The 72 Japanese Microseasons of my Discontent - Part 7 : 立夏 Rikka (Beginning of summer)

May 5–9蛙始鳴 Kawazu hajimete naku - Frogs start singing

May 10–14蚯蚓出 Mimizu izuru - Worms surface

May 15–20竹笋生 Takenoko shōzu - Bamboo shoots sprout

One of Okasan's most recent set of post cards, this one commemorating Children's Day, the last national holiday of Golden Week, and the first day of summer, according to the old 72 season calendar.

This May marks the start of my 27th year at Mr. Insecthead's kindergarten. I've been doing classes over there for almost half of my life.

I remember being a little less than enthusiastic when the fledging Mme. Lord Vader informed me that she'd received an inquiry about whether I'd be interested in taking on a part-time job teaching kids back in mid-March, 1995.

It had been just over a year since I'd folded up my flourishing English teaching business in Vancouver and made my second trip out to Deadbeat City (and fourth to Japan).

The Nagoya girl had been unwell, and failed to return to Vancouver after visiting home for the December 1993 holiday season. After several false starts, and a raft of doctor's appointments at which she'd been examined, then re-examined, she was finally told that there was nothing 'physically' wrong with her...though it was quite apparent that she couldn't even make it out of her parent's house, let alone to the airport to get on a plane for Vancouver. She told me that her doctor had basically diagnosed it as a case of 'nerves', prescribed some tranquilizers, and told her to 'smarten up and get on the plane'. The Japanese have little understanding of mental illness, or sympathy for people suffering from complaints that don't exhibit physical manifestations. In their estimation, it's all weakness or self-pity. Perhaps things have changed a bit over the last thirty-odd years; but not enough. Anyways, her predicament was my predicament. I felt partially responsible, as I'd encouraged her to go just after her birthday in late November. She'd worked hard, and I thought that a visit home might recharge her batteries.

I was getting ready to go out to the airport to pick her up on the morning of New Year's Day, 1994 when the phone rang at around 8:30 am. She was still in Nagoya, sobbing uncontrollably and having some sort of melt-down.

Needless to say, she wouldn't be on that 11:30 am JAL flight.

Six weeks passed. While she was gradually able to speak a bit more clearly and rationally, it became evident that she was struggling with something a bit more substantial than a simple case of 'nerves'...and that she wouldn't be returning to Vancouver anytime soon. She asked me to come, saying that she'd cleared it with her parents, and I was welcome. She claimed that her recovery hinged on my being there with her. I agreed, though I had absolutely no idea what sort of situation I'd be heading into. Either she'd get better, and it would all work out...or I'd be back in a few weeks, listening to my mother say, 'I told you so', and attempting to re-build my life for the umpteenth time. In the meantime, I would have to give notice to my students, let go of the apartment, and move everything into storage in my Gramma's basement.

I recall my mother telling me that I was stupid to just drop everything and race back across the Pacific.

"You're 27 years old. Not 22 or 23. You've made a good business over here. You should be settling down...thinking of your future...not running back to Japan AGAIN. How many times can you do this? How many times can you throw everything away and start again?"

"That business wouldn't have been possible with out the Nagoya girl. To be honest, none of it has any meaning without her here. We were planning on going to go back to Japan after she finished school, anyways..."

"You have no idea what's going on with her over there. And what about her school? You said that they phoned you just before Christmas and told you to tell her that she'd been accepted into that course she'd been trying to get into. What about that?"

"Yeah, I called her before Christmas and told her. She was over the moon. Now she's sick. She asked me to get in touch with them after the holidays to explain what happened, and they were pretty understanding...at first. They said that they'd hold that seat open for her until the end of the month; but if they didn't hear back from her by then, they'd have to give it to someone else. Which they did."

"Jesus. What's wrong with her?"

"Nobody knows. They've run tests. Nothing. She cries on the phone all the time. Just says that she needs me to come."

Mum shook her head.

"Look. I have to go and find out what's up. I'll either be back in a few weeks...or I'll be there for awhile. If I don't go, I'll never know. I need to know. I've spoken to all of my students, and they understand."

It seems that in the process of achieving her lofty objectives, the Nagoya girl had effectively pulled an Icarus, flown a wee bit too close to the sun, and melted her waxen wings.

Things had moved quickly for her once she'd achieved a high enough TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language) score to be accepted into a Canadian school. The tests are held every three months, and it'd taken her over two years to finally nail it. In the interim she'd had three consecutive one year working holiday visas and enrolled in a Vancouver Community College prep program for non-native speakers hoping to make the jump to regular schools, contingent upon getting that all important 'passing' score on the TOEFL. Passing score certificate finally in hand, she'd submitted an application for the Tourism Management Program at BCIT (British Columbia Institute of Technology), aced the interview and secured one of only two seats allotted to 'non Canadian' applicants for the spring semester.

