「KCJS 25 (2013-2014)」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Catherine Aker: Pottery Lessons

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My CIP experience couldn’t be called a success in the strictest sense of the word. If I had to pick, I guess the closest word I can think of is “adventure”.

And it was, to an extent, kind of adventurous. From the very first day, spent running feverishly through the backstreets of a tiny neighborhood with a printed out google map, trying to find a location with no signs or labels, there was always an element of waiting disaster. Not least of which were my clay related activities.

Before this CIP, I had no idea that one individual could destroy so much clay in so short a period of time. Of course, before this CIP I also had no idea that a group of individuals could fix it (most of the time). Throughout my time at the studio, I have made clay too wet, made clay too dry, had too much clay, had too little, held tools in the wrong hands, held tools in the right hands but upside down, spun wheels backwards, collapsed towers of clay, shaved off the entire top three-quarters of a cup, and generally gone about creating a collection of pottery that could, at best, be called eclectic.

This isn’t, in and of itself, too surprising. A little high school pottery does not match the twenty or so years of experience that most people at the studio have. We were a different class, entirely, which is why I found it so surprising when people would laugh at what I had produced.

In the US, as a general rule, experts at something don’t really take the time to comment on the very beginner’s work, but when they do, they usually find a compliment to say along with a suggestion. It is rare, and frankly rude, to insult something done by someone significantly less experienced than yourself or to critique it harshly, even if these critiques are legitimate, since they don’t have the same years of experience you have. Not so much at this pottery studio.

I won’t deny, the adventure for the first couple of weeks consisted largely of wondering what I could do to not make something giggle-inducing that day, and as a direct result, I didn’t make much of anything at all. I sat, and wedged clay for hours, or shaved off excess material at a rate of dust particles per hour, or did other tasks to waste time and avoid having to actually make something. Given that pottery classes met for five hours at a time, I can honestly say that high school paid off because I had clearly become an expert in procrastinating.

All around me, people would go fluidly about their business, sticking handles to cups and pouring molds and scratching designs into the delicate porcelain surfaces of cups. Every now and then, I would try to ask what people were making and how they were making it, but it was frequently a lost effort on me. Besides that, for the first few weeks, my conversation consisted mostly of explaining to each person individually where I had come from and what I was doing there and then I would embarrassedly slink off into silence as they produced one masterpiece after a next. It became a routine that was both monotonous and terrifying, as every week I would wonder if my tilted cups were bad enough to break whatever tentative bonds formed between me and the other students.

I won’t lie. The first weeks were unpleasant that way. It took me a while to figure out what exactly was going on. I was getting increasingly frustrated before my Japanese teacher finally explained something to me.

Apparently, praising beginners and trying to make things especially easy for them is not necessarily a priority in Japan in the same way it is in the US. Within the studio, the culture is very much one of each individual trying to push themselves to their best. And that means taking criticism. Frankly, it means taking criticism with more grace than I had. It’s a culture of ongoing improvement, and constant confrontation of weaknesses, no matter how tiny. It’s a noble goal, in and of itself, but for me, coming from a culture of constant validation, beginner tutorials and X-box achievements popping up every fifteen minutes, it was strange and disheartening. In America, if you don’t give a compliment it means you hate something. In the studio, if you don’t compliment something, it means you’re thinking about how to make it better.

I wish I could say from that moment of epiphany on, I learned to take the help the students were offering me graciously and integrate myself into the community better. Truthfully, it was not so smooth as all that. It was slow going and awkward. There were backfired thank-you’s and a boat load of apologies and misunderstandings galore. And even knowing that people were trying to help, sometimes it was hard to swallow that hurt feeling that arose instinctively.

But at the end of the day, I guess what I can say I learned is this. You can wedge clay without shaking the whole table if you know how to do it right. Stiff clay can be sliced into pieces, dipped in water, and stored under a towel to soften it up. Except when it’s too stiff, in which case you just need more clay. Some pieces are worth trying to salvage and some aren’t.

And each time I come out of the studio, I come out with a thicker skin, a few more conversations under my belt, and another couple poorly made plates. Not a success, per se. But absolutely an adventure.

