「Institution」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Trisha Martin: Zenryuji Nursery School

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Although I started my CIP thinking I would be teaching English, I must admit very little English-teaching has actually been happening. Instead, I am more of an active participant-observer in the early education process of children in Japan. Back in the United States, I had also been very involved with educational- volunteer activities as well, so being able to compare US style early education with Japanese style early education has nonetheless been an enlightening experience.

From observing these two different settings, I’ve come to some preliminary conclusions about the educational styles and societal differences between Japan and the United States. For one thing, US schools appear to adhere to a much more rigid schedule. Lunch begins and ends at a certain time, even if a child is not finished eating. In Japan, every child must finish eating every grain of rice, therefore, lunch only concludes once every individual has finished.  From this observation, it also appears that Japanese early education also emphasizes a much more balanced diet where food is more highly valued; children must say grace before and after a meal, and must finish eating every grain of rice. These two actions are not seen in my US observation at all.

I also noticed a lot of differences in regards to scolding styles in both countries. For example, Japanese children seemed to be punished a lot more for failing to follow proper etiquette – such as incorrectly setting their dishes. One time I also say a child being punished for dropping a plate – something I would only call an accident. However, in the US observation, children were being punished more so for inappropriate behavior – such as speaking too loud, leaving their seats, or not standing still in line. Honestly, I have yet to observe an incident of un-orderly conduct in the Japanese pre-school, which I find very surprising.

Something in common between the two schools though, was the fact they both appeared to be teaching children the value of individual responsibility from a very young age. For example, both American and Japanese children were expected to clean up their own trash after finishing their meals – whether it be throwing away the leftovers or putting their plates away in their appropriate locations. It was only after successfully completing this task that both children were rewarded with recess activities.

However, these observations might not be an entirely accurate reflection of differences in educational styles because of the inconsistency in outside factors. For example, the US observation took place at a public elementary school in a relatively poor area; the Japanese observation took place at a private pre-school in a relatively affluent neighborhood. A better analysis would be to observe more US and Japanese educational settings to flesh out a more accurate comparison.

Drae McKenzie: Assistant English Teacher

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Kids Will be Kids

When I first entered the doors of Doshisha’s kindergarten I didn’t know what to expect. How were the children going to react to me? Will they be any different from the children in America? Turns out children are equally energetic and wound up any where in the world. Everywhere I looked they were screaming, clawing at each other, jumping off the slide, hanging upside-down from monkey bars. To be honest, I was a little terrified.

Then I heard the first “Hello!” Many other small voices hesitantly followed, tiptoeing towards me as to get a closer look. My reply resulted in an explosion of giggles from the investigative party. I can certainly say spending time with these children allowed me to see a unique facet of Japanese life.

Most of the time I felt the kindergarten wasn’t much different than that in the United States, there was one apparent difference. When children got frustrated, or angry, sometimes just a little too energetic I often saw them hit (or even tackle) their teachers. Thankfully, because I am a foreigner I was granted a “barrier” from the children’s physical attacks. But the teachers I encountered weren’t as lucky; I witnessed countless numbers of secret ambushes. The teachers seemed more like “human piñatas” than “figures of authority.”

As an American, I found this shocking. I’d grown up with the idea that a “good parent” or a “good teacher” was someone who set strict boundaries and, when those were crossed, consequences. I’d assumed that these standards were the same no matter where you were in the world. But after volunteering at the kindergarten I realized rules aren’t considered nearly as important as fostering the development of a mutual child/teacher friendship. To me, this seemed more effective than the strict rules placed in American schools. All in all, it was an eye-opening experience that allowed to me to experience teaching English and, in turn, gave me new insight into Japanese culture.

Courtney Crouch: You shoot with your Soul

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Looking back, I remember deciding when I submitted my application last year that if I had the chance to come to Japan, I wanted to learn kyudou (Japanese archery). I would like to say that actually being here and being actively involved in a kyudou group is different from what I expected, but the truth is I never really had any expectations. It was just my community project, after all. However, kyudou has in many ways defined my experience here in Japan.

