Where The Streets Have No Name

In trying to sum up the last few weeks, I’m reminded of something Ian, my Prefectural Advisor, recently said in a discussion on culture shock. Some JETs were discussing what stage of culture shock they were in (1st stage: honeymoon stage, when everything is new and wonderful, which should last about 2-6 weeks. Or 2nd stage: culture fatigue, when everything is strange and frustrating, which should last 1-5 months. Or 3rd stage, acclimation, when the place starts to feel like home, which should last a while). Ian responded to the new JETs “I never did understand those different stages and timeframes of culture shock. For me I feel like I’m in a different stage every minute!”
That’s what it’s been like recently. Life itself is up and down by nature, but living abroad somehow intensifies everything. I’m going to try to express that feeling while sharing some recent experiences, all the while experimentally attempting an experiential interpretation of the lyrics of “Where the Streets Have No Name,” by U2, which has been going through my head for weeks. (song lyrics in bold)
P.S. I tried to make this letter concise, and I think it is worth reading, but it’s gotten quite long from all the different experiences recently, so I suggest that you read this in installments, not all at once. :-)

Where the Streets Have No Name
by U2

It’s crazy how conflicted one human being can be sometimes. On one side I must admit I’ve been lonelier than I’ve been for years. Until the last few days I haven’t met anyone in my village who speaks more than a few words of English, which has reminded me just how much of a social creature I really am. Many JETs tell stories about being suddenly flooded with invitations, gifts, and greeting from friendly neighbors, but that hasn’t been the case for me. After nearly a month of down time (which I never handle well after the first few days), I was ready to DO something, without having much to actually do.
This was enhanced by the most serious injury I’ve experienced in 6 years, a pretty dramatic spraining of my ankle. (Just a note for you, if you’re ever taking a jog at night on a dimly lit street in the Japanese countryside, remember that curbs drop away on BOTH sides, not just the street side). The short story is that I was basically immobile (except for going to work and sitting at a desk) for about 3 weeks. Those of you who have survived months in a hospital bed, you have my utmost admiration. I almost dropped into depression just because of the desire to get out and RUN after a single week. The mountains were calling me, JAPAN was calling me, and I was sitting in my house feeling isolated and lifeless.
The other side is that I found myself almost unwilling to accept escape from my isolation when opportunities arose. There is a special kind of humiliation reserved for people who should be able to communicate in the native language, but cannot. Especially when your appearance prevents being inconspicuous, it’s like walking around in your underwear. A kind stranger says something to you that his three-year-old child understands, and all you can do is smile sheepishly. You WANT to understand, and probably should, but it’s just not in you. After years of these experiences I’m able to confidently “walk around in my underwear” (proverbially speaking! PLEASE people!), but it takes a great amount of energy, and frankly, it is much easier to just avoid it.
So when I finally started getting invitations, or saw that someone was about to talk to me, or I had another opportunity to break my painful isolation, I became conscious of a strong voice inside me that screamed “HIDE! Maybe you’re unhappy and alone in your house, but it’s easier than risking your dignity, sanity, and everything out here! HIDE.” And often I’ve really wanted to. Sometimes I have.
The desire to leap into life and the desire to hide and be safe are complete opposites, and their battle continues inside me.
At least on the physical side, I tried running today and kept going for 4.5 km, so my ankle is healed.
(P.S. Added a few days later: my ankle has been sore again ever since that run, so we’re not healed yet).

I wanna run
I want to hide

One battle that I’ve lost to the voice that tells me to hide is the attempt to meet my neighbors. The recommendation is that once you get settled in your neighborhood you should go out and introduce yourself to the neighbors door to door. I had every intention of doing this, and even prepared omiyage for them (small gifts you bring to new coworkers, bosses, neighbors, etc. Japan is a major gift-giving culture. I’m sure I’ll make more mention about this in the future). Every afternoon when I came home from work I told myself “okay, today you’re going to go door to door and introduce yourself! You’ve silently invaded this community for long enough without explaining yourself!” But the fact is, I’m pretty timid about these things. What if I’m bothering them? What if I make a serious etiquette error and they decide I’m rude? What if I embarrass them? And you know, the truth is I wouldn’t be able to communicate with them, wouldn’t remember their names (and maybe not even their faces, which could be embarrassing in the future!), and anyway they’ve probably all guessed who I am and what I’m doing here (my house has accommodated the rotating resident foreigner for 6 years now). The final straw was when I met several people while on walks. They seemed fine with making small talk about their dog, the weather, their house (don’t overestimate my Japanese, I can do little more than spit out a word and point), but as soon as I changed the subject towards introducing myself there was always a sudden change of atmosphere. They always seemed a little put-off, maybe by how direct I was by talking about myself. In any case, I just got the feeling that the locals weren’t that interested, and I didn’t have the language ability to change their minds.
Of course these are all excuses. Going to meet your neighbors with a gift is what one DOES in this culture, and I’ve probably been labeled as rude because of my fear of being labeled rude. But as intimidated days turned into guilty weeks, I decided that I was dragging myself down too much with this task, and decided to let it go.
I’ve always tried to see myself as someone who doesn’t let embarrassment or language-barriers slow him down. After all, we all smile in the same language, right? However, the truth is that there are still a lot of walls that keep me inside myself, that keep me from being free, and I have a lot of work in front of me to tear them down. And I’m starting to accept that we might all smile in the same language, but that’s one of the very few things we do in the same language.

