by Ioana Lee
The people of Japan feel more superior to all of the other people on the planet. Japan was and still is a beautiful country of unique beauty. Ken was a young man, born with a destiny that was already mapped because of his social status, having a lot more responsibilities than most other men his age. He was very handsome, extremely talented and sensitive. He was generous and restless. His desire was to be perfect, yet he was too intelligent to understand that no one is ever perfect. He had lots of good qualities and a few flaws that were holding him back. I got to know him gradually, yet I don’t believe that I have ever really understood him. I’ll never understand him. He was, is and will be a mystery for me and I believe for all of the people that come in contact with him. His depths were abyssal and his superficialities childish.
He was an inborn artist, with a contradictory and exuberant personality that was suppressed and never allowed to come to the surface. He was cultivated and refined to the finest of details, yet he couldn’t express himself fully in his own language that he had mastered. He wrote poetry on any given subject, at any given time and was also a music critic. He knew things that I could only dream of knowing someday. His intelligence was sharp just like a shogun’s sword and his soul’s delicacy was just like a cherry blossom. He started playing piano when he was just three years old; a subsequent car accident had destroyed his career as a pianist. Because of the car accident he had to have a metallic splint in his right arm which caused a loss of flexibility. Despite all this he still played the piano, yet could never take it to a professional level. He took a hold of my heart by playing Chopin and had me forever once he interpreted Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.”
He is and will be the only man in the world to ever play that song just for me. He wrote multiple poems and sketched portraits just for me. I destroyed all of them. Why? Because when you are young you suffer a severe form of imbecility that takes over your brain, closes your heart and covers your eyes. And because youth isn’t all just about pride, but also about emotional and intellectual handicaps. I forgave Ken and he forgave me. Hopefully, God will be able to forgive us both for hurting each other so much. I’ve regretted every mean word I said and every inappropriate gesture I made and also the fact that I judged him. I also wished that I could take back all the suffering that I caused him and all the times when I made him cry. We got married too young and didn’t know exactly what to do and how we were supposed to behave with each other. Furthermore, we came to live, not for one another, not for each other, but both for Japan.
Working in Japan
I remember one of the jokes I heard when I first started working in Japan. Its meaning wasn’t as clear to me then as it is now. It went like this:
A Japanese and a Romanian were talking to each other. The Japanese said:
“I work 10 hours a day: 2 hours for the emperor, 2 for Japan, 2 for my boss, 2 for my family and 2 for myself.”
The Romanian replied:
“I only work 6 hours per day: 2 for my boss, 2 for myself and 2 for my family, because I have no emperor and why would I work for Japan?!”
One day I decided to start working, for myself as well as for Japan. I returned to my primary profession, that of being a teacher, trying to keep my artistic aspirations on a parallel track. I wanted to work so that I could come back to reality; I wanted to re-become a normal human being with common sense and a strong work ethic, as well as respect for the people around me. I had to re-educate myself and annihilate the monster that I had become, in large part due to my destructive ego. The lack of responsibility for the destiny I had consciously chosen and my insecurities were frightening. I felt like that was the perfect moment to change, to understand once again what it means to make money through your own hard work, not through fooling around on stage for a few hours. The worst thing was that my Japanese family wired money into my back account on a regular basis.
Ken seemed quite excited when he heard that I wanted to go back to teaching. I believe that in his heart he hoped that my desire to become an artist would fade away over time. He insisted that I’d teach English to kindergarten children, because working with children was non-threatening to him. After all, there was no danger for me to meet anyone whenever I was away from home and no one could have “stolen” his wife away from him. I had other plans for my teaching career though. I wanted to teach at a good school in Tokyo, like a foreign language institute or at least at a high school, with students at an intermediate level of English. My desire was to work with teenagers, because there I felt that I could make the most difference, not with small children. I prefer to play with children, not trying to capture their attention and force them to focus for long periods of time so that I could teach them a foreign language. Can you imagine trying to tell them about grammar rules? It would have been torture on both sides.
I started researching how I could teach in Japan, considering that I had gotten all of my diplomas in Romania. The real challenge, as I came to understand along the way, had nothing to do with my diplomas. The real challenge had to do with my nationality. Even though the English teachers are in high demand and the Japanese were spending a lot of money to learn the language (for more opportunities in their chosen career or simply to make more friends), they preferred native English speakers. Americans were most wanted as English teachers. The chance of getting a job at one of those top Universities was lowered tremendously if you weren’t a native English speaker.
After I’d been rejected over the phone by a few top schools, not because I was Romanian, but because I wasn’t American, I asked Ken to use his last name to get me an interview in person. Regardless of how much I tried I wasn’t able to get through to them over the phone. Ken was open to helping me, because I asked him to get me an interview to teach English—not to be a television host. Self-interest at its best! He got me an interview with one of the top universities in Tokyo.
