Out the window, the ocean’s doing this stellar trick where it catches the sunlight just so and scatters it like glitter on the half-hearted waves of the Ariake Sea. It is a beautiful day, and I’d almost forgotten them.
When it’s cold here, this place feels desolate. On the other hand, when it’s pretty, it’s gorgeous. If it would only get warm enough to swim and fish again, maybe we’d have something going. For now, I’ll settle for longer afternoons.
I’m doing this in place of grading papers and tests, hundreds of which I have in stacks covering my desk. You may remember similar behavior from the times I exhibited it in high school, college, and every job I’ve ever held. The students just finished their speaking tests, which are simple enough: they write a relatively brief skit using the grammar and vocabulary they’ve learned during the current term, then perform it in class. The results are varied. These must take place in an airport or on an airplane.
Exhibit One of One:
Flight Attendant: Do you want chicken or fish?
Takuya: Fish, please.
Yuya: Me too.
FA: We don’t have fish.
T&Y: OH MY GOD. CHICKEN PLEASE.
T: How much does it cost?
FA: It 1 dollar.
Y: How much for your smile?
FA: Priceless.
T: I want you.
Y: Me too.
FA: I don’t make the decision. Tell me your good things.
T: I have dog.
Y: I have father.
T: I have my plane.
Y: I love father.
T: Do you love dog?
FA: We are landing in New York. Please sit down.
~ fin ~
Well, at least they’re making an attempt at creativity.
Valentine’s Day update!
As of 1:16, packages of candy received: 4.
Dissapointment Level: moderate (yellow).
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and all I’ve heard all week is about how I’m going to get so much chocolate, like this much, and how I shouldn’t eat it all at once, and how I should be careful because I’ll be expected to give candy in return on White Day. Well, let me be the first to say that I couldn’t care less. I’m ready for handouts. I feel pretty confident it’s coming, too, since as I write this three girls (not in my class) are standing in front of my desk and giggling like the schoolgirls they are every time I glance upwards. In my book, this spells candy.
For me, Valentine’s Day is generally a pretty apathetic affair punctuated perhaps by the occasional Lifetime special on wife-beating or an anti-romantic meal with other frequently-single people. The last one I remember sticks out vividly in my mind:
There we are, listening to Foreigner on a Waffle House jukebox, when I notice that the guy at the counter next to me is staring at the waitress ringing up checks. Not checking her out, not vacantly gazing. Staring. Needless to say, this captures my imagination, and I’m on the edge of my seat 20 minutes later, when he finally speaks to her. The conversation happens like this:
“You got any kids?”
She didn’t even bother to make eye contact, clicking away at her register, but answered, “Two of ‘em,” in a low Southern drawl.
Silence followed for another few minutes, and he asked, “You gotta man around?” Getting to the point, I would go on to learn, is sometimes appreciated.
“Yeah.”
“You wanna come over sometime?”
Surely, I thought, this man was not serious. He did, after all, ask the prerequisite question about whether or not she was in a relationship, implying that the answer mattered to him in some way. Learning she was attached, he continued right along with his proposition as if this was no concern to either of them, which it apparently, mind-blowingly, was not.
“Sure. I don’t want no wife catching us and trying to come after me, though.”
At the time, I thought: Flawless. This is better than television. This is better than any bar conversation I’ve ever heard or any quiet exchange over coffee. This is better than most books. How many people get to see this kind of exchange up close? It’s like watching humpback whales mate, a sight a handful of people on the Earth have been lucky enough to witness. In six sentences, they had managed to decide that, yes, they would be sleeping together. That’s the magic of Valentine’s day.
Well, I don’t need all of that, but empty calories would be nice. I want to snack on rice balls tomorrow about as much as I want to see the world’s paraplegics challenge the world’s morbidly obese to a naked make-out contest, which just isn’t very much at all.
Hitomi, one of the freshmen, came back to school today. It took an hour to get a smile out of her, a feat I usually accomplish accidentally within seconds of talking to her by saying something she doesn’t understand, tucking a pencil behind my ear (apparently hilarious), or something equally unfunny. My point is, it’s not supposed to take much to make this kid laugh. She’s not wired for the stoic role. But here she is, head in her hands, staring at the floor, her brightly colored eyeglasses switched for a more conservative pair.
I can’t tell you where she’s been, since apparently I’m not supposed to know. I asked, of course. ”It’s complicated” was the answer.
I was talking with Mayumi when she stepped through the door, who looked at me and said, profoundly: “I am shock.”
A few months ago, a student’s house burned to the ground along the shoreline, just up and ignited like a pack of matches, so donation cans were placed in the classrooms and probably a bit of money was raised. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably less than what it costs to build a new house. It’s probably Hitomi, but I don’t know. I’m not trying to be cynical about it; it’s not as if the school can be expected to magically fix something that tragic. It’s the heart of the act that counts, and I’m sure every little bit helped. I’m just saying, we’re charged with the responsibility of helping young people grow into well-developed individuals, but when something of critical importance goes down all I can really do is slip the kid in question some leftover Cambodian money or perhaps some Lilo and Stitch stickers and tell them to “try their best.”
Seriously, what do you do?