A going away present from a little lady I teach.
I love that my hands are bigger than my waist.

And so it continues this topsy-turvey journey of finishing up.
It got suffocating tonight.
Maybe it was the fullmoon outside that taunted me, but something was willing me to leave. It’s too much this expectant mood, this need for you to be the pinnicle of entertainment and round-eyed foreignerness for one last time, that you’ll buoy the party and throw a shovel-load of soil onto their barren lives. They don’t know why you needed to escape the send-off party. It’s all they want to do, to pack up and leave and there you are doing it, right before their straight-jacketed eyes. Where were the exclamations of delighted surprise at the delicacies served and exorbant interest in their pidgen english efforts you hear them wonder? In the laundry with a sweat-drenched t-shirt, reeking of “one last game”; caught up in the folded futon you’ve been so neglectful of; between the closed novel pages you don’t have time to finger; written between the lines of the “to do” list.
And you wonder how you’ll even get through this gluttanous feast on your energies, energies that are for the moment, seemingly unrenewable.
maybe it’s a good thing, because at this rate your memories of the place will be tainted with tiring duties, so that you’ll run to the plane, in a temporary release.
Be gone you gorging pariahs-I want a day, a day of my life for me, the person living it.
Up and down like a whore’s pants.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

(and no we`re not laughing)

I just finished a marathon english interview test session with my first years, two hundred and bloody eighty something “are you hot?”, “do you play tennis?” “Is this my pen?” and Lord knows that after the first hundred you start to lose sight of the great ideal that is to send out a band of students capable of reponding to a name-telling request. So, far too many fake smiles and lip-prompts later, a revelationary thought crossed my mind. Images of giant pliers were eclipsing through my head. I think I developed a momentary fettish for dentistry.
Nothing less that taking a saw and ripping those fugitive teeth out would have satisfied me.
I had thought and I was confident in this assumption, that teeth were intented to grow in one`s mouth. Alas no! Japan, the great nation, set apart from everywhere else, which stiffles so much expression, signals a defiant no to orthodonical constraits. Why have teeth in your mouth when they can hang from your nose, and never was it more trendy than to have an extra canine suspended from your ear lobe. It`s a permanent woodstock for these teeth, to hang as they like where they like, thrusting a middle finger to the homogeneous shoulder to shoulder stance, bra(ce)less and free, “you go north and I`ll go east and we`ll meet tommy tooth round the back near the throat exit.”
Seriously, what a mouthful!

By the way “ha” is the Japanese for “tooth”.

(Apologies to those of you you`ve heard it before, some people were interested to have a gawk. )

dignitries, a very good evening to you all.
On behalf of those of us who are leaving I’d like to say a few words.
There’s nothing like the eleventh hour to get things done. I’ve known for eighteen months that I would be leaving in July 2006, yet, growing lists remind me of my procrastination. . I’ve known for almost three weeks that I’d make this speech, yet it’s at ten to one on the eve of the party, in full panic mode, that I sit down to compose, and we use the verb “compose” ever so lightly.

( You may have found a glaring discrepancy between the English and Japanese versions of this speech. For those of you, who make love to the Japanese language with every sentence you speak please, Thank you for resisting the urge to fling tomatoes at me when I launched headlong and haplessly into my Japanese speech. Glad that bit is over.)

Two runways diverged in an airport and I, took the one bound for Saga. It wasn’t the place where many of us listed as a preference but, I for one am glad that I ended up here. In the cities you can easily avoid Japan, and live in a cocoon. In Saga with little other choice but to penetrate the culture, you find yourself riding a bicycle through mud, pounding mochii, picking strawberries, planting rice, and earning the title of one of four foreigners in a town of thirty thousand. Living in japan isn’t always easy, with the sometime unwanted celebrity status, even today an ichi-nensei shougakko student chastised me in the supermarket for buying two ice-creams, “ Are they both for you?” he asked disgusted at his teachers gluttony…..” erm…yes I mean NO!” he ran off and told his mother on me. I hope she doesn’t ring Mary Flynn.

