Reflecting on the Past

By Makiko Nerio, ALT, Toyama-ken, 2002-04

I remember it well: during my first month at Oyama Senior High School, I would overhear teachers questioning why a student was in the staff room – and not wearing a uniform. You can imagine their surprise when they found out that I wasn’t a 15-year-old Japanese student, but the new Assistant Language Teacher, straight from California.

During my two years at Oyama, I established a bond with many of my students. Since many students had limited English-speaking abilities, they would often mix Japanese, English and gestures when trying to communicate. It was through these struggles and triumphs that I got to know many. Conversations with students varied. On Mondays our topic of interest was “Ainori,” a show in which 8 co-eds traveled around the world in search of love. We also talked about music, movies, Japanese TV dramas, family life and the new places in town. The “random” conversations are my most memorable ones.

Leaving Japan and my school was very difficult. I had so many great memories: from working with my third year students to create a yearbook to building an igloo on campus; taking sticker pictures with students was also a lot of fun. Also who can forget those infamous bonenkais where teachers let go of all of their inhibitions! You’ll never experience something like that in Corporate America!
The day my successor (the JET teacher who would take my place the following year) arrived was my last day at school. As I introduced her to my students, I also had to say good-bye. I still remember my last day on campus; my students created a human archway for me to walk though as they saw me off.

I was lucky – eight months after leaving Japan I returned to attend graduation. This was extremely important to me, as this was the only class that I taught for two years. During my two years many of these became like family; it was as if I had 125 younger siblings, each very unique in their own way. It was exciting to go back and to see them again and to see how each had matured. Following graduation some students pursued college, while others began their careers. I was also excited to hear that some opted to continue their English studies in college.

Life as an ALT was such a great experience. Additionally living in Japan taught me a lot about myself and exposed me to other aspects of my culture. I learned how to wear a kimono and how to fold an obi. I experienced summer festivals and hanami. I even came to love yakitori and standing and slurping noodles at a train station. Looking back I am truly fortunate to have had this opportunity.


Bonenkai – End of the year celebration.
Obi – a sash tied about the waist over a Japanese kimono. (www.dictionary.com)
Hanami – “he Japanese traditional custom of enjoying the beauty of flowers. (www.reference.com)

It was October of 2000. I had spent the past three months teaching English in the Hiroshima countryside, proving that while not yet fluent in Japanese, I had clearly mastered the skills of asking for directions to the restroom – or a beer.

Being new to the country, I was feeling my oats, now being able to fulfill two, count ‘em, two biological functions with use of a foreign tongue. This was the time, with the air still warm and sultry, to test out my newfound language skills with the natives during one of their famous fall festivals – and definitely before my ego was rightly reduced to normal proportions.

And so I found myself hurtling on a train through the rice paddy-covered terrain, to a sleepy little town called Saijo. Within Hiroshima prefecture, Saijo is somewhat famous for two fascinating tidbits of info: first, it was home to Hiroshima University, giving it a small international flavor due to its population of exchange students. Train stations announcements were even in English.

More importantly however, Saijo was also home to eight sake manufacturers. A sake town, Saijo is, and deservedly so. In the beginning of autumn, the town elders would open the brewery gates and invite the local passersby to sample their wares. What possibly began as a “Hey, look what I made!” type of situation developed into the Saijo Sake Matsuri (Festival), an unadulterated celebration of the fermented rice grain, with performances and food stalls galore. In the center of town, a full city park is fenced off. For about 1500 yen admission, you receive fine literature explaining the joys of sake, and also a souvenir sake cup, from which you could discover the joy firsthand – and in much more of a hurry. With about 900 types of sake to choose from, this cup comes in handy indeed. At the beginning, patrons carefully decide which sake to sample: would a nice dry one or a sweet variety tickle their fancy? As the day wears on, however, cups are filled without rhyme or reason. But that was fine, too. After all, here was where the most improbable friendships could be made.

For a foreigner new to Japan, there are some subtle pitfalls. Some confuse the sake cup with the shot glass, and woe to he who makes this fundamental error! There’s the story of one compatriot, who found his way back to his station but promptly passed out in the ditch. Neighbors quietly carried him to his apartment, tucked him in, and said nothing. He awoke the next day in his bed, not quite remembering how he got there – until his students were kind enough to enlighten him during class the next day.


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