Oishiiiiii

Two thin cookie wafers sandwich a decadent slice of chocolate. I handed out small white packages bearing a square sample of these delightful sweets to my teachers this week. H-sensei immediately recognized the packaging for “shiroi kobito,” and remarked in Japanese: “Did you go to Sapporo?”

These little souvenirs, often edible treats which have been individually wrapped, are called “omiyage.” Like all things in Japan, omiyage is a way to grease the wheels of social obligations particularly within the workplace. Most cities or popular sightseeing spots are known for specific treats. In Sapporo, they are proud of “shiroi kobito.” When I went down to Hiroshima, I picked up a few boxes of “momiji manju,” which is a maple-leaf shaped bun filled with sweet red-bean jam. I’ve been to Tokyo Disneyland and Tokyo Disney Sea three times, so I bought some “chocolate crunch” in the shape of Mickey-san’s head. And when I went to South Korea, I brought back flavoured seaweed.

Even before embarking on a plane to Japan, our embassy contacts emphasized the importance of following Japanese etiquette. It was highly suggested that we bring little presents to our new co-workers in Japan, in the hopes of showing our gratitude. I brought tons of kitschy things: maple syrup, magnets, postcards, maps, coasters, keychains, maple candies, chocolates, etc. I gave them to my bosses, fellow teachers, neighbours and so on. When my family visited two Christmases ago, they came armed with loads of stuff: Canadian whiskey and ice wine for my supervisors; Ferrero Rocher chocolates for my three staffrooms; and cute moose stuffed toys for my Sampei-san’s kids.

I enjoy giving omiyage in the staffroom, because some of the teachers actually drop by my desk to talk to me. (I’ve been here for almost years, but the staffroom can be a lonely place! People, at least in my base school, don’t really talk to me since I struggle when speaking in Japanese. It’s only when I’m at my elementary schools, I don’t feel embarrassed when I try talking with the staff. I feel like the atmosphere is different!) But when I bring in omiyage, I hear hushed tones of “Gemma-sensei, arigatou gozaimasu! Oishiiiiii!” (“Thank you, Ms. Gemma! It’s delicious!”)

Ah, sharing is caring.

Futon floor

When people come over to my house, I often hear the same three remarks: I have the softest toilet paper; I have the best snacks from back home; and my place has that “lived-in” feeling.

This is the first time I’ve actually lived on my own, so I’ve fully embraced the fact that I can decorate this place however I’d like. Over the past year, I’ve added a purple rug under my kotatsu table. There are two television sets tucked in the corner of my living room. Four plastic chests of drawers are filled with my haphazardly folded clothes and toiletries. Four wooden bookcases are cluttered with books and other things that I don’t feel like organizing. And I have a metal rack bearing heaps of my clothes, which no longer fit in my closet. (Don’t open my living room closet! It’s filled to the top with futons and boxes of junk).

But the piece de resistance of my place has to be “futon floor.” It comes out once in a blue moon. Futon floor emerges after someone covers their entire floor in futons. That’s it. It sounds simple enough, but there’s nothing like sprawling out on futons while being cocooned in my favourite duvet. At my place, futon floor is key when I have a movie night or slumber party. I also set out futon floor when I’m feeling lazy or ill.

The last time I had futon floor at the Pretty in Pink Palace, I had three friends who had slept over after a night of partying in Koriyama. We spent the morning making tough decisions: whether to enjoy a light brunch at Marumatsu or the Tomato Onion Restaurant.

When I took a peek from my patio door overlooking the parking lot, I noticed two of my students were walking by with the city hall’s monthly newsletter. They were en route to drop them in my apartment building’s mailboxes. I called them over, and introduced them to my friends. So, Te-kun was given the opportunity to poke his head through my patio door to see my friends seated on my futon floor. I wonder what he thought of my place. And if he told his father, who happens to be my landlord, that I live in such chaos! Te-kun’s little brother also ran over, his mouth slightly ajar as he caught a glimpse of my friends (more foreigners!) and futon floor.

"Get over it..."

The kids have been counting down the days until graduation. Behind their homeroom teacher's desk, they have placed a sheet counting down the days. Each student has been given the task to decorate one sheet of A4-sized paper, representing each day. On Day 25, one of the kids wrote in English: "Get over it." Get over junior high school? Get over yourself? Well-played, kiddo. I have no idea what you mean, and I'm interested in the answer.

At Nichu, there are almost 90 third-years. I haven't been to my base school this week, but I think that they have less than 20 days left at Nichu. I've started skipping out on eating lunch with the other grades, because I'd rather spend my lunch hours with the senior students before they leave me!

I know I'll only be a little blip on their radar, but I feel like I've bonded the most with this crop of graduating students.

There's Homeroom 3-2, which is probably the most outgoing of the bunch. At recess, I was chillin' with the girls around a cluster of desks. We were talking about our respective nicknames. Outside on the veranda, the boys were playing a heated game of janken ("Rock, Paper, Scissors!") Janken determined who would rush into the classroom, yelling: "GEMMA-SENSEI! GEMMA-SENSEI! HOW DO YOU SAY THIS IN ENGLISH??" (while pointing to a classroom object, like the cleaning bucket or a clothespin.) Adorable.

There's T-kun, whom N. and I have dubbed "Bape-kun" since he was wearing that logo tee last time we ran into him at the local bookstore. He's one of my favourites. He knows that I listen to hip hop and stuff, so he often asks: "Do you know Ne-Yo? Do you T-Pain?" One of his English compositions was about his interest in listening to T.I. He even printed off a photo from the Internet.

There's Te-kun, who thought it would be OK to pet me on the head after I chased him around with my camera. He's a funny kid, that one. At lunch, I asked him who was his fave Canadian singer. He spent all afternoon thinking about it, then ran around after-school looking for me. When he finally found me sitting in a classroom, he gasped: "CERINE DION! TITANIC!!!! CERINE." Amazing.

I can't forget my speech contest girls. Forcing them to repeat after me: "Unique New York!". I fulfilled my dream to do that tongue twister, as shown on my all-time fave movie: Anchorman.

I won't forget Yuki-kun, who has three other siblings that I teach at elementary school. Last month, he showed up to school with a shaved head. Being the mature teacher that I am, I joined his friends in yelling: "No hair! No hair!" He loved it.

My 25th birthday party was also rendered memorable by my third-years. The senior boys of the baseball team were at the Asahi Beer Factory with their parents and the head coach. It just so happened that I was walking over to the factory with 30 of my closest Fuku friends that night. They were tickled pink to see me rock up with so many gaijin (that is, foreigners). I captured the moment with photos, and laughed when Yuki's mom joined in as well. That's right, kids. Gemma-sensei likes to partay.

I can't forget the twins, who sent me a lovely greeting over the holidays: "Marry Christmas!" Cho kawaii. They also taught me some puns in Japanese. In return, I taught them some simple ones in English... which they probably didn't understand. "What do you call a Disney cat who tells lies? A Lyin' King!" Lame, I know.

I will always remember F-chan. He is known for being the hungriest of all third-years. If I can't finish my milk at lunch, I'll give it to him. But I also turn to him for advice on magic. He taught me a cool trick from the dollar store, pulling apart metal rings in the blink of an eye. So, I bought a cheap trick from the store... and got him to show me how it's done. Oh, F-chan!

I think that I could write a nice warm fuzzy about all of my third-years. They're such a great bunch! It will be a sad day when I have hear "Pomp and Circumstance" waft through the gymnasium, as they get ushered out the doors one last time.