It can be challenging to figure out the many differences between each of our respective cultures and Japan. “Excuse me why are you trimming your toenails in the staffroom?” The isolation, the loneliness, the feeling of being that one unhammerable nail, contrary to the Japanese proverb, “ the nail that sticks up gets hammered down.” But, living is not always easy, no matter where you are. I lost a friend to suicide this April. It’s our greater fear, losing someone when you’re this far away. My Kyoto-sensei suggested that she and I go for a drive. We drove to the coast in Omura together. She said that she wanted me to feel closer to home, by seeing the water, that the water would carry my feelings back home. I don’t know if it was seeing the water or feeling her radiating comfort that soothed me that day but something did.
I hope in the same way when we reach our respective shores, that we’ll remember what we learned and achieved from our time here in Japan, from those special moments that pass so quickly, but which we forever hold in our heads. So for our time with each other, with our students who, personally speaking brighten up my days, with their hilarity and who I will find it most difficult to say goodbye to, “ Mister Aine, new half desu ka?’ over our lunchtime meal (and that’s funny because it’s so NOT true!); for the soldiers of patience at the Boards of Education who tolerate much pidgen Japanese and frayed tempers; for the staff at kencho, who keep this ALT boat afloat; for schools colleagues and their attempts to figure out the conundrum that is “Iceland” and “Ireland” , and exactly how much beer can this speaker hold; for friends for being there, for being who they are; and for the randomers in the community, who enter your life in the most bizarre but endearing ways and you come out of it with a kimono in your hand and a belly full of free food, let’s share a toast for Japan and Saga, and for those who made this experience possible.
I thank you and good night.

I handed over a cake and he handed my a styrafoam box of tomatoes. The door opened and in a troop of yukata-clad girls waddled.
“Come with us Aine-teacher!”
The tomatoes were a present from the principal, from his own garden. He told me that he was embarrassed because they were more obsese-cherry tomatoes, or verticallychallenged ordinary tomatoes, who were burning with envy, yet embarrassed to admit it or loyal supporters of Portugal. I hope I eat them, because I hate to waste things that are given with such good intentions.
He`s a nice man. He feels much more like a teacher than the stiff, liver-beaten keigo-stiffled other principals you meet on Primary school visits. There were less than flattering handdrawn barely recognisable portraits beneath his coffee table, screaming “I am the artwork of a five year old”. There`s a warmth about him, and he remembers where I`m from. My visits seems appreciated, so when I received the invitation to my Sayonara party, I was touched.

I followed my guides.

Pretty yukatas, Irish flags and expectant smiles abound, I looked around the gym at those who had awaited my arrival. I recognised their faces, some had stretched and matured from their 3 nensei days, some three years previous. Some faces you remember. Why is it that some people have such memorable countances?

We played games and told Aine-sensei facts about her own country, and had a small tea ceremony, but this time there was no shouting at the stupid foreigner and i learned that not all tea ceremony teachers are massive Bee with Itches, and pictures were taken to freeze the time forever.

And I inhaled a needy fix of decency and kindness and goodwill, and cast aside the toxic angst that can invade us in times of stress, reminding myself to pass it on, and also making a mental note to bookmark the conclusion that people are good.

Good article. Going to buy myself a big curtin.

I hope the sun appears today as I used my last hand towel to dry myself after my shower this morning.
I`m not looking forward to what tomorrow`s “necessity is the mother of invention” harvest will yield. I trimmed my nails last night. It had to be done, They would soon start to curl. I wasn`t purposely growing them but such was the novelty of not having to trim them weekly once I finished up my pottery course, that I was in no way ashamed of how claw-like they had become.
Porn star teacher is wearing an almost transparent pair of white tracksuit bottoms today. Not for the faint hearted.My eye is itchy. Don`t have a tissue to blow my nose. Think I`ll just snort it up instead.
Wonder what I`ll do next class.
I`ve been told that my voice has changed. Do I have a cold one wonders? Naw. I`m just a bit low on energy.
Glad that today is today and not yesterday. Yesterday was a dark day. I was empathising with the reasoning of those who end up in death row. Bludgeoning sounded beautiful. A nail-spiked hammer in the face. There were no prisioners to be taken. Yesterday was all out war. Is it the weather, or the hormonal circus, or my imminent departure? Or a bloody irrational hot fondue of them all? Emotions are tall now. Watch out for constant interruptions, and comments pertaining to the neglectful parenting of your bike, and you thank the comets that your thoughts cannot be read, “yeah, I`ll look after my bike and you can look after your…” whatever.
Some people like to preach to others instead of listening to their inner selves.
My little first year boys. I fall for one or two a year. They *almost* make the volume on the biological clock turn up from mute. I sometimes wish to mother them. Statements I`ve regretted. “I just want to breatfeed them!”
Dry throat.
The watermelon a la lemon is nice.
Thought about offering it around the staffroom. Maybe I`ll do that. Naw…walked back to my desk and chickened. Fed it to myself instead. It`s weird that I do that sometimes.
There`s a strong genetic component to how we handle trauma. Learning to see a calm side to things can be learned but there`s evidence to show that we`re mostly genetically predisposed. The more self-validated you are, the more comfortable you can be wherever you are, but the less you fit into the group because the group wants to be the validating force. The more alcohol in your system the more your self-validating system is depressed.
I`m annoyed that for my last class ever with my first years the teachers wants to do an interview test. I think I`ll give them all an A. Just for the fecking laugh. If I`m nice to someone they should be appreciative. It would be nice if people were always appreciatve but this isn`t realistic. They will often be appreciative but sometimes they won`t be.
It is my thoughts that create my anger and not my teachers or students behaviour. I hate how this computer underlines my spellings because it reads only American Spellings. America. Nuff said about that. I`m dreading going home.
Someone beside me is grumbling at the printer. It`s been working really slowly of late.
I hate talking about and watching films. I`m not watching another film for a year. That`s going to be my prize to myself. Action must come first and the motivation comes later on.
“ I`m Mr. Eguchi, from Seibu. I just sent you a fax, did you get it?” Taking responsible for things I`m not responsible for.
The speech tomorrow. Don`t want to make it .I did before, but now I don`t.
There`s going to be a typhoon at the weekend. So that`s the decision made on the beach party. Drip, drip, drip. I never asked to be a woman. I said a prayer this morning, for the first time in ages, “Father in heaven you love me, you`re with me night and day, I try to love you always in all I do and say. Bless me through this day amen.” It sounds so wrong. I don`t try to love him in all I do and say, in fact I rarely think about him when I`m doing thing. Bloody mosquitos. Now if ever there was a waste of space/oxygen oxygen George Bushesque animal it`s the mosquitos. Oh and rats. Let us not forget rats.
That`ll be my tummy looking for food. Have I neared a page yet? It doesn`t make sense. Grey trousers. The eighties. Giggle. The end.

