「KCJS Year」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Anuj Patel: Kyodai Research

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For my CIP, I had the chance to work in the Funahashi research lab at Kyoto University. To be honest, I was doubtful that the opportunity would come together at all. Three months is a fairly short period of time to contribute, and I certainly know nothing about animal research. Nonetheless, Dr. Funahashi exceeded my expectations immediately, not only by replying to my email but even inviting me to observe an experiment the very next week. Particularly because I also work as an RA in a lab back at home, I was excited about getting the chance to see what a lab in Japan would be like. Since I also didn’t have much experience with monkey research, I was also particularly excited about seeing these methods in use.

My main concern was that I would not have many opportunities to actually interact with my professor and the researchers in the lab, as everyone was fairly busy with their work. Moreover, without too much time or significant training, the number of things that I could actually help with were fairly limited. In the beginning, this is exactly what happened. After my initial tour of the lab, my main task was printing graphs. A lot of graphs. On top of that, I occasionally missed the memo when my professor went to conferences, and got locked out from the lab once. It wasn’t exactly the ideal opportunity to participate in society.

However, as time went on and my routine began to settle, I started to find excuses to talk with the other people in the lab. It would generally start with someone asking me if I wasn’t bored, printing graphs all day, and then the discussion would continue from there. I was finally able to have conversations! I got to hear about all sorts of topics, ranging from the added difficulty of having to publish scientific papers in English, to comments on Kyoto and Japan in general. When I brought back omiyage from Ise (which in and of itself made me feel a little bit more like a part of the gro up), we had a conversation about how many schools will go there as a class trip. As time went on, I also began to be able to contribute in more ways. I was able to help beyond printing graphs, and even got to help with the monkeys once. These sorts of experiences were not only exciting in their own right, but they also helped to create more opportunities to ask questions and speak with the other members of the lab.

This development took a fair amount of time, and it’s unfortunate that just as I begin to really start to make progress, I’m going to have to leave. I think a particularly large obstacle was having only a fairly small group of graduate students and my professor to interact with; apparently undergraduates don’t work as research assistants particularly often. I would have liked to meet more students, but given that Kyodai was on spring break, there also haven’t been any seminars or courses I could sit in on. (As a result, I’m glad that I also got to participate in KIX occasionally as well.) Overall, however, I think that my experience in the lab was a positive one. I got to maintain some sort of connection with neuroscience even while in Japan, and I got to get to know a group of interesting, friendly people.

Marli Gordon: Kyodai Choir Reflection

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The first choir practice I attended at Kyodai University held many surprises for me.  That first day, four other KCJS students and I were warmly greeted by three choir members at the entrance to the University.  They then lead us upstairs to a large room where the rest of the choir was assembled.  Members surrounded us and introduced themselves, pointing to their nametags which they all had hanging on strings around their necks.  Every single person I talked to made sure to make us feel like we were part of the group.  As we participated in the warm-up exercises, the moment we looked confused, or even before we had a chance to, someone was always there to help us along.  We went through the routine of stretching, singing while walking, singing while walking backwards and other voice exercises.  The new members had their voices examined and I was placed into the Alto section.  We practiced with our section and then sang the piece as a whole choir.  After practice there was a designated time for people to make
announcements.  I quickly caught on to choir rituals such as the established responses to certain phrases.  Whenever a member was speaking to the choir he or she announced their name and everyone responded: “Whoa!”  If they mentioned a place: “so close!”, a time: “so early!”, a price: “so cheap!”  and so on.  These responses united
the entire club and created a fun atmosphere while listening to numerous ordinary speeches.   Once the announcements were finished we met with our section groups one last time before disbanding.  The Alto leader gave us a recap on practice and there was time for Alto-specific notices.  After some cleaning and a song by the guys,
then girls and finally everyone all together my first practice came to an end.

