The Beginning of the End

Tuesday, July 15
Last Tea Club.

Our sweet of the day--gelatinous and cool with a pink center.

My final bowl of matcha.

We used a special natsume (tea caddy). Sensei gauges its value at about $1000.

茶道部

I'll miss these girls. Though I'm their English teacher, they've never treated me as such: in this room, I'm one of them. Every March, following graduation, each third-year student receives a special chawan chosen for her by the teacher. Today I received my graduation tea bowl, the sister to a black version painted in ajisai that we use every week for practice. My version is cream colored, and Sensei explained that with it, I could remember our club. Another teacher gifted me the beautiful yukata that she had lent me for the cultural festival. The girls wrote me beautiful messages on a shikishi and each gave a short speech. I cried.

Later that day, the librarian gave me a goodbye card and a box of chocolates, which I've been happily working my way through.

Thursday, July 17
Last Flower Arrangement Club.

My last arrangement to be displayed at the entrance to the school. I chose a glass bowl that resembles a fugu (blowfish).

After completing our studies, we spent the time chatting over ice cream, chips, and tea. Toss in a nap and you've got my perfect afternoon.

華道部

I've occasionally been hurt (angry) when this teacher felt compelled to simplify her Japanese in order that I, as a foreigner, might understand, but ultimately, she has a kind heart. She compiled a cultural festival photo album for me--not just of flower club, but of tea club too--and on my last day, she presented me with a calligraphy scroll (on flowers, water, and people) and two handkerchiefs in my favorite color. This club was trying on my patience at times, but I'll leave with good memories.

Don't know when this picture was taken.

In the evening, I met with these lovely ladies for dinner in Akashi. We had Italian food, followed by donuts. We played the "What Does Your Favorite Donut Say About You?" game. My honey-dipped says I'm classic and sweet, though maybe a little boring.

Friday, July 18
Closing Ceremony.
Closing Ceremony is the students' last day before first term lets out, and it was the day that I would say my official goodbye. Two years ago, I stood on the same stage to introduce myself. My heart thudded hard then: I was nervous. Not only was I meeting the strange students for the first time, but I was speaking in Japanese, a language I was afraid to use.

For my second and final speech, I wasn't nervous. Sure, my speech was still in Japanese, a language that I'm still poor at, but since my first day, I've learned a few things about courage and stepping up to my responsibilities. Yet despite my stoic confidence, as soon as I began my first words, tears rushed down my cheeks, and my voice choked.

The previous night, over donuts, I told my friends that I wouldn't cry--that I was happy, not sad to leave. But still the tears came. I looked out into the audience and could see several students laughing. I saw teachers standing, arms crossed with impassive faces. Such sights made me embarrassed for my display of raw emotion, but I continued on. I said my thank yous and talked a bit about trying new things and accepting our mistakes, at the end of which my face was sticky with tears and most likely snot. I continued to sniffle when the head of the student council delivered a speech in English and when the principal presented me with a certificate of thanks and when one of my former students handed me a fat bouquet of pink flowers.

My chagrin didn't end there. Leaving the stage was nothing short of awkward. One of the teachers said I wasn't allowed to remain for the rest of the ceremony, and he quietly ushered me out of the gym. As I passed the other teachers, I could see that they were clearly uncomfortable and could not look me in the eye. So I left and returned to a dark, empty staff room, where I let a few more tears fall.

I still wonder why I cried. I do care about a percentage of the student population, of course. Not the ones who giggled over my tears, but the portion that I believe cried with me. If not outwardly, then quietly inside. I know that many of the students will forget me. They'll forget my face and my name. I'll be just another foreigner replaced by a new one. Yet I do feel that a certain group of the students will remember me, and maybe I made a positive, albeit small difference in their lives.

Another possible contributor to my tears was the concrete realization on that stage that a distinct period in my life has ended. Gone is the twenty-two year old who felt owed a vacation from studies, who was responsible to nothing and no one. I'm now a twenty-four year old with a full understanding of the frightening adult responsibilities that lie ahead. From here, I move on, and that's a little heartbreaking for me.

There have been times that work and life in Japan have been rough, but altogether I've spent a good two years here. I'll forever be thankful that I came to this country, and I know that my life is better because of it.

Me in my girly jinbei, with bouquet.

More closing thoughts on Japan later, perhaps.