「Private or Group Lesson (Non-Sports)」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Brigid Mack: Calligraphy Lessons

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The CIP that I chose for the semester was traditional calligraphy or shodō (書道). Shodō evolved from Chinse calligraphy and has been relevant to Japanese culture for hundreds of years, and so it is a common activity for kids to do after school. The person who led the class that I took held lessons in his house about three times a week and students could come any of the days that they chose and stayed for about an hour at a time. During this hour, you could do shodō with the brush and ink, writing exercises with either a pen or a pencil, and math with a soroban, which is essentially an abacus that was created in Japan. While I was participating in these classes, I did both shodō and the writing exercises.

At first when I started this CIP it was difficult to really pick up on the environment outside of what I was doing because I had very little confidence in my ability to speak to the Sensei in Japanese and my host mother would usually come along to help translate. I spent around three class sessions getting used to what it was like to be in a room full of shouting children while also comprehending very little of what they were saying. Finally, after several weeks I began to participate in the discussions and talk more to everyone else who was there. The kids who were taking lessons seemed very comfortable with each other and with the Sensei and were often making jokes or singing while they were there. It was easy to see that everyone was enjoying themselves and that while they took their work seriously, they were also there to have fun.

Most of the students seemed to have been in school classes together or were friends from around the neighborhood and knew each other very well. After a while it was more entertaining to watch them fight over who showed Sensei their work first as they stood on chairs or crowded around where he was sitting, waving their papers around before they had even finished drying.  Eventually, I felt comfortable enough to join in conversations or ask questions and clarify things that I had been confused about, or even to answer the things that they asked me. By the last week, it was a far less stressful environment because I was able to communicate and the kids were excited to try and include me in their fun.

As far as being successful in a CIP goes, I think that the most important thing to remember is that you’re there to learn, and that even if you aren’t sure about how to go about things like asking questions or joining conversations, it’s easier to just say something and gauge whether it was right or not by other people’s reactions than it is to overanalyze it and not say anything at all. I spent a lot of time just watching and trying to figure out how to fit myself into all of the chaos of shouting children when in the end, all I had to do was raise my hand and ask a question or talk to one of the kids. They let me know when I was wrong or if something I said was so off that it was funny, and in turn I learned more about the language while also being able to have fun. I think that if there was anything I would do differently, I definitely would try to be more confident in my ability to at least try and speak rather than overthinking it all and ending up saying nothing because even though I enjoyed going to all of the classes, it was definitely a much better experience towards the end.

 

Katarina Stewart: Pottery Lessons

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When we were asked to decide what CIP to do based on our interests, I knew I wanted to take up an activity that had to do with art. This led me to taking pottery lessons at Fujihira, a pottery shop in Higashiyama. Fujihira is a pottery shop with a number of artisans that specialize in traditional Japanese styles of pottery, like many shops in the Higashiyama area. My goal during the semester was to pick up a new style of pottery, but also come to understand the art community in Japan.

Taking pottery lessons at Fujihira was different than I imagined, coming from a background in arts in the U.S., where individualism is prized when it comes to art. It is oftentimes the case that something deviating from the traditional is the goal in contemporary art. However, Fujihira demonstrated that in Japan, the expression of individuality comes from the details. Most importantly in Japanese art, the artist is recognized as having perfected his craft by being able to replicate traditional designs to a T. Fujihira taught me this through interactions with my teacher where he showed me different methods, like coiling to build cups, and reiterated that the measurements and thickness were important to achieve the desired result. This was also evident when my teacher showed me the pieces he was creating, that they were uniform in shape, but differed in how he painted the details on them. My relationship with my teacher is probably more indicative of the art world than any normal teacher-student relationship in Japan, in part because I was his only student at the time. We talked often using short form, but occasionally in long form, as opposed to using formal. We also joked a lot, mostly about how I was doing learning the techniques from him. It was a more relaxed relationship than I expected going into the shop, but it was nice that in addition to the pressure I felt to live up to his expectations as a student, I was able to look forward to him joking about how difficult it was when he was in my position. I still maintained some aspects of the student position in that after he showed me where things were, it was my job to clean up after lessons and put things away for next time. I was able to understand through my interactions and by observing other artists’ interactions in the studios, how the art community in Japan works.

