of responsibility and no experience in being responsible in a position where they have to take constant initiative to be responsible, the situation like what we have here is what happens. Moreoever, if young people who will not take initiative are left unsupervised by management, then you get a catastrophe.
The house is still a mess. But now, finally, I am not the only person saying it. People outside JCN are talking about it. People within JCN are aware of it, whether they like it or not. And now, finally, action is being taken by JCN to assist with what will undoubtedly be the slow and painstaking process of cleaning up and organizing this gigantic mess.
At the end of this, I hope, will be a much healthier environment for the animals. Which is all I want. I have not been very friendly, patient, quiet, or understanding these last few days. My patience ran out on my first day. I stopped caring whether anyone liked me, whether anyone respected me, whether I ended this endeavor with friends or with people talking behind my back and calling me an obnoxious bitch. All I have cared about, for the last week, is getting people to see what I see, to listen, and to actually take some kind of action to fix things. And nobody was ever going to listen to a calm petition for extra support. We are past that. We are at the point where unless someone plants their feet and says, "No, we are going to fix this NOW," and leads the charge, nothing is going to get done.
(I have planted my feet so hard that I genuinely cannot walk around on one for very long without it starting to throb. I've taken to wearing slippers around the house. I also basically sat down all of today.)
I don't usually cause commotion about things. I don't like rocking boats. It's dangerous and can end with big consequences if you're wrong or you're up against people with more power than you. But when it comes to the happiness and health of animals, all bets are off. Because a shelter should not just be a place that's a little more comfortable than the outdoors. It should be a place of healing and refuge. It should be warm and kind. A living room that's too cluttered for the dogs to stretch out comfortably and a bunch of rooms that are layered with old litter and matted fur and that smell like cat pee are neither warm or kind. They are simply a better option than being out in the cold.
I want these animals to be happy.
They will be.
The good news is that I have excellent friends. I asked for people to come help me clean up here, and people did. I had one friend stay for the weekend, and another two come up on Sunday to help out as well. They assisted with several projects that needed to get done, and now have been. They were also a huge boost in morale, particularly mine. I am so thankful that I have friends who are so selfless and kind and will work so hard simply because they know there is work to do.
There is still a massive amount of mess and disorganization in the shelter. Honestly, no matter how much we clean, it always feels and looks like we did very little. That's the scope of this disaster, though. Every level of upkeep has been neglected, and so we have to clean and reorganize down to nearly the very foundations.
Fortunately, I am no longer the only person who recognizes that.
The details of the last twenty-four hours are long and convoluted and not for public distribution. But suffice to say, our situation is now being taken seriously. A volunteer from the Kyoto program was sent up to Inawashiro on an overnight bus, and within an hour she could see the utter lack of organization or cleanliness in the house. She comes from a place that is very organized and structured, and it is a huge relief to have her on-site to give advice about how to set up a work schedule for volunteers both present and future. It's also a huge relief to have someone on-site from within the JCN program who agrees whole-heartedly that this shelter is in distress and needs a lot of help. For the last week, I've felt like everyone in upper management has been blissfully unaware of the situation, and has dismissed reports of excessive mess as the exaggerations of young people far away from home who can't deal with living on their own.
Unfortunately, young people who are far from home and can't deal with living on their own have been exactly what lead us here. Because people who are far away from home and have never lived on their own do not understand the sheer magnitude of constant work that it takes to keep oneself alive and one's own surroundings clean. This unending cycle of daily tasks is added to the work necessary to care for animals. When you try to put young people with no innate sense of responsibility and no experience in being responsible in a position where they have to take constant initiative to be responsible, the situation like what we have here is what happens. Moreoever, if young people who will not take initiative are left unsupervised by management, then you get a catastrophe.
The house is still a mess. But now, finally, I am not the only person saying it. People outside JCN are talking about it. People within JCN are aware of it, whether they like it or not. And now, finally, action is being taken by JCN to assist with what will undoubtedly be the slow and painstaking process of cleaning up and organizing this gigantic mess.
At the end of this, I hope, will be a much healthier environment for the animals. Which is all I want. I have not been very friendly, patient, quiet, or understanding these last few days. My patience ran out on my first day. I stopped caring whether anyone liked me, whether anyone respected me, whether I ended this endeavor with friends or with people talking behind my back and calling me an obnoxious bitch. All I have cared about, for the last week, is getting people to see what I see, to listen, and to actually take some kind of action to fix things. And nobody was ever going to listen to a calm petition for extra support. We are past that. We are at the point where unless someone plants their feet and says, "No, we are going to fix this NOW," and leads the charge, nothing is going to get done.
(I have planted my feet so hard that I genuinely cannot walk around on one for very long without it starting to throb. I've taken to wearing slippers around the house. I also basically sat down all of today.)
I don't usually cause commotion about things. I don't like rocking boats. It's dangerous and can end with big consequences if you're wrong or you're up against people with more power than you. But when it comes to the happiness and health of animals, all bets are off. Because a shelter should not just be a place that's a little more comfortable than the outdoors. It should be a place of healing and refuge. It should be warm and kind. A living room that's too cluttered for the dogs to stretch out comfortably and a bunch of rooms that are layered with old litter and matted fur and that smell like cat pee are neither warm or kind. They are simply a better option than being out in the cold.
I want these animals to be happy.
They will be.
Saturday, July 29, 2017
JCN shelter day 7&8
I'm just really tired. I've been working so hard all day for over a week, now. I really need to take a rest. Probably will on Monday. Although I forgot we're having a new volunteer arrive tomorrow, so I'll have to make sure they get settled in and know what's going on.
Oh my god I'm going to be so tired just forever.
