60ft Up and Screaming: Joy's First Adventures in Japan
I had been in Japan for approximately four days. I had prepared myself for a slew of situations, but somehow I never expected to be twenty meters in the air, wobbling my way across a rope bridge and hanging onto my harness for dear life. My host sister’s reassuring voice came floating from ahead, “大丈夫、Joy? Are you okay?” My legs were shaking and my head was spinning, but somehow I managed to squeak back, “大丈夫です！頑張ります！” With another three shaky steps, I stumbled onto the platform, and immediately my host dad and brother erupted into cheers behind me. Up ahead, my host sister broke into a wide grin, while my host mom gave us all a round of applause from below. As my heartbeat gradually slowed, I looked up and took a deep breath. In front of me, the lush forest of Tsukuba rolled against a bright blue sky. My adventure in Japan had just begun.
As I write this post, two months have passed since I first stumbled into the 日本 Hippo Family. Since then, I’ve gotten to experience a slew of amazing things – from onsen soaks to cooking takoyaki, from multilingual speeches to school presentations, from riding buses to hip hop classes, and perhaps most fun of all: the myriad of Hippo activities and families. As I look back on the past eight weeks, one particular adventure keeps springing to mind: my very first trip with my host family, who I had known for less than 24 hours at the time, to the beautiful (and terrifying) Tsukuba Forest Adventure. At the time, I was busy trying to keep my balance on the five hundred different rope bridges I had to conquer, but lately, it’s begun to dawn on me how apt it is as a means to understand my time in Japan thus far. Here’s a quick look at the various ways in which my first adventures in the Land of the Rising Sun have been akin to being 60 feet up in the air.
1. What looks easy may be incredibly hard...for now.
As you can probably imagine, my journey across the dangling ropes was about as speedy as a tectonic shift, or perhaps a little faster than snow melting in Boston in February. Combined with my mild fear of heights, every course felt like a spinning, palpitation-inducing eternity. Every time I’d finally clamber onto the next platform, I’d watch enviously as my host dad and siblings swiftly navigated across the ropes. They made it look so easy that I was flummoxed – if they could be so nimble, why couldn’t I?
The answer, of course, was simple: these were activities that they had done before, and in abundance. Even if the rope courses were new, climbing, balancing, running – these were second nature to them. It’s very much the same with language – we live our lives so close to the words we speak that we barely take notice of how easy it is for us to wield them. When I first arrived in Japan, I could only look on only longingly as the conversations galloped ahead, but I’ve kept the same comforting thought in my mind: what looks easy is only difficult for now. With time and a lot of experience, I’d be trotting alongside the conversations around me. What matters, in the end, is not how long it takes for me to get across the ropes, but the fact that I’m getting across them at all.
2. Don’t sweat the reactions
As I was struggling across the rope courses, I ended up voicing my distress in a number of ways. These noises ranged from freshly hatched velociraptor to skydiving turkey, and elicited concerned questions, chuckles, and encouraging words from my host family. While they each had their own way of expressing their care, my host family as a whole never stopped watching out for me, and it was with their support that I got through each course.
Over the past two months, I’ve made a wide variety of sounds in my daily life as well, though thankfully not as strangled – my attempts to acquire not just Japanese, but also Spanish, German, Korean, and Russian, have meant that an army of garbled mumbles has made its way out of my mouth. This in turn has brought on a range of responses, including but not limited to: a laughable “Ah, this one clearly reads manga” from one of the fellows in my Hippo Family upon hearing my unusual Japanese phrasing; a concerned squint as my host mother tried to figure out which Russian phrase I was attempting; slow, careful enunciation from my fellow intern Yeppi; or a happy thumbs ups from my host siblings when I figured out the right way to use a phrase they’d taught me.
