First Draft, Participant #1: English Language Learning History

Why and How I studied English and How it Affected my Sexuality

“The most comfortable thing in speaking in English was that I call myself “I”. In Japanese, there are so many words refer to yourself and it differs by their sex and age. For instance, women usually call themselves “ Watashi ” or “ Atashi “ or sometimes “ Uchi “ (Osaka dialect) and men call themselves “ Boku “ or “ Ore “ or “ Washi “( older men ). When I was in Japan, I hated and refused to call myself “ Watashi “because I did not recognize myself as a girl. But I did not want to call myself “ Boku “, either because it was too weird. In Canada, the problem was easily solved. I just call myself “ I “. Everybody call themselves “ I “ regardless of their sex or age.”

Let me introduce myself first. My name is Rika and I am 36 years old now. I’ve been teaching English, mostly conversation, for more than 15 years. Now I have my own little school where I teach a wide range of people. Some people want to study English just as a hobby, others need to study for their schools examinations or TOEIC Test. Since I was a child, I liked women. So I thought I was a lesbian. But now that I have a boyfriend, it makes me a bisexual. I am in between lesbian and bisexual.

I was studying English in a little town near Vancouver for 4 years. 3 years as a high school student and I took a University Transfer course for a year. I learned not only English but also how to communicate with people, to be myself, to help others and it is OK to be helped sometimes. Anyway, I learned many things in Canada.

The reason I went to Canada was not to study English, but to get out of Japan. I was different in every way from ordinary girls. I wanted blue things while other girls wanted pink or red ones. I never wore skirts. I’d rather play baseball with boys than play with dolls. When my friends and I played house, my role was always a father or brother. I wanted to be a boy, but I could not tell anyone about it. I knew it would upset my parents even at age of 5 or 6.

I entered a very strict elementary school which is a mission women school and it has Junior high school, high school, and even a college. This kind of school is called “ An escalator school” because once you entered the elementary school, the students do not have to take special examinations to get into Junior high school and high school unless your behavior is too bad. We have to take an entrance examination to enter the college, but it is an external one. The school role was so strict that even our hair style was decided by teachers. The role book said how long our hair should be, but it did not say how short hair we could have. Therefore, I had my hair cut extremely short like a boy when I was 14 or 15 years old. Then, the Principal hit the roof and told me that I was an alien in this school.

At this time, I was having my first relationship with a woman. She was an older sister of my friend. We had dated for about a year and a half and broke up because she went to a college. It was the time I started thinking about getting out of Japan. I had lost her and it made me so depressed. I started searching for something. Something that could make me happy or feel fulfilled. I did not fit into this strict school which we seldom had freedom. Moreover, I was not good at anything, Japanese, Math, History, PE or even music. I wanted to get a special skill so that I do not have to relay on getting married and having a husband feed me. I knew I didn’t want to get married.

However, my parents did not allow me to quit the school. They had paid so much money since elementary school to put me into the college. And I am the only child. They wanted me to stay with them. It took me over a year to persuade them. The Principal, who was a sister, told me that I would never make it. Nobody was on my side, the Principal, teachers, or my parents. They believed without doubt that I would fail and come back to Japan within a month. My friends did not support me, either. They said I was running away from an entrance examination of a university. But what they had said was totally ridiculous. Studying academic subjects in English and graduate from Canadian high school is much more difficult than that. I had courage of my convictions. I told everyone “ What would you do for me if I gave up this dream?” Can you take full responsibility for my life? I want to decide what I want to do because it is my life and life comes just once”. And finally they let me choose my own way. Actually, it was my very first time to choose my own way. I was never happy while I was in Japan.

The country could have been anywhere. I did not have particular liking where to study. The language could have been anything, too. I was not planning to study English from the beginning. But my father knew a Canadian Ambassador and he recommended me to go to Vancouver. At age of 16, I left Japan and started living in a home stay in a little town called “ Port Coquitlam ”.

The school I entered is a Canadian private school with many foreign students from all over the world. Therefore, the school has ESL classes of 4 levels. You can not take academic subjects unless you finish the ESL level 2.

The first semester, I had to take 4 ESL classes which I learned listening, writing, reading and speaking English. The teachers were all nice and the very first time in my life, I thought studying was fun. I studied very hard and I got very good marks. Then I became sure of that I had chosen the right way.

I learned a lot from my host family, too. The host parents told me to call them “Mom and Dad “ while other friends call their host parents by their first names. I was lucky to be in this house. They treated me like their own child. They opened a surprise Birthday party for me, celebrate Christmas with me, took me to a church, and so forth. That is how I learned Canadian culture. There were a host sister, Nicole, who is the same age as me, and a host brother, Ryan, who is younger than me by 2 years. They taught me many slangs or helped me with my homework. I spent my life just like an ordinary Canadian student. When I was having a problem of pronouncing Ls and Rs, my Mom and Dad told me that having an accent or grammar mistakes automatically proves that you are able to speak at least more than one language, so you should be proud and confident. They encouraged me a lot. My English was getting better day by day. And three months later, I was able to say what I wanted to say, but with a poor grammar.

The second semester, I took 2 ESL classes and 2 academic classes which do not require much English ability, such as Canadian Indian Art and Computer Science. As the time went by, I finished all the ESL classes and started taking academic classes. I took Social studies, Algebra, Accounting, English, and so on. The academic subjects were very difficult, so sometimes I had to burn the midnight oil. I learned so much from learning those subjects. Not only the subject itself, but also so many vocabularies and phrases. Catching up with Canadian students was always a problem, but somehow I survived. Many friends helped me, teachers volunteered their time for me. I could not have passed all the subjects without their warm help. Three years later, I took all the credits needed to graduate from high school and I took Provincial Examinations. Luckily, I passed the examinations on the first try. Some Canadians could not pass them.

