Fuji and Chama in Kindergarten 2 page

It’s fine.

“Someone with a leg disability is trying their hardest to climb stairs, but they can’t climb them easily and it looks like they need help; what would you do,” our teacher asked. Everyone raised their hands, “Pick me, pick me, pick me!” They were desperately putting their hands in the air. There were some kids whose arms got tired so they’d prop them up with their other arm (laughs). Our teacher called on someone and they said, “I’d ask them if they were ok and I’d lend them a hand!” “I think so too,” everyone agreed. “Yes, that’s right. If someone is having trouble you should lend them a hand,” the teacher said. Then someone said “I have something to add!” If someone said that then we all had to put our hands in the air. If we thought what they said next was wrong, we’d make a scissor motion, if we had a question about it, we’d make a rock, and if it was an ordinary opinion we’d make paper. I remember all of this. I thought that since they were all opinions, we should just make the paper motion every time (laughs). Anyway, right after they said what they thought, everyone made a hand motion. If there was even one scissor motion, it was agonizing. “Yes, so-and-so, you have something to add?” “Yes. When something like that happens, I think you should match their speed and help them slowly.” “Be kind to them.” That exchange is easy enough to follow. But I was thinking, “Is that right?” as I was listening. Because I loathed ethics from the beginning, I often caused a stir in class, and my teacher regarded me as her sworn enemy. “Fujiwara kun, stand!” she said, “You didn’t look like you were listening very well; do you have an opinion? Tell the class!” I really didn’t want to say anything. She would definitely get mad; I thought there would be an explosion of scissor and rock motions, so I didn’t want to answer, but I had to. I only said, “I wouldn’t say anything to them.” Everyone loudly went, “Eeh!?” and “Pick me, pick me, pick me,” scissors and rock motions popped up everywhere around me. My teacher made an I-can’t-believe-what-this-guy-is-saying face and said, “So in other words, you would ignore them?” “Yes,” I answered, “or something like that.” Then to get an opposing opinion she called on a girl who looked like they disagreed. The girl looked like she wanted to make me out to be a fool. She was really pretentious. I was wondering if I would end up making her cry (laughs). “Why would you act so coldly? I don’t think you can ignore someone who has a leg disability,” she said. “No, it’s because they have a leg disability that I wouldn’t say even one word,” I countered, although at first they ignored me. They started saying things like, “I think everyone should treat troubled people equally, without discrimination, and help them.” “Me too!” “I agree I agree!” Those were the kind of things I usually heard them say. It was pretty interesting. Then they wanted to know what I thought, “Now what does Fujiwara-kun think, now that you’ve heard what we said?” I tried to communicate to them why I thought that what I would do wasn’t discrimination. “This person is trying their hardest and pushing themselves to the limit of what they’re able to do. It’s not like I wouldn’t think ‘Why don’t I help this struggling person,’ but it’s not like I would observe them especially and decide to help them because I see that their legs are bad, right? I wouldn’t assume that they couldn’t do something. Isn’t it discrimination to think you have to lend a shoulder or they won’t be able to climb the stairs?” I said. Almost all of my classmates fell silent but I didn’t stop there. “For example, all of us are healthy, we have no physical defects, we play soccer, we play on the balance beam, but if someone sprained their ankle playing soccer, or broke a bone, or fell from the balance beam, and the next day they couldn’t walk, everyone would have to lend them a hand because they couldn’t climb stairs, and I’m not sure whether that person would be happy or not. I think they would be miserable. I would want to be left alone to do the things I’m capable of. In reality, nothing like that has ever happened to me, so I don’t really know, but I think being helped because you’re seen as ‘that’ kind of person is discrimination; that more than being helped up stairs, you would feel like you’re being dropped to the bottom. The ones who’re deciding whether or not they can climb the stairs is us, right? They’re trying their hardest to do it, aren’t they? Don’t we also have things we can’t do even though we’re trying our best? Some of us can jump rope double-dutch, and some of us can’t, right? But all you can do is try your best. When you try your hardest and finally are able to jump double-dutch, you’re really happy. Wasn’t the happiness you felt when you did a back hip circle with a teacher’s or friend’s assistance completely different from the happiness you felt when you did it by yourself?” Doing a back hip circle was a must for everyone in that class, and they had all learned how to do it. They all should’ve known that happy feeling. A set of stairs, a back hip circle; there’s not much difference. “Everyone should be able to watch over someone who’s doing their best without lending a hand, but you throw cold water on their efforts by trying to make yourself look better. Not overlooking a person who’s struggling, having a heart kind enough that you absolutely have to help someone who you judge to be weaker than others; isn’t it just the appeal of having such a heart that drives you to help? You should be ashamed!” I said. That’s just using people to increase your sense of self-worth. I think if someone asks you for help, you should of course help them, and if at that time you get a feeling of “I’m a good person because I helped someone,” then that’s not a problem, but if you take it upon yourself to judge when someone is struggling then you really should be ashamed. After I said all that, the girl who disagreed with me from the beginning started crying. She kept on protesting, “That’s wrong, that’s absolutely wrong! You’re wrong!” but I wouldn’t back down! Once that happened our teacher said, “Alright, alright, the discussion is over. Fujiwara-kun, see me in the staff room after class.” I didn’t know why this kind of thing had to happen.

