Running For Ex-Pats

Both times I've lived abroad (in Hong Kong and in Kadogawa), I've become incredibly overwhelmed and sort of had a period of self-imposed isolation. It's hard to say why this happens. There's something about moving abroad and overhauling my life that makes me sort of lose it.

I get moody. I listen to podcasts all day because I like the sound of someone's voice in my ear. I cook a lot. I do things alone and think a lot and write excessively emotional prose in my journals.

And I run. I run a lot. There's something healing about exercise I think, something nice about getting up early and having a reason to go outside, to look out at the world instead of just peering inwards at your own thoughts. I think it's good for me, but also sometimes I feel as if my running is just a symptom of a larger existential crisis.

When I don't know what I'm doing, when everything feels big and I feel small, I put on tennis shoes and go out for a run.

Fushimi Inari-Taisha

For my last three hours in Kyoto, I hightailed it over to Fushimi Inari Taisha, the most famous fox shrine in all of Japan. The whole place is covered in fox sculptures and statues, and as I have a love of anything animal themed, I had to go check it out.

Many people know the shrine because of its 10,000 tori (pictured below) leading you up and around Inari mountain. It's a pretty famous tourist photo for folks visiting Kyoto, for good reason! The bright orange gates are just as breath-taking in real life as they are in the photos.

My traveling companion, Lindsay, and I also had a chance to speak some Kansai dialect Japanese with some old ladies walking around the shrine. What a treat that was! I am often finding that learning a new language comes with interesting rewards around every corner, and hearing the ladies laugh out loud at us trying to talk like a local was a real trip.

A Very California Christmas (And Some Big News)

After feeling all the bummed out feelings spending the holidays abroad last year, I decided to go back to California for my winter vacation.

Part of me felt like I was selling out or something, considering that I am a tireless adventurer committed to seeing the world. A bigger part of me wanted to cuddle with my dog.

So back to Huntington Beach I went. Honestly, I think it was the best decision I had made in a long time. It was great to see my family, my parents, old friends. It was weird to see how much my hometown had changed in the six years I had spent living in other places. I ate tacos, I went running with my dog, I drank egg nog with my cousins.

By the time I had to leave, I really wasn't ready to go. Two weeks wasn't long enough. I was already missing everyone by the time I was back on that plane. I even caught a nasty cold, as if my even my body was rebelling against the idea of leaving.

Don't get me wrong, now that I'm back in Kadogawa, it's wonderful. Everything is just as pleasant as it was when I left, and my house is great, and my hamster is cute and the students are hilarious. And it's nice speaking Japanese again, feeling like a smart, adventurous human and whatnot.

But honestly, if I'm thinking seriously about where I want to be in 2017, it's not Japan. I'm ready for something different, a new locale, a new language, even a new job. This visit really brought that to the forefront for me.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is this will be my last year on the JET Program. I'm heading back to the US in August to do something else.

I'm a little nervous, a little excited, but all in all, I'm ready for a new chapter.

After eight months, that is. Kadogawa's not done with me just yet.

Downtown Main Street in Huntington Beach

Sammy and Allison eating cronuts"

The Federal Bar in Long Beach

Duke's in Huntington Beach

Espresso in Los Angeles

Amy Poehler's (my hero!) star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame

Los Angeles traffic

Home

Apologies for the hiatus, Noodles fans! I've been so busy for the past few months I haven't wanted to update. It's been a bit of a whirlwind but I'll catch up.

For the winter holidays, I visited my hometown in Huntington Beach, California (pictures to come), where I was able to catch up with family and friends, drink egg nog and snuggle with my dog on the floor. His hair is still all over my sweaters.

When I had to head back to Japan, honestly, I was pretty broken hearted. It was so strange to be home, and know that I didn't really live there anymore. Home was now, well, Japan. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's just hard sometimes. It's isolating.

I returned to Japan last Wednesday. It was a little bit hard being back. I had caught a nasty cold, which that certainly didn't help things.