Sanaa Ali-Virani: Kitano Tenmangu Taiko

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​In the fall of my sophomore year at Swarthmore College, I took a Taiko class for the first time and was immediately hooked. The following semester, I went on to join Swarthmore’s Taiko troupe. In Taiko, both the auditory and visual aspects of the performance are important, meaning that it makes physical as well as mental demands upon the body. I found that this combination energized me and heightened my concentration—something which I very much appreciated and that I was loath to give up upon deciding to study abroad. Luckily, KCJS has a long-standing relationship with a Taiko Association sponsored by Kitano Tenmangu (a large shrine not too far away from Doshisha University). When it came time for us to choose our Community Involvement Project (CIP) placements, I knew immediately that I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to continue practicing Taiko and hopefully improve my skill level.

​The first time I went to Kitano Tenmangu for Taiko practice, the other KCJS students and I were very nervous. We arrived half an hour early and ended up sitting awkwardly in the practice room and making stilted conversation with the Taiko Association teacher. Later, I found out that he was quite personable and relatively approachable, but at the time he seemed very intimidating to talk to. I think a lot of that had to do with our own nervousness. Nervousness is probably unavoidable in those sorts of situations, but I would just recommend trying to interact with the people at your CIP as much as possible. Hopefully interacting with them and gaining a sense of familiarity will help ease that nervousness as fast as possible.Now, as I approach the end of my time as a member of the Taiko Association, I do feel as though I have developed a rapport with some of the Japanese members. The children, in particular, are happy to talk and joke around (especially if the topic in question is Pokemon) now that they have gotten used to me. The adults, while always incredibly welcoming, are more difficult to get to know, but taking advantage of the relaxed atmosphere of group dinners is a good way to do so. I would recommend always taking part in group dinners if you at all have the time.

Having been involved in Taiko groups both in my home institution and in Japan, I have noticed several differences in the ways in which they run. That is not to say that American Taiko groups function in a certain way and Japanese Taiko groups function in some other way. Rather, Swarthmore’s Taiko troupe functions in a very different way than Kitano Tenmangu’s Taiko Association and, as it is possible that future students may be coming from a Taiko group similar to Swarthmore’s, I feel that it may be of some value to share the differences I have noted. First, the Taiko Association here is significantly larger than the troupe I was a part of back home. During the semester I was involved in Swarthmore’s Taiko troupe, there were seven members (including the teacher) and only five of the seven were full-time members. However, Kitano Tenmangu’s Taiko Association has forty members on paper and about twenty-five or so will show up to a given practice or performance. In addition, unlike a college troupe, the Taiko Association includes members as young as eight and as old as around forty-five. By far the most difficult aspect of the Taiko Association to get used to was the fact that there are very few practices compared to performances. Swarthmore’s Taiko troupe practices for three hours a week every week throughout the semester and then performs once or twice. In contrast, during the semester I participated in the Taiko Association, there were only two practices. On the other hand, there were performances almost every week. While this made for many opportunities to perform, I was a bit frustrated by the lack of opportunities to learn the songs so that we could perform. However, despite the lack of formal practice sessions, we did manage to learn one of the songs well enough to perform during the shrine’s annual foliage season. One the other hand, precisely because there were few practices, I fear it would have been next to impossible for someone without any Taiko experience to both learn the basics of Taiko and pick up the rhythms of one or two songs on the fly. Two KCJS students who did not have Taiko experience participated in one or two of the Taiko Association events before deciding to switch CIP placements. To be honest, I would have done the same in their position. For any beginners who are interested in pursuing Taiko with the Kitano Tenmangu Taiko Association, I would recommend figuring out how frequently they plan to hold practices as early as possible and making your final decision based on this information. In the end, joining the Kitano Tenmangu Taiko association has been a very fruitful experience for me, both in terms of Taiko practice and in terms of the inter-personal relationships built. Nevertheless, I think that CIP experiences vary greatly depending on the individual person, their interests, and their personality. As such, while hearing about others’ experiences is always helpful, I would recommend allowing what you know about yourself to lead you in making your CIP decision.