Perhaps most importantly, kyudou club was one of the few places in Japan where I felt like I really belonged. It is easy to feel like a gaijin (foreigner) in Japan, in part because one clearly looks different, but in greater part because, in my case, I understood only around half of what was said to me and closer to a tenth of the cultural concepts underlying Japanese life. In my kyudou club, though, before I was a foreigner, I was a student. If the rigorous traditions of the sport seemed alien to me, they were strange to the Japanese students as well. Moreover, the more I saw of those rigorous traditions the more I realized I was seeing an older framework on which the entire society appeared to be based. Having the uniform meant expressing a certain level of commitment, and by extension, truly entering the club. Once a part of the club, one’s education became the responsibility of all of its members, and so I was taught to bow properly, give greetings, excuse myself, and so forth. The deeper I delved into kyudou, the more life outside of the sport made sense.

The structure of the club itself also uniquely gave it a special place in my life. It consisted in large part of people older than me, middle aged or slightly older, with a few younger individuals who largely came in the evenings towards the end of my stay, and the sensei (teacher). Perhaps for this reason and since I inevitably knew no one’s name, I was mostly called ojō-san, meaning young lady. Foreigners looking in on Japanese society tend to use the word “family” to describe the various social organizations, and I would apply the same word here without hesitation. We were in many ways a family. When I first wore my kyudou uniform, most people came to congratulate me on the fact that it suited me well. Afterwards, they would occasionally fix me if I came in with my collar mussed or some tie misplaced, and took great glee in telling me to bicycle home without changing because “all the young women in the club do it that way.”

Moreover, their attitudes towards my quirks and successes were those of a family. The women tittered when I put on my knee boots beneath my hakama, and everyone together found their daily amusement in watching me drag five-minute conversations into thirty-minute ones due to a variety of comical misunderstandings. Everyone watched when I fired my first arrow at the outdoor targets, and everyone managed to somehow hold their laughter until I finished the entire ceremony after my arrow rebounded off of the roof nearly the entire 150 m back to the stage. Finding that I had a tendency to stuff my clothes into a paper bag at the end of the day, sensei found me a suitable cloth to bundle them into. Indeed, whenever I lack something, someone tends to show up with it in hand, and even now I worry that she will next show up with a pair of traditional sandals (I insist on wearing flip-flops).

I would like to conclude with some advice, perhaps, to anyone else who thinks they might be interested in kyudou; throw yourself in head first. I, being the oddball that I am, wore my uniform to school, and even added a kimono beneath it just for fun. I was embarrassed and nervous at first, but I was also proud. Learning Kyudou was never just about learning to hit a target with a bow and arrow; it was about the form, the mindset, and the people whom I stood beside as I released my arrows. I frequently stayed late to practice afterward when I could, since the stage cleared and the club quieted down as darkness fell. At that point I could relax before heading home for the night, and the sound of snapping arrow strings and nighttime insects will forever color my thoughts of the long winter evenings in Japan.

Eun Bi Lee: Kamigyo History House

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For reasons I’ve already explained, or rather complained about, in the previous blog post, I had a pretty late start to my CIP. I felt rather unmotivated by the time I first visited my CIP site because it had not been my own choice to participate at that particular place, but more of a last minute option given that half of the semester had already gone by without me having done anything other than writing polite emails and wandering around Doshisha campus hoping that a student sadoubu would welcome me. In any case, the CIP activity I am currently involved in is volunteering at a machiya called Kamigyo History House. After the very first week, I still had my doubts for I couldn’t exactly understand the purpose of the machiya. Of course, we had learned in our Japanese class that the city of Kyoto has implemented laws for the purpose of protecting and preserving the remaining machiyas, and consequently maintaining the status of Kyoto as the ultimate touristic spot in Japan. While it was obvious that the core purpose of this particular machiya was to provide information to tourists regarding the traditional way of life and architecture of an ordinary house from back in Heian period, its location made it hard to see the practicality behind investing resources and sacrificing possible profit by preserving the machiya. Sequestered from the busier part of the city by tall mansions and combinis, this machiya is quite difficult to find, especially for tourists. I myself got lost and walked around in circle for about half an hour within a couple of blocks of the machiya until a 日本人 volunteer came to my rescue. To my surprise, however, visits from Japanese tourists – some coming all the way from Tokyo – frequented whether it was their genuine interest in machiyas or the pouring rain that drove them to stop by. Moreover, the fact that it has not been commercialized like many other touristic spots in Kyoto meant that it was run entirely by the sponsorship from the private owner of the machiya and by the volunteers, who were usually old ladies incredibly knowledgeable about Kyoto, its history and its traditions. It has been interesting to observe how so many different players come together harmoniously for the sake of preserving a piece of the past. I have come to enjoy my time spent at the machiya, whether assisting other volunteers give information to tourists or helping the director with the various lectures and events, because I believe I have been able to witness one of the core values of Kyoto, and probably of Japan – appreciating the past and learning from it, rather than solely deeming it as old fashioned.

