Gita Connolly: NICCO (NGO) Intern

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After searching for NGOs in the Kyoto area that focus on international development, I decided to join NICCO for one of my CIP. NICCO stands for the Nippon International Cooperation for Community Development, and this NPO (as non-profits are called in Japan) supports self-reliance projects in developing countries around the world as well as right here in Japan. I mainly serve as a translator from Japanese or Hindi to English for online publications or information from partners on upcoming projects, but also get to enjoy just volunteering at events, such as their annual charity run along the river at Demachiyanagi. Although I am really close with some of the other interns, one staff member in particular took me under his wing, gifting me manga for kanji practice, teaching me about various Japanese historical events in the area, sharing interesting folk stories, and correcting my Japanese grammar in exchange for my help with English or explanations of American events like Thanksgiving and Black Friday.

I had many great experiences while interning, but the most interesting part was simply learning all of the small habits unique to Japanese office culture. I experienced more than my fair share of mishaps and misunderstandings during my fifteen hours/week at NICCO, especially when just joining the office. When I showed up to the NICCO office (a cozy machiya-style building) for the first time to “talk with them”, I met with four staff members for an hour or so and answered questions. To my surprise, afterwards they asked me to walk into the main office room (momentarily pausing work for everyone else seated at their desks, typing away) to give a brief self-introduction.  I realized later that our little chat was actually considered an interview, and somehow I had managed to pass their intern criteria and that’s why they had gone ahead and introduced me as a new team member.

The second time I came into the office, when I had just sat down at the intern desk, one of the staff members suddenly announced that some kind of meeting was starting and everyone around the room stood up immediately. After a couple seconds I realized that they were holding this meeting for my sake, and promptly (embarrassedly) stood up while everyone began very formally introducing themselves in keigo. Since I was only used to attending meetings where people either stand up and talk one at a time so that everyone focuses on them, or we all just stay seated, the whole process of going around the room while everyone is standing and presenting overly-formal intros was quite a surprise. Despite these formal intros, however, we all share snacks and make jokes in a very friendly work environment, with one co-worker (to my great surprise and amusement) even laughingly commenting on my Kansai-ben. It is simply a fact of office culture that the standard soro soro shitsureishimasu-es upon leaving are always met with a hearty assault of otsukarasamadesu-es.

I’m especially entertained by one other office tradition, the aizuchi (emphatic interjections to show that they are listening) that everyone uses while talking to the founder of NICCO or while on the phone. Other than just being extremely polite to their superiors (as an employee would do in any office), they speak in a voice about an octave higher, use hesitant tones to ask questions that they already know the answer to, or soften even the smallest of requests. Another intern and I looked at each other and tried not to laugh as, just a couple meters away, one co-worker emitted an enthusiastic “hai!” every two seconds while the shachou explained directions. The best part is, I notice a lot of people smile to themselves while watching others make these seemingly-ridiculous aizuchi, and yet these laughing people make the same exact aizuchi when talking to the shachou as well. I guess if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

Adam Agustin: Assistant English Teacher at Ohara Gakuin

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For my CIP, I chose to be an English Assistant at Ohara Gakuin, a combined elementary and middle school with about 70 total students in the Northern Kyoto area. Because I do some teaching and tutoring back at my home institution, this CIP was right up my alley and I would be able to take some teaching skills with me when I go back home. Not to mention, I would be able to experience the Japanese lifestyle in many ways that other people wouldn’t get the chance to otherwise.

I remember my first trip up to Ohara ― it was about a 50 minute commute up to the school, and I was so nervous to meet the hosting English teacher and the students. I got to the school, my anxious self practically shaking, and introduced myself to the English teacher, Maruta sensei. Maruta sensei was incredibly nice and welcoming, and he introduced me to the Principal and Vice-Principal of the school as well as other teachers and staff. He also gave me a complete tour of the school and introduced me to some of his students before we reached the classroom where we had our first lesson. Luckily, another english teacher from the JET program, was also there to help me get accustomed to the job. I didn’t do much the first day, but I observed the class activities for the day and got to do some english conversation with the students. The kids were really polite and cheerful, a lot of them very eager and enthusiastic to meet me. After that day, I wasn’t so sure why I was so nervous in the beginning.

