「KCJS Year」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Carter Rice: Kamigyo History House

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

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

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

Jacqueline Wee: Calligraphy Club

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I’ve always been interested in Japanese calligraphy.  There’s something about the contrast of bold black lines on white that just gets me.  Maybe I’ve read too many comics glorifying the image of calligraphy masters, but the process itself also strikes me as incredibly poetic.  I picture an old man in a tatami room, dipping his brush in ink.  Breathing in the scent of ink and incense, he deliberately places his brush on paper, pauses for a moment, and then delivers a powerful first stroke, imbued with the wisdom of many years.  Or I picture woman behind screens, enveloped in the folds of her red silk kimono, pondering for a while before settling on a suitable line of poetry.  Her hand quivers slightly as she thinks about the man with whom she is corresponding, but then steadies as she begins to churn out the elegant, perfectly-formed characters that have been drilled into her since she was a child.

With the desire to create my own over-exaggerated poetic scenario, I joined the calligraphy club at Doshisha University.  Despite having an interest in calligraphy, I had never actually practiced it, so I emailed the club representative asking if complete beginners were welcome.  They were welcome.  He told me what day and what time to come by, and on the set day and set time, I climbed to the sixth floor of the “Student Meeting Building” (A.K.A  gakuseikaikan) of Shinmachi campus, just a five minute walk away from KCJS on Doshisha’s Imadegawa campus, and braced myself for the first contact.  Nervous about using my rusty, less-than-passable Japanese abilities, I took a breath and opened the first door on the right, the one on which the sign SHODO was hung (written in Japanese, of course).

Without going too much into the nitty-gritty details, my first day was really fun, but it was far from what my over-active imagination had conjured.  I did get the scent of tatami and the satisfyingly serene feeling from focusing all my attention on a single task, but I also got numb legs from sitting on the floor for three hours and a good deal of frustration from being unable to properly write the simplest character in existence, ichi (―).  And I had never come into contact with Japanese pertaining to a very specific subject before, so more than half the time I didn’t know what the club members were saying.  However, even the bad things were kind of fun in a way.  I became even more set on joining the club so that I could practice and eventually write more elegantly, sit seiza for longer, and learn shodo-specific words.

I’ve been going to club every Thursday since that first day.  Although the club meets three times a week, two of those times are at the Kyotanabe campus, which is just far enough to be a nuisance, so I stick to my once-a-week routine.  The club members are all very friendly, and they always come to my rescue when I have questions.  Although I think my writing is still pretty sloppy, it’s definitely improved, and my legs have somewhat adjusted to sitting seiza.  To clarify, I mean that I’ve gotten used to the feeling of my legs being asleep, rather than that they don’t fall asleep as quickly…I’ve also picked up some vocab, so I’m not quite as in-the-dark when someone explains the difference between different styles and materials or whatever else it may be.

Although I opted to join a club so that I could interact with people my age, rather than taking private lessons, a teacher also comes to the club for an hour or two every week, or nearly every week, so I get the best of both worlds.  With corrections and instruction from the teacher, I’m getting ready to write something for the calligraphy club’s December exhibit.  I’m still sort of hesitant about putting anything up for display because my writing look worse than an elementary school student’s, but such an opportunity doesn’t come often, so I figure I should just go for it.

In any case, joining the calligraphy club was a great decision.  Since the materials are fairly compact, I can continue practicing even when I return to America, which is the best part.  Although I may be starting something in Japan and must return home eventually, I can keep doing it for the rest of my life, all the while reflecting back on my time spent in Japan.

James Chiang: Doshisha Alpine Club

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KCJS Fall 2011

Community Involvement Project, Blog Entry 2

 

The photograph on my desktop “beneath” the empty white and mocking blue of the word processor shows Mount Fuji flanked in the foreground by the foothills of the Minami Alps.  I had gotten up at 4 in the morning, packed away my frozen tent, and stumbled sleepily to the summit of Kita Dake in time to take it just as the sun came up.  Looking at it helps me to escape, in some sense, the confines of my room when work pins me to my desk, although in terms of air temperature my room and the second highest peak of Japan at sunrise in late fall are not such different places (and I’m wearing the same cozy socks now as I was then).  This brings me closer to the point of this exposition: to reflect on my experiences in the Doshisha Alpine Club.  That trip was not, in fact, one of the club’s, but it may as well have been.  If Doshisha University’s fall break was aligned with that if my study abroad program, perhaps it could have been.

Every Thursday for the past ten weeks, I have commuted by train to practice rock climbing with two other members of the Doshisha Alpine club.  A number of factors have conspired to prevent me from participating as much as I might like to: the commute is long enough that I can’t really afford to go more than once a week, my Japanese doesn’t allow me to say simple but important things like “don’t put your weight on the rope yet or you’ll fall to your death, I haven’t finished the anchor” or to understand the same, and because I’m not a true Doshisha student I don’t have the insurance policy I need to participate in outdoor activities.  So I haven’t been attending the weekend alpine climbing training sessions that this club holds in place of the drinking sessions that I hear comprise the weekend itineraries of other clubs, nor will I go on their winter climbing expeditions next week.  Incidentally, that expedition doesn’t line up with my vacation time either, and miscommunications in 100km/hr ice-laced winds are bad enough even when everybody speaks the same language.

