Life of an ALT: Training

The first day of training was only a half day. We got up early, my roommate and I, and headed down to the dining area with our little free breakfast passes. I knew no one there, except my roommate, and felt completely out of my depth. I’d spent the last three months working three jobs and sleeping in naps stole at either my mother’s apartment or a friend’s, and eating fast food. There was no socializing. Never having ever actually been a social animal, there was no horse to hop back on. No bicycle to remember how to ride. I was about to get a crash course in making friends of strangers.

I put on my best customer service smile, because it was all I knew, and followed my roommate around the buffet like a lost puppy afraid of being kicked. I did venture away from the safety of the known for coffee, because really, coffee is worth braving any horror. Even being abandoned as my roommate went and sat down, and I lost her. It took me awhile to find her again. No one I walked past offered me a seat or a smile, so I wandered around the seating area smiling like I was brain damaged and loved it, and hoped no one knew I was seconds from dropping everything but the coffee and fleeing in terror.

It was about this time that I started reconsidering my decision to move halfway around the planet from the known. As always when it comes to me reconsidering a decision, I was too late. I sat down and made friendly small talk for all of three seconds before everyone realized that I was too socially awkward to speak to. Then we all shuffled out of the dining hall and into the training center. We practically mooed.

Training was…an experience. Five days of being told the ins and outs of the ALT job. Smile. Be genki. And for God’s sake smile. Genki is basically cheerful and energetic, healthy, happy, bouncy, pick your adjective, it’s versatile. We were assigned points on how happy and eager we were for demonstrations, instruction, games, and random talks about Japanese culture. We had to smile constantly. I’ve been in customer service since the seventh grade—I count babysitting as customer service—so I was already broken. It was interesting to see others flounder.

After training most people took the Narita Hotel bus into the city of Narita, because the bus was actually the only way to escape the hotel. The hotel was on a hill surrounded by nothing but highways. We called it the Narita Island and the Magical Fish Bus. To give you an idea of how broken we were at that point. The city of Narita, where we wandered anyway, had a couple of bars, the train station, a mall, a temple, and some other stuff that I wasn’t interested in. At this point I didn’t drink alcohol. I look back at my innocence and smile.

A Japanese mall is exactly like a US mall, only with more Japanese people and worse fashion. Like really bad fashion. Which wasn’t too much of a problem, since Japanese people are tiny stick figures and there was no way I could buy clothes there anyway. The temple was pretty interesting. I went with a small group and we took random pictures with GQ posing that I remember fondly. I’d been to Japan the previous year with my Japanese professor and two other students, so I’d seen temples before. And really one is much like the other, only some are prettier.

Some people would go to the bars or the mall, visit the shrine, get their culture in while they could. We were going to be there at least a year, unless we were deported or quit, so I figured I could get my culture in small doses, and didn’t worry about cramming it all in, in a week. My roommate however would not let me hide away in the hotel room very often, so I found myself participating regardless of my feelings on the subject. I did enjoy our trip to Chiba, however. We ate and drank at an izakaya, basically a Japanese family restaurant for food and alcohol. They have alcohol everywhere in Japan. Restaurants, quick shops, and vending machines. We also got lost in the red light district. There were many Japanese bouncers giving us the eye, ready to swoop down on our group with a mighty force should we dare enter their shops. There were thirteen of us, however, so I’m not sure what they would have done.

On our last day of training we had presentations. We had to give a five minute abbreviated lesson to a group of pretend children—basically the other people in our group pretending to be children. Since I knew I would be teaching elementary and Junior High, they told me I could choose which set I wanted to give a lesson to, but to pick the one I was most worried about. Elementary sounded easy, you basically act like a hyperactive child. I can do hyperactive child. I was more worried about Junior High. I remember Junior High. I wasn’t sure how I would survive it again without killing something. Probably a child. Oddly, it’s now my favorite school.

My lesson was simple, my flashcards handmade and not at all visible or legible, but I made up for it with so much freaking genki my trainer choked on it and died. Wait, no, that was in my head. He did give me top scores and told me I would be just fine. I believed him, and was relieved.

The next day we left for our assigned cities. I was headed up north, to Miyagi prefecture’s Sendai city. There was a small group of us, and we sat with each other on the shinkansen, or bullet train. They’re not as fast as they sound, but they’re still pretty fast. Since I was in a group of people I’d just spent a week with, I wasn’t completely uncomfortable. I didn’t know them well though, so I wasn’t completely social either. And we lost members as we went along, one or two disappearing off to another city or in another direction, until there were only two of us. Luckily, our ICs—Independent Contractors—were together as well, so were didn’t have to separate until they took us to our new apartments.

An Independent Contractor is basically a Japanese person that speaks some unspecified amount of English hired by Unnamed Company to set up the ALTs new life for them. We were taken first to get our apartments, and told to fill out paperwork, with the ICs explaining what was what and where to sign. Then we went to a cell phone agency to get cell phones, and again the ICs basically did all the work for us, we just had to pick a phone, a phone number, and sign our names or stamp our hankos. A hanko is a Japanese stamp, or seal, with their family name on it. Instead of signing, they hanko stuff. It’s quite convenient.

