I'm NOT an Idiot.

Reading: I should give up on this one.
Listening: "Break Stuff," Limp Bizkit

Thursday, November 1
I woke up with a migraine, but went to work anyway, having dreamed that a co-worker scolded me over my frequent sick leave. Dream Kristine then had a breakdown, crying that she would never hold a job due to her debilitating migraines. (Real Life Kristine has had a similar childish breakdown.)

I spent the morning classes preoccupied over the moment I would leave for lunch. After third period, I snatched my purse from the staff room, bought a bento at 7-11, and returned home to eat. As I wrapped up my used chopsticks, I glanced at the clock and realized that I had forgotten about fourth period class.

How could I forget a schedule I've had since April? I try not to answer such questions related to my thinking process. I hurried back to school, where the first-year teachers were in a tizzy as to where I had gone. Ironically, the teacher whose class I had missed merely laughed the incident off, confessing that she forgets about classes too. I'm such a crap employee. Migraines won't be the only reason that I don't land a good job.

In the afternoon, I grudgingly attended flower arrangement class, which I have come to resent since the instructor, despite having known me for a year, still assumes that I know zero Japanese and treats me as a moron. As a death blow to my self-esteem today, we spent the lesson reading history passages from the text, rather than practicing our usual cutting and arranging of flowers.

The problem was not that I was afraid or unable to read, but that I was not allowed to. I volunteered to read aloud a passage when the students refused to, but the instructor turned me down, saying that the kanji (Chinese characters) would be too difficult for me. Keep in mind that we communicate only in Japanese.

Later in the lesson, as we practiced labeling diagrams, the instructor and the students offered to let me contribute in writing--as a joke. "Let's see if you can do it, Kristine!" they laughed. Imagine the astonishment when I could. These critics next commented that my characters were beautiful--despite my being a foreigner. In fact, the instructor was amazed that my characters were neater than hers; "And I'm Japanese!" she remarked. I seethed as I continued to write. What does writing ability have to do with nationality or ethnicity? No Japanese are born with an inherent knowledge of these characters.

Throughout the lesson, their attitudes never changed, despite my having finally demonstrated that yes, I can read and write in Japanese. I nearly cried, the lesson was so degrading.

In relation to this subject, many of my co-workers refuse to converse with me because they assume that because I’m foreign, I can’t understand Japanese, always choosing to enlist an English instructor to "translate." Teachers freely talk about me at the opposite desks, even as I sit at mine reading a Japanese newspaper. These assumptions of my linguistic ignorance frustrate me endlessly. My spoken Japanese may not be perfect, but I do try, and I'm not a complete idiot.

On a hypocritical note, though I criticize others for discriminating against me as a foreigner, in the world beyond work, where I appear Japanese and only my tongue gives away my alien nature, I quickly offer my nationality as an excuse for my weakness, rather than be mistaken for mentally incompetent. The stereotype that foreigners know no Japanese works both for and against me.

I’m not sure how to improve my situation. I want to scream sometimes, wondering if I could forcefully convince others to understand that I understand. But I don’t. Screaming is rude, and of course, some people do understand. The history teacher at the desk next to me chats over tea about grammar and foreign countries. He shares with me complex new characters and words, rather than asking if I know the difference between the simple characters for right and left. My tea ceremony instructor treats me as an equal and holds me to high standards.

Hearing my complaints, my mom will surely tell me not to let the opinions of others bother me, but I can't help it, particularly when I am surrounded by these attitudes.

Days like these, I need Kit Kats. Thank goodness for HAPPY PLANS this weekend. I live for Saturdays.