July 7–11温風至 Atsukaze itaru - Warm winds blow
July 12–16蓮始開 Hasu hajimete hiraku - First lotus blossoms
July 17–22鷹乃学習 Taka sunawachi waza o narau - Hawks learn to fly
Okasan's latest. seasonal postcard She'll be up in Gifu with Mayumi and her sisters this weekend, so we're off the hook until next Saturday. She sent this along with Mina yesterday evening, because she knows I'm a fan, and collect them.
Teaching English in Japan is a young person's game. It's a revolving door profession for the fresh-out-of-college crowd.
A gap filler.
Back in the days of yore, it was considered an interesting way for those with the means to wile away a couple of years - working short hours at handsomely paying teaching gigs, partying, and stockpiling what they imagined would be a pirate's ransom of cash savings - all in relatively safe; yet 'exotic' environs.
At the end of their sojourns, bank accounts hopefully brimming with all the yen they'd managed to fleece off the natives for facilitating a little English conversation, they'd have sayonara sales, then hop planes back to their respective realities
- where they'd gradually settle in to the lives and professions that would likely define their remaining years on this mortal coil.
In the waning years of Japan's fabled 'economic bubble' period, most of the gaijin that I met out here aimed to do just that - catch a break in the action at their point of origin, rake in piles of cash for whatever came next, then cut and run when they simply couldn't take it any more.
For us Canadian types, it was kind of like the more glamorous alternative to going tree planting up in the hinterlands.
The toughest part was getting started. The language and culture definitely took a bit of getting used to. After a rocky first few months adjusting to life on this 'magical archipelago', the newbies would usually wind up in some sort of 'agreeable' (the definition of which varies wildly) employment - usually at an eikaiwa (English conversation school), then attempt to start saving money for whatever their primary 'post Japan' motivation might be. In some cases it was to subsidize future travel plans, in others grad school, student loan payments, a car, or a downpayment on some property...the list goes on and on.
Depending on the individual, and his or her level of discipline/motivation, things could go either way. Some packed out their schedules, worked holidays, taught privates, and achieved or even exceeded their financial goals. Others got on the party train, and ultimately left the country even more skint than when they came. Japan is, after all, a land of myriad distractions.
Goals achieved or not, within a few years of touching down, most of these budding mercenary linguists would be back at their respective points of origin, with anecdotes galore and no plans to ever return.
Of course, there were exceptions. Some people lucked in to lucrative tenured teaching gigs at colleges or universities that provided the basis for an actual life, and decided to stay on. Some met their significant others, married and/or had kids.
Of this sub-group, some eventually became disillusioned with life in Japan, packed up their young families and returned to their points of origin. Others toughed it out, and settled in for the long haul.
You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who actually intended on staying from the outset. I certainly didn't.
'Shit happens', as they say.
Today, the smattering of veteran ex-pats (or 'lifers') with whom I'm acquainted all seem to have native spouses, kids, and well paying university or company jobs. Outside of myself, I can only think of one other person that doesn't fit into that category. She went native, and opened her own business.
Back in the late 80's, before I had any inkling that I'd be re-locating to these far-flung precincts, I'd heard some pretty disparaging stuff said about people who'd decided to stay over here. Guys in particular. The gist of it was always,
'Losers who can't hack it at home run away to Japan where they can get jobs and girlfriends just because they're white and speak English'.
I wondered if the whole process of relocating to such a far-flung place was really a piece of cake? I mean, if that were the case, why didn't every guy go? It seemed like a no-brainer. The truth is that it's not all that easy to pack up and leave your comfort zone - even if the quality of life you're leading leaves a bit to be desired. More often than not, that old adage, "the hell you know is better than the hell you don't know" rings fairly true.
Still...being bombarded by attractive women and well paying jobs for simply being a Caucasian native speaker of English sounded all together too good to be true.
A few short years later, I would find out first hand that the realities of life over here were quite a bit different from what people on the outside had been saying. Just like tree planting, it looks great on paper, and sounds good around a table at the bar - but works out a bit differently where the rubber hits the road.
Oddly, it seemed that females making the move were somehow excluded from these unflattering blanket judgements. I'd never heard any type of criticism leveled at the ladies who came over. They weren't seen as opportunistic 'losers' on the make at all...but as 'empowered young women, stepping out into a world of opportunity and adventure'.