Nathaniel Slottow : Parkour and Taiko

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When I first attended one of Nagare Parkour’s training sessions, from the moment I stepped out of the station and saw everyone gathering in the park, I immediately felt like part of the group. Since the atmosphere was so much like that of my club back in Ann Arbor, I was able to feel at home. I think that friendly and open atmosphere kind of inherent in the attitude of traceurs (practitioners of parkour), as well as my attitude toward parkour. I attented a few jams, or large parkour gatherings. There were so many people that it was hard to memorize anyone’s name. At the second jam, one of the guys shared that sentiment and said something along the lines of, “isn’t it enough [for now] that we remembered each other’s faces?” That made all my nervousness about names vanish. The parkour world is full of some of the strangest and friendliest people in the world. I realized that’s no different here in Japan than anywhere else. Everyone attends to learn, to grow and to enjoy the atmosphere and each other’s company. I’m really glad that I was able to find a group, to continue practicing parkour with while I’m here in Japan.

Recently, I’ve mostly been training apart from the group with a friend that I made at the first jam. That relationship is probably the most equal of the friendships that I’ve made through the community involvement project (CIP). Even though I taught/ran the last couple training sessions we had, I’m learning just as much as I’m teaching. Being able to speak both English and Japanese, or the fact that each of us is learning the other’s language is a huge asset. It makes it a lot easier to share experiences, terminology, and ideas. We’ve even had the chance to chat via Skype a few times with another fellow traceur from Hokkaido.

As for the Kitanotenmangu Taiko Group, I feel like an honorary member. While that’s a good feeling, I think I could describe it as a very “for the time being” kind of feeling. They’ve been so kind to the three of us (I attend Taiko practices with two other KCJS students), so much to the point where I feel that sometimes they are over-accommodating. There are times where the leader will go out of his way to explain things in English without even trying to speak Japanese. There are some points that make it hard to feel like a true member though. The most difficult of those points is the fact that the group meetings are so infrequent that it’s hard to feel like we are really contributing or learning very much. I still have yet to learn everyone’s name. In addition, I actually haven’t learned very much about how to play Taiko, since the practices are for the most part run follow-the-leader style. All that being said, I’m looking forward to next semester. With every practice, we become a little bit more a part of the group. It’s not much, but every practice we help set and put away the drums, and I might go as far as to say that until this week, in that alone did I feel like an active member of the group.

This past weekend, Miao and I went to Kitanotenmangu to cheer on the group at one of their performances for the Fall Festival. We half-jokingly asked (in Japanese of course), “We’re not going to perform, right?” Well, to our surprise, they said, “Of course, we’re going to have you play the songs you memorized.” I think we were both half in despair and half laughing at the hilarity of the situation. Up until that point, we hadn’t even put the proper names together with the pieces which we had haphazardly memorized. I thought it was going to be a disaster. It turned out to be a great time and an experience that I will probably not find anywhere else (except in the next two performances in the coming weeks). They lent us all the performance gear, from happi to hachimaki and even took us up into the main part of the temple for the preperformance prayer. To have us perform the little that we knew somehow demonstrated just how much confidence in us and/or willingness to include us that the group had. And it felt good.

Overall, the CIP aspect of KCJS has been a very good experience so far. Ideally, the groups would meet more frequently, but as it is, I’m still gaining a lot and I think there is potential for me to give back much more in the coming semester.

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!

Michie Adachi: Zenryuji Nursery School

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Hidden in the historic Gion district notorious for spotting Geisha and experiencing traditional Japanese culture, you will find the Zenryuji Nursery School. With Zenryuji Temple to the West and Yasaka Shrine to the North, it is located in a special place. Commuting here with fellow KCJS-er, Trisha Martin and being greeted by a sea of shining, smiling faces of the children at the nursery school every Tuesday was truly a pleasure. No matter how difficult my morning Japanese lessons, or how tired I was, the children, little bursts of energy, always refreshed me.