There were some difficult aspects of my CIP, such as unexpected translating between my teacher who only spoke Japanese and foreigners who came to the workshop to look around and only spoke English. By translating, I was able to use my Japanese in a way I hadn’t inside of class, which allowed me to push the boundaries of what I thought I was able to do in Japanese. Besides this, the biggest difficulty was perhaps that I was the only student. This meant that while I had the sole attention of my teacher, I was not able to form a community with other people my age and interact with other students. I was able to compensate this with making lots of Japanese friends in other areas, but it would have been nice to experience that type of Japanese community.

Alexis Metoyer: Koto

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My CIP was learning the koto with Iwasaki-sensei. Christine (who was learning the shamisen instead) and I would go to her place every Monday, where we would have about an hour or so of learning our instruments along with the other students. The other students were all older ladies and two gentlemen (one of which was Iwasaki-sensei’s husband), who I feel like would have become like grandmother/father figures for me, if I had had the chance to stay longer. The atmosphere was fun and lively, and the others would often crack jokes and tell funny stories. The actual learning process helped to encourage a rapport between the others, as sensei liked to teach by doing; therefore, my first day in, I had already started to play the opening lines of Sakura. Unfortunately, because the koto is such a large instrument, I could not bring it back home in order to practice, but I think the bonds I formed with the others were more of a priority anyway, and way more worthwhile.

​After our lesson, sensei and her husband would treat us all to dinner. I remember feeling very awkward the first night when we went to ChaoChao Gyoza – it had only been my second lesson, so I still didn’t know anyone very well; however, the atmosphere was light, and sensei ordered course after course, and we all shared the various dishes and shared our thoughts on them. This pattern continued for the remaining weeks with Iwasaki sensei. I gradually became a little more outgoing in storytelling, even managing to explain about my long and complicated family ancestry over traditional okonomiyaki. At first, beyond being shy and unconfident in my Japanese, the hardest part about communicating with the group was the fact that understanding the Japanese of older people is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. I am still not an expert, but you do get better eventually. But through this, I really started to accept that it was okay to make mistakes, and that learning to explain and interpret is just as important as being correct.

​What I found helpful was setting a goal for each week in the CIP, not necessarily for the koto, but conversation topics for everyone. One week, my goal was to learn more about what got sensei into learning traditional instruments and her background, and that gradually led to the conversation about my family tree. I would recommend that in any CIP, have a goal for the week if you feel afraid of not having something to speak about. Also, take advantage of spending time with those in the CIP, because those bonds will last a while as well.

Chloe Pearce: Koto

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Throughout the fall, I took koto lessons with Iwasaki-sensei as my CIP. Every Tuesday, another KCJS student and I went over to Greenwich house to practice in a group session. People would filter in and out during the duration of practice, and the other students would vary from week to week. Most of them were around the age of retirement, and had experience playing the shamisen, flute, or koto, but there were also newer students, such as a mother and her adorable five-year-old daughter who took lessons together.

Iwasaki-sensei tended to focus on the shamisen students or the little girl when she arrived. I was taught by Saito-sensei, a “student” who clearly had a similar level of experience to Iwasaki-sensei. She was very kind and patient with me as I fumbled my way through practice each week. The class members are very close to one another, and our sessions have a lighthearted air of warmth. Iwasaki-sensei herself is very welcoming, she’ll give out tea and treats and often jokes around with her students. One class she paused the lesson, marched us downstairs, and treated us to cheese bubble tea from Kawaramachi.