(Laughs)She ended it just like that.

She was angry. “Why did you say things like that!” “Well why did you call on me? This kind of thing happens all the time, shouldn’t you know by now? Isn’t it alright if I don’t say anything? Isn’t it important to have my own opinion? This is what that person thinks, and this is what I think, isn’t that what an ethics class is supposed to be?” “No, school is a community.” “So it’s a community class?” Whether it’s art or calligraphy or ethics, the style of education in which a specific answer is aimed for and anything else is weeded out is just a way to rid everyone of their individuality. It’s as if the people who wrote the textbooks wanted teachers to raise clones.

That’s right, that’s right.

I think textbooks are necessary. But if there’s one standard textbooks should have, it’s that this person thinks this, and that person thinks that, and this person wants to draw a picture like this, and that person wants to write like that; these are the standards so do what you can. Isn’t that the way they should be used? Every time it was the same story until day turned to night. It wasn’t a good system. I’d disagree, but I thought that I wouldn’t be understood, so I would decide to remain silent, but I would be called on anyway. And because of that my views were attacked. They would make me cry and make me out to be a bad person. At last, I finally said, “I can’t think like they do; I must be a burden. Wouldn’t it be better if they were nice to me?” Like a person who becomes winded climbing stairs, when everyone says that this is kind, and that this viewpoint correct, there are people who say the opposite, that it’s not correct. “Aren’t I that person, the one who’s a hindrance? Isn’t it better if everyone acts kindly toward me? What is it with you guys, you’re relieved when you find one common point of criticism?” I thought. I won’t ever forget that. But when ethics class ended, everything returned to normal. After all, the whole class was forced to think one way, and if I really think about it there were only a small handful of people who were pretentious. Well everybody is a little pretentious; I’m a little pretentious, but I still thought it was wrong.

There are people who hold animosity against that kind of collective education and seclude themselves, people who are twisted as a result of it, and people who don’t speak out against it; in your case you said all you could say. You’re the type of person who sticks to your principles and persists.

I didn’t say, “I’m right. You’re wrong,” what I wanted to convey was, “This is what I think. Isn’t that just how it is?” That’s what I emphasized.

How was entering middle school with that attitude?