Prior to LEX, I used to be incredibly self-conscious – nervous that people would find my speaking odd and eager to make every utterance perfect, I ended up spending more time stealthily checking my dictionary apps than actually talking. However, just like how you can’t look up “how to cross a tightrope” when you’re wobbling across one, I quickly came to realise that once you’re in the midst of a conversation, it makes more sense to throw yourself into it and just go with the flow. Where I used to be embarrassed when people laughed at my speech, I’ve now come to embrace it – if I can elicit a chuckle or two with my samurai speech patterns and pick up the conventional phrasing after, then I’ve succeeded both in learning the norms of the language and in making someone smile. It’s not a bad position to be in.
3. Each challenge is different and the same
Before embarking on the Forest Adventure, I don’t think I had ever seen that many permutations of rope bridges. There were tightropes, suspended nets, twisting logs, X’s and O’s, swaying ladders – every time I thought there was no other way to make a bridge, a new one would lay itself before me. However, no matter how different they were, every bridge was just a variation of the same theme – a challenge to get from one point to another. And even more comforting was the fact that waiting at the end of each set of bridges was a zipline – the process may have been a struggle all the way, but I always knew I could look forward to whizzing through the air as the scenery unfolded before me.
The challenges I’ve faced in Japan follow a similar pattern – on the surface, they may look considerably different, but digging a little deeper often reveals threads of similarity. Running a multilingual workshop, giving cultural presentations to kindergarteners, and talking to new mothers about language acquisition may all seem quite distinct, but they all revolve around the same goal: to connect with people through multilingualism and multiculturalism. These challenges may occasionally have been as terrifying as being suspended on a rope, but as trying as they could be, I knew I would finish with a zipline ending – connecting with new friends and family, learning more about others’ language discoveries, or simply soaking in the warm, bright atmosphere that Hippo tends to create.
4. There’s beauty in every step
When I first started out on the Adventure, I was somewhat myopic – completely absorbed in trying to bulldoze through the course, I could barely see past the bridge before me. This single-minded determination kept me blinkered until halfway through the course, as I was shuffling onto yet another platform and plodding over to the next section – behind me, my host dad called out, “Joy! 景色!” At the time, I didn’t quite understand what he was saying, but as I looked back to see him gesturing ahead of me, I turned around to see what it was I had been ignoring: the vibrant waves of green, the yawning blue sky, the sunlight blotting the leaves – the lush, summer scenery of Tsukuba.
It was then that I realised what I had been missing when I had been wrapped up in the task before me – no matter how nerve wracking each course was, I was surrounded by nature, by gorgeous greenery and soft forest air, and flanked by kind, caring then-strangers who would soon become my family. As I slowly got the hang of things (pun retrospectively intended), I could start noticing – and appreciating – the beauty that I was immersed in.
I started out in Japan roughly the same way – there were times when I’d get completely wrapped up in my head, where I’d worry about understanding the culture, about how slowly my language was progressing, about whether my work was up to snuff. But over time, I’ve become better at pausing, taking a slow breath, and looking up. Every time, something beautiful reveals itself to me – be it in the steam from a cup of tea, the evening blue of the Saitama sky, a new word clicking into place – and I’m reminded of how extraordinary it is to be here, in this time, in this place, with the people around me.
I’ve probably worn out my rope course analogy for now, so I’ll wrap things up with a finishing note: when I followed my host family on their adventure, I knew from the start that I’d be terrified, that it’d be difficult, that there would be times when I’d be ready to give up. But somehow, I still found myself on a platform more than 80 feet in the air, carefully latching myself onto the fourth, final, highest zipline. As I leaned back into my harness and kicked off from the platform, I knew that deep down, I had no regrets.