Oh my god I'm going to be so tired just forever.
Thursday, July 27, 2017
JCN shelter day 6
I want it to feel like a home. Maybe not perfectly, but I want the living room to be a warm and cozy place. Not a storage space, not a temporary space, but a home. I want the dogs to feel like they have room to move, to explore, to have fun, to be dogs. I want it to feel welcoming and warm. I want it to be a soft place where they can cozy up to people and just be happy and safe and loved.
It's always going to be a shelter, but I want to clean up the living room so the dogs can imagine what it's like to be in a real home.
It's always going to be a shelter, but I want to clean up the living room so the dogs can imagine what it's like to be in a real home.
Wednesday, July 26, 2017
JCN shelter day 4&5
Okay so. It sounds like the lack of communication about what to do and how to do it has been going on for a while. Apparently there's a manual for how to do things around here? Who knew? I didn't. The girls here before me didn't. There's a notebook on the messy desk that says "Volunteer Manual" but honestly, that desk is so full of paperwork and receipts that there's no way to know what's relevant and what's as expired as the canned food.
The good news is that I have good friends in Japan, and some of them will be coming around this weekend to help me clean. One of the housemates left this morning, but the remaining housemate swept, vacuumed, and cleaned the floor of Cat Room B with a bleach-water solution, so at least that particular room smells less like cat pee than it did before. I'm making a dent in the (dis)organization of the living room, pulling out stained futons and airing out cat-fur-covered blankets. I have actual sheets on my bed, now. Chacha, one of the dogs, likes sleeping on there with me.
I also finally got to talk to the house manager, who is new to the job but thankfully very knowledgeable and responsible. Having someone promptly respond to emails and FB inquiries is a relief. (I emailed two other lead members of the organization about Kit back in June and never received a single reply.)
There's still a long way to go in getting the shelter clean. The main problem is that nobody knows what supplies we have or where anything is, because there's so much stuff that it's nearly impossible to have an organized location for anything. There's no possible way to do inventory when I'm finding paper towels, trash bags, bleach, and various other items in random closets and cupboards around the house. How can we say "we need more toilet paper" if we can't even be sure how many we've got? Every time I open a new drawer or open a box, I have no idea if I'll find something useful or something rotten and full of bugs. We're also not allowed to just throw things away or sell or donate them, because some things are shelter property. Which things? The moldy futon by my bed? The twenty-odd coats and jackets hanging up in the living room? The ashtrays in the kitchen? The expired Mott's Apple Sauce stacked several packs high in three different rooms? Exactly when do I, or any volunteer, get to make an executive decision and say, "Yeah, this needs to go"?
It's ridiculous. It can't stay like this. The current system allows for mess to pile up without accountability. Who knows what was here before and what was just left behind? If you can't see the system, who knows if you're following it?
I'm going to get there, though. I'm going to make a dent in the chaos around here and clean up all the filth that's been living in its corners. I'm going to leave behind something structured and clean and organized, something that even foreigners with no clue how anything works can understand and adapt to. I'm in the fortunate position where I've been in Japan long enough that I understand a lot of the particulars of keeping house in Japan. I've had to research the cleaning supplies and futon care, and I've seen how my co-workers and various Japanese acquaintances organize their homes in a structured and systematic manner. I am in the perfect position to get this place back on track and organize it in a way that will help new people settle into it without trouble and keep things running.
I'm five days in, with fifteen left. I'll have helpers coming this weekend and in August, and hopefully the new volunteers in August will have a work ethic and share my desire to put this place back to rights. When I leave here, I want to leave something that JCN can take pride in. I want something that feels like a home.
Tomorrow I'm going to try to fix the vacuum, clean out the loft, and prepare the rooms for the people coming this weekend.
People keep telling me I don't have to work so hard, but this isn't obligation. This is me feeling alive.
The good news is that I have good friends in Japan, and some of them will be coming around this weekend to help me clean. One of the housemates left this morning, but the remaining housemate swept, vacuumed, and cleaned the floor of Cat Room B with a bleach-water solution, so at least that particular room smells less like cat pee than it did before. I'm making a dent in the (dis)organization of the living room, pulling out stained futons and airing out cat-fur-covered blankets. I have actual sheets on my bed, now. Chacha, one of the dogs, likes sleeping on there with me.
I also finally got to talk to the house manager, who is new to the job but thankfully very knowledgeable and responsible. Having someone promptly respond to emails and FB inquiries is a relief. (I emailed two other lead members of the organization about Kit back in June and never received a single reply.)
There's still a long way to go in getting the shelter clean. The main problem is that nobody knows what supplies we have or where anything is, because there's so much stuff that it's nearly impossible to have an organized location for anything. There's no possible way to do inventory when I'm finding paper towels, trash bags, bleach, and various other items in random closets and cupboards around the house. How can we say "we need more toilet paper" if we can't even be sure how many we've got? Every time I open a new drawer or open a box, I have no idea if I'll find something useful or something rotten and full of bugs. We're also not allowed to just throw things away or sell or donate them, because some things are shelter property. Which things? The moldy futon by my bed? The twenty-odd coats and jackets hanging up in the living room? The ashtrays in the kitchen? The expired Mott's Apple Sauce stacked several packs high in three different rooms? Exactly when do I, or any volunteer, get to make an executive decision and say, "Yeah, this needs to go"?
It's ridiculous. It can't stay like this. The current system allows for mess to pile up without accountability. Who knows what was here before and what was just left behind? If you can't see the system, who knows if you're following it?