The most comfortable thing in speaking in English was that I call myself “I”. In Japanese, there are so many words refer to yourself and it differs by their sex and age. For instance, women usually call themselves “ Watashi ” or “ Atashi “ or sometimes “ Uchi “ (Osaka dialect) and men call themselves “ Boku “ or “ Ore “ or “ Washi “( older men ). When I was in Japan, I hated and refused to call myself “ Watashi “because I did not recognize myself as a girl. But I did not want to call myself “ Boku “, either because it was too weird. In Canada, the problem was easily solved. I just call myself “ I “. Everybody call themselves “ I “ regardless of their sex or age.

Before going to Vancouver, I hated my first name “ Rika “ because it is too feminine. Rika is in Hiragana characters which only girls have. Men’s names are absolutely in kanji ( Chinese characters ). So I did not like this awfully feminine name. But after I went to Vancouver, of course, everyone called me “ Rika “ and I got used to it. I even started to like this name. Through using English, I was able to become” a person with no sex “ The words “ She “ or “ Her “ were kind of new words for me, so I accepted them naturally.

I wore boy’s clothes in Canada and had tremendously short hair, so sometimes I was mistaken for a boy. I was a little happier than being sad when someone called me “ he “ or “Mr “.

People around me, mostly Canadian, Hong Konger, Korean never minded what I wore or how I acted. They accepted me as I was. I think it has a close relationship that Canada is a multicultural country. People in Canada naturally accept people who are different from them. They respect the others. Therefore, it was very comfortable for me to be in Canada, especially Vancouver where there are tremendous numbers of immigrants.

However, I did not come out to anyone about my sexuality. Strictly speaking, I did not care or mind about my sexuality while I was in Canada. I had no chance to meet gay or lesbians. There was an area called “ a gay area “ but I could not go there because I was under age. I was a teenager so that I could not enter bars and clubs. There was no internet at that time, but despite this isolated situation, I was true me in a little town. People could have suspected that I was a lesbian, but nobody asked me or mentioned it to me. So that I could forget about my sexuality and just be who I was.

Needless to say, I had some crushes on girls, but surprisingly, at the same time, I had crushes on boys, too. At that time, I thought I was not completely lesbian. I could be a bisexual. I just had not had opportunities to meet boys when I was younger because I had attended women school. When I found out that I also liked men, I was happy. I felt I was totally free. I did not have to choose the sex to love. I just love whomever I love.

After spending four years in Vancouver, I came back to Japan. I really wanted to go to a college or university, but my father did not allow me to. So I could not help it. Instead, I decided to take Eiken ( Society for Testing English Proficiency ) pre-first grade to prove my English level. Pre-first grade is so difficult that the pass rate for the examination was only 7%. But I wanted to give it a try. Fortunately, I passed and I was so happy. I studied for the examination by myself. I did not attend any schools. I used reference books and studied difficult grammar, such as participial construction or third conditional and memorized tons of vocabularies. Since I had basic grammar knowledge, studying on my own was not so difficult. Actually, it was fun.

I passed Eiken pre-first grade, and wondering what to do next. Well-timed, my friend’s younger brother was studying English to go to Boston, and he had attended many English schools before he met me, but he did not like any of them. So his parents asked me to be his English tutor. It was my very first time to teach, but I took the chance. He substantially liked me and learned good English. His parents and he appreciated me so much that I thought I had found a vocation; to be a teacher.

I put advertisements on town magazines and got some students and stared teaching at my house or their houses. I taught English conversation and also a grammar for their school examinations. As I was teaching English ( sometimes Math or History as well ) I felt I needed to study English for myself . Thus, I found a British teacher near my house and took his advanced class.

After studying with him approximately half a year, he asked me to be his school’s teacher because he wanted to make his school bigger. Actually, he was the only teacher at his school and he thought I could be a big help as a teacher and a manager. So we started a new school where I taught variety of people, from three years old to people who had retired from their work. I did not come out to this British boss because I was afraid of losing this job. I worked at this school for about three years. Since I was teaching and managing the school almost all by myself ( which made me mad because everyone at the school put all work to me because I was the only one who can speak both English and Japanese ), I thought it could be possible to open my own school. After thinking twice, I quit this school and opened my own. I had no intention of working at a company, where I have to wear a uniform.

English is my bread-and-butter now. ( Or should I say it’s rice-and-soy sauce? )I teach, translate, and sometimes interpret. When I speak in English, I feel more comfortable and freer than speaking in Japanese. I think that it is because my English ability, especially vocabularies, is so limited that I have to use direct and simple words to express myself. When I use simple words, what I want to say becomes very clear and straightforward. Of course, there are many times that I have to struggle looking for right words, but somehow, I manage to express myself with limited vocabularies that I have.

There is a day that I can never forget about coming out in English. I was invited to a class at a Japanese major women college. My American friend was a professor at this college and he invited me to his class as an interviewee for the students as a model woman who has succeeded by using English. The students spoke quite good English and they had prepared questions for me to ask. They asked me formal questions for the first 30 minutes or so, then the atmosphere became very friendly. Then the students started asking me about my personal life, like if I had a boyfriend in Canada or if I’m dating with his professor. The professor had told me before the class that I could talk honestly if I wanted to, or I did not have to tell the truth if I want to hide about myself.