I wanna tear down the walls
That hold me inside

In this environment, a lot of things can make a fool out of you. You start going a little crazy for things you never though you’d rely on so heavily.
First of all I should also mention that I haven’t seen another person my age in my village. Between 15 (Jr. High school student) and 35, there doesn’t seem to be anyone here. This reflects a major social problem in Japan, that all the young people (and I do mean ALL) go to the city. Looking around, I don’t know how agriculture is going to survive another generation in this country.
Second, Japanese people don’t make physical contact very often. They don’t shake hands, they don’t hug. A European greeting of a kiss on the cheek would probably make a Japanese person’s head explode from embarrassment. Going 2-3 weeks without touching a single other person is a surprisingly difficult thing for me. I didn’t realize how difficult until my Japanese supervisor (Takayo, a wonderful and capable woman who can barely communicate in English) took me into the city for some shopping. At the cash register, of course the cashier would be a beautiful 20-something girl with a stunning smile. This is often the case here. I mean, I’m ALREADY going to make a fool of myself in this transaction, do they HAVE to make it that much harder to concentrate? However, most of these girls are professional but indifferent; they take your money in a little tray, put the change on the tray and hand it back to you, all the while respectfully keeping their eyes lowered. But THIS girl looked me right in eyes, HELD eye-contact (just NOT done here!) and then, (get this!) with one hand she put the coins firmly into my hand, and with her other hand supported my hand from underneath, paused a full second while holding my hand between hers, and at that exact moment gave me a sunny smile.
If I hadn’t been so sand-bagged by the existential weight and intensity of my reaction to this split-second exchange, I would have kissed her right there. Or at least asked when she was getting off work, or something... But I couldn’t, I was just too consumed by how moved I was by this simple action, and rather than just smiling back I went into auto-pilot and drifted out to the car.

I wanna reach out
And touch the flame

There are actually many places in Japan where the streets really have no names. Things work on a different system, more of a numbered block system, from what I understand. A city will be divided into numbered districts, those districts into numbered sections, those sections into numbered blocks, and then numbered buildings. Easy enough, except that the numbers usually aren’t in any order. You have to search around until you find the block you’re looking for, then look around some more before the building shows itself.
However, even where there are street names, they’re written in characters that I can’t begin to turn into sounds, interpret, or remember (except in the biggest tourist cities where the names are also written in the Latin alphabet).
Surprisingly, I haven’t gotten lost very often, either walking about my area (though that one time was pretty bad...), or traveling to other cities. I’m not sure why, but the transportation system makes sense to me, and I haven’t had any serious trouble with it (except that the last train which goes to my home leaves before 11:00 pm, and I’ve already missed it once. Fortunately I have JET friends who live in the town where the end station is, so I stayed with them). Considering that I’m in a place where I can’t even pronounce, read, or write where I’m going half the time, it’s been remarkably easy to get around. Oh, but EXPENSIVE! An hour and 20 minute train trip into Kyoto city costs more than $10 one way. It also costs me $6.80 to get to the nearest grocery store by train. One more reason I’m planning to get a car next month. THEN we’ll see how I do with navigation, in this place where the streets have no name!

