Yiqing Fang: Kyoto University Mixed Voice Chorus/Ikebana

For the past 3 months, I have been participating in the Kyoto University Mixed Voice Chorus and various Ikebana related activities for my CIP. I was originally hoping to become a member of the Kyoto college student origami circle. Unfortunately, I lost contact with the group after an awkward first meeting. The group had responded positively to my first email inquiring about becoming a member but any further email received no replies.  Nevertheless, I decided to attend one of their public meetings. The group was very obviously not prepared for newcomer. While some of the senpais tried to make me felt welcomed, the atmosphere remained very stilted for the rest of the night. After this, I emailed them about attending future meeting and never received a reply. I took their lack of responses as a sign that I will not be welcomed.

My experience with the Choir has been quite good, if not what I expected. There are many established rituals and unstated knowledge. For example, everyone in a certain voice section will respond to announcement or direction in a certain way. The girls will say “安い!”together in a high pitched voice anytime announcments turn to money related matters. Each voice section also have their own unique songs they sing to welcome new members.I was not taught any of this and the assumption seemed to be that new member will just slowly pick up these knowledge. Members were able to use this kind of common background to communicate with each other in ways that would not make sense to any outsiders. I was quite thrown when they first introduce me to the chorus at large. The way they welcome new members was like nothing I had ever experienced. They asked all the new members for our information before the rehearsal after. After the rehearsal was over, they had sign made from our information ready f and made us introduce themselves in front of the whole choir. After each introduction, the corresponding voice part would sing a song to welcome their new member.  Everyone tried their best to make me feel part of the group and I really appreciate their efforts. I often had trouble understanding director’s direction but by focusing on body language and with help from the other members, I was able to follow along.  My one disappointment has been the lack of individual interactions. Due to the way the rehearsals are scheduled, there is very little free time to just talk with people. Another reason I feel a bit distant has been that many of their social activities have been during my class time. I feel like I didn’t really have a chance to get to know everyone better outside of the formal practice.

I have had some wonderful experiences learning about Ikebana with Ikebana International. They seem genuinely excited that I have such an interest in the art of flower arranging. I learned a lot about Ikebana from their events and had some wonderful conversation. For example, after one of the demonstration, I talked with Kitamura-san (the director of special events) about why certain flowers were chosen in this specific arrangement, the shape of the vase, and other such things. I felt a little awkward talking to them at the beginning but they kept prompting me and I eventually opened up. I had a lot of opportunity to practice my keigo. They have invited me to more upcoming events but I unfortunately had to decline due to time restraint.

I think the main thing that has prevented me from getting as much as possible out of the CIP experience has been the issue of time. Choir had a month long break in March because it was Japanese’s college’s spring break. Some of the other clubs I was potentially interested in were no go specifically because of their lack of activities. I was also unable to attend many of Choir’s outside activities because of time conflict with classes. Further more, 4 months is really a bit too short to expect much commitment from either side. One of the positive take away from the whole experience has been to keep an open mind. Don’t restrict yourself to what you perceive as your official CIP. Attend as many outside activities as you can, you never know who you might connect with.

Manxian Zhang: Zenryuji Nursery School

Back in the United States, I mentored a Chinese toddler who was adopted into an American family at the age of one. While I introduced aspects of his forgotten culture to him, he showed me what it is like growing up in an ethnically different family in a foreign country. I found that mutual exchange of knowledge extremely gratifying so I decided to continue that sort of interaction with children while I am here in Kyoto. I figured that volunteering in a nursery school would be the best choice since I would be able to teach the children some English and perhaps some American children games while their behaviors as well as the teacher’s actions would allow me to observe the values and expectations instilled in four to five year- old children.

That sort of interaction was not so easily achieved. My duties initially comprised of patting the children to sleep and disinfecting their toys. Not a single word was exchanged during my first couple of visits. So I decided to come an hour earlier and eat lunch together with the children. Changing my hours was the right decision. During lunchtime, I would pick a table to sit and talk to four or five kids as we eat. Japanese suddenly become ten times more difficult when talking to the children in the nursery school. Not only did they have strong Kansai dialects, but also they would talk about their classmates and address themselves in the third person, which sometimes confused me, as I would lose track of the subject of the conversation. I also noticed that children could play with anything you give them. During playtime, the teachers usually provide a few selections of toys for them, but that did not deter them from having a great time with clothespins and cups, not your conventional toys.

