Today was a long day. It was mostly a good day, but it was a long one.
We went up to Gotemba to the Premium Outlet mall to see if we could find a new suitcase and met with mild success. Not sure if it'll work for our needs, but it might. It wasn't the easiest of tasks because of the "family-friendly" atmosphere, but we managed to get through the day. And then we rewarded ourselves with a delicious French dinner at a hotel in the area. A good start to our last week in Japan. It's hard to believe that we'll be flying away on Sunday.
Because it's been such a busy day, I haven't had time to work on a blog post. Also, a lot of my extra time lately has gone to preparing for Nanowrimo - plotting and gathering notes and such. Even writing a memoir takes preparation, and I have a lot of ideas to get down, so organization is important. My posting schedule will probably change some for November. For now, I'll leave you with another quote, this one by C. S. Lewis, who has long been a favorite author of mine, not just for the Chronicles of Narnia (some of which are still some of my favorite stories) but also for his other works. Here is a quote about love and loss and the importance of leaving ourselves open to love - and therefore open also to the possibility of losing what we love. Enjoy.
"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."
- C. S. Lewis, "The Four Loves"
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
bye-bye, Juntendo
When most people think about hospitals, what usually comes to mind is not pleasant: injury, illness, death. Going to the hospital is a bad thing; it means something is wrong with you. It also means money is going to probably come out of your pocket, which would be another reason people don't like hospitals so much.
Aside from my personal experience, my observation of hospital activity has been punctuated by the creation of new life. I spent more than half of the last year in birth clinics or ob/gyn wards, surrounded by women nurturing babies, their growing bellies testament to the life brewing inside them. Or else there were women coming in for their post-partum check-ups, carrying their newborns with them, cradled close to their hearts, and looking tired but happy. From February to September, I watched them and felt a kinship with them. We were mothers in the making, carrying new life within us. We had nothing to be afraid of.
But I know better now. I knew then too; I was just too afraid to let those terrible whispers take hold of me and force me to face the stark truth of existence, that life is often tenuous, and it can go as quickly as it comes. Those tendrils of fear come creeping in all through pregnancy, and we push them away in our certainty that everything will be alright. And for the most part, that's true. The majority of pregnancies go without a hitch, and life comes screaming to meet the world.
And for the rest of us, we have lost that innocence. We know that life can be silenced in a moment, even before it's had a chance to draw its first breath.
Geordie and I went in for my post-partum check-up today. We knew it would not be easy; it's been hard enough seeing families just while we're out and about. Now, we would have to sit in the ob/gyn waiting area, just as we had four weeks earlier when our daughter still had a heartbeat. Only, this time, we would be alone, just the two of us, surrounded by lives still growing and lives newly born.
I would not wish the loss of a child upon any woman, but it's so hard to watch a mother with her baby and think, Why me and not her? Why my baby and not that one? Why couldn't I keep my daughter alive? What's wrong with me? It's not malevolence that makes me think such things, it's just the sheer unfairness of it all. For 38 weeks, our daughter was healthy. I had a relatively easy pregnancy with no complications. How can all these women have strong, healthy babies while mine is lost to me forever? How could something like this happen?
The sad thing is that there are no answers to that question. We spoke to the doctor about what test results they had, and it's all the same. Lauren was healthy, her cord and placenta were healthy, I was healthy. There is no explanation. Unfortunately, that's the way life goes sometimes. I will always wonder if there was something I could have done to save, just as I will wonder if there wasn't, if it was out of my hands from the beginning. Life is funny that way.
As for the check-up itself, that went well. My body has made a full recovery from pregnancy and delivery. While this is good news, I can't help but feel a little betrayed by my body. My heart is broken, and my mind is hardly at peace - how is it that my body can feel so normal? I feel so thoroughly shattered that it's hard to believe my body is still in one piece. How could it go back to normal so quickly? I'm glad I'm healthy and everything is alright, but immediately after leaving the hospital, I felt that it was like I had never been pregnant at all. That all traces of Lauren had been erased from me and I had nothing to show that I had carried her.
