「KCJS Year」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Vanessa Tenazas: Zenryuji Nursery School

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Now that several months have elapsed, I can say that my volunteer work at Zenryuji has offered me some unique glimpses into Japanese culture and language through the lens of children and a nursery school environment. The dynamics between teachers and children, between head teacher and a supporting teacher, and between the children and myself have been of particular interest.

Prior to coming to Japan, I was already quite aware of the hierarchy built into Japanese society as exemplified through things like the degrees of politeness in language and the senpai-kohai dynamic. At the nursery school, when a teacher is making an announcement or instructing the children to do something as part of the routine (i.e. when lining up), she uses polite language as a way to signal the formality of what is being said. On the other hand, it was interesting to observe teachers using plain speech when reprimanding the children, which I imagine was done in order to capture the teacher’s frustration and put the children in their place hierarchically, since plain speech can indicate the speaker’s superiority over the listener.

On a related note, though I do not find the power structure at the nursery school to be anywhere near as rigid as a regular corporate setting, it is clear that not all teachers share equal roles and positions. The two head teachers of the group of kids I usually work with are responsible for making announcements, directing the children during their routine, and, if necessary, reprimanding the children. Meanwhile a supporting teacher will help clean up the room or pour the milk for each child during snack time. Here too I have observed the use of casual speech by the head teachers between each other and to the supporting teacher, but the supporting teacher will use polite speech in response to perhaps indicate their difference in position within the structure of the daycare.

In my case, exchanges between teachers and I are exclusively in polite speech, while at the insistence of the children our exchanges are in casual speech. One child even corrected me the first day when I used polite speech too much, saying that it put too much distance between ussince our relationship should be that of friends. While this would not happen even among my peers, I suppose with children the rules get a bit hazy due to their age. Without any direct equivalent in the English language, these kinds of observations have been consistently fascinating.

In terms of the culture of raising children, I feel like my experience at Zenryuji was just like scratching the surfaceof it. What struck me immediately was the physical contact between teachers and students, where a teacher will not hesitate to grab or push a child as a means of correcting their behavior. My Asian background led me to be less surprised at the time, but knowing that in America such a thing would never be allowed without consequences did make me stop and think. That was probably one of the biggest cultural divides I had noticed while volunteering.

What was strikingly similar to what I have observed in America, however, is that children here are also keen on “playing house” during playtime. Participating children each take a role in the family such as mother or father, and someone is almost always “cooking” something (I need not mention how many times I have had to “eat” curry rice made out of sand). I noted that since children just about anywhere are most familiar with what happens at home, that represents one extent of their imaginations at this point in time.

Similarly, the children tend to quarrel with each other very easily about small things like sharing toys and someone not “apologizing” enough for something they did. I find being consulted on such matters a bit of a handful since I am not always sure what is culturally appropriate to say. Usually in the case of sharing toys, other teachers will go for the diplomatic approach and encourage the children to share, especially if one child has two of something. In the case of having children reconcile through apology, I think more so than the child wanting to apologize on their own it is the teacher’s authority that compels them to do so. I know in my case even if I were to say someone should apologize, they would either continue pouting at me without following through on the direction, or would simply run away. It reminds me that even though I am well-loved by the children, due to my age and outsider status I am in this limbo between teacher and friend, making my influence less effective. Whether in the future I will become more of one or the other remains to be seen.

Carolyn Whittingham : Ohara Gakuin – Assistant English Teacher

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A crucial part of the KCJS curriculum is one’s involvement in the CIP or “Community Involvement Project.” The aim of this project is to help KCJS students immerse themselves in a certain aspect of Japanese culture, and can consist of activities from volunteering at a hospital or nonprofit organization to participating in a Doshisha University club or circle.

Since I have aspirations to participate in the JET programme after graduation, and since I ultimately plan to pursue a career as a college professor, I opted to volunteer at an elementary/middle school called Ohara Gakuin as an assistant English teacher for the experience.

Ohara Gakuin is a quaint little school in the middle of the mountains a little ways outside of Kyoto City. The school consists of grades 1through 9, and they have also just recently instated nursery and kindergarten services. Since I do not have afternoon classes/commitments at KCJS on Mondays or Wednesdays, I volunteer on one of those days, once a week, from about half past twelve to 4 pm.

I shall hereby describe a typical day of volunteering. Since Ohara and Doshisha are quite far apart, I have to take a series of very strictly scheduled trains and buses to make it there on time every week, and the commute can take up to an hour. But once there, I typically will eat lunch with one class then teach two classes during Ohara’s 5th and 6th periods. The grades I eat with and teach alter every week, so I have a chance to interact with every grade 2-3 times over the course of 10 weeks. However, since I teach all grade levels the teaching itinerary is never consistent, but there is a pattern. Generally, with the 1st-4th grade (sometimes 5th) we tend to just play games, sing songs or do other fun activities that involve using English on a very minimal level. Whereas with the older students, we do grammar exercises, and dictation and reading drills (some examples include learning about relative pronouns and how to use the gerand in English).

