Sensei and Sensibility
Thursday, November 18, 2004
The tears have stopped, so...
For a long time, I have been completely unable to write about my experiences in Japan. I have been unable to write e-mails or postcards to my friends overseas. Thankfully, the tears have finally stopped, and I can see clearly again. I apologise to those who wanted updates, and to those whom I have lost because of my inability to communicate my thoughts and feelings.
My departure from Japan was lukewarm. I knew that there was a possibility that this could be good-bye for a long, long time, but many people assumed that since my husband is Japanese, I would be back. I wasn't certain, however, and I wanted the time to grieve and mourn and seek closure. So many people said only, "See ya later", and at times, I wanted to shake them and reply, "No, there is a good chance that you won't! So, c'mon, let's raise a glass of sake one more time and relish that moment because it may well be our last!"
So, my sadness started around July, and continued until recently. July was a whirlwind of packing and the dawning realization that this was the end of an era for me. I was faced with the challenge of clipping the ties of the sensei and becoming the traveller. My husband was trying to be supportive, but he has never forged a life in another country, so it was difficult for him to understand where I was coming from. For him, the realisation hit in August. Maybe it actually came at the airport.
A few friends stopped by on the morning of my departure, to thrust presents into my hands and hug one last time. Before our friends came, Yoshi and I tried our best to hold off time and just lie there together, holding hands. The clock ticked, and with grim determination, Yoshi nudged me out of the futon and helped me to prepare to leave. He was quiet, except for a few jokes about the weight of my luggage. His job was to field the knocks and telephone calls while I silently whispered my good-byes to the ghosts of our house and to the memories of my time in Ikuno. The first person to stop by was Sato san. He seemed quite nervous, and with barely a word proceeded to tramp through the house dragging cables in pursuit of a plug. With Sato san, one never knows what will happen, and soon I found myself standing by the back of his van, where he had an electric piano perched on his bumper. He had composed a song as a good-bye present for me. Tears welled in my eyes as I listened to the notes.
Soon, other friends had filled the little parking lot in front of our house. Magically, my luggage was already in the car (thanks Yoshi), and it was time for me to depart. Fujiwara san, Ichinose san, Yoshi and I climbed in the car, after long hugs and many photographs. A group of 5 or so people stood in the driveway, waving good-bye until they could no longer see our car. And with that, we were off, and my three years in Ikuno was over. My eyes passed over the road and the view that I had come to know as "the way home", and a huge lump in my throat prevented me from being able to speak. In my thoughts I whispered, "Good-bye route 312, good-bye Kanzaki town, good-bye Ichikawa town, Fukusaki town, good bye favourite sushi restaurant, good-bye"
At the airport, the whole process was too busy, a real blur. Yoshi was directing the conversation so that I could just sit and absorb everything one last time. Yoshi and I went to go get canned coffee for everyone - he was being such a rock! At the vending machine, I was approached by a woman with a small child. She explained that she was a teacher at a preschool in Osaka, and she had taken her students to the airport in the hopes of meeting foreigners. The students had carefully prepared questions and made origami presents, and she wanted to know if a couple of them could ask me questions. One last time, I was surrounded by the cherubic faces of Japanese children, tentatively forming English words with their small lips. Yoshi was standing back to watch. Tears were flowing down my cheeks as I smiled and chatted with the kids and their teachers. Just as quickly, they vanished. Their only remains were the stickers and folded cranes that lay in my hands. Yoshi walked up to me and simply stated: "You are a sensei until the last moment, ne..." With that, he took me outside to get some fresh air. We sat down on the curb, and Yoshi bowed his head down and started to sob, quietly at first. Soon we were both sobbing, dejected at not knowing when we would meet again.
His mom telephoned from the hospital to say good-bye, and with that, I lined up for security. I have no idea how I made it through everything and onto the plane. I remember walking to the train that would take me to my gate - there was a large window to the hallway and check-in counters. From there, I had my last chance to wave good-bye to Yoshi, Ichinose-san and Fujiwara san, whose faces were pressed up against the glass. I stopped for a moment, looked each person in the eyes, blew them one last kiss, turned and walked off. From all reports, they had a really quiet ride home...
I arrived at my business class seat to be greeted with a box of tissue and a glass of champagne. The flight was a blur. I don't even remember arriving. I know that it was raining. I know that I didn't want to get off the plane.
No one was waiting for me at the airport - my flight arrived almost an hour early. I think that I just stood there, for a very long time, in shock.
From that moment on, I have been living in Canada. Not so much living as filling time, urging it to go more quickly. I would tell myself, "If only you can make it until.... then it will be OK." When .... arrived, I would make a new date.
So, the things I have filled my time with since arriving back in Canada have been the following:
- going back to Ontario to see my family
- touring visiting friends from Germany around Vancouver
- cat-sitting for a friend
- rehearsing and playing the part of Wilbur in a production of Charlotte's Web
- getting a part-time job at Starbucks, and learning more about coffee than I ever thought possible
- touring around visiting students from Kyoto
- touring around my students from Ikuno JHS who came on the exchange trip
- preparing my application for Graduate School.
For those who are wondering how things are going on the immigration front, I have been approved to sponsor Yoshi, and his application was sent to Manila for processing (I think that is the Eastern Asia processing centre). The forms sat for about a month before being looked at in Canada, and then they sat for another month in Manila. However, they have started processing Yoshi's forms - the last stage before they make their decision - so we could hear something soon, or not for a long time. It could take weeks, months, or years. We don't really know.
My savings arrived the other day from Japan, and after thinking about it for a while, I went to a travel agent and booked a ticket to go back to Japan for a couple of weeks in January. If I get into Grad school, it will be a long time before I get back to Japan and see my friends and beloved Ikuno. Yoshi will hopefully come in February, so I can help him to prepare for that.
I paid for the ticket yesterday, and already a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I think that I need to say good-bye to Japan slowly in order to put it behind me and move forward. I do not regret dipping into my savings to go back, even though it will mean a greater struggle in the end. Perhaps Yoshi and I can't get a car right away. Perhaps I won't be able to afford a computer and will have to camp out at internet cafes like I am currently doing.
However, there is no price on having peace in one's heart. I will go back to Japan as a visitor, and I will leave, this time of my own volition, and I will know that I have things to come back to Canada for, which makes all the difference. When I come back to Canada then, I have vowed not to dread my time here, but to embrace it, and to allow myself to love Vancouver once more.
Time will tell.
 Sabine . 1:23 PM . Comments
all journal entries
This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?
|
