Dustin and I originally planned to spend some time traveling to Shuzenji Temple and then end the day with a relaxing dip in an onsen (lit. “hot spring”). It is, after all, known to have an overabundance of onsens. Armed with a cartoon map of the area, our adventure was spent mostly deciphering the cute map of Shuzenji, walking to Shuzenji, stopping at shops and food stalls in Shuzenji, and then walking out of Shuzenji. We did not encounter any onsen that day.
We forgot the purpose of the trip and spent our time gorging. That to me, my friends, is a well day spent. Besides, it gives me another reason to go back and spend some time in Shuzenji.
The past few days has left me confused. Just when I thought that Japan and I have an understanding of its weather, it leaves confused, wondering, cold and alone, like a man with a passive-aggressive girlfriend. I had been attacked with its volatile incomprehensible rage:
Japan, why are you being like this? I thought you were more reasonable.
I’m not going to tell you; you should already know why I am like this. You should know.
May be I misunderstood you, Japan. When you said rainy season, I didn’t think a heavy deluge.
So, it’s my fault now?!
My love/hate relationship continues.
My preamble accumulates to this simple advice: Do not stand underneath the cherry blossom tree during this season.
I left school when the rain was a slight shower, not even a pitter-patter on the ground. It was almost misty, almost like a light grey shadow of air. My school is blessed with pink-white cherry blossom trees scattered around the school ground and there I was on the field when I was suddenly stuck with a tremendously stupid, yet brilliant inspiriation.
Normally, I would look at that scenery, muse a bit of its brilliance and then go on my merry way. However, being in a foreign country, my mind theatre is far more heightened in sensitivity with my heart and, well, everything on my sleeve that my emotional level has been reduced to that of a badly written teen-angst drama: I was on that field, looking towards the limping branches of cherry blossoms and thought how sad, yet beautiful the blossoms looked as they were lifted by the slight wind, kissed by the misty shower and gently floated to the ground like pink-white dancing snow. The Japanese call this sakura-fubuki (literally, “cherry blossom blizzard”) which poetically translates to “Cherry Blossoms Blowing Like Snow”.
I walked, as if entranced, under the trees and my arms outstretched as to be spirited away by a whirlwind of cherry blossoms. I took a deep breath … And that’s when a tree-full of cherry blossoms fell on me like an avalanche, smothering me into a human-shaped cherry blossom snowman. Like a cat thrown into water, I madly flailed my arms about and coughed out the clumps of wet petals that gravity shoved down my throat. I tried to brush the petals away from myself, but it was just an exercise in futility.
Hanami (lit. “flower viewing”) is the Japanese tradition of enjoying the few lustrous weeks of the cherry blossom before it falls in a billow of wind. Hanami is highly regarded because of the wab-sabi aesthetic of the cherry blossom: because the cherry blossom is imperfect in its quick decay, we must treasure its simplistic beauty while it lasts. For the Japanese, their idea of enjoying its natural beauty includes picnics under the tree, picture taking of the tree, karaoke amongst the trees, and drinking by the trees.
I personally have fun eating over-priced festival food – okonomiyaki, chocolate banana, fried chicken — and watching the intensity of the cameras people bring to these events.
I was lucky to stop by a couple shrines this week for hanami including Mishima Taisha Shrine in Mishima City. I actually went to Mishima twice, once with Hira-san and the second time with my ALT city-partners-in-crime, Emily and Aneeka. (Hira-san and Emily are featured in my video. Thank you!)
First Week: The Emperor and I
On Facebook, I already posted how I felt. Let me repost it here:
Ana Alcantara suddenly felt a calm wave as the children rushed towards her, calling out “Miss Ana! Miss Ana!” similar to that of Anna Leonowens’ experience in the King and I. I may or may not burst into song.
It’s not far from the truth. Even though I have three schools to teach, I will primarily be teaching in Ohito Junior High School where the girls are dressed in black, long skirted sailor suits and the boys wear the traditional Chinese-collared gakuran. So far, I haven’t taught a thing. May be that’s why it’s ridiculously fun right now.
