Lost in transit

Ceremonial

In Japan there are ceremonies and rituals for everything.

Recently, with the end of the school year and the start of another, I have had the pleasure of attending not only Graduations [sotsugyooshiki] but also the ceremonies they have to welcome the new students. [nyuugakushiki]

What intrigues me is all the formality, all the ritual. At the start of anything even remotely formal, someone plays a series of three chords on a piano [or on tape, crackling loud] and we all turn and bow to the Japanese flag, and then sing the national anthem. [This is also repeated at the end, minus the anthem.] I don't know if you've ever heard the Japanese national anthem. It's slow and all in minor chords, which gets me everytime. It seems sleepy to me, sad and something I can't articulate. I stand and listen to the old men around me singing. Listening to their old voices catching on the high parts, looking over their shoulders and considering. Then the speeches start, oh the speeches.

Before the speaker walks onto the stage, they bow to the staff, to the honoured guests, to the audience and finally to the flag before rising to the lecturn and bowing once more to the graduating students, or the new students. The Mayor of our village is possibly one of the most amusing speakers I have ever seen. He is so animated, so constructed that I find it impossible not to at least smile throughout his speech, especially when he says things that I can understand. Even though I may be the only person in the room doing so. Smiles in Japan, are guarded. Often they don't mean what you think they mean and are more like an animal baring its teeth when it's challenged. Smiles are for when you're nervous, for when you're threatened, not so often just for sheer joy.

For these ceremonies, all of the Kochoo-sensei [principals] wear the same suit. The exact same suit. Tails, with grey pinstriped trousers, a waistcoat and a tie similar to a cravat, although I don't know the exact word. My first ceremony I thought that it was beautiful. I thought that the particular Kochoo; in question had great taste and was looking swanky. And from there on in it just got funnier. The second in command, also wears the same suit. A black suit, with a bright white shirt and an offwhite tie. Everyone else gets to wear what they want.

Everything is planned, the gyms are surrounded with the same red and white striped cloth, the students come in the same way, with everyone clapping until all are seated. The same Honoured Guests show up each year, to each ceremony. Versions of the same parents, often in Kimono, sit nervously. And the kids, well if they're new, they carry off this silent petulance. If they're leaving, they're in floods of tears.

In a way, it's something that I find comforting about Japan. That it's so constructed. I find comfort in the repetition, in the small details that help me cope with the whole. It's like knowing that at the end of a meal the rice and misoshiru will be handed out.

At first, I found these rules strange, hard to live by. And now I am almost disturbed that I like them. That I enjoy the predictability of my job, of the meals we eat, of the things we attend. I enjoy being given boundaries, perhaps because I'm not good at making my own. But knowing these things, and taking part in these rituals makes me feel for a moment, like I do belong. My Japanese family loves me, and in their home I feel like a daughter, not just the Gaijin teacher, not just the western girl. And with each ritual, with each ceremony I am at once held distant and close. And with each one I calm down, and I relax. And I realise this is my home, I do have a place here.

Posted by Waspish at April 9, 2003 01:11 AM