Before starting my CIP, I had been warned that it can be particularly difficult to engage Japanese in conversation but, instead, I found that I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise and was shocked by the contagious energy that everyone seemed to be bursting with.  After the first day, I left feeling confident that I would quickly make tons of friends.
However, as time passed and our novelty wore off, students stopped approaching us on their own.  I regularly talked to Alto members but otherwise I felt like I was sliding backwards and losing that initial sense of membership.  In retrospect, I think joining the circle with five other KCJS members and having that first overwhelming interaction with the Japanese students gave me a false sense of security that ended up reducing my efforts to socialize.  Another deterring factor was the number of practices.  The students
had most of February off and then when they did meet we were on Spring Break.  Despite these drawbacks I do enjoy being a member of the choir and internalizing Japanese social norms.  I hope to make the most of the last few practices
we have left and solidify the friendships I have made.

Natasha Gollin: Kyoto University Gasshoudan

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I have been attending choir practice regularly since I first joined the Kyoudai Gasshoudan, or the Kyoto University Mixed Voices Chorus, early in fall semester. There was a break for approximately a month this semester, but other than that, I have usually been going to practices twice a week, and if all works out I intend to appear in part of the annual spring mini-concert/happyoukai on April 28th.

Starting choir last semester was hard because I did not know anyone there, save for one classmate. Additionally, the others had a head start on the songs, and I even had to learn how to pronounce some Hungarian! There were also some choir traditions and routines that I had to get used to—staying after for announcements and optional singing time, for one. But now, not only do I understand a lot of the musical terms (such as gakufu, “sheet music” and ensoukai ni noru, “to appear in a concert, lit. ‘ride’”) and find the music easier to learn, but I have several fellow KCJSers there with me! I feel like my decision to continue choir had a large influence on the decision of not just one, but FIVE other students to join as well. I am also used to the routine of things, though it gets tiring at times going over the same part in the music ad nauseam, or doing exercises for reasons unclear to me.

Due to the costs and time involved, this time I also passed on a couple of major choir happenings that I had participated in last semester: the retreat (which cost far more than last time, and even included some school days), and appearing in the full concert (which costs around 10,000 yen, but I decided to at least be in the E-ru (theme/fight song?) and encore, which only costs 2000 yen—not cheap, but at least I perform at all). However, because of this and the time off, I feel a little less connected to choir this semester. There is less motivation to keep attending each practice when I will not actually be performing the songs.

At first I may have been a hindrance, but now I feel like more of a “real member” than before. For one, since the end of the winter concert, I have graduated from a chorus first-year to a shin-nikaisei (“new” second year)! Also, I have been part of a planning team for a fun Christmas event with party games and song performances for each other. I have also performed an English song (Jason Mraz’s “I’m Yours”) with two other KCJSers at this semester’s version of that event…and it was a huge hit. One person didn’t even care about looking up the actual song—he just wished he could hear OUR version again.  We found out a few weeks later that our act had won the grand prize by popular choice! I haven’t been so pleasantly shocked in a while.

After my time with the Gasshoudan, I came to see that its members are committed in a different way from typical American choruses—perhaps more at the same level as a college a cappella group. Because of the choir’s many expenses and hours of practice per week, the members have a high degree of loyalty and commitment to the group—often it is their only extracurricular activity.  Also, as I mentioned in my blog last semester, this choir certainly has its traditions, or shall I say quirks—odd nicknames, staying after practice for announcements where people in various leadership positions run up in front of the crowd and say things in unison, singing extra songs after that, and an array of unusual warm-ups, such as forming large concentric circles and doing scales while marching quickly backwards around the conductor. I am still fairly sure that this does not represent Japanese choirs as a whole…as I said last semester, the Kyodai Gasshoudan is just “a group with a long and distinguished history of excellence and quirkiness.”

From my CIP, I learned that people will always be there to help me or explain things to me when I need it, so I should not worry and struggle through the music director’s instructions alone. Since they were there for me, I felt the desire to continue in choir and keep working with them to make lovely music—which is, in the end, the objective here.

Though the Gasshoudan was socially out of my comfort zone, I learned that while in a foreign country, it’s always good to put yourself out there and try to bond with your peers—to start talking with people, work hard at what you’re doing, keep a cheerful and approachable demeanor, and do not be afraid to ask questions. You will get a lot out of your experience, trust me.

Adam Roberts: G-Front Kansai, LGBT Support Circle

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My spring semester CIP is, as I said before, working with G-Front Kansai, an organization dedicated to the support of LGBT people in the Kansai area and, by extension, Japan as a whole. At first, the circle was not what I had expected, but I soon came to appreciate the members’ standpoint, their limitations, and their strengths.