Though I enjoyed the classroom’s dynamics, I did find that throughout our weekly time together I didn’t necessarily have many opportunities to practice conversation. The lessons, naturally, are focused on playing music. The blogs of past KCJS students who have also taken lessons with Iwasaki-sensei mention often going out to dinner following a practice, but as my homestay was further away, I returned earlier. Despite the warm classroom environment and Iwasaki-sensei’s kindness,  I was often held back by my own shyness from pushing myself to insert myself into a conversation and practice speaking. I’ve learned that, truthfully, unless I’m in a situation where I’m forced to speak Japanese, taking initiative by myself is not my strong point. After this realization, I did try to speak out more within our weekly practices. Yet at different points in the semester, I looked to some of my classmates, who participated in volunteer work or clubs where they are forced to speak through the nature of the activity, and felt some regret that I didn’t choose a similar CIP, or always push myself hard enough in the one that I did.

That being said, when deciding on lessons in the beginning of the semester, my goal hadn’t been to do a CIP purely for improving my language skills. I had simply wanted to participate in a traditional art form of Japan, and explore a facet of Japanese culture with which I had little experience. From this respect, I’m happy with my choice. Even though I wish at times I had been more outspoken, I’m grateful to have taken lessons within Iwasaki-sensei’s warm and welcoming classroom.

My advice to future students is to think critically about what sort of experience you want from a CIP, and what skills you wish most to practice or gain. Imagine yourself at the end of the semester: what would you not want to regret? What kind of experience would make you satisfied?

Wiley Krishnaswamy: Koto Lessons with Sensei Kurahashi Ayako

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The KCJS Japanese language curriculum includes a requirement for an individual project, something involving the Japanese language carried out by a single student to be gradually completed and reported upon throughout the semester. My project this semester involves producing (some of) an English translation of In’eiraisan (In Praise of Shadows,) a composition by Taisho/early Showa period writer and playwright Tanizaki Jun’ichiro, famed for his astute comparisons and contrasts of Western and Japanese culture and aesthetics. Quite early on in this essay, Tanizaki points out how western recording and amplifying technology (of his time,) having been developed to suit the particularities of Western music, failed to capture at least half of the charm and reticence so central to traditional Japanese musical aesthetics, the beauty contained in subtle musical texture, pauses, silence, and approaching silence—this idea stayed with me throughout my Community Involvement Project at KCJS, that being taking lessons in Koto with local teacher Kurahashi Ayako.

The Koto is a type of East Asian long zither, similar in construction and playing method to the Chinese Guzheng, Korean Gayageum, or Vietnamese Dan Tranh. It consists of a long and slender hollow wooden body likened to that of a dragon, above which a set of thirteen (usually) moveable bridges are held down by strings that run lengthwise down the 2 meter playing surface. The side of the strings to the right of the bridges from the perspective of the player are secured behind a hard bridge at one end, and are plucked with the right hand, wearing specialized plectrums called tsume. The left hand is free to either pluck strings as well, or push down the strings on the other side of the movable bridges to raise the pitch or create a vibrato effect among other things. The history of the instrument is somewhat unclear as stringed instruments have been found in Japan dating back to periods before heavy permeation of technology and culture from China/Korea, but it is likely that the modern Koto descends from a mainland long zither used during or before the Han dynasty in China. Originally used to play slow and elegant court music, as the instrument was adapted to Japanese tastes and musical styles over the years it changed in form and composition as well, leading to a modern instrument quite different from its ancestor.

I have been interested in the Koto for quite some time, having dallied in it for a few years in the USA before coming to Japan. As much as I read about playing techniques and musical forms, nothing could compare to having an actual player teach me how to properly play the instrument. Even before I came to Kyoto, I was decently sure that this was what I wanted to do for my CIP—after arriving, on the recommendation of my host family and a past student who stayed with them, I was directed to Kyoto resident Kotoist Kurahashi Ayako, an incredibly skilled performer and with years of experience who offers lessons out of her warm and comfortable traditional style town house. While she teaches the Koto and Shamisen, her husband, also an respected musician, performs and teaches Shakuhachi—They often perform together all over Japan and overseas as well. After my initial meeting with Kurahashi-sensei to work out scheduling and other details, I started going to her house weekly for lessons in the instrument. While Kyoto’s traditional cultural and musical world is quite known for being secretive and often unwelcoming towards visitors, Kurahashi-sensei and her husband were incredibly warm and welcoming towards me and other students coming to them with little to no experience, despite their incredibly high skill level.

