Shuji

This is my new Japanese name given to me by my new shuji sensei, Akate Sensei. I started studying calligraphy a couple of weeks ago. The first lesson I began in yochen – kindergarten – but progressed to fourth grade mid way through my second lesson. Everyone says my writing is very good but I think they are being Japanese about it. However, today was my third lesson and I was given the great honour of writing with a fude – brush – for the first time; this seemed incredibly fast to me.

The first picture is my name written in kanji. It is an excerpt from the second photo. It is custom to always write your name next to your writing. These larger characters are the kanji for karate; Sensei asked what character i would like to start with, if there was any character i especially liked. After we talked of the integrating philosophies of karate and shuji she chose the kanji for karate for me. This is one of my first efforts. Hopefully it will get better, however much to my chagrin I am under instruction to show my shuji to my karate sensei. I am worried he will laugh at my beginners efforts.

Practicing my strokes mid last week, it occurred to me that the sweeping movements are very similar to the curves one makes with one’s body in karate. It reminded me of the philosophy in Jet Li’s film “Hero”, where the protagonist studies the calligraphy of his opponent to understand his swordsmanship. Excited by this idea, I started looking up the internet to understand better the connection between the two art forms.



I pulled the following excerpt from a martial arts magazine . . .

"In Shodo, all mistakes are final, just as in the martial arts a mistake ultimately, or at least symbolically, results in the Budoka's death. For this reason, many beginners in calligraphy lack the spiritual strength to paint the character decisively. Each stroke must be delivered like the slash of the bushi's sword, yet the brush must be held in a relaxed manner, as well as manipulated without a loss of controlled calmness. Through rigorous training, a kind of seishin tanren (spiritual forging), the student's mental condition is altered, and this change in consciousness is expected to be carried into the individual's daily life as well. For the Budoka, the added strength and composure, which is cultivated by Japanese calligraphy allows him or her to more instantly respond to an opponent's attack without hesitation. In one sense, the shuji-gami, or calligraphy paper, which is so sensitive that the ink will "bleed" through it in seconds, is one's opponent and the brush one's sword. Every kanji, or character, must be painted with a perfect asymmetrical balance, which like a person's balance in Jujutsu, must be developed until it is maintained on a subconscious level.

"Shodo requires a balanced use of the mind and body, as well as a state of mental and physical integration. As many novices in the martial arts have discovered, it is sometimes rather difficult to make the mind and body work together as a unit. To simply paint a straight line can be a surprising challenge, one that can be accomplished only through a coordination of one's faculties. In Japanese painting and calligraphy, a strongly concentrated mind must control the brush, and a relaxed body must allow the brush to act as an exact reflection of the mind's movement. Shodo, as much as Budo, demands this coordination. Through calligraphy practice, the martial artist has an additional means of realizing the essential harmony of thought and action, and a visible means of illustrating this state of unification at that. To achieve unification of mind and body, of course, demands a positive, concentrated use of the mind, along with a natural and relaxed use of the body. It is this enhancement of concentration and relaxation that many people, including Japanese practitioners of the martial arts, find so appealing."

At Karate, one of my sensei's has remarked several times that my balance is lop-sided, or rather non-existent; after executing a head kick, I always fall too far to one side, and my defence is also one-sided. I blame this on years of riding my bike no-handed, whereby I throw my weight to the left side to counterbalance the weight of the bike which is thrown to the right. Thus am I riding skewift on my saddle. However, swimming laps last night, I noticed that the action of my right arm is noticeably smoother than that of my left, which has considerably less height and grace. I thought back to my teenage years when I sported one of those appallingly long fringes that covered half my face, though hair-sprayed in a tight wave formation. After it was brought to her attention by my hairdresser, my mother was forever nagging me about how I always held my head tilted to one side.

So I continue my musings about balance, sometimes in the pool, sometimes randomly splattered down here for all to pass over. Work at the moment is unbearable, I am caught in the middle of a nasty fight in the staffroom which will see my co-worker quit tomorrow. Normally I would follow suit, to prove a point, but after careful thought I would be quickly replaced and my protest denied. In Japan I am trying to learn patience and cunning; thinking of external consequences for perhaps the first time in my life. I am reading Sun Tzu’s* Art of War again hoping to gain inspiration and also Clavell’s Shogun, allowing myself to be romanced by the fiction of the warrior samurai. After finishing it I will have to read some real history before my mind becomes too tainted by a westerner’s glorified representation of Japanese culture. First however, I want to read Bushido: the way of the samurai. Most of my friends are Japanese; they teach me about select parts of Japanese culture and I teach then about Western; it isn’t until something goes awry and I am part of a complex web of intrigues between Japanese, that I realise the strength of differences in culture.