Also, I was pleasantly surprised by the extent the teachers allowed me to help out. I poured tea for the kids, brought out some of their meals, put the tables away, wiped the chairs and helped perform some other miscellaneous tasks. Initially, I was allowed to play with the children after lunch, but the duties I have to perform increased incrementally to the point where before mealtime I helped prepare lunch and afterwards, after cleaning up, I was usually sent downstairs to pat the younger children to sleep.  So the time of actual interaction with children was limited to just lunchtime and even the time set aside for lunch was not set because it seemed like every time I go there, lunch ended at a different time.

I did not succeed in getting the amount of interaction I wanted with the children (I never got to teach them children games or fun methods to learn English) and with the teachers (they were all very busy throughout the time I was there, as their duties range from a caretaker to a janitor). Despite the short amount of interaction, the teachers did not make me feel as an outsider as they would have me help out as much as possible. In addition, I was able to observe the values and expectations promoted in early Japanese education and I witnessed the dynamics of the children’s interaction among themselves and with the teachers. Although my CIP experience was not everything that I had expected, I learned so much from it and gain so many unforgettable memories. So my best advice to future students who are looking for CIP activities, don’t come into it with a list of expectations, you probably won’t fulfill all of it. Instead, enter your CIP with an open- mind and be prepared for failures and unexpected achievements.

Jacqueline Wee: Noh Masks and Woodblock Prints

Masks are creepy.  I think that’s a fairly agreed-upon opinion.  And yet, somehow I’ve been spending four hours of my Mondays, almost every week, surrounded by them.  My Monday activities started about halfway through last semester, at the beginning of November.  After my host mother’s coworker heard that I was taking a class on Noh theater, she invited me to her house, where her father and one other person were learning to carve Noh masks from a teacher.  Being an arts-and-crafts person, and having always been fascinated with wood carving, I agreed to learn Noh mask carving.

The classroom is an extra room in an acquaintance’s house.  The other two students, who I’ll call Tail-san and Village-san, and teacher, Inside-sensei are all ojiisan (grandpas) who have been friends for a very long time.  On top of gathering at Tail-san’s house every Monday to hack away at some wood, they also play mahjong and basketball at other times in other places during the week.  Going to my Noh mask class might be my favorite part about being in Japan.  A lot of people who hear about my latest hobby give me a weird look when I mention that it involves hanging out with grandpas almost every week.  They go, isn’t that…boring?  But it’s far from that.  The three of them are some of the most interesting people I’ve met since coming to Japan, and having lived for quite a deal longer than I have, they have tons of stories and knowledge of things I’ve never even heard of before.  Also, since they’re good friends with each other, despite being “old”—a word I don’t buy anyway since I consider age more of a mental thing than something purely decided by number of years one has been alive—they’re always cracking jokes and displaying their competitive side.  For example, they’ll pull out a scale and argue about who has carved his mask thinner and lighter.  Or who has managed to make his mask look older and more weathered.  Every minute spent in that classroom with those three is fun, and I feel like I’ve slowly become a part of the group.

Also, although it’s not really directly related to mask carving, the actual setting of my lessons is also lively.  Since I’m there from 12:30pm to 4:30 pm, in between carving, we take lunch and snack breaks.   Sitting around the floor eating various Japanese snacks with tea, I listen to stories about Japanese customs and traditions, as well as hearing about everyone’s families and histories.  Tail-san’s wife is a talented cook, and everything she makes is delicious, from the familiar and comfortable oden to the chewy and flavorful boar meat, which I tried for the first time last week.  They also live in the countryside, in a traditional house that’s more than a hundred years old.  Between coming and going to the classroom, I walk through the well-groomed garden, and even going to the toilet brings me through the wooden corridor bordered by sliding doors.  On top of everything else, by going to mask class, my comprehension of Kansai-ben has gotten infinitely better.  When I first started going to class, I could barely understand anything that anyone was saying, but now I can get through with very few understanding problems.  And I’ve picked up some phrases that I would have never been taught in any Japanese classroom.

