Mount Takao on Children’s Day

The day-to-day living in the passively pungent suburbia had worn me down so much that I felt like crying. I needed an escape, to a place where the air was unsullied, where the terrain was overwhelmed by giant cedars, and where the sound was clear but for the trill of birds.
So what did I do? Go mountain hiking!

However, when I got to the cable car station at the base of Mount Takao, this was what I found.

Never mind, we intended to walk from the base anyway.
But even though we chose to go by the most treacherous trail, I still found it jammed with an irksome boodle of amateur hikers, just like me.

Naturally, the summit too was chaotic.

Mount Takao, being so accessible from Tokyo, has always been a popular hiking spot for the Tokyoites, but ever since it was introduced by the Michelin, the congestion has soared so ridiculously to render what was once a freshening experience into one that is utterly worthless.

It’s a beautiful mountain with a lovely shrine close to the summit, but with the way it is now, I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.

Here are some more pictures. Do enjoy!

Vernal Rain

I love the way the vernal rain
makes dim the distant landscape
into unfocused freckles of pastel hues;
I love the way it radiates forth
the succulent brilliance of objects beside me
by soaking up in entirety
those that are pale and doubtful.

Road to Adulthood

Okay, I admit it. This morning, I did hover around my kid just a wee too much. Until my interruption, he was happily telling me how a farewell party was going to be held for the graduating seniors at his table tennis club. The school club opted for a relatively modest event, he said, with a few beverages and biscuits as accompaniment. He said he was glad of this decision, because if it were to be a feasting with barbecue and cakes like some other clubs, he wouldn’t be able to join in the fun. He has, after all, food allergies, and it still hurts to see others merry-make over food that he cannot eat.

I should simply have listened to what he had to say and left it at that. But no, when a topic about food arises, I can’t help but go haywire. My unrestrained mind started bobbing out tin fish full of worries by the dozens, prompting me to blast out admonitions on how he must not eat any of the biscuits served, and how he must keep strictly to drinking tea. As if that weren’t enough I then remarked, “Will you be all right with that?” With a sullen and reserved tone my son told me to “Stop yapping, please,” and assured me that he was quite capable of handling the situation by himself.

I know I sound like a detrimental helicopter parent, but I have my reasons too! Only two days ago did I find this kid return home from school all teary-eyed after a row with his archenemy, asking for my help to sort the matter out. He still so often acts like a baby to me!

Now, concerning this row that my son had with this particular boy from the same school club, there were also a few previous incidents that I found rather disturbing. In particular, once during a walk home from school, a war of words between the two ended with my son getting hammered on the head with an umbrella from behind. I contacted his mother immediately to tell her what had happened, which led to her apologizing to me with an utmost courtesy, but I was left with an impression that the culprit in question remained utterly unrepentant. My advice to my own son to steer clear of the boy proved futile, for the bugbear seemed evermore determined not to be shaken off.

With the situation exacerbating, it was time for me to inform the school, and trust an experienced teacher who knew them both to arbitrate on the feud. The teacher worked wonders. Yesterday, both my son and his foe were called in together to a conference room to talk out the situation, with the teacher providing an objective and analytic voice throughout the meeting. Despite receiving a few stern words from the pedagogue for his own actions too, I saw my son come home all cheerful and relieved. Thank goodness for that. Or was it, because I sensed in him a buried reserve toward me that questioned my actions of delegating the matter to an uncommitted teacher without prior notice. To him, it might have looked as if I had broken yet another strand of mutual trust, a mother and child collusive bond that ties us firmly together from the time of birth.

I guess this is just the way children and mothers grow up: toing and froing and fretting and shoving between the entrancing interdependence we have with each other and the liberating break away as individuals to act as we please. If my son is indeed ready to take more and more steps away from me, then I must learn to trust in him and leave him to make decisions of his own. And in that case, he can start by taking care of the state of his own room too!

Japan Times – Paraphrasing or Metaphrasing

The Japan Times newspaper has a feature column on Japanese to English translation in which an old newspaper article is presented together with a translated, English text version. I thought I’d try my hand at J>E translation too. The text below is my rendition, which probably doesn’t mean much to my readers who have no access to the newspaper column in question here, but never mind.

I was actually pretty smug about this translation, that is until I compared it to the model answer that was given in the column. My version looks NOTHING like the translation done by an expert, darn!

The problem isn’t that I’m totally hopeless at translation, but that I seem to put too much weight on the profluence of the finished product (don’t snigger, I’m serious). What I find with Japanese J>E translators is that, they seem overly dedicated to reflecting the original text, phrase to phrase. I don’t like doing that. And that is a problem, because if metaphrasing is the norm, wouldn’t my liberal way of paraphrasing look too dangerously unorthodox?

