Take Care, Kids

I clocked out of work for the last time on July 25th at 6:15pm, moments after my coworkers surprised me with a cake. On it, was written (and I translate) "You've worked hard, Sean." It's a difficult translation, because there's no real exact way to interpret the words "otsukare sama desu."
 I think, as it was all happening, that I didn't feel the weight of the moment, so it was all I could do to smile and give my thanks. It didn't really feel like I was leaving.
But that was my graduation party.
 Maybe it's dawning on me very slowly, right now, how finite that moment was, and every moment before that. Until my very last class, I was hauling ass getting crying children into class, pushing them to try things they were afraid to do. I really hope they improve and grow strong, but I may not ever know that, given the circumstances. But I tell myself that, well, what ever happens, it's been a good run.

After three years and a half of watching children come in, grow, and leave, I'm quite happy with the bonds I've formed and connections I've made. I'm happy I was able to make children smile, if nothing else. But as one of my coworkers put it, even if the only thing we change in these kids' lives is to make them realize that there's a world outside of Japan and good people out there, then we've fulfilled our role in helping them grow, and everything asides from that is a bonus.
 I can't honestly say that I was a great teacher, or even a good one. Though I've earned the respect of my peers through hard work, I've worked alongside instructors who could make a child understand they were doing something wrong by simply looking into their eyes, or make a child they've never met before stop crying within a minute. I couldn't work such miracles. But I did study hard, and I did take my job seriously. In my first year, I would spend hours at home doing research on babies and early childcare so that I could better answer mothers' questions should any come up.

"Should I give milk to my baby from a glass bottle or plastic?"
"Either is fine if you don't mind the different weight, but avoid polycarbonate."
Maybe that was the extent of my skills as a children's fitness instructor, asides from my background in (self-taught) gymnastics.

But on that week before I left, as I informed parents I was moving back to Canada, I've had children latch on to me and hold me tight, look into my eyes and tell me they would miss me. I've had a mother thank me with tears running down her face. I've had parents change their schedules so they could squeeze in as many days with me as possible before I left, while others came in unscheduled to bring me gifts. And to some extent, it was so overwhelming that I couldn't put words to my thoughts.
 And as each child or parent did one of those things, it was all I could do to place my hand on my heart and smile, hoping that they understood the gesture to mean everything it did, even if I, myself, didn't know at the moment. But I do now.

 I feel your love.

 I came into Japan fresh out of college, with a degree but no self-confidence, and it was through the kids that I managed to build myself up, dare I say, even more than I had through all my years in school. No one had really looked up to me before I had started working with kids.
 So to some extent, maybe it's I who have grown the most from the experience.

 So thank you, babies, kids, parents, nannies. Thank you for placing your trust in me. Thanks for giving me second chances when I failed you. Thanks for sharing with me your worries and hopes and dreams, and for helping me understand them. Regardless of whether I ever see any of you again or not, I'll be thinking of you and about the men and women you become as the years go by. I consider you all to be unforgettable friends no matter the miles that may separate us.
 Take care, kids.

Goodbye Japan - The High Price of Living

Let me just make it clear that I love Japan, and I love Tokyo. This city's been so good to me, and over the years I've gotten to know it so well. I've made lasting friendships and been on incredible adventures, but I've known for a while now that I wouldn't be here forever. There are quite a few reasons for that, and I'd say most of them are career-related.
 Japan's safety and general quality of all-around services are without parallel. Japanese people are unobtrusive, polite, and masters at avoiding conflict whenever possible. And Tokyo is an incredible city where the possibility of getting bored is nonexistent - it's the ideal city for a young adult.
 But at the same time, Tokyo, and Japan, demand a high price in return: a price which is reflected by back-breaking working hours, and a society which privileges only those who give to it the entirety of their lives. It's no exaggeration to say that Japanese people work their lives away to
provide for a family in which they are unseen. The average Japanese working man is the king amongst modern-day hunter-gatherers, in the sense that making money for the family is the sole sink in which all their time goes. They work uncompensated overtime hours, are frowned upon for using paid vacations unless absolutely incapacitated. This is the standard condition of the working man, who must provide for a wife who most likely will stay at home after childbirth, not because of her own preferences, but because of a system that disinherits women of equal opportunities in the workplace. So, too, must money be provided for the future of a child whose career depends on being able to enter and graduate from a decent university - one which costs a fortune which can only be provided by the hard-working head of the household.
 This is the reality of day-to-day life in Japan - what I like to call the "High Price of Living."

