Endings and Beginnings

Tuesday, April 1
I arrived at work to discover the entire staff room in chaos. It was Desk Moving Day. My desk stayed the same, which is perhaps why no one warned me of the event, and though I awkwardly assisted other teachers where I could, I spent most of the day simply people-watching. That day was the first that I completely understood which teachers had left for new schools. I miss my former desk neighbors—Miyake-sensei, the quiet, badger-like history teacher who helped me with kanji studies, gifted me with tea ceremony books, and always spoke to me like a kind father. He moved several rows away in the staff room. Nishio-sensei, the young guitar-playing English teacher who sat to my left, passed his exams and is now at a new school. Now to my right sits Komori-sensei, a chatty Japanese teacher and Jack-of-all-trades who is fluent in English, collects train memorabilia, plays tennis daily, arranges flowers, and has taught me to roll and cut fresh soba noodles. To my left is Miyanaga-sensei, twenty-four years old, cheery, and cute. A part-time teacher of social studies and geography as well as an avid Rilakkuma fan. We’ll get along well, I think.

Friday, April 4
After a not-so-hard day at work, I cooked peanut shrimp noodles for dinner—a complicated dish that left my kitchen a bombshell of shrimp shells and sticky dishes. My efforts provided necessary protein, however, as Chris and I went to our first session at COSPA, my nearest gym. The first session was a basic introduction to the gym rules (No gum.) and to how to work the machines (Thirty minutes per person on the treadmills, and bring your own headphones to watch TV.). My fitness goals aren’t specific: I simply want to trim down and tone up. I’m not fat, but bursting the button on one of my favorite pairs of pants (Isn’t that something only chubby cartoon characters do?) tells me that it’s time to get in shape.

Saturday, April 5
In the late afternoon, Chris and I drove out to the coast, where we visited the 明石海峡大橋 (Akashi Strait Bridge), the world’s longest suspension bridge. The magnificent structure, which lights up at night, connects Awaji Island to the mainland. The weather was cool, with ample ocean breezes. We rode an elevator up to the observatory, where visitors can walk directly beneath the bridge and look through glass windows to the water far below. We ate a small meal at the observatory café, savoring octopus dishes while taking in views of the shoreline.

We then returned to the ground and walked off our food, passing a sunset wedding and bathers in an outdoor onsen.

I ate the tako croquette.

A wedding was taking place in this oddly shaped building.

From the bridge, Chris drove me to my work Goodbye-Welcome Party at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Shin-Kobe. As usual, I was seated at a table with all men. We didn’t have a chance to talk much though, as speeches began shortly after food was brought out. The shindig began with speeches about the departing teachers. The principal, known among the staff for his long talks, told a verbal journey for each teacher. Those recognized certainly deserve time in the limelight, but I couldn’t understand why we were served food when we were expected to be listening attentively. Following the principal, each teacher gave his or her own speech. I waited as my soup and noodles went cold, but I couldn’t sit idly by when a plate of steak and roasted potatoes was placed in front of me. By the time the principal began his speeches for the new teachers, I was on my dessert of cake and vanilla ice cream.

The party ended with the Miki Higashi tradition of sending the teachers away through a drunken tunnel of joined arms. Many left for the second, unofficial drinking party, but I met Chris in Sannomiya and went home.

Sunday, April 6
It’s a cultural law for all Japanese to participate in hanami, cherry blossom viewing, for the period of several spring weekends.

For our version of hanami, Chris and I drove to 播磨中央公園 (Central Harima Park). We visited too late last year, as the blossoms were quickly falling from the trees. This year, however, we arrived shortly after the sakura had bloomed, and we joined masses of people carting picnic baskets, cases of beer, and babies to the Sakura Gardens, where full foliages of pink blossoms surrounded an open grassy area. A few small festival booths selling ice creams and apple candies squatted on the lawn, and all around, sakura-lovers sprawled on blankets in the shade, eating onigiri and fried chicken. Children ran. Adults took naps. The picnic mats barely overlapped one another, but nobody seemed to mind the crowds.

Prior to coming to this country, I wondered why such a big deal is made over these flowers. Yet after the long Japanese winter, I understand. The cherry blossoms herald spring, warmth, and all things new. For Japanese children, the sakura mark the start of a new school year. For families, they signal a time to rest from work and gather together. Though many keep track of the arrival through weather reports and online sightings, what I love best is that the quiet effusion of pink from once barren trees comes as a sweet surprise, a welcome entrance of color and life at the close of winter.

And the flowers truly are beautiful—fragile, almost translucent blossoms with shy hints of pink and green that fall nearly as soon as you realize they’ve appeared. Chris and I eventually wound away from the cherry blossoms and wandered through other parts of the park, where we took in tulips and a castle-like observatory!