Currently, my main responsibility is the creation of pink paper cherry blossoms. When I am not playing skip rope or dodge ball with the children, I am at my desk diligently making pink paper cherry blossoms. However, although I am responsible for creating an indefinite amount of these flowers I like to escape my duty (with the blessing of my coordinator and principal) to do random tasks around the school like helping other teachers during student health checks, sticking pink paper cherry blossoms on posters or walls, photocopying random worksheets, acting as assistant camera man to the many different school assemblies and ceremonies, playing skip rope, pretending to play skip rope, sticking pink paper cherry blossoms on students, and trading different items in school lunch with other students.
The girls are very curious about me so they ask me a variety of questions. Many do repeat themselves such as “Do you have a boyfriend?”, “What is your blood type?”, “How old are you?”, “Are you married?”, “Do you do the poo?”, etcetera. The boys like to play the game called, “Hello!” where one boy would stop me, quietly say “Hello!” and then would goad his nearby friend to do the same … but louder. This continues until I pass them by.
My friend, Kristine, who lived in Japan via The JET Program is astonished to why I have these movie-esque children. She wrote, “Any waves I felt were ones of nausea, as my demon-children ran helter-skelter, baring their fangs and proceeding to chew my worksheets into confetti. ” Right now, I don’t know if it’s just the afterglow of the first week, but I hope it does not diminish any time soon.
I recently did two experiments: I experimented in meshing more sound effects and background music with a voice over; I also did some experimental yakisoba. What better way to spend a night than to play around with cinematography and with food? I know I did so I glued it together into one blob of a video.
The beginning features the voice over experiment which was done in the style of the character Nakatsu from the comedic drama Hanazakari no Kimitachi e. I love the soundtrack to this drama and have borrowed much of my music for my work from it. The second part is just watching me cook yakisoba in my teeny tiny kitchen. The video also allows you to have a quick peek at my apartment before I do the apartment video.
I am more or less becoming settled here in my new rural town of Izunokuni. (If you haven’t heard of it, don’t worry. No one else outside of Japan has heard of this town.) Interac has kindly paired me up with a cute Japanese and English speaking woman, Hira-san, who has to accompany me for a week, ensuring that my transition to Japanese life is going smoothly.
On this particular day we had some time to kill and spontaneously found a free foot spa/bath somewhere in the boonies. What was a serene moment was turned into a farce by yours truly. It is a gift, I tell you, a gift.
Computer says, “No”
I had a Little Britain moment, particularly like this one. My week of orientation with the combination of helpful translated documents about Japanese applications has led me to naively believe that happy thoughts and pixie dust will make the whole account setup a breeze and I’ll fly away, quick as a wink, to continue on with the rest of my life.
Foolish, foolish mortal.
What should have taken, at most, 45 minutes took about 2 hours. Between me, the bank clerk, and Hira-san (bless her!), the bank clerk tried his best to translate himself and was under the mistaken idea that I had to fill out another form besides the one I knew I had to do.
Ana/Hira: Are you sure?
Clerk: Computer says No.
Ana/Hira: So I have to fill this out?
Clerk: Yes.
Ana/Hira: But I shouldn’t have to; this does not make sense.
Clerk: Computer says No.
Of course, the form being an official document and me, wary of anything that needs my signature, took the time to understand the damn thing inside and out.
After I had filled the silly thing out, the bank clerk was on the phone for about 20 minutes talking to his superiors. A couple sheepish edgewise looks my way, I knew that he understood he had wasted my time. He apologized profusely to both Hira-san and me, presented me with a post box shaped bell chime and some plastic onigiri containers, then gave me my new bank book.
I find your method of sex education much more entertaining than North American standards. Please forward all cautionary pop songs related to teen pregnancy to both Canada and America. I think we can benefit by happily singing societal expectations and presumptions about the average pre-teen and their sexual curiosity repeatedly.
A fan and Canadian Ambassador,
Ana
I really cannot emphasize the ridiculousness of the song, “Don’t Make Me Take Off My Sailor Uniform”. It originally debuted on 1985 by the all female pop group Onyanko Club (or literally “The Kitten Club”). This is their debut song and their debut album contains such gem titles like “Otto Chikan!” (literally, “Oh no! A Pervert!”), “Oyoshi ni Natte TEACHER” (literally, “Oh Behave, Teacher”) and, my favorite, “TEDDY BEAR no Goro: Shoujo no Kaori” (literally, “Teddy Bear Time: The Scent of a Young Girl”).