I gave up in middle school. I realized that it was meaningless to try and emphasize what I thought. Trying to do so only wore me out. I understood that an exemplary answer was just exemplary behavior. I understood that if I did this, I would be praised, but if I did that, I would be admonished. If there wasn’t any resistance to me doing something a certain way, I would do it and say, “I think this;” my resistance subsided and I thought that would be enough. I truly didn’t put up any fight. The tension between me and my teachers more or less abated, compared to elementary school. In high school it diminished even more. I got a strong impression that teachers were just employees, which I didn’t completely realize in elementary school. Teachers are just people doing a job. That put me at ease. In middle school also, there were teachers who held discussions about moral obligations and humane feelings. They were really good teachers…I loved my seventh grade teacher. I loved him for all three years. The other day he appeared as a surprise guest on a radio show, and I was so happy I could’ve cried. When we were thinking about starting a band, we didn’t have any money to buy instruments with. We thought there must be a way to save money as middle school students. In old manga, it seemed like elementary school students were always doing jobs like delivering newspapers. We thought about doing something like that. We thought our school would probably allow us to have a job, so we did the logical thing and went to ask our teacher, Masu and Chama and I. “That’s useless. You can’t do that!” he said. He explained his reasoning after listening to us. “If you did something like that, the teachers here would look bad! But even so, you can’t lose heart. Go over where they collect garbage on the days when they pick up oversized items. Look for guitars or drums people have dropped off. Put in the effort to fix them if they’re broken. That’s where you should start from.” His words resounded in me. That’s a proper starting point; I still think so. That’s the kind of teacher he was.

Did you not have much motivation to live up until you formed the band?

I wonder. I did have fun. I went to a different elementary school so we were separated, but there were times when Masu, Masukawa, Chama, and I all met up. Although we followed the school rules, talking between friends was different. Club activities were fun too. Even though I wasn’t an active participant it was fun.

It seems like you were very creative when you weren’t in school or when you were doing plays and things. Did that side of you come out when you participated in clubs?

…I don’t think so. But I did sing often. I was famous for being the person who was always singing. To the extent that Masu came looking to ask me to be vocals.

That’s the one thing that never changes.

Class would end, we’d stand, bow, thank the teacher, and everyone would make a racket leaving. From that moment on I would sing. I would sing really loudly, and people would even tell me to sing. “Sing this,” “Sing like that” (laughs).

You didn’t ever feel like you wanted to be in a band?

Not really. A lot of my classmates were starting to buy guitars when Masu asked me to be in a band, so I took an interest in it. I thought, “Being in a band with this guy will really be interesting” (laughs).

Masu was an interesting guy?

I think I would’ve done it even if it wasn’t Masu who was asking me. But I thought Masu was a relatively special guy, back then (laughs). Especially at first…he was a really unpleasant guy (laughs). He was a stereotypical middle school student who tried to look cool. I don’t think anyone was ever on his level, though (laughs). By that I mean he said many times that it’s unpleasant to be with someone beneath yourself. If you look at Masu now, you wouldn’t expect that he used to be like that.

Yeah, it would be surprising.

Now he’s kind of like Buddha (laughs). He’s like a Buddha that’s full of magma (laughs). When we were in eighth grade, one of my old classmates showed him the final paper I wrote in sixth grade. He thought it was really interesting and decided he wanted to become friends (laughs). It was kind of cute. Masu was very much a guy worth paying attention to.

You performed live, in front of people, yes?

Yes.

What was that experience like?