At that time, I suddenly thought I did not want to tell a lie to these women who were studying English eagerly and enjoying conversation with me. They were honest to me, so why did I have to tell a lie or made up a story. I simply said, “ I’m a lesbian, so I don’t date with boys. “ The students looked a little surprised at a moment, but 3 seconds later, all of them accepted my answer marvelously. And they asked me about how I feel being lesbian or what difficulties I have. I answered all of their questions honestly because I wanted to let them know that gay people could be anywhere, not only in the dramas or movies. Before coming out, they had seemed to like me and been interested in me, so I thought “ You like me, right? Hey, I’m a lesbian. Does it change your feelings toward me? No, right? See? Lesbian can be your friend. No big deal.” I think I was able to come out because we were talking in English. The students and even I, had to look for the right words, used simple English. I could not have done that in Japanese, maybe.

My foreign friends, especially people from western countries, are liberal and self-confident. So that it is easy and comfortable for me to say whatever I want to say. They are greatly patient with my poor English. Foreigners are tend to be open-minded and do not judge people at the first sight. On the contrary, Japanese, there is a trend toward gathering with people who are the same as the are. No wonder Japan had national isolation from 17^th century to 19^th century. I am not a racist, so I know that there are many plentiful Japanese or judgmental foreigners. What I am saying here is just my opinion. Or I am only very lucky to have warm-hearted foreign friends.

Therefore, coming out to foreigners are much easier than that to Japanese in aspect of language and cultural background. The word “ lesbian “ or “ bisexual “ are kind of discrimination words in Japanese. In English, they are not. So the lesbians in Japan call themselves “ bian “. It sounds cute and much less prejudice.

However, I do not come out to foreign co-workers at an English speaking café where I work once a week. There are/were some staffs I wanted to come out and tell the truth and be true friends, but I just did not have guts. And I will never come out to customers. There is less right information about sexuality in Japan compared to western countries. So that I am afraid of customers get a wrong impression about myself. In Japan, there is a proverb, “ Put a lid on smelly things “ and sexuality IS a smelly thing. They avoid talking about it, or when they talk about it, it’s usually dirty jokes or make fun of gay people. Probably, they do not know how to react when I come out. My mother cried and blamed herself for my being lesbian/bisexual. She can never understand true me and avoid talking about it. She thinks being gay is a mental illness and I should see a psychiatrist. My mother is not the only one who thinks this way. In my opinion, it occurs because of a lack of the right and proper information in Japan. Hence, I just come out only to some of my closest friends who understand and accept me.

When I was writing this essay, I faced a very funny problem: Should I call Japanese “ We “ or “ They “? Maybe I’m not fully Japanese. My nationality is Japan and I was born and raised in Japan, however, by the grace of spending my puberty in Vancouver, I am half Japanese and half Canadian. In fact, many people say that I am very much westernized. I’m proud of that. I can see and have good things both from Japan and Canada.

Living abroad for a long time changed my life completely. I can have jobs that I can be proud of, I became confident that I have something special ( being able to speak English ).

For a girl aged 16, studying abroad was a big and risky challenge, but I think it has succeeded. My English is still far cry from being perfect, so I would like to brush on my English. And it is my life work. So I will keep on studying.

Thank you very much for reading my story.

Is Okama Okay?

“it is through language that a person negotiates a sense of self within and across different sites at different points in time”[1]&

I met Minori where else but at karaoke. Having always loved to sing, especially around others who enjoy the hobby just as much as I do, Japan was a great place for me to put to good use all those years of classical voice training. Another friend of mine, Hiroe, told me that she had invited some friends of hers to join our karaoke party, friends who she said “really want to meet you.” I was flattered, but I just assumed that these friends were eager to meet Hiroe’s crazy English teacher and quickly forgot all about the additional guests that night. That is, until Minori walked in. My first impression told me that Minori was a lesbian. With short, spiky hair, no make-up, jeans and a men’s shirt, my experience in the gay and lesbian community helped me identify possible allies. Of course, there is no guarantee that my judgments are always correct.

There was a large crowd that night; 12 of us piled in to a small karaoke box<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[2]<!–[endif]–> complete with orange, vinyl-covered booths, a table set with remote controls for the television and catalogs of songs to choose from, and a large television screen on which to read the song lyrics while we sang. A number of my co-workers from the eikaiwa<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[3]<!–[endif]–> were present and even though we were requested by our employer not to socialize with students, none of us took this stipulation very seriously. The Japanese students, also cognizant of this rule, likewise paid it very little heed; there was an excitement shared by both Japanese and gaijin alike about entering each others’ worlds, becoming a part of each others’ communities.

 After a few songs, Minori looked at me across the table and said “Whole New World…you know it? Disney…Aladdin.”

“Yeah, of course I know it. Duet?” I replied.

“Yeah, but I get to be Aladdin, you can be Princess Jasmine.”

The crowd of teachers and students, on their way to becoming friends, got a kick out of this and before I knew it, the opening bars of the famous Disney duet began. We got plenty of laughs and a round of applause as I did my best diva impersonation; at 5’6”, with a shaved head and dark goatee, dressed in a black shirt, camouflage pants and black army boots, I’m sure it was amusing to hear me sing the part of the headstrong princess.

 When the night had ended, many of us exchanged keitai<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[4]<!–[endif]–> numbers and wished each other ja ne<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[5]<!–[endif]–>as we headed for our train stations. A few days later, Hiroe sent me a text message asking if I would like to celebrate my birthday with her and Minori and a few other friends. After being in Japan for only four months, I was flattered that my new friends would be so thoughtful.

