「Circle (Non-Sports)」カテゴリーアーカイブ

IJay Espinoza: Doshisha University "soul2soul" Streetdance Circle

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Being in soul2soul has been quite an experience. It’s interesting how, despite language barriers, mutual passions can bring people together. I’m pretty sure that thought has been published somewhere. It’s sounds too cliché to not be written somewhere. However, that doesn’t make it any less true. During my first time at a soul2soul rehearsal, I felt like I was back in America. People were being loud and crazy, which I’m quite used to during dance rehearsals. This may simply be a case of Japanese students interacting in a comfortable environment, rather than a performer thing because up to this point most of the interactions I had experienced with native Japanese people had been mediated by KCJS. Thus, those students were probably acting more “proper” to make socially acceptable first impressions.

As for actual practice norms, I found them to be quite different. First of all, as mentioned in my previous blog, the idea of streetdance and hip-hop dancing is different here than in America. In America, the two words are interchangeable and distinct styles are categorized as simply sub-genres of hip-hop/streetdance. In Japan, however, the genres are much more segregated with the term hip-hop encompassing its own separate genre, a genre that consists of moves that don’t fit into the other more defined styles. Therefore, practice is never held as a complete collective, but rather as smaller factions, in which all hone in on one specific style. This is different from what I’m used with my dance groups back home, where we’d cycle through different styles based on the interests of the group and the styles in which the current group members were particularly proficient.

The senpai-kohai relationship was also very interesting to witness. It would always be really clear when a senpai was nearby, for it was difficult not to notice the people around you essentially dropping what they were doing, so to speak, to greet a senpai with a full “ohayou gozaimasu” and a very prominent bow. It was also interesting how, many times, I would be greeted the same way, especially since I wasn’t really quite uchi to the many of the members who greeted me that way as well.

Moving from soto to uchi, I’ve noticed, is far more difficult than I expected. I don’t fully feel that I have quite achieved that yet either. I feel like this has a lot to do with the disadvantages of being the new guy, especially among people who practice together over ten hours a week, as well as the language barrier which sort of enhances the difficulty of breaking the uchi barrier. I found myself at times unable to fully express my feelings in Japanese in an effective manner. The experience made me appreciate the extensive command I have over the English language. My vocabulary may not be as impressive as a typical English major, but it is definitely preferable to the frustrations of being simply unable to say what you mean or feel in the most appropriate manner. It also made me much more sympathetic to non-native English speakers.

Come performance time, I found that soul2soul was virtually exactly like my groups back home. Members would sit in the audience and cheer on their friends, and afterwards celebrate with picture-taking and a night out together. Even though I was not able to become as uchi as I had hoped with the group, I found that performing with them really made me feel like I was a part of something. Perhaps I had gotten farther into the uchi sphere than I had thought.