As I had done some practice studying up on vocabulary surrounding the Koto and its various techniques beforehand, we were able to communicate quite smoothly (to her surprise) and each lesson has been quite rewarding. Each lesson was essentially comprised of some amount of working on a few specific techniques, followed by playing through full musical scores and working through difficult parts. After learning to play through the ubiquitous Sakura Sakura, Kurahashi-sensei chose two very different pieces for me to work on. One of them, Yatsuhashi Kengyo’s Rokudan no Shirabe, is considered one of the most important pieces of a Kotoist’s repertoire, as the six movements of the piece contain a wide range of techniques and playing styles. Considerate of the fact that I would be returning to the United States after the semester, she picked a piece that would allow me to practice and continue to improve a number of techniques on my own.

As I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, Japanese music makes incredible use of reticence and subtle texture—while learning different playing techniques I was constantly reminded of this. Playing the Koto is so much more than it looks like; while one may see simply plucking on the right hand and pushing on the left, there are a myriad of different techniques involving these movements and more. Some of the more melodic ones include timed release of bent strings, karari and sarari (types of glissando-like techniques,) and arpeggios. Techniques that affect texture include playhing with the back of the tsume, scratching along the string with the side of the tsume, or even flicking the tsume sideways along the string quite quickly for a dynamic noise. It is quite hard to put into words, but after learning and using these techniques I became a lot more able to hear them in performance, and deepened my appreciation of Koto and other Japanese musical instruments.

The focus of the CIP, however, does not lie entirely in the subject matter one engages with—involvement in the local community and communication with those in the former are also key parts. Kurahashi-sensei and her husband Yodou-sensei were quite warm and friendly, inviting me to several concerts that they and their friends were performing at. Before and after lessons I spent time at their house talking to various guests from different parts of the world, observing practice sessions and learning about how those people from starkly different walks of life ended up practicing traditional Japanese music in Kyoto. While I can speak Japanese to the point where there were no real difficulties in conversation, my language (especially keigo) when put on the spot is by no means perfect. While I was initially worried that a mess up in respectful language would have unfortunate results, I quickly learned that most people do not fret about the small details of speech if respectful and kind intention is conveyed clearly through manner.

I learned this not only through Kurahashi-sensei herself, but through the other various people I met during the course of my CIP. In the process of buying music and tsume for my lessons, I became acquainted with a Koto retailer working out of a small store in Gion. Given the insular nature of both that area and the musical community, He tends to only show up at/let people into the store upon request. With introduction from my sensei, I was able to work out the details of our meeting and purchase the necessary materials, and as I am writing this I plan on visiting him again to talk in detail about the Koto business in Kyoto for a project in a different class.

All in all, my CIP experience allowed me to not only gain a solid foundation that will enable me to continue working on my Koto playing at home, but also achieve a clearer grasp on the necessities and peculiarities of socialization and conversation in an area of Japanese society that I see myself engaging with in depth in the future. I am quite grateful to Kurahashi-sensei and her husband for their warm welcome and continuing support, as well as to my amazing senseis at KCJS who helped me with some of the more difficult aspects of proper student etiquette and communication. I only wish that I had had a Koto with me in Kyoto to practice more often—while I am quite sad to leave Kyoto, one thing that I am looking forward to going back is being able to polish the base of skills that Kurahashi-sensei gave me everyday at home.