But upon further reflection, I know that's not true. It may not be obvious from looking at me, but the wear shows on me in places that cannot be seen. In my heart, for example, where there will always be a place for Lauren. In my thoughts, daily. And should I need a more physical example, the memory of pregnancy in imprinted upon my bones. For as long as my pelvic bone exists, it will carry the marks of pregnancy upon it and be physical proof that I am a mother. For some reason, I find comfort in this, proof that my body will not forget what has come to be one of the most defining moments of my life.
In the end, it's a relief to be finished with Juntendo University Hospital. It was not my initial choice for Lauren's birth, but I don't regret going there. The staff treated us well, and they did all that they could for us. It's not a place I ever want to return to, but I will keep it in my memory for a long time to come, as long as I have a memory to hold on to. It is, after all, the place my daughter was born. They couldn't save her, and they can't piece me back together again, but it's where I saw Lauren for the first and only time, and that is an image I will carry in my heart for the rest of my days.
Aside from my personal experience, my observation of hospital activity has been punctuated by the creation of new life. I spent more than half of the last year in birth clinics or ob/gyn wards, surrounded by women nurturing babies, their growing bellies testament to the life brewing inside them. Or else there were women coming in for their post-partum check-ups, carrying their newborns with them, cradled close to their hearts, and looking tired but happy. From February to September, I watched them and felt a kinship with them. We were mothers in the making, carrying new life within us. We had nothing to be afraid of.
But I know better now. I knew then too; I was just too afraid to let those terrible whispers take hold of me and force me to face the stark truth of existence, that life is often tenuous, and it can go as quickly as it comes. Those tendrils of fear come creeping in all through pregnancy, and we push them away in our certainty that everything will be alright. And for the most part, that's true. The majority of pregnancies go without a hitch, and life comes screaming to meet the world.
And for the rest of us, we have lost that innocence. We know that life can be silenced in a moment, even before it's had a chance to draw its first breath.
Geordie and I went in for my post-partum check-up today. We knew it would not be easy; it's been hard enough seeing families just while we're out and about. Now, we would have to sit in the ob/gyn waiting area, just as we had four weeks earlier when our daughter still had a heartbeat. Only, this time, we would be alone, just the two of us, surrounded by lives still growing and lives newly born.
I would not wish the loss of a child upon any woman, but it's so hard to watch a mother with her baby and think, Why me and not her? Why my baby and not that one? Why couldn't I keep my daughter alive? What's wrong with me? It's not malevolence that makes me think such things, it's just the sheer unfairness of it all. For 38 weeks, our daughter was healthy. I had a relatively easy pregnancy with no complications. How can all these women have strong, healthy babies while mine is lost to me forever? How could something like this happen?
The sad thing is that there are no answers to that question. We spoke to the doctor about what test results they had, and it's all the same. Lauren was healthy, her cord and placenta were healthy, I was healthy. There is no explanation. Unfortunately, that's the way life goes sometimes. I will always wonder if there was something I could have done to save, just as I will wonder if there wasn't, if it was out of my hands from the beginning. Life is funny that way.
As for the check-up itself, that went well. My body has made a full recovery from pregnancy and delivery. While this is good news, I can't help but feel a little betrayed by my body. My heart is broken, and my mind is hardly at peace - how is it that my body can feel so normal? I feel so thoroughly shattered that it's hard to believe my body is still in one piece. How could it go back to normal so quickly? I'm glad I'm healthy and everything is alright, but immediately after leaving the hospital, I felt that it was like I had never been pregnant at all. That all traces of Lauren had been erased from me and I had nothing to show that I had carried her.
But upon further reflection, I know that's not true. It may not be obvious from looking at me, but the wear shows on me in places that cannot be seen. In my heart, for example, where there will always be a place for Lauren. In my thoughts, daily. And should I need a more physical example, the memory of pregnancy in imprinted upon my bones. For as long as my pelvic bone exists, it will carry the marks of pregnancy upon it and be physical proof that I am a mother. For some reason, I find comfort in this, proof that my body will not forget what has come to be one of the most defining moments of my life.
