And I Could Write A Song 100 Miles Long

The first class I went to with Stuart to the Working Holiday Centre was the Wednesday class, which was the beginners, and the second highest advanced class. This has changed a lot since I knew it, with people switching around and moving from class to class, making some classes tiny, and others huge. The advanced class today was so full that I had to sit at the end of the table, which didn't happen before.

A week and a bit ago, a new girl joined the beginner class. I saw her again today. When she joined, I spoke to her one on one in her first lesson, and her level wasn't brilliant, but she was capable of communicating. If I'd been allowed Japanese, we would have spoken easier. But what made her memorable to me was not her language skill, it was that she was an ordinary Japanese girl, barely in her twenties, starting life and learning a language like so many Japanese people her age are doing, but her left arm was littered with self inflicted scars.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen anything like it. I'd been around an alternative group of people for much of my teen life, though never actually belonging. So self harm and the like was not new to me. But it was a culture shock. While it is never correct for me to do so, I generally judge people by their appearance, but save actual judgments for after I have communicated with them, and can actually start to get an idea of their character, or at least the character they emit. In a country where I am unable to communicate with most citizens, and I have so many preconceptions to the people I see and try to communicate with, I tend to form a stereotype based on appearance. By looking at her face, I formed a complete idea of what she was like, and then looking at her arm, that image was shattered.

It wasn't the shock of a Japanese person doing it, it was the shock of my image being so incorrect, and that I didn't expect it. It made me realise that I have so easily misjudged so many people, and I have so easily ignored histories that can so greatly affect people.

I know a lot about pain during childhood, and as CM has mentioned in his blog recently, school sucks. What this girl taught me is that this pain is carried through to so many people, that I meet and talk to, and that I know or don't know of. With self harm, the scars are literal and are visible. But self harm is such a small part of pain that meeting this one girl reminded me of how many people suffer tremendously during their lives. Being reminded of how many people died in Kobe ten years ago made this suffering seem trivial, and the total suffering the population of the world endures consistently reminded me of how little one person matters, and how much one person matters.

In all, all I mean is that when I meet people, I assume a history, and the history I initially assumed for this girl was so far off, that I wonder about the sufferings I have not known in the people I know and care about, and the people I don't know.

It makes my feelings seem like absolutely nothing.

The last class, which was packed, went about with me not having a consistent talking partner, and now having much to do in the way of help, as the class is pretty competent and capable. It makes me think about how much the teacher actually does, and I made a decision to be more active in my teaching. After the class, they were so impressed that I could write my name in Kanji that they all asked for my autograph. Well, most of them. I was feeling great until I wrote it wrong, but the amusing side took precedent.

When the signatures had subsided, several photos were taken, and then almost everyone went to an izakaya, where we had lots of new foods thrown at us. I had the usual, raw tuna, roasted "long fish", cheese balls and some salad, until the oddest food I have ever come across was put on my plate (figuratively). I was offered a piece of chicken sashimi. Put bluntly, it's a chunk of raw chicken breast, fresh from the bird. I have no sympathy for Japanese chefs, they have an easy life that mainly involves cutting. I dipped it in some kind of ginger paste and soy sauce, and tried it. I chewed about half of it at first. You know the texture of chicken that you feel when you are slicing it? It's kind of gummy and soft and consistent. That's exactly how it is if you eat it. The ginger didn't really hide the taste, and it tastes how it smells. I stopped chewing and forced myself to swallow then and there, because I try to avoid spitting out food until it is a last resort.

I drank all my water, and sat there shaking for a while. They all asked if I was ok, which I wasn't, but I tried unsuccessfully to hide it. Eventually even Emma asked if I was ok, and she was sitting quite far from me and involved in other communication. When I told her what I ate, she went slightly more pale. People apologised for making me eat it. I tried other things, unable to shake the feeling of chewing it. I realised that the only way to deal with this kind of disgusting experience was to repeat it successfully. I picked up the last bit of chicken (identical in every respect to the chicken I have at home before I cook it), and I dipped it again, and I ate it. I pretended it was raw fish, and ate it normally. I did actually feel much better, and less sick after the second piece, and I know now that I can eat it if I have to, or if someone needs impressing. Emma said she felt physically sick watching that.

There were long goodbyes, and lots of exchanging of emails, and even though I knew that in almost all certainty I will not see these people ever again, I told them I'd see them in two years. They are an amazing group of people, and very interesting to talk to. I will miss every person I met and spoke with at Working Holiday. Tomorrow is the last class, but I will probably miss it, as I am meeting one of Emma's friends tomorrow at six, and not close to the centre.

A never traveled much independently, so this trip has meant more goodbyes than I have dealt with before. Admittedly, the hardest has been Yayoi. I dealt with it with the idea of maybe seeing her again, but her email today confirmed that it would not happen. Of the people I have met, I will miss her the most. In her email, she included the photos that she'd taken during the times we were together, and when I get some resizing software to hand, I'll post them. But it was a hard email to read, and a hard one to reply to, but of the people I have met here, I have the most confidence in seeing her again, so I will not be sad in my goodbye.

This has been a long post, and in honesty I don't expect many people to be reading, especially considering the number of comments I get these days. But now is the last day. I'm about to hit the final 24 hours. I'm losing a lot going home, but there's a lot waiting for me. If the world could be smaller, it would be better because I would say goodbye less, but for every person I say goodbye to, I will say hello to another. My network has jumped in size, and I can never regret that. I will be back, and I will try my hardest to keep in touch with the people who have made this holiday so wonderful.