When I arrived at Minori’s apartment for my birthday celebration, our other guests excused themselves to buy food for our party at the supermarket across the street while I stayed behind and chatted with Minori. I’m not sure how it came about, but Minori and I began discussing our sexuality. There was nothing secretive or shocking about it, as Minori was open with all of the friends we were meeting with that night, but I hadn’t said anything about my own sexuality to anyone but Hiroe. A previous encounter with a student-turned-friend and her own tomodachi<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[6]<!–[endif]–> had left me feeling very embarrassed. In retrospect, enthusiastically being outed as gay to a van full of mothers with children should have been a moment of pride for me (proud that my new friend felt so comfortable around me to share this with others), but instead I was mortified as I sat in the back of a van being stared at by three small, smiling Japanese children, one of whom had taken to stroking my arm hair in fascination. This friend followed her announcement of my sexuality with “and he used to smoke marijuana when he was in college.” Never had I so wished for magical powers of invisibility, though by her tone, I could tell she was bragging. Was I a trophy friend?

Anyhow, Minori explained to me that Hiroe was eager to introduce us to each other because both Minori and I were “gay”. I then asked Minori what the word for “gay” was in Japanese.

“Gay,” she replied, straightforwardly.

“No, I mean in Japanese,” I clarified.

“Gay…G-E-I is ‘gay’ in Japanese. We use the English word. It’s like in the word geisha, but that gei means “art”. Though we also use R-E-Z-U or just ‘rezubian’ for women…sometimes ‘homo’…sometimes ‘queer’.”

“Well, if I wanted to use Japanese, what would I say to people?”

“Eh-tou<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[8]<!–[endif]–>,” Minori paused for a moment and then continued, laughing, “I’m not sure, but maybe okama<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[9]<!–[endif]–>?”

And with that, I would begin telling people “Okama desu<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[10]<!–[endif]–>.”

Fast forward two years and while talking with a group of mostly gay, male, Japanese friends I was asked what I say to Japanese people when I want to tell them that I’m gay.

“Okama desu,” I replied. I was met with a few giggles.

“Do you know what okama means?” asked Ryohei.

“Hai, okama no imi wa gei, deshou<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[11]<!–[endif]–>?” I asked.

“Umm, okama usually refers to a ‘queen.’”

I was confused to say the least. I had been telling people that I was okama for two years now. I felt a heat wave of embarrassment. “You mean ‘queen’ as in ‘He’s so fem, he’s such a queen’?”

“So desu<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[12]<!–[endif]–>.”

“So I’ve been telling people that I’m a queen?”

“Well, we don’t usually say okama like that ‘cause it’s slang, you know. Maybe it’s kind of like saying ‘fag’. I think nihonjin<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[13]<!–[endif]–> prefer the English word ‘gay.’”

“When I hear okama I think of drag queens or crossdressers,” added Yutaka.

“Aren’t there any other Japanese words that aren’t English?”

“Doseiai, same sex love” replied Ryohei, “but it sounds so clinical…or medical.”

“Gay is best,” concluded Yoshihiro.

“Well that’s just great. I’ve spent the last twenty-four months telling people I’m a drag queen.”

This last comment was met with laughter. Then a female friend chimed in.

“Only my English-speaking friends know I’m a dyke,” explained Mika.

“What do you mean? Japanese people don’t know the word dyke, or you only tell gaijin that you’re rezu?” I asked, laughing at the intricacies of having to navigate the connotations of not one, but two linguistic systems.

“Well, I think some Japanese know the word dyke, but I mean that I don’t tell many people about it…about me. I think everyone who knows is very progressive. If my friends don’t speak English, I generally don’t tell them.”

Correspondence with a professor in Japan:

I am not sure how I can help you. I am straight, and I do not have any Japanese friends whom have confided that they are homosexual, so I do not have any insights into language and how one’s sexual identity is affected or expressed or restricted through language, but I intuitively feel that you are onto something.

I grew up in and around San Francisco where I worked with and developed friendships with people of all sorts of backgrounds, and as a young child I learned that my favorite cousin is gay. As a result, I believe that all love is good love, with the exception of abusive love. I want everyone to be happy and to be able to freely express their love. When I express this in my classes, I notice that some students seem to become more interested in the class or to listen to me more carefully.

In addition to classes general communication classes, I also teach classes related to American culture. I often cover issues related to gender and sexuality, and my students are deeply interested in these topics. I am sure that some of my current students and past students are homosexuals, but none of them have directly expressed it. However, several students have chosen to write about homosexuality in Japan and America for their graduation research paper.

From my own second language learning experiences with French, Thai, and Japanese, I realized that my personality changes according to the language that I use. When I speak Thai, I feel and become very playful. I love that language and completely relax when speaking it. There are concepts that can be expressed in Thai that I cannot easily express in English. With Japanese, I feel reticent and awkward. I dislike the Japanese language. Of course, Japanese also expresses some concepts that are not easily expressed in English. My Japanese wife who studied in America has often stated that there are times when English is much better than Japanese for expressing herself.

I believe that the structure of a language can match or block the psychological expression of a person. Perhaps, the perception of the majority of users of a language can have an effect on the ability to use that language to express oneself. Maybe, Japanese learners of English hold the stereotype that America is a free country. Those people might then be able to more freely express aspects of themselves that they do not openly express in their native language.

If I can help you, I will be happy to do so. If you would like me to take a survey or write answers to questions, etc., feel free to request that. I wish you the best of luck with your research.

“Synchronicity is the experience of two or more events which occur in a meaningful manner, but which are causally un-related. In order to be ’synchronistic’, the events must be related to one another temporally, and the chance that they would occur together by random chance must be very small.” – Wikipedia

“Meaning is where you put it.” – Marlen

So last night I went to dinner with Denise. Before meeting her I sat on the corner of Karasuma Shijo and pondered a) why can’t I stop sweating? and b) will we be able to find something to talk about after all this time?

