Discourse

I once taught an English conversation class that was 50% Brasilian/Mexican and 50% Japanese and Korean. Guess which group was more outspoken? If you guessed the Brasilians, you would be correct. The Brasilians dominated the class, demanded my attention, and kept up a lively energy in the classroom. The Asian students were quieter and more reserved. It was definitely unbalanced.

Before you jump to the default "Asians are quiet and shy" stereotype, listen...

What do you think the Brasilians thought of their Asian classmates? They complained about their lack of participation. "Why are they so quiet?," they asked me, "Don't they like us?" "Why are they so shy?" The Asian students said, "They are so loud, why do they not let anyone else speak?"

In the next class I brought in a basketball, a "bowling ball," and a rugby ball. "Today," I announced, "We're doing to learn about discourse styles." For all of you English teachers out there, yes, I'm referring to the work of Susan Steinbach!

"Discourse styles? What is discourse?" Silvana shouted out. Well, not shouted, but you get the picture.

"Discourse is the way people communicate, I'm talking about conversatoin styles. We're going to talk about how different cultures communicate." I explained.

I had a few students come up and demonstrate (without speaking) a round of bowling. One student took the ball, stepped ahead of the others and "rolled the ball" down the lane. When he was done, another student stepped forward. I then jumped in. "What if I were to grab the ball out of the hands of the one bowling? Is that acceptable?" Everyone agreed that doing so would be rude.

I next had students demonstrate basketball. One student held the ball, and 2 others were trying to steal the it from her. She then started down the "court," and another student stole the ball and took off in the opposite direction. "Is it OK to steal the ball in this situation? Is it OK for everyone to grasp at the ball at the same time?" Everyone agreed that this was acceptable.

I finally had a small group demonstrate a rugby scrum--minus the violence. A student grabbed the ball and started "running down the field." Another student jumped in, pushed him aside, and stole the ball. Another student pretended to knock that student to the ground, and went in another direction. "What's going on here?" I asked. "Chaos," a few students replied. "Is it OK to steal the ball? change directions? Push people in order to get to the ball?" Everyone agreed that this was acceptable.

I later talked about the work of Susan Steinbach. She is an English teacher who described discourse styles in terms of sports.

Bowling reflects the conversation styles of "high-context" and hierarchical cultures. Turn-taking is very important. It is considered rude to just break into a conversation. This is typical of some Asian cultures, Swiss German culture, according to Steinbach.

Basketball represents the conversation style of North Americans, Australias, and British. Conversations can be fast paced, can change direction, and the object is to speak and be heard.

Rugby represents a conversation style in countries like Latin America, Greece, or Russia. It is normal and acceptable to interrrupt, raise your voice, and start speaking while others are still speaking. Consider where the weather is hot (or cold, in the case of Russia) and the food is spicy---you'll probably find a rugby style of conversation.

Afterwards, it was understood that the Asian students aren't necessarily "quiet" or "shy," but they were waiting their turn to speak. Brasilians realised that they needed to allow for others to jump in. The Asian students began to take chances--they jumped into conversations, and spoke out a lot more.

It is interesting to think of the "sports" we play in our lives. Being from where I'm from, we're rubgy players all the way....

Metroethnicity

So I've got a multiethnic background and am a hybrid of a few different cultures. What is foreign to me is being rooted in one culture or country with blood relations and knowledge of a "homeland," (region of a country), ancestors, and lineage. In terms of my ethnicity, it has always been a contruct I'm piecing together...

I've recently read a very interesting article called, "Metroethnicity, language, and the principle of Cool," by John Maher.

Here is an excerpt:

"Metroethnicity is a reconstruction of ethnicity: a hybridized ‘‘street’’ ethnicity deployed by a cross-section of people with ethnic or mainstream backgrounds who are oriented towards cultural hybridity, cultural/ethnic tolerance and a multicultural lifestyle in friendships, music, the arts, eating and dress."

No surprises here... The article goes on to discuss the ties between language and identity. In this age of globalization, I am fascinated with the way countries either accept or reject global perspectives and to a degree, identity. What they accept, why they reject other things, and how it encourages some countries to revisit their cultural heritage in new ways. Consequently, how does that affect one's identity in countries around the world, speaking English as a Lingua Franca?