Where the streets have no name

The first time that I’ve started to feel a part of the community around me was this past weekend, when I was invited to join a children’s club on a kayaking trip. No hesitation from me! There were about 70 elementary and jr. high students, parents, guides, and one towering foreigner. Many people were going on kayaks for the first time, and some kids as young as 6 were in their own boat. As you can imagine, it was barely controlled chaos, and it was a blast. The kids were so interested in this pale giant looming over them, and many of them waved and shouted “hello!” every time we passed on the river, which was often. I got to play with the kids, exchange words in our languages, and make myself useful to the adults by lugging countless kayaks and canoes up the hill to the pick-up point at the end of the trip (which elicited countless “sumimasen”s (sorry to trouble you!) and “arigato gozaimasu!”s (thank you very much!). I even met two adults who are fairly conversational in English! I felt the sun starting to come out on my life in Japan.
Trouble is, maybe I got a little TOO much “sun on my face.” I wasn’t able to get anywhere to buy sunscreen or a hat before the trip, so I fried. It actually hasn’t been very painful, but with my shirt off I look like a tomato with arms wearing a white t-shirt. So “ha...ha...ha” to that!

Ha...ha...ha...
I want to feel
Sunlight on my face

I work with two Japanese English teachers in the Jr. High school. Their names are Marouka-sensei and Ikeda-sensei. Marouka-sensei speaks comfortable English and we’re able to communicate pretty easily, which is a good thing because she’s the one who prepares my schedule and explains everything to me. We got along from the start. Ikeda-sensei I only met in passing for the first couple days, and not only did he seem reluctant to speak to me, but when I did asked him a few questions he was unable to understand me. I began to see myself in one of those JET horror stories, when a foreigner is paired with a Japanese teacher who doesn’t want the foreigner around, and (or because) despite being an English teacher they can’t speak English (yes, it does happen, and more often than I like to think about). I began to accept this situation, though I knew I’d have to corner him and try to work out what my role would be in his classes (though judging from the stories, I guessed my role would be “walking dictionary,” and that’s all). This could be a pretty uncomfortable year.
That was until at the end of the second day, when I went out to the empty balcony of the teacher’s room (where the teachers smoke during breaks), and Ikeda-sensei came out after me. He began to apologize for not talking to me sooner, but it is because his English is not good (indeed, his spoken English is very slow and often grammatically awkward, but is understandable, and probably not quite as bad as he thinks).
Apparently the other teachers tease him quite a bit about being an English teacher who can’t speak English, and he was waiting for a chance to talk with me when the other teachers wouldn’t hear him struggling to communicate. My heart went out to him, as it was immediately clear that he is never at ease at work, and even the students don’t respect him (I don’t think the students realize that his English is weak, but he’s not self-confident enough to command their respect). I did what I could to make him more confident, sympathizing through my long-time difficulty with Czech, and explaining my English-teaching experience to say that I am here to help him however he wants. He was so grateful, for a moment I thought he was going to hug me.
Since then we’ve made a habit of meeting out on the balcony to talk about classes, students, and our lives outside class. Yesterday he spent almost 2 hours with me drilling me in hiragana (one of the Japanese alphabets), and helping me translate my speech for my welcome party into Japanese. I have a feeling that I’ll get to know him much better than anyone else in school. My dread of the coming year working with a teacher that doesn’t want me and can’t communicate with me all vanished in a matter of seconds.

I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace

My village has a train that comes through once an hour. It’s a single-car, single-rail train (trains have to wait for oncoming trains to pass each other at the stations), but I am grateful to have even this. Some JETs are in even more remote villages without trains or busses. Though most people have cars, the train is the lifeline of people who do not (myself and the Jr. High students, for example).
Monday started with clear skies, but in the afternoon a storm suddenly blew in out of nowhere, and started DUMPING water on us. The rain flowing off the roof was almost a sheet or water, and it was so heavy that I couldn’t imagine it lasting for more than a few minutes. It lasted an hour and a half. About half way through we were all called to the teacher’s room, where we were informed that the trains had stopped running, and the students would need to travel home soon.
Once a new route was planned for the busses and teachers with large cars, I asked Marouka-sensei if this happens often (it seemed like a pretty major deal to me. I mean, if the trains stop, I’m not going ANYWHERE. There’s not a store, post-office, or hospital within walking distance (and you know MY walking distance)). Marouka-sensei calmly said “oh yes, it happens often.” To my surprised expression the principle looked over and grinned. “Country school” he said.

I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Ho...ha...