It was this girly idol group that inspired another generation of silly girl idols like Morning Musume who foolishly did a cover of the aforementioned song.
This strengthens my love/hate relationship with Morning Musume. On one hand, they’re really dumb and songs like this just makes me die a little inside; however, it’s because of this stupidity that I can make fun of them. My disgust for them is on par with my sadistic tendancies; such is my life.
Here are the lyrics of the clip (in romaji since I cannot post kanji on my blog for whatever reason):
SAILOR fuku wo nugasanaide
ima wa dame yo gamannasatte
SAILOR fuku wo nugasanaide
iya yo dame yo konna tokorojya
onna no ko wa itsudemo
MI-MI-DO-SHIMA
obenkyoushiteruyo AH- mainichi
tomodachi yori hayaku
ecchi wo shitai kedo
KISS kara saki ni susumenai
okubyousugiruno
shuukanshi mitai na
ecchi wo shitai kedo
subete wo ageteshimauno wa
mottai naikara … agenai!
Loosely and lazily translated:
Please don’t make me take off my sailor uniform.
Not now. Be patient.
Please don’t make me take off my sailor uniform.
I don’t want to. I can’t. Not in a place like this.
Most girls, at any time,
receive second-hand sexual information.
It’s studied, like, everyday.
I know you want to
fool around much earlier compared to your friends.
It’s very intimidating
not to advance beyond a kiss. (This part I’m a bit wary on.)
I know you want to
fool around just like the weekly magazines.
But just giving it all up
is a waste. I won’t give it up. ( I added just as a lazy colloquialism to emphasize the regret in the expression “~shiteshimasu”)
(Yes, I do believe they are implying their virginity.)
I am not good with maps. Ask any of my friends how I fare with a typical FPS and they’d laugh; it’s not that I’m not good with aim nor is it that I am not good with reaction. My Achilles’ heel is my inability to read a map: I would stupidly meander myself into an enemy or into enemy territory despite the little red dots blinking furiously on my radar map. (The only exception to this are the HALO level maps “Blood Gulch” and “Beaver Creek”.)
My usual method of familiarizing myself with my surrounds is to get lost and to ask for directions. (When this happens I like to tell myself that this forces me to speak Japanese and getting lost is just a great example of studying Japanese.) When I decided to take a small trip to Hamamatsu Castle, I was not surprised that I got lost on the way. The evidence of my foolishness:
For those who don’t understand the acronym, it stands for “So You Think You Can Dance”, a popular reality television show and competition that pits dancers from a localized area for a chance to win a grand prize – varies from season to season, but as varied from $100 000 cash prize, cars, and even a dance position in Celine Dion’s Vegas show – by showcasing their versatility in different styles of dance.
I am a fan. I am particularly fond of all the hip-hop, like this or this. Hip hop and its other variations, like lyrical hip hop, is gritty and cool. Awesome.
When I arrived from Nagoya to the small bustling city of Hamamatsu, I overheard loud cheery music. “Oh, they knew I was coming!” was my first thought, excited at the idea of my own entourage. But vanity aside, I stepped out into the city from the train station and was hailed by a confetti of colour, patterns, noise makers and cheers.
I stepped into a yosakoi dance competition.
What is yosakoi? Watch and find out:
On another note, one of my favorite comics (whose author I am six degrees away from separation from), Scott Pilgrim, is coming out as a movie starring Michael Cera. I am happy.
For I never dreamt that you’d be loving sentimental me
- In a Sentimental Mood, Duke Ellington
Although this song is sung with a lover in mind, I cannot help but be in a sentimental mood as I listen to the tap-tap-tap of the rain against my hotel window. I look out into the obsidian city below — black glistening shapes from the soft shower of rain reflecting the neon lights — between a crack in the curtain fabric and the window pane, thinking to myself how lucky I am to be loved.