Joao Paulo Krug Paiva: Hip-Hop Dance Lesson

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I have always sensed a certain universality to the world of dance in the 4 places where I had trained before coming to Japan (Boston, New York, Los Angeles and Brazil), but it was incredible to have a chance to confirm that in Japan. Of course there are differences, but probably the most interesting thing about hip hop studios is that instead of conserving the differences between Japanese and US culture, they bring both of these worlds into a third, which feels incredibly familiar to anyone who has experienced it anywhere around the world. We stretch, practice some techniques which the teacher deems useful for that day’s  choreography, learn around 30 seconds of choreography together and dance it in small groups by the end of the class. As one group dances, the others form a circle around them to cheer them forward, and finally the teacher might choose to perform it alone at the end of the class either for the students’ inspiration, study, or for the teacher’s own enjoyment. Both of these descriptions could describe in some detail the 5 environments I have experienced so far, including Japan, yet because of the Japanese personality, I think, the moments after the class have been considerably different.

This is also influenced by the fact that this studio is smaller than the enormous studios in Tokyo, for example, but it is a well established culture for the teacher to stay and talk to the students and build relationships after the class. In this case my teacher happens to be famous, a member of the hip hop team that largely defined street dance as it is in Japan. Today Japan is the second most acknowledged country in the world of hip hop, yet the intimidating atmosphere I felt in LA was not at all present. What’s more, in contrast with LA, for example, there was no pressure for me to change my personality. I am not claiming to be normal or cool around all of my friends but I am indescribably shy and clumsy when entering new groups, especially those which have a clear distinction with the groups I integrate. For example, I can find several commonalities with other KCJS students that make me feel like we have a similar standing: we are all college students, currently studying in the US, living in a foreign and completely different country and under the same program, taking similar classes. In the studio, however, that is different. I am from Brazil, have moved to the US but now am living in Japan taking classes with a famous Japanese professional dancer in her country, with students she already knows and are part of a tight knit community. In LA the pressure is even more indescribable, you might be rehearsing in one room while Beyonce is literally in the room next to you, you want to be hired by her but you know it probably won’t happen because you’re disputing that job with the other 100 amazing dancers which currently share the studio with you, plus those rehearsing in different studios and those who come all around the world just for these auditions – every class feels like a simulated audition. Because of this imposing culture, it is demanded that you impose yourself: be confident, find your style, jump to the front of the room to be seen, talk to the teacher because you are the one who has something to gain and if you are shy, it’s because you haven’t developed your social skills well enough – well, tough luck for me.

Thank god I found this class, this teacher I had watched on Youtube and Instagram from Brazil and the US simply approached me and talked as I was about to leave the studio. Not only that, but she waited at the door for me so I wouldn’t go without us meeting. Of course the fact that she is famous imposes limits on how fast one can build a relationship, since fame attracts many insincere friends. That forced friendship, however, was sometimes exactly what was demanded in LA, and I had no idea how to act, because I would stumble through words while looking down and ultimately just leave with a handshake and “thank you for class.” This teacher, however, more famous than many of my LA teachers, sat me in the together with their close knit circle and asked about me, my life, what I did, why I had come to Japan, why I was “so umai at Japanese” and complimented the thing I care the most about, my dance, even as I am unable to dance properly because of my operated hips, saying she was looking forward to see me recovering.

Indeed the Japanese have a different way of moving, and naturally we talked a lot about those differences as well. In the west, especially in hip hop, dancers tend to focus on their upper body, which has most of the gestural movement and perhaps is easier to notice – although now I focus way more on the lower body. The Japanese, however, seem to be the opposite: the arms seem not as important, but by focusing on the lower body their dance has a stability and fluency that is really difficult to find. If you watch a Japanese hip hop dancer, probably two things will stand out: their connection with the music and their soft knees. Knees give you stability and impulse when you are dancing, yet they are usually naturally locked and stiff – that’s actually a good way of guessing for how long has been practicing, when you are in America. Here, however, the softness in the legs seems to happen more naturally, which is interesting for me, too, as someone who doesn’t have that specific aspect as naturally as the Japanese. That is not to say, however, that the Japanese are inherently better, just that they seem to have one good natural quality. My teacher joked all the time, however, about how the Japanese were anxious compared to Americans, and that a music that started on 60 bpm (beats per minute) would become 120 in a minute if it depended on Japanese. She has lived in LA as well, and also said the quietness of the Japanese sometimes give a weird feeling to the performer – even when the audience is enjoying it. Especially in America people tend to scream all the time during hip hop performances, while in Japan it’s normal for them to say nothing at all, and once you are used to America that can be quite scary.