So, this weekend, to battle my just-left-California blues, my boyfriend and I took a mini roadtrip to Kumamoto for the evening.

 

Leaving my house just after breakfast (which ended up being about 11:30am), we drove the three hour journey to have a little change of scenery. We visited Kumamoto Castle, had boiling hot nabe, and ended the night at a restaurant that may or may not have been named "I love steak, I love beer." We looked at kooky shops, strolled (as I shivered) through the city streets and had a coffee to warm us up afterwards.

Home can be a lot of different places, I guess. It's okay to not know where you belong, as long as you have good people who love you and warm coffee to keep you feeling grateful.

I've got that, so I guess I'm doing alright.

Speech Contests

English Recitation Contest: We Mean Business!

Working as an elementary/junior high school English teacher in Japan can be described as a low stress, high reward job. You get paid to basically be a foreigner, show up on time, and be silly with children. What’s not to love?

Yet sometimes, I find that this sort of work cycles between being totally awesome and fulfilling (I get paid to sing the alphabet and play tag at recess? Perfect!) and feeling like a total waste of time. When I have classes, it’s a great job. 

But more often than not, I have several days where I’m sort of desk-warming at the town hall's board of education office. 

Getting paid to do nothing might sound like every loafer’s dream. But for me, especially at the beginning of my time here, it felt sort of demoralizing. 

Everyone else has something to do, clacking busily away at their laptops, while I just have eight hours of sitting and finding clever ways to pass the time. It makes me feel like I’m a child at the office's “take your daughter to work” day.  Except that my parent is a bunch of Japanese office workers who I can't really communicate with. I just don’t feel very connected to anyone or anything.

However, when my students are practicing for the Junior High School English speech contest, these feelings are suddenly completely obliterated. 

Suddenly I’m a pronunciation expert, acting teacher, and general English master with appointments in my planner and reasons to stay late at work. All the teachers direct their questions to me. I edit speeches, teach kids the way that native English speakers enunciate and intonate their sentences, and I even get to choreograph their gestures. 

I’m suddenly useful! It’s a great feeling!

Last year, after months of practice together, one of my students, Yuta, received first prize in the Northern Miyazaki prefecture speech contest. He wrote a great speech about his homestay experience in Australia, and his pronunciation was so natural!

Yuta had clearly worked incredibly hard on mastering all the tips the teachers and I gave him, which was super rewarding to witness. 

After the Northern contest, he then went on to receive fourth prize in the Miyazaki-wide speech contest in the following month. The top three students in that contest go on to the nation-wide speech contest in Tokyo. He was so close to going to Tokyo!

He did an amazing job, and seeing one of my students succeed was one of the best moments of my professional life.

So that was last year. This year, in September, another one of my students, Masaya, received first prize again in the Northern Miyazaki prefecture recitation contest (which is basically the same contest, only you don't write your own speech). It was so exciting, and I totally felt like a champion teacher. 

I think Masaya was a little bummed that he won however, because his high school examinations were coming up rapidly. Suddenly he had to study for the Miyazaki wide speech contest and his tests at the same time. Poor stressed out middle school students! 

So, last Tuesday, one of my favorite co-teachers, Noma sensei, and I road tripped to Miyazaki City to watch Masaya perform his speech in the prefecture-wide contest. 

The Miyazaki City Cultural Center, where all the speech contest magic happens.

We chatted about non-school things: boyfriends, food allergies and rude people. She made me laugh like crazy! It was great to spend time with a teacher friend outside of school and just relax together.

Masaya did not place in the prefecture wide contest, which was a little disappointing, but I think he was happy to be done with the whole process.  His family came to watch him perform, which was very cute, and they were all so proud of him! Noma sensei and I congratulated him on a job well done, and then we went out for lunch.

A happy Noma sensei pictured with Chicken Nanban four ways. Yum!

When I was in the US, I feel like a work event like this might have been a little bit annoying to me (“I have to stay late at school? I have to sit through middle school students giving speeches? Ugh!”). But now I’ve just become so grateful to get to know the people I work with and the students I teach on a more personal level. 