Silly me, a) I sweat therefore I am, and b) it’s Denise!

Needless to say, we had a wonderful dinner and Denise’s energy and creativity always inspire me. Moreover, it makes me happy, no, actually, it moves me when I find friends in calm, healthy places. But here’s the amazing part of the story, for truly, isn’t life a maze? And we never know who will be walking the same labyrinth…

Quick note – I’ve been sure that I would meet friends and students randomly (?) throughout this trip. First Miho found me just weeks before my travel, and then I was fairly certain I saw one of my old students in Hankyu Umeda, though I wasn’t certain enough to initiate conversation; I made eye contact telling myself that if he had been the student I was thinking of, surely he would have said something or recognized me…

Back to Denise…Nearing Sanjo Dori, for we had decided to take a walk down a particular back alley thoroughfare after dinner, we approached a Tully’s coffee shop. As we strolled past an array of Kyoto architecture, chattering about how much we enjoy the city, Kyoto gave me a present: Tomo and Steve. At first, I saw Tomo’s face and felt that echo of familiarity, but I kept walking. And my head kept turning. “I’m not going to let this opportunity pass,” I thought.

I pointed my finger at his face and slowly drifted towards where he was sitting.

“Don’t I know you?” I asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, I know you!” I exclaimed as I made a path straight towards him.

“Bikurishita! Ma-chan!”

“Hisashiburi, desho!?!”

Synchronicity…it’s a beautiful thing. Tomo and I had been friends while I was living in Japan but hadn’t seen each other in years. Even more amazing is that weeks after I had left Washington, DC to move to Osaka, he had left Osaka to move to Washington, DC. And even more amazing than that is the crazy fact that he had actually befriended one of my old friends from DC! We both knew Bill Sewicki!

Sitting with Tomo was his friend Steve, a teacher at a prestigious, local university. Of course a conversation ensued about my research during which time the following happened:

1) Tomo noted that the first person he had come out to was his English teacher. When asked why not a Japanese acquaintance, he explained that it was “too close to home”. He felt safer talking to someone with some cultural and ostensibly some linguistic distance.

2) Steve told the story of how during one of his courses a female student had come out to the class, adamantly announcing that she was tired of all this talk of marriage – she had no intention of ever getting married because she was gay. We discussed the significance of Steve’s identity in the classroom, the presence of topics in the English classroom that are likely never discussed in Japanese language classrooms, and the connections between language and culture.

All of this is beautiful, don’t you think? Both Steve and Tomo spoke to my hypotheses about English language and Japanese sexualities and had Denise not taken me to a specific restaurant on a specific street, we might never had strolled by Tully’s and might never have had such a research-affirming conversation.

By the way, Denise had given me three choices for dinner – three restaurants all in the same area. Had we chosen to go to a different restaurant that night, I wonder what would have happened…

Two weeks ago I went to Gunma prefecture to present my manuscript about critical composition pedagogy and the power of “no”, the first time to present this manuscript to an audience. I like the term “audience” because to my surprise, about half of the presentation turned out to be a performance (but really, aren’t they all?).

What I didn’t expect while discussing the power of “no” was that there would be an angel present who would say “yes”.

Having never met Michele before, there was a great space of unfamiliarity to cross. During the lunch that preceded the presentation, we got to know each other better and by the end of the day a warmth emanated from her gaze. During lunch I had mentioned Barbara Summerhawk’s collection of stories, Queer Japan, and to my surprise, Michele explained that she actually knew Barbara and would introduce my work to her.

A week later I met Michele again, this time at the JALT/JACET conference, and again she would be my audience for yet another performance – who knew I could get up in a bar to sing Gershwin’s Summertime to a small crowd of my peers?

And a day later, Michele is my audience again, and this time there is no unfamiliar space, only support, encouragement, and requests for clarification. It seems as if I have made a friend merely by being myself and being present. Throughout the following days, I would receive no less than 3 emails from Michele introducing me to various individuals who might offer their support, the most surprising name amongst the group being Jane Joritz-Nakagawa, a writer whom I had tried to contact in fall of 2007 but to no avail (see GayIdentity).

In one of my emails to Michele, I called her “my angel” because to me, an angel is a guardian, a guide, or an instigator, a presence overseeing connections and offering comfort or support. This term is only metaphorical, for I don’t know that I actually believe in such phenomena, but if ever there was an angel overseeing my progress in Japan, surely Michele is boku no tenjin, desho?!

I started writing a post yesterday entitled “Headspin 2.0″ because since arriving at the Tokyo airport, I feel like I’ve been all second glances and confusion…but it’s a happy yayakoshi yo!

I guess I have to start with Kamakura…You see, about 10 or so years ago I took an art therapy class at George Washington University in which one of my projects was to create an image of my adolescent ego ideal. Slightly unsure of what exactly I wanted to create, I found myself flipping through a Conde Nast Traveler one evening and settling on the image of a large, weathered buddha.

Why buddha? Easy enough question to answer, but for that, I have to go back even farther.

I’m not entirely sure what originally brought me to Buddhism (using a capital “B” here seems slightly incorrect), but I remember being about 13 or 14 and reading Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha, a book which made great sense to me. I know that I then re-read it a couple of times and even bought a copy for my friend Alyson – I wanted everyone close to me to experience the same sense of enjoyment from Hesse’s story…if I remember correctly, my enthusiasm even brought the book to my mother’s eyes, though I am certain she had already read it once herself. Anyhow, around the same time, I also picked up a collection of writing by Lao Tzu, a little book entitled “Tao Te Ching”. Something was compelling me to look East.