A break will be good.


* Yes, I realise he's Chinese. However even the Japanese would admit they nicked most of their best ideas from the Chinese.

4 years

Today is 4 years since my dad died.

I miss him heaps.

I hope he would have been proud of me.

Super busy

The last three months have been truly hectic. In April I went from having barely any work, after a nasty falling out with my now ex-boss, to picking up an extra fifteen hours of very well paid work at the Mitoyoshi International Exchange Centre. I got to choose my own hours, the pay increase was significant, the classrooms have real whiteboards and air conditioning and I’m 100% responsible for curriculum; a true luxury. I’m also teaching a really nice mix of adults and kids. For the first time in my teaching career I don’t have any classes that I don’t like.

Then my boss at Mitoyoshi started freaking out about my visa, which incidentally runs out in three weeks. Generally one has their company sponsor their working visa. But I was in the unusual position of working part time for two places, plus a bunch of privates which it’s better that immigration and the tax department don’t know about.

Aya San started pushing me to work full time, so that Mitoyoshi could sponsor my visa. I was dead against this as it means 40hrs in an office. Aarghh. I’d heard of self sponsored visas and started trying to get some information. I went into the immigration office and met with a very unhelpful lady who only served to increase my confusion. I researched the web and was presented with a plethora of theories on how I could get my own working visa. The pressure was beginning to mount. Aya pushed harder and scheduled a meeting to discuss my as yet unsigned part time contract.

At the same time the registration on my car was due to run out, as was my international driving licence. If I didn’t get a visa I’d be looking for a job in a different country. It was all looking very shaky and I was loath to pay out a small fortune getting my car registered if I was to be on the next plane home. However, no car, no job. I had no choice but to gamble on my visa and fork out the necessary cash to get my car inspected and registered. The garage gave me a loan car and apologized because it was a bigger car than mine. Shucks. I had to spend a couple of days driving around in a much nicer car.

For the meeting with Aya San, he brought in an American colleague to interpret. Thad San explained that Mitoyoshi had two major concerns. One was that I didn’t have a sponsor for my visa and might suddenly find myself without right of residence, the other was that they really wanted a full time teacher from September. I was their first choice, but if I declined the offer they would find someone else and couldn’t guarantee my hours. They were playing me and I felt like I was completely backed into a corner. I explained that I had already signed a contract with Fuzuoka elementary school, and it would be a breach of faith I wasn’t prepared to make, to go back on that agreement after they had been so good to me. This was something Aya was aware of and intimated that I might be allowed to keep working there. A compromise was in the making. Thad suggested I go away and write down a list of requirements and we would reconvene.

Next hurdle: driving licence. First I had to go into Takamatsu, almost an hour away, to get my Australian licence translated. I finally found the place after driving around forever in the early monsoon rains; it only took 10 minutes to do, but they charged me the equivalent of $35 for the privilege. And I thought I was making good money! Then I had to book an appointment with a translator at the driving licence centre. They didn’t have any translators available so I would have to take a colleague with me to translate.


I re-met with Thad and Aya, and to my surprise, they agreed to all my requests. I asked for more money than they had originally offered, tuesday and thursday evenings free and I would get to keep working at Fuzuoka. I left on cloud nine. I felt appreciated as a teacher for the first time in a long time and released from the visa stress that had been quietly eating away at my general contentment.

Kumiko and I had an appointment for one pm at the driver’s licence centre, and duly rocked up twenty minutes early, not wanting to be late. When we arrived the receptionist woke the guy from his lunchtime nap to report our arrival, so in retaliation he made us wait until 20 minutes after our appointment time. I had heard that it was relatively easy for Australians and Canadians to obtain a Japanese driving licence. In contrast, Americans are made to do a physical driving test and then drive around on the equivalent of a provisional licence for a year.