I’m always surprised and delighted when I notice these little changes in perspective. Here’s to another year of figuring things out in Japan!

Tears in the Parking Lot: Failing the Japanese Driving Test

Okay. I know what you're thinking. "Haven't you been driving in Japan for over a year now? What's up with this Japanese driving test thing? Why does this story deserve a space on such a carefully cultivated and high tech blog?"

Believe me. It's a good story.

As an American ALT, I basically get one year to drive around with an "International Driving Permit." It's a handy document that gives me permission to drive anywhere in the world even if I don't know the rules of the road, even if I've never driven on the left, even if I have three arms and only one eyeball.

However, once that year is up, you no longer have a license. You're done. Poof.

ALTs from other countries can go to the DMV, fill out some paperwork, and get a whole new license. American ALTs, however, are not that lucky. We have to take a driving test.

"Driving test?" you say incredulously. "But I thought you've already been driving here for a year!"

Right. Which is why you think the driving test would be easy. Or at least, not nightmarish.

I was once like you. Naive. I thought driving tests were supposed to measure your ability to drive.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It all started when my coworker Haruka took me to turn in the preliminary paperwork. The guy checking my passport behind the counter asked me the normal questions ("Why did you go to China so much?"), before saying that foreigners ALWAYS fail the driving test.

"But I've been driving in Japan for a year now! How could I fail?" I protested.

"Well, you're not used to driving on the left," he replied.

I grit my teeth. "I've been DRIVING in JAPAN on the LEFT for a YEAR. I think it'll be fine," I say indignantly.

"Well, you'll probably drive too fast."


Fast forward to Sunday back at the DMV, where my friend Chris and I are taking a driving lesson together. I feel that a driving lesson is an unnecessary expense ($60 USD!), but after hearing all the other Miyazaki ALT driving test horror stories, I decide it might be better to be safe than sorry.

The driving test teaches us how to drive the course perfectly. We memorize exactly where we should use our turn signal, exactly where we should check our blind spots, exactly how many meters from the curb we should be at every moment of the course.

At the end of the lesson, I turn to our driving teacher, Suda San.

"Thank you very much for that great lesson! Now I'll pass for sure!" I chirp.

He laughs. "If you pass, please tell me."


In total, I had to take the driving test FOUR TIMES in order to obtain my Japanese driver's license. Each attempt costs $22 USD, and just getting to and from the DMV (without a car) ended up costing around $50. You are only allowed to attempt the test once each day.

 Here are the reasons I failed:

1. My first attempt. I turned a corner slightly too wide, and when I checked my blind spots before doing a lane change, the car swerved a bit. I was shocked and also totally embarrassed.
2. Second attempt. I took the corner slightly too wide once again. I drove slightly too slowly. After this attempt, I walked out into the parking lot and skyped my mom/my boyfriend, sobbing. I am a child. Then I bought a cheeseburger and tried to think positive thoughts.
3. Third attempt. The proctor stopped me at the first stop sign to tell me something in Japanese. I didn't understand. I asked him to repeat it. He said something else which I also didn't understand, and then was silent when I asked again. Thinking I failed, I spent the rest of the course not paying attention, completely freaking out. I rolled my tire over a shallow curb on the S curve portion. I pulled out into traffic, in front of a slow moving tractor, without seeing the tractor. In short, I was a complete mess. At the end, I asked the proctor what he had said at the stop sign portion. His reply was, "Oh, I just thought maybe you'd want to pull up a little closer to the line." OMG.
4. Fourth attempt. I think word had spread at the DMV that there was a peppy foreigner who couldn't pass her damn test. Everyone spoke to me only in English all day, even the proctor (I didn't know they had an English speaking proctor?) and told me not to be nervous. I think it helped. My tire even hit a curb and they still passed me. I think it's a conspiracy.

When the proctor told me I had passed, I burst into tears and asked if he was joking. 

He said he wasn't. I garbled a thank you and ran inside, giving a thumbs up to every person I passed on the way to the counter.

