Lasting Impressions

At the end-of-year enkai, or drinking party, in December, I sat in a group largely made up of teachers with whom I'm not so familiar. This is desired at a drinking party, as mixing is encouraged. For example, drawing lots for one's seat is fairly common; it breaks up the cliques that naturally group together. Still, for an ALT, it tends to be an awkward experience. If the teachers around you can't speak English, they often feel they can't communicate with you. If you're not comfortable with Japanese, you feel you can't communicate with them.

Still, this was fairly soon after the JLPT, so my confidence in my Japanese was higher than ever. I was ready to do my best. Unfortunately, the teachers around me weren't so excited, especially the one sitting to my left. Fujii-sensei, one of the younger teachers in my office, always has an energetic, magnetic air - it's no surprise the students like them as much as they do. Still, he was tense as he sat down next to me, and his thoughts were as clear as if he had spoken them: "Why did I have to draw this seat?"

I took his stiffness as a challenge. As the party progressed, I listened carefully to the conversation and jumped in when I had something interesting to add. It took several tries, but in a discussion about languages, Fujii-sensei reacted to my comments with excitement and began speaking directly with me. (さつが国語の先生！ - That's a Japanese [language] teacher for ya!) By the end of the night, Fujii-sensei was completely comfortable around me, even to the point of asking if I'd be going to round two of the drinking party. My mission was successfully completed.

My goal at the time was rather short-term: make the party more enjoyable for both myself and those sitting around me. I've since had the distinct pleasure in realizing that the impression I made has been much longer lasting than expected. Just this past Friday, I was walking with a teacher to class and along the way, we ran into Fujii-sensei and two students in the hall. The students said "hello" to me in English, as is the regular way of it when I run into students outside of class, but weren't sure whether to greet the natively-Japanese English teacher with "hello" or "konnichi wa." As they giggled over this, Fujii-sensei spoke up. "You know, Leslie speaks amazing Japanese. It's better than mine!"
"That isn't so," I responded in Japanese. The students laughed.
"No, it really is great. In fact, do you want to teach this next class in my place?"
I smiled slightly. "That's OK."
Language mistake! I meant to imply "Thanks, but no thanks," but instead ended up saying, "Sure, sounds fine." Fujii-sensei laughed and perked up.
"She said it's OK! Excellent!"
I backpedaled. "My Japanese lesson would be pretty short, though. 'OK, so...Bye bye!' "
"Only that much?" He laughed again. By this point, we had reached our respective classrooms, so he and the students went to theirs and my English teacher and I went to ours.
It may not seem like much, but it's leaps and bounds above my previous (read: non-existent) interactions with Fujii-sensei.

As the year progresses, I become more and more frustrated with my students and their antics. It's at these times when my good relationship with my staff buoys me above the classroom idiocy and keeps me afloat; it's as if, every time I enter the staff room, I'm on an island of sanity amidst the sea of struggle that is my school. It's nice to know that this island extends past my department and my deskmates. There's a sense of accomplishment too, as if I annex each teacher with whom I have a good relation, adding him or her to my island territory. (I guess I'm just a dictator at heart. <3) Making friends is hard; making friends in a foreign language is harder; making friends in a foreign language when they've already made up their mind about you is harder still.

...I should make myself merit badges for this. ;)