Don't get me wrong, my Japanese gets better everyday. However I am not yet adept enough in the language to understand 45 minute plays starring 13 year olds who aren't loud or coherent when they speak. I didn't understand a word of their plays, which was too bad since they were mainly dialog.
The choir sections were more interesting, as songs are generally more universal than plays. The songs were well put together and well sung! It was nice to also see the PTA sing a few songs from childrens' lullabies at Honjo.
The teachers put on their own plays, all involving ridiculous costumes and physical comedy. That was the most enjoyable part for me at both schools. Seeing how hard the teachers work, how late they stay, and how formal they are emphasizes how much fun the NEED to have. So, the play became an outlet of creativity and comedy for them. And it was a good thing too, because I didn't understand what was going on in their plays either! But watching the principal dressed up as a mouse, or the secretary dressed up like a big jolly sunshine, or the nurse dressed up like a goat was the highlight of my month.
The art was interesting too. Still lives of shoes, boats, and the general Ine/Honjo area were fun to look at. Some of the projects were REALLY good! Especially the summer projects which occupied of a month of each students' time (in theory). Some of the students' creations must have taken them a lot of hard work, which I imagine is difficult during summer vacation. Well done to them! My favorite part of the Honjo bunkasai was watching the most attractive boy (by 15 year old standards) in the school receive an award for art, walk down the steps like James Dean, and walk headfirst into a light panel and WIPED OUT. It made a big clang as well. He was totally fine, but it felt like the most humbling experience for the boy I assume is one of the more popular boys in the 30 person school. Poor Yuuta.
During the Honjo bunkasai, I was kidnapped/roped into wearing a kimono. Akiyama-sensei, the nurse, convinced me it would be fun. And wearing a kimono was a lot of fun! But it less the sort of fun a picnic or a water slide might evoke, and more the kind of fun it is to not be able to breathe/walk/have dignity. A kimono is a layering of many beautiful, patterned cloth pieces. It all begins with a slip. Then the towels. The classic Japanese standard of beauty is apparently to look like a roll of paper towels. No curves. So in each of the naturally curvaceous places (the hips, under the bus, above the bo
oty) the wearer will place a small kitchen towel, rolled up, and fastened with a tie. The cylindrical shape is achieved this way. The towels are followed by an underkimono made of a light cotton material. Mine was orange. Then comes the ties to keep this kimono in place. The ties are tied TIGHTLY. I began to miss the full extension of my lungs, which seemed to be struggling to breathe naturally at this point. Then the outer kimono, if my memory serves me correctly. After the fine, thick outer kimono is on, it is time for the obi 'n friends. The obi is an endlessly long, beautiful thick belt that attaches around the kimono. It is tied in a bow on the back of the apparatus/outfit in the final stages of kimono-gussying. However, before the main obi, there are two under-obis and another slimmer tie. There is also a small bean-shaped flat pad that is attached to the front, and a rounded, protruding pad for the back. By the time the obi was tied, I had given up on breathing properly. I could barely move at first. Then, adding the finishing touches to my hair and shoes, I was ready to shuffle like so many Japanese ladies of the court (I assume.) Japanese women are not naturally graceful as storybooks/sushi restaurants have led me to believe. They simply can't move in kimonos. Their footsteps are small and well placed because there is no other way to MOVE. They don't speak much or out of turn b/c they can't BREATHE. At least I couldn't breathe. Not well.
A barrage of photographs by Akiyama-sensei and a gait much akin to that of a toddler's, I made it to the gym. This was where I realized that I would be the only person in that gym wearing a kimono. Everyone else was in school uniforms, or casual wear. I felt like a dressed up dog. People stared and commented politely. I quickly found my seat and said hi to those around me. I wanted the activities to start so I could stop feeling like the center of attention.
During the opening speeches, I caught the words 'our new AET, Reicheru Suriibani,..." and the knowledge that I would have to shuffle up to the front and give a speech came upon me. So, I hopped up, and waddled gracefully to the microphone. I then introduced myself for the millionth time in Japanese and shuffled back to my seat. If I had had blood circulation, I would have turned purple. Fortunately, I didn't! They love it when I blush though because Japanese people don't do it so much (the flushing of cheeks was outlawed in the Edo period by an autistic Daimyo who disliked the colour pink).
Well, by lunchtime it was about 80 degrees in the gym, and I asked to take off the kimono. They obliged and I was so happy to wear normal clothing for the rest of the day, as it only got hotter in that gym.
After the culture festivals, I ran off to my first kimono lesson. Kumi Yoshida (of the Yoshidas, my family in Tango) lent myself, Desirae and Liz kimonos for the class. We're going to
learn about the parts, and how to put them on/take them off/fold them. It's more complicated than you might think. There is a special way to fold EVERYTHING, which I am terrible at. I felt clueless for most of the lesson (it was about 20 Japanese women, all of them more graceful than myself of course). I also felt FAT. As a Caucasian American female in the age group 18-25, I have felt the inadequacies of body image many times before. But I've never felt BIG before. But when the skirt slip of the kimono wouldn't fit around me, and I had to refuse to take off my skirt for fear of showing too much leg in the classroom, I felt so embarrassed. However, I managed to have fun struggling with the under kimono and how to tie a Japanese knot (which is also harder than you'd think!) Liz seemed like a natural! It's so cool to watch her because she is able to pick things up so quickly, which is helpful to me because then she can explain it to me in English. And my Japanese is farther along than hers, so I can help her figure out what we're meant to be doing. It's a process, but it's a really good experience and hopefully in a few months, I won't feel so useless in the midst of the other women.
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