I am repeatedly upset at people who set up boundaries for themselves where they have no reason to. I take particular issue with this because it's usually grounded in science (this relates to a whole other post I will likely never write for this blog, but, in a nutshell, I think that, over being beings of science, humans are beings of emotion and are entirely too reliant on numbers, figures, and concrete information these days).
I hear people talk all the time about how they can't learn new skills because they're too old, and, in particular regard to language, I hear this whine from even people as young as myself. Yes, we've all heard about brain development and so on, and I could tell you that I've read studies that show that, when learning new skills, what mature-brained people lack in plasticity is made up by determination, but who the fuck cares! If you want to learn a skill, stop making excuses and just do it! Just because you're past this "critical period" doesn't mean that your brain has stopped functioning. If that was the case, none of our parents would be able to use computers or technology (humorous scornful comments against one's folks encouraged in the comments below).
All this is to say that I have been studying Japanese two or three years, have been in Japan for about three months now, and I'm finding that I have begun to say things I've never actually made a point to study, but have simply absorbed and regurgitated just as any child does when learning his or her own native language. A particularly proud moment for me was several days ago when I uttered an essential Osakan question, "chaun chau?" （ちゃうんちゃう？）, which means, "That is the case, isn't it?" but is iconic of the Osaka dialect (so much so that there's a well-known "only Osakans can understand" conversation in existence). It's possible for us to easily attain information--it doesn't have to be a huge fight; if you just open the window, you'd be surprised how much stuff floats in on its own.
I have no problem stating that I'm aware I have a natural gift toward language. But I cannot help but think that, in addition to that ability, my positive attitude and lack of heed toward these perceived blockades has not exactly held me back. I believe this kind of thinking has really boosted my confidence and made me quite optimistic about my prospects. I believe anything is possible, so I act that way. Those people who value science over all else think there's no chance, and they act that way.
Life is amazing and full of unexpected surprises. Our brains are very complex and also full of surprises. Why assume there's no chance for success when you haven't even tried?
Let me know your experiences learning a foreign language. Am I just full of hogwash?
What is up with Japanese school scheduling?
Hello there.
I am writing to you today about the strangeness of Japanese scheduling. You might be thinking, "Oh she's talking about Japanese punctuality and how everything starts and ends on time."
Nope, it's something else.
I am actually writing to say that Japanese scheduling makes little sense to me. It's neither good nor bad, just different. But it really just don't make sense.
College classes in the States tend to meet Monday and Wednesday, Tuesday and Thursday, or one day a week. Occasionally, for language classes, there are instances of Monday-Wednesday-Friday. Of course, there are many variations across the country depending on how long the classes meet each time, etc.
When classes take place here seems to have little rhyme or reason. My lecture classes are all over the place--Tuesday at 1 and then Thursday at, say, 3:15. Another is Tuesday and Friday, and the classrooms are different depending on the day.
What is up with this?
With the States' scheduling, it's possible to choose a schedule where all your classes are earlier in the day and a student can have an evening job (or the other way around). It's easier to regulate one's day-to-day life. Does anyone know why Japanese scheduling is the way it is?
Oo-wee, what up with that. What up with that?
(Actually, in regards to "Japanese punctuality," it seems like Osaka might not be on the same page as the rest of Japan...)
I am writing to you today about the strangeness of Japanese scheduling. You might be thinking, "Oh she's talking about Japanese punctuality and how everything starts and ends on time."
Nope, it's something else.
I am actually writing to say that Japanese scheduling makes little sense to me. It's neither good nor bad, just different. But it really just don't make sense.
College classes in the States tend to meet Monday and Wednesday, Tuesday and Thursday, or one day a week. Occasionally, for language classes, there are instances of Monday-Wednesday-Friday. Of course, there are many variations across the country depending on how long the classes meet each time, etc.
When classes take place here seems to have little rhyme or reason. My lecture classes are all over the place--Tuesday at 1 and then Thursday at, say, 3:15. Another is Tuesday and Friday, and the classrooms are different depending on the day.
What is up with this?
With the States' scheduling, it's possible to choose a schedule where all your classes are earlier in the day and a student can have an evening job (or the other way around). It's easier to regulate one's day-to-day life. Does anyone know why Japanese scheduling is the way it is?
Oo-wee, what up with that. What up with that?
(Actually, in regards to "Japanese punctuality," it seems like Osaka might not be on the same page as the rest of Japan...)