The first time I met the students of the Jr. High school, the students I’d share a building with for 8 hours a day for the next year, was at the collective gathering at the opening ceremony. All 103 students and 16 teachers would be together there (country school), and I was to make a speech introducing myself. The conventional JET wisdom was to make it as painless as possible “Hello, my name is Caleb. I’m from America and I’ll be helping you learn English this year. Thank you.” Of course, “painless as possible” not my style.
I wanted to do something to make the students comfortable with me. I realized that I must be rather intimidating to these 5 foot, 13 year old kids who are terrified of making mistakes in English, and I wanted them to know that I’m fun-loving, friendly, and (relatively) safe (in a crazy way).
And so on the morning of my first day, wearing a nice black suit and trying to look confident and unconcerned, I was led into the school gym where 103 students in school uniforms were sitting in nice rows on the floor, facing the stage. After a few monotone speeches from the principle and vice principle, I was called to the front.
I started by introducing myself with a few sentences in Japanese. Then I assumed a very stern face and in English (with translation) told them “There are three things that are very important to know about me. Number one, when I teach English I am a very serious and strict teacher.” Then I let silence fall. At this point it was important that they start feeling uncomfortable. I wanted the tension in the room to be palpable. My next task was to shatter the tension, and it was essential that there be relieved and loud laughter, thus making it clear that my “number one point” was understood as a joke and the opposite was true. So after letting my serious words settle for a second, I reached into the bag at my feet, whipped out a pair of giant bright pink bunny ears, and snapped them onto my head.
Silence.
Real silence. I saw the eyes of a few students widen in disbelief, but absolutely no sound of laughter. Ouch. But there was nothing to do but charge ahead.
“Number two, I like penguins!” And I pulled out my stuffed pink penguin from the bag and held it aloft. Silence.
“Number three, I don’t like the color pink.” At which point I pull out a regular black and white penguin. Silence.
I then took off the bunny ears and told them that I want to help them learn about English and the world, etc... “because English and the world are two things that can be very...” and here I throw the bunny ears back on, which provokes (oh thank God!) scattered but audible giggles, and even my translator lets a snort escape, “..fun! Really!” I then escaped as fast as I could, and spent the rest of the ceremony standing on the sideline (literally!), wondering how much damage I’d done.
Thankfully several teachers (including the principle) said to me afterwards that it was “good speech” or “you make good joke!” So at least I know I didn’t trample on some Japanese taboos about the solemnity of such ceremonies. And the students have seemed more comfortable with me than I expected, which might be a result.
I begin to realize how much we depend on our experience of how people behave, and without that (relatively) safe ground of assumption we’re somewhat adrift at sea until we manage to find our bearings again. The fact is that my growing understanding of how people will react in a specific situation, how they will perceive themselves and me, and how they see the world, has all been cut loose until I find its relevance. It’s important to remember that these past experiences with other cultures are not useless and irrelevant, it’s just relevant in a way I’ve never experienced and must discover. But until I do discover it, my paths through my budding Japanese relationships really are without signposts.

Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name

These days I’m often reminded of something my literature professor and mentor Jaime O’Neill said in class one day. I’m not sure if it was a quote or original, but it stuck with me: “Life is not one damn thing after another. It’s the same damn thing over and over.”
I’ve restarted my life 4 times now, pulling up roots, routine, habits, work, and relationships, and moving to a different country (or BACK to a different country, as the case may be). Every time I look forward to the opportunity to start fresh, to build up a new life on the proper cornerstones, with edifying habits and routines, and stop running after flitting desires or profitless pastimes.
And every time I immediately fall into the same laziness, time-wasting habits, and undisciplined lifestyle. It shouldn’t be surprising anymore, but nevertheless it’s always a shock to realize that “wherever you go, there you are.” I think a lot of people who haven’t lived abroad have the idea that they could leave all the problems and frustrations of their old life and start a new life that would allow them to be at peace and harmony with the world. It’s a shock for most of us to really be confronted by the fact that most of our problems aren’t external; we carry them with us like a snail and his shell.
I’m actually living alone for the first time in a while, since in the past few years I at least had a flat-mate or room-mate. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the difficulties of living with other people, in terms of friendship, marriage, cities, society, etc, and I’ve put a lot of effort into being “self-sufficient”, whatever that actually means. But I’m learning that the most difficult person to live with is myself.
This reminds me of something else said to me by the advisor Ian. We were in a conference room and I needed to throw away a plastic wrapper. There were several garbage cans in the back of the room, one marked “burnable” (paper and cardboard), one “cans” (aluminum), and one “PET” (plastic bottles). Yes, everything you’ve heard about the Japanese obsession with sorting their trash into numberless categories is true. But there was no “non-burnable” trash can (plastics). So being the culturally sensitive person that I am I asked Ian what I should do with my wrapper since there was only a “burnable” bin. Without hesitation he looked at me and said “You know, it all burns.”
Truer words have never been spoken.