Kensai Hughes: Kyodai Ultimate Frisbee Circle Breeze & Klexon-Kyoto Language Exchange Salon

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Before I joined the Kyoto University Frisbee Circle Breeze my friend Tomo warned me that many of the team members would want to practice their English with me, and it might hinder my learning of Japanese. This was not the case at all. The most articulate English-speaker on the team was barely able to manage a, “Can you speak Japanese?” Through our Japanese conversations I discovered what I believe to be the root of this problem, namely that speaking English is not particularly emphasized in the classroom setting. This reminded me of how many American students may study Spanish for years but might only be able to ask, “Where is the library?” Just because language education may be compulsory does not necessarily guarantee results.

Joining Breeze taught me how hard it can be to change from an ‘outsider’ to an ‘insider’ within a group as tightly knit as a sports team. Although it was initially easy enough to join the circle for practices and many of the team members were welcoming and quite friendly, I felt that in the short span of one semester I would not be able to really become a member of that group. The practice schedule of 3 sessions per week with at least four hours at each session quickly became too much to handle along with a full course load. But beyond that, there were also instances when the captain of Breeze informed me that certain drills were for “members only,” and I was made to spend that time on the side throwing with the trainer and members of the women’s team. Perhaps if I were here for a whole year instead of just one semester I would have been able to become a real member of the team, not just some gaijin that the captain felt he was babysitting and would rather not have around.

After leaving the Frisbee circle I began my CIP anew at Klexon, or the Kyoto Language Exchange Salon. As a language exchange circle people of all nationalities are encouraged to join, though the focus is mainly on improving the English speaking skills of Japanese people. Because most of the members are Japanese it has been and continues to be a great opportunity to practice my Japanese conversational skills while allowing me the satisfaction of helping those who really want to learn English to do so. Though in some cases, letting certain people know I could speak Japanese made them abandon their effort to speak English and stick to the comfort of their native language. Through this group I learned that despite the fact that Japan’s English education system seems to me to be severely flawed, with the desire to learn and a strong individual effort this obstacle can be overcome.

At Klexon it has been much easier to make close friends that I could spend time with outside of the usual meetings. Because the English ability of most of the Klexon members is higher than that of Breeze we are able to converse using both Japanese and English and communication is significantly easier. The Klexon members also seem infinitely more interested in foreign cultures and people and are invariably more welcoming and friendly. I suppose this difference can be attributed to the different initial goals of each group: Breeze’s being to play frisbee and Klexon’s as a language and culture exchange circle. Though I have not seen or heard from any member’s of Breeze since I left, I have forged friendships at Klexon with people that I believe I will remain in contact with even after I return to America. And above all the sights and activities I did not have time to see or do during this short semester, the friends I’ve made in Kyoto are one of the reasons I will surely return to this wonderful city in the future.

Briana Freeman: Pottery Studio and Kyoto Cooking Circle

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My CIP was the pottery studio. Catherine had the same CIP, and it was nice to have someone with which to navigate unfamiliar situations. Every Saturday I spent about five hours making Japanese-style cups and bowls of various sizes. Before, I never paid much attention to the difference in shape between Western and Japanese dishware, or the fact that most Japanese cups and bowls have a foot. Going only once a week, making pieces and getting to know people has been a slow process. I’ve made several things and given them to sensei to bisque-fire, but as far as I know none of them have been fired yet, so I haven’t glazed anything.

Starting out at the studio, I was pretty nervous. I hadn’t done pottery in about two years—and worst of all, the first day, we threw on the wheel. Needless to say, I was pretty bad; I was never very good at throwing. Someone at the studio spent that whole day teaching us how to wedge and helping us throw. I’d never seen that method for wedging clay before—the clay ended up circular, flower-like with ridges coming our from the center. And, as I soon found, it was very difficult to replicate. To this day I haven’t mastered it; I’ve had to stick to the basic wedging method I learned in high school. I’d like to learn the more advanced wedging method before the year is through, since wedging is the basic of basics in pottery.

When we’d finally wedged the clay sufficiently (one way or another), we were ready to throw. I was very surprised when the person helping us placed the entire, very large, chunk of clay on the wheel. Before, I’d always chosen a chunk according to the size of final piece I wanted to make. I’d only ever seen professionals put a huge piece on clay on the wheel, center it all, then use only the top to form a piece. This allows them to simply cut the finished piece from the top when finished, and use the already-centered clay at the bottom to make more and more pieces. I had a hard time with this method, because the more clay you have, the harder it is to center.