For the following visits to Ohara, I was in charge of making and presenting to the students a 15 minute presentation in English about my life, where I’m from, my hobbies and interests, etc. For each day I came, I would see a different class year (each class year had their own classroom because it was such a small school), starting with the 9th graders and ending with the 3rd graders. Of course, as I made my way down to the younger students, I also had to change my pace and how much English I had to translate in my presentation. Although presenting got fairly difficult as time progressed, the students were still very enthusiastic and very excited to hear much about my life in the US as well as about myself. The younger kids especially were amazed, and it was so cute to see them try their best at trying to communicate to me. After the presentation, I would normally help out with the planned activities that the teacher had for the day, including but not limited to conversation practice, vocabulary memorization games, pronunciation practice, listening practice, etc. I wasn’t able to plan for the classes as much as I had originally thought, but the English teacher would do his best to incorporate my strengths and knowledge to the class beforehand. Although the classes were relatively short (only about 50 minutes), they were jam-packed with engaging activities for the kids, and I had a blast teaching alongside Maruta sensei.

Other than the presentations and activities, I tried to engage with the students in other ways and partake in many parts of their extracurricular lives. For example, in Japanese schools, before class they have the students help in cleaning up the school (i.e. sweeping/mopping the floors, throwing away trash, erasing the boards) and some days I would help them clean up. One fun thing that I remember during those times is how they played rock-paper-scissors (jan-ken) to see who would be in charge of taking out the trash (and most times that person would be me…). Although not the most fun task to do, it would be a chance for me to talk to the students of different classrooms and help them with their english. Other than that, I had the chance to see their school play and the arts and crafts they made for the school festival, and also sit in on their election of class representatives for the next class year. Sometimes, when given the chance, I would also play piano or ukulele for them ― they always go crazy for those kinds of things. I tried my best to get myself involved not only in the classroom, but in other aspects of the Japanese school lifestyle.

Thanks to my involvement as an English teacher for the CIP program, I was able to get a hands-on look into the Japanese education system, and from that I noticed a lot of interesting things. Of the many things, I think one of the most interesting was the relationship between the older kids and the younger kids. Because Ohara is such a small school, with a large range of ages, I was amazed to see the camaraderie between the students, a lot of times the older students acted as older brothers and sisters for the younger kids and they would always help each other out. In this small community, the teachers really foster a role model relationship among its students ― the older students give the younger students someone to look up to and motivate them to grow in certain ways. Of course, these relationships are mutual and help give these students a strong basis for character, something that I believe that schools in America don’t always particularly emphasize in educational settings.

Along with the many good things that came with this experience, there were also some points during the teaching that I found difficult. One of those was the fact that I wasn’t able to get establish as strong a relationship with the students as much as I thought I would. Being that I would only go to Ohara for 2 hours at a time every week, especially visiting different sets of students each time, I wasn’t able to truly get to know each of the students as much as I had thought I would. In hindsight, I hoped that I could have been able to spend more time with each class, but then again, with my already tight schedule with classwork and travel around Kyoto, it seems difficult to do so.

With that aside, reflecting on my experiences as an English teacher at Ohara this semester, I think that it was an incredibly valuable and fun experience to be a part of. Seeing the smiles on these kids faces, as well as their passion and enthusiasm to learn English, brightened my day each and every time I made a visit. I can’t imagine my study abroad experience in Kyoto without having done this CIP. To not only be able to experience the Japanese lifestyle in a unique way, but also have the chance to help change the perspectives of each of these kids is something that I would greatly recommend to others that are thinking of doing the same kind of CIP activity. Good luck to those choosing their CIP!

Phillip Hicks: Pacorn Tennis Circle

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For my semester in Kyoto, I played tennis as part of the Pacorn tennis circle. The group would meet every day except for Wednesday, and would play on several courts at a large tennis center. On average, 30 people would attend, being anywhere from 18 to 60 years old with varying skill levels. Each session had different groups of people, however there were a few regulars who I got to know during my time in Pacorn. Each practice started with a warm-up, usually with four to six people on a court, and would include groundstrokes, serves, and volleys. After everyone was ready, we would start a set of doubles or a baseline game.

My first practice started off a bit rocky, however as the day progressed, I found that everyone was very friendly and didn’t worry too much about honorifics or social hierarchies. Instead, everyone just wanted to hit and have a good time. This attitude remained the same for my other practices, with the club members being eager to hit and talk during the breaks.