We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love

“It all burns.” As satisfied as I am with my life (in the big picture, at least), and as excited as I am by the experiences I plan to have in the wonderful wide world, I still can’t avoid a growing understanding that all this doesn’t last, and on so many levels. I spent the better part of 5 years clawing and scratching my way through the brick wall of the Czech language, after two months away I can already feel it slipping steadily away. After 15 years of trying to make myself more patient and tolerant, I find myself more prone than ever before to finding someone’s company undesirable for no good reason. After 26 years of being human, I feel farther from the kind of human I want to be than ever before. My relentless (attempted) accumulation of stuff and money gets me nowhere, and as for knowledge and character, I feel hunted by Socrates’ words, “the more I know, the more I see that I know nothing.” Maybe this is all just as well, because as someone else said “you can’t take it with you.”
People sometimes think that my zest for life comes from some joy or enthusiasm in THIS life, but the truth is far more ironic. It’s my hope of heaven and anticipation of that place which gives me joy, and these days I find myself looking forward to heaven more and more, just as this world gets more and more interesting. Heaven is a place that needs no street names, no maps, no explanations. It’s just home, in a way no temporary earthly dwelling can be. As for this world, there is an astonishing number of things to see and do, to laugh and cry over, to gain and to give, and I’m in no hurry to end my exploration. But in the end, it all burns, and the only final and untainted thing I have the power to do is to go “where the streets have no name.”

And when I go thereI go there with you
It's all I can do

One of the best experiences I’ve had in Japan so far was going with a few JET friends to Nara, the ancient capital of Japan. For details about the gorgeous temples, the quiet and spiritual atmosphere, the dancing festival, and getting attacked by the herds of deer that freely roam the place, you can check out my pictures and videos on facebook and youtube.
The most memorable part of the trip for me started when we walked around a corner and saw a long line of young girls dressed in beautiful white Japanese costumes. We all whipped out our cameras and (since Japanese people can smell a camera from across a football field!) the girls looked at us. At first we tried to photograph them covertly, but when they realized what we were doing several of them turned and smiled while giving the “V” sign (which is equivelant of a wave/thumbs up/peace sign/hang-loose sign for an American being photographed, so you see it a LOT!). So we took the invitation and, throwing broad grins back, took a bunch of pictures of them.
Later in the day we discovered a massive dance festival in the park, of which these girls were one of the performing teams. Between their practices we again exchanged waves, “V” signs, smiles, and more pictures. From this point on they became known as “our girls” for the rest of the day, because we kept running into them and every time they and we would break into grins.
Finally we went to see their dance, which was absolutely incredible. I still get chills thinking about it, and it was clear that they were far and away the best performance we saw that day. We were very proud of them, and afterwards told them how awesome their dance was. We kept bumping into small groups of them throughout the day, and every time I’d see one of them out of the corner of my eye (usually as she was standing somewhere trying to catch our eyes and then would wave frantically and happily and then run off) was a small thrill for me, maybe because it was so cool to actually be able to build a “friendship” with absolutely no common language, maybe because I was proud to be known by the best dancers in Nara, or maybe because I was just struggling with the difficulty of getting Japanese people to interact with a “foreigner” and was so pleased to find a group of people who were as excited to smile and wave at a completely stranger as I was happy to smile and wave back.
One of the lines that is spit out ad naseum in JET conferences is “grassroots internationalization.” We laugh at this catch-phrase, but this was my first experience with what that can actually mean. Near the end of the day it started to rain, then to pour, then to dump down water with a heavy wind. The dancing went on, but we couldn’t take it anymore, and had to leave. I realized I would never see any of those girls again. But I know I’ll remember them for a good long while, and maybe, just maybe, some of them will be even less shy with the next foreigners they meet, and will find further and better chances to learn about the world outside Japan, to know the people outside their community, and will one day be able to count themselves as members of the human race above and beyond all national, racial, and linguistic boarders. I hate to sound like a poster, but I really believe this: Just existing in Japan as a foreigner made it possible to breaking down cultural barriers, and nothing more than a smile sparked that potential.

