Tagawa House

6/17/09, 9:37 PM, Tagawa House

I have never spoken so much Japanese for so long in my entire life. I am simultaneously exultant and exhausted. Today was my first day at the Tagawa house. After class, I did my homework as quick as I could and waited for the pending meeting with my new hosts. The final moment came at 5:30 pm. We were all corralled into a narrow hallway on the third floor of the building where, behind closed double doors, was an auditorium full of expectant Japanese families. I was assigned the very first spot. When the doors opened, all those inside turned their heads, and the first person they saw was very likely me. I felt like I was in a line of cattle being led to the slaughter, and I was hit with a momentary feeling of deep embarrassment and self-consciousness. The moment passed quickly though, as I was corralled into the room by one of the instructors and hurriedly met my host mother and her younger daughter (Youko, age 12). We briskly got my luggage from the holding room, and went outside to the waiting car, inside which was my host father. The drive home was about fifteen minutes, and upon reaching the house (which I will describe in more detail in a later post), I met their older daughter Machiko, age 15, and younger son Masahiro, going on eighteen (Yasahiro, the first born, is at university in Kyoto).
The following three hours tested my every Japanese skill. As I write this, I have a slight headache from the experience, but I feel that it will only get easier. Last year, I spoke almost entirely in Japanese with my host parents, both of whom knew English. A year later, I finally have the skills necessary to actually discuss moderately complicated topics, tell stories, and give my opinion. However, I’ve never actually had to do it “in the wild” before, as it were. I feel immensely satisfied.
However, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a language barrier. Right before leaving for bed, Youko told me that she had forgotten her text book in my room. It took me three tries to understand her, because I didn’t recognize the word “desk” and did not register the word “textbook.” It seems that while I can tell the whole history of my family in Japanese, the simplest things will continue to throw me. I only hope Youko doesn’t think me any worse for it.