Monday, March 31, 2014

History and Myth: Yamatai

It seems there are a lot of good progressive leaps forward in geek culture these days. More and more woman are given their chance to shine in the spotlight and contribute more than just a pretty face (or voice). As a result, games are starting to portray female characters in a more realistic fashion as both strong, developing people, and possible role models for a younger audience.

Naturally, I was pleased to hear Tomb Raider was getting a much-needed new coat of paint in terms of both visuals and overall content. Moreover, I was a child of the mid-90's that kind of missed the window to play the original, but was just in time to see the first movie. I was hoping for a game that was both modernized and progressive while also remaining true to the overall spirit of the original game.

I was glad to hear it didn't disappoint on all accounts. However, this game sat on my computer for the longest time. As great as it was to have another game to join the growing library for the progressive, feminist woman, I couldn't help but feel like this game was a bit too close to other series for me: Uncharted and Assassin's Creed (both of which are basically gritty versions of Prince of Persia with guns and archeology). Both amazing series in their own right, but I automatically lumped Tomb Raider together with them and put it on the backburner as something I'd get to eventually.

Until one day, when my husband was playing it, I heard one word: "Yamatai".

And I was hooked. One of the ingenuities of recent games that I enjoy is the usage of real history as the main plot or setting of games. Running through Renaissance Italy is almost a seperate game from Assassin's Creed II and could hold its own without the modern-day sci-fi parts (in fact, you spend so little time out of the Animus that I often forgot about that part of the game entirely). Uncharted takes the player to realistic settings in search of mythological locales rife with history. I am both excited and inspired by these games that compell the audience to play these games and then flock to the internet to learn more and sift through the realities and myths.

But Yamatai holds a particularly fond place in my heart.

To explain why, all we need to answer is this question, "What is Yamatai?"

In the third century, there was a region of Japan that was ruled and united by a hegemon by the name of Queen Himiko who regularly sent missions to China. The name of this region was called "Yamatai".

And that's it. That is, that's all anyone actually knows about it with any level of certainty. We don't even have solid records of Yamatai or it's ruler since the Japanese people hadn't fully adapted Chinese writing to the Old Japanese language until the eighth century. With no definite Japanese accounts to go by, scholars have to rely on the impressions of Chinese people. In Sources of Japanese Tradition by Ryusaku Tsunoda, William T deBary, and Donald Keene, one citizen recounts:

[Himiko] occupied herself with magic and sorcery, bewitching the people. Though mature in age, she reamined unmarried. She had a younger brother who assisted her in ruling the country. After she became the ruler, there were few who saw her. She had one thousand women as attendants, but only one man. He served her food and drink and acted as a medium of communication. She resided in a palace surrounded by towers and stockades, with armed guards in a state of constant vigilance.

So it seemed this Queen Himiko was an enigma surrounded by mysticism. Women play in important role in Japan's native Shinto religion. Shamans were mostly women and in most mythological stories, the victims of demonic possessions were often women. Even today, the all-female miko can be seen tending their shrines and performing ritualistic duties. The head deity of Shinto, Amaterasu, is also a woman and all reigning sovereigns of Japan are thought to be descended from her. In modern times, the emporers of Japan still act in a traditional and ritualistic role.

Himiko's mysticism and solitude are well-portrayed in popular culture. In the most excellent Legend of Zelda-style Playstation 2 classic, Okami, you play as the head deity Amaterasu herself in the shape of a pure-white wolf (okami can be translated as both "Great God" (大神) and "wolf"(狼)) playing through a plethora of Japan's colorful mythology and folk tales. In this game, you get to meet with Queen Himiko and in her grand palace, you encounter only a few hand-maidens. Then, when you make it to her throne-room (part of which involves swimming through LAVA), you find yourself in a gigantic room empty only except for Queen Himiko.

                                          Photo: IGN.com
 


                                                                Photo: SplitPlaythru
 
She likes her space...