I grew up in the Western Judeo-Christian traditions, but they never really made much sense to me. For most of my young life, that kind of religion always seemed synonymous with hatred, judgment, murder, war, don’t do this, etc. The idea of God as I knew it was either frightening or not resonating with what I felt inside. 7 years of Hebrew school didn’t help much…just the opposite. Although I do have a great appreciation and love for my cultural heritage, religion just didn’t fit me.

Ok, so back to the story about Kamakura. So there I am sitting in my little Washington, DC living room having settled on the image of a buddha for my class project. I took out my pens and paints and began to create an illustration – a head and shoulders from which sun rays emanated and within which a buddha sat perched in a tree…the same buddha from the magazine.

I like that illustration – the images are rich with symbolism. I liked it so much during my 20’s that during a particularly dark period, I decided to have the buddha and the tree tattooed on my upper left arm. Let me further explain that at the time, I neither knew anything about Japan nor had any inkling of the significance that it might one day hold for me.

About 5 years after the tattoo, I decided that I would move to Japan. The story is simple – someone I had been working with told me about Nova English conversation schools and the seed that was then planted immediately grew into a tree whose branches would reach half way around the world.

And so I lived in Japan for 4 years and it was there that I became a man. I left the USA a confused, young person, but returned to the USA as a focused, more secure adult.

So back to Kamakura, a place that as of today I still have never visited. Before my return trip to Japan this summer, I decided to purchase a blank book in which I could write notes about the reading materials for my dissertation and whatever else I felt needed to be pressed into a page. It was just a spur of the moment idea really, walking back to the apartment I stay in while visiting New York City, deciding to enter the large Barnes and Noble bookshop in front of Lincoln Center.

And as I examined shelf after shelf of diaries, journals and notebooks, there it was – a notebook with an image of a buddha, my buddha, on its front cover. As I flipped through the blank, lined pages, I found various quotes such as “In the beginner’s mind, there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind there are few” (Suzuki). The quote from the back cover was especially exciting, “There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth: not going all the way and not starting” (Buddha). I was so excited that I immediately purchased it and the entire path from Siddhartha, to grad school illustrations, to tattoo, to Japan, and to Barnes and Noble seemed even more inevitable.

On my first day of return to Japan, a return that would last nearly two months and bring me to various places around my old home, I decided that I should visit Kamakura. It was time for me to make that pilgrimage and stand before the buddha, my buddha, that served as a guide to me throughout all these years. And as I type this, a great wealth of emotion stirs within my belly; thinking of the once famous Coca-Cola slogan, “I feel Coke”, I make a small change – “I feel Japan”.

Now that this story has been told, I can return to Headspin 2.0, because everywhere I look I see smiling faces, open arms, and possibilities. Not only do I feel comfortable rejoining the old conversations, my seat still warm since the last time I got up from it, but the conversation is able to still include me, and for that I am grateful. But not being a person who can stay in one place for very long, I am confused about how long I should continue the conversation. Surely I will be able to climb my tree back across the Pacific at any time, but I sense that there are other branches I must also climb, and other conversations I must enter.

At least 3 or 4 times an hour my mind volleys between ideas of returning to Japan and staying in the USA. There are indeed opportunities for me to return, and reasons why I should return, just as there are reasons to stay. I have so many friends here and can navigate with such ease that it only makes sense for me to return, but at the same time, I think of those other branches not yet climbed, those other conversations not yet started…jack of all trades, master of none…

A few weeks a go a Japanese female friend of mine (T) emailed me asking if she could bring a Japanese male acquaintance (K) by my office to meet me. I happily agreed and so I met with T and her friend. At first I was a bit puzzled about why he wanted to meet me – he was an exchange student from Osaka who was preparing to leave the US and return to Japan. When I asked him what I could do for him, he simply smiled and said that he heard about me from some of my doctoral program colleagues and was curious about who this guy was who had lived in Osaka and could speak a little Japanese. At that, I was still unsure what exactly our visit would accomplish, but I began to get a feeling that T knew exactly what she was doing and that perhaps she had brought this guy to my office for a very different reason.

With no clear purpose for a conversation, I began to talk about my dissertation and experiences in Japan, asking K’s opinion on various topics. He remained quiet, smiling and nodding his head as T and I began to laugh about stories where she witnessed my Japanese L2 identity (the most amusing being her story of my bowing at the steering wheel when driving and backing the car into a parking space, Japanese style before shopping at Pittsburgh’s Little Tokyo market and eating mochi ice cream).

Our conversation lasted about an hour and we agreed that it could be fun for K and I to meet while I was traveling through Japan later that summer. I asked him to email me his Japanese cell phone number so that we could correspond and then gave him my email address.

Later that day, I noticed a baseball hat sitting on the floor next to one of the chairs where my students usually sit. I couldn’t recall who had worn it, but I figured sooner or later I’d get an email from someone asking if it was still there.

A few minutes later, I received an email from K, thanking me for meeting with him, and telling me that he might be able to help me with my research.

I think I may have something to tell you besides my keitai number.

Then, upon my asking if he should like to meet at my office again, this time without T, this email followed:

Hi, I forgot to tell you. I’m actually gay. Please keep it secret.

And then, wondering if he had left his hat behind…

I think I left my Penguin hat in your office. I would like to get it before a class on Monday around 10:30, if you are available.

“Ah hah,” I thought, “a reason for him to come back and chat with me again.

And then, another email…

I am glad that I finally found someone I can talk about what I really am. I have been pretending I am a straight, which brought some problems. haha…

And yet another:

About what I told you in my other email – please don’t tell anyone, only a few of my American friends know. I don’t tell the other Japanese students.