I'm going to get there, though. I'm going to make a dent in the chaos around here and clean up all the filth that's been living in its corners. I'm going to leave behind something structured and clean and organized, something that even foreigners with no clue how anything works can understand and adapt to. I'm in the fortunate position where I've been in Japan long enough that I understand a lot of the particulars of keeping house in Japan. I've had to research the cleaning supplies and futon care, and I've seen how my co-workers and various Japanese acquaintances organize their homes in a structured and systematic manner. I am in the perfect position to get this place back on track and organize it in a way that will help new people settle into it without trouble and keep things running.
I'm five days in, with fifteen left. I'll have helpers coming this weekend and in August, and hopefully the new volunteers in August will have a work ethic and share my desire to put this place back to rights. When I leave here, I want to leave something that JCN can take pride in. I want something that feels like a home.
Tomorrow I'm going to try to fix the vacuum, clean out the loft, and prepare the rooms for the people coming this weekend.
People keep telling me I don't have to work so hard, but this isn't obligation. This is me feeling alive.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
JCN shelter day 3 (morning)
The dogs don't know how to play.
They have no toys. They sit around all day. They don't investigate food, they don't get excited about new things in the house. They accept change with aplomb, not with intrigue. They enjoy walks and they are clearly desperate for stimulus, but they don't expect it.
I contacted someone in JCN and let them know about the utter disgrace that's going on around here. They'll alert upper management. I'm also going to see how many people I can recruit from my networks to come up here for a few days, or a few hours, or anything, and just help me organize and clean. I honestly just want a few dedicated people to come up here, sit down with me and help make a plan, and then help me clean. There's just so much to do and the current occupants are spending more time in their alcove or out with a friend than they are in the house with the cats and dogs.
I cleaned one of the kitten cages the other day and it was filthy. "Oh you know, you clean it and they just make a mess again." BECAUSE THEY'RE KITTENS, ARE YOU STUPID?? If a baby shits its diaper, do you say, "Oh you know, if you change her diaper she'll just poop in it again." Duh??? You didn't sign up to take an easy vacation, you signed up to volunteer.
They've been here seven months and they haven't bothered to try making a dent in any of the mess around here. They didn't even try to clean out the fridge. Any time I mention doing something, they say, "Oh we have to ask the manager." You do not need to ask the manager before you take a broom and some wet paper towels and clean out all the filth in the cat rooms. You do not need to ask the manager before you sort through the piles of discarded laundry and make decisions about what's too old/dirty to keep and what should be washed. You do not need to ask the manager before you organize the dishes, before you clean the rat poop off the shelves, before you organize the canned food by expiration date, before you contribute the basic daily maintenance that would hypothetically be a no-brainer for anyone who has lived on their own.
What's gross is that even the bare minimum of cleaning that would be done in one's own home has not been done here. The human living spaces are just as disgusting. I don't trust the kitchen.
I'm doing a lot of ranting, but I am really frustrated. And due to that frustration, I am ridiculously motivated to change everything. There has been almost zero percent accountability around here and I am going upgrade that to 100% accountability. You don't get a day off when you have pets. You don't get to give up because it's hard. You are the only person they have, and you have to carry on for them. There are maybe 20 animals in this house who need me, and you better believe I am going to carry on for a month straight until this place is livable again.
They have no toys. They sit around all day. They don't investigate food, they don't get excited about new things in the house. They accept change with aplomb, not with intrigue. They enjoy walks and they are clearly desperate for stimulus, but they don't expect it.
I contacted someone in JCN and let them know about the utter disgrace that's going on around here. They'll alert upper management. I'm also going to see how many people I can recruit from my networks to come up here for a few days, or a few hours, or anything, and just help me organize and clean. I honestly just want a few dedicated people to come up here, sit down with me and help make a plan, and then help me clean. There's just so much to do and the current occupants are spending more time in their alcove or out with a friend than they are in the house with the cats and dogs.
I cleaned one of the kitten cages the other day and it was filthy. "Oh you know, you clean it and they just make a mess again." BECAUSE THEY'RE KITTENS, ARE YOU STUPID?? If a baby shits its diaper, do you say, "Oh you know, if you change her diaper she'll just poop in it again." Duh??? You didn't sign up to take an easy vacation, you signed up to volunteer.
They've been here seven months and they haven't bothered to try making a dent in any of the mess around here. They didn't even try to clean out the fridge. Any time I mention doing something, they say, "Oh we have to ask the manager." You do not need to ask the manager before you take a broom and some wet paper towels and clean out all the filth in the cat rooms. You do not need to ask the manager before you sort through the piles of discarded laundry and make decisions about what's too old/dirty to keep and what should be washed. You do not need to ask the manager before you organize the dishes, before you clean the rat poop off the shelves, before you organize the canned food by expiration date, before you contribute the basic daily maintenance that would hypothetically be a no-brainer for anyone who has lived on their own.
What's gross is that even the bare minimum of cleaning that would be done in one's own home has not been done here. The human living spaces are just as disgusting. I don't trust the kitchen.
I'm doing a lot of ranting, but I am really frustrated. And due to that frustration, I am ridiculously motivated to change everything. There has been almost zero percent accountability around here and I am going upgrade that to 100% accountability. You don't get a day off when you have pets. You don't get to give up because it's hard. You are the only person they have, and you have to carry on for them. There are maybe 20 animals in this house who need me, and you better believe I am going to carry on for a month straight until this place is livable again.
JCN Shelter day 1&2
I have not written in forever but I am having a time of it cleaning up after other people's mess, so here we go.
Long story short, I volunteered to volunteer at the JCN (Japan Cat Network)'s animal shelter in Fukushima for a month this summer. I arrived yesterday. It is a disaster.