Moral of the story-- get your driver's license BEFORE your permit expires. In total, I spent around $360 USD just to pass this stupid test. If I could have driven my car to the DMV, it probably would have cost about half that price.

Oh well. At least I know I earned it.

10 Totally Normal Exchanges I've Had in Rural Japan

1.    That time when I first moved to Kadogawa, and one of my coworkers was showing me around my new office. She took me to the women’s restroom and fished a maxi-pad out of a basket. She handed it to me. Unsure of what was happening, I said, “Oh, very nice. We also use these in America.” I handed it back to her, nodding and smiling.

2.    That time when I thought I was going on a work lunch with many of my coworkers, only to discover that I was actually eating noodles with only one man. I asked him where our friends were, and he responded, “oh, they are not coming.” He showed me Youtube videos of him singing karaoke.

3.    That time when I tried to use my office’s upstairs restroom (the one with only squatting toilets), and I was stopped by a tiny janitor. She was speaking Japanese but I assumed she was saying something like, “Oh, you don’t want to use these! There are nice Western toilets for your Western bottom right downstairs. Why don’t you head down there?” With a chuckle, I tried to imply that I actually love using squatting toilets because they make me feel adventurous (in reality, I said something more like, “that toilet is okay”). I pushed past her and did my business, only to discover that she actually was trying to communicate that these toilets were currently out of order and could not flush.

4.    That time when a woman I had never met before showed up to my office and asked me about the cost of shipping several large books to Switzerland. When I told her I was from America, she said, “well, could you at least fill out this customs form for me?”

5.    That time where I wore a colorful barrette in my hair at the office, and my co-worker pointed and said, “That, in your hair. Why?”

6.    That time I went to one of my elementary schools and a tiny, adorable child came up behind me and said, “Hello English teacher! Are you a man or a woman?”

7.    That time I wore earrings that looked like fried eggs to middle school and my students told me it looked like I was wearing breasts on my ears.

8.    That time at English conversation night when I told a farmer that the name “Lauren” meant “of the Laurel leaves. You know, the ones that Roman people used to crown victors at the Olympic games.” So the next time I saw him, he brought me a four foot long branch from his Laurel tree as a gift.

9.    That time at volleyball practice when I used a Japanese word I didn’t quite understand. To try to explain the meaning of this word, one of the players mimed having intercourse with his wife, and then with another female player right afterwards. The word was “やばい” which roughly translates to “risky.”

10.  That time when my neighbor passed away, and the hospital workers were removing his things from his house. They approached me to express their condolences (in Japanese) and tell me that sometimes, people die, and life is hard, but that they were certain I would get through it.

I didn’t understand, so I told them that I was going on a trip to visit hot springs. They nodded solemnly and said, “oh yes, that’ll be great.”

Brave Movinator: 5 Tips for Surviving A Big Move

Weird food. New house. Different people with different problems. Emotional roller coaster. 

These are the main ingredients of what I like to call "A Big Move." 

Speaking of which, I'm coming up on my year anniversary of living in Japan, my biggest big move. It's a strange feeling.

Sometimes I'll remember what it was like in my first month here and be simultaneously delighted and horrified by the level of enthusiasm (and confusion) I exhibited for literally everything that was Japan. Now I'm just sort of living. 

Isn't it surprising that it took me almost an entire year to get to that point?

Maybe. But maybe not.

I mean, I've had a lot of big moves in my life, and nearly all of them have left me feeling totally elated and totally destroyed. At this point, it's become a fairly predictable pattern. Living in a new place is hard-- especially within the first six months. Those months always seem to be a nightmare.

But, I feel as though the more I move around, the more accustomed I become to being one who moves. What would you call one who moves? A mover? A movestress? A movinator? That last one is probably right.

So, I thought it'd be helpful to post some of my favorite advice for dealing with the anxiety of finding yourself in a completely new place and not knowing what to do about it.

If you're applying to teach English abroad or planning to move to a new country (or even a new state!), I hope this helps you out. These little tidbits have certainly helped me deal with some major freak-outs in the past. 

