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 Sarah
Axelrad
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2010-11 Outbound to Japan
Hometown:
Tallahassee, Florida
School:
Lincoln High School
Sponsor:
Tallahassee Sunrise Rotary Club, District 6940, Florida
Host:
Izumo South Rotary Club, District 2690, Japan
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Bio
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| September 22 "I think I ate a snail today. Not really sure
what it was actually, but Rotarians were incredibly amused by my careful
examination of the food item prior to consumption. " |
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November 25 "I noticed I would be put on stage
with a microphone and a spotlight. That way, if such distress was too
overwhelming, my vomit would be illuminate and radiating for the audience’s
viewing pleasure. " |
| March 13 "One man
has a name, an obituary. 10,000 men have a one followed by four zeros.
" |
Sarah's Bio
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 It’s hard to imagine that the one experience I’ve dreamed about,
for most of the refined years of my life, is not so hazy anymore. Two months ago
I was Sarah Axelrad, 16-year-old junior and aspiring revolutionist. Today, I am
a student compelling nine classes, the owner of three Japanese handbooks, and a
future exchange student – elatedly taking the responsibility to uncover the
wonders of Japan.
I live in Tallahassee, Florida, as I have since birth. I
have two rooms in two separate houses: in one house I live with my dad, and
the other with my mom and stepdad. Both my parents are extremely
environmentally focused with their careers and hobbies, so I naturally enjoy
the outdoors as well. I love the arts – you could call them. Film,
literature, sculpture, paint, music, photography and anything else,
intellectually or artistically stimulating, captivates me. My most valued
possession is my digital camera, and I am confident it will assist me in
documenting the magic of Japan. I also love to travel. Even airplanes get me
excited and I swear I’d be content for weeks in an airport.
Honestly, this opportunity terrifies me. Recently, I’ve
felt the type of anxiety that makes me think deeper and work harder to
ensure that I can’t let this reality fall back to just a dream. I can’t
really express how much this means to me, and I promise myself, my friends
and family, and the people of Rotary who made this all possible, that after
a year as an exchange student, I’ll come home more mature, more cultured,
and much better at video games. |
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Immediate
Observations:
1) The Japanese are incredibly
eager to take my bags/open the door/give me gifts and any other act of
flattery.
2) Yes, the showerhead is too low
for me.
3) My siblings, Aiko (6) and
Isamu (9), are the best. They have more personality, tolerance, and
obedience than the average, mature American.
4) Air conditioning is a
privilege, not a norm. EMPHASIS ON THIS.
5) I am grateful for how much I
didn’t pack.
6) 6ft tall translates to 180
centimeters tall. The Japanese translation is even worse.
7) I need to get used to the idea
of not seeing my reflection daily, which is somewhat refreshing. For
desperate measures, use photobooth as a mirror.
August 23rd
Many Japanese streets are one
lane, but two-way. This frightens me.
I think I ate a snail today. Not
really sure what it was actually, but Rotarians were incredibly amused by my
careful examination of the food item prior to consumption. I have found it
difficult to decline a Japanese delicacy when crowds of white-haired men in
suits are staring with wide-eyed grins.
I’ve heard lots of people tell me
I’m beautiful, and either I don’t believe them, or it doesn’t really mean
anything. Somehow, when a Japanese person tells me this, it means a lot.
The Japanese word for ‘expensive’
and ‘tall’ are practically the same, only with accents on different
syllables. Incidentally, both were used frequently at the fitting for my
school uniform.
There is no such thing as dry
sweat in a Japanese home. You shower before you cool off—end of story.
It took me 3 days to fall in love
with Japanese tea (which kind of tastes like wheat). It also took 3 days for
me to bow automatically upon introduction.
There is no law in Japan to wear
a seatbelt in the backseat of a car. This quickly settling habit may be
problematic come my return to Florida.
In Japan, if you don’t have a
business card, you don’t exist.
Eco-bags are a must when grocery
shopping. If you happen to forget your cloth bags at home, you pay about 5
cents for each plastic one.
August 25, 2010
My host family is the best.
Granted, I went without a lunch on my first day of school, and someone
forgot to pick me up at 3:25, resulting in the principal driving me home
over an hour later. But all this is ok because I am starting to identify a
few words in Japanese conversation (even when they speak 100 words a
second), and because when I walk in the door I take a deep breath and smile
because it smells like home, because Aiko and Isamu are watching an episode
of The Suite Life of Zach and Cody (in Japanese) and I can laugh when they
laugh because I’ve already seen the episode, and because Junko excessively
apologized for not packing me a lunch and had a full meal ready for me in 20
minutes.
On Japanese Schools:
Starting at the door. Slippers.