In the end, it's a relief to be finished with Juntendo University Hospital. It was not my initial choice for Lauren's birth, but I don't regret going there. The staff treated us well, and they did all that they could for us. It's not a place I ever want to return to, but I will keep it in my memory for a long time to come, as long as I have a memory to hold on to. It is, after all, the place my daughter was born. They couldn't save her, and they can't piece me back together again, but it's where I saw Lauren for the first and only time, and that is an image I will carry in my heart for the rest of my days.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Non-Japanese Travel Journal: Florida
First, let it be said that I don't get homesick. In order to be homesick, one must have a permanent home, and it's been a long time since I had a home that I considered permanent. Home is where I am right now - I carry it with me, inside of me, because that won't change. My environment may change (and I prefer it to change), but I've got my memories, and that's enough. I don't waste a lot of time or energy on sentimentalism or nostalgia.
I didn't to back to Florida because I was homesick. I went because I had the chance to go, reasons to go, people to see, and things to do. Also, because I don't know when I'll be going back, and I have no desire to return any time soon. Returning to Florida is almost like taking a step backward, and I don't like backtracking. It's a waste.
Okay, waste is a bad word, and it doesn't quite have the meaning I want. It's more apropos to say that there are countless places in the world to see and limited time to do it in. If I'm going to use my free time to travel, I want it to be to someplace I've never been before, to experience something new. Florida is familiar and therefore comfortable, and it's too easy to fall into a nostalgic state of mind: "oh, remember how fun it was to . . . " or "how about all the good times we had at . . . " or "wasn't it funny when . . ." or "I sure miss . . . " Once you start visiting the past in your head, it makes it that much harder to appreciate the present and make something of the future. I'm too young for nostalgia, not when I've got so much more living to do.
Not that there's plenty of goodness in Florida to encourage visiting it. There is the following:
those beautiful natural settings
the never-a-dull-moment weather
the delicious (non-commercialized) food
silly friends
and, last but not least, family
Do I dislike Florida (or the United States)? No, of course not. There's still a lot of the States that I'd like to see. Will I live there again? The answer right now is probably not. It's not that I want to avoid comfortability and familiarity - I want to avoid complacency. It's too easy to start taking things for granted, to expect that this is the way things will always be. Familiarity is nice, but it doesn't make things wonderful. And I've found that I can be perfectly comfortable in a place that is foreign to me. That made me realize that I spent a long time in a place that no longer felt comfortable, even though I'd lived most of my life there.
So, for me, going back to Florida wasn't like going home. It was like going through a photo album and realizing how much has changed - both in yourself and in others - and appreciating the past while at the same time not wanting to relive it. And honestly, I prefer it this way.
Monday, June 8, 2009
another universal teaching truth
You can't make people want to learn. I don't care if they're children, teenagers, adults - whatever. Age doesn't matter, nationality doesn't matter, NOTHING matters. If there is no motivation, you can't make 'em learn.
Lately, head office has been coming down on our shisha (region) because of high cancellation rates and low renewal rates. Last week, I spent an hour in a v-chat where the primary message seemed to be "students are quitting/not renewing, and it's ALL YOUR FAULT. Quit blaming the economy, quit blaming job transfers, quit making excuses. Let's face it - you need to be better!"
(Talk about encouraging a lack of motivation . . .)
Sure, it's possible for teachers to increase motivation. I'll accept that. If a person is a really great teacher - I mean, really stupendous, totally has the whole thing down - then maybe they can get their students so pumped up about it that they'll keep coming back even when they don't really want to.
I am not a great teacher. I believe that 90% of motivation comes from within. I can't generate it for them. I can enjoy myself and take my job seriously, but I can't force people to want to study English. Now, that doesn't mean that I don't do the best I can. I love my job, and I want to do it well. That helps some - my students see how enthusiastic I am about English, and they think it's kind of cute. It makes them feel like I'm here because I want to be here and not because I need the money (which is true, wholly and completely - the money doesn't mean jack to me, not really). I can encourage my students and guide them and help them and amuse and educate them in class. But if they don't WANT to learn, there's not a whole lot I can do about that. Granted, this is my philosophy because it's the way I operate, but on the whole, I've found it to be mostly true. If they don't HAVE to do it, people won't do it unless they want to.