There are those, of course, who live outside of the system. Very few of the friends I've made here are part of it, in truth. There are those who choose to work by their own means, and provide for themselves instead of under the umbrella of a company - which, in itself, is fine too. But I personally can't get myself to look away from the road ahead of me. I don't want to find myself down the road, unable to put my future children through college, and forcing them to live a life outside of the norms established by Japanese society. If they make the choice to live that way, that's entirely fine and up to them.
But what's important is that they have that choice. It's downright terrifying for me to picture a scenario in which I'm raising kids who go grow up alongside friends they make, making it through elementary, middle, and high school, and then suddenly reaching a roadblock and being unable to continue their education with said friends - and all because I'm unable to provide. So that's out of the question.

 Where I stand now, I still have a choice, though. Being a Canadian national is a wildcard. I can return to Quebec province and start a family there. I can pursue my own education easily. Hell, with the current tuition fees, I could put a kid through school with the money I have saved up now. And I'll never work a single uncompensated hour. I can work a 9 to 5 job and come home to a family. I can take holidays and come back to smiling workmates.
 But I have to get started now.
 I love Tokyo. I profoundly, from the deepest part of my heart, think that this is the best city in the world. But I have to go, and it breaks my heart to say that these carefree times are coming to an end, and I must head forward into real adulthood.
 So on August 31st, it's good bye, Tokyo.

Colors

(This picture is unrelated.)

Today was a regular day at work. I was running a free-play time. Generally, it's an easy 45 minutes of light work. Just being around the children, being there in case there's an accident. But the parents are also present, so my job is made that much easier. I greet the parents and tickle a child here and there.
 I recall I was thinking of something completely generic, along the lines of what it was I would be eating, when I feel a light tug on my hand. I look down.
 It's a little girl I know quite well. She has the cutest laugh. Her entire face lifts when she smiles. She's not quite 2-years old yet, but she's quite vocal. Her whole hand is wrapped around two of my fingers.
 "Hey there!" I beam at her. She giggles and pulls me along. "Where are we going?" It's not like I expect an answer. I have to bend down for her to hold me by the hand. Although she's running, I cover her tiny steps in just a few of my own strides.
 We arrive at the base of a folded gymnastics mattress. It's just about one foot high. She climbs up and beckons me to step on top as well. And then she jumps off with her stubby little legs. Landing, she looks at me.
 "Jump!" she says -- one of the English words she picked up. I do as told. Her shrill laughter can probably be heard from across the room. Satisfied, she grabs the two fingers of my left hand again, and runs to the next point of interest.
 This one happens to be a small tunnel, intended for children to crawl through. Its diameter is probably the same as that of my shoulders. Of course, she fits inside like a jellybean in a roll of toilet paper. To her, the tunnel is huge, and me, I'm the smallest of her "big friends." She's convinced I can fit inside. I awkwardly try. My shoulders get stuck inside, but I manage to crawl through, much to the girl's delight. I'm not even standing up yet, that she grabs my hand again and starts running, letting go half-way. But she's right to assume I'll follow her. I'm curious as to what she wants to have me do next.
 She looks at me as she jumps into the ball pit. As I stand nearby, she fishes out two larger soft balls, and hands those to me. She then picks two smaller ones out for herself. Then, taking the two balls she's holding in her tiny hands, she presses them to her head.
 "Minnie Mouse," she says.
 I get it. I press the two larger balls against my own head. "Mickey Mouse," I reply.
 "Minnie Mouse," she repeats.
 "Mickey Mouse."
 "Minnie Mouse."
 This goes on for a few minutes. At this point I'm smiling so wide my face hurts. And I just can't help it. It felt like when I was laughing the whole world was laughing with me.
  Slowly but surely, I'm rediscovering colors to my life I never noticed I had forgotten about. Everything else fades away when I'm given a chance at being a child one more time.