The thing I am most grateful for, however, was for their welcoming spirit and acceptance of my clumsy, quiet way in the studio, which was answered with comments like “So respectful!” or (maybe in the worst case) “Mecha Kawaii Yan (Really cute right??),” because I probably look like a kid transferring schools at elementary school. But I have done that before, quite a few times, actually, and perhaps because of Japan’s culture of listening attentively, then respond, it was the first time I felt those characteristics were welcomed, so I would feel incredibly comfortable inviting anyone there for their first dance class. She gave us freedom to choose what we wanted to work on during class ‘I am giving you raw material but if you think that’s too stressful you can just learn one thing, and if you think that’s too easy you can make it more challenging, it’s your class and I am happy to see you do what you want with it.’ In any case you are guaranteed to be welcomed and congratulated by her in the end with a warm “Otsukaresama deshita!” and praise of whatever she can compliment in you – even if it’s your courage for taking a different class. Anyone that decides to do this, I think, would have an amazing first view of the hip hop world, from one of it’s most welcoming countries.

Angel Yi Fei Ding : Shamisen

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My first time encountering the shamisen was at a taiko performance by a student group named Yamatai on Cornell’s campus. I remember sitting in the massive concert hall and awing at the explosive, yet pure beats accompanied by two Japanese pluck instruments. During the performance, one string on one instrument snapped, but the performer remained calm and continued the notes with the remaining strings.

As music has been a part of my life in many different ways and forms over the past 15 years, I decided to keep it in my life even during my times abroad. Learning a traditional Japanese instrument became a natural option and drawing from my memory regarding that taiko performance I saw over a year ago, that accompanying instrument came to mind. I decided to learn the shamisen. With the recommendations of KCJS teachers, I, along with another KCJS student who wanted to learn the koto, contacted Iwasaki Sensei. My CIP became one of the best highlights of my time in Kyoto.

It is fair to say that Chloe and I walked into the unknown. With the help of our teacher, we called Iwasaki sensei in somewhat broken Japanese and arranged to meet that exact afternoon. I thought we were simply meeting to introduce ourselves, but we jumped into practice, and Tuesdays became our lesson time. In the first two weeks or so, Iwasaki sensei taught me shamisen basics like reading traditional Japanese music notation and learning the basic positions. Coming from over 15 years of violin practice, I was able to catch the basic, basic, fundamentals, and we moved onto pieces.

Iwasaki sensei’s classroom is conducted in a fairly unique style with students of all sorts of backgrounds. Our usual Tuesday group ranges from a 6-year-old pre-elementary girl to 60-year-old grandmas, and we always have so much fun. Since I don’t have other activities planned on Tuesdays, I tend to spend around 3 hours at the studio. We play different pieces, varying in difficulty, and I often have flashbacks of my time back in orchestra when we have multiple shakuhachis 「尺八」( bamboo flute), kotos 「琴」(Japanese harp), and shamisens 「三味線」play all together.

This classroom was also the perfect place to observe Kansai’s hospitality and customs. The students spoke with kansaiben「関西弁」 and used kansai-keigo「関西敬語」 ( which is the best invention) and interacted with each other in a fun way. Sometimes different students would bring omiyage「お土産」 or ogashi「お菓子」, and we would teatime in between the lesson and chat freely.

It has been an amazing time, and I really look forward to our Christmas performance on December 14th. I will cherish the few weeks we have left with the small studio and make the best out of it.

Camrick Solorio: Ballroom Dance Circle

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For my CIP, I asked to join Kyoto University’s Amateur Dance (ballroom dance) club and they kindly let me participate. Club activities consisted of weekly or bi-weekly practices at local recreational centers, where we learned a variety of dances from tango to cha-cha. The club members were all extremely kind and accommodating despite the frequent language gap, and it became quickly apparent that the regular club members are really invested in the club—not just in improving their dance skills, but in building community. I did roughly a year of ballroom dance in college prior to joining this club (zero dance experience before that), and with this background the practices being held were challenging but somehow manageable. There were some members with similar skill levels as me, but I would say most are better dancers than I am. Some of the members were even taking private lessons outside of club practice.

