I didn't mention in earlier posts (lackthereof) that I have been cheating. Yes, I have been seeing other blogs. Well, one other blog. But don't worry...it's not love. It's just momentary inspiration.
But in all seriousness, it's my personal Japan-blog. As much as I don't like to use the word "blog," it seems there is no other choice. I have written in said blog since October 2008 (on and off) and lately, it seems because I am happy!, I have had more things to say. When I am frustrated with work/stressed/emotionally conflicted, I find that blogging only makes me sound like a.) a horrible person b.) an exaggeration c.) woe is me. (insert "Woe is Me" clip from My Big Fat Greek Wedding)
Here are a few clips of what I have written regarding Japan:
"It's Officially Cold in Kumamoto"
"Today is the shocking day. The day that my little toes freeze when I brush my teeth in the bathroom, the day that I have to actually sleep with clothes on, the day that the frosty winds blow through Uki and students lips turns blue. Fall lasted for a whole of one week. I heard it’s snowing in Hokkaido already. And there is a typhoon headed here this weekend. Halloween weekend. Japan, oh island nation, inclement weather is just second nature to your oversized bugs.
I wrote a haiku on Sunday in my head. I wondered if my meaningless haikus could ever describe how beautiful my countryside is to Americans who have only seen scenes in movies.
Stretched cotton ball clouds // coat Kumamoto mountains // my diorama"
"White Bells and Norman"
I’m here working on a Saturday, but I have to admit, it’s quite a wonderful day. The kids are all preparing for the Culture Festival tomorrow and we have rehearsal in the morning, followed by cleaning and decorating in the afternoon.
One wonderful and curious aspect of teaching in Japan is that you come to find that your students do EVERYTHING. The captain of the baseball team is also in the bell-choir and directs the chorus and somehow works all the technical aspects of the show. The art students that make all the posters are also the lead actors in the school play and have a 5 minute presentation memorized. While Japanese education usually leads to a lot of bone-picking with me, their education is truly and often times wonderfully rounded to turn them into human beings (in the Japanese form) than into college-bound career professionals, like in American schools. These kids have so many extra curricular activities that I am always astounded at their breadth of skills. It’s fascinating to see it all come together in a festival. And I will say that I have an extreme and possibly borderline psychotic addiction to watching Japanese taiko-drum shows. It is hands down the coolest part of anything Japanese. The hapi-coats, the head bands, the chants, the teamwork, how cool the ending poses are. Even junior high school boys can look like real men when they taiko.
In any case, watching the rehearsals this morning brought me to an odd memory of mine that most people don’t know about. Most of my friends have a.) never heard of “Bell Choir” or b.) know that I was part of a so-called Bell Choir for a great majority of my life. I mean, who plays bells in this day and age? Not to mention, with a backing CHOIR of bells?
When I was old enough to stand up and hold bells, my mom put my sister and me in our church bell choir. I was 4 years old. We wore little white gloves and played at the end of the line of a long choir of other bell-players. Our teacher and fellow church-goer, Norman, is the most enthusiastic bell player/instructor (and maybe the only one) I have ever met. Anyway, I played in that bell choir until I was about 9 and my parents moved us to a closer church.
After I turned 16, Norman- the enthusiastic van-driving bell man that he is- ended up coming to the same church and we were reunited in bell love yet again. My church youth group throughout my life never exceeded about 5 people and we were a very, very close knit group of friends. We grew up together on Saturdays in ways that my friends from school never knew about. (I never really talked about my church experience with any of my friends, outside of church.) So, since Asians apparently love bells, we started up the bell choir yet again with Norman.
Here in Uki, it's windy and cold in a borderline winter way, and a "typhoon" is headed for us this weekend. (Although they've all been bluffing for three years straight. And by they I mean the Japanese Meteorolgy Society or whatnot) Midterm tests are approaching next week so I have had plenty of time to blog, contemplate the future of my "career," and officially start reading again. (No One Belongs Here More Than You: A Collection of Short Stories by Miranda July) Sidenotes: When I bought the book, I didn't know that she had grown up in Berkeley, nonetheless drops lines/streets from the East Bay, and hands down, I admire any writer that does that. Also, must mention my affinity for short story collections. Long live prose and the written word!We learned some ridiculously awesome songs in that bell choir. And sometimes, we absolutely BOMBED our performances. There were some performances where we performed for hundreds of Koreans and we couldn’t even tell what song we were playing because we got nervous and lost our place on the page and just started looking at Norman in mass confusion wondering what his flailing arms meant. Hahahah, but man, did we laugh our ASSES off after that. We once performed a song called “The Morning Has Broken” and at the very end of the song, there was 1 bell that rang out in a solo in an ending note. Our friend, Kevin, who was in charge of that, rang the wrong bell quite enthusiastically. We still laugh about it to this day. Because indeed, we BROKE the morning.
Oh bells. Who in the world plays bell choir? Apparently, it’s still quite popular in Japan as an elective music class. When I saw my students playing the bells, I couldn’t help but think what an odd childhood I have had. Little white gloves in the bell choir, Norman and his big van full of bells, and performing for old Korean church goers and at convalescent homes. There are so many things about my childhood that happened at church. And I have never once talked about those things with my “real friends” from high school or from college or whatever. But my youth group friends made up the weird Korean memories that I have, like playing football in the park on Saturday after potluck, or driving Kevin’s truck around the church parking lot when I was 13, or being forced to perform GHETTO SUPERSTAR and pretend to be Mya in front of a lot of old Korean people.
Bell Choir. It was a large chunk of my childhood and teenage life. I sort of miss it sometimes. Bells are probably a dying fashion and I hope that somewhere, out there in the big world, there is someone as enthusiastic as Norman that will lead a fearless group of bell ringers into the New Age. If you’ve never heard a bell choir play, it’s one of the most beautiful pairing of sounds and I highly encourage youtubing the crap out of it.
The end of my long-lost memories.
I also just decided that Blogger wins the battle. I have been having an internal conflict between the better of Blogger vs. Wordpress. And I just decided that Blogger wins (despite the annoyance of having to be logged into a Gmail account) because it allows you to single space, rather than the forced double of Wordpress. Yes, these things count. As well as robots. That was an extra 10 points right there.
It's Wednesday. That means half-day, shujee, and our cute sensei. Wednesdays are the new Fridays.
Japoakland love.
ps. for Erin Riley via my hussy blog. Apparently in my dreams, you are still Driving Miss Daisy!
Do you ever have dreams about people you’ve never met? And you get to know them in your dreams? Last night I was holding hands with a guy from some made-up band in the backseat of Erin Riley’s car whilst she was driving down Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. in Oakland. Then I got out when I realized he was in love with the girl in the band, walked down International (I would never do that in real life unless I wanted to be shot/raped/mugged/murdered) waited for the bus, saw beautiful sakura, and Japanese men on a picnic. In East Oakland. Erin, I don't know where you drove off, but I'm hoping it was far, far, far away from International/East Oakland.
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