Some Detached Thoughts

Some detached thoughts…

6/20/09

Today Okaasan took me to hear a famous picture-book reader read some of his and other authors’ work. She went for new book titles for her part time job as a teaching assistant at a kindergarten. I was brought along because children’s books are simple, clear, and good listening practice.
The teacher’s appearance surprised me for its almost un-Japanese eccentricity. His hair was white and long, pulled back into a pony tail. He wore a tan jacket and a dark green sweater. He had the deep, even tan of someone whose life was spent near the sea. He looked more typically Hawaiian than Japanese, and I suppose his eminence among the picture book audience (of which we are all a part at least once) allowed him to act with some latitude. There was a sense of wisdom that sees past social trends. Then again, perhaps that is the impression generally given off by the aged hippie.

6/24/09
A few days ago I found myself wondering about the phrase “If you don’t ask, the answer is always no.” I needed to find someone to interview for my independent study project on the Ainu. I had already narrowed my question to a particular event, but I didn’t know how to go about finding someone to talk to on top of my book-research. I had heard from a classmate that Mr. Yamazaki, the retired local biology professor-turned director emeritus of HIF, could be a great help in tracking down leads. Frustrated, I brought up the courage needed to walk into his office on the third floor and ask for his help. As strange as this may sound, chances are that I would never have gone at all had it not been for, of all things, H1N1. On top of our semi-quarantine at the hotel, for the first week the snack seller, who sold baked goods in the school office during the twenty minute “tea time” break in the middle of the school day, decided against coming to HIF. Yamazaki took her place as the “o-pan-ya-san” (‘pan’ from the Portuguese for bread, ‘ya’ for shop, ‘o’ to honor the establishment, and ‘san’ to honor the man himself; literally meaning “the honored representative of the equally honored brasserie”; or, more simply, “the baker”).
Yamazaki went to his temporary work with relish, patiently explaining to a line of students with, at best, a hesitant grasp of the language the contents of the ¥100 basket: rice balls with salmon and others with kelp, sugar crackers, jelly-filled bread, choco-bread, raisin bread, melon-bread (yes, it exists), and all sorts of other delicacies. He smiled and was in every way a cheerful, grandfatherly figure. In fact, his smile reminded me of my own granddad’s. He came off as approachable, an impression I might never have gotten had life been as usual this year.
However, Yamazaki-Sensei still posed a problem for me. Japanese is an extremely rank-oriented language, and its speakers are attuned to the nuances of politeness and respect in a way that cannot be easily conveyed back into English. Suffice it to say, I knew exactly how one should speak to a man of Yamazaki-Sensei; I also knew that I would inevitably fail. Such is the trap of my current language level: I know exactly how I’m going wrong while at the same time I haven’t the versatility to correct my mistakes.
Anywho, long story short, I walked (more bowed, actually) into the man’s office, introduced myself, and after a several minute conversation about my project, he called up the museum I had mentioned, and secured me an interview with one of its curators. I go this Friday. Evidently he forgave me my linguistic indiscretions.
山崎先生、どうもありがとうございました
Yamazaki-Sensei, Domo Arigato Gozaimashita.
Actually, my thank you was much longer, and involved several bows to the waist.

平成二十一年六月二十四日午後十時半終