I went to the interview, which was held in Japanese with a Japanese guy that didn’t speak a word of English. Despite this, after the interview, he told me that he didn’t think I had any chance to get the position because I had a strong Spanish accent in English. Hearing his senseless reason, I thought to myself: “What kind of linguistic, magical powers does this gentleman possess, to judge my non-American accent, since he only heard me speak in Japanese and didn’t know any English, let alone speak Spanish or Romanian?” I can barely have a Spanish accent when I speak Spanish! I asked him if he was a teacher and he said no, that he was only in charge of the administrative part. I asked:
“Therefore, you don’t understand what it takes to teach a language?”
“Yes, I do. You have to be American and teach your native language in a foreign country, like Japan.”
He thought that things were that simple when teaching a foreign language. His limited perspective came from his ordinary administrative tasks and his naïve attitude on teaching.
“Excuse me! I hope that I’m not asking too much of you. Do you think that it would be possible to schedule an interview with someone who’s working on the teaching side… perhaps with the American director of the school?”
After being interviewed by several Japanese and native English speaking teachers, including the American director, I was accepted to be a part of their English classes. An American, who apparently had the final say regarding my employment, held the classes. I remember my mother’s saying that hard days are going to come your way, but I had never imagined that they would be as hard as those days were…
I went to the University on a Wednesday, dressed elegantly yet very modestly, with discrete makeup on, and with a certain trust in my linguistic and educational capabilities. There, I met Richard, who was the head teacher for the English department (there were several other departments at this prestigious school). Richard showed me around. The building was located in a central area of Tokyo. Inside, there was a reception desk, a hallway, four offices for the English classes (each class had a maximum number of three students) and a tech
nology room. He showed me one of the offices for the English classes. The room was very nice and bright and the walls were covered by wallpaper with all sorts of English sayings imprinted on it. There was also a shelf filled with dictionaries and books, a leather chair for the teacher and a small board behind the chair. Richard sat in the teacher’s chair. During class he explained his teaching methods to me, which I found rather boring. Richard was well trained to work with 12 year old children, giving them confidence, smiling to them and making them feel comfortable in class, yet I wanted to be paid to teach English, not to entertain.
After 50 minutes of teaching, he explained the rules to me: you never talk to your students in Japanese, it is a must to talk in English and only English; you teach based on the school’s mandatory manuals (only!) a half a lesson or a full lesson per class, depending on your students’ age and profession. Generally, we use the first 10 minutes to warm up. During these first 10 minutes, we smile so that they start feeling comfortable and ask them what they have done since we last saw them in class. Only after this 10-minute period do we start to teach the actual class. We use the last 10 minutes to play cards, regardless of their age. I wanted to ask him: “People are paying you for this!? It sounds to me like you’d have to pay them to show up. When are they actually learning the real deal, like vocabulary and grammar?!”
“Is everything clear to you?” he asked me, sensing my hesitance.
“Yes, everything is clear to me. It makes perfect sense…”
“Are you going to be up to the challenge?” he asked me, without realizing that he was actually offending me.
Up to what challenge?! I thought to myself. You call challenge a 50-minute class where you use 20 minutes to socialize with the payers and the rest of time you just serve them English words, here and there? Let’s get serious here! Instead I said:
“Yes, I think that I’m up to the challenge” I answered firmly yet modestly. Please offer me the chance to prove that I can do this.”
“How many days a week would you like to work?”
“Saturdays only.”
He looked at me surprised, because generally, none of the teachers wanted to be in class during the weekend.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am. I have auditions during the week and Saturday is my only day off. It doesn’t bother me to come to the University.”
“How about some other days?”
“I don’t think I can make it,” I answered honestly. “I’d like to teach English and be in this academic environment, yet I also want to be the master of my own time and not sacrifice any of my other priorities.” And I continued in my head… the teaching style you’ve presented me with bores me to death and I haven’t even begun to try and use it with the students.
The advisory board had a meeting and as a result of that I was hired for a trial period of three months, at a minimum salary of $25 per class. $25?! I thought that they were joking at first. I went through so many tests and interviews for something that was oblivious, for something that I wasn’t actually expecting to do. My only consolation was that perhaps this way I’d be able to do something useful for my soul. Also, as a Romanian who was accepted among the English native speakers at a top University, I thought that I’d be able to add a precious drop of harmony in the American-Japanese relationships pond… How ironic!