When does speaking a foreign language stop being a party trick?
I imagine I'm not alone in this: learning a foreign language, there's something that makes me so giddy about hearing native speakers use vocabulary or grammar I've learned in conversation. For example, I remember when I learned the Japanese grammar, 〜ておく, which is a verb modifier that adds the meaning of "[such and such] done in preparation [for something]" (e.g., "I printed this out (in preparation)"). Learning that, I thought, "That's some weird grammar and quite specific." I didn't think it'd be used very often.
So you can imagine me being surprised and tickled when I realized that Japanese people use this grammar all the time.
What causes these sort of reactions is that we're learning the language with more mature minds instead of just absorbing it as our brain develops like we did with our native languages--we learn the language from a mechanical and structural standpoint, so there's a strange "behind the scenes" sort of feel when we see the puppeteers tugging strings around.
And, unfortunately, that can really make me feel disconnected from the actual conversation I'm having at a given time. Most recently, it came up with my host parents that there had been a death in my family when I was younger. As I told them the story, which had some pretty heart-wrenching plot points, I realized I was more caught up in structuring the sentences; more so than feeling sad about what happened, I was strangely elated by being able to tell the story. The emotions were so gruesomely converse that I felt a little mangled in the process.
So, I ask you the question: at what point does a language stop being a party trick, a skill you can show off by saying certain phrases or telling your friends how to say certain words? When does it become, above all, a realistic communication device? How do we facilitate that transition?
If you've had experience in the transition, let me know in the comments! Am I alone in this phenomenon?
So you can imagine me being surprised and tickled when I realized that Japanese people use this grammar all the time.
What causes these sort of reactions is that we're learning the language with more mature minds instead of just absorbing it as our brain develops like we did with our native languages--we learn the language from a mechanical and structural standpoint, so there's a strange "behind the scenes" sort of feel when we see the puppeteers tugging strings around.
And, unfortunately, that can really make me feel disconnected from the actual conversation I'm having at a given time. Most recently, it came up with my host parents that there had been a death in my family when I was younger. As I told them the story, which had some pretty heart-wrenching plot points, I realized I was more caught up in structuring the sentences; more so than feeling sad about what happened, I was strangely elated by being able to tell the story. The emotions were so gruesomely converse that I felt a little mangled in the process.
So, I ask you the question: at what point does a language stop being a party trick, a skill you can show off by saying certain phrases or telling your friends how to say certain words? When does it become, above all, a realistic communication device? How do we facilitate that transition?
If you've had experience in the transition, let me know in the comments! Am I alone in this phenomenon?
Host Family Week 12: They know EVERYTHING ABOUT ME
I wish I'd been doing a better job about keeping you all up-to-date on my home-stay experience.
Overall, it's been very, very positive. They are just the most wonderful, open-minded, big-hearted, funny, kind people. I really do love them. And I think they love me, too. The five-year-old does, anyway--she often signs her letters to me (yes, letters. yes, we live in the same house) "I looooooove you" (in Japanese, of course--though I think she would love me in English, too, if she knew how to write it).
HOWEVER, I have to say that, holy crap, it is difficult moving into another family's house. It would already be difficult in another family's house in, say, my hometown in the States. Imagine all the difference down to the smallest details--things that seem like common sense to Family A are factors that Family B has never even stopped to think about. And unfortunately, on top of it being a different family in a different house, we're also talking about an entirely different culture in a country I had never been to. First off, there are just general practices and habits that tend to proliferate in the country, and a lot of them are different from what I'm used to in the States. And then, we've got all the other expectations and habits that this family in particular holds.
I completely recognize that this relationship is a two-way street. I am sure that the family has had a lot of frustrations I don't know about based on things I do or don't do that they have quietly beared. I completely acknowledge that and am very grateful. I also recognize that these sort of issues I'm having are an expected aspect of this relationship.