In spite of these obstacles and the condition of quasi-membership they impose, I’m going to miss the two people I rock climb with every Thursday, and I think to some extent they’ll miss me.  One might think that the fact that every Thursday we trust each other’s belay to prevent lethal (or paralyzing, or maiming…) falls has brought us together, but we exercised this trust without much thought from the very first day, and the first few sessions had a rather awkward and formal social character, so I don’t think this has much influence.  My relationship with the two other Thursday-afternoon-rock-climbing-practitioners has progressed in the same manner as an ordinary friendship, with common interests and shared activities doing battle with an exceptionally stiff language barrier.  I humbly assume all responsibility for communication failures while in Japan, but the other person’s speed has a tremendous influence and I can still hardly understand anything my climbing partner says.  It’s a testament to the strength of unspoken communication that we’ve come to understand something about each other’s character without ever really hearing any of each other’s ideas.

Is this alpine club here in Japan different from the one at Cornell?  Well, Cornell University is located a solid 6 hour plane ride away from anything I would call “alpine”, so we don’t have an alpine club in the true sense of the word, but we do have a university funded outdoor club that offers PE courses in everything from canoeing to ice climbing.  The more I think about their official structure and composition, the less I can justify drawing comparisons between the two institutions, but ultimately they both represent groups of people who spend time together outside.  The senpai-kohai relationships evident in the speech patterns of Japanese club members struck me at first as evidence of the presence of a hierarchy completely absent in the American club model.  Ultimately, beyond dictating which verb-forms are appropriate for whom, and fostering self-introductions that include what this American student finds to be an awkward and unnecessary mention of what year student what is, these relationships don’t seem to have too much influence.  So I suppose an alpine club is an alpine club, Japan or America (unless it isn’t).

I’ve gotten somewhere, or at least consumed some of that taunting white space.  Now I’ll press save, put away this awful blue, and go back to gazing at the sea of clouds to which Fuji is an island, a distant perfect lonely cone of rock.

 

Meg Beneville: Niko-Toma Volunteer Program

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

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

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

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

Rachelle Chouinard: Volunteering with Nico Toma at Kyodai Hospital

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

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

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

Andres Oliver: Calligraphy Circle

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My time in the shodou club has allowed me to truly appreciate the personal nature of a traditional Japanese art. Though technically a club, the shodou group acts more as a venue for anyone interested in practicing or learning about calligraphy to come and spend however much time he or she wants doing so. Thus, I have found my weekly visits to the shodou room to be moments of calm reflection. Because everyone is focused on their own calligraphy, the shodou room is usually fairly quiet. Practicing my calligraphy in such a setting allows me to forget about everything else and focus on the beauty of the characters themselves. Two things I have come to appreciate from this experience are both the beauty and the difficulty of writing kanji. I believe you cannot truly recognize Japanese writing as an art form until you see it through the lens of shodou, rather than as a mere tool for communication.

Zhuoxin Miao: Taiko Kamiwakakai

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My Community Involvement Project this semester is performing the Taiko with Kitanotenmangu Kamiwakakai. Because our group is affiliated with the Kitanotenmangu, the shrine for the god of knowledge in Japan, we are currently performing at Kitanotenmangu every Saturday evening.

When I was looking for CIP at the beginning of the semester, I wanted to join a circle that was fun, Japanese, and relaxed. Initially the mahjong circle caught my attention, but since it would have most of its activities on the other campus, about an hour away from where I am, I could not pursue that further. Then one of my friends came up with the name of the Taiko performing group; because I actually had played the Taiko once when I was in Kanazawa, I thought it was cool to continue it.

The first day of practice was intense. Because often there were people joining in the Kamiwakakai halfway, and not everyone would necessarily come to every practicing session due to other obligations, different levels of experience and skills were expected. As a result, although I did not know any of the pieces the group was playing at that time, I was asked to practice along with them, rather than letting me have a special training session on the side. It was better that way because by doing exactly what the senior members were doing, I felt that I could get used to my new group more easily.

Even though I do not necessarily know everyone’s name in Kamiwakakai, I really do feel that I am part of the group right now. When one of my friends was absent from a practice, people actually cared and would try to figure out the reason; despite the language barrier, people would try to find topics to talk with me; even people with whom I did not have a chance to talk to helped me when I needed something.  The Kamiwakakai is like an extended family, where I feel warm, safe, and happy.

Scott Parks: Kyoto Esperanto Association

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For an introductory blog post (in Japanese) about my CIP, click here.