Adam Roberts: Kyoto University (KyoDai) Student Choir

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As I wrote in my Japanese blog post, I decided to join the KyoDai Student Choir for my CIP. Having had sung in choirs for a number of years beforehand, I was excited to get back in touch with my musical side, as well as to become friends with Japanese students outside of the KCJS “bubble” and learn Japanese that is relevant to one of my interests.
As to whether or not I feel that I have become a member of the group, I would say that I am not sure that I have. This is not for any lack of trying on my part or friendliness on theirs, but rather the result of circumstances – I was not able to attend each of the thrice-weekly rehearsals due to other commitments. I feel that I did form a sort of bond with them, even if it was less a “true member” bond and more a “visiting participant” type of bond. In order to attain this bond, I made sure to participate fully in rehearsals I attended, as well as do my best to keep up with the technical instructions given – which occasionally proved more challenging than I had anticipated. In order to solidify these bonds further, I participated in cultural practices like otsukimi and giving omiyage when returning from trips in Okayama and Shikoku.
One of the first things I noticed about the choir was how eager some of the members were to greet Natasha (who also joined the choir) and during our first few rehearsals. Their patience with us was something I truly appreciated, especially when faced with a set of papers to fill out about myself which were replete with kanji I hadn’t learned yet! After the first week or so, communication became more difficult. I think that this is due to the nature of choir rehearsals. Usually the only person who talks throughout an entire rehearsal is the conductor – in our case, a junior nicknamed Pierre – and anybody who can quickly interject with a pithy comment. Because my Japanese isn’t quite yet at the stage at which quickly-interjected-pithy-comments become a viable method of communication, a great deal of my communication during rehearsals ended up being non-verbal. Written communication between the Top Tenor manager, Bibure, and I made up most of my active communication, as we discussed rehearsal dates and plenty of choir-related events.
My CIP taught me a great number of things – one of the most significant of which had nothing to do with Japanese at all. To put it clearly, I learned a lot about time and schedule management; not in the sense of making sure you get all of your work done on time, but rather in the sense of managing the things you participate in to avoid dead space in the middle of the day. Related more directly to the CIP, however, I learned that consistent and rhythmic participation can really help provide a foundation for potential relationships. One of the reasons I did not feel like a true member of the choir is because I attended irregularly, which meant that not only was I missing out on rehearsal for that day, but also I was missing out on any occurrences that might have furthered a sense of shared experience among the members. If faced with these sorts of situations again, it would be ideal to attend each rehearsal and a number of extra events; however, in the case that this solution is impossible, it would be better to set attendance dates well in advance, or very clearly state an anticipated schedule.
Looking back on my first CIP log, Fukai-sensei wrote “Before you visit, it’s probably a good idea to think about how long and how often rehearsals are” (in Japanese, of course). In order to get more out of your CIP, I would advise making sure that the baseline commitment for your CIP is not more than you can deal with. My CIP ended up being too time-consuming to be all that it could (and should) have been, which is nobody’s fault other than my own. However, if it is something that you truly have a passionate interest in, then do your best to make it work with your schedule in any way you can, because the personal and practical rewards will be much greater for it.

Natasha Gollin: Kyoto University Gasshoudan

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For the past 2 months or so, I have been actively participating in the Kyodai Gasshoudan, or the Kyoto University Mixed Voices Chorus. I have been regularly attending practices twice a week and intend to appear in the annual winter concert on Sunday December 4th.

At first it was not easy—the other members had already learned the songs, so I had to catch up and learn to sing the women’s songs in Japanese. On top of that, the songs for the mixed choir are in Hungarian, which is far harder to pronounce or remember than Japanese. But I persisted, and with the help of some optional long practices, as well as the gasshuku (retreat), which was more work than play, I got a better grip on the lyrics and melody and now intend to sing in the whole concert. I still need to look at the sheet music at times, but I will work hard to be off-book by the concert! At first I may have been a hindrance, but I want to help the choir instead of dragging them down, so I have been practicing all-out. Other than giving it my all, stapling tickets to flyers, and occasionally sharing snacks, there is not much else that I can contribute, but I do what I can.

Through this choir, I realized that singing groups in different countries may share some essential elements, but are ultimately different. Until I joined an a cappella group in sophomore year of college, choir was always a class and not an extracurricular for me. This choir requires an extra time commitment, so the people in it tend to be super-committed to the choir’s activities, not to mention paying its many expenses. Also, like other circles in Japan, people tend to make this their main activity during college, while back in America, people would usually have other activities and choir would not be their main focus. Another difference: this choir has various customs that are, shall we say, different from what I’m used to. This includes various cute and sometimes bizarre nicknames (e.g. Nojinoji, Winter, Zukkii), having long announcements by people in management positions after practice, staying after practice to sing extra songs, and slightly offbeat exercises and warm-ups (such as lip trills and hip-rotating…at the same time). But I suspect that this is not the standard of all choirs in Japan: it is unique to the Kyodai Gasshoudan, a group with a long and distinguished history of excellence and quirkiness.

Being let into this group meant a lot to me. I know that there is already a precedent for KCJS students being in this choir, but even so, the fact that they welcomed me with open arms says a lot about their kind and open-minded spirit. However, that does not necessarily mean everyone is going to talk to me or be my best friend. In a group of about 80 people, it is hard for even native Japanese to get close to each other. Still, through different activities, I was able to socialize and befriend my fellow altos and first-year members, and now my closest friend who helped me from the start (nicknamed Christine or Chris) is even planning on sending me a New Year’s card, which is very flattering if you know how much it means in Japan.

From my CIP, I learned a few new words that I would never have known otherwise, such as gakufu (sheet music) and ensoukai ni noru (to appear in a concert, lit. “ride”). But more importantly, I learned that people will always be there to help me or explain things to me when I need it, so I should not worry and struggle through the music director’s instructions alone. Since they were there for me, I want to be there for them, and I plan to continue participating through next semester and doing what I can for the Gasshoudan.