The other part of this story that continues to elude historians is the location and size of Yamatai. If you were to follow the Chinese directions to Yamatai, you'd end up somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. However, part of the directions lead to modern-age Kyushu- a prime location from which Himiko could send her missions. In fact, a seal was found in Kyushu which fit the description of those bestowed by Emporer Kuang-wu of China to Japanese missions.

So it's probably safe to assume that the location of Yamatai in Tomb Raider is probably unrealistic considering the game takes place on an uncharted island in the middle of nowhere. Furthermore, ancient Chinese records relate that Himiko's people were "kind and peace-loving" and though she was thought of as a strong and extraordinary ruler, there is no account of her people being ruled by fear as portrayed in the game.

Besides a few minor liberties taken as expected in any mainstream media, I thoroughly enjoyed Crystal Dynamics' portrayal of a long-forgotten ancient civilization. The backgrounds and visuals are beautiful with true-to-life Japanese architecture and symbolism. The game is chock-full of references and tibits to actual history from Hanya masks to drink flasks used by Japanese aristocrats. For those looking for an excellent archeological adventure into ancient Japan, I can't recommend this game enough.

References:

Ryusaku Tsunoda, William T. deBary, and Donald Keene, eds. Sources of Japanese Tradition. New York: Colombia University Press, 1958.

Varley, Paul. Japanese Culture. 4th ed. Hawaii: University of Hawai'i Press, 2000.

Kawagoe, Aileen, Heritage of Japan. "Queen Himiko and the History of Yamatai-koku". Heritage of Japan. 31 March, 2014. web.
 

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

A Different Kind of Test

*Before we start here, I propose a challenge to readers. Read this entire blog entry sitting on your knees. Don't move, get up or change positions.*

I look out over a 28-meter expanse of green. The target looks so small and far away compared to the bound bail of straw I use for warm-up. It seems maybe even a bit farther than at my sensei's dojo. But it doesn't matter. Like every time before, the environment around me is so silent and empty that the one inside me seems to turn up the volume. Nothing else matters, I tell myself, now is now and everything that came before is meaningless. I focus on what is before me, on the bow in my hands and the important way in which I form my hands around it. I concentrate on each movement and make it as perfect as I am able. In between, I use slow breathing to control them.

I inhale for 6 seconds as I raise the bow high above my head and then exhale to relax my shoulders. I inhale for another 6 seconds as I draw the bow halfway and exhale again. Now for the hard part. As I go for the full draw, I push the bow and pull the string as evenly as possible to keep the arrow parallel to the ground. I pull my shoulders apart and stretch everything as horizontally and vertically as possible. I set my aim and hold it there as the clock ticks out the seconds: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, ZIP! My arm flies back at the release so that now both arms are now outstretched parallel to the ground. I anticipate the satisfying POP! of the arrow piercing the target, but it doesn't come. Instead it burys itself into the packed dirt just off to the side. But that doesn't matter, I tell myself. I hold that pose for 3 seconds and then finally lower the bow, return my gaze from the target, and bring my separated feet back together. I take 5 steps back starting with the right leg, and then turn to the right and curve left to the dojo entrance. About a bow's-length away from the doorway, I turn to the left and bow slightly to the small Shinto shrine mounted to the wall above the judges, and then finally make my exit.

And so ends the judging for those seeking their kyu levels at the Spring kyudo test in Honjo city. Next would be those seeking dan levels (more advanced than kyu). There were only 4 kyu candidates including myself- most kyudo-ka start in the spring and test for kyu in the fall since school starts in the spring in Japan. That also means most students are ready to test for dan in the spring since they've been practicing since around that time the previous year. Two kyudo-ka were testing for their third dan. Tests higher than third dan are held in Akita city.
*kyu and dan in kyudo are proficiency levels (kind of like belts in karate). kyu start at the lowest level of 5 and count down to 1. After reaching first kyu, you can shoot for first dan which then counts up to 10. My sensei is sixth-dan. This system is used in many Japanese martial arts.*

