弓道は京都武道センターで毎週２回の練習がある。練習は月、木曜日５時から６時まである。初めの２〜３回の練習は順番の練習で、弓を持たず形だけ練習する。順番を覚えた後、先生に弓の持ち方と矢を撃つ方法を教えてもらう。先生は優しくて、この道場で弓道を学ぶことは思ったほど威圧的ではない。
弓道の道場はとても寒いけど、練習の後いつも休憩室で皆一緒に暖かいお茶とお菓子を食べるのは、私が毎週弓道を楽しみにしている理由だ。
それに、私はメロティー・ウーさんと一緒に北野天満官で太鼓をしているグループにも参加している。練習は指定時間がないから、グループの担当人は皆にメールで練習時間を知らせてくれる。
私は太鼓をした経験は少しだけあったけど、全然上手と言う訳ではない。その状態でもそのグループとの練習はとても楽しかった。太鼓の練習時間は長いけど、後で、弓道の練習と同じように、皆一緒にお菓子を食べる！練習の後、お菓子を食べるのは普通の日本の文化かどうか分からない。でも、たくさんの美味しいお菓子を食べられると嬉しい。
私はCIPのために書道を習っている。二月の初めから、書道を３回した。
私は芸術を勉強しているし、絵を描く経験があるから書道に興味があった。書道は楽しくても、難しい。私は子供の時、文字をきれいにするために、鉛筆を角度をつけて持つことを教えてもらった。でも、日本の書道では、筆をまっすぐ持たなくてはいけない。最初にそれはとても持ちにくかった。
毎回漢字を書く前に、基本練習をする。本当の漢字ではない文字を練習して、たてと横の線を何度も書く。その後で、「永」という文字を練習する。それから、四字熟語を習う。
書道の先生はとても親切で気が長い。ゆっくり説明してくれる。とてもいい先生だと思う。今週はマイ筆と美しい筆巻きををくれた。私はびっくりして、とてもうれしくなって、よく感謝した。本当にお世話になっている。
私は最初に京都に来たとき乗馬部に入りたっかたです。でも、一番近い乗馬部の練習は午前七時ごろからですから、早すぎてとても不便だと思いました。それから、私は他の動物と関係がある活動を考えて、深井先生に「京都市動物園はボランティアのプログラムがありますか」と聞きました。先生はオンライン検索(けんさく)をした後、そのようなプログラムを見つけて、直ぐ私に電話の話し方を教えてくれました。それから、私は動物園に電話をかけて、新しいボランティアーのオリエンテーションのことを聞きました。
一月二十日に、初めて動物園に行きました。他の二人のボランティアーズと動物園の歴史を獣医さんから学んだり、ボランティアーズが担当するおとぎの国という子供のための展示にツアーに行ったりしました。準会員として、私は二月の最初の週末に動物の活動を始めました。もう五回に行って、いろんなタスクをしました。今まで、私は子供の兔とモルのふれあいを手伝ったり、ヤギの家族関係を説明したり、ミニブタの技を見せたりして、楽しかったです。実は専門の単語がいっぱいあるから、とても難しいと思います。しかし、動物園のスタッフと他のボランティアの皆さんは親切で、彼らに質問をよく聞いています。
リンク：http://www5.city.kyoto.jp/zoo/support/volunteer
さらに、私は二月中旬(じゅん)に北野天満宮の和太鼓グループに入りました。前の経験があまりないですが、同じグループに入ったKCJSのワンさんは高校生の時太鼓のレッスンを受けていました。ですから、私はもし一人だけ音楽を台無しにしたら、どうしようかととても心配していました。けれども、和太鼓の皆さんはやさしい人で自分の練習に集中しましたから、誰も私の間違いを笑わなくて、よっかたです！練習の後、みんな一緒に居酒屋に行って二時間くらい喋りました。
公演(こうえん)のための準備をすることができるように家に自分で練習しています。和太鼓グループの先輩たちは今月はもう京都駅の大きい階段でパフォーマンスがありましたが、その日用事があったので、残念ながら行けなかったです。でも、次回はワンさんと他のクラスメートと行こうと思います。
もし北野天満宮の和太鼓グループに興味があれば、日本語の先生と相談してください。
This semester I’ve been going to Kyudo, or Japanese archery practice twice a week at the Budou Center. I was fortunate that on my first visit I met Kawaguchi Sensei, a petite and energetic 80-year-old woman. She was wonderful despite the language barrier and we’ve all come to really love her. Other than we few gaijins at the dojo, everyone else, mostly Japanese, has been practicing there for at least a while. I was surprised at how tirelessly Sensei devoted her time to teaching us, some of us knew zero Japanese. Other members of the dojo do not normally come up and talk to us, but if I ask for help or questions in general they have been very patient and kind. The dojo is also very international and I met so many interesting people there. Three professional artists (pianist, photographer, multimedia artist) from German started practicing with us around the same time and we’ve cultivated friendship and been going to their performances and such.