In order to succeed in your CIP, do not hold back. Even if you are shy or not confident in your language skills, it never hurts to put yourself out there and try to make friends. There may be someone who is outgoing and interested in Western culture who befriends you first, but that is not always the case. So start talking with people, and of course, always do your best, because when your peers see you working hard, they will appreciate your presence and accept you as one of the group. Do not be afraid to ask questions, and most importantly: just have fun!

Katrina Vizzini: Kyoto University International eXchange Society (KIXS)

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When I began looking for a CIP, I really began it halfheartedly. Most of my interests that have the possibility to be a CIP lie in activities that are most often accomplished solitarily, leaving little room for cultural or language exchange. I toyed around with joining an art circle or a piano club, but honestly, I didn’t imagine that those clubs would lead to much socialisation. Thinking about what I do on a normal day to day basis, I realised that I usually just like to be around people, no matter what activity it is that we are doing. Acknowledging this, I joined KIXS over at the University of Kyoto.

As detailed in my previous post, KIXS meets for dinner at Renais (ルネ）, the cafeteria, once a week to eat dinner together and socialise. KIXS couldn’t be a better fit for me. Through KIXS I’ve been able to meet and make friends with people not just from Japan, but from all over the world. I’ve yet to meet everyone yet as KIXS is a rather large circle having over 50 members I believe, but how involved you are is entirely dependent on you. Keeping this in mind, I have tried to help out and be “part of the group” as much as possible. It is a bit difficult, as the circle is based at the University of Kyoto, so there are sometimes that I cannot participate in events, but I try my best to do so anyways. For example, KIXS has sold food at two events since I began attending meetings. At both events, I have helped sell the food, asking passers-by in rather formal speech if they’d like to buy a churro or a moffle (a sweet rice flour waffle). The Japanese people passing by seem to take more notice at this foreigner speaking Japanese to them than they do at the Japanese students dressed up like anime characters or cross dressing. Through this, I got quite a few people to stop and purchase churros and moffles, including completing a to-go order where I got a chance to use even more specialised formal language.

While I can’t say I feel like a “true” member of the group (I still get special foreigner discounts at the party gatherings), I can say that through KIXS I’ve gotten to know a lot of Japanese students and students from other countries pretty well and can definitely see some of these friendships continuing after the semester ends. I feel at ease at KIXS and appreciate the fact that the requirement of the CIP means I was “forced” to put my shy foot forward and get out meeting people. I enjoy hanging out with everyone and sharing our different thoughts, worries, cultures, and of course senses of humour. Can’t wait for the next meeting!

Michaela Karis: Circle Participation

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Over the course of my CIP, I experienced everything from frustration and uncertainty to satisfaction and confidence. The beginning was the most difficult—when I was still in contact with multiple circles and trying to find one that would apply to my interests, accept me, and fulfill the CIP requirements. Because of this early confusion, I decided to participate in three different Circles rather than only one. By experiencing the different circles’ unique “cultures” I hoped to gain a clearer understanding of typical life for a Japanese university student. Unfortunately, I gradually learned that the price I had to pay for this broader understanding was a less intimate relationship with the members of each of the clubs. As time progressed, I found myself gravitating towards one of the three clubs in particular: Doshisha Hiking Club. In the end, I chose to more thoroughly involve myself in this single club, rather than continue my superficial interactions with all three Circles.

That’s not to say that I didn’t learn anything from the other clubs. As an involved participant in a western theater group at my college in America, my experiences with the Theater Group Q were very informative. I was not able to participate in theater activities with this group as much as I would have liked, but I was able to observe a rehearsal and attended a showing of their fall production “Eyelids’ Woman.” The rehearsal gave me a unique glimpse into Japanese modern theater culture and the production was both well-done and fascinating. At rehearsal, some of the points which most caught my attention were the manner in which all the cast members addressed each other (both men and women used the diminutive –chan suffix), as well as the length of time of the practice dedicated to stretching and warm-up exercises. One entire hour of the three hour rehearsal was dedicated to warm-up exercises. In a conversation with one of the cast members, however, I learned that this practice was unique to the Doshisha group, rather than a characteristic of all Japanese theater in general.