My experience with LGBT circles has mostly come from the brief exposure to the GSA that I had during my freshman year in college. Through these student organizations, I had come to expect a more activism-oriented approach to dealing with LGBT problems. However, when I participated in my first LGBT circle meeting here in Japan, I found something very different in the Doshisha LGBT circle. (This post is not about the Doshisha circle, but it is part of the experience.)

The Doshisha circle, for starters, was entirely closed and a complete secret. I am not sure how some of my fellow KCJSers initially discovered it, but I had to be invited by a member who was already in the circle in order to attend their lunch meeting. Although I was not sure what to expect when I arrived, I was simultaneously under- and overwhelmed. The lunch meeting was precisely that: the members were eating lunch together and chatting with each other. I expected some planned activities or discussion about sexuality to take place, but when I finally began engaging the members in conversation it was like pulling teeth to get them to speak about themselves or their experience as sexual minorities in Japan. It struck me that even in a meeting geared specifically towards lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and transgender people, some members were still uncomfortable with the idea of talking about the issues facing them. The conversations between individuals ranged from mundane to raunchy, but there was no apparent goal set for the circle.

I attended a few more meetings, and one day I asked the circle’s leader if some straight friends who were “friends to LGBT people” (I couldn’t conjure up the word for “supporters”) could come to one of the meetings, as they were interested in getting involved with the group. The leader talked in circles for a bit, said “chotto” about 100 times, and then said that they were not allowed because it was a group for gay people.

I was so frustrated that I never went back.

Jump ahead to January 2012, and I am looking for a new CIP. Fukai-sensei found G-Front Kansai on the internet and suggested that I attend. When I went to the first meeting with Lucia, we were instructed to wait at the bus platform at the station and call a phone number. A few minutes later, the circle’s leader came and met us at the platform, and we followed him through the streets of Osaka until we arrived at the small apartment in which the meetings were held. The first meeting went well – a straightforward explanation of what the organization did and how often, as well as collection of dues. I was somewhat overwhelmed and felt more than a little awkward about the language barrier, but after going to dinner with them I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

As my time in G-Front continued, however, I came to realize that many of the characteristics that I had found so frustrating in the Doshisha circle were present here as well. One example was the lack of conversation about activities, activism, or even just opinions on issues facing sexual minorities in Japan. I even felt awkward about asking their opinions on some broader issues, and some of the opinions they shared surprised me.

I questioned how organizations like the Doshisha circle and G-Front could keep themselves going with such small memberships (6 people was average attendance at the meetings I was able to attend), and what good these groups were doing when they had so few katsudou (though G-Front has a great deal more than the Doshisha circle).

At some point, it struck me that these groups are not focused on activism in the sense that we think of it in the West, mainly because the set of issues facing the LGBT community are different – in Japan, the potential repercussions of being outed could be considered much more severe than in America due to the emphasis on group membership. Once you’re different, you “can’t be in that group anymore.” I understood then that these groups, though they do engage in some activism, are more focused on creating a safe haven for those brave enough to come to the meetings. This also explained the (frankly un-)surprising amount of sexual banter that occurred at some of the meetings – there is no other place in the world where these people can completely bare themselves without fear of being ostracized.

Even though the passive nature of some of these groups frustrated me at the beginning, I was reminded how important it is to have these sorts of spaces for people to fully express themselves without fear of judgement. Being a gaijin (and therefore excluded from many of the experiences that Japanese people have), it took a longer time to perceive the rationale behind the groups’ natures. Most importantly, however, I realized that I had forgotten how difficult it is to be in the closet, and to feel that pressure on the other side of the door, keeping it shut.

Though I still believe that the ideal way for these groups to solve the problem of discrimination is to engage in political activism, I was reminded that treating the symptoms can be just as important as finding a cure.