For me at first, as someone who has practiced Western archery before, I was surprised to find how ritualized Kyudo is as a martial art. I wasn’t very sure if I could stand the endless aisatsu, or greetings, or the left-foot-first-right-foot-second sort of ritualized steps, but slowly I’ve gotten used to it and begun to appreciate the beauty in these traditions. Life in Kyoto has been quite busy and overwhelming but I found my times at Kyduo, twice a week, to be the most calming. It’s only at the dojo that I can clear my head of everything and just focus on one thing, the arrow.
My second activity is the Gakusei Terebi circle, or the Doshisha Student TV circle. GakuTere makes TV specials, documentaries, commercials aimed at Doshisha students. This sounds very intense but the atmosphere is very relaxed. My circle-mates have been very friendly especially considering how little I understand and speak Japanese. Since I was the only person joining the circle this semester (because most people joined in April), I was invited to many hot pot parties or events of that nature, which made me feel very welcomed.
The biggest difficulty with Gakusei Terebi, however, is definitely the language barrier. Unlike Kyudo, where you don’t need to communicate with others too much most of the time, communication is everything in Gakusei Terebi. People speak very fast there, mixed with kansai-ben, and, in typical Japanese fashion, never ends a sentence and just goes on with 〜て、〜て、〜けど…, so it’s easy to lose track of what one’s saying. This is not to say that I did not enjoy the experience at Gakusei Terebi. I’ve been to both bangumi-making sessions and their parties, and even though I am still in the kengaku stage and can only say that I understood about 40% of what they say most of the time, I have enjoyed and value my experience at GakuTere very much.
I think the theme for me this semester has been finding my place and reason for being here in Japan. We all come here with a willingness to learn language and culture, see new things, visit new places and meet great people. And of course, everyone has their own share of personal reasons for being here. An amalgam of forces drew me toward the Japanese language and finally over the Pacific Ocean: my neighbor, Totoro, various media (anime, manga, film, video games), my major of computer engineering, an interest in East-Asian martial arts, Japan’s mysterious appeal from an American point of view, my outsider view of the Asian-American community as I was growing up, and my vague uncertainty of my identity as a half Filipino-American. Well, I came, I saw, experienced, and eventually sort of lost sight of why I was here at all.
I think that most of us realize at some point that the encounters and sights that make it into photos don’t necessarily capture the meaning of our time here; the thousand words that a photo gets you are probably not enough to describe the experience of daily life over the course of eight months. Maybe it was thinking about those photo moments, or maybe it was that I noticed that half of us had given up on speaking Japanese to each other, but I realized about six months in that my daily life was lacking societal interaction (not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind before, but it hit me hard then). While I would participate in an event with Japanese students or groups every week or so, I began to feel that waiting the week out for those events was proof that even though I’d been here for what seems like a solid amount of time, I was still just an ordinary sightseer.
At about the same time, I think that I gave up on trying to blend in. If I’m quiet and I don’t do anything strange, to the unknowing eye, I actually fit right in as a nikkeijin, half-Japanese, or sometimes even according to Wada-san a normal Japanese student. But the problem with fitting in at large on the subway and on the street and at school is that fitting in does not equal societal interaction (I might even venture to say it means the opposite), and fitting in here is not exactly true to my character. The mix of emotions made me very aware of my identity as an American. I wandered around Kyoto, chased cats and buses…
Preparing to see off some KCJSers on their way to Tokyo with Yoshi-kun (courtesy of Andrea Mendoza)
…and planked a little bit.