These past two months have zipped by, but still more beautiful and wonderful adventures stretch out before me. Every day is a 宝物 – a treasure – in its own way, no matter how simple or small. I’m holding onto my harness and still wobbling a little, but words cannot express how excited I am to stumble into the next ten months ahead. 皆んな、これからよろしくお願いします！
 |
| I look like I'm smiling but deep down I'm screeching |
As I write this post, two months have passed since I first stumbled into the 日本 Hippo Family. Since then, I’ve gotten to experience a slew of amazing things – from onsen soaks to cooking takoyaki, from multilingual speeches to school presentations, from riding buses to hip hop classes, and perhaps most fun of all: the myriad of Hippo activities and families. As I look back on the past eight weeks, one particular adventure keeps springing to mind: my very first trip with my host family, who I had known for less than 24 hours at the time, to the beautiful (and terrifying) Tsukuba Forest Adventure. At the time, I was busy trying to keep my balance on the five hundred different rope bridges I had to conquer, but lately, it’s begun to dawn on me how apt it is as a means to understand my time in Japan thus far. Here’s a quick look at the various ways in which my first adventures in the Land of the Rising Sun have been akin to being 60 feet up in the air.
 |
| It has been quite the journey – both on and off the cat bus. |
1. What looks easy may be incredibly hard...for now.
I am, unfortunately, rather far from being athletic, and I tend to count SADAs and dashing for the train as my usual means of exercise. On the other end of the spectrum lies my host family, with my dad, sister, and brother as some of the fittest, quickest people I’ve ever met. To put it simply, if you compared us to the Mulan song “I’ll Make A Man Outta You”, they’re the Chinese army at the end of the song, while I’m tiptoeing in at the opening notes.
 |
| An accurate depiction of me vs. the rope course |
As you can probably imagine, my journey across the dangling ropes was about as speedy as a tectonic shift, or perhaps a little faster than snow melting in Boston in February. Combined with my mild fear of heights, every course felt like a spinning, palpitation-inducing eternity. Every time I’d finally clamber onto the next platform, I’d watch enviously as my host dad and siblings swiftly navigated across the ropes. They made it look so easy that I was flummoxed – if they could be so nimble, why couldn’t I?
 |
| This little girl was a 6th my age and could speak 6 times faster than me – but she did speak to me! |
The answer, of course, was simple: these were activities that they had done before, and in abundance. Even if the rope courses were new, climbing, balancing, running – these were second nature to them. It’s very much the same with language – we live our lives so close to the words we speak that we barely take notice of how easy it is for us to wield them. When I first arrived in Japan, I could only look on only longingly as the conversations galloped ahead, but I’ve kept the same comforting thought in my mind: what looks easy is only difficult for now. With time and a lot of experience, I’d be trotting alongside the conversations around me. What matters, in the end, is not how long it takes for me to get across the ropes, but the fact that I’m getting across them at all.
2. Don’t sweat the reactions
As I was struggling across the rope courses, I ended up voicing my distress in a number of ways. These noises ranged from freshly hatched velociraptor to skydiving turkey, and elicited concerned questions, chuckles, and encouraging words from my host family. While they each had their own way of expressing their care, my host family as a whole never stopped watching out for me, and it was with their support that I got through each course.
 |
| A children’s picture book, or a photo of Joy mumbling in Japanese? We can’t be sure. |
Over the past two months, I’ve made a wide variety of sounds in my daily life as well, though thankfully not as strangled – my attempts to acquire not just Japanese, but also Spanish, German, Korean, and Russian, have meant that an army of garbled mumbles has made its way out of my mouth. This in turn has brought on a range of responses, including but not limited to: a laughable “Ah, this one clearly reads manga” from one of the fellows in my Hippo Family upon hearing my unusual Japanese phrasing; a concerned squint as my host mother tried to figure out which Russian phrase I was attempting; slow, careful enunciation from my fellow intern Yeppi; or a happy thumbs ups from my host siblings when I figured out the right way to use a phrase they’d taught me.
Prior to LEX, I used to be incredibly self-conscious – nervous that people would find my speaking odd and eager to make every utterance perfect, I ended up spending more time stealthily checking my dictionary apps than actually talking. However, just like how you can’t look up “how to cross a tightrope” when you’re wobbling across one, I quickly came to realise that once you’re in the midst of a conversation, it makes more sense to throw yourself into it and just go with the flow. Where I used to be embarrassed when people laughed at my speech, I’ve now come to embrace it – if I can elicit a chuckle or two with my samurai speech patterns and pick up the conventional phrasing after, then I’ve succeeded both in learning the norms of the language and in making someone smile. It’s not a bad position to be in.