Manxian Zhang: Zenryuji Nursery School

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

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

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

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

Julie Shih: Nico Toma Hospital Volunteer

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Every week at Nico Toma is a different experience. As a group that plans and puts together activities for hospitalized children, one week we would be packing items to sell at their bazaar and another week we would be helping to serve food at their annual Sakura café. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect each week, but that was part of the fun, and the volunteers were always energetic and welcoming. While helping them prepare, we had many opportunities to talk with fellow volunteers. They were naturally curious about the places we came from and we also discussed the differences between American and Japanese culture. I also got the chance to talk to some volunteers about their experiences volunteering with Nico Toma and why they decided to become involved. Many of them had been part of the group for years and years, and from working with them, I could feel a strong sense of solidarity.

I’ve volunteered back in the States before, but never in this kind of setting. It was hard to see the children attached to tubes and machines knowing that there’s nothing we could do regarding their illnesses. I couldn’t help but wonder what a childhood would be like that was spent going in and out of the hospital. However, I’ve realized that children are children wherever you go, energetic and mischievous (one boy snuck back for seconds!), who enjoy playing with other kids and playing games on their DS. Seeing everyone smiling and enjoying the café, I hope that we’ve been able to do what we can to bring some joy into their lives. Overall, volunteering at Nico Toma was an enjoyable and worthwhile experience.

Shuyi Shang: Ikebana

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Before coming to Japan, my first and only encounter with ikebana was at a party held by my university’s Japanese department. It was not so much the product but the process, executed with such precision and elegance by my sensei, that moved me the most. Needless to say, when my KCJS sensei and I found out about several ikebana classrooms in Kyoto, I was ready to try my hands on creating ikebana of my own.

Now, after only six lessons, I am obviously still very far from understanding—not to mention achieving—that elegance. But along the way I have had a lot of fun learning about ikebana and interacting with my Japanese sensei and classmates.

Niwa-sensei, who just turned 79 last month, is a connoisseur of traditional Japanese arts. She enjoys showing and explaining to me about her collection of paintings, calligraphy scrolls, and other obviously expensive antiques. Our lessons take place at her Japanese-style house, and the displays of ikebana and crafts at the genkan and the tokonoma are frequently changed, making my lessons into a time for appreciation of Japanese arts. The first time I was there, she led me into a room and in front of a tokonoma, where she had placed a small vase of pine and a scroll of painting that complemented the ikebana. Pine is the plant of the winter, she explained. That was when I realized that acknowledging the current environment and time is very important in ikebana.

My four or five classmates (the number and people always change at each lesson because of different schedules) are all middle-aged Japanese women, which was not surprising to me at all. At every lesson, Niwa-sensei gives us each a sheet that explains the structural concept of the ikebana that we would do for today. The container is usually preselected by sensei, who has a collection of vases, plates and bowls for ikebana. We then unwrap our bundles of flowers and proceed to selecting, cutting and bending them in order to create the design we want. I receive frequent verbal instructions from Niwa-sensei, sometimes down to the specifics such as the angle at which I should place a particular branch. This is perhaps because I am only a beginner. Even though sensei and the students complimented on my works often, sometimes I wonder how lost I would be if I were to complete an ikebana work completely by myself.

Although we each sit at a separate table during class time and concentrate on finishing our work, the atmosphere is quite laid-back and sometimes small conversations pop up here and there among the students. Most students already know each other very well, so I have tried hard to understand and join the talks. I usually speak up when there is something I wanted to say or ask, and have always been warmly included in the conversation. One thing I like about the atmosphere in the class is that while the students are polite to Niwa-sensei, the politeness is that of a relaxed and natural manner, never stiff nor forced, making it easier for me to feel at ease even during my first lesson.

Although all students receive the same flowers and sheet, our works always end up looking very different by the end of the lesson. In my observation, there aren’t many strict “rules” in ikebana—at least not in the Sagagoryuu school in which Niwa-sensei specializes in. It is always a joy to see the various styles the same set of flowers could be arranged into, and the structural integrity they possess.

We can bring home the flowers we used in class for a second round of ikebana. As you can see, because what I have at home is different and most of the time limited, the ikebana almost always turns out differently. It's frustrating at times, but also part of the fun!

 

At the end of every lesson, Niwa-sensei always takes out her tea set and serves the students apple tea and delicious snacks. This is a time when we relax and admire each other’s work (and comment on how delicious sensei’s snacks are, of course). Although as a foreign college student I have little in common with the people around me, by listening politely and making a few comments here and there, I am able to have very pleasant conversations with sensei and my classmates, especially since they’re very open people who also happen to be quite curious about my foreign experiences. Tea time is when I can truly see the less formal side of the sensei-apprentice relationship that they have built over time. Although I am still new to the class, I feel welcomed and appreciated by everyone.