Well, it was our first time. All of us were worried before we appeared on stage. We were uneasy, but that’s to be expected. How we would be received depended on how much enthusiasm we showed. Around that age, the popular opinion was that showing passion meant you were lame. Unfortunately we got a little passionate. We decided we wouldn’t lie about our feelings. We decided to play in our school’s culture festival. For us, the worst thing that could happen was for people to say, “They’re really getting carried away,” and “What are they getting all excited about?” We decided that if that were to happen we would be resilient, and we went on stage with a feeling of impending doom lingering in our stomachs. The result was interesting. The girls were standing on top of their chairs and throwing their fists in the air. The boys were sitting in their chairs listening intently but trying to look disinterested. I thought, “This is awesome!” and resolved to give it my all and enjoy it. When we finished they called for an encore; I couldn’t believe it! We didn’t have any more songs, so we played “Twist & Shout” again (laughs). So that’s how the culture festival went. Afterwards, when we were in the bathroom, one of the delinquent kids came in. “Hey you guys,” he said. We were thinking, “Oh shit,” but we asked him what he wanted, and he said, “Your performance was good” (laughs). “I was impressed, seriously. You guys did good,” he said. Then we were glad we performed. He said he was thinking about joining a band. We got through to him! In a school where being cynical was considered a virtue, we got through to someone! After the culture festival, our band became the new topic of conversation. We got carried away and started planning more gigs. The Seinenkan – not the Japan Seinankan, but the Ususi Seinenkan – was where elderly people met up to play croquet or go or shogi, although if you needed to, you could also borrow money there. There was a stage with red curtains. We thought we would bring our instruments over and put on a Christmas concert. We decided to make tickets, because if too many people came it would cause trouble. We were popular, after all. Nobody wanted to be the one to sell them, though, so we decided to distribute them instead. Thinking, “It wouldn’t be good if we made too many,” we started to make them. We thought people would come to see us (laughs). On the day of, we arrived several hours before the start and rehearsed. We also put up decorations; we wanted it to look really cool. Masukawa was our helper then. He put up the decorations and moved equipment and stuff. When it was almost time to go onstage, Masukawa was on the other side of the curtains. “Hey, are there people?” “Yeah, there’s quite a few!” “Seriously? What should we do? Damn, I’m kind of nervous!” “Don’t worry, just do your best,” he said. The time finally came, and as he was raising the curtains, Masukawa announced; “Ladies and gentlemen!” But when the curtain was raised, there were only about ten people (laughs). “What,” we thought, “But we made 100 tickets! There’s a one zero difference!” We started off playing despondently. We played through our rock-and-roll version of Wish upon a Star while holding back tears (laughs). Why didn’t anyone come? That was all we could think about. We had been really excited.

ᚱѻʝ 1/2ѻѻ6 Part 3

You weren’t as popular as you thought (laughs).

We were all feeling down. The concert wasn’t as exciting as we had hoped. On top of that, the girl I liked was supposed to be there, so everyone encouraged me to confess to her then. “Should I really? I’ll confess to her while I’m on stage,” I thought. But the girl wasn’t there; the most critical part of my plan. The rest of the members were saying, “It’s not just that she isn’t here; nobody’s here!” After the show ended, Masu’s mom came to pick us up. “Hey, I thought I told you boys to take off your shoes! Tracking things everywhere…!” She started cleaning up after us. I think she had been made head of the neighborhood association or something. We should’ve cleaned up too, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to care about it. We just stood around the back exit, hanging our heads. We thought our lives were over. We were about to go home when some delinquents sprung out from the bushes. “You were great today,” they called out to us. “We were drinking and smoking and stuff, so we hid here. We didn’t want to go inside because of the adults. You guys were good today, really. Let’s hang out more, huh?” There was a park close by we went to. A bunch of people met up there. The kids who came to the show, the kids who wanted to but couldn’t; it turned out to be quite a lot of people. There were people who came to listen in couples; some even said, “Today you were really good; today turned out to be an awesome Christmas!” When we said, “But it wasn’t very lively. We’re super disappointed,” they said, “No, it’s just that we’ve never been to any shows or concerts, so we didn’t know how to act. At least that’s how it was for us.” We saw their point and were somewhat relieved. By the end about 30 people had come. I think that day was the first day we stayed out really late, until two or three in the morning. It was a pretty bold move for a middle schooler, but our parents didn’t get angry. Although there were some people who got in trouble. There were even some girls there who fought with their parents over coming. Some parents called them, on the pay phone. Then the kid would say, “It’s ok if it’s only for today!” It was a night that was painted in our memories like a picture of our youth. But it signified a pause. It was like it was only a dream. Because everyone was so kind, we depended on their kindness. We reflected on ourselves very harshly, then. We decided that we had to focus on studying, so we ended band activities for the time being.

Did you have good grades?