Vending Machines on the Road to Kameoka (courtesy of Yoshitaro Akiyama)
I started practicing parkour in the Gosho, on the street (not in anyone’s way of course), in my head, basically the same way as I would in the US, but with a renewed energy.
Imadegawa Parkour (courtesy of Lindsay Kosasa)
Kamogawa Parkour (courtesy of Lindsay Kosasa)
Don’t worry, I’m getting to the CIP part. Really.
I reminisced about drumline, brainstormed ideas for new pieces for the taiko group, and tried my best to learn as many of the songs as I could for the performance we had last month.
I think those first few days after I gave up on trying to become normal member of Japanese society also made clear how much I love movement, music and the amazingly welcoming groups that make me feel at home doing both here in Japan. Originally, I treated parkour jams and taiko practices as breaks from everyday life in Japan. Though this semester, through instead making those activities part of my daily life even when alone, and also through forcing Fukai-sensei to deal with my existential notebook assignments, I think I was able to find my place in this society. As far as parkour on my own and with the phenomenal Nagare Parkour, that means I became a member of a part of society that is healthy, strong, looking to improve itself, fun-loving, and for some reason doesn’t seem to blend in with the rest of Japan. In the case of the Kitanotenmangu Kamiwakakai Taiko Club (北野天満宮の神若会), I became a member of a family of families and hard working men and women who love people, music and being and playing together. While I don’t know at this point whether I have good reason to return to Japan for an extended period of time, I think I can say that I found a place to be in the groups that I sought out from the start. The goal of the Community Involvement Project (CIP) is to move beyond simply observing society and participate in it. I became a member of society not as a student, and not as someone who can pass as nikkei, but in the sense that I found two groups to belong to that I really love.
Last semester I wrote that I didn’t feel like a true member of the Kitanotenmangu taiko group. Well, that changed. It seems like almost all at once that a couple of the other KCJS students and I started going to dinner along with some members of the group after events sometimes, that it became easier to talk and even joke around a little bit, and that I started to feel like I was not only an exchange student (that was still obvious because we’re not allowed to pay for anything), but a real member of the group. On top of that, we learned new pieces for the performance we had last month, and one of the members who is a carpenter made bachi (taiko drum sticks) and handed them out to everyone. In other words, my first pair of bachi were hand made! The performance turned out to be a lot of fun, even though I was nervous because we sounded really messy at the last practice. The group is more focused on enjoying being and playing together than on playing perfectly, and I’d take that over a super strict group with a perfect sound any day.
Me! (courtesy of Trisha Martin)
Fukai-sensei, Nishimata-sensei, Shore-san, and a bunch of other KCJS students came out to cheer us on at the performance (thanks guys!). The wonderful Nishimata-sensei was kind enough to take some video:
KCJS Group Photo After the Performance (courtesy of Trisha Martin)
Last semester, I wrote that I felt at home training with Nagare Parkour. Even so, I managed to learn some more names, meet more people from all over the place, and get more comfortable speaking with everyone. I also started going out to dinner with a group of members after jams. I might be seeing a pattern here… I do feel like I may focus a little more on the activity than on my relationship with the people overall and that could use some work. But I think that in both parkour and in taiko, I have made real friends that have influenced my life in positive ways. I think that I have been able to at least share common experience with them if not share some knowledge and I plan to keep in touch.
Anyway, one particular day after a post-parkour-jam dinner, everyone decided that they still wanted to train some more. So we began to goof around, took some pictures on a red carpet we found, headed to Shinsaibashi and trained until around 10pm, an unprecedented 9 hours of parkour related activity on a school night. I still had to take the train back to Kyoto so of course I didn’t get any of my schoolwork done (I tend to favor sleep/health over school), but it was worth it. It also just so happens that that day was a special day on which a YouTube project called “Japan in a Day” was taking place, so naturally we took a video to contribute. There’s not much actual parkour in the video, but it gives a sense of the flow and atmosphere of the day from the point of view of my friend, Tak:
3.11 Japan in a Day – “Parkour” (courtesy of Takafumi Kojima)
Post-dinner Group Picture (courtesy of Takafumi Kojima)
Enroute to Shinsaibashi with Nagare Parkour (courtesy of Bernardo Mayer)
Jyan Ken Pon (courtesy of Bernardo Mayer)
On a more pragmatic note, I think this semester I was able to get more involved in both of my CIP activities not only for the reasons that I mentioned above, but simply because I was more in contact with the members of both groups. I ended up exchanging Facebook information with a couple of members in the taiko group, and a lot of people in the parkour group. I guess I was lucky that Facebook is gaining popularity here in Japan. For someone who was not originally a believer in social networks, I was surprised at how quickly and how much my relationship with some of the taiko members changed (in a good way). This is probably in part because we started to passively see into each other’s lives without actually speaking directly, and that’s really weird, but I guess it’s the world we live in. It’s also a topic for a whole different discussion. Anyway, I also Skype occasionally with a friend from parkour.