Slab machine

I never realized how easy we students had it in high school; there was a slab machine for making perfectly flattened, consistent-thickness slabs of clay, and a coil machine for making endless coils of the same size. At the studio, I’ve learned to make coils myself, by rolling the clay between my hands in a way I’d never thought of. Doing everything by hand seems more authentic, more traditional. I like it. (However, I have no idea how I could make a slab of consistent thickness by hand…) That being said, not everything in the pottery studio is done by hand. I’ve seen a lot of people use molds to mass produce things like cups so that they’re exactly the same. It’s fascinating, and I’d like to try it sometime.

Since the first day, I’ve stuck to what I’m good at: making pieces by hand. It is also much easier to talk to people when working at a table than at the wheel. Little by little it’s gotten less awkward, on both sides. At first the studio didn’t seem to know what to do with Catherine and me, but I think they’ve gradually become comfortable having us there. Indeed, the pottery studio isn’t some big, impersonal company, but rather has a very friendly, personal feeling to it. A little over ten people come every Saturday, and seeing some of the same faces every week is nice; it allows me to talk with people beyond just my name and the fact that I’m studying abroad.

A few times some people at the studio have commented on how I work diligently on a piece, sometimes spending hours at a time making it the shape I want. When they complimented my determination, I was happy, but surprised. In high school, where we only had 50 minutes to get out all our materials and tools, work on our pieces, and also clean up, perfectionism was a luxury that no one could afford in order to get all our projects done in time. I like that at the pottery studio, you can work at your own pace and focus on a piece as long as you want. I’m really glad that for my CIP I’ve gotten to work on pottery, which I’ve loved since my freshman year of high school, my first pottery class.

Katsu

My second CIP was the Kyoto Cooking Circle. I now realize just how hard it is to make the nightly meals I take for granted. I look forward to making some of the things I learned for my family in America. One thing about the Circle surprised me. Though there was a relaxed air throughout the cooking, after we had eaten, we did aisatsu. One by one, each person introduced themselves and talked a bit about the cooking experience of that day. The sudden formality caught me by surprise, and I wonder if similar bouts of formality are common at other kinds of relaxed events.

Emily Harper: Bazaar Cafe

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For my CIP this semester I’ve been working at the Bazaar Café, a mere 5-minute walk from the Doshisha Campus. The cafe’s main goal is internationalism and the food they serve changes depending on the day and who is cooking. I often go on Saturdays where the main dish is Thai. My job mainly consists of working in the back of the restaurant with the rest of the staff, preparing meals for customers as the orders come in, bringing customers their food when it’s ready, making coffee and other beverages, and washing dishes. While not your typical CIP experience, working at the café has taught me many things including what it’s like to work in Japan, the importance of customer service, how to follow directions quickly and efficiently, and perhaps most importantly, understanding the “rhythm” of the kitchen well enough to make it run smoothly. There was no more satisfying feeling than finishing a lunch service where every order has gone from the kitchen to the customer swiftly and without a hitch (although this is often rarely the case).

Having worked in food service before, I started my CIP with the expectation that the experience would be similar to back at home. What I’ve realized is that working in a kitchen in Japan can be seen as a microcosm of the country itself. It’s amazing how from only working in a café once a week for three months I’ve learned most of the stock phrases of the formal language that anyone working a part-time job in Japan must use. I’ve learned how to cook some traditional Japanese as well as Thai dishes (all of which we volunteers get for free. Definitely a perk!). I’ve learned that especially when it comes to food, aesthetics as just as important as the taste itself.

The people who work at Bazaar Café have so much pride in what they’re doing, and that feeling is contagious. Food and drink are truly cross-cultural. And by the end of a service, no matter what language we speak (English, Brazilian, Thai, Japanese) after all the stress and group work, mix ups in the kitchen and good food, we all seem to understand each other that much more for having gotten through it together.