After the band formed, my grades plummeted. I didn’t want to listen in class, and although I was enrolled in cram school, I skipped. My scores were pretty bad, honestly. If I think about it now, our disastrous Christmas live was actually a good opportunity (laughs). My eldest sister was particularly influential. She said, “People like you who just do what they want have to go to a good school. The better the school you get into, the more freedom you’ll have. If you only do whatever you feel like now, you’ll slack on studying and get into a bad school, where it’s strict and they’ll always be telling you what to do.” I saw her point.

She was very mature in her opinions.

I think in our family it was expected that you’d do well. It was obvious that you would get full marks. I wasn’t praised if I got good grades. I also thought it was just a matter of course. So when my test grades started dropping they were angry with me. When my sister saw what was happening she had things to say about it. If you ask why, it was because she was doing kind of the same thing as me. Going to school to major in dance was asking a lot of my parents, maybe unreasonably so from their point of view. She felt bad because of it. She probably thought the brunt of their disapproval was being shifted onto me. Before she gave me any advice she made sure to tell me it wasn’t her obligation to do so. That was the period of time when she looked out for me the most, but also the time when we fought the most. My other sister, I mean she was really great! She’s working at a pharmaceutical company now. I got along best with her when we were kids. I developed a bit of a complex though. My father and her were really close. He doted on her a lot (laughs). I don’t think there was ever a time when he looked at me like he looked at her. I said once that I thought he didn’t like me. It’s a little embarrassing to repeat now. Of course I think he probably did like me, if I look back on it.

Probably.

I’ve said it a number of times but we’re on good terms now. I was irresponsible and rebellious, so naturally my behavior was bad. When my eldest sister told me it wasn’t her place to advise me, from my point of view, she was really level headed. I don’t really know but…(laughs) I always thought I was a bad person. I thought that for a long time, when I was a kid, living at home. When my eldest sister told me I should go to a good school, I asked, “So if I go to a good school, I can be in a band and play guitar every day and they won’t be upset with me?” And she said, “I think so. Although I feel it’s like shirking duties.” My sister went to a stuffy private school. I don’t think it was a bad school, but anyway, she told me to look at my options and pick one. Like an idiot I believed that if I got into a good school I would be more free (laughs). Before I knew it I had taken entrance exams and been accepted into a high-level school. My first choice was the one Nagashima Shigeo graduated from, Sakura High School, one station away. I wanted to go to the one Mister Giants went to, but I got accepted to a different school of about the same standing. The private school I got into was hardly different from the other one, so it was an easy victory. I skipped out on studying for the public school entrance exams. I completely forgot that the exams covered five subjects. I was thoroughly prepared for three of the subjects. I didn’t do any studying for the other two (laughs). I failed it spectacularly. Hiro and Hide-chan got into the same school, and Chama went to a cooking school. My school was a little further away and we had students from Tokyo attending.

Did you feel as if you could finally concentrate on the band after you passed the exams?

It was kind of strange, but we ended up going to Chama’s on Tuesdays, and playing games, and realizing that it was Tuesday. Since we all happened to have our instruments, we would end up practicing. It was like the band started up again. I think that everyone thought it was good that it happened like that. We had fun practicing as a three man band. At that time Masukawa was doing me a favor by hiding the electric guitar I had bought in secret – Masukawa was interested in playing guitar so we talked about inviting him to join us. At the very, very end of ninth grade, in February or January, the band assumed the formation it’s still in now. At that time we started to create our own original songs. They weren’t that great though (laughs). They were just songs we wrote because we wanted to write songs, but that in itself carried some meaning.

Did you have any sort of vision for the future at that time?

I didn’t.

Not consistently, at least. You’ve always lived in the present. Could you say that you don’t make plans for the future?

No…I haven’t ever (laughs). I thought it was possible I would die the next day. I felt like if I sat down one day and wrote out a 100 page plan for the future, I might only turn one of those pages before dying (laughs). But anyway, I started to go to high school. It was a weird school. I thought I had made a mistake. I wasn’t as free as I thought I would be. Every little thing was dictated and controlled. Our uniforms, shoes, bags; dictated, dictated, dictated.