You wear them. They are not attractive, but attractiveness is mostly based
on what everybody else looks like, and when everybody else is wearing
plastic sandals with a rubber, 1 inch heel that squeak when you walk, they
become no longer unattractive. You change from your outside shoes to your
slippers immediately upon entrance in a porch-like room called a genkan,
which every Japanese building has. Outside shoes go in assigned ‘cubbies’
and you really don’t see them again until school is over. I’ve considered
just arriving barefoot, as it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. On the
hallway wall directly outside the bathrooms is a large mirror above 3 sinks,
which both boys and girls often use to brush their teeth in the mornings and
to wash their hands hourly. I have no explanation; this is simply an
observation. Also, 3 soaps are tied to the 3 sink faucets in mesh bags. This
allows the bar soaps to be utilized to their full ability without being lost
and without creating scum on the counter. I think it’s pretty neat. However,
I have noticed that there isn’t a towel to dry your hands off with. This
bothers me. I haven’t yet discovered if it is that the Japanese do not have
a problem with indiscretion, or that the boys are so confident in themselves
to change from their study uniforms to their gym uniforms patently in the
co-ed classroom. I’m not close enough with any of the students to ask about
such behavior, but evidently I am close enough to see them in their
underwear.
One significant difference
between my Japanese school and most schools in America is that the teachers
move to the students, rather than the other way around. You stay with the
same classmates throughout the entire day—like we did in elementary school.
When we arrive at school at 8:40am, the day begins with a 15 minute ‘morning
meeting’ with the homeroom teacher. Believe me, the moment I understand what
is said at these meetings, the world will know. When a teacher enters the
classroom, all the students rise. The teacher bows slightly, and the
students respond with a deeper bow. (Longer and lower bows signify a higher
level of respect. For example, a younger person should always bow lower to
their elders.) Then, the students are seated and take a moment of silence.
(This is my favorite part. If I am ever a teacher, I will make it a rule for
my students to follow this Japanese ritual.) We lower our heads and close
our eyes and everyone is quiet for about 30 seconds, when the teacher breaks
the silence and class begins. On the second day of school, Robby, the
English teacher, told me that this was a practice meant to clear the minds
of the students, to leave behind everything else and prepare for the coming
lesson. The best part about this moment of silence is that everyone actually
participates. I imagined this custom at Lincoln: students would inevitably
be texting, listening to music, shuffling through papers, finishing due
homework…etc., but I think it means a lot to Japanese students, I hope it
does. It means a lot to me because I really do think it works. I feel
lighter after I clear my mind. Not in the weight sense—the other kind of
lighter where you don’t fear you’ll scream at any given second. I hope you
know what I’m talking about.
Another thing I really enjoy
about my school in Japan is the independence the students are given. So far,
while in preparation for the festival, we have four 50-minute periods with a
10-minute break in between each class. These 10-minute breaks are basically
free time because our lockers are in the classroom, so we don’t have to go
anywhere. Sometimes students just walk around the school to say hi to other
friends. I usually read LOTR and let people take pictures of me. (I am
getting used to this. I have learned that being an exchange student and
being shy are contradictory. It just can’t happen.) After 4th period is
cleaning time. There are no janitors in Japanese schools. The students spend
15 minutes a day, before lunch, cleaning. It’s really quite a good idea
because with 20 students per classroom, it’s not like any 1 person has to do
much. I usually erase the chalk on the blackboards. (Blackboards are another
thing I like about my school; I always found chalk more fun than dry erase
markers. They remind me of those old movies where when the kid gets in
trouble, his nun-teacher makes him stay after class and clap the erasers.
And the kid overly-exaggerates his hatred for this punishment, as if
clapping erasers together is really so unbearable.) Cleaning period is
followed by lunch, which, after the first day, I will never forget to pack
again, as there is no cafeteria. After lunch, the rest of the day is
preparation for the festival, and back to what I said about independence: we
pretty much get 2, unsupervised hours to do this. We can use the gym, go
outside, use art materials, costumes, even box-knives… just about anything
we can accomplish on our own, we have access to. I don’t think this would go
over well in an American high school, but in Japan, somehow productivity and
fun can exist in harmony.
August 28, 2010
- The Japanese do not eat the
peels of grapes. Ever. They suck the inside out and put the peel on their
plates.
- When I attend Rotary events,
somehow the Rotarians make me feel like I’m in a room with twenty E.O.
Wilsons. I don’t know how else to describe it.
- I read somewhere that when you
exchange business cards with a Japanese person, you should accept it with
two hands, study it for a few seconds, and then put it somewhere safe to
show that you truly care. I haven’t noticed much of the two-hand thing, but
I have noticed that they will seriously break apart every letter of your
card, sometimes reading aloud what is written and turning it into a
question. For example, “Lincoln High School?” As if they expect it to be a
misprint, or as if they have a great-niece twice removed who went to Lincoln
and they are leading to a story of how she scored the winning goal at the
girls’ soccer championships. The point is, the Japanese definitely take
their time in familiarizing themselves with business cards.