Deanna Nardy: Manga

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Really, this was the obvious choice for me. Dragon Ball Z absolutely made my childhood, and ever since about seventh grade I wanted to become a manga artist on the scale of Toriyama Akira. Reading, writing, and drawing, have always been hobbies of mine, so the opportunity to combine all in the form of manga is inherently appealing. Since art classes that focus on manga are virtually non-existent in America though, I was extremely excited to take advantage of being in Japan.

While the choice to join Doshisha’s Manga Club and also take private manga lessons was, in hindsight, extremely predictable, the actual experience was anything but. I had never taken an art class before, so when I showed up to Okamoto-sensei’s lesson, I was extremely nervous. He wasted no time in taking apart the drawings I had prepared for him, and there were times I felt extremely dejected. For instance, when he would say things like “Your arm comes out of this part of your body,” or “The bone from your shoulder to your elbow is straight, so don’t bend it,” I would think to myself dear lord, have I actually ever seen a real person before?

Despite being strict though, Okamoto-sensei and his various assistants were all extremely open to my vision. They did not mock me for wanting to become a professional manga artist, and they supported me when my version of a hero did not line up with the archetype. Knowing how to draw did come in handy when the Japanese conversation started to falter, but I am proud of the fact that we were able to communicate deeper meanings to each other. Out of all the Japanese people with whom I’ve come into contact during this program, I would say Okamoto-sensei knows the most about me as a person. Since I often feel different when I speak Japanese, this fact is very important to me, and I count it as a valuable success and evidence of my language improvement.

The Doshisha manga club, on the other hand, proved to be a challenge in this department. Every week, I would show up to the club room and draw for at least two hours with on average 4 other people. I don’t know if it was because of shyness or not, but the Doshisha students absolutely refused to start a conversation with me. The first two times I went were awkward “Hello” and “See you next time” experiences.

If you find yourself in a similar situation with your CIP, the crucial thing to remember is to never give up. Like Son Goku, you can either break or turn Super Saiyan. Knowing that I was getting nothing out of the experience (I could always draw at home), I began to take myself out of my comfort zone and initiate conversations and email a member of the group a few times a week. This made things significantly less awkward when I showed up. The conversations weren’t long, maybe fifteen minutes out of the time I was there, but it was progress.

Next semester, I hope to continue moving forward until both CIPs can be written off as complete successes! For those of you who are worried about this requirement of KCJS, take it seriously! This is one of the most important chances for you to make real Japanese friends without all the charade of planned mingling events (which are fun in their own way, don’t get me wrong!). So pick something you love, and channel all the energy you can muster!

William HB: Urasenke

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My CIP was the practice of Urasenke-style Tea Ceremony. I selected tea ceremony because the concentration of my study is Japanese history. A very important aspect of this history, particular the warring states and Edo periods, is tea ceremony. Tea ceremony holds a place, not just in understanding the Samurai class, but also understanding a uniquely Japanese aesthetic. Many of my favorite subjects of historical study, such as Ii Naosuke, were avid practitioners of the tea ceremony and in order to gain a better understand of that history, I have decided to jump in head first. The school is conveniently located several blocks from the Imadegawa subway stop and can be reached after a brisk five-minute walk beginning from the main gates of the Doshisha campus. The classes are taught in a very old machiya with three traditional tatami mat rooms and a small kitchen nestled in the back. The first room is where people leave the belongings while they are in class. They then walk to the back room and take up seats on the edges of the room. Sensei sits at the front of the room, in seiza, facing all of her students, who are also expected to sit in seiza. There were two tea-making stations in this room. Two different set-ups where advanced students would come into the room, lay down their materials, heat the water, and make the tea under the watchful eye of sensei.

I attended class twice per month and each session was two hours long. For the first 30 minutes I would sit in the back room, watching while the advanced students practiced their art. Sensei would choose one of these advanced students to serve me a round of tea and sweets. Then, I would go to one of the other tatami mat rooms with an advanced student who would serve as my assistant teacher and show me the basics of Sado. Thus far, I have learned how to enter the tea room, how to open and close the door, how to walk to my place, how to sit down and stand up, how to fold a cloth, and how to use that cloth to clean a tea caddy. This session takes up the remaining hour and a half of the time. In the future I hope I will get to demonstrate some of these skills for sensei. Before leaving, I am treated to a more informal round of tea and sweets in the front room, where I practice. Sometimes, when there are too many students for the advanced students to serve, someone will go to the kitchen and make tea with a water heater. Finally, we have been taught how to clean tea cups after an informal tea service.