My day started almost as any other weekend when I'd head to the usual dojo in Kisakata. Today, however, I was up a bit earlier since I had to wear the formal and complicated-to-put-on kyudo uniform to the test. As the Sunday before the arrival of Spring, it was finally above freezing, but still quite cold out. From Spring onward, I will start wearing the uniform to every practice. Rain fell lightly outside as Brad and I loaded my equipment into the car and set out for Honjo just north of where we live in Nikaho City. I regret not waiting to change after I get there as the tightly-sinched obi around my waist fights with my ribcage for room.

We're greeted politely by other candidates and teachers when we arrive , and I panic a little on the inside not knowing where to put my things and what to do next. I find an empty spot in the bow-stands to put my equipment. I set up my bow and take out my arrows and huddle around the large gas burners with everyone else to wait for the opening ceremonies. Most of the others are high school students who belong to actual kyudo clubs at their schools and I admire their encouraging attitudes and matching club jackets. Most kyudo-ka start in high school and some schools even have their own dojos. I notice some of them are hastily reviewing handwritten notes since those testing for dan have to take a written examination. I'm glad that's far away for me.

Finally, we're called into the dojo for opening remarks and greetings. Some of the students push open the sliding walls separating the dojo from the range. The rain has excalated to a storm and the wind whips through the surrounding trees. We line up according to our test levels and what order we would be shooting. An MC officially announces the start the of the Spring kyudo test and calls upon the highest-level kyudo-ka to make remarks. One of the other instructors reminds us of the procedure and the flow of the testing and directs us to sit off to the side to watch the opening shooting ceremony.

And thus begins the truly hardest part of a martial arts test. In almost all formal ceremonies and places like dojos that require a high level of decorum, people are required to sit in a style called seiza (正座). It seems simple enough- just sit on your knees with your legs under you. Everyone's done it before, but when most people sit in seiza, they change positions at some point without really thinking about it. Most people think it's quite easy. Brave challenge-takers, how are you doing? Try that for almost an hour. Kyudo isn't like western archery where you go up to the line, shoot your arrows, and leave. There's even more to ceremonial shooting. To give you an idea of how slow and calculating kyudo is, here's a video I took of one line of candidates testing for dan (or cheat and just look at how long the video is).


*You'll notice that when shooting, we sit in a different style called kiza (跪座). Instead of sitting flat on your legs, you flex your ankles up and turn the toes up so that the floor is in contact with the pads of your toes instead of the tops of your feet. MUCH easier on the legs and feet, but killer on your toes!*

As you can see, each line is about ten minutes. For the ceremony, the highest-ranking kyudo master comes out on his own to shoot first. There are a couple other things in the procedure that he must do, like pausing at the sitting line to remove the left sleeve of his kimono and other ceremonial bows and things. The pain in my legs started around the first ten minutes. After he's finally done, we have to wait for him put his sleeve back on, have his arrows returned to him and watch him leave. Then they prepare for the 4 other intructors to come out and do it all in line (instead of un-sleeving, the one lady instructor ties a special white strip of cloth around her shoulders).

After the first kyudo master went, a couple of the dan candidates got up from the line to exit the dojo for some reason and we were instructed to scoot over to fill the gaps. When I put my hands on the floor to hoist myself over, I realize with amusement that my palms are sweaty and that my legs are completely numb. I lean forward on my hands to take some of the pressure off them, and awkwardly push myself over. You know that pins and needles feeling when your arm or leg falls asleep? Multiply that times a hundred and you'll get what I felt when I allowed myself that small relief as I moved over. As the rest of the instructors shoot their arrows, I realize it's actually better to sit through the pain instead of trying to relieve the pressure every once in a while because every time I do, I get another wave of needles.

