Thursday, February 10, 2005
Kerry's Goodbye
We lost one of the best this week. Kerry’s flight departed Friday from Fukuoka and I just got an email today saying she has safely arrived in Philadelphia. She seems to be hanging in there despite the never ending bad news she’s received in the last two months. Ganbatte Kerry—you’re in our thoughts and prayers!
I picked her up from her apartment at 6:40 a.m. Friday morning and helped her move the last few things out of her apartment and hand keys over to her supervisor, Urahama-sensei. The ferry didn’t leave until 7:40, so we had plenty of time to get to the port and say our goodbyes to the few teachers and students who were expected to be there. On our drive through Urakura (Peter’s town) we saw some kids walking along the street—looking a little punky and up to no good—but Kerry recognized them as her own students at Kamichu (Junior High). We both thought they must be getting into some trouble this early in the morning!
At the port there were so many students (in uniform, of course!) and teachers from Kerry’s school, as well as members from her adult English conversation class, Laura and Yuka, and other friends we’ve met along the way: Blaine, his wife and daughter. About the only people who weren’t there were Catherine and Peter. It was amazing to see the support Kerry received, but this was only the beginning! We took lots of pictures with everyone in the lobby and Kerry received so many goodbye cards and omiyage from everyone—very touching.
I spoke with some members of Kerry’s eikaiwa class (adult conversation class) and they asked me to take it over for her. It’s on Wednesday nights from 7:30-9:30 p.m., but unfortunately is held in Aokata—a bit of drive for me to commit to every week. Kerry highly recommended that I do it, not so much because they want to continue learning English, but because they are a great group (of mostly women) that love to get together and hang out with the foreigner. In fact, they don’t even care about speaking English, so it’s a great opportunity to practice Japanese. Kerry said they love to teach her about Japanese culture, share the island gossip and give gifts to each other—it’s more of a gathering of friends than a class. I would love to do it, but I would probably do it every other week for two hours, or for just one hour every week. It would be nice to alternate between this and the Children’s English Night I sort of do on Wednesdays.
Anyway, back to saying goodbye. The ferry pulled into port and we all shifted to outside on the port deck, taking pictures all along the way and then… we saw the hoodlums. The ones walking from Urakura at 7 a.m.—we thought they were up to trouble—but they were actually walking to Arikawa to say goodbye to Kerry! It was so sweet! Even the “worst” kids in the school, still get up before the crack of dawn, ON THEIR DAY OFF, to wave goodbye to their English teacher!! Kerry got about five pictures with this cute group of boys, which she later said to me consisted of some of her favorite students. I agree—some of the “bad” kids, the ones the Japanese teacher’s don’t like anyway, are my favorite students. It’s hard to call them bad, because compared to American “tough kids” there isn’t a bad bone in their body. They just have incredible energy and enthusiasm for life. They’re teenagers, for god’s sake, they need to rebel somehow.
When we could finally pull Kerry away from the masses, and get her on the boat, we were asked to go up to the upper deck to wave goodbye. Then I realized why so many students were their in their uniforms. They were about to perform one of the most heartrending goodbye song and dances I have ever seen in my life. All the boys in uniform lined up along the dock. The biggest boy, front and center, was directing the others by calling out in as deep a voice a 14-year-old can manage. A single taiko drum beating between his shouts, and then this group of boys began yelling and stomping out their sorrow. It was ritualistic and powerful. A crowd of teenagers mourning the premature departure of their teacher and friend. It was expressive. Heart-felt. Bittersweet. A million words could not have articulated their sorrow more poignantly.
After their incredible performance, all the teachers and students joined together to sing the school song. It seemed like everyone was in tears. I wasn’t expecting to cry, but I couldn’t hold anything back at this display. Watching Kerry as she waved and cried, I tried to imagine what it would be like to have to leave this island now, in the middle of this experience. Perhaps I take it for granted; here we are, contracted for a year, but sometimes that year just seems so long and certain circumstances unbearable. A JTE which is impossible to teach with, an annoying kid who gives you nothing but grief in class, unending rice and unidentifiable fish bentos. This is the small stuff. If someone were to rip me out of Japan today, I would be not only upset and disappointed, but I’d be pissed off! Which is exactly how Kerry feels, and we were all aware of it. She must go home now, really she has no other option, but I know if there was anything in the world she could have done to stay, she would have done it.
The boys finished off the performance with some more stomping and yelling and I saw off to the far right, even the non-uniformed boys were starting their own line-up and performing the dance as well. Although they weren’t allowed to be an official part of the performance, they too wanted to express themselves. There were many colorful streamers attached to the railings of the ferry that connected to the hands of Kerry’s students, co-workers and friends—which started to brake in the wind as the ferry pulled away from the dock. As the ferry got further and further from the port, the boys started to run down the bohatei (cement seawall to prevent large waves from entering the bay) jumping and screaming and waving their goodbyes until the ferry was long out of sight. Between sobs and tears Kerry whispered, “I can still hear you. I can still hear you.”
I was pleased I could accompany Kerry on her last ferry ride from Kamigoto to Sasebo. She said we was really glad I was there too. We sat inside the ferry together as it pulled away from the islands and watched the lush, green mountains of Goto Retto drifting by. That moment I saw them differently. I saw them through Kerry’s eyes; the eyes of someone who would not be returning to their quiet beauty and happy innocence. It made me appreciative of my placement on Kamigoto and especially grateful for the good health of my family and friends.
“Take care of Kamigoto these next two years, Sierra. Appreciate the island for me.”