(Unless they're like me and they'll only do things they want to do, PERIOD.)
I will note that though Moriya's renewal rate is not great (it's over 50%, which is good enough for me), our successful interview rate is around 90%, and we pulled in 7 new students last month. As far as numbers are concerned, I still have about 75 students and 30 classes. Maybe we're not doing phenomenal work, but we're making ends meet, and that's enough to make me happy.
Lately, head office has been coming down on our shisha (region) because of high cancellation rates and low renewal rates. Last week, I spent an hour in a v-chat where the primary message seemed to be "students are quitting/not renewing, and it's ALL YOUR FAULT. Quit blaming the economy, quit blaming job transfers, quit making excuses. Let's face it - you need to be better!"
(Talk about encouraging a lack of motivation . . .)
Sure, it's possible for teachers to increase motivation. I'll accept that. If a person is a really great teacher - I mean, really stupendous, totally has the whole thing down - then maybe they can get their students so pumped up about it that they'll keep coming back even when they don't really want to.
I am not a great teacher. I believe that 90% of motivation comes from within. I can't generate it for them. I can enjoy myself and take my job seriously, but I can't force people to want to study English. Now, that doesn't mean that I don't do the best I can. I love my job, and I want to do it well. That helps some - my students see how enthusiastic I am about English, and they think it's kind of cute. It makes them feel like I'm here because I want to be here and not because I need the money (which is true, wholly and completely - the money doesn't mean jack to me, not really). I can encourage my students and guide them and help them and amuse and educate them in class. But if they don't WANT to learn, there's not a whole lot I can do about that. Granted, this is my philosophy because it's the way I operate, but on the whole, I've found it to be mostly true. If they don't HAVE to do it, people won't do it unless they want to.
(Unless they're like me and they'll only do things they want to do, PERIOD.)
I will note that though Moriya's renewal rate is not great (it's over 50%, which is good enough for me), our successful interview rate is around 90%, and we pulled in 7 new students last month. As far as numbers are concerned, I still have about 75 students and 30 classes. Maybe we're not doing phenomenal work, but we're making ends meet, and that's enough to make me happy.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
philosophical addendum
I guess the major problem I'm having with this move to Ito Yokado is that I don't want to be taken advantage of by my company. Why is that so wrong?
I understand well and good that a corporation will do what it has to in order to survive - but why should I give up my happiness and my integrity for it? Especially when said company has shown no concern for me personally? Why are people expected to take all the crap their company shovels out to them and eat it with smiles on their faces? Why do we have to settle for doing something we don't like simply because "it's our job?" Am I just some kind of idiot who thinks you should do only what makes you happy?
Look, I know life is hard, and sometimes, you've got to take the bad with the good. But, honestly, why would I lay down and let this company walk all over me? Why shouldn't I fight for what I want? Why shouldn't I try to do what's best for me? Why shouldn't I enjoy my job?
What makes it worse is that I have been enjoying my job. I LOVE my job as it is right now. Shouldn't I fight to keep it? Shouldn't I try to hold on to it? Is that wrong?
All I want is to be happy. Is that too much to ask?
I understand well and good that a corporation will do what it has to in order to survive - but why should I give up my happiness and my integrity for it? Especially when said company has shown no concern for me personally? Why are people expected to take all the crap their company shovels out to them and eat it with smiles on their faces? Why do we have to settle for doing something we don't like simply because "it's our job?" Am I just some kind of idiot who thinks you should do only what makes you happy?
Look, I know life is hard, and sometimes, you've got to take the bad with the good. But, honestly, why would I lay down and let this company walk all over me? Why shouldn't I fight for what I want? Why shouldn't I try to do what's best for me? Why shouldn't I enjoy my job?
What makes it worse is that I have been enjoying my job. I LOVE my job as it is right now. Shouldn't I fight to keep it? Shouldn't I try to hold on to it? Is that wrong?
All I want is to be happy. Is that too much to ask?
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