But oh man, I am just exhausted. I have natural tendencies to put others' needs before my own, and to want to do things "right." These two shortcomings on my part have combined to seriously disrupt my life in a lot of ways. Because, think about it: this family knows everything about me. They know how long I take in the shower, how often I wash my hair, when I get up, when I go to sleep, how much I eat, what I don't eat, what I wear every day, when I poop, what I do in my spare time, when I'm on my period, how often I wash my clothes, if my clothes have holes in them or other blemishes someone who's not doing my laundry probably wouldn't notice, how often I'm studying or goofing off, how often I exercise, and the list goes on. Another source of tension is that I haven't lived in a family environment where everyone's all up in my business in over eight years. I think I'd have trouble even just moving back into my own house growing up. On top of this, the mom, who takes great pride in keeping the house and everything in it clean and orderly, is far more detail-oriented than I am, and so she notices a lot of things I don't. All of this has led to some difficult and embarrassing conversations (though, one note I'll make here is that they have been incredibly sensitive to me and communicated very directly and calmly, which I realize is an uncommon skill), as well as more and more rules that make me feel more and more constrained and that seem like I'll just never be able to observe.
I want to be able to do it. I want to feel like I'm a member of the family, of equal standing, that I can live like they do. But I have well over two decades' worth of upbringing in a different environment, a different culture, with different rules, values, and expectations, and not only can I not expect myself to fully comply with my host family's style of life, but I also needn't expect that of myself. The fact is that I am not a part of this family to the same degree that the blood relations are. A trap I find myself in is that of my role as an actor and performer; what I love about my work is that I get "to try other people on." However, I've always maintained a boundary--I don't use my acting skills outside of training or work. So I find myself in a predicament where, as a way of coping, I would love to accept this as a challenge to my skill as an actor, and to "become" the role of "member" to this host family. But I owe it to myself to maintain some consistency. And, though I love playing pretend, I need to have some time where I can let my hair done, let my belly hang out, and just be American Morgan.
It's all a huge jumble; I have to meet them halfway and fulfill certain obligations and expectations as they are meeting me halfway and tolerating who knows what of mine. But through respecting, observing, and trying to protect the parameters I'm given, relaxing at home can be very difficult.
Now, think about this for a moment: I'm in an unfamiliar country with which I have no experience, I'm very far from home, I had tenuous connections at best in this country before I came here so my social circle is still quite rudimentary, and I'm prone to stress. I have classes from Monday through Friday, and am normally booked up for the weekend. When I'm home, I need to be able to relax. That has been difficult. I'm always concerned about the state of my room, of my luggage, of how I'm leaving my shoes in the genkan. I am a considerate person by nature, and this element of my personality, in addition to the pitfalls of mine I've mentioned above, are really taxed right now. I've lived with this family for twelve weeks so far, and I still have about five left. That's over a month. I don't want to be counting the days, and I'll be very sad to leave on one level, but I'll also be quite relieved. Particularly because of one other factor I haven't mentioned:
My host mom is a great chef. I love her food, and she makes a great variety of very balanced meals. But they're balanced for a Japanese person. It's not just for my tastes, but for my physical makeup, I need more fruits and vegetables. I've taken to cramming them as much as I can at school, but it's just not enough. I'm not used to eating pretty much any meat, let alone meat more than once in a day. So this, in itself, has resulted in a lot of physical distress, to be honest. That one, I really don't know how to resolve. I can't very well ask my host mom to make a special meal for me all by myself, especially when I'm trying to fit in here.
So, I suppose I'm writing this to give you an honest account of what living with a host family can be like. It is such a rewarding experience on the whole. From a "learning opportunity" standpoint, I've learned a lot about how Japanese families function, how they interact with other people, how households function differently from the States', and I've also learned a lot of Osaka-ben. I've also met some of the most wonderful people and been very lucky to be treated to all the opportunities they've provided. But it is an immense commitment. You really do have to be flexible, respectful, and cognizant of your own behavior.
I would love to hear your feedback and your host family stories, as well! See you in the comments!
Morgan
Overall, it's been very, very positive. They are just the most wonderful, open-minded, big-hearted, funny, kind people. I really do love them. And I think they love me, too. The five-year-old does, anyway--she often signs her letters to me (yes, letters. yes, we live in the same house) "I looooooove you" (in Japanese, of course--though I think she would love me in English, too, if she knew how to write it).
HOWEVER, I have to say that, holy crap, it is difficult moving into another family's house. It would already be difficult in another family's house in, say, my hometown in the States. Imagine all the difference down to the smallest details--things that seem like common sense to Family A are factors that Family B has never even stopped to think about. And unfortunately, on top of it being a different family in a different house, we're also talking about an entirely different culture in a country I had never been to. First off, there are just general practices and habits that tend to proliferate in the country, and a lot of them are different from what I'm used to in the States. And then, we've got all the other expectations and habits that this family in particular holds.
