A First and Final Reflection as a Machida Fellow

By Ava Prince ‘18, JFOU Fellow 2020-2022

I’m not the best at recording my daily routine. I used to journal every day, but the monotony of COVID lockdown knocked that habit out of me. Along with journaling, the pandemic took away a sizable chunk of my time as a Shansi fellow. It feels unreal to say goodbye only a little over a year into my fellowship. How do I write my first reflection and my final one at the same time?

At the start of the year, I decided that I would stay in Tokyo after my fellowship ended. Since then, my eyes have been glued forward to the future. I’ve been so caught up with job searching, getting a job, and navigating the Japanese apartment-hunting process, that I haven’t had much of an opportunity to reflect on how much I’ve already accomplished and learned through this fellowship. I’m really grateful to have this opportunity to consider my journey up until now, and hope I’m able to express my thoughts well.

When I arrived last April, I really dove headfirst into life here. And I dove in hard. Probably in part due to my delayed arrival and in part being starved of new experiences due to COVID. If I had to sum up my overall mentality up until now, it would be with one over-exuberant: “yes.” Would I like to start tutoring a friend’s co-worker’s daughter twice a week? Absolutely. Would I like to go skiing for the first time and potentially, yes actually, sprain my wrist by falling down a mountain repeatedly? Yes, of course! Take a painting class? Sounds fun! Go camping by Lake Shikotsu in Hokkaido only a week into knowing each other the night of an approaching typhoon? Sure, why not! I don’t mind sleeping in a puddle of rainwater. There’s an onsen nearby where we can warm up in the morning.

Painting class in Harajuku with some friends. We were tasked to do our own takes on a Van Gogh painting.

This mentality has really encouraged me to emerge from my more introverted-inclined personality with confidence. It’s helped me value and nurture friendships and share experiences with others. But at the same time, balancing this mentality and establishing a comfortable day-to-day life was one of my largest challenges this year. Because I didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity, I’d sometimes find myself overcommitting myself, neglecting my basic needs and not letting myself recharge. My decision to make my life here a bit more permanent after Shansi has definitely helped restore some of this balance, relieved pressure, and given me time to think more big-picture and give myself space to breathe. It’s one thing to coordinate a multi-day biking trip, but do I always remember which days to bring my separated plastic bottles, cans, and cardboard to their proper collection spot down the street? I would like to say yes, but the two bags of sorted recyclables waiting patiently on my apartment’s balcony might disagree with me.

Setting personal goals for myself aside from travel, like studying for the JLPT (Japanese Language Proficiency Test), has given me a much needed sense of direction and drive as I enter a new chapter in Japan. One of the best decisions I’ve made in recent months was starting a part-time job at an international preschool and afterschool. It’s given me the opportunity to speak more Japanese with my coworkers, students' parents, and build some more experience teaching on my own outside of Shansi. (Of course, the kids are also adorable). I’ve cherished these accomplishments as I prepare for a relationship with Japan that isn’t shaped in any way shape or form by my relationship with Oberlin.

When Sara, my senior fellow, was nearing the end of her fellowship, she took recordings of everyday noises from her life in Machida -- the chirping crosswalks, the melody that plays when the Yokohama line arrives at Fuchinobe station, the bell between classes at the university. Even though I won’t be moving as far away as the US, I’ve had a similar urge to record the places, habits, routines, and people that have shaped the infancy of my life in Japan.

A premature nostalgia has crept into the edge of my vision. While on an afternoon walk, I’ll remember that brief period in the spring when the brilliant yellows and greens of the rapeseed fields met with the light pink, white, and magenta cherry blossoms that lined the path by our house. On lazy Sundays I’ll skip the bus and take an indulgent 30 minute bike ride from the apartment complex to Machida station along the Sakai river. While waiting for my laundry to dry, I’ll bike to Yamagishi Farms for fresh bread and 600 yen tomato ramen, making small talk with the old ladies behind the register. I’ll especially miss the playfulness of my students, and the regulars who come to English Club every week. Even though I’ll only be a few train lines away, I’ll truly miss the benefits of living a little bit closer to nature. I’m not sure I’ll miss the hour and a half long commute to get to most places, though!

One of my two final classes at JF Oberlin :( Thank you for the laughs and helping me grow as a teacher.

At the start of May, I went to visit Emily, my other senior fellow, in Kyoto and Osaka before meeting up with a few more friends in Naoshima and Teshima: two of the so-called “art islands” in the Seto Inland Sea. I studied abroad in Kyoto during my junior year at Oberlin and had visited Osaka and Naoshima and Teshima back then, as well. It was the first time I’d been back since 2016. About a month prior to my visit, in an effort to clear up some space on my laptop, I accidentally deleted my entire iPhoto library, including all of my photos from then. The lost photos haunted my visit and I wandered around with a strange sense of deja vu. Every so often I’d spot a corner, a cafe, or work of art and immediately recall a photo I’d taken there.

I’d recall the memories from the photos and see shadows of my past self everywhere. There she was, pedaling furiously down the banks of the Kamogawa river on a rusty rented bicycle to and from classes. Sitting contemplatively and watching clouds crest and then retreat to the other end of the oblong opening in the ceiling at Teshima Art Museum. Crouching against the stone walls of Osaka Castle, overheated in oppressive humidity. There was an echo of my past self around every corner. This year has been a journey of writing over, revising and deepening my relationship with Japan and as I continue to live here, I hope to keep encountering and reflecting on the many iterations of myself.

A First and Final Reflection as a Machida Fellow

By Ava Prince ‘18, JFOU Fellow 2020-2022

Oberlin Shansi