Another prodigal return to dear Kaneko-san. We were alone in the lounge of the Takarazuka International Friendship Association where we usually share our learning space with several other student-teacher pairs, an arm's length and a table away. Where were they? Perhaps they had all finished learning Japanese and were out in the world defending human rights and ordering complicated dishes. Not me. Today I got to work on conditional clauses. If they visit the Yasukuni shrine, Korea will be angry. If I eat salmon, I will also eat spinach.
Our lessons always start quite predictably, with each of use wearing our appropriate hats. I read the sentence examples and then Kaneko-san reads them. He repeats and accentuates the grammar parts as he goes and I try to absorb the flow and pronunciation of his speaking. And then suddenly some spontaneous distraction hits one of us and the other goes along for the ride. Somebody asks a questions and the reverse side of a flyer is filled with random words related to our conversation, scribblings in Japanese and English as we try to understand our respective languages and one another: "1. My daughter plans to get married, 2. My daughter is getting married, 3. My daughter is going to get married." "Bangkok is more bustling than Koh Tao." "Koh Tao is not more bustling than Bangkok." It's during this part of the lesson–part reading examples, part shooting-the-breeze–that humor can happen. Laughing with another crosses a barrier that language could be blamed for constructing. Whether or not I understand all the particles, whether or not we know the meaning of all the words, it feels like we're getting somewhere. In any language, it feels good to laugh.
Following this, we pull ourselves together and he reads through my essay, correcting it with his red pen which he pulls from a pencil case he carries with him. (It's filled with writing utensils–what do they all do?? It boggles the mind.) This is a fairly straight forward denouement to the conclusion of the lesson where our teacher-student hats are once again securely fastened, tray tables in upright and locked position, and we start to put away our things in silence. Once my bag is packed, we both head bow saying, "mata raishuu (until next week)."
Every week, this opening and closing. Mata raishuu, mata raishuu......
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