To be fair, the girls had to deal with a lot more adversity over here. In addition to the xenophobia and 'othering', they had to contend with all of the throwback sexism. Japan is an old school patriarchy. A 'boys club', rife with discrimination, and hobbled by archaic gender based attitudes and stereotypes. Little has changed over the last thirty...erm...two hundred years.
Back in the day, the go-to for gainful employment was 'teaching' English.
The English conversation schools out here bear a lot of similarity to fast food joints. They're revolving door employers, feeding off of an endlessly shifting pool of transient workers from first world English speaking countries, the vast majority of whom are in their early - mid twenties, and socially/economically vulnerable. Once hired, they're essentially allowing themselves to be used as a commodity. Walking, talking meat.
Youth is king (or queen) in an industry that trades in what can only euphemistically be referred to as corporately chaperoned 'virtual dating' or 'friend rental'. As such, fresh, young and attractive 'product' has always been crucial to these businesses maintaining their bottom lines. It's never really been about education. It's about appearances. In the extreme, one could reasonably compare the way these operations are run to strip joints, massage parlours or whorehouses.
This never stopped anyone from coming. If you could stomach it, the 'work' was easy, if not mind numbingly dull. The hours were relatively short, and it paid reasonably well. That being said, most people would hit their threshold after two or three years. Like waiting tables or working a grill, it wasn't something you'd want to make an actual career out of.
Fast forward three decades.
Thirty two years on from the first class I stepped in front of at that small eikaiwa in Amagasaki, it's clear that the old dynamic has changed. Japan is no longer the shining beacon of adventure and money making opportunity it once was.
In a landscape forever changed by the internet, smart phones and social media, the world-at-large - and foreigners in particular - are no longer sources of boundless fascination and amusement to the natives. The endless flow of images and information on their handsets now precludes everything.
We've lost our currency. Our leg up. Our 'advantage'. Worthwhile English teaching jobs, once abundant and well paid, are now a real challenge to find. When it comes to studying or learning a new language, there are currently so many free or dirt-cheap online options that it boggles the mind. Finding reliable private or semi-private students has become akin to panning for gold nuggets in a long played-out stream.
The natives have also become a lot more inwardly focussed. Less inquisitive as to the world beyond this archipelago.Travel? It seems the majority are happy enough to stay home and live 'virtual' lives on their laptops or handsets.
English conversation schools are currently offering 'teachers' pay packages that come out to barely more than survival wages - with little wiggle room to save any real money. The old four hour teaching days are now a full eight or nine hours, six days a week. By the time the bills and taxes are paid, you're basically living pay cheque to pay cheque. Gone are the days when it would be affordable to make trips back home to decompress once or twice a year. Figure in COVID, and the currently dismal yen to dollar exchange rate - then consider inflation and the ever increasing cost of living - and it's hard to see why anyone would be motivated to come. It's a losing proposition.
Barring secure and well paid employment at a college, university or large company, teaching English in Japan today isn't even a viable short term means of supporting oneself.
Hence, the migration dynamic has completely changed. The majority of foreigners you see here now are more likely to hail from east or southeast Asian points of origin. They're here on temporary work or 'training' visas to fill the less glamorous, lowering paying jobs that a narrowing pool of young Japanese have no interest in doing. They work in restaurants, convenience stores, supermarkets, on construction sites, in agriculture...the list goes on. In many cases, the jobs Japanese refer to as '3-K' (kitanai, kiken, kitsui - respectively 汚い "dirty", 危険 "dangerous", きつい "demanding").
The hours are long, and the remuneration is low. They also face open racism and discrimination. They are the new 'Untermensch'.
As for the 'English teacher' types - they're no longer here for the opportunity to make some money. Those days are long gone. They're here because they're Japanophiles. Privileged Gen 'Z' kids who've grown up on a steady diet of manga and anime, and have cultivated some sort of fantasy-based image of what they imagine Japan represents. In the contemporary vernacular, they're referred to as 'weebs'. They'll work for lower wages, and be glad for whatever scraps come their way. Their main objective is simply to be here. To realize their 'J-dream'. They often seem to hail from wealthier families, where money is less of an object. On the side, they seem to enjoy things like 'cosplay' , and will spend inordinate amounts of time and money building elaborate costumes to parade around in, masquerading as their favourite manga or anime characters at conventions or events tailored around this growing sub-culture.