Globalization encourages self-assertion to a degree we've never seen before. I think this crosses all frontiers and cultures. And it's not about "becoming American." It's about "lifestyle emancipation," as Maher puts it.

Even if I was tied to my biological roots/land, would I still seek a "lifestyle emancipation" from my culture? I wonder.

New Tagline

Here it is: "You're ah-ha moment is my reality."


Seriously. I should make t-shirts.

Namdaemun

Sad. A 600-year old wooden structure gone just like that... Unbelievable.

Am copying the words of my friend Graham, as he expressed how it would have gone down if it had taken place in Japan: "Amazing that they didn't have some sort of super fire-fighting system thing in place. I can imagine the Japanese having some sort of super-duper apparatus that would flood the whole thing in 10 seconds flat at the first hint of fire. Or would have secretly rebuilt it without using anything flammable, yet having it still resemble 600 year old wood. Actually, if it were in Japan, it probably would have burnt down hundreds of years ago, and have been rebuilt post-war in ferro-concrete...." We both agreed that if this happened in Japan, that the one held responsible would definitely commit suicide in disgrace. I took it a bit further saying that he'd do it old school--sword to the gut.

Koreans felt that it was like watching a good friend go down in flames. For me, it felt like a distant relative that I never met but got to know through photo albums and stories of other relatives.

Democrats

Believe it or not, I'm still undecided. Hillary or Barack?

My not so secret wish is that Barack Obama wins by a wide margin and chooses Al Gore as his Vice-President running mate. So what if Barack is a cousin of Dick Cheney. So what if Al Gore has the worst reputation amongst his secret service guards? I don't care. We clearly cannot have four more years of another Republican.

Where do you measure up? I'll tell you my results if you tell me yours...
http://www.vajoe.com/candidate_calculator.html

Rain

It's completely blustery here in the San Francisco Bay Area. I love it. Surely it is the Pacific Northwest that lives in me. I love that sharp and crisp cold. I love razor edged mountains lined with snow. I love wearing scarves and floppy warm hats. Having said that, I've been in California long enough to appreciate breaks of sun in the winter. Grey skies will always be comforting.

Sometimes I wish I could look out at this sort of scene (see photo)--and spend my days sipping green tea, reading, writing, napping, warming my legs under a kotatsu...feeling peaceful. I miss that part of my life in Japan. The simplicity and the dreaminess. The friendships that kept my heart warm through the 3-meter snow winters. I was happy to visit those good friends earlier this month. This photo was taken from our room at the Mukaitaki in Aizu-Wakamatsu. What I would give for an hour in the spa baths about right now, just before going to bed.

Sometimes I wish I could spend my days as a lifeguard at Onekahakaha Beach in Hilo, Hawai'i. Responsible for very little. The big thing of my day would be to remember sunscreen and figure out what kind of bento I would eat for lunch. There is no doubt that Cappy and I will be retiring there. She will be writing the novel of her dreams. I will be blogging and cooking for our family. We'd sit on our veranda eating freshly picked lychee. We'll have picnics on Coconut Island with our friends and families. I am looking forward to those days. They are still quite far away.

Presently, my life has become robust as I'm settling into the rhythm of 2008. Cappy and I have joined a triathlon training team with the incredible ladies at See Jane Run. Spring semester has brought cheer back into my life. I'm finally seeing tracks on the road. In other words, my dissertation is taking shape--in my mind at least. In other news, one of my favorite couples has just become engaged. They're in Tokyo now, but soon off to Sydney and Sweden. My best childhood friend is recovering from chemotherapy. And lastly, a good friend and I have hatched a plan to create the community that we seek.

I will certainly return to my normal snarkiness tomorrow, but for now I feel thankful and light...

Spring Semester

Catch up:

I'm back in the world of quantitative vs. qualitative research, dreaming of international education conferences, $100 textbooks, study breaks, and classmates... I find school to be the perfect antidote to my annoyances with work. I find the excitement of this past week's departmental meeting to be as fun as a night out in a club. My desire for late night or mid-afternoon clubbing has been temporarily quelled. Although, my association with clubs has been tarnished forever (in a good way, really) In any case, I was honestly quite happy at school this past weekend.