Himself.
Yeah we all remember who.
Haven’t really mentioned what became of eeeeeeeeertyuiop[
(sorry, just wanted to clean my keys with my new key-cleaning-wipes)
teacher, and the few pints and the food I laboured over for three hours.
So I invited him with about three weeks notice . We bade each other no “howareyanow”s or “well!” or “is it yourself is it?” when traipsing down the coridoors, nor a “thank you for tiring yourself out with all your hard work and cigarette smoking Sensei. ” Sweet nada.
Friday arrives, over he trots. He makes an “x” with his arms , says “not coming” and wanders off. You can be sure that you ain’t coming dahling. (I realise that it’s spelt with a “u” but i like to feel like i’m not swimming in the dank sodden sewers of obscenity ALL the time)
I’m not quite certain but i don’t think he even said sorry.
I should’ve given him lines. “Where are your manners?” ten thousand times for Monday.
But I didn’t.
I picked up my worn and bruised ego, and wondered what to do with it.
i put it in my pocket for safe-keeping.
the dinner went ahead.
it was the dullest evening I’ve ever spent.
three hours of school chat.
there’s eight hundred and fifty odd students in the school and i think a comment was passed on all of them.
And for the timeth time i don’t even want to know, I watched two hearts find each other, aross the dinner table.
They went home together.
And i did my dishes.
best to get them out of the way for the morning.

When I was lying in bed last night fretting over the torrential rain and booming thunder, concerned that there’s no where in my apartment far from a window, I ought have been thinking about the North koreans and their decision to go “testing”nuclear weaponery 600 miles out in the japanese sea.
What can you say.
Yet another wonderful example of the good men do when they’re in power. And don’t anyone come back with a “What about maggie Thatcher?”. there’s a definate ratio of about 10,000 idiotic male leaders to each Maggie Thatcher.
What was that quote about when women are depressed they either eat or go shopping, when men get depressed they invade other countries.
Bless.
Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours.

Anyway, the mood os quare and mixed up at the moment. There’s now just a pair of shirts hanging in the wardrobe that once wouldn’t close; the books on my shelves are out of date Lonely Planets and an encyclopedia on japanese Pop culture; and there’s twenty-six days to get my head around the fact that this will never be again.
Fucking life.
Makes me want to shed a tear.

I`m supposed to be writing a speech. As you can see I`m feeling really inspired at the moment. This bout of inspiration is so great that it has overwhelms me. I have fallen victim to its immensity, and am unable to channel it. Too bad it`s not of the divine kind. More bovine, I`d say.

I`m so so tired. Tired in general. I havne`t been sleeping well, clocking a miserable six or so instead of my former nine-and-a-half hours. “I can`t be bothered” has been etched on my soul by the god of procrastination, during one of these half-a-dozen short-hand clock spasms. Packing up your life is strange. Pizza-esque is what my existance has become. People round and about wanting a bit of me, an equal slice, but when I come back to the plate for my helping there`s nothing left.

sigh.
and another one for the journey.
sigh.
and why have two when you can have three,
sigh.

It’s going to have to be one fucking comeback, isn’t it, something so great it’ll erase the three week long silence.
I’m working on it.
(?)
I promise.