I was constantly amazed at how kind everyone was to each other. They treated me as a regular member of the club even though I was only to be there for a semester, and I can’t stress enough how incredibly grateful I am for that. Around mid-November I attended one of their bi-annual Dance Parties (formal venue, ~100 guests, dance time), and even though I couldn’t contribute much to planning the event, they kindly welcomed me as a club member and let me celebrate with them after the event.

Some general advice for interested students: the club members are extremely kind and welcoming towards everyone, and that very much includes study abroad students (they told me it isn’t uncommon for short-term study abroad students to join for a while).  Having seen the intergenerational ties and motivation of the club members, I highly doubt this inclusivity and positivity is something that will change in the near future, so don’t be afraid to take a first step. Lessons might be particularly challenging for newcomers (notably because fall is second semester in Japan), but this is not a steadfast obstacle. You should definitely feel empowered to reach out and try if it’s something you’re interested in. Be sure to reach out for help, practice to have fun, and (very important) show others a smile even if things are difficult!! It makes a big difference.

Some other one-off tips:

  • You can buy cheap dance shoes on Amazon (~$30?). Gentlemen, if you can only get standard or Latin shoes go for the former.
  • Go to the post-practice afterparties.
  • If you’re interested in private lessons in addition to club practice, reach out to the senior members.
  • If you don’t quite understand something, ask! I had a number of times I did something clumsy because I didn’t quite get what was going on.
  • Always say please and thank you (aka お願いします、ありがとうございます、お疲れ様です、失礼します、).

Ellen Ehrnrooth: Dance

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I initially started out this semester with the intention of volunteering at an NGO so I could improve my formal Japanese skills – something I felt like I was lacking, both in terms of my ability to use it and identify when to use it. I settled on an NGO that a previous KCJS student had had a fantastic semester with, and I was excited to take on the challenge. However, I quickly realized that I did not have the time to contribute meaningfully to the work they did – I felt quite strongly that I was causing them some trouble by being there as a foreigner with questionable Japanese skills. Although my time there was brief, I still learned a lot – I found it really interesting how the keigo dynamics worked in regard to me as a foreigner, and I was called Ellen-san instead of Ehrnrooth-san – then again, I do have possibly the most difficult-to-pronounce-in-any-language name conceivable.

After I came to the decision to switch CIPs, my mind wondered about what was best to do. I had had a less-than-ideal experience at my CIP last semester, which was taking dance lessons. However, I am the world’s most enthusiastic dancer (albeit a not particularly skilled one), and I realized that it was worth giving it another try. Last semester I mostly took K-pop dance classes, which may have been the cause the lack of a community feeling – the majority of the people in the classes were high schoolers and were there with their friends, and it was hard to relate to them in many ways. For that reason, I decided to take classes at a couple different studios with a wider demographic of students this semester, and the styles I’ve focused on have been waacking (a style born out of 1970s Los Angeles LGBT clubs) and hip hop – and I am happy to report they have been a success compared to last semester.

In a sense, it has been a very multi-lingual experience. First of all, the number of random English words that are a part of the vocabulary dancers use continues to surprise me. Both waacking and hip hop find their roots in the U.S., so it makes sense that the technical vocabulary would travel over – but some of the words used have very obvious Japanese counterparts, so the usage of the English words feels kind of unusual.

Not that I am complaining; it does make understanding the instructions much easier, especially when they are combined with the onomatopoeic sounds the instructors sometimes use to describe movements. This has been a challenge, albeit an amusing one. I am really bad at remembering the meaning of Japanese onomatopoeia, and often get it wrong when trying to explain things in conversation, to the amusement of my Japanese friends. However, the power of guesswork can go far, and usually I am able to figure out pretty quickly what I’m being told to do. The times when I don’t, however, are pretty obvious.