Here is my translation. I have also added a snippet of the model answer that was given in the column. I must admit in advance that I did go overboard with paraphrasing at one point, but then again, I did think it necessary for non-native readers to receive an added insight.

(Translation for an article given in the ‘Communication Cues’ column from the 14th January edition of the Japan Times.)
“An urgent inquiry into bullying found a total of 144,000 cases in schools across the country. In response to the findings, the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology issued a notice urging prefectural boards of education to give credit to teachers who, instead of disavowing, take positive measures against bullying that occur in their classrooms.

 The ministry called for schools and boards of education to revise the teacher appraisal method whereby the ability of a teacher is assessed simply on the number of reported cases of bullying in class, as this might impair their willingness to tackle the situation. The notice requested for additional criteria to be included so that teachers are given credit on their efforts to take preventative action against bullying, catch early warning signs, and also on their ability to take swift action when problems do arise. Additionally, the notice requested that further surveys be conducted at all schools, and also cooperation be given to local police when necessary.”

(Part of a model translation that was given in the column)
“In the notice, the ministry requested that when evaluating teachers, boards of education and schools should not only focus on whether bullying is happening, or the number of bullying cases, as the target of evaluation, but try to evaluate their efforts in preventing bullying or discovering it at an early stage, and for reacting promptly.”

I see a mournful silence of austerity before me

Season’s greetings to you all.

I hesitate to use the phrase, “Happy New Year,” when so many of us continue to face the harshness of austerity. Well, at least the fiscal cliff crisis looks likely to be averted, even if somewhat tentatively. Hopefully this means that negative repercussions to the Japanese economy will be avoided for the time being, and my, what a relief that is.

Straight after the Lehman’s fall, companies in Japan took rationalization measures whereby employees on temporary hire were laid off by the thousands. Now, it is the employees in permanent positions who are getting the axe. Only yesterday did my newspaper give a front page coverage on Panasonic’s heartless measures being taken to consign unwanted employees into resignation. My husband also works in the waning manufacturing industry, so we can hardly afford to look at the situation with indifference.

Whatever harshness this new year might bring, I am adamant that I continue to provide my family with love and comfort that they deserve. Let this be my new year’s resolution.

Best wishes, everyone.

Ayano xxx.

The Pain of Dealing with a Problem Child

I once heard my sister say to me, “Isn’t it only fair that a problem child causing disruption gets expelled from school?” It was not for the rhetorical nature of the statement that I failed to respond with negation, but because I knew this was a brutally honest opinion which I daresay, more than a few parents would nod their heads in silence.

I am indeed familiar with the anxiety felt when one’s own child gets harmed by a troublesome classmate, but to concede that I would be willing to expunge someone’s child for the well-being of my own puts me too much at unease. Besides, unlike my sibling who has her kids at a private elementary school, I let my son go to a state school where expulsion is impracticable. Moreover, a brief engagement with one such youngster taught me that confrontation and not indifference is the key to procuring trust and compliance from unruly children.

During the first four years of my son’s junior school, I went in to sit with his class every day for lunch. This was to allow my son to enjoy his bento among his friends who ate school meals laden with allergens that were hazardous to him. Anyway, in my final year of chaperoning, I watched my son’s class collapse into dysfunction with several boys retrogressing from gambol imps into hell-raising nincompoops. There was one kid in particular who seemed insistent on throwing himself into self-destruction.

My first impression of the kid was that of a mischievous but observant child, whose sturdy build and playful demeanour carelessly attracted attention from much of his peers. I saw him as a genuinely happy nine year old at the beginning. But as the year progressed, he seemed to become hoarded by vexation, which on occasions seethed and visualized into his midday meals belched out across the classroom floor. I doubt if he was at all comfortable with his own antics, for even though his eyes were wild with defiance, they were also fraught with desperation.

The incident occurred when we were nearing the end of the final term. When I entered the classroom at midday, half the class and the teacher had already left and descended down to the school kitchen to collect and bring back their buffet lunch. The remaining fifteen or so children were scattered across the room studded with clustered desks of quadruples. Some chatted, others read books. As I settled myself at one of the makeshift tables disposed around the centre of the room, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then suddenly, a boy in gray hoodie came darting from the rear into the fringe of my vision, closely followed by another figure.

It took a moment of concentration to realize that the pursuer was the kid. Grabbing the prey by the scruff of his hoodie, the kid dragged the boy with one arm to the end of the room and kicked him twice, hard. I saw the hoodie boy collapse wanly to the ground. “That’s enough! Stop it.” The kid never turned to look at me but he heard me alright. With a languorous air of yeah-like-you-can-stop-me, kicked his victim with another powerful thud. I shouted.

