why is your head so small?

I don't know why, but I distinctly remember being in year 8, sitting in the art room learning about life drawing. We were drawing portraits of our friends for a project when my art teacher explained people's body's proportions. I was surprised to find out that a person's arm span is the same length as their height, and that a person's eyes are generally centred on the middle of the face, rather than being  on the upper third of the face. I also remember being told that when drawing people in cartoons, a character's body is roughly height of 4-6 of the characters heads, and for realistic drawings, their height the equivalent of about 8 heads. Why exactly I still remember this after all these years, and a thing from my French classes in uni, is still a mystery, since I didn't really think knowing the amount of heads in a person's body was ever a useful thing to really know. But it is something I can't stop thinking about since this week.

Sitting at my desk on my computer, I overheard most of the other teachers talking about effective print club techniques, such as using peace sign hands to frame your face, and holding your hand up closer to the camera than your face. 

"So when you hold up your hand to the camera, your hand looks much bigger, and makes your face look much smaller in comparison."

"Is that so? I just thought all the girls did it because it was cool."

"Well, not really. Japanese people have big heads, you see, a lot bigger proportionally compared to foreigners. Just look at Narin."

Hearing my name, I instinctually look up to see if someone called me name, only to see the whole staffroom looking back, silently admiring my (supposedly) small head. After the eternally long pause, and probably noticing my discomfort being stared at, someone mentions,  "Narin, your head is very small!", as if to appease my obvious awkwardness.

"Um... Thank you?" Awkwardness not exactly appeased, but soon enough, people stop staring and go back to their regular conversations. 

Awkwardness, staring, and not understanding what exactly is going on? It must be Thursday.

not in kansas anymore

You know that awkward, first day at a newschool feeling? In theory, you know what you’re in for: Being with a new group of students and teachers, a new schedule, and new environment. It’s all the same, but slightly different than before, so even though you’ve done this whole ‘school’ thing before, you still don’t quite know what to expect.

Turns out, even though my school days are well behind me, I still can’t shake that feeling. I’m sure it doesn’t really help either that my workplace also just happens to be a school.

After working at a handful of schools, I thought I had this English teaching thing down. Knowledge of what the present participle is? Check. Handful of games and lesson ideas that incorporate some form of grammar point? Check. Ability to deflect boys’ inappropriate questions (and also their anal-probing fingers)? Check.

What I forgot to prepare for though, wasthe fact that I’m now teaching in Osaka. I’m out of the quaint little town in Gifu and into one of the largest cities in Japan. Despite living in Melbourne, I feel like a country bumpkin who has moved to the big smoke. I’m absolutely swamped with students – 13 classes of 40 students as opposed to 6 classes of 35– and feel it’s even more impossible now to remember the sheer number of students' names. As a result of more classes, it also means I see each class only once aweek, some every fortnight, which also has resulted in me taking charge of the whole lesson to compensate. I know I can do the assisting part of the Assistant Language Teacher thing, but teaching? For a whole lesson? In my old school, sure I took charge of classes, but it was more like elective classes and when the English teacher was away – I was responsible, but at the same time, I wasn’t completely responsible in the event that no work was actually done.

Everything I did learn about Japanese schools may have also been only applicable to my schools in Gifu, too. I got the weirdest looks after asking what junior high school festival was, since it never really happened in Gifu. Chalk it up to paranoia, maybe, but I swear there was a slight condescending tone when I asked if the students ate kyushoku, or the school lunch. “Oh, how quaint. You had kyushoku at junior high in Gifu. We only have that in preschools and primary schools. You know, just for the little kids.” 


Okay, maybe they didn't say that, but I knew they were thinking it. I could tell by their looks. 

an ikea lover's dream

This would be a post showing you pictures of everything in my place, but seeing the lack of anything in my apartment, it seems pictures aren't really necessary. That, plus it's not the largest place in the world - my apartment in Gifu seems like a mansion in comparison. Not that I'm too overly upset about it - I guess it's the price you pay when you're actually close to a major city in Japan, and your train station is literally only a few stops away from the city centre. And yes, the fact I'm starting from scratch with a newly-rented apartment (and not inheriting a bunch of stuff from numerous previous English teachers) means just about every day I'm spending a good chunk of money to buy something that my apartment needs. I'm pretty much only limited by what fits in my bike basket, or up until yesterday, what I could carry home from the station. 

Trying to make lemonade out of lemons, it does give me the freedom to furnish and design my apartment the way I want. Also, while my apartment isn't the most spacious, I'm fortunate enough to be living in a country that is well-versed in space efficiency. I don't have room for a dish-drying rack beside my sink, but not to worry, as apparently they make overhanging dish-drying shelves. 

I also just heard that one of Ikea's few Japanese stores is in Osaka, so I am thinking fulfilling my dream of designing a room straight out of an Ikea catalogue. Yep, I know - who said you can't dream big?