Quite an achievement...though it was becoming pretty apparent that it had all taken a rather serious toll on her.

In the year and a half since I'd been out to meet her family in Nagoya, everything had gone pretty much according to plan, or better. I'd come back and set up an apartment that June, and she'd returned with a fresh Working Holiday permit in September. Unable to find gainful employment, that fall I hatched a plan to start advertising for private and semi-private English students in the local Japanese newspaper. The Nagoya girl composed and sent in the ads, renewed them every two weeks, and within a couple of months, my schedule was full. I was teaching three two hour classes a day Monday to Friday, and two on Saturdays. The students came to me, so I didn't need to waste time or money commuting.

In between doing classes, I could help her with her studies and take care of domestic stuff. Our place was well situated - a ten minute walk to the beach front sushi shop where she worked, and twenty minutes to Gramma's place.

Another one of her goals was to get a driver's license. This is something that we take for granted in Canada. It's inexpensive and common. Most people get a learner's permit when they're 15, and a proper license at 16. In Japan, it's a big deal. It's time consuming, there are flaming hoops galore to jump through, and it costs a small fortune. For two months of 'Driving School' (and all the incidentals) you're looking at $3000 -$4000 (CAD).

Back in the late 80's and early 90's, a lot of Japanese young people would come out to Canada - ostensibly to 'study English' - but specifically, to get their driver's licenses. Back then, getting a Canadian driver's license would set you back $150 CAD, at most. Throw in driving lessons (optional) one could end up paying as much as $400 - depending on the 'school' or instructors. The amount of money Japanese kids could save would more than pay for their return airfare. Home stays and cheap apartments were a dime-a-dozen in Vancouver back then. They could come out on easy to get student or Working Holiday visas, then ditch on the English studying, have their little overseas coming of age adventure, get a driver's license, then simply switch it over to an international permit (and finally a Japanese license) after returning home.

Easy Peasy.

So many Japanese kids had done this over the years that their government finally caught on, and shortly after the millennium, they changed the rules around to make it illegal to drive on an international permit over here for more than a year without having to submit to the costly and infamously difficult practical Japanese driver's test. There wasn't any way around it, and no more easy switch-overs.

Just like that, the whole idea of going out to Vancouver to 'study English' for six months or a year after finishing junior college lost a fair bit of its appeal.

In any case, the Nagoya girl had done a pretty good job ingratiating herself with Mum, who would come by and pick her up a few afternoons a week to teach her how to drive. Mum chattered non-stop, and loved the captive audience. The Nagoya girl would laugh and giggle at all of her stories, and it seems they had a grand old time whenever they went out. She got a learner's permit in fairly short order, then a proper B.C. Driver's License on her second try. Soon after, Mum took her to her older brother's used car dealership, and within a few weeks there was a small orange Chevrolet hatchback parked out front of the apartment building.

Things were going swimmingly well...until they suddenly weren't.

Not one to ever heed my Mum's warnings or take her advice, I arrived back in Nagoya in early March 1994, unsure of what to expect.

Fortunately, the Nagoya girl appeared to be regaining some semblance of herself. Aside from being taken to doctor's appointments, she'd spent the last three months hiding in her parent's house. I don't think she even went out to so much as walk the dog. It was obvious that a return to Canada wasn't going to be happening anytime soon.

It seemed that she'd all but given up on the school plan. This was a tough one to wrap my head around. After all that effort, to finally succeed. To grab 'the golden ring', and hold it. To win at everything...then just walk away?

Maybe she couldn't handle being separated from her family anymore. After 28 years over here, it never really gets any easier. While I'm not big on regret, I do wish that I'd made more of an effort with my family back home while they were still around...instead of wasting that precious time over here with people that would finally just betray me and disappear.

Now that everyone's gone, I'm stuck with a nagging hollow and empty feeling. It never goes away.

Perhaps it was just too much pressure? Maybe simply proving to herself that she COULD do it sort of made following through on it unnecessary.

I was careful not to pick at her. It was more important that she recovered properly. The truth of it all would come out eventually...if and when she was ever ready to talk about it. She never really would, either. To this very day, there are loose ends back in Vancouver that she's avoided dealing with, and remain unresolved.

In the weeks after I returned, I picked up a few private students and took up residence in a cheap, old post-war nagaya rooming house not far from her parent's place. When my three month tourist visa expired, I went back to Vancouver for a couple of weeks, and bought another return ticket.