The Closet in the Classroom: A personal narrative

Indiana University of Pennsylvania instructor, Marlen Harrison, reflects on queer sexualities in the Japanese TESOL classroom. Through personal narrative, Harrison examines both the ramifications of coming out to students and the presence of queer sexualities in ESL/EFL instruction.

On my first day as a university teacher in Western Japan, I entered the classroom and felt both a flurry of excitement and wave of heated fear. “Would they like me?” I wondered. “Will they accept me?” I continued. After all, this would be my first time to be alone and completely autonomous in a university setting. I had taught before, but as a university teaching assistant, and as a private and small group teacher. In my previous experience at a well-known eikaiwa (English conversation school), I had struggled with questions like “Are you married?”; “Do you have a girlfriend?”; and “What kind of women do you like?” These questions were difficult because when it comes to my sexual orientation and gender identity, I have lived my life in an honest manner. My belief is that it is useful to be self-revelatory if the issue arises if only to illustrate that gay men are not all mentally ill pedophiles and sex addicts. Moreover, I don’t believe in the coming out proclamation; just as heterosexual people needn’t announce their heterosexuality, I don’t believe it a necessity to announce my homosexuality. My mode of everyday communication is infused with authentic commentary about myself without a need for spectacle or apology. I believe that disclosure also illustrates an absence of shame and it has been my experience that such revelation has led to acceptance, questioning, and ultimately informed perspectives. Now, all this being said, I do not wish to hold myself as an example; I believe to each his/her own. We all have our own ways of discussing our identities as dictated by our own emotional and developmental needs. So, when asked the questions above, it was difficult for me to be purposely vague. I had no idea what the repercussions would be should I disclose my identity to my students. Would I be fired? Would I be questioned? Would I be told not to talk of such things? This reticence is a sad reflection on my internalized homophobia, my being still uncomfortable enough with my identity such that I had to worry about keeping it secret.

As I approached the teacher’s podium in the classroom that first day, I was immediately met with the comment “Teacher is handsome.” I was flattered to be sure, but the fact that the comment came from a young man made the situation more than a little confusing. I can’t imagine a heterosexual male student in an American university who meeting his teacher for the first time would announce “Teacher is handsome.” Not even a minute had passed and already I was faced with my first challenge – what should I say? I said thank you, smiled, and continued unpacking my bag. I went into my usual shtick of saying “hello” and “welcome” and proceeded by handing out my course syllabus. On the front of the syllabus was a list of questions for students to ask one another, a warm-up that would allow me to actually hear my students and get a feel for their abilities. Upon completion of this activity, students were asked to work together in small groups to brainstorm questions for their teacher. Again, immediate difficulty arose when the first group asked “Do you prefer Japanese or American women?”

Two hours later, I had been wandering the campus looking for a place to eat lunch when I saw two of my students from my morning class. They motioned to join them and I hesitantly did so. I asked them if they enjoyed our first class together and they replied yes, they had, but that it seemed like the course would be challenging. Yoko, the first of the two young women to initiate conversation with me actually used that word, “challenging”. The wide range of student abilities had surprised me. Without further ado, Yoko continued her line of questioning, no doubt eager to practice her English, illustrate her skills, and to earnestly get to know me better. I looked around the room and concluded that I must have been the only teacher present. “Maybe teachers didn’t socialize with their students,” I pondered. Yoko asked me the standard questions about my hometown, hobbies, where I was living and then of course came my own challenge, “Do you have a lover?” This caught me off guard. Surely if she had used a word like “challenge” she would understand the difference between asking about a wife and asking about a lover. Or would she? And if she did, how would she have guessed that I was the kind of man who would have a male lover?

Such situations were typical over the next four years. “Purposely vague” became my modus operandi, and with each dishonesty came a sting of betrayal. I was betraying not only myself by withholding my identity, but betraying all of those who had struggled with hiding their own identities. A friend of mine, a fellow student in my PhD program, once wrote, “If certain identities are never spoken of, it may create the impression that there is something shameful about that identity.” I knew this despite my lack of disclosure; how could I champion honesty and yet not be honest about myself? It seemed that I was not the person I had earlier characterized myself to be. At least, this was how I felt at the beginning of my experience.

The real issue was that I was a stranger in a strange land. I don’t mean to suggest that Japan is an odd place, but that to me, so unsure of my footing on a daily basis, my sexuality was at the bottom rung of the ladder of daily challenges. From language, to train schedules, I was constantly faced with successfully accomplishing the everyday tasks of living. And so I decided that self-betrayal was the least of my worries.

With my friends, I was different. I was honest, open, and wholly myself. But the classroom was an extension of employment and though I had never been worried about my identity with prior employers (mental health settings and hospitals), I did question whether or not the classroom was a place to come out. I likened it to a therapy session, as I had previously worked as a counselor: The identity of the therapist is not relevant to the needs of the client, and this was the position I would take while in Japanese classrooms. Unfortunately, this was almost equal to “Don’t ask, don’t tell” in my mind. I reasoned that my professional world was separate from my private world, although with colleagues, I was myself. This interpersonal space was not a realm in which I was willing to compromise. So, this was my approach to creating my teacher identity in the early days as a TESOL instructor in Japan.

Towards the end of that first school year, I was discussing metaphors with one of my classes of English majors. They were bright, affable, and enjoyable students (most of my students were) and I almost thought of them as family. Afterall, they were the ones I had cut my teeth on, the first to teach me how to be a teacher. One of my male students joined the discussion, practicing making metaphor by offering “Marlen is a pansy.” He smiled, and the other students sitting in his group apparently liked this metaphor. Similar to that first day of class, I was struck by the comment, wondering if he realized the connotation of the word pansy. I felt embarrassed, suddenly thirteen years old again and being harassed at school. Amazing thing, the power of words. I wish I could tell you that I pressed him and asked for explanation. I didn’t. I tried to cover the flush of embarrassment by quickly moving to another student’s metaphor, which thankfully this time was about the mountains being sleeping giants. A learning opportunity had been missed.