In the social arena, they'll make excuses for and side with the Japanese in every instance any sort of criticism is leveled at the sometimes distasteful or unfair way the natives treat their foreign diaspora. Fellow gaijin that moan or complain are told to 'conform' or 'go home'. It's as if these weebs suffer from what could only be described as some sort of collective form of Stockholm syndrome.
It's sad, but somewhat amusing.
They're so earnest in wanting to be Japanese. They'll dress up in traditional yukata (light, casual kimono) and geta (wooden sandals) at the local seasonal matsuri festivals, and make asses of themselves participating and trying to integrate...perhaps not realizing that the locals are more often laughing at them - not with them. While they almost uniformly identify with the 'woke' movement back home, they don't hesitate to engage in what can only be called gross 'cultural appropriation' over here. It's pure folly. They will always be considered 'quaint foreigners' by the natives. Akin to objects or mascots. Never accepted as equals.
Being Japanese is an exclusive club that you need to be born into. Outsiders are always just that. Outsiders. The sooner foreigners over here come to grips with that, the happier they'll be.
I often wonder what the hell I'm still doing here. Over the last decade I've been wrung out and hung up to dry by natives I thought were my friends, and seen my once vital English Language Service essentially sputter out and die. COVID really delivered an arse kicking to a lot small businesses over here, so I'm hardly the only one smarting. A lot of people here have taken it up the arse pretty bad.
The hard thing is that there doesn't really seem to be a way back. The 'industry' isn't at all what it was...and I'm now too old. The once lucrative market for private students has all but dried up. Even if I were inclined to go out and pound the pavement for a marginal English school job, nobody wants a salty 56 year old when they can get an easy to mold 23 or 24 year old weeb who will work long hours without the salary expectations.
With the number of prospective students on a steady decline, the eikaiwa want fresh young meat on the hooks for their declining 'rent-a-gaijin' and 'virtual date' rackets.
Which brings us back to Deadbeat City, the third year summer of COVID, 2022.
After the Friday Kinder-Queen Geedorah showdown out at Mr. Insecthead's, I was dreading going back for the Tuesday morning session. Last week's gigs had been the worst experiences I'd had over there in 26 years.
I slept badly all weekend. I was pre-occupied with what had happened.
I had to prepare myself for the very real possibility that my years of employment at Mr, Insecthead's were in the process of winding down...and that my already severely compromised income was going to take another significant hit. I talked about it with Mina, and though she told me not to worry, it weighed heavy nonetheless.
The onus of being the 'primary breadwinner' has been on her for longer than I care to admit. Every hit I take is that much less I'm able to contribute. The last six or seven years have been particularly rough. Long time, 'pillar' clients have moved or retired, and fresh referrals haven't been forthcoming. Mina and I built an internet presence from the ground up; but despite our best efforts, my nascent web site failed to deliver on any level whatsoever. More money down the river.
The 'old' business model is no longer viable. Even with the tech resources and savvy to get a 'virtual business' up and running, it's much harder to make any reasonable money.
To compensate, I've taken on most of the day-to-day household chores. It's actually way more work than I though it would be. Dawn to past dusk. My horizons have narrowed considerably.
The decades over here are starting to wear on me. I feel like I'm treading water on high seas.
In addition to trying to navigate my way through some borderline debilitating bouts of depression, I've been starting experience panic attacks. To the uninitiated, a panic attack can be a pretty terrifying experience. I've been muddling through different coping strategies. Doing breathing exercises. Trying to stay grounded and present, instead of rehashing past mis-steps and regrets, or projecting myself into all kinds of potentially unhappy future scenarios. I'm essentially on my own with this stuff. As we all are.
The canal running thing has been a good counterbalance. The endorphins and endocannabinoids generated by an hour's run can do wonders when it comes to counteracting some of the more unpleasant internal business that I've been dealing with. In the absence of any common sense herbal supplements (weed), it's really the only game in town.
Sometimes it just isn't enough, though.