The city's aflood
And our love turns to rust

I’m so out of my league here sometimes. By comparison, imagine meeting a foreigner in your own country who can’t say more than “hello” and “my name is”, who can’t throw a baseball (or kick a soccer ball) better than a grasshopper, who never really knows what he’s ordering at a restaurant, even when you translate it into his own language, and who even struggles to use a fork! That’s me to the Japanese people.
I spend several afternoons a week getting clobbered, and I mean absolutely humiliated, by 13 year olds playing table tennis. I’m hesitant to go to a restaurant alone, because I can’t read the menu, don’t really know what the food is even when there’s an English menu, and even when I recognize the English words I often have no idea what it’s going to taste like until I put it in my mouth. Could be sweet, could be salty, or maybe fiery spicy, we’ll see! Before coming to Japan I’d had that experience only a handful of times, now it happens at every meal out!
But of course the most humbling is the language. I’ve had a pitifully low level of motivation to study, which I allowed for the first couple weeks but now it’s getting out of hand.
Last week I needed to go to the post office to send a letter and get stamps. I carefully went over and over the phrase “I’d like to send a letter”: “tegami o okuritai no desu ga.” Which isn’t that hard, is it? So feeling confident I rode to the post office, walked in, looked across the desk at the post office official, and froze. No particular reason, the words just suddenly evaporated from my mind like international investment banks from the US market. At that moment I don’t think I even could have reverted to English or Czech, even if it’d been an option. And it wasn’t. She didn’t know the English word for “letter.” I don’t then she knew the English word for “English”!
So there I was, a looming, glowing, monosyllabic foreigner in a small rural post office with the increasingly nervous employee watched me as I tried to find sounds that meant anything, in any language. I started going through a series of grunts and umms, which probably didn’t help matters. By the way, the Japanese word for “um” is “ano,” so hearing someone say “umm” repeatedly is akin to American hearing someone say “grblmf” over and over. It also doesn’t help in other situations when I try to quickly say “yes” in a foreign language and “ano” comes out (which means “yes” in Czech), and they think I’m saying “umm”. After going through all the umms I could manage I gave up and just dropped the letter on the table, figuring she’d get the idea. She did, and slowly and cautiously processed my letter. Then I had to ask for stamps so I wouldn’t have to go through this every time I had a letter. I’ll spare you details.
By the time I got out (successfully, somehow, though I haven’t heard that the letter arrived....), I was sweating like a pig, and ready to either break into Joker-like laughter or Two-Face-like sobbing. Instead I peddled home. It’s all I could do.
I see myself living in non-English speaking countries for a long time, and I love the challenge and the constant state of learning (albeit slowly, very slowly). That is when I look at the situation in the big picture. On the other hand, I hate moments like this, the way foreign language constantly makes me feel like an idiot. I’m certainly no supporter of a single-language world, but if the possibility was somehow offered to me, it would be very tempting, very tempting indeed.

We're beaten and blown by the wind
Trampled in dust

An extraordinary pattern I’ve noticed in the Japanese is something I need to address carefully. There are many things I love about the Japanese, who are a friendly, considerate, hard-working, and fun-loving people. What they are not is well informed about the outside world. There are times here that make the average American look like an international specialist.
I was speaking with an unnamed Japanese mother of two, who is in her mid 30s. This is someone who works off and on with foreigners. I asked her what Japanese people think about the war in Iraq. “Well, they are... (here she looked up a word)... indifferent. They think it is America’s war.” She then leaned across the table, and whispered (though there was no one else around), “where is Iraq?” I first had to find a country she could place on a map, and had to settle with England, and then trace the line of countries from England to Iraq. When I finished she said “oh.... is it near Australia?”
She went on to explain that western issues don’t really interest Japanese, who are more concerned with Asian issues. That’s fair, I thought, since the average westerner doesn’t take much interest in Asian issues, so it’s basically the same principle. I decided to test that angle and asked her opinion about the May/June riots in the South Korean capital, in which 10,000s of Korean citizens and 1,000 of riot police battled nightly for weeks over the lifting of a ban on US imported beef (which had been prohibited in 2003 due to fears of Mad Cow disease). The entire political cabinet under the president had resigned over the public outrage and protest a few months ago. South Korea is a couple hundred miles from Japan. My friend had never heard about the riots.
Really, this is an island. Much as in America (and as NOT in Czech Republic), people don’t really need to concern themselves with the outside world. Japan even has a thriving film and music industry, so it doesn’t have to import from American culture nearly as much as many European countries. This dynamic, as I also feel in America, is sad.
This makes me more motivated to do my job, which, I’m slowly discovering, is not actually about teaching English. First of all, my job description is “Assistant Language Teacher.” My contract say that I am never to be in the classroom alone with the students, that I am not qualified to be a “teacher” by Japanese standards, I am to assist the Japanese teachers. What that actually means varies infinitely from JET to JET. Because my predecessors in my school had no teaching experience and were apparently nervous about having responsibility in front of the class, my Japanese English teachers basically set up a 10 minute warmer for me at the beginning of each class, and then I sit down and occasionally read a sentence on the board for pronunciation or find the right English word when the teacher gets stuck. As far as language teaching goes, I’m basically a walking dictionary and a human tape recorder.
But I’ve realized that my real reason for being here is to provide exposure to the outside world, of course in language but in so many other things too. I’ve answered more questions about Czech Republic this month then I ever did in America. I’ve had more exchanges here that give evidence that foreigners are nothing to be afraid of then I ever did in Czech Republic. What’s more, people see my passion for the world as a whole, and I know that is what any lasting influence of mine is going to be, more than teaching vocabulary or grammar. So I’m excited to build relationships with these students and adults and open their eyes places they never dreamed existed. You never know what that kind of investment can yield.