- The Japanese really do care how
a foreigner feels about their food.
- I have recently caught myself
smiling and nodding when someone is giving a speech to an audience. I
eventually remember that I have to idea what is being said, and I feel
silly. But I keep smiling and nodding.
September 9, 2010
There are 3 English classes at my
school: English Reading (M, W, and F), English Grammar (T, R), and
Conversational English (R). I am the teacher’s assistant in all three. In
the short time I have been attending Hokuryo High School, I still can’t
pronounce its name. But I also have completely lost any southern accent that
might have existed prior to exchange, have attained patience that had not
existed prior to exchange, and acquired abs as a result of laughing
uncontrollably, near every day, that definitely did not exist a month ago.
September 7, 2010
Reasons Japan is superior to
America:
1) Pyramid shaped tea bags
2) The metric system
3) School uniforms
4) Biker friendly streets
5) Mary Poppins baskets on every
bike
6) Chopsticks
7) The rice cooker: add rice, add
water, press start. Genius.
8) Ubiquitous refreshing shower
sheets
9) Overall better hair and hair
styles
10) Student-school cleaning
system
11) Sliding doors
12) Ping-pong (table tennis) as a
national school sport
13) Vending machines with better
beverage varieties
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Aiko wore a sky-blue satin dress; a small lock of her hair was braided
and tied back to the side with the rest of it. She added a pearl
necklace at the last minute. Isamu wore a button-up shirt, dress shorts,
and a tie—a real one—with hiking boots and striped socks. They looked
very nice. I spent an hour getting ready this night. This was mostly
because I seem to have forgotten how to put on makeup and had to start
over numerous times, wet-naps at disposal. I practiced my speech all
day. ALL DAY. Biking to school, I spoke it out loud. During P.E., I
muttered it repetitively in between setting and spiking and bumping and
serving. Friends edited it over and over. I said it in the mirror as I
put on mascara…I HAD IT DOWN. I SWEAR TO YOU, I HAD IT DOWN. It is vital
I get this point across. So I wrote it on a small piece of paper so I
could continue practicing up until the very second of my execution. I
walked out of my room with two different shoes on. Fortunately, my
family noticed, and then proceeded to argue which one better suited my
outfit. I went with the girls’ choice; Isamu has a lot to learn.
When we arrived at the hotel, a very informal tea ceremony was held in
the lobby. Japanese cake and Japanese green tea (which is nothing like
the American sorts) was served by pretty women dressed in kimonos. After
tea, my attendance was requested to an exclusive men’s meeting in a
separate room. I don’t know why they invite me to these things. It’s not
like I can offer much in a room of elderly Japanese men. So I sat with
my legs crossed at the ankles, never the knee, and I practiced my
speech, and I wondered if Aiko’s nose had stopped bleeding while she and
the rest of the family waited in the lobby. (Apparently the excitement
of an event to dress up for was intense enough to initiate a nosebleed.)
They sang the Rotary song, just like the Tallahassee Sunrise Rotary
Club, with the significant exception of shockingly impressive voices.
I’m pretty sure you have to pass some sort of singing test to obtain
Japanese citizenship. I’ll have to look into it. But the whole room
fills with deep voices that bounce off the walls in all the right
directions. And the floor vibrates and you look down at your feet and
can almost see the pulse crawl up your legs to your spine, launching
goose bumps and residing in your eardrums long after the song is ended.
I really don’t think anything in the world sounds like a singing group
of elderly Japanese men, except for a singing group of elderly Japanese
men. Aiko’s nosebleed hadn’t given up. Half of a tissue was crammed in
her tiny nostril for another 20 minutes.
The speech was rolled up in my sweating palm, dampness fading my lead
handwriting. I was so afraid to lose it. Even though I knew the lines by
heart, holding onto something real is much more comforting. I think that
is why people write. Eventually I shoved it beneath the strap of my
watch, held between that and my wrist, though continued to check its
safety every minute. I was hoping for a podium to lean on and maybe
steady myself from falling. Also so I could flatten the crinkled paper
and peer down at it for reference when I froze. That did not happen. In
fact, quite the opposite. Upon entrance to the dining hall, I noticed I
would be put on stage with a microphone and a spotlight. That way, if
such distress was too overwhelming, my vomit would be illuminate and
radiating for the audience’s viewing pleasure.
Each 18 round tables in the dining hall sat 6. As usual, the women and
family of the Rotarians were seated at separate tables, making the
entire room segregated by sex—except for me. My foreign name card was
placed among men. The man to my right was the principal of my school.