“I wouldn’t even try to stop you if you were just fighting. But you know what? It takes two to fight. What you are doing is ASSAULTING a person who haｓ shown no will to fight back!”

Maybe I had the face of an ogre with glinting eyes and baring fangs because my booming out silenced the theretofore jeering crowd. Frankly, I couldn’t care less. I had a boy to help put back on his feet. By the time the teacher returned with the her troop of white coats rollicking with pots and pans brimming with hot meals, the classroom was back to order.

As lunch commenced, I noticed that the kid’s meal was left untouched. No wonder, for he had retreated in the safety of the soft shell of his sweater, curled up into a red ovoid perched neatly on a kiddie chair. Sporadic quivers of the sweater told me he was crying. It pained me deeply to see him so.

I walked over and crouched by his side. Stroking his back, I talked to him. “You had your reasons for acting the way you did, but I never even bothered to ask, did I? I slammed you outright and left it at that. I am sorry.” The carapace jolted, and I heard the crack of intense sobbing, an uninhibited protest against a self righteous adult that I was.

Bear with me a moment longer, for I have yet to provide you with the complete picture. Return to school the following day and what do I see, a ring of boys tossing amongst themselves a piece of stationery that the hoodie boy was adamant to have back. And who would the assailants ultimately consign the object to, but the kid? Yes, let us all hold our breaths for the bully to rout his prey, to enjoy the spectacle as a guiltless crowd. On that day, however, the kid refused to participate. He had been devoting his time to make paper tops with a bunch of crafty classmates before being handed over with the filched object. After a momentary pause and taking no offence from the hoodie boy’s indignant voice of, “Give it back, please!” he let the object roll out of his hand and quietly returned to his handiwork.

Some of the wily boys tried to intimidate the hoodie boy a few times after that, but without the kid as their backer, the hoodie boy could stand up for himself. I saw the bullying game fizzle out to nought.

Rokuro-kubi

Rokuro-kubi A mythic creature whose head loosens from the body to wander in the dark of night. The neck may either elongate or lacerate.

Once upon a time, there lived a lone, young man in the city of Edo, who spent his days dreaming of finding a beauteous girl to marry. For an unprepossessing commoner like him though, this was rather an ambitious wish to have, since when it came to choosing a spouse, the assertive and self-reliant Edo girls made sure that they were the ones with the upper hand. Some girls even chose the life of a wealthy man’s mistress over setting up a home with a skint Edo man.

So, had this story not been set in the land of multitudinous gods, I guess the narrative would have ended right here. Luckily for this young man, the saying has it that, when one god deserts you, another one will pick you up. And so it was that a well-meaning landlord of the tenement came by to offer him news of a prospective bride.

“The one requisite for this union is that you must marry into her family,” said the landlord. “As the only daughter of a wealthy merchant family, she needs to produce an heir to preserve the lineage. A willowy girl of sweet temperament; I do think that you’ll make a perfect husband for her. I must inform you though, that she is troubled by a malady of a peculiar sort.”

When the landlord tried to elaborate on her condition, the ecstatic young man cut him short by declaring that his unwavering love and loyalty will overcome the most serious of ailments. After all, living the high life in a palatial residence sounded so much better than remaining stuck in this hovel of six tatami mats.

And so in a whirlwind he tied the knot to a beautiful bride. He was overjoyed, all the more so because, as hard he looked, he could find but not a single flaw in her. That was, until he woke up unawares in the deep darkness of the wedding night.

Unaccustomed to the luxury of a soft, silky futon, the man found himself awake. Turning to his side, he felt let down at first when the countenance of his charming bride could not be located. Instead, what he saw with his squinting eyes was a headless, frigid body from which grew out a serpentine cord that stretched way beyond the window half open.

Terrified, the man bolted out of the residence and headed straight to the landlord’s home, determined to put the matchmaker through a rigorous catechism.

“What were you thinking,” reproached the young man, “hitching me with a rokuro-kubi!”

“But I tried to warn you of her flaw. You wouldn’t listen,” said the landlord unrepentantly. “And anyway, I don’t understand what the big fuss is about. If you can sleep soundly through the night, clearly there is no seeable problem.”

“Besides,” he continued, “now that you have shared bed with her, don’t you think it’s too late to back out? You’ll be sued for damage. Stop whining and go back home.”

“I can’t go back now!” cried the young man. “She’s certain to be furious at me for bunking off.”

“Don’t be silly,” cajoled the landlord; “she’ll be waiting for your return.”

“Oh, and how exactly will she be waiting?” asked the young man.

“Obviously, she’ll be craning her neck to catch the sight of your return home.”

A classic, comic tale (rakugo) of “Rokuro-kubi”

#The photo above was taken at a rice field close-by. The scarecrow was clearly set to accomplish a double purpose as it was fixated to face the pedestrians.