Write, Reflect, Repeat

On The Importance of Journaling Abroad

     About two weeks ago, a fair-sized group of us were enjoying dinner at a restaurant called Steak Gusto down in Yonago. We dined and caught up on the latest happenings from our respective schools and lives. During this dinner, talk of writing and journals came up. I mentioned that I keep a journal (which I write in almost daily) and even shared a bit of it. I'm sure most people are tired of hearing about it, but I wanted to spend some time talking about how invaluable keeping one has been. And perhaps the best way to do this is to explain what not keeping one was like.

So let's go back in time.
 
     In 2007 I came to Japan for a study abroad program. It was a lot of firsts for me. It was the first time I was away from my family for a prolonged period. It was the first time I came to Japan. It was the first time I flew in an airplane for that matter. We spent five weeks in southern region of Kyuushuu, wherein the bulk of our time was centered around Fukuoka. I love Fukuoka. It's one of the best cities (if not the best) I've been to in Japan, and easily trumps more popular choices like Osaka, or Tokyo. The trip overall was an amazing experience, which is probably obvious since I once again found my way back to Japan. Reminiscing aside, we did a lot of stuff. From Fukuoka we ventured out into almost all of Japan's southernmost region, exploring Kagoshima, Kumamoto, Beppu, Mt. Aso, Sakurajima, Amakusa, and more.

    I like to think I have a pretty decent memory, but I know too well the trappings of relying on something that inherently prone to failure. Eventually I reasoned that my experiences in Japan would be no better than the dream they used to be if I couldn't remember them. Everything simply felt too good to be true and perhaps the heart of my fear was that it might vanish completely. I wanted to somehow preserve it while I was there, and so I photographed everything. If memory serves correctly I used four SD cards and took just over 4000 pictures.*

     There was plenty to remember - and plenty of things to remind me - but still, I spent more than a few nights worried that I might one day forget elements of the trip. If you asked my roommate at the time, the talented Dustin McCurdy, he probably would remember at least one or two late night conversations about this. For the next few years after I returned home though, I could easily recall and retell any singular experience from my time overseas.

Then those years passed.

     There was a day when I wasn't able to remember something about where I'd gone. It was a relatively small detail, but even after scanning through my pictures I only recalled the itinerary - the place and a general sense of what we did - but something was gone. It was an awful feeling.

     Fortunately, there's still plenty of it left in my head. When I went back to Fukuoka with Mitsuko - a full seven years since the last time - I was able to navigate with the utmost of ease. I knew what stops to get off at, which corners to turn on, and where my favorite spots were. I feel however, that these things I remembered so well were routines. I learned them through rote memorization as a result of living there for a short period of time. Some of the more fascinating things I did have become only a single picture with no information attached. As I mentioned earlier, when I look at those pictures I can easily remember that portion of the trip but the specifics are sometimes a wash.

     When it comes to memory it's quite easy to make exaggerations, or even worse, fabrications. Ask yourself now if you've ever recalled a story that wasn't exactly true, contested by a friend who was also there, or even called out for being slightly to completely false.   

     I brought a journal along but I wrote in it only a few times. I knew people would rather see pictures (if they were at all interested) than listen to - or worse, read - my visually challenged recollections. I rediscovered this spiral notebook many years after the trip, and had a read. There wasn't much. An old drawing of Link from Majora's Mask (likely because I bought the Japanese manga), a few notes and email addresses from the students I met (none of whom I managed to stay in contact with), and a single entry about a page long.

     You can read about that entry right here but for this post I'll say that it was an amazing thing to look back on. I suddenly became so upset with myself that I hadn't written more. It was dated, which sort of locks it down into a certain event (one would think) but when I had a look at the pictures around that period I couldn't find anything which would've inspired that entry. I made no reference to it in the spiral notebook, only claiming that whatever had happened was changing my life - for the better.

     I promised myself after that point I would do a better job of writing things down should I ever have a similar experience like that again. When I spent six months in Kofu, with Mitsuko, I filled up an entire volume (around 256 pages) mostly because I had a lot of time to myself and my thoughts when I wasn't talking with her wonderful neighbor, Keiko-san.

     Now four volumes in to all of my Japan experiences, I can say that it's been the single most rewarding thing I have ever done. Everything has been documented. My highs and lows. There are times I have already forgotten because there were so miniscule in the grand scheme of my life right now, but important enough for that day. Those tend to be the richest thoughts that I write. From making note of an instance when I was frustrated or reflecting upon an opening/closing ceremony to preserving a touching or even silly moment I had with a student, these are the moments worth remembering.