Imagine several years worth of temporary vacationing foreigners coming through and not giving enough of a shit about the state of the house to be proactive about keeping it clean. They don't organize, they leave their old food (and meds, and clothes, and toiletries, and blankets, and utensils, and literally everything else) behind. It piles up. Months and months of temporary foreigners couchsurfing the place and only doing the bare minimum to keep the house (and the animals) going.
This is what I have walked into.
There is dry mouse poop in the pantry, on top of cans of food that expired in 2015. Every cat room smells like pee. Little bits of random trash can be found on almost any given corner of the house. There are bins and boxes lying around with dust on them, full of god knows what. There are bins with labels that don't contain any of the things written on them. There is a porch with blankets flung over the railing that just sit out in the rain, getting old and gross. There is no place to put anything, anywhere. Most everything is old and worn, and none of it looks like it's been touched or gone through or disposed of in years.
This is what I'm going to try to tackle for the next month.
I'm sure some good people have come through here. I'm sure they want to help animals. But the video tour from 2014 is no longer remotely relevant. The house itself is holding up well, but it needs at least half a year's worth of hardcore cleaning (from people who are actually dedicated to cleaning it). Old stuff needs to be disposed of. Inventory needs to be taken. Everything needs to be organized and labeled.
I've cleaned out the fridge, wiped down most of the shelves of the pantry, organized the food by year of expiration (most of it is in the 2015 and 2016 pile) and amassed three bags full of assorted trash. I've started doing laundry with any decent looking blankets and towels I can find. I think I'll go into the nearest empty cat room and start sweeping up as much cat litter as I possibly can, and take out any blankets or towels that look gross and wash them. (Or trash them.)
The two girls who live here have been here for several months, and they said that the other housemates' apathy towards the work made them give up. Which, fine. Whatever. If you want to leave dirty dishes on the table at night and not toss your soy milk when you're done drinking it and blame it on "giving up" because of other people's actions, fine. But I tell you what, the older I get, the fewer fucks I give about other people's actions and the more I care about taking care of what matters. And what matters is this house, these animals, and their health. What matters is the work. It doesn't matter who does it. If you have to pick up someone else's slack for a bit for the sake of caring for animals who can't, then do it.
I've got a little under a month to see how much I can get done. Let's see how much I can get done.
(And god help any foreigners who come through in the mean time expecting a cheap place to crash, because you are pulling your weight or you are OUT.)
Long story short, I volunteered to volunteer at the JCN (Japan Cat Network)'s animal shelter in Fukushima for a month this summer. I arrived yesterday. It is a disaster.
Imagine several years worth of temporary vacationing foreigners coming through and not giving enough of a shit about the state of the house to be proactive about keeping it clean. They don't organize, they leave their old food (and meds, and clothes, and toiletries, and blankets, and utensils, and literally everything else) behind. It piles up. Months and months of temporary foreigners couchsurfing the place and only doing the bare minimum to keep the house (and the animals) going.
This is what I have walked into.
There is dry mouse poop in the pantry, on top of cans of food that expired in 2015. Every cat room smells like pee. Little bits of random trash can be found on almost any given corner of the house. There are bins and boxes lying around with dust on them, full of god knows what. There are bins with labels that don't contain any of the things written on them. There is a porch with blankets flung over the railing that just sit out in the rain, getting old and gross. There is no place to put anything, anywhere. Most everything is old and worn, and none of it looks like it's been touched or gone through or disposed of in years.
This is what I'm going to try to tackle for the next month.
I'm sure some good people have come through here. I'm sure they want to help animals. But the video tour from 2014 is no longer remotely relevant. The house itself is holding up well, but it needs at least half a year's worth of hardcore cleaning (from people who are actually dedicated to cleaning it). Old stuff needs to be disposed of. Inventory needs to be taken. Everything needs to be organized and labeled.
I've cleaned out the fridge, wiped down most of the shelves of the pantry, organized the food by year of expiration (most of it is in the 2015 and 2016 pile) and amassed three bags full of assorted trash. I've started doing laundry with any decent looking blankets and towels I can find. I think I'll go into the nearest empty cat room and start sweeping up as much cat litter as I possibly can, and take out any blankets or towels that look gross and wash them. (Or trash them.)
The two girls who live here have been here for several months, and they said that the other housemates' apathy towards the work made them give up. Which, fine. Whatever. If you want to leave dirty dishes on the table at night and not toss your soy milk when you're done drinking it and blame it on "giving up" because of other people's actions, fine. But I tell you what, the older I get, the fewer fucks I give about other people's actions and the more I care about taking care of what matters. And what matters is this house, these animals, and their health. What matters is the work. It doesn't matter who does it. If you have to pick up someone else's slack for a bit for the sake of caring for animals who can't, then do it.
I've got a little under a month to see how much I can get done. Let's see how much I can get done.
(And god help any foreigners who come through in the mean time expecting a cheap place to crash, because you are pulling your weight or you are OUT.)
Sunday, June 26, 2016
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.
Friday, May 20, 2016
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.
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.
Long story short, I got the offer. I moved to Tokyo and started working at my new school.
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'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.
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.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
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.
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.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
...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.
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.
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| 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.
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| Arena seats are AWESOME. |
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.
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| My Haikyuu!! train card holder, and my new Higashi Fukuoka keychain! |
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!)
Saturday, December 5, 2015
anxiety
I'm doing an experiment.
Last September/October, my anxiety kicked into high gear. Like, really high gear. Now, maybe it was the culture shock sinking in, maybe it was the return to school after summer break combined with the much colder (and darker, and more miserable) season. But.