Playing tennis in Japan was very similar to playing in the US, with many of the words and drills being identical. In addition, since many of the other members who I hit with were around my age, our playing styles were also quite close. On the other hand, the signal for “out” in Japan is what could be considered “in” in the US, leading to some miscommunications. In addition, Japanese tennis players seemed to be more reserved than their American counterparts, with few relying on loud grunts and even fewer expressing anger on the court.

From casually chatting with locals to competitive match play, my CIP experience as part of the Pacorn tennis circle has been fantastic. I would highly recommend it to anyone who wants to meet new people and get some great exercise.

 

Rebecca N. Clark: Iaidô (Japanese Swordsmanship)

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   Iaidô is a sport —and an art— that I’ve wanted to learn since I first heard of its existence several years ago as a freshman in college. The fluid power and steady grace of iaidô practitioners’ movement transfixed me as I replayed YouTube videos and followed along as best I could as swords flashed through the air.

 

Presentation of members before the grand master at a joint gathering of dojos

When I learned that I had been accepted into the KCJS program with its Community Involvement Project (CIP) requirements for us students, my top pick for the CIP was very obvious. With the assistance of the teachers and staff, I was able to find and join an iaidô dôjô in nearby Hirakata city and soon found myself immersed in a vibrant, close-knit community of martial arts enthusiasts. The people I met there have been nothing short of kind and helpful, making sure that, even with the language barrier, I am able to make it to practices and luncheons every week (the dôjô has no physical presence and as a result, practices are held at a different community center each weekend), and they have even included me in the carpool system that ensures members of all ages and locales are able to arrive on time.

Putting on the iaidô uniform proved to a ready catalyst for bonding among myself and the other female members. We all chuckled good-naturedly over my utter confusion as I attempted to wrangle a kaku obi —a stiff cloth wound around the waist to hold the sword

From top to bottom, left to right: sword carrying case; cloth sword cover; kimono; hakama; kaku obi; iaitô; sheath; knee pads

and belt the kimono— into place and keep my hakama —wide-legged pants— in place throughout the three-hour practices. This same uniform also quickly proved to be my biggest reminded of the kindness and generosity of my dôjô-mates. Every time I look in the mirror of the community center’s practice hall, I see the soft gray of my kimono, the heavy black cotton of my hakama, and the lacquered sheath of my iaitô —a blunt-edged sword— and am reminded of how these items were either gifted or loaned to me so that I could practice with the proper equipment from day one. For example, when we figured out that the iaitô I had been using was hindering me because of the length, a member volunteered his extra iaitô that was short enough for someone with my five-foot-even stature to wield.

As with any new sport, I had to learn a whole new way of moving and then how to control each of these motions —such as the initially awkward motion of drawing a sword— in a process that, unsurprisingly, had its hiccups. One such instance is how I, unused to the wide flowing sleeves of my kimono, have a tendency to catch the hilt of my iaitô in the cuff while drawing. In response, the elder gentleman who oversees my training paused the lesson and carefully explained to me how to remedy the problem with a needle and thread when I got home by making the sleeve opening smaller and so allowing me to move more freely. Moments like this, where help and instruction are so readily offered with a smile and steady patience, have come to define my time at the iaidô dôjô and I wear the reminder of my dôjô-mates’ kindness every time I step out onto the mats alongside them.

Yini Li: Shamisen

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As a Music Major student, I chose Shamisen（三味線）as my CIP project. This is a traditional Japanese instrument, and it brings me to a new music world.

My Shamisen teacher is Iwasaki sensei. She is an elegant Japanese woman who teaches shamisen and koto (琴), which is another traditional Japanese instrument. In the classroom on the second floor of Greenwich House which belongs to Iwasaki sensei, She often leads group practices with her shamisen, koto and shakuhachi(尺八) students, and I am glad to be part of them.

I still remember the first time that I went to practice. That was a group practice. Iwasaki sensei was holding a shamisen and singing a Japanese traditional folk song, while her koto, shamisen and shakuhachi students were each playing their own parts. There were about six students in that room, and all the students except me and another girl from KCJS were in their sixties or seventies.

