「KCJS 23 (2011-2012)」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Keeley Nakamoto: Sunny Bits Volleyball Club

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When asked to write a blog post to reflect on my experience with the CIP and the idiosyncrasies I observed while interacting with my native Japanese peers, I was at a loss as to what I would discuss.  Being restricted from regular participation in my activity due to infrequent meetings and inconvenient holiday schedules, I was not sure I could convey any perceptions with complete confidence that what I had noted was more than a one-time occurrence.  Upon further consideration, however, I realize that I have gained deeper insight into the way in which Japanese people interact–insight that renders my assumptions prior to joining Sunny Bits completely false.

The task of joining a circle activity seemed incredibly daunting at first given the teinei speech patterns presented in our CIP booklet and the senpai–cohai relationships which, we were warned, must be strictly observed.  After numerous emails back and forth, the  club president and I finally met up and biked to the gymnasium where practice is held.  While the rest of the females wore long sweat pants, I donned my embarrassingly short spandex, the common attire for female volleyball players in the United States.  Immediately, people could tell that I was not from here.  After being called to order, all the members made a circle and waited silently while I gave my self-introduction in Japanese.  Despite the nearly tangible tension I felt while standing in that circle, this feeling quickly melted away as soon as the scrimmaging started.  Neither a hierarchy in players emerged nor did any sort of gender stratification occur.  While most every member of the club is highly competent in the sport, even new additions who barely knew the rules of the game were encouraged and given equal playing time.  Nicknames were commonly used, and merciless, yet good-hearted, teasing plagued all members.  At the practice’s end, every member who had had an uncelebrated birthday during the summer was given a scrapbook adorned with pictures and messages from all the players.  A genuine warmth radiated from this group of individuals for whom volleyball placed second to friendship.  My preconceptions of what Japanese circle activity dynamic was like were shattered.

I am grateful that I had the opportunity to see this side of Japanese culture that is not oft spoken of.  After being with Sunny Bits, I realize that not all clubs subscribe to the old-fashioned formality of pecking order or complete seriousness in one’s craft.  One of my only regrets is that my short stay in Kyoto did not allow me to form as deep a bond with the team as I would have liked to.  It shows that in Japan and America kids our age really aren’t that different; everyone just wants to have a bit of 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.

Carter Rice: Kamigyo History House

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As a volunteer at Kyoto’s Kamigyo History House, I was able to gain more insights into Japanese culture and language. I was lucky to work with many volunteers who have lived in Kyoto for most of their lives. Through my interaction with them, I was able to learn more about Kyoto’s history, such as the original city plan and four guardians.

It was a wonderful opportunity to practice Japanese in a more formal setting. Prior to this experience, I had never interacted with customers in Japanese. I had to learn new phrases and practice giving a tour of the history house; at times it was challenging, however, my fellow volunteers were always encouraging. Occasionally, customers would ask me questions either about my personal background or American culture, which I found frustrating, as I was there to share in Kyoto’s history. Yet in interacting with these customers, I was able to learn more polite expressions that I may not have used otherwise.

I am thrilled that a historical treasure like Kamigyo History House has been preserved, and I’m especially glad that I could help in the efforts to share it with the general public.

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.

 

Meg Beneville: Niko-Toma Volunteer Program

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Meg Beneville:
Niko-Toma Volunteer Program at Kyoto University Hospital

For my Community Involvement Project, I’ve been volunteering once a week at Kyoto University Hospital through a program called “Niko-Toma”. “Niko-Toma” is a wonderful organization that aims that brighten the lives of children in the hospital, most of whom have serious illnesses and spend long periods of time there.
Niko-Toma plans many fun events for the children, such as holiday parties. My volunteer duties have been extremely varied so far. Many times I help out in the office with the other volunteers, sorting through supplies for future events, folding newsletters or making ornately decorated cards. The other volunteers are most middle-aged Japanese women, who are very warm and welcoming, and chat with me in Japanese while we work. It’s great language practice, and very satisfying to feel like I’ve become a part of the group.
Aside from helping out in the office, I’ve also had some great opportunities to interact with the kids. The Halloween party was absolutely adorable- so many cute kids in costumes, and many parents who were delighted to have such a great photo op. One of the older patients there was a 17 year old girl who I had a fun time talking to. We took a picture together on her phone and exchanged email addresses so that she could send it to me, and we’ve become “internet penpals” since then. She’s very creative and funny, and I hope talking to me is an entertaining distraction that helps to break up the monotony of her hospital stays. I’ve been back to visit her in the hospital and we have fun talking in person as well, although I had to wear a mask since she has a compromised immune system, and this made it more difficult than usual to understand and speak Japanese.
All in all, I’m very happy with my experience at “Niko-Toma”. It’s been very rewarding so far, and I hope my volunteer efforts are making a difference to the kids in the hospital.