     It might be a bit scary, and it's definitely something hard to be consistent with, but if you really want to know who you are I would recommend that you get a journal and start writing.

It just might surprise you. 



-J


*Who else remembers back when it took that many SD cards to get that many pictures. We weren't rocking these 32 and 64 gig cards. I still remember paying $120 for my first 1 gig card.
    

Pains

or

A Brief Glimpse Into The Third Volume (And What He Found There)

     I know I haven't written here in a while. 

     2014 is well behind us. I've gone through multiple drafts of this post, and it's taken a few months for me to settle on the right words. I'm sure they'll still be properly inefficient but I need to say something in order to move on. Things really haven't been all that well. I think anyone reading through the journal - which I still maintain almost daily - would discover that for themselves. With the exception of Mitsuko, and a close circle of friends, rarely does anyone read them, and even then I mostly share short passages rather than entire entries.
     It was once suggested to me that I publish my journals. I'm a mere 5 pages away from completing the third volume (pictured above) of stories, anecdotes, and experiences in Japan. Having read through this third volume though has almost convinced me that I couldn't, or at least shouldn't. It's no secret that there's a constant antithesis that runs the course of this soon to be completed journal; just skimming it, even lightly, will reveal several stories of this nature.
     It pains me to have this many negative experiences documented. In a way it's probably good they are. Having few other ways to vent I would've likely lost my mind a long time ago. Mitsuko and some good friends have availed themselves to me on many occasions and for that I do thank them, but waste management facilities they are not, and I hate playing the part of the dump truck.
     Just today I had two of my classes canceled. The JTE who canceled them informed me that the classes were unruly, and the planned lessons could not be completed. Today's would-be lessons had to be moved to next week and in their stead the unfinished material would be covered. The unbelievably poor attitude of the entire first year class has been another dominating feature of my entries.
     Typically I eat with my kids. I rotate on a week by week basis: 1A, 1B, 2A, 2B, 3A, 3B, and then back around again. It's been several months since I've sat with the first year students. When I show up to class, they become upset. They have quite literally sighed when I walk into the classroom. I hate going to their sessions because of how extraordinarily unwelcome I am. I don't mind that they don't care. That's not the issue. I wish the staff would realize it and stop asking me to go. If the students don't want me around, then that's fine. I'll stay away. The last thing I want to do is contribute to why they hate English, America, or me. I realize that this might be a poor attitude on my part. Opponents would argue that I need to fight even harder exactly because of that. To those people I would say that by being trapped in a diminished role as noted by the Assistant in Assistant Language Teacher - our official designation - there is little power and seldom the opportunity to exercise any authority. Without that, we're completely helpless and at the mercy of a system, which to me doesn't work - at least for this.
     I do my best to be cheerful and act professional, but when the teacher has to apologize for the class afterward it's hard to feel like I've pegged it wrong. And if that is truly the case, then it is also hard to feel bad for the situation because there is obviously an awareness but a lack of action for it has not changed. This is just one problem though, and not really something I deal with every day. My visits to the first year classes have been dramatically reduced.
     Worse still is the increasingly sour relationship I have with a fellow worker who shall remain unnamed. I've been asked numerous times about when I'm going home (to America), which always feels like the person in question is telling me to leave. I've been told to my face by this person that they do not like English. They have approached me for the express purpose of saying to me, "I do not like English," which is a hell of a thing to say for someone who is supposed to teach it, and fairly rude towards someone who speaks it natively. Think about that for a second. That sentiment has also been expressed multiple times toward me, never once having been warmly received.
     This is a person who turns off the lights and shuts the door while I'm still packing up after a lesson, a person who hovers over my shoulder while I write or do work, a person who asks if I can understand the faxes I receive from elementary schools - every single time. This is a person who makes ridiculous requests which often feel like sabotage. I'm often asked to do things or create lessons on topics I couldn't possibly know about. Instructions are rarely given, and when I ask I'm treated like an idiot. I do my work in a timely manner but am reminded constantly and condescended towards daily. I'm asked last minute to create entire lessons all the time, and frowned upon when they're not good (refer to sabotage). I'm frequently asked to make things only a day before, only to have them rejected upon delivery because they're not what was asked of me. Multiple examples of all the above are well documented in my journals.
     This is what volume three contains. After only a cursory thumbing through the pages I became intensely depressed at my own sad experiences. On seemingly every page there was a story reflecting the exact opposite of what I was tying to accomplish here. My ultimate goal was to foster good relations between America and Japan. A professional goal was to acquire a Ph.D in my area of study - East Asian Languages and Literature - and my charge was to spread a more accurate image of what Japan is to Americans who still conflate reality with rampant hearsay.
     Apart from school life there were many things that cropped up though. There were of course positive things like when Mitsuko and I went to Fukuoka and ate the best ramen in Japan or when we went to Kobe and experienced a place brand new for the both of us. There were some scary things like Mitsuko getting hit by a car. Some annoying things like getting a driver's license and losing a wisdom tooth. There are also great moments when I really connected with some of my kids such as the speech contest prep, or just a simple lunch. Many things happened last year indeed. That being said, the overwhelming majority of volume three seems to be frustration.
     I'm still doing my best to be responsible. Responsibility for me means to treat my circumstances as just that, my circumstances. For every story I have there are twice as many positive ones that others will tell. I don't wish to sound like an apologist but true to my goal here I'll have to treat my experiences as essentially isolated. It's quite challenging though and what I fear is being unable to avoid telling the truth about what has happened for me in my placement. Sometimes I wonder if it's me.