Kerry, I know that you’ll be reading my blog occasionally and checking in with us here on Kamigoto. If there is anything that we can do for you, just name it. We love you so much and support your tough decision to go home in this challenging time. Kamigoto won’t be the same without you. We will miss you so much! We already do.
With love,
Sierra
I picked her up from her apartment at 6:40 a.m. Friday morning and helped her move the last few things out of her apartment and hand keys over to her supervisor, Urahama-sensei. The ferry didn’t leave until 7:40, so we had plenty of time to get to the port and say our goodbyes to the few teachers and students who were expected to be there. On our drive through Urakura (Peter’s town) we saw some kids walking along the street—looking a little punky and up to no good—but Kerry recognized them as her own students at Kamichu (Junior High). We both thought they must be getting into some trouble this early in the morning!
At the port there were so many students (in uniform, of course!) and teachers from Kerry’s school, as well as members from her adult English conversation class, Laura and Yuka, and other friends we’ve met along the way: Blaine, his wife and daughter. About the only people who weren’t there were Catherine and Peter. It was amazing to see the support Kerry received, but this was only the beginning! We took lots of pictures with everyone in the lobby and Kerry received so many goodbye cards and omiyage from everyone—very touching.
I spoke with some members of Kerry’s eikaiwa class (adult conversation class) and they asked me to take it over for her. It’s on Wednesday nights from 7:30-9:30 p.m., but unfortunately is held in Aokata—a bit of drive for me to commit to every week. Kerry highly recommended that I do it, not so much because they want to continue learning English, but because they are a great group (of mostly women) that love to get together and hang out with the foreigner. In fact, they don’t even care about speaking English, so it’s a great opportunity to practice Japanese. Kerry said they love to teach her about Japanese culture, share the island gossip and give gifts to each other—it’s more of a gathering of friends than a class. I would love to do it, but I would probably do it every other week for two hours, or for just one hour every week. It would be nice to alternate between this and the Children’s English Night I sort of do on Wednesdays.
Anyway, back to saying goodbye. The ferry pulled into port and we all shifted to outside on the port deck, taking pictures all along the way and then… we saw the hoodlums. The ones walking from Urakura at 7 a.m.—we thought they were up to trouble—but they were actually walking to Arikawa to say goodbye to Kerry! It was so sweet! Even the “worst” kids in the school, still get up before the crack of dawn, ON THEIR DAY OFF, to wave goodbye to their English teacher!! Kerry got about five pictures with this cute group of boys, which she later said to me consisted of some of her favorite students. I agree—some of the “bad” kids, the ones the Japanese teacher’s don’t like anyway, are my favorite students. It’s hard to call them bad, because compared to American “tough kids” there isn’t a bad bone in their body. They just have incredible energy and enthusiasm for life. They’re teenagers, for god’s sake, they need to rebel somehow.
When we could finally pull Kerry away from the masses, and get her on the boat, we were asked to go up to the upper deck to wave goodbye. Then I realized why so many students were their in their uniforms. They were about to perform one of the most heartrending goodbye song and dances I have ever seen in my life. All the boys in uniform lined up along the dock. The biggest boy, front and center, was directing the others by calling out in as deep a voice a 14-year-old can manage. A single taiko drum beating between his shouts, and then this group of boys began yelling and stomping out their sorrow. It was ritualistic and powerful. A crowd of teenagers mourning the premature departure of their teacher and friend. It was expressive. Heart-felt. Bittersweet. A million words could not have articulated their sorrow more poignantly.
After their incredible performance, all the teachers and students joined together to sing the school song. It seemed like everyone was in tears. I wasn’t expecting to cry, but I couldn’t hold anything back at this display. Watching Kerry as she waved and cried, I tried to imagine what it would be like to have to leave this island now, in the middle of this experience. Perhaps I take it for granted; here we are, contracted for a year, but sometimes that year just seems so long and certain circumstances unbearable. A JTE which is impossible to teach with, an annoying kid who gives you nothing but grief in class, unending rice and unidentifiable fish bentos. This is the small stuff. If someone were to rip me out of Japan today, I would be not only upset and disappointed, but I’d be pissed off! Which is exactly how Kerry feels, and we were all aware of it. She must go home now, really she has no other option, but I know if there was anything in the world she could have done to stay, she would have done it.
The boys finished off the performance with some more stomping and yelling and I saw off to the far right, even the non-uniformed boys were starting their own line-up and performing the dance as well. Although they weren’t allowed to be an official part of the performance, they too wanted to express themselves. There were many colorful streamers attached to the railings of the ferry that connected to the hands of Kerry’s students, co-workers and friends—which started to brake in the wind as the ferry pulled away from the dock. As the ferry got further and further from the port, the boys started to run down the bohatei (cement seawall to prevent large waves from entering the bay) jumping and screaming and waving their goodbyes until the ferry was long out of sight. Between sobs and tears Kerry whispered, “I can still hear you. I can still hear you.”
I was pleased I could accompany Kerry on her last ferry ride from Kamigoto to Sasebo. She said we was really glad I was there too. We sat inside the ferry together as it pulled away from the islands and watched the lush, green mountains of Goto Retto drifting by. That moment I saw them differently. I saw them through Kerry’s eyes; the eyes of someone who would not be returning to their quiet beauty and happy innocence. It made me appreciative of my placement on Kamigoto and especially grateful for the good health of my family and friends.
“Take care of Kamigoto these next two years, Sierra. Appreciate the island for me.”
Kerry, I know that you’ll be reading my blog occasionally and checking in with us here on Kamigoto. If there is anything that we can do for you, just name it. We love you so much and support your tough decision to go home in this challenging time. Kamigoto won’t be the same without you. We will miss you so much! We already do.
With love,
Sierra