From the combination of my Noh class and mask carving lessons, I have learned a number of things.  First of all, there’s a set number of mask types, and in the world of Noh, there is no such thing as original masks.  Of course since every mask is handmade, each one is unique in some way, but in general it follows strict mask standards.  There are even stencil-type tools that one carves the mask to fit into, and if carved properly, every curve on every mask of the same type should be the same.  For example, probably the most famous and commonly used mask type is called the Ko omote, which is supposed to represent the face of a young girl.  If you saw five ko omote masks carved by five different people, at first glance they would look exactly the same.  At the second and third glance, they’d probably still look the same.  But after staring at them for a while and getting accustomed to the subtleties of the masks, you’d start to notice a few slight differences.  The angle of the eyes might be just the slightest bit sharper on one, giving a subtle impression of slyness.  Or the corners of the mouth might lift up a little bit more on one mask, imbuing the expression with a tint of playfulness.  But take away the other masks to compare against, and you might as well have imagined the differences.

Although I started off with “masks are creepy,” I don’t actually think so anymore.  Well, for the most part.  We recently started painting our masks, and seeing multiple pure white faces lined up on the floor is still a little alarming.  But that part aside, now they’ve become like any other product of hard work.  To me, my mask is sort of pretty, rather cute, and something I’m quite proud of. I’ve also gotten a little better acquainted with traditional Japanese materials.  The tools used to carve masks are hard to find even in Japan, and I’ve never seen them in America.  They come in three general shapes, flat, curved, and diagonal, and in all different sizes.  After one finishes carving, paints the mask, but the base coat of white paint isn’t even paint at all.  It’s called gofun, and it’s used not just for masks, but also in some traditional Buddhist sculptures.  It starts out as a white powder, ground up oyster shells, and after being mixed with animal glue that resembles gelatin, called nikawa, it becomes a somewhat paint-like suspension.  Although I occasionally paint and draw, I’ve never worked with such materials in America.

After many months, I am close to finishing my first mask.  Mask making takes a long time.  A very, very long time.  But it’s a rewarding process, and through it, I’ve made friends that I wouldn’t have otherwise crossed paths with.  In contrast to my other main, wood-related, activity for the semester, woodblock printing, I’d say that I’ve found a closer community in Noh masks.  But I can where the difference comes from.

My woodblock printing class was twice a month from January to March, meaning that it only met six times, two hours per session.  I also got started slightly late, so I really only got to attend a fraction of the lessons.  The classroom was on the third floor of an art building.  Although I really love woodblock printing and think it’s very fun, I do much better in small, intimate group settings, so the structure of the class made it hard for me to make any particularly close friends.  It also didn’t help that the class met so few times and ended so soon.  For outgoing people, I think classes with one teacher and many students work fine, but since I find it uncomfortable to approach unknown people and start talking, I couldn’t get past just the friendly “hello, how are you.”  To each his own, I suppose.

I did learn some techniques and information about woodblock printing that aren’t really spelled out in books.  And since the students outnumbered the teacher, sometimes I got help from fellow students who had dealt with the same problems and figured out ways around them.  I got to learn from an experienced expert as well as normal students who had some genius tips of their own.  During these moments, I could feel the semblance of community forming, but the end of the woodblock class came too fast, and I didn’t get to see any further development.  Had it kept going, despite my slightly asocial nature, I think I might have been able to make some good friends, similar to those in my Noh mask class.  Ironically, pretty much everyone in my woodblock class was also an ojiisan.  I keep being told that I have old-person interests.  I guess it might be true.

My advice to anyone studying abroad in Japan or anywhere is to definitely find a place where one belongs and to continue going for as long as possible.  I feel most part of a community at my Noh mask class, and I feel like my closest friends are there too.  And I think part of the reason I feel so at-home in my mask class is because I got started fairly early and continued going for nearly two semesters.  For the same reason, I think I wasn’t nearly as comfortable at my woodblock printing class.  But above all, I think it’s important to take part in an activity that’s interesting.  Since I like carving both masks and prints, attending class was always fun.  And because I was surrounded by others with similar interests, I always had something in common with the people around me.