I've recently re-connected with some great friends this past month, both here in the States and abroad. The fact that we've not seen each other for over ten years, or have become too busy in the last few years to hang out reminds me of what I cherish the most--those with whom I share significant context. Those kindred spirits and their incredibly open, intelligent, and generous minds and spirits....

I'm hanging on to these last few days of January. I have a good feeling about 2008. For me. And you.

Poetry for the Day:

High is our calling, Friend!--Creative Art
(Whether the instrument ofwords she use, Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues,)
Demands the serviceof a mind and heart.

-William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

Nishi-Aizu

Here is a lovely and familiar view of Nishi-Aizu, Japan--the town where I lived from 1993-1995. This was taken from the local Banetsu line that trundles all the way to Niigata. I had forgotten how gorgeous it is up in the north.

I spent so many hours gazing out at this landscape. Through four seasons, through trips back and forth to Tokyo--always with a box of Salad Pretz and a can of green tea. I was either happy to be leaving to a place of anonymity or relieved to be coming back where everyone knew me. Or rushing back thinking I had left my iron on atop my 6 tatami floor. Though rushing is a bit of a stretch, considering there were times that I thought I could run faster than the local train.

This return to Nishi-Aizu was very special since with Cappy by my side. We arrived at the Nozawa stop at 11.45 in the morning. We stepped out onto the familiar station platform and lugged our suitcases up the stairs and across to the other side. I had worried about what we'd do with these heavy monstrosities while walked about the town. Thankfully, the station attendant agreed to store our suitcases and backpack. It was a huge relief.

On this day, the skies were their usual grey, melted snow ran along the side gutters, and the familiar chilly air stung my ears. We walked through the narrow streets. I pointed out the cow that lived down the street from me, my old homestay house, my apartment, the space where I parked my scooter, and my friend Chieko's AC Club. It was the only bar in town with Guinness on draught and real Italian spaghetti. No big deal, except it was one of 3 or 4 restaurants that I went to on a regular basis. Does 7-11 count as a restaurant, though?

The highlight of the day was visiting the nursing home where I used to volunteer. After ten years, I wasn't sure any of the residents that I helped would still be there. Thankfully, I met one of them. When we entered the main dining room, I saw a woman sitting in a wheelchair just in front of the door. "Oh my god, Aiko Suzuki?!" I was amazed-- and the nurse was surprised that I remembered her name. Suzuki-san is now 96 and still had the same caring eyes and bright smile. When asked if she remembered me, she smiled and nodded her head. I used to wheel her out from her room to the dining room. She'd utter questions and tell me stories....I'd just look at her and shake my head--totally not getting what she was saying. She'd just laugh and keep on talking to me.

We made it back to the station in time for the 3.23 train. I knew that the sentiment of this day would be realised and cherished at a later time, but felt the beginning of it as Cappy and I waited on the platform. When asked how I felt about returning, all I could think about was how small it seemed. The town seemed as if I had been looking at it from a bird's eye view. I clearly remember not really being able to see beyond the pine tree borders and mini-mountains back in '93-'95. I guess that is a thing of age and subsequent life experience.

Being in Nishi-Aizu was certainly a nice break from the concrete mega watt land of Tokyo. Although I was deeply satisfied for having re-connected with a few people, I was equally thrilled to be departing. Back when I was 23, I was open to anything. You'll have to do a homestay for one month. OK. Live here. Sure. Work here. Sure. Shop here. OK. Eat lunch in this room today. Sure. Teach a class every Monday night here. OK.

Within minutes of heading down the tracks, my town was already fading away once more. This time, as the train pulled out of Nozawa station, I felt an amazing sense of freedom.

Bump of Chicken

Are you kidding me? Bump of Chicken is a rock band that has set out to "change the history of rock and roll." Who knew that such a monumental transformation may come from a band of thin Japanese dudes from Chiba?

So why Bump of Chicken? Is it an extension of their rebellion to deliberately mashup the English language? I mean, who really owns English anyway? Not the native speakers, I can guarantee you.

What kills me is that the misuse of English is intended--that their self-love surpasses the desire for a familiar and appropriate use of English.

This band name is perplexing to me as Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. Ruth's what?! Who is Chris, does he/she belong to Ruth? Jesus Christ.