Experience vs. Expectation

It's funny how much our actual experiences can differ from our expectations. When I got to Uoshima, I got to spend two days with Ethan, my predecessor. Between packing and paperwork, Ethan could unfortunately only offer me a couple of hours to pick his brain and establish realistic expectations for my stay on fish island.

In the time we did spend together, I got to walk around with him and meet some of the people that he was leaving behind. Even though he hadn't studied Japanese at all before coming, two years alone on the island with no English speakers really strengthened his Japanese. Given that I came to Japan to study the language, I loved the thought of being fluent after two years. I couldn't have been in a better position.

Ethan was in fantastic shape when he left. I believe he was a runner before coming to Japan, but he spent the copious free time in the afternoons and evenings running up and down the hills of the circular island road, training for a marathon. Having been out of shape since the age of six, I looked forward to simultaneously slimming down and exploring the island. I would even join the baseball club and hone those skills.

Attached to Uoshima by a stacked stone foot bridge is a little island called Kojima (Japanese for "little island"), where Ethan would go in the evening to read. I envisioned myself composing music on the cool, rough rocks with the sun slipping below the horizon. Afterward, I could hop in the sea for a nice evening swim.

Life would be nice and slow. We'd learn to be self-sufficient with a vegetable garden. Kimiko Azuma, one of two people on the island who spoke English, worked out a deal with an old lady to get us a plot of land. I wrote a few months ago:

We have a plot of land that's been set aside as our garden. It's actually already a garden, but the owner of the land is hurt and won't be able to cultivate it any longer. It's right by the new house, so that's another factor to consider. It's a pretty big plot, about 40 feet by 80 feet.

We brought all sorts of seeds and bought a book about utilizing space in the garden. We were ready to go; we just needed to wait until planting season.

Before Ethan left, he wrote farewell cards to all the people he had gotten to know on the island. When it was time to board the ferry to leave, a bunch of people gathered around to say goodbye. I wrote a little about this:

His send off was touching. Dozens of villagers met him and the docks to see him off. They all held streamers that were on a spool, giving the ends to Ethan and Sarah (his girlfriend) to hold on to as the boat drove away. They remained "connected" to him even as he rode away on the boat (or at least until the streamers broke). It was hard to watch. I hope that I have as big a connection with these people by the time I leave.

Obviously, I looked forward to the day when my heart strings would snap, and I'd be reduced to a sobbing and babbling fool. Actually, I just hoped to build the friendships that would make it so difficult to leave.

So, I obviously had some grandiose visions of life on Uoshima. But what really happened?

First off, most of my long-term expectations became moot the moment I moved to Imabari. But right from the start, my expectations were off. Coming to the island, I was excited to meet the members of my new community. Here's what I wrote:

The ferry ride was beautiful. I was a little motion sick from all the travel, but it was neat to ride on the top of the little ferry and look down at the thousands of harmless jellyfish in the sea. Ethan said that I should be expecting a big welcome when I got home, but that didn't really happen. Ethan's girlfriend and one lady were running up to the docks when we got there with a sign that said "Welcome Mr. Stout to Uoshima!" Ethan seemed miffed that they didn't have more people there...

As for the language, Uoshima forced me to study Japanese enough to communicate, and I had plenty of free time at work. The teachers on Uoshima were amiable, but they rarely spoke to me in Japanese. Even though I had made it clear that I came to Japan to study the language, they instead tried to practice their English. I didn't really grow until Mia came in the middle of the night.

Dealing with the doctors at the hospital in Japanese forced me to learn how to communicate better. I'm not fluent yet, but I also haven't even reached the 10-month mark. My vocabulary is exploding and each day I get a little better at conversing. I understand almost everything I hear (except TV comedy shows--I'm often clueless to the slang). In Imabari, all my schools have at least one person with whom I can converse. Now I have less time to study, but more opportunities to practice Japanese. I can't draw any conclusions yet, but so far I feel that being in Uoshima was necessary at first, but being in Imabari is better for my Japanese in the long run.

Fitness was also a bit of a disappointment. I dropped from 245 pounds to 220 pounds, thanks mostly to the exercise festival and not having a wife at home for two months. While I lost a good chunk of weight, I'm still not happy with my physique. I never got to play real baseball on Uoshima. The weather was much too cold for me to run around the island. So, yeah, my once-tight pants are now baggy. But I never got to explore the island, and I still need to lose a few.

I went out to the little island a couple times, but never with the intent to compose. I figured I'd always have a chance later. Nope. I only went swimming three or four times, but looked forward to next year's summer, when we'd surely go swimming as a family every few days. False. We'd never get the chance.

Though life actually was slow like I'd hoped, we never got the chance to cultivate the garden. We're glad that we didn't, since we would've had to leave it all behind. Here in Imabari, Stef has some planters full of fruits and vegetables that are in various states of health. The first strawberries are almost ready. The cucumbers (or is it the eggplant?) are dead. Stef's having fun, and it's much less work to maintain planters than a whole forty-by-eighty foot garden. While it's not quite what we expected, things are good on the garden front.

I don't believe I've blogged about my teary departure from Uoshima. That's because it never happened.

I spent most of the last day filling out forms at the town hall office. They told me that the boat would leave at about 9:50, and so I should load my stuff onto the boat at 9:30 or so. At 9:10, they told me that I had to load my luggage. I threw my stuff on the boat, and the other teachers, who had been saying good bye to the townsfolk for the previous fifteen minutes, all got on. They handed us each a ribbon or two and the crowd of people held on to the other end of the ribbons. The boat was off at 9:12. I didn't even get to say a personal good bye to the people I got to know. Typically, ALTs on Uoshima get their own send off. But since I was leaving with other teachers, I was just one of many who were leaving. There was no time for tears.

The boat pulled away, tightening my ribbon until it snapped, severing my ties with the island. I guess it doesn't really matter that I never got to say good bye, because I never got to know anyone on the island (outside of the doctor, the band members, and Azuma-san). Imabari is a great place to live, but I'll always look back with fondness at my time on Uoshima. The saddest part about leaving fish island is losing the memories of experiences I never got to have.