It was sensei's birthday, and she was so pleased with my birthday gift (a pair of Thai candles in carved wooden bowls) that she gave me a whole basket of tsubaki flowers and told me to design my own flower-candle arrangement. This is what I came up with. Not only did I complete two ikebana works in one lesson, we had a mini party enjoying homemade pumpkin cake, tea, and wakashi!

Unfortunately, my time in Kyoto is limited. It may take years of hard work to even begin to grasp the true essence of ikebana, and as of now I feel that I have hardly scraped the surface. What I can proudly say is that I have learned a lot about appreciating ikebana works in a more critical way, enjoying their beauty while recognizing the structural composition and possible concept behind each piece of work. In addition, this was a unique experience in which I joined a group of Japanese people much older than me, and learned about a beautiful Japanese art in a traditional house situated in a historical Japanese city.

Completed in my most recent lesson (not sure how much I really improved but I'm really happy with this one). I like the rectangular plate, which complements the structure of this piece very well. And the large branches are sakura!

 

Andres Oliver: Taiko

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My time in the taiko circle has allowed me the opportunity to interact with an older sector of Japanese society than that with which I interacted last semester in the shodou club. One of the first things I noticed upon joining the circle was how serious and yet relaxed the other members were. Because we practice at Kita-no-ten-mangu, a large temple in the western part of Kyoto, we depend upon the generosity of the priests there to allow to use the practice space. At the end of each practice, we all gather around one of the priests as he offers his reflections on the group’s activities and goes over basic housekeeping duties. Everyone sits very quietly and respectfully—the position of priest is obviously one of some regard—but when the priest makes jokes, everyone laughs like old friends.

We also were allowed to participate in a ceremony at the temple where another priest prayed for the taiko circle’s continued success. This ceremony and our interaction with the priests makes me feel like playing taiko is about more than just having fun or relieving stress by beating on a drum for two hours. I feel it is possible that we are doing something of a vaguely spiritual nature, in the sense that our playing is an homage to some sort of god or force. In light of the relative seriousness of this act, I was very surprised to see another side of the members when we all went to a nomikai. While drinking and eating, all of the members, including one of the priests, just looked like normal people who have gathered around a common interest and forged long friendships.

Angelica Gam: Kyudo and KyoDai Choir

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As per usual, the days have continued to grow increasingly busy now that the end of the semester is drawing near. Even so, I continue attending practices for both Kyudo and choir on a regular basis.

First, I’d like to discuss my relationship with my bow. Emily, Megan and I have nicknamed the bow that I tend to use during Kyudo, “Edward”, as in “Edward Cullen.” Why would I ever do that to myself, you ask? See, just like the abusive boyfriend Edward Cullen of Twilight fame, I tend to get injured whenever I use the bow. And, just like a textbook case of domestic abusive, I still use the same bow because I know that the reason why my bruises from Kyudo continue to increase is because I’m doing something incorrectly. It’s all fun when we joke about my abusive bow (Bow, Beau, get it?) but whenever I think my bruises have healed, I find myself getting new ones to replace the old ones. It’s like the bows are trying to remind me that this is a sport and requires some kind of physical strain. I joked around about finding the one sport that doesn’t require running and getting exhausted when I found my strong affection for archery of all types, but after practicing for these past months, I realize that’s not entirely true. Partly because of the occasional slaps of the bow string against my arm, and partly because of the gripping energy I realize I lack after a full hour of shooting, do I realize that archery still exercises muscles more than one would think.

With that said, I’ve known for a while as to what my issue is, and I’m just having problems changing it. My fear of being attacked by the string of the bow and my improper method of handling the bow has hindered me from shooting arrows sans corporal punishment. You’d think I’d be used to dealing with pain from the string after having gotten hit so many times, but I’m still subconsciously shying away and doing weird things when I practice. Meaning, I’m not really getting the meditating aspect part of Kyudo down. I’m entirely wrapped up in going through the motions that I find that I’m having difficulty getting out of my mind. More than shooting the arrow, trying to get out of my mind is the hardest part for me.