Upon my return to Nagoya, I was stopped at Immigration and given a bit of a shake-down. They wanted to know why I was back so soon, and were threatening to slap a one year ban on me, and send me back to Vancouver. I had a story worked out about doing a homestay, and wanting to see and do a bit more before bidding the country 'farewell'. The Immigration cops asked if I was being picked up by my 'host family'. Fortunately the Nagoya girl and her father were waiting outside the gates. I provided them with a family name, address and phone number... and they grudgingly stamped my passport, telling me that this would be my last 'extension'... though it wasn't actually an extension at all. They had simply decided to discriminate against me at their own discretion. Canadian and American Immigration officers do this all the time.

Bullet dodged, we were going to have to sort the situation out if I were to stay on. I'd also completely exhausted the remainder of my limited cash reserves buying my return ticket. Moving forward, we needed a more sustainable relationship model.

By the end of June we were paper married at the local ward office, and I was switched to my first of many short-term, renewable spouse visas. If memory serves, that initial one was good for six months. There wasn't any family ceremony - strange considering the big deal Nagoya families usually make of their daughter's weddings. Looking back, I think that was a pretty good indicator of their overall lack of enthusiasm for said nuptials. The Nagoya girl's parents were kind and lovely people; but it's no surprise they didn't want to go all in on an arrangement that I'm sure they were deeply skeptical of from the very start. I was basically penniless, and hardly able to communicate in Japanese. Looking back, it's a wonder that they even allowed it, but for the fact that their youngest daughter was extremely spoiled and headstrong. I know her two older sisters resented the amount of deference her parents showed her. She could get away with things they'd never even dream of attempting.

In lieu of anything formal from her family, my friends in the heavy metal band pitched in for a cake, and threw a small party at the guitar player's father's izakaya. Shortly thereafter, we moved into a studio apartment a few kilometres away from her parents place. It was nice enough - on the 7th floor of a new-ish building, the first four floors of which were occupied by noisy snacks and karaoke lounges. We didn't have much stuff. I had essentially been living out of a suitcase in the nagaya. My earthly possessions consisted of the contents of that suitcase, an old shopping bike, a small TV/VHS combo, a portable CD/cassette player, and an old kerosene heater - all of which (save for the suitcase and its contents) had been donated or gifted to me along the way. I was pretty much a charity case.

Fast forward to mid-March, 1995.

As I said, I wasn't crazy about the idea of taking on another gig teaching kids. We'd had an ad running on the message board at the Nagoya International Centre for several months, and it was yielding more enquiries than the newspaper classifieds, fliers or posters that we'd been putting up on power poles and lamp posts around town (a strategy I'd picked up in my years on the punk scene back in Vancouver). My schedule was gradually starting to fill out, and I wanted a reliable group of adult students. The fledgling Mme Lord Vader had been getting all of our calls at her parent's home number, as her mother and father would take messages during the day. She'd been feeling much better, and started working full time at the reception desk of a small local hospital.

Though we finally had our own place, we still spent a lot of time over at her parents house. I was teaching most of my evening privates at a small community hall about five minutes from their house, where I'd book and rent out a room from 5 to 8pm a few nights a week. As I recall, it was quite cheap. After I finished, I'd ride my shopping bike over to her family's house. She'd be waiting over there, sitting at the low kotasu table in their small living room with her older sister and niece watching TV, while her mother puttered in the kitchen. At that hour, her father would either be working, out at pachinko, or at the public bath. She'd always go over there after she finished up at the hospital to eat and have a bath, then wait for me to show up after 8 o'clock. Her mother would usually fuss around, give me a beer and make me eat something. We'd usually hang around until after her father came in, then hop on our bikes and ride back to our place.

If there were any messages, her mother or father would relay them, or write down any relevant information on a note pad by the telephone/fax machine. The Nagoya girl would then return any phone call enquiries when she rolled in from her job, at around 4:30, and pass them on to me when I came in from the community hall.

"The guy from the kindergarten said that he saw our ad at the Kokusai (international) Centre. He wants to know if you'll go over there to meet him. He said that he'd pick you up at Takabata Subway Station. The school is a fifteen minute walk from there. I know you don't want to teach kids again...but he said that he would pay ¥9000 ( just over $100 CAD at that time) for a one hour class, twice a month. It's big money!"

"Big money"

Those two words meant everything to the fledgling Mme Lord Vader.

