JAPAN (Koka) - From Teacher to Puutaro

Last night, I went to bed as a gainfully employed, upstanding member of this mid-sized city, respected for my teaching abilities and talent for making a fool of myself in front of large audiences. And then I woke up this morning. Unemployed. Soon to be without a place to call to my own. Awwwww yeah.

In Japan, lazy good for nothings without a job (like myself) are referred to as puutaro. At the moment, I am quite pleased to have acquired this title.

I got up this morning around 5:30 (I fell asleep last night when I should have stayed up packing), took a shower, brushed my teeth, threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and wrapped a white towel on my head to get down to work.

Jeans and a sweatshirt on a weekday. It felt good. After 6 years of having to wear a suit and tie everyday for work, it feels so liberating to know that neither my suits nor ties shall see the light of day for the foreseeable future. Of course, somewhere inside, the flaming metrosexual part of me is weeping inconsolably at this development.

The town hired a cleaning service guy to come to my apartment today to give my kitchen, room with the bath and room with the toilet (in most Japanese homes, the toilet and the bath are in completely separate rooms, which, when you stop to think about it, makes a lot of sense hygiene-wise) a thorough professional going over. This meant that I had to at least get everything in those areas packed up and ready to go. Nothing like a deadline to make a bum like me move.

Shortly before 9, my doorbell rang. "Crap, I didn't get everything done in time, " I thought to myself as I opened the door. But instead of the cleaning guy standing there, it was Ms. F, a teacher from one of the elementary schools I used to visit on a regular basis.

Ms. F lives in a house on the opposite side of the rice paddy that is right outside of my window so we both are constantly aware of each other's coming and goings-- yet despite living this close for the past three years, we haven't really had many lengthy conversations. I do know, however, that she is a really cool lady. She has a son about my age who does quite a bit of traveling himself and she often talks about wanting to do the same.

Anyway, it turns out that Ms. F had stopped by on her way into work.
"I just wanted to wish you good luck on your trip," she said.
"Thank you so much," I replied, smiling at this pleasant surprise.
Ms. F continued: "I wish I could go to India with you to do volunteer work, too... but in my stead, please take this..." and with that, Ms. F pulled an envelope out of her bag and stuffed it in to my hands. "I hope this helps you on your journey."

"Ms. F, I can't take th...," I started.
"Take it. This is my 'volunteer' work," she said as she pressed the envelope into my palm, "Take care of yourself. I have to get to work." All I could do was bow and thank her.

It's night-time now and I'm about to take off for another farewell party, but I just opened the envelope and was surprised to find a very large amount of money in the envelope. I tried to call her to tell her it's too much, but there was no answer. But then again, she's not going to take it back, is she? I should just take it, thank her properly and give it to the people at LAFTI when I get there. But...still... what do you do?

Over these past few months, the generosity of my colleagues, students and the people of this community in general has been overwhelming. Between the response to the news of my apartment being burglarized in January and the news of my decision to leave my job and embark on this tour through Asia, I have received in monetary gifts alone something exceeding what I had normally earned in a month.

And then the steady stream of farewell parties - ranging from intimate affairs of close colleagues taking me out to dinner up to the huge one last week that lasted from 11 in the morning until 5 that afternoon and had, I was told today, over 100 people in attendance. The fourth graders at one of the schools I visit decided to get in on the act too and gave up their recess time for a week to plan and prepare their own farewell party for me complete with games, gifts and letters from all of them and big send-off tunnel of arms finale. Many of my other students also wrote letters and gave me gifts such as small handmade dolls and other omamori (good luck charms) to protect me on my journey.

What does a person do in the face of such generosity? I am truly blessed to have spent the past three years of my life becoming a part of this community.

Wow, I've wandered pretty far off of topic...but I've got another farewell party to get to now, so I'll have to wrap here and write about the joys of my new puutaro life later.