If there’s any advice I would give new exchange students (and myself if I were to go back in time), it would be to exchange contact information as soon as possible and to follow up with the people you want to get to know. If you’re in a group activity with peers or really friendly people that you’d like to get to know, there’s no reason not to be in contact a little bit more informally. Learning names and participating is one thing, but building a relationship requires contact, especially when everyone is so busy and lives so far apart (ばらばら).
That sounds obvious, right? Well, I guess the reason I mention it is because there have been plenty of times when I’ve exchanged contact information with Japanese students, acquaintances, etc., and those exchanges turned out to be almost meaningless. But the Community Involvement Project is one of the few opportunities we are presented with that force us to interact with people who are interested in things that we are, at more than surface-level. Because KCJS students are part of a program that is socially isolated from the rest of the university, and there are very few Japanese students in the afternoon classes, we have very little genuine interaction with other Japanese students. Hindsight is 20/20: Now I see that it’s important to take the opportunities that you are given to build real relationships, because no matter how many people you meet, friendships like others you have in the U.S. will not just magically happen if you don’t reach out.
Looking back, I feel that life in Japan would be awfully lonely without a group to belong to. Life here in between group interactions is a little bit lonely as it is, and I can’t quite put my finger on why. In any case, although I wish I was able to spend more time with them, I’m glad that I was able to find the two groups that I did. They gave me a place to be, and eventually became a big part of what it means for me to be in Japan.
I’ll close with another video: Kansai Parkour Family (courtesy of Takafumi Kojima)
(As a disclaimer to this, I would like to state that I am realizing a lot of this right now. And while I think I have found a place for myself in Japan, I could have done a lot better job actually experiencing being in that place. Meeting once every two weeks is simply put, not enough. If that kind of meeting schedule could provoke me to write all this, imagine what would happen if I had reached out and spent more time with everyone.)
As May approaches, I reflect back on what was an eventful year, being in Japan as a study abroad student. Even though I felt I could have done so much more, been so much better in terms of my Japanese ability than I am now, I still feel like I accomplished a lot and gained new interests, taiko being one of them. When I was in the States, I had heard of it second-hand, but my first real impression with taiko came at a moon viewing at my local shrine in September. When I heard that performance, my first thoughts were of awe and then I wondered how I could do that, which is how I joined the taiko group at Kitano Tenmangu.
During last fall, I joined mostly for furthering my interest in taiko, so I did not really get to know all the members or learn all the pieces by heart, the latter part of which really showed during the end of the year performance when I had a lot of trouble and was rather embarrassed. Thus, I decided to make it my CIP so I could have the time to focus on it wholeheartedly and I believe I have learned a lot, not just in becoming better at playing, but also being able to interact with other Japanese people naturally.
I have a tendency to do things roundabout or in a strange way, and my first practice was no exception. Even though it was October already, I had no cell phone, so I ended up at our teacher’s house by accident instead of at the shrine. My contact (the teacher’s wife) was out, but her parents’ reception of me was humbling, because they not only helped me find where I needed to go, but also gave me a tour of the surrounding area, hosted me for lunch, and even visited a sake brewery with me. Despite my embarrassment at being in that kind of situation, I will never forget the kindness they showed me and hoped to pay it back by really committing myself to taiko this semester.
The practices are much more than practices in my view; we gather, frolic, catch up, joke, help each other, laugh, and plan for the future, not to mention learning new pieces and maintaining the ones we do know. All types of people participated, from children to adults, and our post-practice dinners were the most fun, because it was a chance for us to communicate in a natural fashion and actually grow closer as a group. In terms of people from KCJS, Nate and I were left over from last fall, and Diana, Andres, and Jackson joined us this semester. Arguably, there were a few bumps at first as we all adjusted into the flow of things, but by the time of our spring performance to start the new year, I thought we not only played well, but also got to know everyone else in the group well.