September/October 2014 is also when I stopped jogging as a form of exercise, because it was getting cold out and I didn't want to spring money for a gym membership. (Still don't.)
But exercise is supposed to be good for combating anxiety. It has the side effect of making me hungry, so even on bad days where I get so anxious that eating is a chore and food taste like dirt, I crave real food and end up devouring it.
I've been doing Pilates, but Pilates involves a lot of mental work. Keeping a stance, changing exercise moves, focusing on form, that kind of thing. Whereas jogging is mindless; do the same motion continuously, for as long as you want.
Today, I went jogging for the first time in a year. It didn't solve everything, but I came home and ate, and I feel like I'm not so overwhelmed with emotions that I can't feel them. I still feel awful, terrified about tomorrow, but I can feel it. I'm not shutting it down because feeling it would mean being too overwhelmed to function.
Last September/October, my anxiety kicked into high gear. Like, really high gear. Now, maybe it was the culture shock sinking in, maybe it was the return to school after summer break combined with the much colder (and darker, and more miserable) season. But.
September/October 2014 is also when I stopped jogging as a form of exercise, because it was getting cold out and I didn't want to spring money for a gym membership. (Still don't.)
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| Bike by my apartment complex in Taiwan. |
I've been doing Pilates, but Pilates involves a lot of mental work. Keeping a stance, changing exercise moves, focusing on form, that kind of thing. Whereas jogging is mindless; do the same motion continuously, for as long as you want.
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| Taipei's streets, where I often jogged at night. |
Today, I went jogging for the first time in a year. It didn't solve everything, but I came home and ate, and I feel like I'm not so overwhelmed with emotions that I can't feel them. I still feel awful, terrified about tomorrow, but I can feel it. I'm not shutting it down because feeling it would mean being too overwhelmed to function.
I'm also, if we'll notice, writing in my blog again.
Monotonous exercise is like meditation, but with entertainment. The scenery changes. I listen to music. I get to be in my own head, but the world is still moving around me. It's safe, like being at Starbucks, out in the world without the pressure of having to smile and laugh and directly interact with it.
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| Even cities are quiet at night. There's anonymity in darkness. |
However, my shoes are about two years old (I bought them in Taiwan) so I didn't get very far this evening before my knees said, "Nope," and I spent the rest of my time walking. I'll have to buy fresh running shoes before I can get serious. But it felt good to feel powerful, even for a bit. My mind is a prison, but my body has always been capable and strong. I've always felt that while my mind can handle very little, my body constantly shocks me with how far it can go. After an average day at work, my mind wants to tap out and take a day (or five) off. After a long run, or a swim, or a workout at Pilates, my body has always said, "I can do more!"
Between my body and my mind, I'm glad at least one of us is always full of effortless strength. I need my body to carry my mind through when things like driving and calling people on the phone and deciding on what shirt is socially acceptable to wear to the grocery store tire me out. I'm constantly overwhelmed by the sheer possibility of catastrophe, be it a car crash or burning my apartment down or offending my co-workers by not saying "Ohayo gozaimasu!" loud enough or to the right people in the morning. My mind has never been able to shut off.
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| The shrine in my old neighborhood in Japan. |
I think I felt better, though, when I was routinely going out for a jog.
So I've bought sweatpants, and legwarmers. I have my Under Armour winter shirt and gloves. I have a hat. I'll buy new shoes as soon as I can. And at least twice a week, I'll try to make myself go out in the mornings or evenings and run.
I always did it for the health of my body, but I'm starting to think the real benefit was for my mind.
Anxiety sucks. But I'm hoping that jogging again will make it suck a bit less.
Saturday, August 8, 2015
OHIO gozaimasu
"Ohio" gozaimasu. Because I'm in Ohio. Get it? It's hilarious. And it's gonna be hilarious every morning that I say it while I'm here.
Reverse culture shock is possibly the weirdest thing to experience. Because when you leave the West and go live in the East, you expect things to be baffling. You expect your impulses for polite social conduct to be wrong. You expect the common language to be overwhelming and strange. You expect to hesitate when counting out money because you're not used to the shapes, colors, and amounts. You expect to be struck by the cacophony of millions of small details being radically different from what your mind expects.
When you return to your home country, the place where you've been raised and indoctrinated into the culture since birth, and find that your impulses for polite social conduct are wrong, it's really strange. You find that the language you speak fluently and understand perfectly to be overwhelming in such large amounts. (Especially when you've been training your brain to seek out the foreign language for the sake of self-study.) You find yourself pausing when counting out money because you're not used to the shapes, colors, and amounts. You find yourself overwhelmed by the cacophony of millions of small details that are radically different from what your mind has learned to expect.
Very weirdly, I find myself being mildly offended and annoyed with the large, boisterous, and abruptness of American society. I was in a bathroom in Honolulu, just outside the entrance to Customs, and one of the workers started calling out "Next!" and waving people over when a stall was empty. (There were, like six stalls total. It was a small bathroom. You could see when one was empty.) I wanted to tell her, "Lady, 75% of the people in line are Japanese. When it comes to collective, courteous self-organization, they excel. Trust me, you don't need to push them around." I also couldn't believe how many people on the Stateside planes were chatting to each other like old friends over things as simple as helping each other put carry-ons into the overhead compartments. It felt like an invasion of space. Japanese people are very quick to assist you when it looks like you need it, but they're also just as likely to leave you alone to accomplish it yourself or--if you absolutely must--ask for assistance. Preferably from someone who works there, not the other customers. Japanese people are wonderfully kind and helpful, but they also know how to leave other people alone.