In contrast to my experiences with the Theater Group Q, in which I always felt like an outsider merely observing the group activities, I truly feel that I have become a member of the Doshisha Hiking Club (http://hiking.yamagomori.com/). The club meets every Saturday for training and climbs mountains about once a month. I quickly learned that nothing accelerates group bonding like mutual pain during exercise. It was raining during my first training practice so we ran up and down flights of stairs. Training was short but intense, and followed by a long period of relaxing together talking and a late lunch. The combination of the work-out and the relaxing time was perfect to break the ice and then give me a chance to talk to Japanese students with absolutely no ties to KCJS. It was rewarding to make friends with Japanese students who didn’t have a professed interest in American culture or English, and to do so entirely on my own.

The Hiking Club lunches quickly grew into one of my favorite activities, and was, I think, one of the only times during this program that I can say that I really felt entirely like a Japanese university student. It is easy to become stuck in the KCJS bubble, surrounded by people who understand English, and it was refreshing (if a little exhausting) to operate outside that comfort zone. I especially enjoyed bonding with Oohashi-san, the only other girl in the club. She seemed pleased to have someone else to work out with, professing that, as the only girl, she often had to run by herself and was often the last to return. I was glad that I could give her company, and in return, she was always happy to answer all my questions.

Through my experiences with the Hiking Club, I was able to personally observe some interesting aspects of group behavior in Japanese clubs. One aspect that surprised me was the awkwardness of introductions, which I had always chalked up to my inadequacies in Japanese, actually exists for native speakers as well. My first practice with the club also happened to be the first practice for another new member. When he was introducing himself, he mentioned that he was a third year. This lead to a small stumble in the conversation when he asked how he should address my friend, Oohashi-san. Normally, Japanese protocol would direct the new member to call one of the group’s senior members with the formal “last name-san” construct, however, since Oohashi-san is only a second year, she felt awkward having someone who is technically her sempai address her so formally. They decided on a compromise—Minayo-san—Oohashi-san’s first name followed by the more formal suffix, but not before a rather long deliberation. As an American who has never had to spare much thought to how to address people around me, I found the exchange fascinating. The Japanese language makes it impossible to ignore the status of everyone around you. Unlike English, Japanese formally codifies the structure of society in relation to you, so there can never be any doubt about where you stand in the social hierarchy.

In the beginning, I resented the CIP as something inconvenient and stressful, particularly since I ran into so much trouble getting mine started. Now, however, looking back, I am pleased with how everything turned out. I realized recently how empowering the CIP can be. I now know that I can conduct basic conversation with real Japanese people outside of the framework of any program. I feel comfortable composing emails, finding the right locations, and interacting with Japanese people without assistance. All of these skills are invaluable to language ability and will definitely help me more fluidly navigate life in Japan in the future.

Cecille de Laurentis: Kyodai Orchestra

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I have mixed feelings about my CIP experience.

First, the good: there is no doubt that the CIP can provide experiences that a ryuugakusei might not otherwise have access to in Japan. Although interacting with our host families and with the outgoing KIXS and DESA members is certainly good language practice and often a lot of fun, generally the families that choose to host and the students that choose to join international circles are used to interacting with foreign students and enthusiastic about it. Thus, chances are we’ll be spoken to in language we’re more likely to understand; our mistakes will be more readily forgiven/breezily ignored; each participant in the interaction has a better idea of what to expect from the other. In other words, it’s less of a challenge. However, when one reaches out to a circle or community organization, one may encounter people who have never met a ryuugakusei before, creating more pressure on both ends. Talking to the people at Kyodai Orchestra was a huge change from hanging out with my host family or my KIXS/DESA friends–from their slang/vocabulary (I was totally thrown by “ikkaisei” and “gakubu” in lieu of “ichinensei” and “senmon” at first) to their mannerisms. Suddenly being polite and following cultural expectations became a lot more important–which, if I’m not mistaken, is part of the intended value of the CIP. It keeps us from getting complacent, which is definitely beneficial.