After they leave and we're finally excused, I lean forward on my hands to start allowing the feeling to return to my legs. Every nerve starts to yell with pain and I try moving my legs. Still hard to feel, but I can sense the movement so I assume it's okay to stand up. Almost at once the pain multiplies and I realize my feet are useless. They literally feel like dead lumps of meat stuck to my legs. The other candidates ask over and over whether I'm okay and as I start to wobble they race forward to take my hands. They insist I sit down in kiza, but I don't think I can without toppling forward into a face-plant. The pain continues to worsen and I start to panic as I wonder whether something is seriously wrong.

At this point, the students must have thought I couldn't understand them and start simply telling me gently in English, "Sit down." Nobody seems angry, but instead look concerned and a bit amused (let's face it, I looked rather silly). Finally, the pain starts to ebb and I muster the control to sit clumsily down on my toes. I sit there a while feeling completely embarassed. When I finally feel okay enough to stand, I carefully get up and hobble out of the dojo. The needles attack my feet with each step, but they go away rather quickly.
Pro tip: if one of your limbs falls asleep, move it as much as you can or walk on it. It'll hurt, but it'll also go away faster.

For all my Google-fu and poking around the internet, I can't find anything documenting any solid evidence as to whether sitting in seiza for long periods can cause any permanent damage. The only examples of seiza-related injuries are stories of judo and aikido accidents where practitioners broke ankles from starting matches or practice too soon after seiza before they have full control of their legs and feet. Kyudo doesn't involve any fast or sudden movements, but I urge other martial artists out there to practice caution.

So finally, after the practice runs and kyu testing, I huddle around the heaters with the other students and try not to think about the results. By now, the weather has cleared and the sunlight makes me feel more at ease. We chat a little and much to my surprise they start talking about ET and touching their fingers together and I impress them with my ET voice. There's a little girl there testing for kyu and she has no idea what they're talking about. They can't believe she hasn't seen it before and they say in English, "generation gap".

Some time after everyone finishes, they gather everyone together in the dojo again for closing remarks. To my dismay, the kyudo master says how poor our technique is and how we need to consult the kyudo teaching manual and practice more. Worried now more than ever, we exit the dojo and wait for the instructors to roll out the board where our results are posted. Everyone gathers round looking for their names and the results marked next to them. Many of the dan testers have the 'pass' mark stamped next to their names.

Beside the names of the four kyu testers are numbers written in red. Unlike the dan testers who pass/fail whichever level they applied for, kyu testers receive the highest rank the judges deem appropriate for your performance. Next to the little girl's name is a '5'- fifth level. Next to mine is a '1'- first level.

Elated, I show Brad the good news and then start to pack up my things. I'm surprised that the girl got only fifth rank since she actually managed to hit the target with her first arrow. However, I remind myself that hitting the target is very low on the list of things that are important in kyudo. Once we're ready, I thank the instructors and leave feeling very happy and very hungry.

Here is a link I recommend for those wishing to read extensively about kyudo as both a sport and artform. This is the website for the International Kyudo Federation (English):
http://www.ikyf.org/index.html

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Why being an ALT is the best job ever.

In the women's break room at Hirasawa elementary school, there is a couch. I've never seen anybody use it before and I never imagined myself using it considering it's well-worn and old appearance. Yesterday after my last class, I sat down on that couch for the first time and cried.

As I mentioned before, students run through and practice their graduation ceremonies hard well in advance of the real thing. Yesterday, my elementary school students had practice when I'm usually teaching my first 6th grade class. During the next hour when I'd normally be teaching the second 6th grade class, they had a combined class of both groups and instead of in the music room they had it up on the third floor in the combined space between their classrooms.

I thought I heard something about a 感謝会 (kanshakai- "Thank-You Meeting") last week so I thought maybe we'd have a class and then a few of the students would say something nice at the end.
But when one of the teachers asked me to wait by the entrance of the classroom and one student announced in front of the class, "We will now begin the Thank-you meeting for Tierra-sensei," I realized it was going to be a bit more than that. They all stood up in four rows facing each other and applauded as a student lead me through them and to a seat in front of the class.