Also snacks. Lots of snacks.

1. Try not to have expectations.

Every time I move to a new place, I visualize myself there, belonging there, being exactly the kind of person who has lived there her whole life. I imagine myself with tons of new, beautiful friends, twenty five pounds thinner, with a great paying job and several inches taller. I also usually am holding some sort of latte.

Between you and me, that's not a great way to walk into a potentially difficult life situation. It will leave you very disappointed (usually).

The thing is, moving is stressful. Beyond just the financial difficulties that come with a big move, moving tends to leave you without a support network (or at least, a support network that's fairly different than the one you've become accustomed to in your last home). 

So if you imagine yourself with those beautiful people and that latte, and find yourself broke and alone, wandering around in a strange new place, it can be a bit of a downer.

What's worked for me in the past is telling myself throughout the moving process that good or bad, this move is going to make my life more interesting in one way or another. Remember why you're moving in the first place when things get tough.

And if things never get tough for you, great! Count yourself very lucky!

2. Remember the 3-6-12 rule.

Give yourself three months to be irrational, six months to get settled in, and a year to make your new location feel like home.

It seems like whenever I move, I have three months of extreme highs ("I'm never leaving this perfect dreamland country!") and extreme lows ("No one in this terrible butthole country cares that I exist..."), which is followed by the six month mark where I kind of get what life is like ("It's really easy to take the bus to Fukuoka, see?"), to that magical year mark when I sort of feel like a local ("Oh, Kinoushita san owns the best vegetable shop in town!"). It's a bumpy ride, but I find that it seems to be very consistent.

However, these feelings can be very hard to handle if you're not anticipating them.

3-6-12 is a great rule to remember if you're just a few months into a big move and feel like you should be, well, happier. 

3. Say "yes" as much as possible...

I can't tell you how many weird adventures I've been on because I decided to say "yes" to odd invitations. 

For instance, a few months ago I went on a women's beauty retreat in Kadogawa and learned to "beautiful walk" and "small face massage" with forty strangers. I spoke only Japanese for two days, caught a glimpse of an endangered aquatic bird (we went bird-watching), and made really cool new friends! 

It was so strange. But the amount of satisfaction I felt for getting out of my comfort zone and handling everything made it all worthwhile.

What I've noticed is that I feel way more fulfilled when I fill my time with interesting experiences and funny stories, especially when I'm going through a big move. It makes me feel that I'm doing things I couldn't do in the place where I was before. It's a good feeling.

4. ...but don't forget to take a day off.

On the other side of the coin, it's also really easy to overbook yourself when you move to a new place because there's so much great new stuff to see and do.

"Of course I'll help with the community garden!"

"Volleyball for charity? Sign me up!"

"You want to go out drinking on a Tuesday night with your friend's ex-boyfriend, a librarian and an old war veteran named Cookie? Sounds like a blast!"

If you say yes to literally everything, sometimes you can stretch yourself a little thin.

Just be aware of yourself and your needs. If you need to skip that really great weekend trip because you haven't had a day to yourself all month, it's okay to do that. If you need to cancel on visiting friends tonight because you're practically falling asleep at work, that's okay too. 

Or if you're like me and you just need a break from speaking Japanese for a day, it's totally okay to skip calligraphy class once in awhile to get bundled up and watch Broad City in bed. 

"Calligraphy? Or raunchy lady-centric comedy?"

You're going through a lot right now. Be gentle with yourself.

5. Be true to you!

Just because you've moved to a new place doesn't mean you're a different person.

Repeat that to yourself. Then repeat it again.

If you like photography, take photographs. If you need to ride your bike to feel good, buy one and ride it. If you hate sports, but your new town is literally named Sportsville and no one does anything but play sports there, you still don't have to like sports.

I've made myself so miserable so many times by moving to a new place and completely changing myself to try to fit in. I've bought different clothes, stopped doing the things I liked, and pretending to like things that I really didn't care about, all in the name of making friends and fitting in. 

Let me save you some time. That doesn't work. 