I also find customer service workers in America frustratingly apathetic; like they can't even fake pleasantness. Moreover, there aren't a lot of phrases in English (at least in the States) that you can use to show an attempt at courtesy. While English has a ridiculous number of verb tenses to show time, Japanese has an astounding number of conjugations and suffixes that can be used to show deference and courtesy. There are a number of ways to say "Please" and "Thank you" alone, to show how courteous you're being and whether the person you're speaking to is higher or lower than you in status. I've started saying "___ o onegaishimasu" when I order things because it's mildly more polite and courteous than "____ o kudasai," even though there's nothing wrong with "kudasai" to begin with. Japanese people even say 'please' and 'thank you' once or twice sometimes. In America, I feel like every "please" and "thank you" from people is ripped out of them with extreme reluctance.
I don't know if this is how Japanese people perceive American society, but it's really weird for me. I don't feel as safe in the States as I did in Japan. Quite literally, the moment my ridiculous amount of Japanese yen was exchanged for a ridiculous (but sadly much less, damn those exchange rates) amount of American dollars, I felt my paranoia over theft increase tenfold. When I go to the Hitachinaka Starbucks in Japan, I leave my computer and purse at the table and go to to the bathroom all the time. (I take my phone with me, but that's because it's small and would be easy to quietly steal.) In Japanese coffee shops, people will leave their personal belongings at tables and chairs before going to order their food, as a way of claiming the space. In America, you'd do what with something you could afford to have stolen; like a cheap jacket. Or you'd have someone physically sit at the table to guard everyone's things. At the Sawmill Starbucks in Ohio, I'd often lock my computer to something before leaving it to go to the bathroom. Things like this make me wonder how many Japanese tourists experience theft in the US because they don't realize you have to be fifty times more cautious and 100 times less trusting of strangers.
My instincts for social interactions are all wrong. I went to order at Starbucks and had to remember how to order in English because I've done more Starbucks ordering in Japan than in America. I bow and say "sumimasen!" or "gomen nasai!" when I have to nudge people out of my way in crowded areas. Just now I said, "Thank you!" out loud and it felt really uncomfortable to do so without at least a little head bow--like I was being inauthentic. I feel less polite in English than I do in Japanese.
I also cannot manage American money for the life of me. I keep thinking the copper coins are 10 yen pieces, and the fact that the large coins are worth $0.25 instead of 100 yen (technically about $0.86 but in Japan treated the way $1 is in the States) confuses me so much.
My mother and I went grocery shopping briefly and the size of a regular Kroger grocery store was astounding. Just... so much food. So many varieties of each food. Who even needs that much pasta sauce?!
Also, due to the fact that I slept for nearly 14 hours since getting home about 24 hours ago, I stayed up most of the night, and the sun is only just now rising at 6:30am. In Japan, I see shadows on the ground by 5am. The actual sunrise is at about 4:20am now that it's summer. It feels a lot earlier to me than it actually is here.
I think the hardest thing for me, though, is how afraid I am of losing the many ways I've become integrated into Japanese culture. I'm afraid I'll lose my Japanese instincts, and more importantly, my Japanese language ability. The reason I never studied Japanese in high school or college is because I always figured I'd learn it and then lose it, because where would I ever find consistent Japanese practice in the States? (And, of course, why learn Japanese if I was never in a million years going to get the chance to live in Japan, right?) I've worked really hard to become integrated into Japanese culture, and the thought of losing the many ways I've become Japanese is frightening. Moreover, there are many things about Japan and Japanese culture that I appreciate and prefer over American culture, and I worry that I'll be frustrated by American culture while I'm here.
In conclusion, reverse culture shock is weird. In Japan I worry about committing a faux pas because I'm unaware of the Japanese way to do something, but now I find myself worried that I'll act "strange" in America because I do something the Japanese way without thinking about it.
We'll see how things go.
Reverse culture shock is possibly the weirdest thing to experience. Because when you leave the West and go live in the East, you expect things to be baffling. You expect your impulses for polite social conduct to be wrong. You expect the common language to be overwhelming and strange. You expect to hesitate when counting out money because you're not used to the shapes, colors, and amounts. You expect to be struck by the cacophony of millions of small details being radically different from what your mind expects.
When you return to your home country, the place where you've been raised and indoctrinated into the culture since birth, and find that your impulses for polite social conduct are wrong, it's really strange. You find that the language you speak fluently and understand perfectly to be overwhelming in such large amounts. (Especially when you've been training your brain to seek out the foreign language for the sake of self-study.) You find yourself pausing when counting out money because you're not used to the shapes, colors, and amounts. You find yourself overwhelmed by the cacophony of millions of small details that are radically different from what your mind has learned to expect.
Very weirdly, I find myself being mildly offended and annoyed with the large, boisterous, and abruptness of American society. I was in a bathroom in Honolulu, just outside the entrance to Customs, and one of the workers started calling out "Next!" and waving people over when a stall was empty. (There were, like six stalls total. It was a small bathroom. You could see when one was empty.) I wanted to tell her, "Lady, 75% of the people in line are Japanese. When it comes to collective, courteous self-organization, they excel. Trust me, you don't need to push them around." I also couldn't believe how many people on the Stateside planes were chatting to each other like old friends over things as simple as helping each other put carry-ons into the overhead compartments. It felt like an invasion of space. Japanese people are very quick to assist you when it looks like you need it, but they're also just as likely to leave you alone to accomplish it yourself or--if you absolutely must--ask for assistance. Preferably from someone who works there, not the other customers. Japanese people are wonderfully kind and helpful, but they also know how to leave other people alone.