“いらっしゃいませ。” this was the first sentence that Iwasaki sensei said to me. One of her students, a friendly-looking obaa-chan, gave me a cup of juice and some cookies. Everyone in the room was so nice that they asked me to help myself if I wanted to drink more or eat more. Their kindness relieved my anxiety being at my first practice and made me feel at home.

Shamisen is called Shamisen(三味線) because it has three strings. Comparing to instruments such as guitar and violin which have more than three strings, shamisen, having fewer strings, may seems easier to handle, but it was hard for me because I haven’t played any string instruments before.

The score of shamisen surprised me since it was different from any other Western music score that I had ever seen before. The notes were written in a combination of kanji for the first and second string and Arabic numbers for the third string. Instead of using scores written in contemporary form which do not include kanji and thus is easier to understand for beginners like me, Iwasaki sensei insists on using the score of traditional style. I like the traditional form of score very much; the style of score made me realize that shamisen has its own music system, a different way to perform music.

I joined the group practice with other Iwasaki sensei’s students. As a foreigner learning a new instrument, it was very hard at first. Sometimes Iwasaki sensei instructs me with Japanese music terminologies that I do not understand, but luckily, everyone within the classroom is willing to help me. One of the obaa-chans always helps me with toning and fingering; Iwasaki sensei often patiently explains how to play shamisen in the right position; another obaa-chan teaches me how to read the kanji notes. Therefore, I am almost never lost in the practice.

I participated in some group practices in the evening, and Iwasaki sensei always invited me and her other students to have dinner together. During the dinner time, Iwasaki sensei was always willing to chat with me about my life in Japan, which made me feel so warm. I enjoyed the dinner time with Iwasaki sensei and other students very much.

I think it would be hard for me to continue learning shamisen after I leave Japan. However, learning shamisen with Iwasaki sensei is an experience that is worthy to memorize throughout my lifetime. It is always hard to start to learn something new, but I managed to do it thanks to the help of all the cordial people that I met in Iwasaki sensei’s classroom. Thanks for everything!

Chungsun Lee: Dance Studio

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I attended K-pop dancing classes for my CIP. Since I love dancing K-pop and have been performing back at Emory as well, I thought it would be fun to take K-pop class in Japan. Fortunately, one of KCJS students was also interested in taking a dance class for CIP, so we went to the studio together. For the first try out, we took girls’ hip-hop class. It was fun but it was hard to interact with people since people were not really interested in new students and the instructor did not seem to be interested as well. Next week, we attended K-pop class since we both are interested in K-pop. Unfortunately, classmates were mostly middle school students, which made it difficult for us to talk to people or to get along with. Even though the class itself is very interesting and fun, it was hard to interact with people. Most of the classmates went to take other classes right after our class, so I felt like I did not have time to talk with classmates. However, I had a chance to attend K-pop class in Tokyo. There, the instructor was caring about new students and had a small talk after class about whether or not I enjoyed the class. Also, since I am a Korean and classmates were all very interested in Korea, when they knew that I am a Korean, classmates came to me to talk about their affection to Korea or how much they love k-pop or showing off their Korean skills. Compare to the studio in Kyoto, I would say I enjoyed the atmosphere and the energy of instructor and classmates of Tokyo studio more and it was way easier to have a conversation with people. The most important thing when entering new groups is the reaction and attention of existing members to new members. However, instructors and classmates in Kyoto studio were not very interested in new students, which made it hard for me to get along with people at Kyoto Studio.

Because my goal for CIP was to interact with Japanese people outside of KCJS and become friends with people who have same interest(k-pop), I was not able to achieve my goal at the studio in Kyoto. If you are willing to join dance studio for your CIP, try to find a studio where they have a more welcoming atmosphere and also try actively to interact with people.

Charles Stater: Zazen

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For my CIP activity, I decided to take the path less traveled (literally) and hike up a large hill near Kinkakuji each week to partake in traditional zazen in a small Buddhist temple, Fumonken. At these meetings, which were entirely in Japanese and one-on-one, my priest and I would first have a lesson, of sorts. In this brief lesson, my priest would introduce a central zen concept (for example, the first week we discussed muga (無我) and it’s relation to Japanese zen) which featured both philosophy and philology, as he frequently would connect the related kanji to both Buddhist legends and to modern Japanese language and I would desperately try and follow along. These lessons were only about a half-hour long, sadly, but were always riveting; for someone like me who loves both the history of language and philosophy, I never lacked for interesting subject matter in these discussions. We would also always have sweets and tea during our discussions, relaxing on small cushions and both donning Buddhist robes.