Those times of confusion were communicated pretty instantly with my facial expressions, which actually ended up being to my benefit. I think I emote visually a lot, which means the teachers would come over quite often to help me out as it was immediately obvious when I was confused. This was an interesting parallel to my classmates, who tended to just try and focus on drilling the mistakes on their own until they fix them. The different routes we took to get to a place of understanding has been an interesting thing to observe.

Lastly, dance to me is a language in itself – so even when I had some difficulty understanding what was happening around me, when everyone performs the choreography together, there is a sense of mutual understanding. This common understanding went far, and I felt much more welcomed in my classes this semester compared to the last. The teachers took an active interest in asking about me and introducing me to the class, and the students followed suit, with me exchanging contact info with some of them. I think taking classes in more niche styles (waacking and style hip hop fall into that category) helps – people who have niche interests, in my opinion, tend to mostly be happy to find other people who have those same interests, even if there is something like a language barrier that can get in the way of communication.

The studios I attended most often can be found here and here.

Mars Peredo: Manga Kyoushitsu and Warabe-uta Baby Massage

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My two CIPs were drawing comics at Studio Miura’s Manga Classroom and helping my host mom run her local nursery rhyme and baby massage class. Despite some struggles to communicate, both became highly valuable experiences.

The manga class was a quiet and relaxed gathering of generally younger people working on their comics or illustrations with occasional advice from the teachers present and also snacks. I thought it would be lessons rather than this sort of gathering, and since I knew no art terms in Japanese or what I wanted to get out of it, I struggled for several weeks drawing and communicating inefficiently. I learned to keep a little list of art terms I heard with me for reference, and practiced mustering the courage to ask questions or to repeat things I didn’t understand. It took a long time for me to settle in, but I learned useful ideas on Japanese panel layout etc. for my manga about noh (but with rabbits instead of humans). I want to improve at trying to ask questions.

For baby massage class, my main job was to sing the English translations of Japanese nursery songs while the mothers followed along and massaged their babies. Apparently Warabe-uta Baby Massage is not so common; combining nursery songs with massage (to promote the baby’s physical health and connection with the parent) is a recent concept. The class was made up of a few younger moms and their babies in a very casual setting: although my host mom sometimes used polite language when giving instructions, everyone generally spoke in casual language as peers, including newcomers. (There was a somewhat similar mix of codes in the manga class, so that I was never sure how to speak, as I was no master of politeness.) I started with mild polite language and slipped into casual (usually accidentally). The classroom was a place for the moms to not just interact with their babies, but also consult my host mom, a chiropractor and mother of a two-year-old, as well as chat together. I was surprised that the atmosphere was so casual, and in turn warm, homely, and open.

The “foreigner” and mixed race population in Japan is said to be increasing, and I got to witness this through a friendly mom, whose husband she said was Canadian, and their baby, whose skin, the moms remarked brightly to my surprise, was “definitely white.” The mom cheerfully started a conversation with me to practice her English and ask where I was from.

I also learned about the heteronormative gender dynamics in the group. First, there were no men in the class. It’s not that men can’t do baby massage –my host mom instructed that fathers could participate too– it seems that it’s just not common, just as mothers are still expected nurse children while the father works (yet my host mom holds multiple part-time jobs besides her husband’s). In addition, the strong female presence was felt when my rather quiet host dad suddenly came in and exited the room of already familiar mothers. Lastly, I saw how heterosexual norms can be imposed on infants: a lively baby boy was paying particular attention to me (perceived female by the moms) and a baby girl, so my host mom remarked that he was being “lovey-dovey” (rabu rabu), even though babies can’t have conscious thoughts. This was in contrast to how my host mom said that my toddler host sister was being “friendly” with or liked me.

In my CIPs, I learned about making efforts to communicate, and witnessed the fluidity of mild politeness and casualness as well as developments and gender norms in the family through casual classroom-like gatherings

Me and the mothers massaging the kids (and a baby doll)