The writing helps to some degree. It can be grounding to be able to take the intangible and make it real in some way. While it's tough to control one's own inner workings, it's relatively easy to control words on a page.
I rode my bike out to the school on the morning of Tuesday, April 26th. Mina was worried I'd get in an accident or something...I'd been that pre-occupied. It was mild and overcast, but the consensus weather forecast was pointing toward a major piss down at some point, so I packed along my rain poncho and wet gear.
I rolled in to Mr. Insecthead's with twenty minutes to spare, and pretty low expectations. I was trying to focus on positives. Golden Week was starting on Friday. Not that these runs of statutory holidays actually meant anything more than a few extra days of having to deal with okasan (who'd been increasingly moody of late); but there was always the possibility that I'd get to sleep in until 7:30 or 8 am at least a couple of times. I could take that as a minor win.
Insect Daughter was hovering around the office, and offered up her usual spritely, "Good morning!", as I kicked my running shoes off onto on the mat at the top of the landing. I offered up the most convivial, "Good morning!" I could muster. As previously mentioned, I'm not really good at the morning lip service thing. Today should be 'threes, fours and fives'...but I expected that with Kinder-Queen Geedorah now apparently ruling the roost, anything could happen.
I put away my bag, and made my customary pit stop at the lavatory. When I came out, Insect Daughter was on the swivel chair in the computer nook pecking away at the keyboard.
"How about today? Threes, fours and fives?"
She flipped open a folder and and ran her finger down the sheet of paper inside, looked up and chirped,
"That's right. Threes, fours and fives"
With a few minutes left to showtime, I decided to get straight to the point.
"What about the situation with the five year old class? Did you...?"
"Yes. Furusawa san said she was very sorry. This was a big misunderstanding. She said she thought that your class was only going to be ten or fifteen minutes..."
A composite feeling of relief, confusion and resentment suddenly washed over me.
What the fuck? Five year olds only ten minutes? In 26 years, I'd only ever taught the fives thirty minute classes. Misunderstanding? It sounded like an excuse. And who on earth was Furusawa san? Was she Long COVID, or Erratica? I didn't quite know how to respond.
"Ummm. Really? That's...good?"
"Yes. She said she will apologize to you today"
"Apologize? To ME? That's not necessary."
Insect Daughter looked a bit confused.
"Really? Why not?"
It would be tough to explain to her that I didn't value coerced apologies. It had been confirmed that I wasn't in the wrong. It was clear. That was enough. I could give a rat's ass about what's her face's lip service apology.
"It's finished. Let's just move on."
I gave her as big a smile as I could manage.
"Thanks very much for helping to clear that up. It had been a big worry over the weekend. I felt really bad"
"It's OK. You're welcome".
The whole thing was still a puzzle. I ducked out, grabbed my teaching materials from theentrance of the partitioned side office, and headed straight for the stairs at the far end of the second floor landing. As I passed room #1, a voice rang out.
"Shaun sensei!"
Oh, god. Please. No. I kept going.
"Shaun sensei! Excuse me!"
Just short of the stairs, I stopped and turned. It was Long COVID. She launched right in.
"About Friday. Very sorry. I made mistake. Very sorry."
Simple. Minimal even. To the point. No crocodile tears, groveling or bowing and scraping. While I absolutely didn't need any kind of over-the-top display, I wasn't really feeling much sincerity. It was as if she'd been put up to it - which, to be honest, she had.
I'd keep it simple, too.
"OK. I understand. Thank you."
With that, she suddenly shoved out her hand. She wanted me to shake it. How odd. I reciprocated, and after a one-two- three, and out, I was on my way down the stairs to the three year old's class, and she was back to her Hydra-den in room #1.
...and just like that,, Kinder-Queen Geedorah was no more.
I wondered why she was the only one apologizing? It struck me as a bit unfair that the other two were getting off the hook. They'd all been cunts.
At 11:00 am precisely, I was back upstairs to do the five year olds, and the atmosphere was strangely subdued. Erratica's dragon lady fire seemed to have been at least temporarily extinguished. She kept her distance. The kids were fine. Of course, there was a bit of lingering tension. I was going to have to do some work arounds to make sure that I didn't need to ask for any more help modeling activities than absolutely necessary. Moving forward, I would need to be careful of these two. Polite and careful.