I'm not trying to say you shouldn't try new hobbies or activities. People are constantly changing and growing, and a new move is a great time to try things out. Try the Singaporean cooking class! Take up the mandolin if you want to! 

I'm just saying that if you try those new exciting activities, and you don't enjoy them, don't keep doing them. Just be aware of yourself. Take note of what you find yourself actually enjoying, and what you're just doing because it feels like it's the big thing to do in your cool, new country.

Big moves are tough. A new place can make you feel anxious, depressed, alone, you name it. When culture shock hits, it can make life feel impossible. Difficult times bring out the worst and the best in people. 

I know. I've seen myself become a sad/angry weirdo many, many times.

But big move is also an amazing thing. It allows you to try new things, see new places, eat new foods, and just generally grow as a person. You'll do stuff your pre-move self would have never done, and I hope it makes you feel great.

So if you're embarking on a big move, congratulations! You're doing something very difficult and very worthwhile. If things get tough for you, remember these tips. 

Good luck, brave movinator! Or in the words of the original...

Hasta la movsta baby!

That Time When Lauren Did Judo

It started when Yamada Sensei* told me over school lunch that our students would be learning judo during PE class.

“Lauren, during PE today, the students will be learning judo—“

“I WANT TO TRY THAT!” I say excitedly, not fully knowing what judo is, but always ready for a new activity.

“Oh really?” he replies, with a horrified smile on his face. “I thought maybe you’d… er… want to watch. We have a guest teacher today and—“

“Can I please try it?” I plead. I’m not really thinking about why I want to try judo, only that the quote, “you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take” is flashing through my mind. It’s inspiring, heartfelt, and, because I have an irrational fear of missing out on anything that happens in my life, it is all I need to convince me that I must try judo.

Yamada sensei laughs stiffly and makes eye contact with the other teacher at the lunch table. She smiles and shrugs.

“Well… I’ll see if we can find you a uniform that fits,” he says obligingly.

I am ecstatic. I try and high five the student sitting across from me but she is staring at her bowl of rice and doesn’t see my hand. I high five myself.

An hour later, I am standing in the school gymnasium amongst a crowd of Japanese middle school students. I am wearing a stiff, off-white judo uniform. The pants and belt are both a little snug on me, so I constantly suck in my stomach, hoping that it won’t come undone. It does.

I re-tie it, while trying not to look conspicuous. However, all the teachers have come to watch the students perform, and as I am the only giant foreigner woman in their midst, it’s quite probable that my uniform debacle did not go unnoticed.

The visiting teacher is a tall, stern man, who looks like he could’ve been a sergeant in any country’s army. He’s wearing the same sort of stiff judo uniform, only his belt is black and tied tightly. The jacket is open around his chest. I can see a mass of chest hair, and a withered, old nipple when he bends the right way.

He shouts commands. The students respond quickly, falling into a line of perfectly timed small stretches that I have never seen before.

I don’t understand what’s happening so I just try and mirror the instructor, while trying really hard not to make eye contact with his nipple.

Bending over feels awkward as I am certain my judo uniform will come untied at any moment, so I bend as little as possible. I wonder if I will get a cramp.

The instructor shouts something new and all the students get into three perfectly straight lines. I follow them. After explaining some things in unintelligible Japanese, the students get into a lunge position, then start somersaulting across the floor.

It is then that I realize I have made a terrible mistake. Whatever judo is, I want no part in it.

I look over at all the teachers standing in the corner and Yamada sensei gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up. My eyes are terrified saucers.

I befriend another terrified looking student who appears equally horrified at the choice of activity for the day. When it is our turn to launch ourselves into this terrible activity, we give each other a little “good luck” nod and then catapult our awkward bodies on to the mat in front of us.

As I collapse into a strangely positioned heap, the principal runs over to me, and grabs my arm. I think he has come to help me up, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps I will not have to do any more somersaults.

He does not help me. The principal slams my arm roughly into the ground, shouting Japanese words I’ve never heard before. He then raises his camera and takes a picture of me, as I stare up at him like a scolded puppy.