I'll show you a place
High on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name

I just got up from writing this at my desk at work (I never have more than four 45 minute classes a day, but I have to be in school from 8:20 – 5:00, so there’s a lot of down time), and I went to wash my hands at the kitchen sink in a corner of the office. Several things struck me. 1. I couldn’t be sure that I’m supposed to wash my hands here. 2. I can’t tell if that bottle at the sink is hand soap, dish soap, lotion, or perhaps a refreshing drink in a squeeze bottle. 3. Those towels hanging nearby might be for drying one’s hands, or strictly for drying dishes. 4. There seems to be two faucets, one with cold water and one boiling water, neither of which are pleasant, and I’m not sure how to work with them. As all these things passed through my mind, I realized the most disturbing thing: if I’m doing it wrong, no one will tell me. Japanese culture is absolutely anti-confrontation, to the point where (for example) Japanese business men will say yes even when they have no intention of accepting the terms, and Japanese baseball pitchers will walk a strong batter, even with the bases loaded, rather than risk the humiliation of a homerun. I know that if I do something wrong, no one will tell me directly. At best they’ll hint at it: “oh, what book are you reading?” which very likely means “you shouldn’t read at work.” The only hope I have is the Golden Rule of life abroad: observe! As much as possible, do what others do, and don’t do what they don’t do. With this, and trial and error, you have a chance of not being the subject of whispered conversations in the corner of the office.
A few minutes after I washed my hands I noticed another teacher also washing his hands at the same sink, and using the soap bottle, and then he took a small towel out of his back pocket and used it to dry his hands. Well, two out of three isn’t bad.

Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name

It’s ironic that the thing which most encourages my life is the same thing I most neglect. My faith has suffered here, especially in comparison with how I wanted to make regular devotions one of the cornerstones of my “fresh life” here. I suppose it’s a combination of taking my beliefs for granted, of not wanting to face the fact that the distance between God and myself is slowly increasing, and of the human propensity to focus on what is actually possible to accomplish rather than the more important abstract pursuits.
Another JET who lives nearby, who is here for his second year, asked me if I’d experienced more struggle in my faith living abroad. I answered that as living abroad makes the natural ups and downs of life lower and higher, it is even stronger in the spiritual category This is especially true coming from America, which is a very comfortable and accommodating place to be a Christian. Once you live in a non-Christian country, it can be quite a shock to find yourself to be an outsider because of your beliefs, to not have many people around you that understand and agree with your view of the world.
I write this mainly for any Christian reading this who might one day find themselves living in a foreign country. The struggle to maintain devotions, commitment, and closeness with our Lord becomes much more difficult. The irony is that it is during these times that we most need a moral compass and an anchor for our behavior. Martin Luther said that he would rise before the dawn and pray for at least two hours before starting the day. But when he knew that he would have an especially exhausting and hectic day, he would rise two hours earlier and pray for four hours. It is in times of struggle that we need communion with our God of hope, and it is in times of struggle that it is most difficult to maintain that relationship.
I’ve found myself often reading a chapter of the Bible without really hearing a word, and being bombarded by things that need prayer, to the point of praying for nothing at all. As a result I’ve seen a noticeable decrease in my sense of purpose, my self-discipline, my focus on the joy of life’s big picture, and my patience against the difficulties of the small picture. All vital things in this environment.
Last night I started a new attempt to rekindle my commitment to God, to someone higher than myself, and I pray it works. Until this turns around at least I still know that God is an eyelid’s distance away, and will never run out of patience waiting for me to open my eyes again. I know he has a hand on my presence here in Japan, though in a different way than in Czech Republic, and I know that I want his plan more than my own. And I know that one day all these distractions and excuses will burn away, and I’ll be free to be who he wants me to be, in a place that I’m homesick for already. That, at least, is something.

