First Draft- Personal Narrative

Intended publication: NYT Lives

Title: TBA

I AM TRYING to relax.  I take a deep breath and then another, wishing my pulse to slow.  Onsens are a place for relaxation after all; a place where many Japanese flock to on the weekends to wash away the grime of the workweek, to soak their bodies in semi-scalding volcanic water, to turn soft and pruned, and to allow their thoughts of the looming Monday to evaporate along with the swirling steam.   

But my mind will not rest.  I feel nervous and exposed, two sensations that have surprisingly little to do with sitting completely naked in an outdoor hot spring next to several elderly Japanese women, one of whom keeps flashing me a crinkly, toothless grin.  The women appear perfectly at ease; each in a deep recline with their lined faces tilted toward the sky, their breasts peeping out of the water as it gently ebbs and flows.

Tomorrow is my first day of school at Morioka Dai-Ichikou high school in Morioka, Japan and I am terrified. 

The toothless woman senses my angst, I think.  She gives me a sly smile then slowly raises a dripping finger to the sky.  Snow.  It was coming down softly, dancing sweetly around my face before being swallowed by the heat of the hot spring.   

*            *            *            *             *

 

First Day of School in Morioka, Japan

The next morning I rise early.  Goosebumps coat my skin on this cool October day and I dress quickly in the uniform I had laid out the night before.  At seventeen, this is my first time wearing a uniform to school.  My parents say that it will help me to fit in with my classmates, but I am not too sure.  My broad-shouldered frame surpassed all Japanese female size charts, requiring me to get a specially tailored uniform blazer and my size 10 feet forced me to visit the men’s section for uniform shoes.  Paired with my five-foot nine-inch stature, blonde hair, and blue eyes, I am sure “fitting in,” at least physically, is pretty much out of the question.    

Secretly, I think my parents want to stir the pot of comfort a bit.  They want to break up the monotony of the white, small town life I had lived so far and give me the opportunity to reconnect with the country when I was born.  When my dad was offered a position with Earlham College as the Japan Study Abroad Coordinator in the fall of 2007, both of my parents encouraged me to think about accompanying him and spending part of my senior year of high school there.  I eagerly agreed.  But today, on the first day of school, that eagerness is replaced by anxiety.  My knowledge of the Japanese language consists of a toothbrush song my mom sang to me when I was little and a few words I had picked up from Hayao Miyazaki’s “My Nieghbor Totoro.”  I have little means of communication and I am visibly different.          

On the way to school, my parents jabber back and forth giving me a condensed lesson in proper Japanese social codes, rules, and norms. “Remember,” says my mom, “when you change from your street shoes into your school shoes, don’t let your socked foot touch the floor.”  “When you’re eating lunch,” my dad chimes in, “never point your chopsticks directly at anyone.”  “When a teacher enters the room,” my mom adds, “make sure you stand up, bow, and welcome him into the classroom along with the rest of your peers.”  As I enter the schoolyard, I cling to these scraps of advice for dear life. 

My introduction to my class, however, is quick and relatively painless.  I stand at the front of the room, towering over a kind, English-speaking teacher, and say a few memorized lines in Japanese.  Hajimemashite.  Alaina desu.  Dozo yoroshiku. Onegaishimasu.  To my surprise, the class breaks into applause and I feel myself turning as red as a Kyoto cherry blossom.  I rush to an empty seat near the back of the classroom and will the teacher to begin the lesson.  He does, but throughout the remainder of the morning classes, eyes from around the room are drawn to the back corner when I am sitting, quickly darting forward again when I try to make eye contact.  Could any of these be eyes of a friend? I wonder. 

Just as I begin to feel slightly more comfortable in my seat in the farthest corner, the lunch bells rings.  The lunch bell- every new kid’s worst nightmare.  I pretend to look busy, intentionally taking too much time to put away my class materials, adjusting and readjusting them in my new, navy blue satchel.  When it seems like I can no longer switch the location of my eraser from the back pocket to the front pocket one more time without looking like a total weirdo, I look up hopeful, searching for the friendly face of someone who wants to have lunch together. 

I smile shyly as one of my classmates approaches me.  She is a slight girl, with long dark hair that she sweeps gracefully over one shoulder and a smile that seems to stretch across her entire face.  In broken English she stammers, “You…like… ‘High School Musical’?”  At that moment, I automatically love “High School Musical”.  I would have loved anything that could help bridge the gap between my classmates and me.  I nod enthusiastically and she beckons me to join her and some other girls for lunch.  “I… am… Asako,” she says.  The other girls all smile when I approach them with Asako.  They chatter back and forth in fast Japanese until someone gets up the courage to say something to me in English.  Everything seems to be “High School Musical” related.  “You… like...Zac…Efron?”  “You…know…dance?”  I quickly weigh the pros and cons of confessing that I do, in fact, know some of the dances from the movie.  I decide it is safer to say that I don’t.  Asako jumps up.  “I…teach…you!”  she exclaims and immediately pulls out some stellar moves while singing “We’re All In This Together.”  Before I know it, I am laughing.  We are laughing; these Japanese girls and I are laughing together.  Coming from different cultures and unable to speak the same language, somehow we have found common ground.  In this moment I know that the rest of my first day—and perhaps the rest of my time in Morioka—will be okay.