I also find customer service workers in America frustratingly apathetic; like they can't even fake pleasantness. Moreover, there aren't a lot of phrases in English (at least in the States) that you can use to show an attempt at courtesy. While English has a ridiculous number of verb tenses to show time, Japanese has an astounding number of conjugations and suffixes that can be used to show deference and courtesy. There are a number of ways to say "Please" and "Thank you" alone, to show how courteous you're being and whether the person you're speaking to is higher or lower than you in status. I've started saying "___ o onegaishimasu" when I order things because it's mildly more polite and courteous than "____ o kudasai," even though there's nothing wrong with "kudasai" to begin with. Japanese people even say 'please' and 'thank you' once or twice sometimes. In America, I feel like every "please" and "thank you" from people is ripped out of them with extreme reluctance.
I don't know if this is how Japanese people perceive American society, but it's really weird for me. I don't feel as safe in the States as I did in Japan. Quite literally, the moment my ridiculous amount of Japanese yen was exchanged for a ridiculous (but sadly much less, damn those exchange rates) amount of American dollars, I felt my paranoia over theft increase tenfold. When I go to the Hitachinaka Starbucks in Japan, I leave my computer and purse at the table and go to to the bathroom all the time. (I take my phone with me, but that's because it's small and would be easy to quietly steal.) In Japanese coffee shops, people will leave their personal belongings at tables and chairs before going to order their food, as a way of claiming the space. In America, you'd do what with something you could afford to have stolen; like a cheap jacket. Or you'd have someone physically sit at the table to guard everyone's things. At the Sawmill Starbucks in Ohio, I'd often lock my computer to something before leaving it to go to the bathroom. Things like this make me wonder how many Japanese tourists experience theft in the US because they don't realize you have to be fifty times more cautious and 100 times less trusting of strangers.
My instincts for social interactions are all wrong. I went to order at Starbucks and had to remember how to order in English because I've done more Starbucks ordering in Japan than in America. I bow and say "sumimasen!" or "gomen nasai!" when I have to nudge people out of my way in crowded areas. Just now I said, "Thank you!" out loud and it felt really uncomfortable to do so without at least a little head bow--like I was being inauthentic. I feel less polite in English than I do in Japanese.
I also cannot manage American money for the life of me. I keep thinking the copper coins are 10 yen pieces, and the fact that the large coins are worth $0.25 instead of 100 yen (technically about $0.86 but in Japan treated the way $1 is in the States) confuses me so much.
My mother and I went grocery shopping briefly and the size of a regular Kroger grocery store was astounding. Just... so much food. So many varieties of each food. Who even needs that much pasta sauce?!
Also, due to the fact that I slept for nearly 14 hours since getting home about 24 hours ago, I stayed up most of the night, and the sun is only just now rising at 6:30am. In Japan, I see shadows on the ground by 5am. The actual sunrise is at about 4:20am now that it's summer. It feels a lot earlier to me than it actually is here.
I think the hardest thing for me, though, is how afraid I am of losing the many ways I've become integrated into Japanese culture. I'm afraid I'll lose my Japanese instincts, and more importantly, my Japanese language ability. The reason I never studied Japanese in high school or college is because I always figured I'd learn it and then lose it, because where would I ever find consistent Japanese practice in the States? (And, of course, why learn Japanese if I was never in a million years going to get the chance to live in Japan, right?) I've worked really hard to become integrated into Japanese culture, and the thought of losing the many ways I've become Japanese is frightening. Moreover, there are many things about Japan and Japanese culture that I appreciate and prefer over American culture, and I worry that I'll be frustrated by American culture while I'm here.
In conclusion, reverse culture shock is weird. In Japan I worry about committing a faux pas because I'm unaware of the Japanese way to do something, but now I find myself worried that I'll act "strange" in America because I do something the Japanese way without thinking about it.
We'll see how things go.
Monday, July 6, 2015
it's all about that ace
I haven't been writing here in over a year and I know why: it's because I'm pretty sure nobody wants to hear what I have to say.
Taiwan was fun. Taiwan was an adventure. Taiwan was not the stress-fest that my daily...weekly...monthly... life often is here in Japan. And the number one thing nobody wants to hear about is someone else's problems. So, you know. I keep that shit to myself.
I do want to talk, though, and probably about something nobody wants to hear about: sexualities that aren't their own.
I'm ace. (Asexual.)
A little over a year ago, I was four nights away from moving to Japan, and I finally got around to googling "asexuality" beyond its dictionary definition, which is "a person who doesn't experience sexual attraction." The problem with that dictionary definition is that nobody ever explicitly describes to you what sexual attraction feels like. The entire world assumes that everyone feels it, so when you begin to realize that (as far as you know) you are the only person you know who doesn't want to express her affection for someone by fucking them, you do your best to mistake your own feelings for sexual attraction in the hopes that maybe that desire to fuck people will kick in.
If this sounds sarcastic and a bit angry, there's a reason. I had to google my sexuality at the age of 27, and it took me ten fucking minutes on the FAQ page of AVEN (the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network) to figure out I'm ace. A lifetime of media and information and education at my fingertips, and not one bit of it ever answered the question I'd always asked myself: What's wrong with me?
The answer turned out to be: nothing.
The reason I want you to know how difficult this was for me is because there are a lot of people around me with babies, toddlers, and small children in general. When I was growing up, there was no information around me about my sexuality. There were no people in my life (as far as I knew) who felt the way I did, who could identify with me and reassure me that there was nothing wrong with me. Nobody in my life knew to explain to me that there are different ways to be attracted to people, or to not be attracted to people in any way at all, and that it was all okay. Nobody in my life (including me, and I was on the internet all the time) knew the words aesthetic attraction, sensual attraction, romantic attraction, or asexual, gray-asexual, demisexual, aromantic.