First, we played a fun Rock, Paper, Scissors game (in English). Everybody found someone to do Rock, Paper, Scissors with and if they lost, they had to go behind the winner and place their hands on the winner's shoulders and subsequently follow them around. The leader of these chains of people went around doing Rock, Paper, Scissors with each other. As we played, the snake became longer and longer until there were two very long chains of people trying not to run into each other or themselves. The winner between the last two "snakes" won.

After our exciting little game, we all sat back down. A few students then lined up to give me hand-made cards and make a nice speech to me. The announcer then said they would now give me a present and joined the rest of the students. As I wondered what it could possibly be, they stood up straight and focused their attention on one of the 6th grade teachers who turned on a boom box and took her place in front of the class and raised her hands. At that moment I remembered that she is also the school's music teacher.

The first note from the mouths of over 65 students hit me like a tidal wave. It wasn't the sound of tired children fulfilling an obligation. It was the sound of students putting everything they have into something beautiful and full of meaning. As I gazed over them, they stood tall and didn't lose their focus. These students, some of whom barely uttered a word in class, sang with purpose and confidence.

Once the last note died away, the announcer said they would now hear a few words from me. Usually when prompted to say anything in Japanese on short notice I find it a bit difficult to come up with the right words and say what I mean. But in that moment, standing before those upturned, hopeful faces- faces that wanted nothing more than to hear what I have to say no matter how grammatically terrible it was, I found myself unafraid and unworried. There they were having sang with their hearts and souls to me and mine unashamedly exposed in turn being close to tears. In that moment, words didn't matter anymore. The communication was already done and it didn't matter which words I used to represent them.

So I expressed how I was so moved I didn't have words. I said even though I couldn't understand all the words, I think I understood the message. I told them that even though the year had been short,  I was glad I was able to teach English and play games with them. I said let's continue to enjoy English from now on and with one, loud, unified voice, they replied "Hai!" like the would to any Japanese teacher for whom they held respect and I said thank you.

The announcer then said they would be concluding the Thank-you Meeting. The students stood and formed the lines facing each other again, but this time they also raised their hands towards each other. The same student who guided me in lead me through them and to the classroom entrance.

After I reached the second floor, I went to the break room and let it out. I couldn't even look inside the cards in my hands yet. When I finally composed myself and sat down at my desk, I opened them.
One sentence that stuck out in my mind was, 「ぼくはこの外国語活動で感じたり気付いたりした事は日本人と外国人は言葉が通じなかったら、ジェスチャーで言いたい事を表現している事です。」
"One thing I felt and noticed through foreign language activities is if words between Japanese people and foreignors don't make sense, we express what we want to say with gestures." Having been able to convey something so important that can't be learned through tests and grades makes me feel like I've accomplished what I've been sent here to do. I feel like if I had to go back to the US tomorrow, coming here would have still been worth it with all I've accomplished so far.

They say that Japanese people don't express their innermost thoughts and emotions to people very often. Because of this, many foreignors and ALTs often feel left out or underappreciated. Sometimes it can even lead to frustration. Us Westerners are raised in a culture that requires constant validation and praise. We say "I love you" at the end of every parting and phone call to those we love and to not do so means that something must be wrong with the relationship. To not be praised for doing something well must mean you did it wrong or they don't appreciate the work you did.

To ALTs and indeed other foreignors in any workplace in Japan, I want to say that just because they don't say anything doesn't mean they don't appreciate you. If you pay attention, you can see it in other small ways. The way your JTEs smile and say thank you when you turn in that pile of tests you graded or they ask you a random question about you during class when the students are working or when they come to you for advice or help on an English problem. The fact that they came to you at all means you are fulfilling an important role. Don't worry, every once in a while, you'll get a special moment and believe me, when Japanese people do choose to express their true feelings, they do it sincerely and with the same level of care and thought they put into everything else.