The second part of the experience was then proper zazen meditation. I would first remove the paper screens from the meditation room, to clear a view to the rock garden and open the area up to fresh air, and then we would sit and meditate for about a half an hour. At first this was agonizingly painful for my legs, but with repetition the pain has progressed from “bear mauling” levels to more like “light gunshot wound”, which I would call a plus. Certainly the experience of meditating in itself has been beneficial for me, allowing me a quiet place to first worry about things, then worry that I’m ruining my meditation by worrying, and finally overcoming both and finally shutting my inner dialogue up. In the Rinzai school of Buddhist zen that I am practicing (and is, incidentally, the most rigorous type! Joy!) when meditating one must always keep the eyes open; this is 1. So you don’t fall asleep and 2. If your mind is truly in no place, looking ahead should be no different than eyes closed, as you should be unable to “see” anything.

This experience has taught me a lot of humility. It has taught me a lot about leg pain. It has taught me a lot about how complicated kanji history can be. I think most significantly, I have gained some intriguing insights into how Buddhism and the modern mindset cannot coexist. You have to pursue one or the other; both are inherently toxic to the other. Learning how this dichotomy has played out here in Japan, with such a deep tradition of Buddhism and now such a voracious consumer culture has been fascinating, not least because I am learning it from my priest who is an ex-salaryman. I am glad I chose to pursue a more ephemeral CIP, as I think personally this experience has been more helpful to my ongoing construction of my own identity and growth of my spirit than anything else could have been.

In terms of observations, the temple I go to is quite small and cozy. It is located near Kinkakuji, high up on a hill, and seems to receive very little traffic. I have seen several other adherents stop by, but usually they are working for a room for a night or two. The temple is actually my priest’s house, and so I have gotten a little look at the orderly (if cramped) lifestyle of the ordinary Japanese. As for my priest himself, he is a warm, genial ex-salaryman who decided the priestly life was far more interesting for him, and so married a French woman and became a Buddhist priest. I can’t attest to their relationship much since I rarely ever see his wife, but they seem to handle the language barrier and the whole issue of his priesthood quite well.

Finally, in terms of feelings, the greatest feeling I have with zazen is relief. Relief to be away from my phone, job applications, emails, commitments; even time itself seems to bend to the overwhelming silence. Having no prior experience with meditation, that aspect I also find to be refreshing, despite the sometimes difficult leg postures. I am glad to have chosen such a radically project, I think, as it is now coming in handy both in terms of resume-building (because, of course, the hustle never stops) and in finding inner peace.

Ben Sisson: La Carriere Cooking Lessons

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餅入り稲荷寿司
The hardest dish, but the most delicious one!

For my CIP, I attended cooking lessons at La Carriere cooking school. My time there was like a condensed version of my time in Japan as a whole. Every moment I spent at that school was a mix of confusion and excitement, and I was basically always hungry. The lessons consisted of a forty minute lecture in the preparation of the dishes and then an hour and a half of cooking. The lectures were extremely difficult to understand and so I gained only a cursory knowledge of culinary terms. Still, the lecturers prepared the dish as they talked, so I was able to glean the technique just by looking. If I got distracted for even a moment I would fall behind the other students and not be able to complete the dish, so this class really tested my focus. In general, this need to focus was pretty reflective of my experience in Japan: the only way I can avoid making a fool of myself and getting lost is if I carefully observed how others behave.

The other students, all much older than me, were a mixed bag. I definitely did not put as much effort as I should have towards trying to use keigo with my cooking partners; still, it was already enough of a challenge to complete the dish and speak in the desu/masu form I was used to, so keigo seemed impossible. On the other hand, I was surprised how easy humor transferred over sometimes. I’ve been told that jokes do not really translate, but if I said smiled and said「作りにくいですね 」when my partner and I were both struggling, I could get a genuine laugh.

