Resistance

I've been enacting a practice of waking up at 6:30 every morning. This follows the practice of not going to bed until I feel sleepy. It's been working really well, with a maximum delay in rousing of about 15 minutes. So, I was up again before the village music broadcasts, studying, eating, and organizing, all before 8:00 - which is when I decided to put my futon away and hang up a pair of jeans from the previous day.

I put away the futon without any problem. But when I went to open the sliding door where my clothes hang, I got some resistance. I pushed harder, but the resistance was still there. I thought perhaps the door had caught on some fabric from the inside of the closet (this has happened before), so I checked all around the lower parts of the door. Only after I looked up did I discover what was causing the friction: a gecko.

The sliding doors are designed to fit inside a deep groove at the top, resting on a slick material on the bottom, allowing for pretty silent and efficient use. To fit in the deep top groove, the door has what I would describe as "guides," thin, spaced sheets of metal that extend to fill the deep groove, keeping the door on track. Now, imagine thin, metal guides set in a deep groove, moving rapidly over the body of a trapped gecko. You now have an image of what I saw this morning.

Once I became aware of what was happening, I stopped moving the door. I stepped back and went to get a paper towel. Before I removed the door to extract the little beasts body, I found parts of his tail that had been severed and fallen to the ground. I picked them up then removed the door from its frame. His body fell to the tatami with soft plop, small amounts of blood present. I bent down to see how bad he was. Very. His body was mangled, heart and other organs protruding from his chest and abdomen. Most disturbing of all, parts of his body were moving slowly yet erratically. I picked him up, wrapped in the paper towel, and put an end to it all. He stopped moving.

While I'm not one to participate in ceremony, I just didn't feel right throwing him in the burnable garbage. Bodily incineration doesn't bother me (cremation, if you will), but surrounded by a bagful of trash, which might not leave my house for several weeks? So I took him out back, scooped a little dirt from the area I'm trying to cultivate as an azalea garden, and placed him in the earth. I came back inside to put the door back and wipe the tatami. I found a few remnants, mostly tail, and discarded them as well.

I remember hearing that geckos are 家の神様 ie no kamisama "gods of the house." Hopefully, the accidental destruction of one of their kind doesn't bring about any sort of retribution.

Whale of a story

This past weekend, I took a trip with a couple of friends to one of the islands located off of southwest Okinawa. It is called Zamami, one of the many islands that make up the larger Keramas. There lives David, a first-year ALT.

Our host for the weekend, David organized for us a whale watching boat ride on Saturday afternoon. With pretty excellent weather (considering what followed on Sunday), we boarded the boat of one Kiyoshi-san, an apparent veteran of whale watching (he’s pretty good with a camera, too, as evidenced by his pictures from previous expeditions). And it could not have gone better.

We were making our way out into the Sea of Japan when the first spouts of water and air were spotted. Several boats, around four, approached the spot and we watched as the whales (two adults, one newborn) surfaced quite often, in regard for the little whales developing lungs. As we followed along, discussing all kinds of things, we were presented with one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen in my life: a full whale breach.

Without warning, around 100-200m from our boat, one of the adult whales erupted from the sea, its body perpendicular to the surface, the seawater cascading off its skin as it came to its peak and then fell back into the water, creating a most spectacular splash. The breach was followed by several “head slaps.” While not full breaches, the whale continued to jump, to a lesser degree, though the thrill of watching such an event was still quite awe inspiring.

I haven’t felt so much like a kid surprised by something so amazing in quite a while. Sure, television programs on The Discovery Channel and similar stations may have given me the idea of what whales do in the ocean, but seeing it in person, from only a meager 100m or so really changed everything. I was gasping, smiling, absolutely floored. It was that amazing.

We followed the whales for quite a while, though I’m not sure how long. Hours? We were also treated to “tail slaps” that were so large they turned the water light blue from all the bubbles, “flipper flaps” (I can’t think of the term) where the whales come to the surface, turn on their side, and slap the water with their fins, and surfacings so close that we could hear the violent expulsion of air from the whales refilling lungs.

Our last special treat was the breach of the baby whale. It’s tiny (tiny?! hardly) body flung out of the water, crashing back in a splash smaller than, but just as spectacular as, its parent’s earlier breach.

I didn’t take my camera. Oh, what a travesty, you may think. Quite the opposite, I say. The entire time I was watching the whales with my very own eyes, obstructed by nothing other than my blinking. Is it a shame I don’t have pictures of my own to look at many months from now? Is it a shame that I can’t share any with you? I don’t think so. You can find pictures anywhere, but you can’t replace the experience.

Winging it

I had a very clear plan of what I was going to do in today's 2nd grade elementary class. I even had my little slip of paper with each step, minutes proportioned accordingly, how to arrange the class, even an extra activity in case things ran too quickly. And I didn't use it; not even for a second.

As I began the lesson, I started off with a standard counting review. The kids are good with 1-10, but past that, things get haltingly...unaccustomed. The kids aren't bad - they just don't know it yet. As we reached 10, I just decided to push the limit...to 11...then to 12. And there went the plan!

But it was a great decision! The numbers 1-12 represent every number they'll need to know to at least tell time in hours, and what better in-class prop than a large clock with moving parts. We spent a good bit of time on 11 and 12, getting the pronunciation down, making sure they could remember it. We'd count, "1...2...3...~...9...10... ... ...." "E-le-ven," I'd prompt. And we'd do it over and over. Then move on to 12. We started chanting the numbers, me doing a stupid little dance to get the kids laughing and enjoying it. After that, we tackled "o'clock."

We finished up the period with a game where I called out a time and the two opposing teams had to draw hands on the face of clocks drawn on the chalkboard. By the end of the game, they were saying, 「超簡単、ボン先生！」　cho-kantan, bon-sensei "Way too easy!" Well, good!

28, some photographs

As promised, a few photos from March 3, also known as Hina matsuri, a festival for girls.

First graders, after having stormed the teachers' room, given me their poster, and sung parts of Happy Birthday, posing for a pic. Adorable.

Fifth grade chalkboard, a surprise prepared before class. The large ボン on the left says "bon", which is me!

Fifth graders, after class, which was a blast. Photo credit: Akihiko-sensei.

28

Turned 28 today. It was fantastic! Some of the kids and teachers at school got into the celebrations and I really enjoyed it. I had dinner with Cliff and splurged on the special.

I have a few pictures on my phone from today. I'll be sure to upload them before the week is over, or at least by this weekend. Great day, long day, time for sleep.