Trisha Martin: Zenryuji Nursery School

Last autumn, I compared the different disciplining styles of both American and Japanese preschools in my English CIP blog. Although most of my observations in regards to discipline haven’t changed, the age groups to which I have taken observations from have changed.  Last semester I primarily worked with 4 to 5 year olds, which were some of the oldest children at the school. However, this semester I usually work with the 2 year olds. Despite the 2 year olds being adorably cute, I do not have as much opportunity to actually communicate with them, based on the fact they are indeed 2 years old. Not only do 2 year olds lack a sufficient Japanese vocabulary, they are way too embarrassed and scared by my presence to even attempt English beyond “hello”.

Therefore, rather than talking about the communication I have with the children at my CIP; I’d rather focus on a question I’ve always pondered about my CIP – the significance of time in a time conscious society. I arrive at my CIP roughly the same time every week – 12 noon to the minute. Not only am I afraid of arriving late because it would give both KCJS and American’s a bad reputation, but I’m afraid of arriving any earlier and getting in the teachers way, since they wouldn’t be prepared for more. However, despite me arriving exactly on time, I always manage to feel either absurdly early or extremely late. Apparently there is not exact start time for my CIP (or end time, for that matter). Sometimes I arrive at noon and the students are already mid-meal, in which case I scurry to grab my food and join a table feeling like I’ve somehow arrived very late (which is not the case). Otherwise, the students are still midst their mid-morning activities and they haven’t even started the lunch prep duties, in which case I feel like I’ve arrived too early (again, this is not the case) and am standing around uselessly until lunch actually begins. I find this lack of an exact start time to be a very interesting, considering just how time-conscious my Japanese peers, host family, and school experience have all been. I wonder if lunch time is not exact because there is more emphasis placed on the motions of “lunch” rather than the promptness of “time” at this point in the education system; preschoolers are educated on the way to do things, rather than the timely fashion in which it should be done. . For example, a child has not finished lunch until has every grain of rice is cleaned from their bowl, even if it takes that child more than an hour to do so. I couldn’t even imagine being given more than 45 minutes in my elementary school, let alone an hour to finish lunch. If I didn’t finish lunch on time, well too bad for me. I either had to re-pack it and take it home or throw it away.

Does anyone else face very interesting (either expected or unexpected) challenges when it comes to being “on time”‘?

イーチン ファン:折り紙サークルと京大合唱団

私はCIPの活動が二つあります。今、「京都学生折り紙サークル」と「京大合唱団」をしています。KCJSに来てすぐ折り紙サークルにメールを書いたんですが、返事がなかなか来ませんでした。だからセークルのサイトで活動日と場所を見つけて、次週の会に行ってみました。会は毎週二回ありますが、木曜日の活動場所はちょっと遠いから、同志社の寒梅館で火曜日の会にだけ行っています。近いので、とても便利です。最初のミーティんぐはちょっと大変でしたけど、皆はとても親切でした。先輩達は私に新しい折り紙の形を教えてくれました。楽しかったです。

クラスメートのナターシャ、AJ、とメラニーさんと一緒に京都大学の合唱団の練習にも行っていました。 合唱団の練習は京大のキヤンパスのすごく古い建物であります。女性合唱団の練習は一週間につき二回で、毎回三時間ぐらいです。 合唱団は日本語の歌を歌います。 女性合唱団の歌はとくにすてきです。合唱団の皆はとても面白くて、色々パーソナリティーの人がいます。アメリカの大学の 合唱団と比べて、日本の大学の合唱団は違う習慣があります。そして、京大合唱団は大きくて、いつも新しい部員が来るから、折り紙サークルとは違って、安心感を感じます。おれからもサークルに参加するのが楽しみです。

 

ジャクリン・ウィー:木版画と能面

 