Over all, teaching at Ohara has been a very eye-opening experience for me. Since I was born and raised in Jamaica, I can only compare the activities to Ohara to what I experienced in my own school system at home (as opposed to the U.S. where I only went to high school and college), and the overall operation of the education system is drastically different. First of all, in Jamaica, we have one teacher for all academic subjects who we work with every day, as opposed to staying in the same homeroom and having teachers come in and out depending on the subject. Another discrepancy is that in Jamaica, when a student or group of students started to cause a ruckus or disturbed class in any way, teachers are very quick to rebuke students about their conduct and discipline them if necessary. At Ohara, the teachers often turn a blind eye and continue teaching or simply wait for students to calm themselves down before resuming the lesson.

In addition to this, while working at Ohara something else that struck me as odd was the nature of the English education system in itself. For instance, when using the textbook, I often found some very unnatural English structures that are understandable, but would be very obscure to a native speaker, and also some expressions that seemed very ‘Japanese-y.’ In fact, I brought this up with some of the teachers there and they agreed with me! Therefore, we created alternative expressions/explanations and I was extremely pleased to know that my contributions had made some kind of a difference. Otherwise, the pacing of many of the classes seemed extremely slow, and consequently, I noticed that quite a few of the students had a hard time keeping focus for the full 50 minute class period.

Now, I understand that with only 10 visits to the school, I am seeing only a very limited example of what the system is like. Therefore, it is impossible for me to make judgements on the Japanese English education system on a whole based on my time spent at Ohara. However, I still could not help but consider the scholastic practices which are so different than what I am accustomed to on a critical level.

For instance, some of my findings included the realization that the pronunciation ability of the students in 1st and 2nd grade rivaled the ones of those in 8th and 9th grade, and classes in all grade levels spend a lot of class time focusing on perfecting their 「自己紹介」or “self-introductions.” Out of curiosity, I asked two teachers, whom I assist frequently, for their thoughts on the matter. It turns out that one teacher believed that the most effective method of retaining material learned in class is through repetition, and so because of that, progress can be rather slow. Conversely, the other teacher told me that the reason these inconsistencies exist is actually because the English program at Ohara is a fairly recent development. In fact, English language instruction was not fully incorporated into the syllabus until about 5 years ago. Currently, the elementary school students take English classes once a week for an hour, while the middle school children have English 4 times a week for one hour. Whereas beforehand, the 1st through 3rd grade did not have English lessons at all and 4th through 9th grade only had classes once a week.

The limited English ability of the students often left me feeling frustrated because I often felt there was so much I wanted to do or try that worked for me as a language student, but because of the strictness of the syllabus, because I could not express my sentiments clearly to the students and to avoid overstepping my boundaries, I often simply had to sit back, have faith in the methods employed by the teachers, and do my best to help where I could.

Additionally, I am a Cultural Anthropology/Japanese double major, so cultural differences among social groups, especially as they relate to Japan, are extremely interesting to me. Therefore, although volunteering at Ohara has been an extremely fantastic and rewarding opportunity, it is simply not enough. Thus, when I go on to (hopefully) participate in the JET programme, or whenever I have any other exposure to the Japanese education system, I intend to further my studies and research and derive some concrete theories as to how and why the system works the way it does.

James Hildebrand: Smiling Tomato

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My CIP work with にこにこトマト has been extremely rewarding.  I’ve volunteered at a hospital back home, but my work at Kyoto University Hospital has given much greater opportunity to interact one-on-one with young patients.  Everyone involved in the program – a group largely composed of older Kyoto women – is remarkably devoted, spending multiple hours every week preparing and putting on any number of activities.

I’ve noticed that the overall environment is warm and relaxed without sacrificing productivity.  Everyone busily chats about their family, hobbies, and hometowns as they work diligently on things for the next week.  Recently we’ve been working on decorations for the New Year, but in the past we’ve made Halloween treat bags and Christmas-themed treats.

Still, I found myself wondering why these women, who could be doing any number of things with their time, continue to devote themselves so unfalteringly to the program.  As I spoke with them formally for class, listened to their usual conversations, and did research into the program’s history, it became clear to me that the reason many of these women continue to volunteer stems from desire to help the suffering families of the hospitalized children.