Gabrielle Reinecke: O-koto (traditional Japanese string instrument)

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CIP Blog 2: The Koto
The first time I ever heard the koto played was in my second year of elementary school and I, child that I was, fell in love with the sound and swore that one day I would learn to play it. To find myself in Japan some thirteen years later, realizing that childhood pledge is a bit wondrous in an odd sort of way. I’m not sure if it was serendipity or extreme care when it came to assigning host families (though I suspect it was the latter) but I was lucky enough to be placed in a homestay with connections that allowed that childhood whim to become a reality.
As with most things, it started off rather simple and increased with difficulty as I progressed to more complex pieces. However, though I’ve learned many songs and practices associated with the ikuda-ryuu tradition, I feel that what I’ve really gained is a glimpse into the heart of Kyoto.
My instructor, Imoto-sensei, is both nothing like I expected she would be, and precisely how I imagined a Japanese thespian would be, if that makes any sense at all. She was raised in an era where everything from behavior to language was cultivated to present a certain image of the Japanese woman, and in Japan’s ancient capital no less. This, combined with her artistic roots and, of course, her own personality has lead her to speak with some of the most flowery language I’ve ever heard. Now, by flowery I don’t mean poetic and overdone, but elegant, pitched, and extremely polite. So polite, in fact, that I was thrown when she spoke to me, her student, in keigo (honorific language), and bowed so many times I eventually lost count.
Naturally, when your sensei bows, you bow back (and lower) and respond to her words in kind. This formality, from what I’ve heard, is not uncommon in the world of traditional Japanese arts, but as one who is still somewhat unsure when to bow to whom and how deeply, I found myself a bit flustered until I learned how to enter, greet, and then conclude these lessons. It wasn’t so much that I couldn’t understand the process or words as that there were so many ordered exchanges and bows it took me a few weeks to remember what order they came in. Then there was the presentation of omiyage, and (more difficult to navigate) the way to accept a return gift graciously. I actually found myself biking home in the rain one day with several cold tofu products balanced on one handlebar and about thirty freshly made kara-age on the other, knowing that my host mother had already been cooking all day for her granddaughter’s birthday).
I even had the chance to get an inside glimpse at the way neighborhood relations work when I helped put one of my friends in contact with sensei (I assumed it would take one or two phone calls; in fact it took close to fifteen and a lot of face redress strategies out of respect for people’s existing relations).
All in all I found my experience informative and rewarding. Though it did tend to get time consuming and complicated at times, I realize looking back that it was then that I learned the most. If there is one thing I regret about my CIP, it was the lack of opportunity to interact with people my own age on a more daily basis. Because the American and Japanese school years don’t line up well and we can’t commit to everyday practices, it’s rather difficult for study abroad students to get involved in most university clubs and circles. Unfortunately, this also decreases our chances of interacting with Japanese students who do not actively seek to participate in international circles or courses. Most host families do not tend to have children around our age and, unless you’re up for weekly rounds of nomi-kai (drinking parties), opportunities to befriend Japanese people of our generation are rather limited. Having elected to study abroad a full year, I had hoped to make lasting friendships, but I’m worried that if I don’t find more ways to get involved next semester I’ll lose my chance.

Rachelle Chouinard: Volunteering with Nico Toma at Kyodai Hospital

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As I explained in my previous post, my CIP this semester has been volunteering with Nico Toma, an organization which holds events for children in the long-term care ward for children at Kyoto University Hospital. Aside from spending time with the children in the ward, I’ve also spent a considerable amount of time with children outside of the hospital, as my host sister and her young children often come over for dinner. My contact with my temporary host mom and her young children whom I lived with while my Okaasan was on vacation for several weeks has also given me ample opportunity to see how Japanese children are socialized, especially at the age when they are really beginning to be able to express themselves. Throughout my contact with Japanese children, it has become clear that Japanese children and American children are extremely similar in most ways; they talk about the same sorts of things, are shy in the same ways, and express their opinions in the same adamant ways, especially around the ages of two and three.

I have, however, noticed some differences in the ways in which Japanese children refer to themselves. Many of the young children I have come into contact with under the age of four referred to themselves only in the third person, it’s always “Miwa wants this” or “Miwa feels that”. Initially I was very surprised by these conversations with children, as it struck me as very unnatural, in comparison with American children, for whom the ability to use the word “I” represents a crucial step in the psychological development of the child. Children are liberally encouraged to use the word “I” to express their own wants and feelings, and in America this phenomenon is often spoken of as a crucial step in the development of the child’s ability to distinguish itself from the world around it, as the use of such language reinforces these boundaries. I find this delayed use of the word “I” among Japanese children very interesting, especially in regards to its role in the socialization of these children. Does this delayed use of the singular pronoun have meaning in the context of the development of the individual’s identity? Although referring to oneself is admittedly more complicated than in English, is that the only reason to delay the use of “I”, especially when children are being taught concepts that are just as abstract, such a basic verb conjugations? Does this process further the group socialization of Japanese children by delaying the use of the singular pronoun and thus reinforcing group consciousness and cooperation when children are finally taught to refer to themselves as part of a group, maintaining the psychological distance between one’s name and one’s identity? Although I have been unable to come up with any concrete reasons for this phenomenon, I am very interested in hearing what other people think about it, if anyone else has noticed.

I guess, in closing, although my experience with my CIP was different than I expected, it was overall a very rewarding experience. Most of my time was spent conversing with other volunteers about aspects of American culture and the differences between Japan and America, but the considerable amount of time that I did get to spend playing with the children was very enlightening. I love playing with kids, and I spend most of my free time back home volunteering for a day care or babysitting, so while I enjoyed the chance to do an activity which as comforting and familiar, I was somewhat un prepared for the emotional commitment. Knowing that all of the children I was playing with were ill, and seeing them all connected to tubes and machines, some of them even unable to spend half an hour doing a quiet activity without having to return to their room, was much more upsetting than I had anticipated. I guess it was just the difference between understanding something intellectually and seeing it in person. Overall, though, volunteering with Nico Toma has been a very beneficial experience, as I am now able to more comfortably converse with older Japanese women and had a chance to do something good with my time.