The other day, one of the Japanese Teachers of English at Minami junior high school taught a lesson about the English word "because". Many Japanese kids struggle with "why" and "because", but it's not due to grammatical complexity. Japanese is chock-full of vagueness and ambiguity. It's considered rude to question someone's motives, so you're forced to infer a lot of meaning from vague snippets of speech.
It's equally difficult for me to adapt to the Japanese way. In America, we say that there's no such thing as a stupid question. While that is not completely true, the underlying theme of the saying is that it's best to ask questions and understand than remain quiet in ignorance. There are times when I am expected to accept the decisions of "superiors", even if they don't make sense. I understand that they greatly value the social hierarchy in Japan, so it's not usually difficult to conform to the Japanese way. Not asking "why" is not my problem. My struggle lies with "because".
As I study Japanese, I gradually grow more eloquent in my speech. My pronunciation improves, and I learn more advanced grammatical structures that carry different nuances. I've learned a few different ways to describe my motives and actions. The problem is, I shouldn't be using them.
I've always struggled, even in English, to avoid explaining too much. When I do something wrong, I often feel the need to explain my motives or intentions, so that the offended party knows that my offense was a mistake, and not malicious. I learned a lesson in my many interactions in Guatemala--it's usually best to just apologize for mistakes and not try to explain your motives. People generally don't care what your motives were--they just want results. If you can't provide the desired result, it doesn't matter what your intentions are. As the old saying goes, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and the streets are filled with cheese.
Today, the seventh grade students and teachers at Minami took a field trip to a park. One of the attractions at the park was a big hill with plastic grass that kids could climb up and slide down on plastic sleds. When we first got there, I sat and watched as kids slid down the hill together. A bunch of kids tried to stand and surf down the hill on the sleds. About an hour later, I decided to give it a go. I ran up to the top, grabbed a sled, and stepped in, leaning forward as I pushed off. I kept my balance pretty well, but eventually fell off and rolled down the rest of the hill.
I ran back up to the top and sat backwards in the sled, then pushed off blindly. The kids laughed and cheered as I zoomed down, and I eventually came to a stop. Right then, one of the teachers rushed up to me and told me not stand on the sled. Like a good Japanese boy, I acknowledged her. But that's not what I wanted to do. I knew that the kids had done it for at least a half hour without any adults going up to scold them. Perhaps one of the kids got hurt standing on a sled while I was away doing other things.
It's tough to keep my mouth shut when my feelings are pricked like that. I wanted to explain that I had seen the kids do it, so I figured they wouldn't care. But instead, I shrugged it off and gave her what she wanted. It doesn't really matter if she knows what my intentions were, or if I thought it would be OK. What matters most is that I allow her to save face without letting it bother me. I had fun taking a risk, and the kids had fun watching. I didn't get hurt. When I saw the teacher later, I smiled and acted as if nothing had happened, rather than being offended that she had singled me out.
Later, as we ate lunch, one of the teachers apologized for only bringing tea to drink. No worries--I grabbed a drink from the vending machine. But then, one of the teachers asked my why I didn't like tea. Most of you know that I don't drink tea, coffee, or alcohol for religious reasons. Try explaining that to a group of people that are apathetic at best toward religion. I told them that, as I had mentioned before, I didn't drink it for religious reasons. But even though I had religious reasons, I mentioned that I wasn't fond of the flavor. There's just something unappetizing about a drink that's supposed to taste like a leaf.
While I didn't offer that opinion to my Japanese colleagues, I could tell that I had responded with too much information. It's hard to know exactly how much information is appropriate. If they ask for an explanation, should I not give it to them? Should I have only mentioned that I didn't really like it? Or just that it was for religious reasons? In order to fit in, I have to not be me. And that's tough.
It's one thing to learn how to say things in another language. Learning what's socially and culturally appropriate for each situation is an entirely different beast--one that I will never fully master. I'll try not to explain myself too much--that's not a bad idea, even for my interactions with non-Japanese. And sure, I'll get better at knowing when to hold my tongue. But I'll always be American, and I'll always be me.
At Sakurai, I was playing dodge ball with the kids during lunch when the ball left the play area and bounced over a wall. I launched myself over the wall to grab the ball, when suddenly I heard one of the teachers yell, "Sensei! Kutsu wa dame!" That's Japanese for "Jesse, you idiot, you have landed on an elevated platform, upon which wearing outside shoes is a disgrace to the spirits of all our ancestors, and upon which you must now feel the bitter pangs of shame." When I apologized to the teacher, I mentioned that it's hard for me to remember the shoes rule, since we don't have it in America. What I should have said was nothing. Nothing but "I'm sorry." In Japanese, of course. Gah. Social nuance. Social nuisance is more like it.
During the conversation about coffee and tea, one of the teachers mentioned that he didn't like coffee when he was younger. He had to drink it a lot before he could tolerate it, and then he learned to appreciate the flavor. Kids here say the same about nattou, a sticky, slimy mess of fermented beans. Many still hate it even after being forced to eat it in their school lunches for years. My question is this--why would I want to eat something over and over that I didn't like, just so that I could grow to like it? Wouldn't it make more sense to eat things that I like? Perhaps it would make more sense if tea and coffee were the only things available to drink in the world. Thanks, but I'll have a glass of water.
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