It wasn’t very fun?

No, my time in high school was… well, if I begin with the end, I dropped out right after the culture festival in tenth grade. It was around September. It was an extremely short period of time but it was fun. I couldn’t quite follow conversations with the kids who came from Tokyo, or even the kids who came from Chiba, so I experienced some culture shock. The girls were really mature and I had crushes on a few of them (laughs). On the way to school someone would say, “Oh, yesterday, this thing happened. Isn’t that hilarious?” I would be hastily flipping through an English reference dictionary while agreeing; it was like that. I felt like I didn’t research schools as thoroughly as I should have and I was paying for it. Right after school started I became even more irresponsible. I would sleep in the park and stuff. I only occasionally went to class. I was in another band too, at school.

Ah, you formed one at school?

My friends all had club activities and I didn’t so I would wait for them after school until they were done. I didn’t have anything to do, so I went to the library and read encyclopedias (laughs). I could hear some people talking. “Now, what I really want to do is rock, the real thing!” “You keep on saying that, but what do you mean by ‘the real thing’?” “I mean punk.” I thought they were crazy or something (laughs). “There’s punk, there’s metal, and there’s also rock. I don’t want to be bound to a category!” They were really getting into it. “Oh, I can definitely agree with that!” “That other guy’s guitar is terrible. If I’m gonna be the singer then I want a guitarist who can keep up with me. Like Kiss and Mick!” “Oh, I get it.” “Like an ice shop’s lucky charm!” I was listening to this interesting exchange while looking at the encyclopedia. I looked at the time and it was already five minutes until I had to meet my friends. I went to go put away the book, but they were talking right by the shelves. They were a little scary looking. I wanted to leave quickly, but as I sneaked the book back onto the shelf they called out to me. (By school regulations) hair was not supposed to cover your eyes or touch your ears, but mine did. I asked them what they wanted and they said, “You’re in a band, aren’t you?” “Yes, how do you know?” “Of course! You have that kind of look. It’s a rocker kind of look. What kind of music do you like?” “I listen to blues and stuff.” “That’s cool, that’s cool! Do you like punk?” “I’m not really familiar with it; I think if I tried to play it, it would sound like blues.” “Good, good, good! It’s decided! You’re our new guitarist!” And it was decided (laughs). I was a helper and a guitarist for those upperclassmen. I did have a talk with them about how I was in a band at home and how that was my top priority.

What kind of music did you guys play?

Things like Metallica. Metallica, Megadeth, Judas (Priest), Gamma Ray, that kind of thing. I was with those upperclassmen the majority of the time until I dropped out. We performed at the culture festival and then I quit.

If you look at it from a parent’s point of view, that’s a big deal. Quitting in your first year.

Yeah, it is. We had a talk about me quitting. “What, so you want to do music?” “Yes, I think so.” “If you’re quitting school to pursue your goals then I can’t stop you. If you’re going to quit then you’re going to quit. You’ve gotten this far thanks to us, so if you step off the path you’re going to be an adult. An independent adult. Don’t think you can live in this house without doing anything.” I understood what they were saying. That I had to pay rent. “How much will you earn a month?” they asked. I didn’t really know anything about part time jobs so I said about 100,000 yen. They said I had to pay half that, or 50,000 yen a month. I understood where they were coming from so I didn’t resist. It would’ve been terrible if I did. Every month I tried my hardest to make 50,000 yen. I was just barely making it. “Is this really what working is like,” I wondered. Usually my parents were just parents but at the end of each month they became landlords. They would remind me to pay the rent. I didn’t like that atmosphere. I don’t think my parents did either. So, I decided to leave home. I thought I could live in a shabby apartment in Tokyo for the same 50,000 yen cost. More than I realized at the time, I felt like… I had to put things in order. At first it felt like everything had ended…I can’t put my feelings at that time into words, but I thought optimistically that if my life ended then it would be alright (laughs).

Date: 2016-04-22; view: 842