In fact, many of these women’s own children were at one time hospitalized at Kyoto University Hospital.  Because of this, I think they are intimately familiar with the pain and worry that a family with a sick child suffers.  Rather than move away from their own painful memories from the hospital, the women return every week to help total strangers.  In a newspaper article I found about the group, the author reprinted a letter sent to にこトマ by a parent whose young daughter had passed away during her hospitalization.  Though she suffered terribly, にこトマwas able to give her a little bit of fun and happiness.  For that, the family expressed deep gratitude.  Seeing those words, I felt like all the afternoons I raced from class on my bike to make it to the hospital on time were totally worth it.

Above all, what I’ve enjoyed most about my time with にこトマ is the fact that nothing marks it as exclusively “Japanese”.  I think many of us have grown up with American films and television shows that, while not necessarily belittling Japan, offer a largely static image of this country.

What I mean is, that when I talk to friends back home about my time here, they often rely on their knowledge of characters like Mister Miyagi from The Character Kid as a crutch in trying to understand Japanese culture.  I would be lying if growing up with these kinds of images hadn’t quietly influenced my own assumptions about what “community involvement” here would look like as well.

In a certain way, I think I allowed these American images of stoic, polite, and ultimately traditionalist characters color what I expected of the people I’d be volunteering alongside.  Given my limited experience with Japan prior to coming to Kyoto, I might have expected terms like 和, 甘え, or 建前 somehow made their way into my day to day volunteer conversations.  After all, cultural products like The Karate Kid teach us that Japanese people, in their alien cultural sagacity, only speak to foreigners in metaphor: the cherry blossom is a human life, a sweet karate kick is a crescent moon.

Of course, these stereotypes didn’t hold true.  The people I met through にこトマ weren’t interested in talking about tea ceremony or how to show your true heart through origiami.  Rather, through volunteering at Kyoto University Hospital I came to realize something that was ultimately far more comforting than one of Mr. Miyagi’s sermons.  That is, it doesn’t matter where you go – five minutes away from Amherst or halfway around the globe – good people are good people.  Despite all of our cultural differences, language difficulties, and painful histories, we can still connect through our basic human desire to help others, to realize our good will through action together.  The extremely foreign becomes remarkably accessible when you realize that in the end, we are all human.

 

Richard Farrell: GRADATION LGBT Circle

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This semester I’ve been going to the lunch meetings of Doshisha University’s LGBT social circle, GRADATION. I had hoped to really get a picture of what it was like to be a member of the LGBTQ+ community as a college student in Japan. However, while I feel like I’ve been able to make some insights into the opinions of members of the group on their lives, I never really felt like I was really a part of the community or was ever really seeing what their everyday lives were like.

First of all, the group, by its very nature, is separate from the rest of the members’ lives. As I said in the last blog post, the members use nicknames in the club and agree not to relate any personal information discussed in a meeting to anyone outside of the meeting. I can’t confirm whether or not the names people used to introduce themselves were their real names or not. I got the feeling that for the most part the people attending the meetings didn’t know each other very well or at all outside of GRADATION. No one ever slipped and called someone by their real name. Other than two leader figures, one of which was the kaichō, there was significant distance between the members of the circle. Those two leader figures definitely seemed to know each other in ‘real life.’ They also usually sat next to each other. The rest of the regulars at the meetings always sat in the same seat, at least two or more seats from another person. To match the physical distance, there was obvious social distance between the members as well. Two of the regulars used desu-masu with the other members. There were also often awkward silences. Conversation was usually very hard to more forward. I’m sure that some of this was on my account, being a foreigner, but there was definitely tension between the members of the group as well. Whenever this happened, the kaichō or their friend would bring up a topic like food or anime that everyone could have an opinion on.

The topics of the meetings rarely turned to anything having to do with LGBTQ+ issues. When they did, there was a palpable apprehension from most of the members of the group. It was clear that the members were not at all used to talking about their sexuality. Mostly these conversations were about favorite districts, bars and clubs in Osaka. One day a member shared pictures of person in their class that they had a crush on. That was the closest the conversation ever got to the private lives of the members.

Another frustrating part of my experience was that gender never came up as a topic. In the meetings I attended there was never a Japanese person who performed as a woman. I’ve heard from others who attended that there are women who attend the meetings, but they are clearly a very small minority of the circle. Trans* issues never came up as a topic. In U.S. LGBTQ+ groups it is standard practice to give people a chance to request a specific pronoun to use when referring to them. Since gender pronouns are unnecessary in Japanese, this opportunity never came up. The gender identities of the group members were never discussed.

At first I was disappointed at the differences with American groups but I feel like this experience has given me a small look at how taboo LGBTQ+ topics are in Japanese society. And, consequently, how separate people’s ‘queer’ life is from their public life.

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!