Confession of a Gaijin: Episode 1 – Common Sensei

I am sitting on the floor of my new apartment, eating a Cup Noodle and drinking my umpteenth green tea of the day. It’s my first official day off since I got here just over two weeks ago. I have 24 hours with no homework, no lesson plans, nothing whatsoever to do with the business of teaching English as a foreign language. Good thing too, because I feel, quite frankly, fucked. It seems as if I haven’t paused for breath since I got off the plane. For the last fortnight there has always been somewhere I need to be, something I have to do, some person I have to speak with. I’ve been pulled in multiple directions at once and I’ve woken up almost every day this week in a state of major discombobulation. I got three hours sleep the night before I did my final teaching demo and completed my training. My accumulated fatigue threatened to undo me over the last seven days. Somehow, I’ve managed to power through syrupy exhaustion and get through my first working week in one piece. Go me.

I’ve also moved into my new apartment, which is far nicer than I expected. I’m based in a small town in a rural prefecture, close to the major cities. I spent an hour on the train ride out here listening to my iPod and wondering what my new base was going to be like.I was picturing some sort of broom cupboard an hour’s commute from my school, when in reality what I’ve been provided with is a cosy, up-to-date living space with all modern conveniences and plenty of natural light. It’s not perfect (the ‘kitchen’ is essentially a cavity dug into the hallway that contains a sink and a small electric hob) but it doesn’t need to be. Even after a few days, it already feels like home.

I’ve been unsuccessfully wrestling with a convoluted process for setting up my internet so in order to entertain myself I’ve been reading my books (I brought 5 paperbacks with me from England as e-readers give me the creeps) and listening to a stack of podcasts I downloaded before I left. The unrelenting grind of my first week means I haven’t had the time or energy to cook for myself so I’ve been surviving on instant ramen and green tea all week. Occasionally, I nibble on a banana to help prevent me from developing rickets. At some point, I may even to be so bold as to start cooking for myself.

The school I’m in is nice. Unlike a lot of foreign language schools in Japan, which are usually built into train stations or shopping malls, this one is a self-contained unit in its very own building. The staff, mostly Japanese, are polite and friendly. Everyone there calls me ‘sensei’, the native word for teacher, which makes me feel like some kind of venerable badass. The school’s manager, who everyone simply addresses as ‘Manager’ is a trim, efficient woman in her early 30s. She has been nothing but nice to me since I arrived, but she exudes authority at all times and there is something about her manner which says to me; “Fuck with me in any shape or form and I will have your balls, gaijin.”

There’s a lot to take on board. You would be forgiven for thinking that teaching English as a foreign language doesn’t involve anything more strenuous than pointing to a whiteboard and getting everyone to say: “I’m going to the supermarket” out loud ten times before reminding them what the past progressive tense is and then fucking off for the day. In reality, there is a ton of paperwork and daily meetings, and a stack of routines and protocols which need memorising from day one. I am burning through highlighter pens and biros at a furious pace. The students are friendly and inquisitive, but remembering their names is a bitch.

Still, I find myself very eager to keep up, wanting at all times to impress my colleagues and co-workers. Once upon a time I would have balked at such a notion (“If people can’t deal with me as I am then that’s THEIR problem”), but a lot of things have changed for me over the last two years, and my work ethic is one of them. I have no idea how long I will be doing this for, but I know that years from now, I want to be able to look back and know that I gave it my all and made it a success. If I have to dig deep (or extra deep) every now and then, so be it. After all the recent turbulence and shitstorms in my life, I want to make this adventure something that I can point to and say: “This. I did this, and I did it right.”

I still worry that I’ll be exposed as a colossal fraud, that all the hard work and good intentions will eventually fall by the wayside and I’ll revert against my will to some going-through-the-motions drone who turns up and leaves on the dot and never applies himself. I’ll probably have to keep kicking my own ass on a daily basis in order to prevent that from happening, but so much the better: I haven’t had any real structure in my life for more than a year and as a result grew desperate for a stable routine. Here it is, and it’s going to make a man out of me.

It’s early days, still. I’ve made a promise to myself that I will own this experience and crush it. I hope I can keep that promise. Until then I have to keep learning and keep pushing myself. There is also the small business of building an entire life for myself in a town where no-one knows me, where I’ve yet to make friends and where I can barely speak the language. I throw my empty cup noodle in the bin, down the last of my tea and head out the door. Somehow, some way, I will make this work.