Chris, pleased with the warm weather.

Picnics.

アイス・クリーン, which I first sampled on Shikoku. It's widely available at festivals.

The green blossoms blended with the pink.

Pink and green. Green and pink.

In the Renaissance Garden, an observatory.

Tulips have an inherently sweet and cheery quality to them. Last year I filled a vase with yellow tulips, and it kept me smiling whenever I looked at them. I forgot to treat myself this year.

Chris concentrates when taking pictures. Clearly, I don't.

I love these flowers. Stop-and-stare gorgeous.

Tuesday, April 6
Entrance Ceremony is always a bit dull. The students, new at being high school students, must surely be puffing up with pride, but they all stifle their pleasure behind bored exteriors. As with graduation, a happy occasion is made somber: the homeroom teachers marched the students in and call each by name in military fashion. People gave speeches. I struggled to stay awake. Still, I was excited to lay eyes on the faces that will be filling my classes during my remaining time here.

Wednesday, April 7
Wednesday was a big day for on-stage activities. We had three, in fact.

For the school 離任式 ("Rinin-shiki" contains the same character used in "divorce." I'll call this event the "Goodbye Ceremony."), the departing teachers returned for Round Two of speech-giving, this time directed at the students. Each teacher took the allotted time to share his/her personal philosophies on life. Yet as dull as most of it was, the teachers surprised me. Every one of the teachers delivered a passionate, well-planned speech that clearly demonstrated that they love what they do. And that made me melt a little inside. The one low point of the ceremony occurred when the PTA head gave a speech even longer than that of the principal’s.

Ceremony Two, 対面式, symbolically and concretely welcomed the first-years into the school. The new students sat opposite the senior students in the gym, with a wide gap between. Representatives from each group stepped forward, bowed deeply, offered mumbled words, and the groups then shuffled awkwardly together into one.

Stage Excitement Number Three of the day was Club Presentations, for which each club received three minutes to appeal to new students to join. The tennis girls swished their rackets, the soccer boys kicked a ball, and the kendo kids swatted at one another with swords. The literature club read poetry, of course. The clubs in which I participate put together simple performances. The sole member of 華道部 (flower arrangement) was afraid to stand alone in front of the school, so I, the stage fright queen, stood with her as she read her speech. I simply existed, hands folded over one another, stupid smile on my face. Her speech went well, but I’m not optimistic of our receiving new members. The cooking club meets at the same time, and it’s an unusual girl (or boy) who chooses to arrange flowers when she can be cooking cupcakes. (If you’re wondering why I’m not in cooking club, I signed up for flower arrangement first.) The tea ceremony girls donned their summer yukata and did a hurried demonstration of the preparation and serving of sweets and matcha. This club will likely have new members, as everybody loves sweets.

Thursday, April 8
For the first official meeting of 華道部, we used flowers from the large Entrance Ceremony arrangement. I made several displays that looked like explosions of pink, with monstrous lilies and astronidaflsjdf.

As predicted, we received no new members, though many first-year girls did sign up to be boys’ baseball managers.

Friday, April 9
Life at Miki Higashi has truly come full circle. My current class of third-year students is a group of the first I taught when I arrived in Japan. Though I’ve chatted with them in the halls, seeing their faces behind desks again sent me a rush of nostalgia. As my first class, they’ll always be my favorite. The group of ten enthusiastically did several conversation exercises over the course of two hours, and as I dismissed them, other students popped their heads through the classroom door, commenting, “You were so loud! It sounded fun!” Despite only a short time having passed, they all appear much older to me now, which of course makes me feel even older.

In the afternoon, I purchased new supplies for 茶道部 (Tea Ceremony Club), including a red printed bag embroidered in blossoms of silver, powder pink, and blue in which I carry everything. I now have a small paper fan printed with poems by Sen no Rikyu, a deep red handkerchief for purifying the tea caddy and scoop, and a smaller handkerchief in a plum print for carrying hot tea to a guest. The teacher and her friends—one of whom helped to outfit me in a kimono for our cultural festival last year—descended on me to assist in picking out my patterns. I’m happy that we’ll have our cultural festival in June before I leave.

This past week I cooked a pork scramble, with I ate with pumpkin-cabbage salad with curry-yogurt dressing and miso soup. I made such large batches of everything that I ate the same meal for days in a row. On a frustrating note, I haven’t accomplished timing the preparation of multiple dishes. I rush around my small kitchen, pushing pans across burners and balancing bottles and onion bulbs in whatever dish I can due to lack of counter space. I wind up with a large mess of dirty dishes, utensils, and clothing, but I suppose that’s what comes with experimenting.