I spent the last few days organizing the final film clips I took of Canada, reminiscing the fun times I spent with my nearest and dearest to my heart. I did consider for a while whether or not I should make a farewell video. I am, after all, in Japan; I’m supposed to be writing about Japan. In theory, the entries of my trip should be in a nice little chronological order: The Plane Ride, Transfers between Vancouver-Seoul-Nagoya, and Hamamatsu Castle, but I have a feeling that a major digression is on its way.
This particular digression is not without a reason. I felt I needed to show my appreciation towards my dear friends for all the support and love they have given me these past years; for putting up with my ridiculousness, I applaud you. I rarely care to be this openly affectionate in public; if this makes you feel uncomfortable, watch the following clip:
I personally love Nicolas Cage punching a woman whilst wearing a bear suit.
For those who are interested, the following Omake video is 8 minutes long and full of love:
“I would like to imagine what Ana would do in Japan with her two huge luggage bags,” said Forrest.
“Yeah, but I’d also like to think of the poor small Japanese man who has to help her,” said Marc.
My friends will make fun of me after this post.
I packed two monstrosities that were both over-sized and overweight. When I hauled the two of them at the Air Canada check-in counter, a kind portly Air Canada clerk in the name of Bob looked on as I stacked one of of the bags on the scale. He looked at me, looked at the bags, then looked at me again and finally rested his sights on the screen.
“So with both of those luggages, you’re about 70lbs over. You would need to empty out the extra weight,” he took out a form and pointed to the side of open space and weight scales. He handed me some clear plastic bags. “Take these and put the extras in here. I would double up the bags too for extra measure. Also, if you use another set of bags, I would have to charge you for those.”
Damn.
I emptied out my luggage of the heaviest items first, my books, and then proceeded to empty out the luggage in random. Onlookers were amused as I haphazardly threw underwear, shoes, and random odds and ends into the plastic bags. Bob chuckled as he watched me inbetween helping other passengers as I would put the luggage on the scale and gasp in exclaimation when the weight was still too much.
“You’re a pretty good packer if you managed to pack it all in only two bags, “he said. “Why do you need all those?”
“I’m, er …” I picked up the clear plastic bag, hefted it on my shoulders and tried to carefully take the lopsided thing on the scale. THUD! “Er, ah. I’m moving to Japan.”
“Oh! Japan! That’s exciting.”
“Er, yes. Dammit – still 15 lbs to go on this one.” My cellphone buzzed. A text message from … Forrest?
From: Forrest
Get any hilarious look at the luggage checkin?
9:07A Fri Mar 19
From: Ana
Yes. Also, have to repack with extra plastic bags.
9:10A Fri Mar 19
From: Forrest
Just beat the air canada staff to death with your luggage!
9:15A Fri Mar 19
I smiled, noticing that Bob was looking interested at my repacking progress. “You know, ” I said. “if you consider the fact that I’m moving to Japan, my life condensed into 170 lbs is not a whole lot of things.”
Two 50lb luggage, one 70lb over-sized luggage, and $225 CDN later I was Japan bound.
Or so I thought.
I was stopped at the security screening. It wasn’t anything serious. I had to place all three of my lip glosses into plastic baggies. Even though that was the cause of the search, the security still had to look through everything as per protocol. The security officer was amused as she pulled out all my MAC make-up, my little Hello Kitty nail clipper, my Nokomis laptop bag with a print screen of an old-fashioned typewriter, my Pupa make-up kit, my PS3 games and random Japanese language books. She and her cohort chuckled at the various items, occasionally pointing out something they thought was especially interesting like God of War 3 and my copy of French Girls Don’t Get Fat. “You are quite the girl,” She said to me. I am glad that my belongings are amusing for officials.
No more dilemmas right? Wrong.
Once I arrived in Japan, I decided to use their luggage delivery service to have my 170 lbs of life weight brought to the hotel, so then I don’t have to haul it on the trains. After paying 5690¥ (approx. $60CDN) to a kind Japanese man, he struggled with all three bags – I contemplated in video taping it, but thought the better of it — and wished me well. In retrospect I realized I could have saved 1890¥ by taking the time and repacking it all into the two original luggage but after a 10+ hour flight I was ready to crash into my room and sleep. Of course, not before posting this.
Oh, did I mention that my ineffectual arms are being toned by my 20lb carry-on and my 10lb purse during this whole ordeal?