For someone who lacks any musical inclination, my taiko experience was amazing. I picked up a skill that I hope to maintain and grow when I return to the states and made many close relationships with people I want to see when I return to Japan and hope to return all the kindness and warmth I was shown when I was welcomed into the group. Though it may be impossible, I felt like I belonged a little bit when I participated in taiko, which means so much to a person who belongs to no set place or group in the States. Maybe it is because of the tight knit group mentality, but living in Japan just feels as natural to me as moving or breathing when there is the feeling of people who would support and encourage a foreigner, different as I may be.
Given my interests and classes, I have been hurtling towards a crossroads for quite some time, because of how hard it is to reconcile using Japanese and the life sciences in a career. Regardless of whatever happens from this point, the experience I received from participating in this taiko group was worth it, more than anything I could put on a resume.
While establishing a CIP and forging connections can prove a daunting and sometimes discouraging process, I found it to be an ultimately invaluable part of my time at KCJS and my life here in Kyoto.
My first CIP, which I have continued both semesters here, is learning how to play the koto (A traditional Japanese string instrument with moveable bridges) and it was through what I suspect to be a combination of serendipity and extreme thoughtfulness on behalf of the KCJS staff that I was placed in a homestay which made these lessons possible. My host mother had studied the koto for quite some time and was kind enough to introduce me to her sensei, who has been generous enough to teach me free of cost for the for the past eight months. This connection made my CIP search easier than most, as I had long admired the instrument and had vague hopes of learning to play it while in Japan. Their long-established relationship made the introduction process very easy, and it wasn’t until I undertook the task of introducing another student that I began to more fully understand the complexity and cultural context surrounding such arrangements. Because all parties involved lived in the same neighborhood, special care had to be taken in regard to kinjo no tsukiai (neighborhood relations) between my teacher, the host families, the students, and all combinations thereof. What I suspect might have taken two or three phone calls in the US took over fifteen phone calls and some rather complex social maneuvering and face redress strategies so that no party felt disregarded – no small task when it comes to the finer points of Japanese joshiki (common sense, if you will) and etiquette.
My subsequent interactions with my sensei and her other students always left me a bit flustered as I could never be sure I was properly adhering to these unstated (and, as a foreigner, rather opaque) social codes, but they were sensitive to my situation and my language skills helped carry me through reasonably well.
My sensei is a true bohemian and has that slightly eccentric flare I personally associate with masters of traditional crafts and art forms – a trait I’ve come to find very endearing, though it certainly threw me at first. She has a very flowery way of speaking that utilizes an impressive range of keigo (formal speech) and Kyoto-ben (the local dialect) which, while I had no trouble understanding linguistically often surprised me in usage. For example, though I am the student and much younger, she often uses formal speech towards me, that is to say, the sort of language I would be expected to use towards her. However, I quickly came to realize this is more a reflection of her personality than misinformation on my part in regard to the way formal language is used in a real-life context.
The sequence of aisatsu (salutations) took a while for me to grasp. One might think, ‘how many salutations can one possibly use?’ but Japanese salutations are not limited to words of greeting. Also included are acknowledgements of the previous meeting, a request for guidance in the day’s lesson, a promise to work hard, and any number of repetitions and reiterations thereof based on my sensei’s responses (which, in accordance with her speech style, were rather numerous). Another repetitive sequence also concludes the lesson.
Also of interest was the occasional use of the greeting ‘good morning’ despite the fact that my lessons have always taken place in late afternoon. This is something not usually taught in Japanese textbooks, and is apparently not even common knowledge among Japanese until about college age, but the greeting ‘good morning’ can be used the first time you see someone in certain contexts (at part time jobs, in the world of the arts, etc.) regardless of time-of-day.
Of course, I also learned quite a few pieces of music, including two of Japan’s most well known songs, and had the opportunity to perform on numerous occasions, but what remains with me was the time I spent with my sensei and the extreme care and kindness she showed me. It was my first time interacting with a Japanese person of her age and occupation, and I believe it gave me valuable insight into the inner workings of Japanese relationships on the whole, despite her undeniable uniqueness. I will remember the time I spent under her tutelage quite fondly and, with any luck, will have the opportunity to make use of what I have learned in the near future.
