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The Dropout

I could recognize him from a half a kilometer away. He could dye his hair, and change his clothes, but his stature and baby face and strangely suited bad-ass vibe are a dead giveaway. Still, I check his nametag to be sure.

He is Ren, one of the banes of my first teaching year. He was among the worse students, only scoring above their pitiful scores of three or four by ten points. No matter what I did, I could not get him to like me. So, instead, I went out of my way to make him hate me. At least then, I felt, I deserved it.

I had not seen him in the hallways, but I assumed it was because I didn’t teach 2-1 Home (the only class in school that despises me). However, his bleached hair and daytime job tells me all I need to know. I was facing my first dropout, one who I had helped along his path because I failed him. I should feel guilty. I was the last step of a school system that failed him. Japan led him to that final step, but in his last act of rebelliousness, he jumped before they could push. I didn’t catch him. But then again, I don’t catch people who jump of their own volition.

He sees me, and wrinkles his nose. It’s eight in the morning, and he’s the only clerk open.

“Did you dye your hair?” I know what I’m implying.

“Yeah.” He answers only because it’s his job to be polite.

“Thanks.” I take my change and walk away, annoyed that I dislike him as strongly as he I.

Boys

I'm afraid of boys now. That is what Japan does to a girl's self esteem. Japan, a country where stating someone's wieght is as straightforward as saying the weather.

"Hello! You're fat today, aren't you?"

Indeed.

I don't even want to leave the house anymore, which, of course, only makes me fatter. Such is the way.

I blame Mr. Quiet for this, and I blame Kanae-chan for trying to set us up when clearly he wasn't interested.

Beauracracy

I forgot to turn my tests in for the last series of finals in March, so in between classes I've been rummaging through my ill-filed paperwork, desperately looking for the tests. Fujii comes to me in the middle of class, and tells me to give it to Fujita ASAP. I tell him once I'm done teaching, I will. Nothing could entince me to abandon this class with Takeuchi. They are already awful at English, and leaving Takeuchi alone with them, I fear, will exercebate the problem.

I give the test to Fujita during the passing period. He turns around, at that exact moment, and gives it to Takagi. I walk back to my desk, with Takagi following me, and as I sit down I watch him hand it to Takahashi. I laugh a little, and explain to him what I think is so funny. He, too, chuckles a little bit. Then, he sees Yamagami enter the room. "Ah! Yamagami-sensei! Onegaishimasu!" he says, handing my test to Yamagami. Both Takahashi and I are grinning broadly at this point.

"Ok! I'll give it to the vice principal," says Yamagami.

We both burst out laughing.

...

I've only been to work for fifteen mintues, and already I want to go home. Pretending to work is the hardest thing in the world, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm cut out for this job.

Getting a license is "worse than a prostate exam" according to Travis, and although I'll never have to undergo it, I can imagine. You have to make appointments to get paperwork in, and then if you don't have it all, make another appointment (all of these last only five minutes). Then, you must make another appointment to take the written test, and then another appointment after that to take the driving test (which is famous for failing foreigners about four or five times).

I can't even get to the tests. No, I'm having trouble prooving that I drove in the United States for 90 days. There is no document prooving that in the history of the world! My tax returns don't work, nor does my Certificate of Residence becaue the signature on them are copied. Yes, that's right, they want a real signature. The reason is is that the Japanese use hankos (stamps) to sign documents, and they figure the closest equivalent is our signatures. However, stamps are easy to give out to the grunts on the clerical staff for them stamp on documents as the please. When it comes to signatures, there is only one guy who can do the signing, and seeing that he is the head hancho, it's likely he has other things to do.

Irritating? Right? Well, I lose my license in under a month, and I'm starting a new job where I absolutely HAVE to drive, but it seems unlikely I'll be able to drive. I have hour and a half bike rides, and expensive bustrips to look forward to now.

It's enough that I'd like to break my contract. Japan... Japan just sucks too much sometimes.

The Unbearable Pressure

I am only teaching six classes a week. With all this extra time, one would think that I could prepare better for classes, but exactly the opposite is true. The less time I have, the better I do. I'm swimming in it right now, and well... I'm wasting every minute of it.

If life were interesting at all right now, I would give you another post.

This is just to let you know I'm still alive.

In the Land of Sweets

There are an overwhelming amount of people in Japan, when asked, will say they hate sweet things. Fujita-sensei is case and point. Everytime I give him anything that may even have a grain of sugar in it, he eats it --out of politeness more than anything else-- and then tells me why he didn't like it.

That being said, there are also an overwhelming amount of sweets in Japan. A girl on a diet is in trouble everytime she walks into a mall, a convenient store, grocery store, or even a souvenir shop.

Fortunately, most of the time, the flavor are just simply unpalatable for the western tongue (red bean paste and green tea, for example) but some of the pastries just aren't fair. They are cute, and I mean too cute, and they are just begging to be eaten in the most violent fashion possible.

With a name like Pig Bread, it's a wonder it was delicious at all. It bought at the Australian Bakery in the far reaches of the the Noto inaka (rural rural countryside)

Melon Bread in the shape of a turtle, cleverly called Kamelon Bread (Kame being the word for turtle)

This probably violates all sorts of copy right laws. This is Tottoro, the Mickey Mouse of Japan. This was DELICIOUS! I ate his ears first.

Can you see how unfair life is here?