I completely recognize that this relationship is a two-way street. I am sure that the family has had a lot of frustrations I don't know about based on things I do or don't do that they have quietly beared. I completely acknowledge that and am very grateful. I also recognize that these sort of issues I'm having are an expected aspect of this relationship.
But oh man, I am just exhausted. I have natural tendencies to put others' needs before my own, and to want to do things "right." These two shortcomings on my part have combined to seriously disrupt my life in a lot of ways. Because, think about it: this family knows everything about me. They know how long I take in the shower, how often I wash my hair, when I get up, when I go to sleep, how much I eat, what I don't eat, what I wear every day, when I poop, what I do in my spare time, when I'm on my period, how often I wash my clothes, if my clothes have holes in them or other blemishes someone who's not doing my laundry probably wouldn't notice, how often I'm studying or goofing off, how often I exercise, and the list goes on. Another source of tension is that I haven't lived in a family environment where everyone's all up in my business in over eight years. I think I'd have trouble even just moving back into my own house growing up. On top of this, the mom, who takes great pride in keeping the house and everything in it clean and orderly, is far more detail-oriented than I am, and so she notices a lot of things I don't. All of this has led to some difficult and embarrassing conversations (though, one note I'll make here is that they have been incredibly sensitive to me and communicated very directly and calmly, which I realize is an uncommon skill), as well as more and more rules that make me feel more and more constrained and that seem like I'll just never be able to observe.
I want to be able to do it. I want to feel like I'm a member of the family, of equal standing, that I can live like they do. But I have well over two decades' worth of upbringing in a different environment, a different culture, with different rules, values, and expectations, and not only can I not expect myself to fully comply with my host family's style of life, but I also needn't expect that of myself. The fact is that I am not a part of this family to the same degree that the blood relations are. A trap I find myself in is that of my role as an actor and performer; what I love about my work is that I get "to try other people on." However, I've always maintained a boundary--I don't use my acting skills outside of training or work. So I find myself in a predicament where, as a way of coping, I would love to accept this as a challenge to my skill as an actor, and to "become" the role of "member" to this host family. But I owe it to myself to maintain some consistency. And, though I love playing pretend, I need to have some time where I can let my hair done, let my belly hang out, and just be American Morgan.
It's all a huge jumble; I have to meet them halfway and fulfill certain obligations and expectations as they are meeting me halfway and tolerating who knows what of mine. But through respecting, observing, and trying to protect the parameters I'm given, relaxing at home can be very difficult.
Now, think about this for a moment: I'm in an unfamiliar country with which I have no experience, I'm very far from home, I had tenuous connections at best in this country before I came here so my social circle is still quite rudimentary, and I'm prone to stress. I have classes from Monday through Friday, and am normally booked up for the weekend. When I'm home, I need to be able to relax. That has been difficult. I'm always concerned about the state of my room, of my luggage, of how I'm leaving my shoes in the genkan. I am a considerate person by nature, and this element of my personality, in addition to the pitfalls of mine I've mentioned above, are really taxed right now. I've lived with this family for twelve weeks so far, and I still have about five left. That's over a month. I don't want to be counting the days, and I'll be very sad to leave on one level, but I'll also be quite relieved. Particularly because of one other factor I haven't mentioned:
My host mom is a great chef. I love her food, and she makes a great variety of very balanced meals. But they're balanced for a Japanese person. It's not just for my tastes, but for my physical makeup, I need more fruits and vegetables. I've taken to cramming them as much as I can at school, but it's just not enough. I'm not used to eating pretty much any meat, let alone meat more than once in a day. So this, in itself, has resulted in a lot of physical distress, to be honest. That one, I really don't know how to resolve. I can't very well ask my host mom to make a special meal for me all by myself, especially when I'm trying to fit in here.
So, I suppose I'm writing this to give you an honest account of what living with a host family can be like. It is such a rewarding experience on the whole. From a "learning opportunity" standpoint, I've learned a lot about how Japanese families function, how they interact with other people, how households function differently from the States', and I've also learned a lot of Osaka-ben. I've also met some of the most wonderful people and been very lucky to be treated to all the opportunities they've provided. But it is an immense commitment. You really do have to be flexible, respectful, and cognizant of your own behavior.
I would love to hear your feedback and your host family stories, as well! See you in the comments!
Morgan
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