"Japanese is better."

I know, in my heart of hearts, that getting frustrated with young children is ridiculous and accomplishes nothing.  You cannot argue logic with a seven-year-old, or change their mind about something that they are convinced is right.  Or, at least, I can't.  Not often.  Memories of trying and failing to convince my little sister that the colors of the rainbow didn't end with "indigo and purple" rise to the surface at moments like these.

But, well, there are times when I just want to grab my students by the shoulders, shake them, and yell.  Not all of my students, mind you.  But there's one in particular--a seven-year-old boy who's incredibly bright, but also incredibly set in his ways.  He complains--daily--about having to learn English, because "Japanese is better."  He is uninterested in anything I have to say about any culture besides Japan, because--you guessed it--"Japanese is better."  He told me a few days ago that he would not be speaking English in class any more, because he did not need to learn English.  I asked him if he never wanted to travel, never wanted to go on vacation to another country or speak to a person who didn't know Japanese.  He said that he did not.

I'm not stupid or self-important enough to believe that, if this boy learns English, his world will open up and he will be able to communicate with everyone--that would be just as ridiculous as his assertion that "Japanese is better" than any other language.  And I don't believe that everyone should learn English, or that the world should cater to English-speakers.  I would be just as concerned if I was teaching any language to any student anywhere, and they said they didn't need to learn it because they were never going to need to use it and their own language was better, anyways.

I'm also not idiotic enough to not recognize this for what it (at least partially) is: a seven-year-old boy being stubborn.  More importantly, a smart seven-year-old boy who attempts to undermine me on a regular basis in class being stubborn and not wanting to put forth effort.  It is what it is.  And it wouldn't really concern me if it weren't for the fact that people who have lived in Japan for much longer than me, and who have become far more fully immersed in the culture than I have, have documented the Japan-centric-ness of Japan.  It's like being back with certain close-minded, Southern bigots I knew back in the States.  I hated unfounded bigotry and willful ignorance then, and I hate it now.  Especially when it comes to seven-year-olds who shouldn't already be exposed to the idea that there is nothing worth learning, nothing worth experiencing that doesn't come from his own culture.  Erm, then why am I in Japan?  Well, except to avoid the crummy job market in America, get away from family members telling me I need to get my doctorate, and avoid settling down into a permanent job, of course.

Granted, this is only one member of the class (well, two, considering there is another girl who agrees with his every word).  And his threats about not ever speaking English in class ever again were proven weak when I threatened to make him go sit downstairs with my boss and explain to her why he was down there.   Also, I have one female student who loves English, another who wants to go to Paris and London, and a boy who wants to travel all over the world.  "But I think not to Colombia.  Because in Colombia, there are many, um, I think, bad boys there.  My parents tell me so."

The Two Types of Sickness

I am currently in the midst of my first official, "real" illness since arriving in Japan.  Sure, I've had a couple days with headaches and other mild stuff, but on Sunday I was feeling pretty crummy, and woke up Monday with a horrendous cold that got me sent home from work.  And this morning, I woke up completely and utterly voice-less, a condition that has lasted throughout the day and threatens to remain the same way tomorrow.  I can't ever remember losing my voice this badly; at best, I can choke out an extremely forced word or two every four hours, but even those utterances are almost unintelligible.  I feel fine otherwise, but am (obviously) unable to teach, and will end up having to trade off a lot of days with other teachers.  Not having paid sick days is probably the worst thing about my job.

The cold and the lost voice have combined to give me the worst bout of homesickness I've had so far.  Now, in all honesty, any time that I get a high fever, I get super-emotional and will cry over nothing.  This last May, on the way back from an academic conference, I broke down sobbing in a car while riding with two classmates and a teacher (all of whom, thankfully, I knew very well) while stricken with the flu.  Over, quite literally, nothing.  My body does not respond well to fevers.  And not having a voice means that calling family members is an impossibility.

So I'm emotional, I can't talk to anyone, and I'm three months in to what is going to be at least a two-year stay in Japan.  I am past the point of just missing things, and to the point of longing to be back in America with friends, family, and familiarity (apologies for the unintentional alliteration).  I am already worried that when it's all said and done, they and I will have changed immeasurably, to the point that things can't be the same.  I will be back home for Christmas, but how much will things have been altered by then?  There are a thousand specific examples that I could use for this, but suffice to say, I am worried.  And I hate myself for worrying.  It's so selfish to think that people could not change, or fear that they will.  Maybe there's a better way to express what I'm feeling; I was always bad at putting that sort of thing into words.  But it's where I am right now, and I'm sure that I'll figure out a way to cope with it eventually.