In previous years, I'd make a point of learning their first names, and try to foster a bit more of a casual and familiar atmosphere. I would need to change that up. From here on out, the major focus was going to be on good manners and honorifics. "Sensei, please" and "Sensei, thank you". Hopefully the kids would at least be able to glean some polite English expressions out of the whole experience.
It's sure that there won't be any tearful good-byes at the end of the school year next March.
Toward the end of the class, Insect Daughter came in to check out what was going on. This broke the tension a bit. I brought her in on the kid's final activity, and she jumped right in, and handled it like a professional. I wrapped the class up at precisely 11:30.
I dropped my slippers and teaching stuff off at the partitioned side office, and went over to the main office to pick up my pay packet and grab my gear. The clouds had darkened, and it looked to be on the cusp of a piss down. Insect Daughter handed my receipt and envelope over the front counter. Her father was apparently out 'click-clacking' in other pastures.
"Did you ride your bicycle today?"
I raised my helmet, nodded and gestured outside.
"Yeah. I should get moving. I looks like it's going to start raining soon. Oh...and I want to say thank-you again for today. The five year old's class went much better. You did a good job solving that problem."
When she walked into the room near the end of the five year old's class, I sensed that she was the one who'd taken the lead solving that problem...not her father. She'd snapped those bitches into line. I was impressed.
I put on my helmet, slung my backpack over my shoulder and gave her a thumbs up.
"Well done! Have a great Golden Week!"
She smiled broadly at the recognition.
"Thank you! You, too! Rain is starting! Be careful!"
And sure enough, it was starting to spit rain, ever so slightly. Fortunately, the real deluge didn't come down until about five minutes after I got home. Lucky me. I had also received my first ever token apology from a native on a job site.
An unexpected win, to be sure.
While it seems that my job over there is safe for the time being, this whole experience has been a valuable wake-up call. From here on, I would need to take a bit more notice of what was going on with the cunts over there, and try to get out ahead of any future situations, if at all possible.
Two months on, all remains pretty quiet on western front. I still can't figure out what the point of any of this awfulness really was. Had the antagonists achieved their objective, or ended up eating crow for nothing?
It was nice to know that - at least this time around - the Insectheads had my back.
******************************************************************************************************
An interesting, if not disappointing post script to all of this...
Just as I was wrestling Kinder Queen Geedorah at the front door, another valued client...the 'nice, mild and well mannered' young doctor that I'd been teaching for ten years up and slipped out the back.
He served no notice, nor gave any warning. Simply stopped showing up to class.
It seems that he'd quit his hospital job, and decided to strike out on his own and open a clinic...a tidbit of information he'd neglected to inform me of until the end of February this year. Given plenty of openings to avail me of proper notice, he simply dodged and avoided. I suppose he figured that giving up the fee that he'd paid in advance for the two April classes he bailed on (one without so much as a message to let me know he wasn't coming) was about all the consideration I deserved.
Ten years of goodwill down the fucking shitter. Would it have been that hard to just be honest and give me notice. Was the chickenshit sneak off really necessary?
Lost income aside...what a disappointing and disrespectful asshole.
So...one step forward, two steps back. These days there doesn't appear to be any getting ahead in Deadbeat City.
*****************************************************************************************************************************
That's where we'll wrap up this installment. The oppressive summer heat and humidity here in the industrial armpit of central Japan is starting to bite.
Rainy season seems to be well upon us.
In the region of two weeks henceforth, I'll be back to detail the latest comings and goings in my ever narrowing orbit here in Deadbeat City. We'll be saddled with okasan for two consecutive weekends...one of which will be a three day extend-o fun fest, so there should be plenty of grousing and bellyaching. Not to mention COVID, which looks poised to top its post New Year's WAVE 6 peak by the first week of August.
That means we'll officially be into WAVE 7, bitches. Oh, what fun we'll have. Due to the excessive heat, and Japanese summer in general, look forward to a a few slightly shorter entries. The writing table is a hot and hellish place to be this time of year.
So, until next we meet, you'd do well to remember that...
"No matter where you go, there you are".
There, and nowhere else.
Virtual date
To the uninitiated, a panic attack can be a pretty terrifying experience.
Comments