They took us to lunch, then we went shopping for home supplies, since my apartment only came with amenities and not anything I could live on like a bed or food. My new friend Tom went to Matsushima, one of the top three most visited places in Japan, and I went to Higashimatsushima—basically translated as east Matsushima, but about five towns away from the real Matsushima. That’s just the way it is here. And we had about two weeks to stew until school and classes officially started.

That’s about when I started panicking, as I realized that training had not in fact prepared me for anything, and I would be expected to teach real students, and I had no idea if I would be doing it alone, with another teacher, or dancing naked in a barrel while they pointed and laughed and threw pickled vegetables. Wait. That last one was a reoccurring dream. Never mind it.

Life of an ALT: Arrival

The worst part about arriving in a foreign country completely alone, with no one to look to for guidance, is that I had to carry all my luggage around myself. And I had a lot of it. More than, at that point, I seriously thought that I needed. Just when I was looking for a nice corner to unobtrusively “lose” a bag or two, my name was announced over the PA. So I hurried to where I had people waiting, carrying all of my luggage like a good little idiot that doesn’t know how to pack in a sensemaking way, and the first impression I gave to the representative of Unnamed Company sent to pick me up was a sweaty, stressed, irritated girl carrying enough luggage for a medium sized family.

“I brought my sister.” I said. To make light of it.

A quizzical look. A quick look around. “Where is she?”

I lifted one of the bags. For a moment, said representative took me seriously. Then realized that it had been a joke. And doesn’t know what to do about it. Does she laugh? Is she supposed to laugh? She spent so much time thinking about it, that she was quite relieved when the next person she needed to pick up arrived, and she could promptly forget that I ever existed. Said person arrived with all of his luggage on a baggage cart. At this point I realized that there were baggage carts, and wanted to stab myself in the face for my own stupidity. I refrained, but barely.

The representative took us out to the buses and told us to get on the Narita Hotel bus. And then left. I and my two male companions looked at each other, introduced ourselves, and then stared awkwardly at the street while we waited for this bus. There were three buses that stopped before the Narita Hotel bus, and we tried to board each of them, only to be wildly gestured away. I started developing the opinion that Japan was not such a good idea after all.

Our bus arrived. The two boys sat together and chatted about their favorite sports teams or something mundane that didn’t interest me. The only thing that interested me was getting to a bed before I killed something and got deported. I couldn't afford to be deported, as the banks that owned my student loans and credit cars would come for my kneecaps, my kidneys, possibly my liver and first born, and anything else they could carry away. So I sat quietly and did random acts of violence in my head.

We arrived at the hotel and happily, right there in the lobby was a little area set up to welcome new Unnamed Company ALTs. I gave my name and smiled pleasantly, and was greeted warmly. All the cheerful adverbs you can think of, while in my head painting the walls with the blood of my enemies. I used a chainsaw. Because it’s my favorite weapon in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. I got my papers and my training packet and my room number. And I smiled like I loved the world and wished them all goodnight. Then I heard:

“And you’re roommate is already up there, so you don’t need a key.”

All my hopes were shattered by that. I am an antisocial being. I suck it up. Surely she’d be just as tired as me, and want to sleep. I went up to my room, negotiating all my luggage—there were no carts here, and it was not easy. I was passed by several Japanese people and I swore they were laughing at the ridiculous image I made, with two rolling suitcases and one large duffel, a backpack and a purse. The elevator barely held me.

I got to my room and knocked, and was greeted cheerfully by a part Japanese American.

“Hi! You must be my new roommate! Welcome roomie!” She was so cheerful and friendly I wanted to punch her face in. I said hello. And was both pleased that she also had three large luggage bags, and irritated that she had three large luggage bags. The hotel room was not big enough for the eight of us. But somehow we managed.

And the first thing she wanted to do when I finally got everything dropped down and flopped my exhausted tail onto the bed? Go downstairs and meet the new people. Because she was a bundle of social cheer. I wondered if I could slit my wrists with the complementary razors.

Setsubun

Last week was something called setsubun (節分), which took three teachers and my entire sixth grade class to explain to me. Setsubun is basically a seasonal ceremony the day before each season begins in Japan. The name is literally “seasonal division.” It’s usually actually celebrated the day before spring on the Japanese Lunar calender, which this year was February 3. The spring setsubun is called risshin (立春), which actually used to be considered New Year’s Eve, and got its own special ritual, mamemaki (豆撒き) or “bean throwing,” to rid the house of any evil spirits that might be lurking around for the new year.

Mamemaki is pretty simple. At my elementary school during first period our special needs kids came in dressed up as traditional toshiotoko (年男), either the male born on the corresponding zodiac animal or the male head of the household, and threw peanuts at the teachers. And really, what child wouldn’t want to throw peanuts at the teachers when they’re in elementary? It was great. Traditionally, you’re supposed to throw roasted beans either out the front door or at someone dressed up as an oni, which is a Japanese devil or demon, and shout:

Oni wa soto
Fuku wa uchi!