All throughout high school, I worked at an afterschool childcare program for K-4th graders, so I assumed that this Japanese equivalent would be rather similar. However, the differences were striking. I’ve never seen a group of such well-behaved children in my life. From putting away their backpacks to folding their clothes, these young children, mostly 4-6 year olds, performed these tasks with almost military efficiency with only a short prompt from their teacher. Before every meal, they wash their hands (twice!) and sing a song showing appreciation to God and their parents for providing the food. After every meal, they brush their teeth and neatly put away their chopsticks and other eating utensils without being asked. I constantly question whether these little creatures are human beings or robots!

My last meal...so yummy (and free)!!!!

After a couple of visits, I quickly became accustomed to their daily lunch routine and subsequent nap schedule. However, for about a month, Trisha and I still felt like outsiders. We felt as though we were an interruption to the smooth flow and efficiency of the operations at this daycare rather than helpful volunteers. And then, unexpectedly, the awkwardness dissipated. The other teachers started asking us to do small chores, such as clean off the tables and even plan little games to entertain the kids while their lunch was being set-up. The kids themselves also started treating us differently, approaching us without fear and freely talking to us as friends rather than foreign specimen. While the children’s strong kansai dialect and simple sentence structures challenge our language comprehension abilities, hand and facial gestures facilitate our communication.

My experience volunteering at the Nursery School has definitely opened my eyes to another side of Japan. Through the children’s eyes, I can see a picture of Japan that is not clouded by excessively polite speech and tatemae. I truly value their insights and being able to see how Japanese education and childcare transforms these little people into Japanese citizens.

[Update]: Today was my last day at the daycare. The children have a performance this weekend for their parents, so I got to witness the dress rehearsal…such organized chaos!

Brandon Syms : Assistant English Teacher

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My experience with CIP has been excited, yet a little unfulfilling. I say that because although I enjoyed going to the school to partake in the activities with the students often I was unable to because I was scheduled on a Friday and it seems that many field trips and holidays fall on that day. I originally decided to become an Assistant English Teacher for my CIP because I was thinking of doing the JET program and I wanted to be sure that this type of work would be something I would want to do. I got quite a few other things out of the experience as well. For instance, I got an insight into the Japanese education system. The thing that shocked me the most of is how relaxed the atmosphere is while still managing to maintain the same structure. The teacher has a friendly relationship with is students and yet he still holds together this structure. The role I played was at first more difficult that I had expected. Not using Japanese with the Japanese teacher was strange to me. I felt as if it kept the students outside of the conversation. Something I realized about the English classes in Japan, is that it is taught in much the same manner that Japanese is taught to native English speakers. However, I still don’t quite understand why it is done in such a strange manner, yielding very few that are able to fully master the other language due to things like limited vocabulary and intense grammar. A suggestion that I have to offer to the English Education Department is to perhaps focus on two things, vocabulary themes (lists that cover all the words of the same theme) and more frequent speech practice. I understand that not all students want to learn English but with the way it seems to be structured, those who do want to learn won’t be able to do so to the extent of their full potential.

On a lighter note, I really enjoyed getting to know one of the classes, I remembered a lot of their names and they really enjoyed my lessons. One lesson in particular I really enjoyed because I got the chance to explain the grammar point in Japanese to the students. Unlike Japanese classes in America, English classes in Japan are taught in English at the middle school level. I can only imagine how difficult that must be to grasp if you do not understand the language of instruction. When I explained it to them in Japanese, they were more enthusiastic and they began to correctly use the grammar point.

Being a foreigner in that setting is also very interesting. Unlike adults, children are not as accustomed to foreigners since they wake up early and go directly to school where they socialize with other Japanese children and leave later to go home where they spend time with their family. So as a foreigner I at first felt a little awkward because I didn’t understand from their point of view why I was so astonishing. But little by little I grew very comfortable and eventually feeling more prideful able being a foreigner. For the most part Japanese children thing foreigners are cool and mysterious. So all the students are just very curious of me and about where I come from. I think in all, my experience was different. I am just glad that I got the chance to see what a Japanese school is like in a hands-on way. I’d recommend it but only if you can go more than once a week.