However, I must unfortunately voice disagreement with some of the things we were told at the CIP information session at the beginning of the year: namely, that it’s best to pick an activity you are very familiar with and/or good at. I understand the motivation behind that, but I honestly wish I had tried to learn (for example) the koto from scratch, or done something I was perhaps vaguely familiar with, rather than try to play cello in an orchestra, something I have done in the States for about ten years. Because I’ve been heavily involved in the Western classical music world for so long, a world in which the structure and expectations are very familiar to and beloved by me, the cultural differences in the Kyodai Orchestra system grated on and sometimes even upset me, rather than opening my mind to learning opportunities. Considering that I’ve largely found it easy to embrace cultural differences in general since coming to Japan, that is a significant thing to say. Therefore, I would recommend for future students: choose a CIP you are interested in, to be sure, but perhaps avoid an activity which you feel strongly about or are very used to in its Western form. In terms of Kyodai Orchestra specifically, the people are kind and welcoming, but due to the lack of an audition process, it’s impossible to enter the main orchestra, so that would be another thing to keep in mind.

Additionally, I feel that were I studying abroad for a full year, I would have been more motivated to form meaningful connections with the other orchestra members. For the first month and a half that I attended my CIP, I was only doing individual practice in the strings building, because they weren’t sure in what capacity I could enter the orchestra yet. I didn’t consistently see the same people every week, and it wasn’t until after I’d joined the first-year orchestra (as I mentioned above, joining the main orchestra wasn’t an option), which in turn wasn’t until mid-November, that I received a welcome party and actually had an extended interaction with the people I was playing with. Because I will probably only see them once or maybe twice more and then return to the States, I feel that I quickly dismissed the possibility of lasting friendship, which is a shame. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the welcome party much more than I expected to, and it provided me with an opportunity to experiment with some of the wakamono no kotoba and Kansai-ben I’ve picked up since I’ve come to Japan–since the other orchestra members aren’t particularly familiar with the formalized college-Japanese-student language I arrived here speaking, I wasn’t looked askance at, which was quite gratifying (though I don’t mind being mocked in a friendly way by others, of course.)

To conclude, there’s definitely no way I can say my CIP was worthless, but I feel I could have gotten more out of it than I did, which is both my own fault and that of external factors that couldn’t really be controlled.

Jacqueline Wee: Calligraphy Club

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I’ve always been interested in Japanese calligraphy.  There’s something about the contrast of bold black lines on white that just gets me.  Maybe I’ve read too many comics glorifying the image of calligraphy masters, but the process itself also strikes me as incredibly poetic.  I picture an old man in a tatami room, dipping his brush in ink.  Breathing in the scent of ink and incense, he deliberately places his brush on paper, pauses for a moment, and then delivers a powerful first stroke, imbued with the wisdom of many years.  Or I picture woman behind screens, enveloped in the folds of her red silk kimono, pondering for a while before settling on a suitable line of poetry.  Her hand quivers slightly as she thinks about the man with whom she is corresponding, but then steadies as she begins to churn out the elegant, perfectly-formed characters that have been drilled into her since she was a child.

With the desire to create my own over-exaggerated poetic scenario, I joined the calligraphy club at Doshisha University.  Despite having an interest in calligraphy, I had never actually practiced it, so I emailed the club representative asking if complete beginners were welcome.  They were welcome.  He told me what day and what time to come by, and on the set day and set time, I climbed to the sixth floor of the “Student Meeting Building” (A.K.A  gakuseikaikan) of Shinmachi campus, just a five minute walk away from KCJS on Doshisha’s Imadegawa campus, and braced myself for the first contact.  Nervous about using my rusty, less-than-passable Japanese abilities, I took a breath and opened the first door on the right, the one on which the sign SHODO was hung (written in Japanese, of course).

Without going too much into the nitty-gritty details, my first day was really fun, but it was far from what my over-active imagination had conjured.  I did get the scent of tatami and the satisfyingly serene feeling from focusing all my attention on a single task, but I also got numb legs from sitting on the floor for three hours and a good deal of frustration from being unable to properly write the simplest character in existence, ichi (―).  And I had never come into contact with Japanese pertaining to a very specific subject before, so more than half the time I didn’t know what the club members were saying.  However, even the bad things were kind of fun in a way.  I became even more set on joining the club so that I could practice and eventually write more elegantly, sit seiza for longer, and learn shodo-specific words.

I’ve been going to club every Thursday since that first day.  Although the club meets three times a week, two of those times are at the Kyotanabe campus, which is just far enough to be a nuisance, so I stick to my once-a-week routine.  The club members are all very friendly, and they always come to my rescue when I have questions.  Although I think my writing is still pretty sloppy, it’s definitely improved, and my legs have somewhat adjusted to sitting seiza.  To clarify, I mean that I’ve gotten used to the feeling of my legs being asleep, rather than that they don’t fall asleep as quickly…I’ve also picked up some vocab, so I’m not quite as in-the-dark when someone explains the difference between different styles and materials or whatever else it may be.