*(Back in the day, these kinds of jobs would pop up over here now and again. Outrageously high paying gigs with short hours and really great working conditions. In late 80's Osaka it was fairly obvious that some of these rather dubious 'English Conversation Schools' were simply fronts for yakuza money laundering operations. Teachers would get paid to show up and lay around the staff room drinking, consuming 'contraband', and watching videos. Often there'd be no students at all...and if any did materialize, the 'teachers' would all run and hide because they were too wrecked to teach anyone. Of course there were legitimate schools, as well...but the fun and money was always to be had elsewhere. Japan was like the Wild West back then. Hardly anyone took anything seriously. It was like an endless debauched party)

Anyways...with minimal nudging, the fledgling Mme Lord Vader got me to call the kindergarten guy back and set up a meeting. I had nice little packages assembled for such occasions, containing copies of my diploma, and glowing letters of reference from my previous employers in Vancouver. On paper, I actually looked like the real deal.

Enter Mr. Insecthead.

He picked me up at the subway station in a dodgy little silver Alpha-Romeo on a sunny, crisp early March morning, and drove me over to the school. He looked like some kind of weird alternate universe cross between a young 'Fresh Prince' era Will Smith, and some sort of praying mantis-type insect. His English was clear and serviceable. After a short interview, I gave him my little package of documents. Vancouver School Board, Community Montessori Schools, YWCA Before and After School Care. Oh...and a four year Art College diploma.

He seemed impressed enough, and took me in to meet a class full of five year olds. There must have been fifty kids in there. My eyes bugged. I had expected maybe fifteen or twenty. I introduced myself, and the kids wanted to ask some questions, the only one of which I remember now being,

"What's your favourite animal?"

To which I replied,

"I like monkeys!"

I guess that was the right answer.

He took me back to the office, shook my hand, and told me I'd be coming in for two Friday mornings a month, to teach for one hour each time. There would be three groups. I would teach the three year olds for ten minutes, the four year olds for twenty, and the five year olds for a half hour. The program and curriculum would be up to me. In other words, I'd have to design this thing from the ground up. Oh...and there'd be 40-50 kids in each class.

How on earth was I going to pull this off?

Fast forward to April, 2022

(to be continued in the next installment)

...and 'just like that', it's Golden Week 2022. For those not in the know, Golden Week is like 'Spring Break' for Japanese salarymen. It's comprised of a somewhat punctuated run of four fairly meaningless national holidays starting with 'Showa Day' on April 29th (originally the Showa Emperor Hirohito's birthday) and wrapping up with Children's Day on May 5th.

According to the old 72 season calendar, Children's Day also marks the beginning of summer. Time flies...and apparently so are a lot of the J-natives. While the pandemic remains stubbornly fixed in place, with daily COVID positives only down slightly week-on-week (but still steadily higher than even the peak of the fifth wave last summer). all restrictions have been peeled back, and record numbers of the local gainfully employed and well-to-do are out spreading themselves around hither and tither. While this is no doubt good news for the those in the hospitality business, it remains to be seen what the situation on the ground will be next week, when the dust settles and all the money spending and merrymaking is finished. I have the distinct feeling the news isn't going to be good, with projections putting the daily positives at close to 15000 a day in Tokyo by the end of next week. I suspect restrictions will gradually be re-introduced in fairly short order.

We got our okasan service out of the way last weekend. Looking at her legacy of random shittiness over the last six months, she was comparatively well behaved. While she shot her mouth off a bit, it looked like she was actually trying to rein herself in. The grousing over Fat Wife was minimal. All things considered, she managed another solid 'C' on her bi-weekly report card. She's not seen a 'D' in over two months.

Unprecedented.

Mina figures that she's likely enjoying a temporary feeling of satisfaction, having managed to get everything she wants - at least for the moment, She also appears to be less troubled by her various physical ailments than in recent months. Of course, this is all subject to change at any time.

As we edge up on the first day of summer, the weather had been a bit spotty. The last couple of days we've had to use the gas heater in the evenings. It's usually packed up and put away by now. Things are supposed to warm up a bit more from tomorrow...and if we're lucky, we should see pretty nice conditions through to the end of the holidays, at least.

Mina is off until Monday, so my attentions are required elsewhere. We'll be making a two day trip up north to Gifu prefecture. Mayumi has a second house outside of Ena, and she's there with okasan until Friday. Hopefully the peaceful atmosphere holds, and we can get through our short stay up there with a minimum of drama.

Two weeks henceforth, I'll be back with the conclusion of our Mr. Insecthead's Kindergarten origin story, and a round-up of the Golden Week goings on and fallout - whatever that may consist of.

Like the lady on the telly used to say,

Truth.

And with that, it's off into the breach of Golden Week we go, masks on and fingers crossed. A wrap until sub season eight, Shōman - Lesser ripening. That'll be in two weeks (or thereabouts).

As always, you'd do well to remember that, "No matter where you go, there you are".

There, and nowhere else.