Since I’ve figured out how to hold the bow somewhat properly, the pain has decreased over the past couple of weeks. That does not mean that I’ve been able to graduate on to a painless existence in the dojo. In the end, the pain I receive is just like when those monks hit people during meditation when they find their minds wandering. It serves as a reminder of the fact that A.) I’m still doing weird things unnatural to kyudo and that B.) it needs to stop. All I can do is keeping chugging on, and maybe Edward and I can come to some kind of compromise soon. Or I could just use the other bow we named Jacob, whom I work better with anyway. Either works.

Moving on to choir, I think my main issue is the fact that my motivation to regularly attend is like zip. My lack of motivation stems from the fact that I know I’m practicing for a performance that I don’t have the funds to participate in. I personally think it’s ridiculous that I have to pay 10600 yen to perform in my own concert. And I really want to introduce the concept of fundraising to the group. But since I need some kind of motivation to keep me going, I’ve decided to go with the cheaper option: performing the theme song and the encore for only 2000 yen.

It’s still frustrating, though. The people are really nice, and they’ve always been incredibly welcoming, and even though we’re not performing the actual set, we’re still allowed to practice with them. But perhaps actually going and practicing the set with them increases my frustration with my lack of sufficient funds to appear in the whole concert.

It makes me wonder though, am I in this for the music, or am I in this for the people? Giving up on performing because of funds, and losing motivation… Perhaps this also stems from the lack of practices over their spring break, and the cancelled practices due to influenza bugs going around. I miss singing like crazy, but I’m not so crazy as to spend that much on my own performance. Maybe my love for music has died over the years of not singing — although I really hope that’s not the case. I have to think about this more.

It’s at least a bit heartening to know that my issues with both kyudo and choir do not stem from some kind of cultural misunderstanding. These are things that could virtually, and probably already does, happen anywhere else in the world. Money, time, lack of skills—these are all problems common to any other college student like myself, Japanese or not. And in a way, that provides at least a little bit of comfort, knowing that I have some kind of inherent connection with this strange new world I’ve been living in for the past few months.

Woes aside, I really am having a blast. That much, at least, hasn’t changed.

Andrea Mendoza: K-Pop Dance Aerobics

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Although mirrors line the walls of NAS Sports Club, each time that I find myself sitting or stretching idly on the hard, wooden floors before lessons, I feel strangely imperceptible. In a society that targets Seta’s middle-aged (and predominantly female) community, everything suddenly falls into a wonderful routine of blending in through partially transforming mentally into a middle-aged woman from Shiga.
Very little actual K-Pop dancing happens in K-Pop dance class. (a phenomenon entirely comprehensible given that the majority of the class delightfully consists of ojisan and obasan). Small talk is limited to the first five minutes before class, when I usually find myself sitting next to a short woman in her mid-forties who enjoys talking about KARA and Kim Hyun Joong. Our instructor, Karl, walks in with over-sized pants whose inspiration may have derived from a raggedy parachute and begins to stretch, never failing to check on his (again, oversized) baseball cap in the mirror.  With Seungri’s “Strong Baby” blasting in our ears, we immediately feel pumped up for the new KARA dance. We will look like fools for the first forty minutes, and exhausted pop stars for the last twenty. Somehow, though, this is the least of my worries.
I wonder where the man on my right bought his neon orange towel.
More than this, though, I wonder what it is about KARA’s dance that attracts the middle-aged population of Shiga to come to NAS and learn it from a man named Karl whose pants are too big for his small frame and who barely hides his muffled giggles when we visibly lack to ability to move our legs in sync to the song.
If asked about the true identity of my Community Involvement Project, I should have to admit that it is not KPop. Sometimes, I could say that it is NAS Sports Club (where I find myself in at least twice a week, sweating through kick-boxing, zumba, pilates or a variety of embarrassingly difficult aerobic work outs that my host mom has somehow mastered). Generally, however, I would say that this is not me who makes this “project” so “involved”, but Seta’s involved ojisan and obasan who have adopted me into their community that have made this visceral and emotional experience thoroughly enjoyable.