I have really enjoyed my time practicing Sado. As an art, Sado is possessed of a cavernous depth that cannot properly be explored in the time I have. For me, Sado has served as a source of relaxation and focus. Making slow, methodical, precise movements and cementing them in my muscle memory is time consuming, and sometimes frustrating, but each small success is rewarding. It is difficult to retain some of the learned processes, however, because I only attend twice a month. The tea class I attend is so popular that sensei’s schedule only had room for two more monthly sessions. As unfortunate as this is, I feel grateful to have spent as much time there as I did. Sensei and all of her assistants are extraordinarily hospitable and kind.

They have accommodated my bumbling gaijin ways and limited Japanese ability at every turn and provided an excellent environment in which to learn and grow. Not only have I been able to improve my Japanese vocabulary and make new friends, I’ve been able to immerse myself in a crucially important piece of Japanese culture and better understand its place in Japanese history.

Ha Min Kim: English Volunteer

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Volunteering for helping with English education at Kamigyo Middle School has been good. This volunteer position requires me to help two pupils who are preparing for the English speaking contest. Mostly, my task is to correct them on pronunciations and evaluate the way they give their speech. I decided to give this volunteer a try, because I wanted to place myself in a position where I get to see non-native speakers of English working hard to polish their English. From this experience, it is clear how difficult English language is for the Japanese students. When a student struggles to pronounce the simple word such as “born,” it reminds me how I struggle with using simple words in Japanese. In the same sense, KCJS students also find learning Japanese difficult as well. Foreign language study is a huge challenge that a student takes, and ever since I started learning my first foreign language, I always wondered how to successfully learn a language.

One thing I have learned from the CIP experience is that speaking in foreign language is an uncomfortable task that is usually not approached through the students’ interest. Mimicry is my hobby; thus by doing so, I try to keep my foreign language study to be as amusing as possible. However, I feel that the students I am in charge of at the Kamigyo Middle School practice their speech for the mere speech contest. One of my students said that he does not like one of his stories he has to recite by memory. I feel that foreign language must be accompanied with the students’ interest that serves as the incentive for the study of that language.

 

Denton Williams: Assistant English Teacher

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Before I came to Japan, I knew that I wanted to teach English for my CIP activity.  When I finally arrived in Japan and started the CIP process, I encountered no difficulty in deciding where I was going to teach; everything was easier than I could have hoped for and KCJS already had well-established connections with schools.  I started to hit a few bumps in the e-mailing stage, but only with respect to waiting for responses.  So, after practicing my written 敬語 for the first time in Japan, I finally started my dream CIP of teaching at Kaisei Middle School (開晴中学), located near Kiyomizu-dera.

As I explained in my first, Japanese blog post, teaching on my first day at Kaisei did not start out so smoothly.  The seventh graders, contrary to my ideal expectations of Japanese middle school students, were incredibly raucous and disrespectful to their teacher.  Throughout the entire fifty minutes some of the students did not stop talking, and others were running around the classroom or sleeping.  To my greatest surprise, however, was that the teacher did absolutely nothing about the chaos.  I stood in the crowded classroom, jaw-dropped, and waited for her to explode in a disciplinary rage at any second.  I myself considered telling one or two boys to sit down and be quiet, but before I knew it the clock struck 3:20pm and the students were free.  When I returned home after my first day, I thought to myself, Do I really want to teach here?  Can I actually make a difference in this kind of hopeless environment?  Luckily, I decided to do my best and be patient, and I am extremely glad to write that I am thankful I hung in there.

As the weeks of my study abroad experience passed by and I commuted every Monday to Kaisei Middle School, the classroom setting seemed less and less harsh.  I acquired a second class to teach as well, meaning I could practice my week’s teaching with better-behaved eighth graders before facing the rowdy pupils of room 7-2.  So, each week I asked individuals questions in English, helped answer students’ questions about worksheets etc, and tried extremely hard to encourage students to participate.  Eventually I started practicing my Japanese as well by trying to better explain things to students who were not as skilled at English.  Meanwhile, little by little I was becoming more familiarized with who the students were and the dynamic of their relationship with the teachers.