My second CIP I began only this past semester, but while it was also music-related, it gave me a very different insight into Japanese society, and Japanese college life in particular. Natasha helped introduce me to the KyoDai Gasshodan (Kyoto University Choir) and from day one they welcomed me as a real member. Because our school schedule operates on a different calendar from that of Japanese universities, it is understandably difficult for us to truly experience campus life here the way we would in the US. I never really felt like a student at Doushisha (or Kyoto Daigaku) until I had the chance to sing with them. For the first time I thought “so this is what it must be like to be a ‘regular’ student.” That feeling of belonging was invaluable, and I will treasure the time I spent with them and the memories we made. I know how difficult it can be to get involved in a campus club or circle, but if you can make it work, it’s more than worth it.
Meg Beneville: Kyoto Cooking Circle
For my CIP, I decided to take a Japanese cooking class. I’ve attended classes at the Kyoto Cooking Circle of Wings Kyoto and really enjoyed learning how to make many different Japanese dishes and interacting with the teachers and other students. The classes are very gaijin-friendly, and I’ve met people from all over the world, including Australia, Korea, and Spain. Many of them aren’t exchange students but are teachers or expats living in or near Kyoto. The Japanese people attending the classes all seem to have an interest in learning foreign languages or meeting people from different countries. They are very welcoming and we usually talk while we cook. I always get to practice my Japanese, and because we receive the recipes in both Japanese and English, I can compare the two and often figure out what different ingredients are in Japanese based on their English translation. I’m looking forward to trying out some of my new recipes when I get back to the States.
One thing that I’ve observed while attending cooking classes is that even though some of the other foreigners have lived in Japan for years, that doesn’t necessarily mean they can speak Japanese. I was really surprised to hear one woman who had lived in Kyoto for over 5 years struggle with very basic phrases. This is not a judgment on other people, but rather something I’m very sympathetic towards, as I can imagine that moving to Japan without a formal way to study the language must be very difficult. It made me think about how lucky I am to be at a time in my life where I can come to Japan for the specific purpose of learning Japanese, and that I could do so at KCJS, where I am receiving such high quality language instruction. I’ve realized that there is a huge difference between living in Japan as a study abroad student learning about the language and culture, and what it’s like to live in Japan as an adult who ended up in Japan and is just trying to live daily life.
Unfortunately, Kyoto Cooking Circle only meets once a month. My original plan was to take several different cooking classes, but I was surprised to find that Kyoto Cooking Circle in the exception in that it is very affordable. Other classes I looked at were as much as 5000 yen per class, which was completely out of my price range. Because of this, I need to supplement my CIP activity with something else. So far, I’ve helped out with an English lesson for Japanese children, which was a lot of fun. I’m also looking forward to attending some KIX in the next few weeks.
Before coming to Japan, my first and only encounter with ikebana was at a party held by my university’s Japanese department. It was not so much the product but the process, executed with such precision and elegance by my sensei, that moved me the most. Needless to say, when my KCJS sensei and I found out about several ikebana classrooms in Kyoto, I was ready to try my hands on creating ikebana of my own.
Now, after only six lessons, I am obviously still very far from understanding—not to mention achieving—that elegance. But along the way I have had a lot of fun learning about ikebana and interacting with my Japanese sensei and classmates.
Niwa-sensei, who just turned 79 last month, is a connoisseur of traditional Japanese arts. She enjoys showing and explaining to me about her collection of paintings, calligraphy scrolls, and other obviously expensive antiques. Our lessons take place at her Japanese-style house, and the displays of ikebana and crafts at the genkan and the tokonoma are frequently changed, making my lessons into a time for appreciation of Japanese arts. The first time I was there, she led me into a room and in front of a tokonoma, where she had placed a small vase of pine and a scroll of painting that complemented the ikebana. Pine is the plant of the winter, she explained. That was when I realized that acknowledging the current environment and time is very important in ikebana.
