Confessions of a Gaijin: Episode 14 – The Great Big NO

There’s a student at my school (let’s call him Kenji) who has a form of Asperger’s. Every week he comes in for an English lesson and it’s my job to teach him. He’s a University student and he likes video games and movies. Over the last few weeks he’s really been struggling in lessons, and I’ve been running out of ways to make things work better for him in the classroom. I raised the issue at one of the daily morning meetings we have at the school, and was told by a staff member with a particularly stern face that I should “find more things for him to talk about”. Then I was asked if I remembered that he has a condition (of course I fucking do) and that was pretty much it in terms of talking about how to improve things for Kenji.

I haven’t had many moments where I felt like flipping the table over, but that was one of them. Anyone with a shred of common sense can see that Kenji has learning difficulties and clearly needs to be taught by a trained professional who has plenty of experience dealing with people on the autism spectrum, rather than some hapless sod who was fast-tracked through a week of teacher training before being spat out to make the best of it. But this is Japan, a country where common sense takes a back seat to protocol and doing things by the book, even when the book in question has no practical use and will make life more complicated and miserable for everyone involved. In fact, common sense doesn’t just take a back seat, it’s asked to wait outside the building until such time as it’s completely forgotten about and has to walk home in the rain.

Earlier this week, my headteacher (let’s call him Shigeru) had to be sent home by taxi as he was unwell. Shigeru had called in sick the previous week for two days but had come back to work even though I knew as soon as I saw him that he hadn’t properly recovered and was in a bad way; pale as a sheet and deflated by tiredness. A few days after he was back I was helping him into a cab as he had trouble walking by himself, he couldn’t even hold his rucksack properly. I stood and watched as the taxi pulled away with the poor man slumped against the back seat, his eyes shut tight. Yesterday morning he was back at work, apologising for “all the trouble” he’d caused. I told him that his health was more important than anything and that he had nothing to be sorry about. Shigeru’s wife had a baby two months ago, and he is already working all the hours god sends. He is, most likely, severely exhausted and should probably take at least two weeks off so he can tend to his wife and two children, and most importantly, to himself. But this is Japan, where working to the point of collapse is simply par for the course. So Shigeru will keep throwing himself on the rocks because that’s what people do out here.

To quote Morgan Freeman in the movie Seven: “I don’t understand this place anymore.” So last week I told my manager that I wouldn’t be renewing my contract.

The decision had been brewing for some time. As far back as July, I had the sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t a gig that I’d want to have in my life for longer than 12 months, but I gave the Universe enough time to try and fling a compelling reason at me that would make me think about staying. Perhaps I was simply being too delicate or hadn’t given myself enough time to truly settle into things. The Universe opted not to extend an olive branch, instead there was a series of weekly (if not daily) validations that I was doing the right thing by jumping ship, be it in the shape of huge workloads, comically amusing mismanagement and, perhaps most disturbingly, the same 12 easy listening cover versions of popular hits (Bohemian Rhapsody, The Power Of Love etc), played over and over again in the school lobby, like the audio equivalent of Chinese water torture. The prospect of signing up for more of the above felt like anathema.

The meeting in which I broke the news was short but sweet: the whirlwind of an average working day meant that my manager and I only had about five minutes to conduct our business. I spun a quick it’s-not-you-it’s-me yarn about how there were other things that I wanted to do with my life (true) and how I still wanted to travel around Asia (partly true). I read my manager’s face for any telltale signs of disappointment or surprise but there were none. She was cordial and polite, saying that she understood and asked me to do my best to support the students over the next six months. I said I would. She asked me if I knew what I was doing next. I said I didn’t (this is also true). We both nodded on the matter and then a few minutes later we were back at work.

Part of me feels sad; I had high hopes for the job and would have loved for it to lift me up and carry me for a few years or so. But over the last four months, my time at the school had turned into one of those jobs where you can only really enjoy one day of your weekend because you know exactly what’s on the other side of your Sunday (or in my case, Monday), and all the hours leading up to it are a mixture of weary anticipation and dread. Stress headaches and a semi-permanent state of exhaustion had become part of my daily existence. And that is no way for anyone to live.

I asked myself the other week, on a scale of one to ten, how much the job was draining me. The answer was somewhere around 9.5. Then I asked myself how much the job was actually giving back; how much it was fulfilling me or lighting me up. The answer clocked in at around a 6, and that was on a good day. I had had my fill of feeling like I was on a persistent, particularly lurchy rollercoaster ride that was never-ending.

I have absolutely no idea what I will do next. After everything that took place last year, I find myself very tired and extremely wary of trying to plan my way into or out of anything. All I know is that I’ve made the first in a number of decisions that see me getting my life back, and there are plenty more to come.

On a good day, I can feel the job bring out a more badass, battle-hardened version of myself, one that exists in stark contrast to the person I was a few years ago. I’d like to cultivate that side of me a bit more before it’s time to leave, and whatever happens I still want to see the job through and know that I did the best I possibly could. So I’ll make the most of the time I have left before I go on to the next thing, whatever that may be. But I cannot possibly stay here, and I still don’t know if I even want to to stay in Japan. There are a few things to love about living here, but right now the place feels claustrophobic and full of unhappy people. I don’t know if that’s something I want to be part of my life for much longer.

I am on the other side of the mountain now: at the time of writing I have five months left at the school. The countdown is underway.