I think that if there is a hell, there will probably be judo there.

Then our visiting drill sergeant tells us to get into a circle, so we all get up off the floor and stand to attention.

“Thank god,” I think to myself, “now that we’re done with that crazy nonsense, we can start doing actual judo.”

I imagine judo to be some sort of punching and kicking martial art, where we do high jumps and spin on our heads. Or something with swords.

Spoiler alert: Judo is wrestling.

Within the next five minutes, the instructor was holding me by my sleeve and jacket front, yanking me over his shoulders like a sack of meat while explaining something to my students that was, once again, completely unintelligible to me.

From the placement of my body high above his head, I deduced that instructor was training students to lift their wrestling partner in order to throw them to the ground.

I felt like a frog that had signed up for a fun day of splashing around in the pond, only to find out that the pond was actually a pot of boiling water in a French kitchen.

My eyes were bulging out of their sockets in pure fear, and the students stared at me with a mixture of horror and pity.

When he finally launched me back onto the ground, I fell with a thud, while the students all paired together to practice their new judo skills. My eye was still twitching in fright.

My horrified somersault student friend from before was the only student left when I finally stood back up, so she was paired with me.

I think this new development made her even more horrified, considering that now she had to practice wrestling her crazy foreign teacher who doesn’t have any idea what’s happening.

She walked over to me, and we smiled awkwardly at each other for a moment, acknowledging the weirdness.

In English, I say, “I have literally no idea what is happening. Can you tell me what is happening?” I don’t know why I do this because I know that she won’t understand, but I am embarrassed and confused.

For some reason, speaking my native language comforts me, as if to remind me that I’m actually really smart if only someone would speak English to me.

She sort of tilts her head and cringes, so I apologize in Japanese, telling her that we should do our best.

She nods and smiles encouragingly at me.

Then, grabbing onto my jacket sleeve and lapel, she attempts to pull me over her shoulder and throw me on the ground.

Considering that I probably have about fifty pounds on this girl, I didn’t really think it was going to happen.

As I looked down at her tiny noodle arms limply yanking my jacket, I noticed that on one of her feet she also only had four toes.

To get my mind off the judo that was happening all around me, I thought about the significance of only having four toes.

I thought about what it must feel like to try and hoist a woman twice your size over your shoulder when, perhaps, without the extra fifth toe, your balance is slightly askew.

I thought things like judo must be difficult for her. Perhaps that’s why she was so horrified about somersaults.

The instructor, apparently noticing this poor girl having trouble, came over to help her out.

My soul had left my body at this point, so I didn’t really notice.

He lifted me up over his head again, to demonstrate that anyone can lift a foreigner if they just try hard enough. From my new aerial perspective, I get a great bird’s eye view of his weird, hairy nipple.

He then throws me onto the mat like a hunter throwing a prize buck carcass into the back of his station wagon.
Gently, but with enough force to confirm that it is, in fact, dead.

At this point, the fifth period bell rang. The students bowed to each other and walked off the gym mat, leaving me lying on the floor alone, considering whether or not it was worth it to ever get back up.

Yamada sensei runs over to me to report that it was time for a water break.

“The students have another period of judo practice after this,” he told me, “but if you’d like, you can return home now.”

“YES I THINK I’VE HAD ENOUGH,” I say, though I can’t be certain whether or not my voice is at a reasonable volume. I quickly pull myself up to go thank the instructor, though for what, I am not sure.

He turns to me with a sort of smug “you’re not good at judo” look in his eye. I bow to him, and begin the mandatory thank you spiel that I give to everyone I meet. “ARIGATO GOZAIMASHITA. YOROSHIKU ONEGAI--”

I stop mid-thank you as the instructor reaches to my belt and reties it for me, pulling it tight around my already sucked in belly. He says many Japanese words that I have never heard before. I feel strange.

He nods to me, then turns away. I pray to God that this act does not mean I will have to endure another period of judo.

I decide to just cut my losses and get out of there.