I don't blame anyone around me for being ignorant, because there was no information there for anyone to learn from.
Here's the thing, though: you know an asexual. You know me. You can't claim that ignorance of this. Heck, you can't tell me that you're 100% sure your kid is cis-gender and heterosexual. Because, see, everyone (including me) was 100% sure I was cis-gender and heterosexual my whole life, until I found out otherwise. (And these days I take issue with the secondary sex characteristics of my female gender because they're basically useless to me, but that's a whole other kettle of fish.)
I don't plan to have kids, ever, because I don't want them. I'd rather get a dog. And hey, your kids are your kids, I'm not going to tell you how to raise them. But do me a favor, and make sure you're educated on this stuff. Make sure you have the vocabulary to describe different kinds of relationships, different kinds of feelings, different ways to be comfortable in your body, different nouns to use in reference to one's self. Make sure your kids know that you're open to new interpretations of what it means to be themselves. Make sure you know, and that you let your kids know, because knowledge is power, and by God do I this information had trickled down to me a decade sooner.
Don't assume this is going to come up in health class. Don't assume your kids will tell you if they feel this way. I felt this way for nearly two decades. I read books voraciously, I wrote in excess, I aced pretty much every spelling test every put in front of me without trying for years because I knew so many words by heart, and it wasn't until I was twenty-fucking-seven that I had a word to describe myself besides "broken."
Don't assume your kids will know how to describe their feelings to you. Don't assume your kids will even tell you. This information is available to you now. I'm right here, telling you that this is something real. So now you know.
Please make sure your kids know, too. Give your kids words to use to describe themselves (and those around them) besides "broken."
Resources:
AVEN (Asexuality Visibility and Education Network): Asexuality Overview
What is it Like to be Asexual? BBC News
Am I Asexual? 10 Things You Don’t (But Should) Know About Asexuality, Because It's Not All About Sex
A Parent's Guide to Asexuality
Taiwan was fun. Taiwan was an adventure. Taiwan was not the stress-fest that my daily...weekly...monthly... life often is here in Japan. And the number one thing nobody wants to hear about is someone else's problems. So, you know. I keep that shit to myself.
I do want to talk, though, and probably about something nobody wants to hear about: sexualities that aren't their own.
I'm ace. (Asexual.)
A little over a year ago, I was four nights away from moving to Japan, and I finally got around to googling "asexuality" beyond its dictionary definition, which is "a person who doesn't experience sexual attraction." The problem with that dictionary definition is that nobody ever explicitly describes to you what sexual attraction feels like. The entire world assumes that everyone feels it, so when you begin to realize that (as far as you know) you are the only person you know who doesn't want to express her affection for someone by fucking them, you do your best to mistake your own feelings for sexual attraction in the hopes that maybe that desire to fuck people will kick in.
If this sounds sarcastic and a bit angry, there's a reason. I had to google my sexuality at the age of 27, and it took me ten fucking minutes on the FAQ page of AVEN (the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network) to figure out I'm ace. A lifetime of media and information and education at my fingertips, and not one bit of it ever answered the question I'd always asked myself: What's wrong with me?
The answer turned out to be: nothing.
The reason I want you to know how difficult this was for me is because there are a lot of people around me with babies, toddlers, and small children in general. When I was growing up, there was no information around me about my sexuality. There were no people in my life (as far as I knew) who felt the way I did, who could identify with me and reassure me that there was nothing wrong with me. Nobody in my life knew to explain to me that there are different ways to be attracted to people, or to not be attracted to people in any way at all, and that it was all okay. Nobody in my life (including me, and I was on the internet all the time) knew the words aesthetic attraction, sensual attraction, romantic attraction, or asexual, gray-asexual, demisexual, aromantic.
I don't blame anyone around me for being ignorant, because there was no information there for anyone to learn from.
Here's the thing, though: you know an asexual. You know me. You can't claim that ignorance of this. Heck, you can't tell me that you're 100% sure your kid is cis-gender and heterosexual. Because, see, everyone (including me) was 100% sure I was cis-gender and heterosexual my whole life, until I found out otherwise. (And these days I take issue with the secondary sex characteristics of my female gender because they're basically useless to me, but that's a whole other kettle of fish.)
I don't plan to have kids, ever, because I don't want them. I'd rather get a dog. And hey, your kids are your kids, I'm not going to tell you how to raise them. But do me a favor, and make sure you're educated on this stuff. Make sure you have the vocabulary to describe different kinds of relationships, different kinds of feelings, different ways to be comfortable in your body, different nouns to use in reference to one's self. Make sure your kids know that you're open to new interpretations of what it means to be themselves. Make sure you know, and that you let your kids know, because knowledge is power, and by God do I this information had trickled down to me a decade sooner.
Don't assume this is going to come up in health class. Don't assume your kids will tell you if they feel this way. I felt this way for nearly two decades. I read books voraciously, I wrote in excess, I aced pretty much every spelling test every put in front of me without trying for years because I knew so many words by heart, and it wasn't until I was twenty-fucking-seven that I had a word to describe myself besides "broken."
Don't assume your kids will know how to describe their feelings to you. Don't assume your kids will even tell you. This information is available to you now. I'm right here, telling you that this is something real. So now you know.
Please make sure your kids know, too. Give your kids words to use to describe themselves (and those around them) besides "broken."
Resources:
AVEN (Asexuality Visibility and Education Network): Asexuality Overview
What is it Like to be Asexual? BBC News
Am I Asexual? 10 Things You Don’t (But Should) Know About Asexuality, Because It's Not All About Sex
A Parent's Guide to Asexuality
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