This means “Demons get out of the house! Good luck and fortune and happiness come in!” Basically. It’s supposed to chase away any demons from the previous year that might bring diseases or misfortune.

In my sixth grade class, to teach this all to me, they drew pictures and showed me the masks, and did some random charades, which was really funny and got the point across well, I thought. Then the homeroom teacher gave us all bags of peanuts, and the she and I went to peanut war with the kids. I can officially say I’ve been in a food fight in a Japanese elementary school.

After we pelted each other until our bags were empty, we then of course cleaned them all up. Then I was informed that you have to eat one peanut for each year of your life. They handed me twenty-eight peanuts–shelled of course–and put them in a bag for me to eat later. The homeroom teacher did let us have a few before we officially started the English lesson though.

It was one of the most interesting learning experiences I’ve had about Japanese culture, probably because it was taught to me by my students rather than an adult. They were so earnest in making sure I understood everything, because they wanted me to appreciate this aspect of their culture. Even though it’s a minor part, it was still important to them. To date, I have yet to receive a better way of explaining cultural customs, or had as much fun participating in them.

So remember, if you want the little devils out of your house, throw peanuts or soybeans out the front door, or better yet a family member in a mask, shouting for the demons to leave–you can use English if you must, but it’s more fun in Japanese I think–and you should be good for the rest of the year on fortune. :)

Life of an ALT: Expectation

There’s something to be said for making a decision to leave everything you know behind, and venture forth into an unknown culture, unknown language, to a country halfway around the world. That something would probably have to be insanity. And I carry no small amount. So my decision to work in Japan as an Assistant Language Teacher—a title that sounded so important and capitalized, how could I resist?—was a relatively easy one.

My life in the States wasn’t all that fantastic, to my way of thinking. I went to school, I studied…sometimes. Okay, so rarely. But I managed to make pretty decent grades anyway. I worked, because my family is by no means wealthy, despite its government label of “Middle Class.” Our Middle Class debt had a large part to do with that, however. But my life was simple. I liked simple. I also liked anime. Hence, Japan.

I went through the application process a couple of times. Not because I was refused, no, simply because my first choice of employment went belly up about a month before my scheduled departure time. Happily it wasn’t after, but I was nonetheless disappointed. Anxiety and doubt had yet to settle in, and I was riding high on the euphoric “I’m doing something with my life” idea. I was ready to go, and go now.

This crashing of my hopes and dreams was barely recovered from. Even when I was accepted by the second company, more thoroughly researched and financially stable. Even when I was on the damn plane to go, I was half in doubt I would actually arrive. Ever. Though how I thought my plane would miss the landing strip is unknown to me still.

But back to my decision making process. Here, I believe, is the complete order of thought: I like anime; Manga is fun too; I think I’ll study Japanese; Japanese is interesting; Hard, but interesting; I like it; I think translating anime and manga would be fabulous; I should study Japanese in Japan; I’m poor; I’ll teach English there. And there you have it. A life-changing decision broken down into one word: fangirl. We won’t even go into the yaoi aspect, unless I need to take up space later. I like to look back on this process and give a mental bitch slap to the girl that was. So innocent. So stupid.

However, my excitement was not to be contained. I would throw off the shackles of mundanity, I would break free from the small town life. I would discover the world! But first, I would get all my foreign resident papers and shots, and then pack. I was not at all prepared for the enormity of simply packing up my belongings. My numerous, ridiculous, pack-rat induced belongings. Oh, there was a challenge with no joy.

First, I agonized over the list of things the company, Unnamed Company, had sent me; recommendations of what I would need. Naturally, after about the third time I was throwing everything out of my suitcases to repack them, the list was tossed in favor of fitting in the things I wanted to take, rather than what I would need. They were still three bags of nearly fifty pounds each, but they were full of what I thought of as necessities. You never know, really, when shiny black hooker boots or a pig that squealed when you hug it would come in handy.

During the packing process, and a bit before, I was also attempting to work. This was after graduation, of course, as Unnamed Company needed folks with a Bachelors degree. So I was forced to find a temporary job or three to fund my trip—which was not paid for by Unnamed Company—and the first two months of residency, because Unnamed Company preferred to test their employees’ metal by starving them in a foreign country first. So I worked. One job from about four in the morning until two in the afternoon, the other from three until eleven, and the other on my weekend afternoons. Tutoring on the side just for fun. I slept little, if at all. I do not recommend this to the sane.

I did manage to afford at least enough to buy my plane ticket and pay my bills, both credit card and student loans, so that the banks that own my soul would not come after my kneecaps while I was away. I packed and repacked, and on the day of my departure I repacked again, just to make absolutely sure I had everything that I thought was vital to my existence, and my family drove me to the airport. I left my room much the same as I have always left it, whether going on a long trip or leaving for the store. A mess. I expected it would not be bothered with while I was away. Ah what a fool I was. I said goodbye as was proper, and my family drove off. Leaving me with three fifty pound suitcases, one carry-on bag, and one backpack. It was quite nice of them. I managed, however, and the next thing I know, after about twenty hours on one airplane or other, I was arriving in Narita, Japan. Home of their International Airport. And hoping there would be someone to meet me at the gate.