My four or five classmates (the number and people always change at each lesson because of different schedules) are all middle-aged Japanese women, which was not surprising to me at all. At every lesson, Niwa-sensei gives us each a sheet that explains the structural concept of the ikebana that we would do for today. The container is usually preselected by sensei, who has a collection of vases, plates and bowls for ikebana. We then unwrap our bundles of flowers and proceed to selecting, cutting and bending them in order to create the design we want. I receive frequent verbal instructions from Niwa-sensei, sometimes down to the specifics such as the angle at which I should place a particular branch. This is perhaps because I am only a beginner. Even though sensei and the students complimented on my works often, sometimes I wonder how lost I would be if I were to complete an ikebana work completely by myself.
Although we each sit at a separate table during class time and concentrate on finishing our work, the atmosphere is quite laid-back and sometimes small conversations pop up here and there among the students. Most students already know each other very well, so I have tried hard to understand and join the talks. I usually speak up when there is something I wanted to say or ask, and have always been warmly included in the conversation. One thing I like about the atmosphere in the class is that while the students are polite to Niwa-sensei, the politeness is that of a relaxed and natural manner, never stiff nor forced, making it easier for me to feel at ease even during my first lesson.
Although all students receive the same flowers and sheet, our works always end up looking very different by the end of the lesson. In my observation, there aren’t many strict “rules” in ikebana—at least not in the Sagagoryuu school in which Niwa-sensei specializes in. It is always a joy to see the various styles the same set of flowers could be arranged into, and the structural integrity they possess.
We can bring home the flowers we used in class for a second round of ikebana. As you can see, because what I have at home is different and most of the time limited, the ikebana almost always turns out differently. It's frustrating at times, but also part of the fun!
At the end of every lesson, Niwa-sensei always takes out her tea set and serves the students apple tea and delicious snacks. This is a time when we relax and admire each other’s work (and comment on how delicious sensei’s snacks are, of course). Although as a foreign college student I have little in common with the people around me, by listening politely and making a few comments here and there, I am able to have very pleasant conversations with sensei and my classmates, especially since they’re very open people who also happen to be quite curious about my foreign experiences. Tea time is when I can truly see the less formal side of the sensei-apprentice relationship that they have built over time. Although I am still new to the class, I feel welcomed and appreciated by everyone.
It was sensei's birthday, and she was so pleased with my birthday gift (a pair of Thai candles in carved wooden bowls) that she gave me a whole basket of tsubaki flowers and told me to design my own flower-candle arrangement. This is what I came up with. Not only did I complete two ikebana works in one lesson, we had a mini party enjoying homemade pumpkin cake, tea, and wakashi!
Unfortunately, my time in Kyoto is limited. It may take years of hard work to even begin to grasp the true essence of ikebana, and as of now I feel that I have hardly scraped the surface. What I can proudly say is that I have learned a lot about appreciating ikebana works in a more critical way, enjoying their beauty while recognizing the structural composition and possible concept behind each piece of work. In addition, this was a unique experience in which I joined a group of Japanese people much older than me, and learned about a beautiful Japanese art in a traditional house situated in a historical Japanese city.
Completed in my most recent lesson (not sure how much I really improved but I'm really happy with this one). I like the rectangular plate, which complements the structure of this piece very well. And the large branches are sakura!
My time in the taiko circle has allowed me the opportunity to interact with an older sector of Japanese society than that with which I interacted last semester in the shodou club. One of the first things I noticed upon joining the circle was how serious and yet relaxed the other members were. Because we practice at Kita-no-ten-mangu, a large temple in the western part of Kyoto, we depend upon the generosity of the priests there to allow to use the practice space. At the end of each practice, we all gather around one of the priests as he offers his reflections on the group’s activities and goes over basic housekeeping duties. Everyone sits very quietly and respectfully—the position of priest is obviously one of some regard—but when the priest makes jokes, everyone laughs like old friends.
We also were allowed to participate in a ceremony at the temple where another priest prayed for the taiko circle’s continued success. This ceremony and our interaction with the priests makes me feel like playing taiko is about more than just having fun or relieving stress by beating on a drum for two hours. I feel it is possible that we are doing something of a vaguely spiritual nature, in the sense that our playing is an homage to some sort of god or force. In light of the relative seriousness of this act, I was very surprised to see another side of the members when we all went to a nomikai. While drinking and eating, all of the members, including one of the priests, just looked like normal people who have gathered around a common interest and forged long friendships.