Being already rather familiar with him, I introduced myself to the man
to my left, whom I’d never seen. I was relieved to hear he spoke some
English. He told me he practiced kendo, which is cool, since that’s the
only traditional Japanese sport I know anything about, and that he had
two kids: an 18 year old boy who is in his last year of high school, and
a daughter who is in college and moved out. He then added, to my
discomfort, “So my house has one empty bedroom.” This addition was
confusing to me at first, but directly after such an awkward
implication, a familiar Rotarian came up to my table and unknowingly
clarified. Standing in-between the man and I, he elatedly told me that
the man I was talking to would most likely be my next host father.
I don’t really know what to say, because I can’t describe how this made
me feel. At the least I was unprepared. Since I have been here, changing
host families has not once crossed my mind. I understand it is part of
the process and what every exchange student experiences, I just hadn’t
thought about it. So as these two men attentively waited to catch a hint
of recognition upon my face, I just kind of stared blankly across the
room for what seemed like minutes, imperceptibly panicking and trying
not to wince at the needles jabbing my insides. This long moment of
adaption passed and I gave them a big smile—a real one—because, once
settled, this news was really quite alright.
However, being the over-analyzer that I have recently accepted I am, I
can’t say I wouldn’t have appreciated such an alarming report to have
waited maybe 10 minutes to be broken—when my speech was said and done.
Obviously this was not the case, and my head swarmed with completely
unnecessary doubts about the quantity of nightlights in my next family’s
house as I stepped on stage. It was not particularly what I wanted to be
consuming such a large apartment in my brain at such a critical time.
As predicted, I was defeated by the crowd and forgot most everything
under the spotlight. I had to read most of my speech from that crinkled
scrap of paper, yet kept my composure and somehow got compliments from
half the room on my pronunciation and flawless grammar. I wouldn’t dare
question how these things fall into place, though I am grateful.
After dinner there was a skit preformed by some Rotarians. You
definitely did not need to understand Japanese to laugh at this. The
president was a fully costumed Gandhi and the Secretary was dressed in a
speedo, flippers, and a shark hat. There was also someone in an army
suit holding a Japanese fan, and a man dressed as a geisha, make-up and
all. There really isn’t anything more to say about that. Unfortunately,
I was too amused to pick up my camera and capture such a ridiculous
affair. Sorry.
Oh, there were also dancers. They did a silly dance, but they did it
very well. And I wondered how so without laughing, recognizing that I
wouldn’t have been able to. Then I noticed one dancer who was
exceptionally precise, and he seemed so sure of himself and his silly
dance. He looked at the audience dead on, conquering every doubt, and so
I realized that you can pull of anything if you think you can.
I later found out that it was a group of mentally disabled dancers. I
had suspected nothing.
I had coffee for dessert and couldn’t sleep for hours.
Examples of why my life is hilarious:
- English teacher: Sarah, have you heard of the movie Oceans?
Sarah: No, but I know the movie Oceans 11.
English teacher: Oceans…?
Sarah: E-le-ven. Oceans 11.
English teacher: Oceans a-lovin?
Sarah: No. Eleven. The number. Eleven. Ju-ichi (Japanese). Eleven.
English teacher: Ah, I see. Ok. Oceans A-lovin.
- English teacher: Sarah, please give the class example sentences using
these words. (Points to words written on the board.) They will repeat
each word after you, to practice pronunciation, and then the whole
sentence.
Sarah: (Nervous, can’t think of sentences quick enough—starts playing
with tunnel in ear. Accidentally pushes tunnel out of loose lobe and it
soars across the room.)
Oops.
Class: Oops.
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Sunday,
March 13, 2011
Some days I sit down and write and others I sit down and can’t. Today feels
like the latter, but these are words, so what you see is a contradiction. I
wonder what the news looks like in America. What kind of coverage you are
getting and what kind of coverage you think this deserves.
My high school was what, 2,000 students? Okay, 2,000 students. So let’s take
the graduating classes of Lincoln High School from the last 20 years and
drown them. Crush them under a building, a car—save the mess of thrashing
limbs, debris, sea foam leaking from agape mouths and go ahead and
mechanically funnel the ocean directly into their lungs—whatever. They’re
gone. And mark them as tallies that'll headline. Pixilated on a TV screen,
bolded in the morning paper. Somehow society makes the death of one man more
personal than the death of 10,000. One man has a name, an obituary. 10,000
men have a one followed by four zeros. Things like this happen and we don’t
take it personally because, well, because it isn’t. Because this is 9,800
miles, a skin color and a language away. We’ve never met these people and we
never would have if they were still around. Nothing in your life changes.
This morning I stood at the kitchen doorway and watched my host mother hang
up the phone with a friend in Ofunato, then punch a wall.
Personal.
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