So whenever you get that cog-in-the-machine feeling, don't focus on the fact that you are one (let's face it, most salaried people are), but the special and important role you fulfill to that machine. It doesn't need you to function, but it would be a certain amount of worse off without you. Think about the cards you got from your students or the song they sang to you or even the last time you saw a "Eureka!" moment on a students face when you helped them with a problem. Maybe a laugh, however small, you shared with a student or co-worker. If you hit a dry spell between these moments, reach into your pool of memories make them live again and remember they won't be the last.

Our time here is limited, but the impact you have on the community and the legacy you leave behind for the next lucky person to sit at that desk will be timeless. One of my friends from Tokyo is in the middle of her undergraduate studies and said she remembers her ALT from grade-school. The teachers and other citizens here recall my predecessors fondly and remember things like their favorite restaurant or what sports they did. I have found materials written by predecessors from several years back.

We are all appreciated and we will be remembered.

Monday, March 3, 2014

卒業、そして未来へ

The end of the academic year is drawing to a close here at Nicchu**. Teachers are tying up loose ends in their lessons, students are studying hard for the proficiency tests this week, and final preparations for the graduation ceremony on Friday is underway.

For those wondering why middle school graduation is such a big deal, Japan's mandatory education only extends through middle school. After that, they can either enter the work force or advance to high school. Moreover, anyone wishing to entire a high school must pass the entrance exam for that particular school so those applying to multiple schools must take multiple tests. For more prestigious schools, there may even be an interview involved. The stress and exam fees can really pile up. And once they graduate high school, the cycle starts over as they either enter the workforce or start taking exams for universities they want to get into. At either academic level, hopefuls that fail the exams become a "ronin" (literally a samurai without a master) for the year and try again the following year.

But all the stress and brain-hurt is done with and now my third-years can sit back and look forward to Friday morning. Well, besides practicing for the ceremony up to two hours a day. Starting last Thursday, all students and teachers with homerooms donned their jackets and congregated in the freezing gym to practice for the graduation ceremony during the last two hours of the day. One hour is spent on entering/leaving, sitting/standing, and bowing. They even make the first and second-year students applaude as the third-years and their teachers leave (which can take a loooong time and they do it more than once). The second hour is spent practicing the school song with the music teacher. They practice and sing it for the opening and closing ceremonies each semester.

Today, the head of the English department and I had our last lesson with our graduating third-year students. Last week, he asked me to write down two of my favorite songs so he could type up the lyrics for the students and he provided his favorite song. After we played those during class we ended playing a couple others and what we ended up with was a kind of graduation soundtrack for them.
I thought it would be fun to share it here:

The Nikaho Graduation Class of 2014 Playlist

-We Are the World, various artists

 
-Time Stand Still, Rush

-Perfect, Pink **yeah, I hate censored versions, but it's middle school...


-Good Riddance (Time of Your Life), Green Day


-卒業、そして未来へ, MONKEYMAJIK **"Graduation, then on to the future"


And that concludes our graduation playlist. We tried to find songs that had a good message for them and I feel we did a great job. They may not of understood all of it (especially Rush considering how old and abstract the song is), but I hope they got something out of it and will look into some of the lyrics later. I wasn't able to get to know them well, but a part of me is still a bit sad to see them go. At least, from what I can tell from the happy and looks on their faces that they're off to a good future no matter where it takes them.

**Japanese Mini-Lesson!
The words for elementary, middle, and high school are 小学校 (shogakko), 中学校 (chugakko), and 高校 (koko). As you can see, the kanji that differentiates between the three is the first one. 小 means "small", 中 means "middle", and 高 means "high" or "tall". The remaining kanji 学校 or just 校 simply mean "school". However, since 仁賀保中学校 (Nikaho Chugakko) is a bit of a mouthful, people generally like to abbreviate it down to 仁中 (Nicchu). Similarily, my elementary school, 平沢小学校 (Hirasawa Shogakko) is usually shortened down to 平沢小 (Hirasawasho).