This leads me to what I gained the most from my CIP.  Contrary to my original dream back in the United States, I did not learn how to fluently speak Japanese and teach angelic, diligent middle schoolers how to speak English.  What I did learn, which falls in line with my personal theme of studying abroad with KCJS, is that there is way more than meets the eye during first encounters.  The Japanese students were incredibly unruly the first time I met them, and they proved to change very little week after week.  However, every time I spoke 「英語アシスタントでございます」through the gate’s doorbell and stepped foot into my slippers at Kaisei Middle School, I was about to witness the students surprise me in some way.  I started to see that some of the most misbehaved students were actually the ones who were participating the most, albeit in decibels higher than what is safe for human ears.  Furthermore, I saw that many of the students truly cared about learning English, and even more so about learning in general.  They were excited to start class with personal questions for me in English, and they always asked their teachers to chat with me in English so they could observe.  I quickly came to realize that I misjudged my students on week one, but I was happy that this was so.

The CIP component of KCJS may seem like another task on a checklist of “things to do,” but it actually was a crucial part in making the theme of my time abroad become whole.  Teaching English at Kaisei Middle School helped me learn even more not to judge people based on first impressions, stereotypes, and preconceived notions.  It taught me that everyone needs an extra chance or dose of attention in order to see his or her true personality and potential.  Upon realizing this, I was able to conclude that while Japan’s culture and language are very different from that of the U.S. in many ways, the people of each country are at the core very much the same.  I truly hope that I was able to teach many students at Kaisei Middle School, or maybe even just one or two.  However, I can say with conviction that I entered the building as “Denton-sensei” determined to teach English, but I will be flying back to America as a student who was taught the universal language of life.

Alexa VanDemark: Koto Lessons

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For my CIP in Fall 2013, I chose to take private koto lessons. Naturally, I’ve learned a lot. The point of the CIP to begin with is to involve yourself in the Japanese community, hopefully learn some keigo and Japanese culture, and have fun in the mean time. I can say without hesitation that I have been enjoying my lessons. Like any other instrument I’ve played, there is a learning curve. You have to learn the correct posture, positions for you hands, musical notation, the list goes on. When you do something new, you naturally make mistakes, so you probably get frustrated from time to time. Put that pressure on top of learning that new skill in a different language and having to explain what you don’t understand in that same language. Oh, and don’t forget to use keigo! Despite the pressures, I have learned more than I had originally anticipated.

Rokudan no Shirabe sheet music

Sheet music for the song I’m currently learning. Reading music vertically instead of horizontally is the hardest hurdle for me to jump over at the moment.

More than anything, it’s only too easy to create a list of all the faux pas I’ve made in one semester and how to not repeat them in the future. For instance, I spent the first few weeks being a regular Floridian and wearing flip-flops to my lessons. It was hot outside! The problem was that my lessons are held at my teacher’s house, in a washitsu. It hadn’t occurred to me that by not wearing socks, my dirty feet were seen as a social taboo in the traditional setting of koto lessons. Noda-sensei never said a thing, but I was mortified when I found out from someone else that what I had been doing was quite incorrect. And up until a few weeks ago, I had been cheerfully saying, 「お疲れさま！」after Noda-sensei said it to me. I learned not to do that after a linguistics class in which we discussed that is just not something you say to a teacher. Even after I feel like I’ve learned so much, every week it seems I find something else to correct!

However, that in of itself is rewarding, because at the next lesson, I can walk in confidently, amassing all of the formalities and aisatsu I’ve accumulated over the semester. I can return the sheet music my teacher and know how to politely thank her for lending it to me. I can attend her concert and know to bring an omiyage in congratulations. I can laugh when I get lost in the unfamiliar sheet music and ask to start a passage over, and it’s comforting when she laughs too, and agrees. It was difficult doing a CIP where I had to solely communicate my questions and such in a language that I’m still learning, but through these lessons, I come into contact with an elegant side of Japanese culture that I would not have touched otherwise. I’m looking forward to continuing this immersion next semester, while learning more How-Not-to-Be-Act-Like-a-Gaijin pointers as well as beautiful music.