We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do

Prague is filled with Americans and American culture, meaning movies, music, food, and language. I always avoided these like the plague, feeling very opposed to the many Americans who seem to live in America in Prague. I enjoyed the occasions when I was the only foreigner in the group, and enjoyed going places that no tourist would go.
However, there was a part of me that realized this reaction against familiarity was a result of over-exposure. I somewhat desired to live in a place where I would be excited to see another American, be thrilled to hear English, and crave food I was familiar with, because these reactions would indicate true over-my-head immersion.
After the first two weeks in my village, without seeing another white person or being able to speak English comfortably, I went for a weekend trip to Kyoto. On the train I saw two white guys with big backpacks at the other end of the train. My first impulse was to walk directly up to them and say “Hi, would you speak English with me?” I didn’t, but this reaction was so opposite my reactions in Prague that I knew I’d arrived.
The next confirmation was at Kyoto. During the lunch break in the conference Ian mentioned that there were Japanese restaurants upstairs and many more various restaurants, “such as Subway,” downstairs. Something about the mention of Subway (a popular American sandwich fast food restaurant) grabbed me, and I started craving it. I realized that I’d eaten nothing except Japanese food for the last three weeks, and home and in restaurants! Rice, noodles, sushi, fish, and many other things I’d never seen in my life and still can’t pronounce, but I hadn’t eaten anything with a fork for a very long time. I wanted American fast food, and I actually felt justified! I infected several other JETs with my craving and we spend 20 minutes hunting the restaurant down, all the while talking about how nice it would be to get familiar “normal” food. Yes, I said normal! I don’t really mean it, but you know what I mean! Once we arrived, over half the sandwiches were some form of seafood. But still we made do.

Our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind

I was making the three minute walk home from school the other day, when I realized that I was hurrying. I wanted to get home and be able to lock the door and not have to worry about anyone seeing me or interacting with me. My work is easy and I like the students (most of them, that is. Even the no-nonsense Japanese educational style produces its share of class clowns and rebels without causes). But at some point it’s just annoying to be constantly under observation, to be swarmed by a group of teenage guys who all shout out rapid-fire the 10 English words they know (in no particular order), to be followed around by the guy who likes to ask me “how many time do you experience the sex?”, to be giggled at nervously by the girls, and to be in the middle of frequent apparently-hilarious jokes in the teachers room that I can’t follow a word of. I don’t really mind any of these things, but honestly I do look forward to going home each day.
At the same time I knew that within 5 minutes of being shut in at home that I would be bored and lonely. Why was I hurrying? After escaping from the environment of over-socialization, within a few minutes I would certainly be under-socialized. “Good grief, Caleb, what DO you want?” I went through the options, and came to the conclusion that all I really wanted at that moment was for an unknown and beautiful young woman to walk up to me and say, in perfect but slightly accented English, “please hold me forever.”
It’s nice to know what your emotions actually want. It’s also good to know that this has nothing to do with what you actually need. You’re free to disagree with me, of course, and I’m sure some of you will, but even if my desire for comfort has increased I still don’t believe it means my need of comfort has changed.
Life is up and down (yes I know this is the third time I’ve said that, I’m going for a thematic thread here!), and I have no intention or hope of changing that. In fact I came here to be kept on my toes, to be pushed and stretched and changed. These difficulties, these ups and downs, these struggles, are proof that I’ve gotten what I was looking for. “Be careful what you wish for...” as they say.
It’s also nice to know that the worse case scenario is that I’ll survive this year. I’m not about to get up and leave without a word (as some have done), and I’m not going to break down (as others have done. Yes, the JET program has experiences people suddenly leaving without telling anyone, suicides, and other extreme reactions to the stress). I will get through this, and I will be stronger for it. And if I learn to apply myself, if I can use this time to get my foundations into place again, if I can develop relationships that make a difference in the lives around me and in myself, if I can come closer to a better understanding of humanity, then I’ll know that I’ve done so much more than survive, I will be able to count it as a victory. I intend to make it a victory, and a fun victory at that!

Blown by the wind
Oh, and I see our love
See our love turn to rust
Oh, we're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind

So, until the time when we no longer need to fight to be whole, to be who we ought to be, I continue to fight through the challenges of everyday life here in Japan, though it seems most of those challenges come from within me rather than from Japan. I hope all of you will do the same, and find joy in the battle! Take care, everyone, I miss you all, and would love to hear how live is treating you. Mata ne! c:

Oh, when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do


P.S. You read it all! Wow, your dedication, interest, and caring really impresses me, and I’m very grateful! Thank you!