My four years in Japan often run together like watercolors laid next to each other, one memory blends and bleeds into the next and so I can’t say for certain anymore who was the first student I actually did come out to. As I mentioned earlier, this was not generally my way; second thinking the moment, waiting to announce “okama desu”, a word that I learned from a gay Japanese friend for lack of any other Japanese word for homosexual. It was later explained to me that okama usually refers to a man who acts like a woman, onna no hito poi. Anyhow, I think the first person I admitted my identity to was Naoko, a bright 2^nd year English major whose emails I had been checking one day (students were required to exchange emails with English-writing penpals). I remember turning the pages, counting them to confirm completion of the project when I saw the sentence “I think I’m a lesbian” typed at the bottom of a paragraph. “What do I do about this?” I wondered. I presented myself with a range of options: 1) Do nothing, say nothing; 2) Mention that I read this sentence and that if she wanted to talk I was there for her; or 3) Mention that I had read this sentence, make myself available to talk, and disclose my identity. It was a tough decision, but I went with option 3. My experiences coming out to Japanese friends and colleagues had thus far been positive; I was always met with acceptance, though I’ll never know what thoughts remained unexpressed. The ramifications of coming out to a student seemed immense, and as soon as I had spoken to Naoko, I found myself second-guessing my actions. Naoko never did come back to speak to me, though one day she came out to her classroom work group. Their conversation as I observed it went something like this:

Takahiro: “You are gay?”

Naoko: “Yes. Well, maybe bi-sexual.”

Chihiro: “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Naoko: “No.”

Takahiro: “Oh.”

And that seemed to be the entire conversation, accompanied by head-nodding and no further comment, in class anyhow.

I see now, after reading articles on post-this and critical-that – post-structuralism, post-methodology, and critical pedagogy – that the learning opportunities were immense, and I seem to have missed most of them. I could have discussed the issue with my students, but would that have necessitated self-disclosure? Maybe not, but perhaps fear got in my way.

After coming out to Naoko, I came out to a few of my other students, but never in class. It usually happened while we were sitting on a train, my student and I headed in the same direction, or while eating lunch with my students, a practice that I took a liking to and so made a habit. When my relationship with my partner grew serious, some of my students were invited to my home for an engagement party. In these small ways, I was being authentic with my students. But there was something specific to the classroom setting that always seemed prohibitive of self-disclosure.

Throughout my years in Japan, there were students that, while I couldn’t say for certain, I pretty much assumed to be queer. Assumption is a dangerous thing though, and so never did I directly confront students about their identities, with the exception of Naoko. If they wanted to talk with me, they could have. But now I question if I ever truly gave students an opportunity to do so. How did I let them know that it was ok to talk with me? I never discussed homosexuality, for example, in my classrooms. Queer identities were never present in any of the teaching materials I used and aside from Naoko, none of my students ever admitted to being queer in any of my classes, or at least not that I was aware of. Not only were queer identities not an “issue” in my classrooms, the topic never really came up, despite the opportunities for discussion as noted above.

Strangely enough, there was one event that stands in stark contrast to my otherwise reticence or fear of approaching sexual identity. A close friend of mine, also an English teacher, is a Japanese lesbian. With short hair, jeans and sneakers, and no jewelry or make-up, Minori had a difficult time finding her place in the Japanese lesbian community. She often commented that she only felt like she could be herself when speaking English, a sentiment that I would hear echoed time and time again. She was not out to her mother though most of her friends knew Minori’s true identity.

I had been teaching two sections of an advanced English seminar at a private women’s college and had developed the curriculum to be a content-driven women’s studies course the first half of the year, and a conversation-driven, task-based learning course for the second. Projects included debates on current events, character studies, and final projects related to language learning and identity, all chosen and directed by the students. Towards the end of the first semester, about the time Minori and I had become close friends, I wondered about the feasibility of asking Minori to come to my classes for an interview. Minori was a strong and independent woman who had spent time in Canada studying English and upon her return to Japan, had opened her own private language school. I felt that Minori was a successful person, a fluent English-speaker, an appropriate role model that my students could talk with and possibly take inspiration from.

About a week prior to Minori’s visit to my classes, she had asked how she should handle her sexual identity while talking with the students. Thinking back to my own philosophy about communication of identity, I suggested that if the topic arose, she could, if comfortable enough, be honest about herself. She agreed that this was a reasonable approach. My students had prepared and practiced questions for Minori and when the interviews ensued, she found herself coming out to them. The process was moving and emotional due to many factors. Minori had come out to very few people at that point, and now here she was revealing herself to two groups of strangers. Moreover, my students exhibited no knee-jerk reactions. On the contrary, they openly admitted to admiring her bravery. Perhaps most poignantly, I saw her doing what I had not. In the way I had so often come out to my own friends and family, but not to my students, so did Minori when faced with questions about whether or not she had dated Canadian men, did she have a boyfriend, and were she and I dating. I dodged the bullet in Japan whereas in America I had not. And here was Minori, sitting next to me, being herself.

At the end of the semester when asked what their best experience in my courses had been that school year, my students almost unanimously agreed that meeting Minori was the highlight of their time with me. About a week after Minori came to my classes, she also came out to her mother, though not meeting quite the same level of acceptance as with my students. When I asked her why she chose to finally reveal herself to her mother, she shrugged her shoulders and stated that she had finally found the courage. I think she had it all along but just never realized it.