And that's a really scary thought to entertain.

-J

The End of the Beginning

I started a new journal a while back. My first one is full and now shelved. In an oddly ceremonious way (for me at least) I even wrote a sendoff for that volume, which I'll retype in an edited form here for you.

Final Entry

Wednesday April 23rd 4:24 pm

It's been a while. Looking back on the first entries up to this point is bound to be fascinating. I definitely could not have predicted that I would have had as many experiences as have been documented within these pages. My story is both long and new. Still 4 months out from having completed one whole year on this program, there is much left to tell I'm sure. Even when that point comes I'll still be within what I hope is the infancy of my time in Japan. I don't know what to expect and I'm unsure of what I will do but rest assured that I will do my best to preserve it much as I have just done here. 

-Joshua

     I started that journal on July 27th 2013 2:07 am, likely in my own room, definitely after the "Bon Voyage" party. This is what I love about the journal. I feel as though I'm the archaeologist of my own life. With the unearthing of each entry I gain more knowledge as to who this person was, and how the stories recounted on the page tell me little things about him. It's of course possible to read through the journal and just enjoy the entries for what they are; ingesting one at a time following a steady course of events day by day. But it has become far more interesting to wander the nebulous regions of why I chose to write what I wrote; to be a critical thinker of my own thoughts.

Before that starts to sound too pretentious allow me a chance to explain.

     Let's talk about the time stamp. It was something that I started when I kept a journal in Kofu-cho. The Kofu-cho experience (which sounds like a laser light show now) is a huge story for another time, preferably by camp fire with marshmallows and no chocolate, because I'm boring. The short version though is as follows: I was living there with my girlfriend in an attempt to pad out the resume by volunteering at - honestly - whatever school would let me. But back to the time stamp: I'm not sure why I decided to do it. Nevertheless, it carried over into the way that each journal entry opens now. That '2:07 am' says a lot more than the entry does, I think. This is what I mean by studying my own thoughts.
     It's extremely precise for whatever reason, but moreover it seems to indicate that I was deeply intent on carefully detailing every minute (quite literally) of my experience. This may be thought of as nitpicking, but I think the level of excitement I was trying to contain was captured in as little as simply writing down the time. The day I started that journal was the day before I had to fly out of LAX. That was also the day when we had our previously mentioned farewell party. I know I didn't stay late, but what I know from that entry is that I certainly didn't go to bed quickly either. I was up, alert and attentive enough to write down my thoughts in a journal, which in fact requires a lot more concentration than one thinks. There are no backspaces with ink. You can only scratch out what you've written, and I think I admire that aspect of writing with a pen and paper still.
     That was only one example of studying myself, but I'll keep this one short for today. It's fun to write down thoughts and I encourage more people to do it, especially by hand despite how tedious it may first appear. It's a bit like exercising, and if you met me in person you'd know I'm all about that with my one-pack; continuity is easier than starting off.     
     Based on what I read so far, here's a final thought: If I divided the journal entries into binary distinctions of either positive or negative impact, and then plotted those against time on a Cartesian Plane of my existence here in Japan, you'd end up with one hell of a differential equation.

Which is to say that my life is truly a roller coaster here.


-J