Although I opted to join a club so that I could interact with people my age, rather than taking private lessons, a teacher also comes to the club for an hour or two every week, or nearly every week, so I get the best of both worlds.  With corrections and instruction from the teacher, I’m getting ready to write something for the calligraphy club’s December exhibit.  I’m still sort of hesitant about putting anything up for display because my writing look worse than an elementary school student’s, but such an opportunity doesn’t come often, so I figure I should just go for it.

In any case, joining the calligraphy club was a great decision.  Since the materials are fairly compact, I can continue practicing even when I return to America, which is the best part.  Although I may be starting something in Japan and must return home eventually, I can keep doing it for the rest of my life, all the while reflecting back on my time spent in Japan.

James Chiang: Doshisha Alpine Club

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KCJS Fall 2011

Community Involvement Project, Blog Entry 2

 

The photograph on my desktop “beneath” the empty white and mocking blue of the word processor shows Mount Fuji flanked in the foreground by the foothills of the Minami Alps.  I had gotten up at 4 in the morning, packed away my frozen tent, and stumbled sleepily to the summit of Kita Dake in time to take it just as the sun came up.  Looking at it helps me to escape, in some sense, the confines of my room when work pins me to my desk, although in terms of air temperature my room and the second highest peak of Japan at sunrise in late fall are not such different places (and I’m wearing the same cozy socks now as I was then).  This brings me closer to the point of this exposition: to reflect on my experiences in the Doshisha Alpine Club.  That trip was not, in fact, one of the club’s, but it may as well have been.  If Doshisha University’s fall break was aligned with that if my study abroad program, perhaps it could have been.

Every Thursday for the past ten weeks, I have commuted by train to practice rock climbing with two other members of the Doshisha Alpine club.  A number of factors have conspired to prevent me from participating as much as I might like to: the commute is long enough that I can’t really afford to go more than once a week, my Japanese doesn’t allow me to say simple but important things like “don’t put your weight on the rope yet or you’ll fall to your death, I haven’t finished the anchor” or to understand the same, and because I’m not a true Doshisha student I don’t have the insurance policy I need to participate in outdoor activities.  So I haven’t been attending the weekend alpine climbing training sessions that this club holds in place of the drinking sessions that I hear comprise the weekend itineraries of other clubs, nor will I go on their winter climbing expeditions next week.  Incidentally, that expedition doesn’t line up with my vacation time either, and miscommunications in 100km/hr ice-laced winds are bad enough even when everybody speaks the same language.

In spite of these obstacles and the condition of quasi-membership they impose, I’m going to miss the two people I rock climb with every Thursday, and I think to some extent they’ll miss me.  One might think that the fact that every Thursday we trust each other’s belay to prevent lethal (or paralyzing, or maiming…) falls has brought us together, but we exercised this trust without much thought from the very first day, and the first few sessions had a rather awkward and formal social character, so I don’t think this has much influence.  My relationship with the two other Thursday-afternoon-rock-climbing-practitioners has progressed in the same manner as an ordinary friendship, with common interests and shared activities doing battle with an exceptionally stiff language barrier.  I humbly assume all responsibility for communication failures while in Japan, but the other person’s speed has a tremendous influence and I can still hardly understand anything my climbing partner says.  It’s a testament to the strength of unspoken communication that we’ve come to understand something about each other’s character without ever really hearing any of each other’s ideas.

Is this alpine club here in Japan different from the one at Cornell?  Well, Cornell University is located a solid 6 hour plane ride away from anything I would call “alpine”, so we don’t have an alpine club in the true sense of the word, but we do have a university funded outdoor club that offers PE courses in everything from canoeing to ice climbing.  The more I think about their official structure and composition, the less I can justify drawing comparisons between the two institutions, but ultimately they both represent groups of people who spend time together outside.  The senpai-kohai relationships evident in the speech patterns of Japanese club members struck me at first as evidence of the presence of a hierarchy completely absent in the American club model.  Ultimately, beyond dictating which verb-forms are appropriate for whom, and fostering self-introductions that include what this American student finds to be an awkward and unnecessary mention of what year student what is, these relationships don’t seem to have too much influence.  So I suppose an alpine club is an alpine club, Japan or America (unless it isn’t).