I was forewarned to expect lots of questions about the process involved in getting an Australian driver’s licence, but was totally unprepared for everything else. First I was asked for my passport, and then asked if I had a second. I lied and said I didn’t; partially because I hadn’t brought it with me, and secondly, because I don’t want Japanese immigration to know about it. Just in case!!! The we went through my passport in detail. He wanted to know every country I’d ever been to, since getting my licence 15 years ago. Plus he wanted the exact dates of entrance and exit of every country and the duration there stayed. Was this really necessary???? This alone took half an hour. I was glad I hadn’t ‘fessed to my second passport! He took all my documents off to be photocopied and sent us out into the hallway to wait. During this time he also had a second elevenses, lunch and afternoon tea. Then came questions about my medical health. Did I have to have a health check to get a driver’s licence he asked. No. Only an eye test. Why not? Because we don’t go to the hospital every time our foot itches, I wanted to testily reply, but managed to hold my tongue.

Then I was interrogated about the procedure of getting a licence; why Australia doesn’t have a national driving school and it’s okay for your parents to teach you to drive. I was made to feel that the Australian system was sorely inadequate and it took all my will power not to launch into a full scale attack of Japanese drivers and their completely inconsiderate and dangerous driving habits. It fine to stop your car in the middle of a main road whilst you jump out to go and do your week’s shopping, park in the middle of a blind corner; orange lights mean speed up; indicators are there to look pretty and best used in the middle of a turn; and it’s safer to drive much faster in the middle of monsoon rain because the less time you spend on the road the smaller the chance of having an accident. However I didn’t.

Somewhere deep within I mustered a patience I didn’t know before had existed. I tried to explain that we have red light and speed cameras everywhere and the government uses driving fines as a major source of income. I really wanted to, but didn’t mention that most Japanese drivers would lose their licence within a week in Australia.

Then came the punch line. He looked at my licence and asked about the picture on it. That’s me I said. No the motif in the background. Oh, I don’t know – wakaranai – I guess its a plant. He wanted to know what sort of plant, why it was there, the Latin name, what the plant had for breakfast every morning. GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!! We were released and told to come back in a week.

A week later and they had invented a different kind of bureaucracy. This time it involved filling in forms, going to different places to pay different monies, a tedious treasure hunt cum wild goose chase around the building. The eye test was both interesting and harrowing. I realised on the way up the stairs to the eye test line that it was hardly likely to be in roman characters. I decided they probably wouldn’t have it in kanji either, but one of the syllabic alphabets: hiragana or katakana. I still get them mixed up and was freaking out that a reading mistake would be taken as a seeing mistake. Instead they had 3 sided squares; one has to state which side is open: ue (top) shita (bottom) hidari (left) or migi (right). In Japanese I’m hidari-migi dyslexic and was sweating throughout the ordeal, pointing the direction, even though the tester was behind a screen and couldn’t see me.

When I was finally sent off with my brand new licence I was reassured to note that driving licence pictures are equally bad the world over!!

By this time I was feeling much more confident about my chances of extending my stay in Japan. Aya San sent me off to immigration with my visa extension form already filled out and a preliminary version of my contract, some last minutes details still under negotiation. I had a list of everything I needed to take and ironed a shirt especially. It was decided they couldn’t spare a translator and that I would be okay by myself. When I got there I found myself talking to the friendly guy who can speak really good English, who handled my original application twelve months earlier, as opposed to the unhelpful woman whose English is worse than my Japanese. This time however, his English ability seemed to have waned considerably. I decided this must be the first unofficial test. I was applying for a three year visa so i wouldn’t have to go through all this stress again, and I figured they make sure you’re making an effort to learn the language before handing out such a privilege. I think I did okay. My Japanese isn’t good, but it’s passable for the twelve month mark.

We went through all the forms and I was sent of to the big desk to submit my collection of documents. So far so good. Then I struck the iceberg. Aya San had forgotten to date the contract. On top of which I had been forgetting to take my little smiley helpers. This guy didn’t speak a word of English and didn’t seem inclined to get someone who did. He kept repeating the same sentence over and over again and I kept saying I didn’t understand. He was saying something about bringing or taking or returning by I wasn’t sure which and what it was I was supposed to be doing this to. I didn’t have the office phone number with me – that hadn’t been on the list – and I’m ashamed to say I kinda panicked and freaked out. Later that day I had a huge fight with Aya over pay/contractual discrepancies and walked into my adult evening classes in tears. I went home and got very drunk by myself whilst Italy toyed with Australia and I chatted on the net. The next day my liver fell over.

I tried to explain to my students that bad things always happen in threes, but they don’t believe me.