 私は美術的なことが好きなので、CIPとして木版画をしたり能面を作ったりしている。美術の世界で版画が一番好きで、せっかく日本にいるので、版画のし方を習おうと思った。そのため、木版画の授業をさがして、KCJS先生のおかげで、やっと見つけた。場所は「画箋堂」という店で、河原町五条にある。授業は1月から3月までで、毎月、二回集まっている。そして、午前10時から12時だ。今の先生は若い女の人だが、先生以外、生徒は皆おじいさんみたいだ。でも、一回しか行ったことがないし、その日、生徒は半分しか来なかったので、実は色々な人が入っているかもしれない。その授業で木版画の版木の彫り方も紙の刷り方も習う。最初に好きなデザインを考えて、描かなければならない。描いたら、どうやって絵から版画にすることを教えてもらう。三ヶ月の授業は12,600円で、必要な道具は10,000円あまりなので、ちょっと高いかもしれないが、興味があったら、いい経験になると思う。

 CIPとして毎月2回しか集まらないことは足りないので、能面教室にも行っている。先学期も同じことをしていたが、CIPじゃなかった。たまたま能面の作り方を教えている先生を紹介してもらったので、能面に興味を持つようになって、その教室に行き始めた。教室といっても、そんなに厳しいことじゃない。私以外、弟子が二人いて、皆の予定次第で集まっている。でも、毎月、たいてい二、三回集まっている。料金は一ヶ月は5000円で、道具は20,000円くらいだ。どっちかというと版画や能面といった美術的な活動は高いが、私は美術が専門だから、あまりかまわない。お弟子さんの一人が家の一つの部分を教室で使っているので、皆はそこで集まる。実は、その人はホストファミリーの知り合いなので、ホストファミリーのおかげで、このちょっと個人的な所に行けて、このちょっと珍しい授業に参加できる。皆さんが親切で、能面の彫り方と塗り方を習いながら、お茶を飲んだり、お菓子を食べたり、しゃべったりしている。とても楽しい。

マーティン・トリシア:英語を教えること

ペンシルベニア大学のマーティン・パトリシアと申します。トリシアと呼んでください。先学期日本に来ました。だから、先学期のCIPと今学期のは同じです。私のCIPは「ぜんりゅうじ」という幼稚園で英語を教えることです。その幼稚園は祇園からすごく近いです。普通は、毎週火曜日12時から1時ぐらいまでシャン・マクシさんというKCJSの学生と一緒に201のバスで幼稚園に行きます。私たちは先生にいろいろなことを手伝って差し上げます。例えば、昼ご飯の時、先生に皿を渡します。皿を渡した後で、子供と一緒にご飯を食べながら、私たちは子供に簡単な英語を教えます。食べた後で、子供たちと一緒に遊びます。子供たちはとってもかわいいです!子供と話す時、プレーンフォームを使います。(先生と話す時、敬語を使います)。他の例は、昼寝る時、子供が寝るまで、子供たちにトントンします。トントンした後で、いつも腕が疲れします。腕は痛みますが、このCIPは面白くて、楽しいです!

マキシ・ザン: 善立寺保育園

 

毎週火曜日に二時間、日本語の授業の後で、善立寺保育園でボランティアをしています。私がそこに着いた時(だいたい十二時)、子供たちは昼ご飯を食べ始めまていす。それで、私は子供たちと一緒に座って昼ご飯を食べます。ご飯を食べながら、子供達はよく私に質問をしたり、友達の事を言ったり,すごく楽しいです。昼ご飯の後で、テーブルと椅子を拭いて先生を手伝います。片づけた後で、子供達と一緒に遊びます。一時ごろ、子供達の昼寝の時間になります。そして、私は子供に「トントン」としてあげます。

私が相手をしている子供達はだいたい四歳ぐらいなので、日本語を喋ると、強い関西弁を使って、速く話します。それで、私はよく途中でわからなってしまいます。一方、先生と話すと、私は必ず敬語を使います。でも言葉より、先生たちはよくジェスチャーを使って私に指示をしています。

子供達は元気いっぱいなので、毎回保育園へ行くと,私もすぐ元気になります。

 

Trisha Martin: Zenryuji Nursery School

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

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.