I was grateful for this, as I communicate mostly through humor in English, and I was worried my classmates would be too serious or stuck up to be kind to a young foreigner like me. Sometimes my partners would not reciprocate, but they would at least feign interest. In general, the elderly people I talked to were exceptionally skilled at pretending to care and at politely declining things; frankly, they were so well mannered it was shocking. They had social skills that were pretty lacking in America.

I was even able to meet a retired doctor who took me to a Soto Zen sitting at a temple in a small town, which has been a dream of mine for a long while. At the temple, everyone was exceptionally open. It was interesting to see how much more relaxed they were during the sitting sessions than the Americans I had meditated with in Boston. People in Japan have been practicing Zen for so long that there is no need to put on a show or to pretend to be something they are not. The monk lectured for a long time, but he did not feel the need to prove himself, which was refreshing compared to the way all the American Zen teachers try to show off their intellectuality.

In general, these two experiences were extremely gratifying and made all the trouble of learning Japanese—including all of the embarrassing moments—worth it: I got a genuine glimpse of two subcultures within Japan, and now I understand a bit more about the people who populate them.

Nancy Tran: Calligraphy Club

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I participated in the Doshisha Calligraphy Club throughout the semester. I use the word “participated” because I did not feel as though I had truly joined the club due to the manner of each session. None of the members make any particular attempts to introduce themselves or help unless you ask them, but with the atmosphere of the room even asking for help is quite difficult. Most of the time, one member helped guide me in learning how to write but his words were far and few between. Since I remained a quiet empirical observer most of the time, I was able to see the interactions between the members more. The other members tend to practice quietly by themselves until the club leader, or who I presume to be the club leader, enters and brightens up the atmosphere by seemingly gossiping with everyone. As this program is in Kyoto, most of the members speak in Kansai-ben. Whenever someone heads home for the day the rest of the members always say お疲れ様. When introducing oneself, the others tend to ask what year you are (何回生) and what faculty you are in (学部), most likely to establish a connection or establish hierarchy of ages. I entered the club hoping to learn calligraphy with my peers and establish friendly relations but it seems as though I was only able to learn calligraphy. I would not recommend this activity for someone who is looking to establish friendly relations with club members due to the nature of the members and the club activity.

Sylvia Yu: Bazaar Café

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Wednesday afternoons look a little like this: I take a brisk stroll from Doshisha, walking along Karasuma before making a turn down an alleyway that eventually leads to Bazaar Café. It’s a modest place—handwritten signs and dog-eared books lined along shelves and all—with a welcoming presence (indoor slippers, greenery of the garden) and an even more welcoming staff. From my first day volunteering here and onwards, I’ve been met with a familial feel; in between washing and drying dishes and silverware, preparing meals, and serving customers, we learn bits about each other’s lives and how we spend our days. I enter Bazaar Café from the back with a lively おはようございます (which is, by the way, not exclusive to the morning!), don my apron and bandana, and slip into the kitchen where everyone is already at work. A fellow volunteer asks me what I learned in school that day as she prepares Buchimgae (Wednesday is also when Korean food is served; cuisine varies by day of the week), the manager peeks through the curtain to announce an order that has just been made and everyone answers with a resounding はい. So the afternoon goes.

Workwise, Bazaar Café isn’t particularly demanding. There are days in which business is far less busy—empty, even—that there is ample time for aimless conversation as we drink tea. To note, the people that constitute the staff of the place are certainly not one type of person; they include a mother studying sociology in a university with a family in Denmark, a girl from Germany taking a gap year to gather her Japanese roots, an elderly man who rehabilitates those with former addiction (“変なおじいさん” he dubs himself, but perhaps 優しい is more apt), to name some. And yet, despite these differences, I don’t feel a significant degree of distance with anyone; every week is, of course, an opportunity to learn subtleties of Japanese culture and vocabulary here and there (said mother studying sociology likes to quiz me as I store cups in the cabinet), but additionally grow closer to those that I work alongside. At Bazaar Café, which places an emphasis as a safe space, there is a great sense of community. We speak without filter nor fear.

That said, Bazaar Café is wonderful place to volunteer if you are seeking a chance to practice Japanese conversational skills while taking part in what feels like family. It’s got a casual atmosphere, makes a great studying spot (so friends have attested), and of course, serves good food (I can attest!). I leave a little after three with an お疲れ様です and wonder what to anticipate the following Wednesday.