I always said YES to Richard, my boss and Michiko, our secretary, whenever they made absurd statements, even though I wanted to contradict them. I learned this secret from Adrian, who advised me: “Ioana, regardless of you agreeing or disagreeing in your heart with whatever they are saying, don’t ever try to contradict them or explain to them that their point of view doesn’t make any sense. You won’t win anything. Believe me! There are two extreme perspectives at play that are too different from each other to ever find common ground. Just say YES and save yourself the time and pain.” Often times it was hard for me to follow Adrian’s advice, yet under those circumstances it made perfect sense.
I had my English teaching classes on Saturdays from 9am to 4p.m.. The challenge was that when I got hired they only had two classes on Saturdays: a student from 9-9.50am and a group of three children from 3-3:50 p.m. For those hours in between classes I was paid the average hourly wage in Japan, $8 per hour. I had to spend that time doing administrative work and answering the phone. I had a one hour lunch break, time in which I either read in my office or walked around to see all the beautiful local stores.
When it came to teaching, I had a secret plan though. Just like a lot of people who have a passion for foreign languages, I noticed that there weren’t enough good teaching manuals and that the people competent to teach were few. With foreign languages people either know the language or know just the theory behind it, yet they can never speak it. Some even believe that they are incapable of learning even one foreign language and thus give up on all of them. I wasn’t going to let this happen with my students.
Thinking back over my school years in Romania and on all the manuals for the Romanian language, I realized that it would have been impossible for any foreigner to learn the language based on them. The Japanese methods that I was presented with seemed to be somehow similar and inefficient. I was wondering if some of these methods were created to keep students paying for classes for a very long time or if there was an absurd conspiracy whose aim was for English speakers to be just natives.
What I really wanted to do was not to gratify my superiors by listening to their advice, which I didn’t agree with in the first place, but to transform my students into English speakers as soon as possible. I wanted my students to be happy with their progress. I also wanted to get a lot more students to sign up on Saturdays. More students would have meant more money for the school and for me, leaving my bosses thinking that I was doing a great job following their inefficient methods.
Michiko-san, the secretary, told me that the morning students wanted to learn about American literature, which made me very happy. The students in the afternoon were 7 years old and were beginners, which meant that I had to let them draw during our time together and teach them one word per class… Under those circumstances life seemed incredibly simple yet extremely boring. I thought that it was all part of fate and I accepted it. I remembered my initial thoughts about this teaching opportunity: how I’d be in challenging situations with my students, how I’d confront my real level of education and I’d become aware of my insecurities and doubts. I expected to walk on a tightrope. That day I realized that I wasn’t going to walk on a tightrope but on a line drawn with chalk on a sidewalk.
I remember vividly one beautiful Saturday morning. I woke up and went to the University, arriving by 8.30 a.m. To keep up with my work schedule I gave up clubbing and my late night walks. I did this because in my mind and heart I had already made the decision to learn how to re-become serious and modest, just like my parents brought me up to be. Michiko-san told me that my student was bringing his own book of American literature and that it was great because the school didn’t have any of those books in its library. I knew nothing else about my first student. At 9 a.m. sharp, a 65-year-old businessman came into my office. Apparently he was my student, but it took us both a while to realize that. I am not sure which one of us looked at each other with more doubt, yet I remember that I was the one who said hi first. Instead of replying to my salutation, he asked:
“Is this the English class office?”
“Yes, have a seat please,” I answered to him.
“Where is the teacher?” he asked me in broken English.
“I am your English teacher. Please have a seat. Let’s get to know each other,” I answered.
Michiko was listening to our conversation from the hallway. My student didn’t close the door after him as he wasn’t sure if he was going to stay or leave. He decided to stay. I’m not sure if he did it out of respect or curiosity; perhaps because of both. Without allowing me the chance to catch my breath, he started asking me questions as if
the roles were reversed or as if he was interviewing me for a position: what was my name, where was I from, why was I his English teacher if I wasn’t American, where I learned English, how well did I speak the language, why, why, why, etc. After I answered all of his questions I felt like a student terrorized by a mean teacher. I then looked him right in the eye, smiling, and asked him: “Can we start the class now, Mr. X?”
“Yes, yes, of course” he answered with uncertainty. “I’ve been studying the American author John Grisham,” he told me while pulling a book out of his briefcase.
As he mentioned the author’s name, lots of thoughts crossed my mind: that I’d be fired and would never be able to teach again at any university in the world. John Grisham! I had never heard of this author before. At that time I was living under the impression that the literature worth studying was classic literature and I never had had the chance to study the author that my student was obviously interested in and the reason for which he was there. How embarrassing! I found out only later that some of his books became Hollywood films and were successful internationally. I believed in miracles yet in that moment I knew that nothing and no one could save me. I took a few seconds to get back to him. We locked eyes and I told him straight in his face—which is very disrespectful in Japan—that I didn’t know who John Grisham was. I expected him to stand up and leave the class and for me to follow…