The amorphous consciousness of inanimate matter
Too much yuki. Which means snow. Which is what we have. The first of this plentitude was signalled the night before when "god", or somebody very much like him, dropped an infinite number of "god"-sized saucepans and l on his our apartment building. That one crack of thunder lasted for about five minutes. Then it started snowing and hasn't stopped since. It is now up to one and a half feet. I asked my JTE yesterday when it would ease off or stop and she just looked at me, baffled. I rephrased the question: will it stop? No. Before it started snowing there were fifteen consecutive days of rain. Now it is so cold it has turned into snow. And here's me with no winter boots. Oh well.
One of the many many facets of working in Japan is what Robin has termed "The Eyes of God." As we were stumbling through the snow out of the train station this morning I noticed that my ticket had disappeared from my double-gloved hand. I stopped and looked around me, in that stiff way you do when you are wearing eight inches of solid clothing, and almost instantly one of my school students skipped up to me with it in her hand (in a light school blazer and skirt with no tights - the girls here are fearsome impervious to the cold. They are protected by 'fashion' see...). I am almost constantly surrounded by these kids every morning and afternoon.
And this is the thing with being a foreigner in Japan - at least, in a small city like Toyama - everybody knows what you're doing. From the teacher who saw you holding hands with your girlfiend in the street, to the student who sees you shopping for groceries in the evening, to the other students who see you staggering about town on the weekend with your drunken friends.
Whilst doing interview tests yesterday with the first grade one student said he lived in Kamiichi, a town just outside of Toyama. Do you know the ALT there I asked - "oh yes, Maxu! He is curl!" because they all know him, or about him, in that tiny town.
I see the same foreigners all the time in Toyama, I can't help it - and if I see them then the Japanese must see them. If I were to live here any longer than a year I think I would have to radically readjust my mindset and my perceptions of personal space or time.
One of the many many facets of working in Japan is what Robin has termed "The Eyes of God." As we were stumbling through the snow out of the train station this morning I noticed that my ticket had disappeared from my double-gloved hand. I stopped and looked around me, in that stiff way you do when you are wearing eight inches of solid clothing, and almost instantly one of my school students skipped up to me with it in her hand (in a light school blazer and skirt with no tights - the girls here are fearsome impervious to the cold. They are protected by 'fashion' see...). I am almost constantly surrounded by these kids every morning and afternoon.
And this is the thing with being a foreigner in Japan - at least, in a small city like Toyama - everybody knows what you're doing. From the teacher who saw you holding hands with your girlfiend in the street, to the student who sees you shopping for groceries in the evening, to the other students who see you staggering about town on the weekend with your drunken friends.
Whilst doing interview tests yesterday with the first grade one student said he lived in Kamiichi, a town just outside of Toyama. Do you know the ALT there I asked - "oh yes, Maxu! He is curl!" because they all know him, or about him, in that tiny town.
I see the same foreigners all the time in Toyama, I can't help it - and if I see them then the Japanese must see them. If I were to live here any longer than a year I think I would have to radically readjust my mindset and my perceptions of personal space or time.
posted by Geoff at 1:09 AM
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