"Saluton!" = "Hello!" = "こんにちは！"

Some of the primary goals of the CIP are to get exposure to Japanese culture, improve Japanese language skills, and be involved in a community of Japanese people outside of the internationally-minded perspective of the KCJS study abroad student context.  As a result, I was initially worried about the legitimacy of my CIP, participating in the Kyoto Esperanto Association, due to its seeming lack of adherence to these goals.  Speaking Esperanto specifically means I’m not speaking Japanese, and Esperantists from any country tend to be outside the mainstream cultural norms of their country, in this case Japan.

Nonetheless, in actuality I’ve found immense value in my CIP.  The Kyoto Esperanto Society is surprisingly active, and they have inspired me to continue my journey with the Esperanto movement.  In addition to meeting weekly at the Esperanto Kaikan to study, speak, and talk about Esperanto, I’ve also been taking advantage of unique opportunities that the group has provided me.

This month I traveled to Okayama prefecture for my first Esperanto conference, namely the Twelfth Annual Chugoku & Shikoku Esperanto Congress.  There I was able to meet many people, make new friends, and get a taste of what Esperanto looks like on a larger scale.  In fact, I was lucky enough to meet the organizer of next year’s International Youth Congress, an international gathering of Esperanto speaking youth that takes place every summer in a different country.  Next year’s congress is scheduled to take place in Nara, and my experience in Okayama has motivated me to find a way to attend next year’s congress.

On December 3rd, I will be giving a short speech as part of an event to celebrate the birth of Esperanto’s creator.  The event will be from 1:30pm-4:30pm in Ooyamazaki (大山崎町) and is open to the public.  My talk will be about how I came to be interested in Esperanto as an American who speaks English, largely considered to already have become an international language.  For more information, please view the event flyer (Japanese).

Adriana Reinecke: A Cappella

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The thing that struck me most about the entire C.I.P. initiative was, ironically, just how difficult it was to initiate. In fact, the one aspect of it that left the biggest impression on me was that it is exceedingly difficult to integrate oneself into the flow of normal Japanese university life as an exchange student residing in an entirely different flow.

My initial difficulty stemmed from the fact that I had to wait for the end of the Dōshisha University summer holiday before I received word from the circle that I had contacted – an a cappella circle called ONE VOICES based on the main Kyōtanabe campus. When I finally did manage to arrange a meeting, I quickly learned that speaking the same language does not guarantee mutual understanding. I misinterpreted the intended meeting time, and almost went home before both I and my contact realized our miscommunication and I turned around.

The second thing that surprised me was the group dynamic within the circle. My contact, who was in charge of member recruitment, immediately insisted I called her Yū-min – an extremely familiar nickname. I was even more surprised to observe that all of the club members I met or was introduced to also call her by her nickname, regardless of whether said member were her sempai or kohai. This dynamic is made more unusual by the break-down of the circle. The largest a cappella circle on campus, ONE VOICES consists of over 200 members organized into “bands” of 6, based on musical interest. This means that many members of the circle meet only on rare occasions for circle-wide events. Yū-min, as the coordinator, was familiar with almost everybody, however, interactions between members of different bands ranged from extremely informal to highly traditional, with rules of seniority being strictly observed. My general impression was that this complicated mixing of differing levels of formality between sub-groups and individuals is a far more truthful representation of group dynamics than the stark, hard-and-fast rules of propriety we are taught in class.

Another factor of this 6-member band structure was that, until five other members presented themselves (actually four, as there was another prospective member touring with me), I was unable to formally start taking part in club activities. This became the biggest obstacle for me and was ultimately why I had to shift what I had been using as my “supplementary C.I.P.” activities (with Kyōto University’s KIXS international circle) to be my main C.I.P., whereas my contact with the Dōshisha a cappella circle was relegated to the “supplementary” spot. I confess I was surprised at how strictly the members stuck to the “6 person rule.” I can’t speak for everyone, but in my experience, American university students might be more inclined to temporarily (or even permanently) allow the formation of a 7 member group, or come up with some other solution in such a case. That is not to say that one is better than the other – simply that they are different.

Were KCJS run on the Japanese academic calendar (which would be exceedingly difficult to reconcile with our lives and schedules back home), I personally think it would be easier to integrate into everyday university life. Despite the fact that in the end I was unable to really join the group due to logistical issues, I still feel like I learned a great deal from the contact I did have with its members, both in person and via text messaging. I was pleasantly surprised by the extremely warm welcome I received – by the end of the first day I had been given a nickname, invited to have dinner and to visit Yū-min at her part-time job, and even asked if I was half Japanese (which I found funny seeing as I’m very obviously Caucasian). I was struck by the level of casual friendliness and openness with which I was welcomed into the group, which as I understand is not a given. It was possibly the first time since coming to Japan that I truly did not feel my “foreignness,” mainly because they did not seem overly concerned by it. All in all, although it did not become my regular C.I.P., I found what contact I did have with the circle both educational and fun, for lack of a better word. I hope to keep in touch with the people I met there for the remainder of my stay in Japan.