As I walk past all the students drinking their cold green tea, laughing and joking about the fun they had practicing their favorite sport, judo (ugh!), my somersault buddy shouts to me in Japanese.

“Lauren sensei! Are you finished?” she says.

“Yes,” I say, in sort of a forced way. “Time to go home now.”

“Well, you’re very good at judo! Let’s do it again sometime!”

She runs back to her friends. I stand there, feeling totally silly.

“Maybe judo isn’t such a bad sport after all,” I think to myself. “Maybe if I just pushed myself a little harder, I could be a judo master!”

Then I remember the weird, weird nipple. I scurry out of the gymnasium as fast as possible.



*Names have been changed because this story is awkward.

Winter Travels Pt. 5: Bali Belly and Other Woes

Spring is here! The weather is warming up, the sky is clear, my bike ride in the morning doesn't make my eyes water from the frigid wind flying into my face. Everything is coming up Lauren!

Yet, I've still left the last leg of my winter travels un-blogged. I was backpacking around Taiwan and Okinawa for the first six days of this trip, but the final ten days I actually spent in Indonesia. 

However, it's taken some time for me to want to write about this part of the excursion. Honestly, though it was a total blessing to experience Bali with Bridget and her sister, Philippa (who are wonderful people and a total blast!), this leg of the trip was a big pile of existential confusion and dramatic internal emotions for me. 

Being away from my town in Japan for so long made me reconsider wanting to be an Assistant Language Teacher. Prior to coming to Bali, I had thought I definitely wanted to stay in Kadogawa at least another year, possibly two more years.

 Then, for some reason, after a week of changed scenery, I sort of thought to myself, "Is this really who I am? What I want to do with my life? Why am I learning Japanese when everything in my past said that I should study art/acting/music/yada yada yada?"

It freaked me out a lot.

Though we had a ton of weird and interesting adventures in Bali (seeing The Hobbit in Kuta Beach/ spending New Years' Eve salsa dancing to a live Cuban band in Ubud/ swimming in our infinity pool at midnight under the palm trees/ drinking 'chakra soda' at this totally adorable organic hippie cafe in the middle of nowhere), so much of it was overshadowed by me doubting my life choices, and thinking about the future.

I was crippled by anxiety, reading as many Kindle self-help books as I could and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do.

It was helpful that my travel buddy, Bridget, was also sort of going through the same crisis. We're both fresh out of college and teaching in small towns, so we had a lot to talk about. By the end of the trip, she sort of helped me decide that I wouldn't stay in my town, and instead, would move onto a new opportunity. I was over it. 

I was sick of being away from California. I missed Mexican food and doing improv comedy. I had a severe case of diarrhea and a fever from the food I had eaten on my last day in Indonesia. I didn't want to travel anymore. I wanted to go home, spend time with my family, and kiss my dog on the nose. I had made a firm decision not to stay, and I was ready to say my goodbyes to Japan.

However, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, as they say.

After returning to my life in Kadogawa, I changed my mind yet again.

My supervisor didn't ask me about whether or not I wanted to recontract for an entire month after I returned to Kadogawa. Within that time, I had a ton of great days at school with my students and teachers, and even more great experiences with my other ALT friends. I learned more Japanese, took up bouldering, started jogging every other day, and just generally began to enjoy my life situation more.

I think I had a lot of fear about not following my dreams of being an artist (whatever that means), and decided to move back to Los Angeles in a panic. I was afraid that what I was doing in Japan wasn't really what I should have been doing. 

I realized that in Japan, in this tiny fishing town, I'm learning so much about myself and about the world. I'm learning about what's important to me, and allowing myself the freedom to grow as a person. If I want to go back to LA eventually and study improv comedy or screenwriting or whatever it is I want to do, I can do that at any time. Now is the time to learn and breathe and discover myself outside the things I did as a sixteen year old. 

I'm only twenty two. I don't need to have it all figured out.

So for all those who were wondering about whether or not I'm staying in Japan, the answer is a resounding YES. No doubt about it. 

And I can thank Bali for that.