3. Each challenge is different and the same
Before embarking on the Forest Adventure, I don’t think I had ever seen that many permutations of rope bridges. There were tightropes, suspended nets, twisting logs, X’s and O’s, swaying ladders – every time I thought there was no other way to make a bridge, a new one would lay itself before me. However, no matter how different they were, every bridge was just a variation of the same theme – a challenge to get from one point to another. And even more comforting was the fact that waiting at the end of each set of bridges was a zipline – the process may have been a struggle all the way, but I always knew I could look forward to whizzing through the air as the scenery unfolded before me.
 |
| Seen consecutively: the different reactions to the same rope bridge, featuring my host sister and me |
 |
| Internal monologue: "help" |
The challenges I’ve faced in Japan follow a similar pattern – on the surface, they may look considerably different, but digging a little deeper often reveals threads of similarity. Running a multilingual workshop, giving cultural presentations to kindergarteners, and talking to new mothers about language acquisition may all seem quite distinct, but they all revolve around the same goal: to connect with people through multilingualism and multiculturalism. These challenges may occasionally have been as terrifying as being suspended on a rope, but as trying as they could be, I knew I would finish with a zipline ending – connecting with new friends and family, learning more about others’ language discoveries, or simply soaking in the warm, bright atmosphere that Hippo tends to create.
4. There’s beauty in every step
When I first started out on the Adventure, I was somewhat myopic – completely absorbed in trying to bulldoze through the course, I could barely see past the bridge before me. This single-minded determination kept me blinkered until halfway through the course, as I was shuffling onto yet another platform and plodding over to the next section – behind me, my host dad called out, “Joy! 景色!” At the time, I didn’t quite understand what he was saying, but as I looked back to see him gesturing ahead of me, I turned around to see what it was I had been ignoring: the vibrant waves of green, the yawning blue sky, the sunlight blotting the leaves – the lush, summer scenery of Tsukuba.
 |
| The evening sky in Kawagoe |
It was then that I realised what I had been missing when I had been wrapped up in the task before me – no matter how nerve wracking each course was, I was surrounded by nature, by gorgeous greenery and soft forest air, and flanked by kind, caring then-strangers who would soon become my family. As I slowly got the hang of things (pun retrospectively intended), I could start noticing – and appreciating – the beauty that I was immersed in.
 |
| The pastel view on the bus ride from Narita |
I started out in Japan roughly the same way – there were times when I’d get completely wrapped up in my head, where I’d worry about understanding the culture, about how slowly my language was progressing, about whether my work was up to snuff. But over time, I’ve become better at pausing, taking a slow breath, and looking up. Every time, something beautiful reveals itself to me – be it in the steam from a cup of tea, the evening blue of the Saitama sky, a new word clicking into place – and I’m reminded of how extraordinary it is to be here, in this time, in this place, with the people around me.
 |
| A hidden street in Urawa |
I’ve probably worn out my rope course analogy for now, so I’ll wrap things up with a finishing note: when I followed my host family on their adventure, I knew from the start that I’d be terrified, that it’d be difficult, that there would be times when I’d be ready to give up. But somehow, I still found myself on a platform more than 80 feet in the air, carefully latching myself onto the fourth, final, highest zipline. As I leaned back into my harness and kicked off from the platform, I knew that deep down, I had no regrets.
 |
| The 金木犀 in full bloom by my train station |
These past two months have zipped by, but still more beautiful and wonderful adventures stretch out before me. Every day is a 宝物 – a treasure – in its own way, no matter how simple or small. I’m holding onto my harness and still wobbling a little, but words cannot express how excited I am to stumble into the next ten months ahead. 皆んな、これからよろしくお願いします！
Comments
Post a Comment