I’ve gotten somewhere, or at least consumed some of that taunting white space.  Now I’ll press save, put away this awful blue, and go back to gazing at the sea of clouds to which Fuji is an island, a distant perfect lonely cone of rock.

 

Andres Oliver: Calligraphy Circle

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My time in the shodou club has allowed me to truly appreciate the personal nature of a traditional Japanese art. Though technically a club, the shodou group acts more as a venue for anyone interested in practicing or learning about calligraphy to come and spend however much time he or she wants doing so. Thus, I have found my weekly visits to the shodou room to be moments of calm reflection. Because everyone is focused on their own calligraphy, the shodou room is usually fairly quiet. Practicing my calligraphy in such a setting allows me to forget about everything else and focus on the beauty of the characters themselves. Two things I have come to appreciate from this experience are both the beauty and the difficulty of writing kanji. I believe you cannot truly recognize Japanese writing as an art form until you see it through the lens of shodou, rather than as a mere tool for communication.

Adriana Reinecke: A Cappella

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The thing that struck me most about the entire C.I.P. initiative was, ironically, just how difficult it was to initiate. In fact, the one aspect of it that left the biggest impression on me was that it is exceedingly difficult to integrate oneself into the flow of normal Japanese university life as an exchange student residing in an entirely different flow.

My initial difficulty stemmed from the fact that I had to wait for the end of the Dōshisha University summer holiday before I received word from the circle that I had contacted – an a cappella circle called ONE VOICES based on the main Kyōtanabe campus. When I finally did manage to arrange a meeting, I quickly learned that speaking the same language does not guarantee mutual understanding. I misinterpreted the intended meeting time, and almost went home before both I and my contact realized our miscommunication and I turned around.

The second thing that surprised me was the group dynamic within the circle. My contact, who was in charge of member recruitment, immediately insisted I called her Yū-min – an extremely familiar nickname. I was even more surprised to observe that all of the club members I met or was introduced to also call her by her nickname, regardless of whether said member were her sempai or kohai. This dynamic is made more unusual by the break-down of the circle. The largest a cappella circle on campus, ONE VOICES consists of over 200 members organized into “bands” of 6, based on musical interest. This means that many members of the circle meet only on rare occasions for circle-wide events. Yū-min, as the coordinator, was familiar with almost everybody, however, interactions between members of different bands ranged from extremely informal to highly traditional, with rules of seniority being strictly observed. My general impression was that this complicated mixing of differing levels of formality between sub-groups and individuals is a far more truthful representation of group dynamics than the stark, hard-and-fast rules of propriety we are taught in class.

Another factor of this 6-member band structure was that, until five other members presented themselves (actually four, as there was another prospective member touring with me), I was unable to formally start taking part in club activities. This became the biggest obstacle for me and was ultimately why I had to shift what I had been using as my “supplementary C.I.P.” activities (with Kyōto University’s KIXS international circle) to be my main C.I.P., whereas my contact with the Dōshisha a cappella circle was relegated to the “supplementary” spot. I confess I was surprised at how strictly the members stuck to the “6 person rule.” I can’t speak for everyone, but in my experience, American university students might be more inclined to temporarily (or even permanently) allow the formation of a 7 member group, or come up with some other solution in such a case. That is not to say that one is better than the other – simply that they are different.

Were KCJS run on the Japanese academic calendar (which would be exceedingly difficult to reconcile with our lives and schedules back home), I personally think it would be easier to integrate into everyday university life. Despite the fact that in the end I was unable to really join the group due to logistical issues, I still feel like I learned a great deal from the contact I did have with its members, both in person and via text messaging. I was pleasantly surprised by the extremely warm welcome I received – by the end of the first day I had been given a nickname, invited to have dinner and to visit Yū-min at her part-time job, and even asked if I was half Japanese (which I found funny seeing as I’m very obviously Caucasian). I was struck by the level of casual friendliness and openness with which I was welcomed into the group, which as I understand is not a given. It was possibly the first time since coming to Japan that I truly did not feel my “foreignness,” mainly because they did not seem overly concerned by it. All in all, although it did not become my regular C.I.P., I found what contact I did have with the circle both educational and fun, for lack of a better word. I hope to keep in touch with the people I met there for the remainder of my stay in Japan.