To use the greeting that I’ve recently taught to my good friend Hiroyuki the cat sensei: Howdy partners. (Actually, I only taught him “howdy”. We had a nice conversation about it after I said, “Howdy!” to him. I told him that howdy is a fun greeting, not a standard one; it’s cowboy talk. He asked me, “Do people in Texas say howdy?” And that’s how I learned that howdy is in fact a standard greeting in Texas. I am a big fan of howdy.)

A few weeks ago, I started doing something that was new for me. Well, I guess I started doing a few things that were new for me; the fasting, and the “no-poo”, being the two that come to mind. I’ve told you about those things, but I haven’t told you that I’ve also stopped buying eggs and yogurt, previously staples in my diet. And what’s in, you ask? Sweet potatoes. Pure, unadulterated, boiled sweet potatoes. Earth’s gift to man, Ozu’s gift to Steven. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but Ozu (my city) is kind of a big deal when it comes to sweet potatoes. The mascot is a sweet potato (Karaimo-kun), and the city has a sweet potato festival. I’ve missed the festival twice now – both times it’s been brought to my attention in the days afterwards. “Hey, did you go to the sweet potato festival?” This happens often (my friend Lewis asking me twice if I’ve signed up for the Japanese Language Proficiency Test after the registration window is closed) and in such situations my thought is the same. If only the question had been, “will you” and not “did you”. But I know it’s my fault, and it still happens that I have generally very little idea of what is happening in the world around me – the 3rd was a major holiday, called Hinamatsuri, which a day for celebrating and wishing for the successful growth of young girls, and is the reason why you see creepy dolls in all of the stores in the weeks prior, and I never would have known it, if a teacher had not come up to my desk and said to me, “Steven, do you know what today is? It’s Hinamatsuri,” like she just had a notion, a little inkling that popped into her head as she walked by my desk, that said, “You know, I should probably tell Steven sensei that today is Hinamatsuri.” Her intuition was spot on. But, going back to the sweet potatoes, there is no more bountiful place in Kumamoto, probably in Japan, and possibly in the world, than Ozu – at least, it is certainly the only city that has an enormous, shimmering golden statue of a happy humanoid sweet potato outside of the city hall. Last year, in the sweet potato season, I had had my share of sweet potatoes, and I enjoyed them, for a meal here and there. But this year, things are different – and the difference is entirely due to one, Chopin-playing, glasses-wearing, Ozu-High-School-student-teaching, Kuriyama sensei.

I will call her Kuriyama sensei, but she goes by many names. She introduced herself to me, as some of the other teachers have in the way that I’ve talked about before, that can increase the odds of whether I remember their names or not by about 1000%, by converting it to English, as “Chestnut Mountain.” (Kuri being chestnut, yama being mountain). I thought that was just a beautiful name, and I will still call her Chestnut Mountain at times, and I think it is fitting to her personality, as she is sweet, like some of the best chestnut flavored sweets in Japan, and solid, reliable, force of nature, like a mountain. She told me, early on, that the students had dubbed her “The Great Angel”, and this woman is as angel-like as any you will find. When I had first come to Ozu, she would frequently bring me cups of fresh coffee. I don’t drink coffee (or energy drinks, or sweets, or umaibo – a popular kids snack that I recently realized, to great delight, literally translates to “delicious stick” – or any of the commonly gifted gifts that my Japanese coworkers love to give, creating the perpetual issue of me stockpiling goodies and treats and being forced to come up with new and creative ways to unload myself of them) and so the first time she gave me the coffee, I said, “Oh, thank you so much!” and took it like a good boy, had a few sips, and then after soaking up all of the good working vibes that having a hot cup of coffee at your desk can bring you, poured it down the drain. And after the second time, I said, “Oh, thank you so much!” asked Hashimoto sensei next to me, “Want some coffee?”, took a few sips, and poured it down the drain. And this continued. It is a dance, a fine line, between knowing when to accept gifts, and when to get out of being given them. But after the fourth or fifth time, I knew – this cannot continue, and I had to come out with it and say, “Chestnut Mountain sensei, I appreciate the coffee, but you know.. I’m really more of a water guy!” Of course, the fact that she would go to the effort of whipping up of fresh cups of coffee for me was never lost on me. And after that, the daily gifting was no more – that is, until sweet potato season came around.

It’s amazing to me, when I now think about how long it’s been, but this probably started one and a half, even two months ago. One day, then, Kuriyama sensei had brought me a sweet potato. I can’t remember that first potato – I didn’t realize how significant it would be. Unfortunately I have no mention of it in my journals. At that time, I had no idea that this was the signaling of a new saga in my life. But if I could go back, there are two things I would record – when I got that first potato, and how many potatoes I have gotten since. That day, then, Kuriyama sensei came to me. “Do you like sweet potatoes?” (and actually, this is almost exactly how another story that I have for you starts, only swapping sweet potatoes for another starting-with-the-letter-s-food (it’s squid) but that’s for another time.) And I, like any self-respecting Ozuinian, replied, “Yes, I do like sweet potatoes.” She then proceeds to hand me a small, purple, plastic-wrapped sweet potato. She says to me, “Microwave it for a few seconds. Enjoy!” Now, this potato is distinct for two reasons. The first reason, which I could see immediately, is that it’s smaller than the other sweet potatoes. Compared to the usual suspects, it was about a third of the size. It looked like it been shrink rayed. The second reason, which was made clear to me when I ate it, was that it was steamed. Up until this point in my life, I had only ever eaten these sweet potatoes one way – my way, the boiled way. And, there is nothing wrong with that way; but on that day, I learned that it is an inferior way. Kuriyama sensei’s small, steamed sweet potato was unlike anything I had ever eaten before. A perfect moistness, a perfect sweetness, a perfect form, that fit right into your hand, like a purple, sweeter, mushier chicken nugget. After the second day I had received a potato, and the third day, after I had received a potato, to my utter joy, I realized that I had found myself in the same situation as before, except infinitely better. Every time a potato was bestowed upon me I showed my complete gratitude – Kuriyama sensei, thank you, this is fantastic, these are incredible, I love you. At one point I said to her, “You cook a lot of sweet potatoes!” And she said to me, “Yes, I am a sweetpotatoholic.” And at the time, I simply thought that was funny – it didn’t occur to me then, I didn’t see then what road she was taking me down. After the fourth potato, I too was addicted. In the span of two weeks I had become a full-fledged sweetpotatoholic. I wanted more – I needed to know her secrets, her dark art. The day that I devoured the fifth, after I’d gotten my fix, I crossed the staff room, walked up to her desk, and said, “Kuriyama sensei, tell me. How do I do it? How do I make the potato?” And she revealed her art to me. Unfortunately, it is a complicated art. Involving steam, newspapers, ovens. Tools of sorcery that I am not familiar with and am afraid to experiment in. She told me that the sweet potatoes I wanted were the small ones, called Beni Haruka – the other ones weren’t worth my time. Beni Haruka, a masterful name, a name imbued with class, a name I would give to my dog; perfectly fitting for such a potato. She showed me her stash – a picture of a large cardboard box filled with tens if not hundreds of sweet potatoes. I didn’t question it. I just said, “I will pay you for them. Let me buy your sweet potatoes.” And she said, “How many do you want?” To which I replied, “How many will you give me?” The next day, she showed up with four (of course, all free). After this conversation, I promptly went out and bought several bags of beautiful Benis, brought them home, and worked my own dark magic on them (I boiled them). They were phenomenal, albeit inferior. That day, my life changed.

Our conversation was a pivotal moment for both of us. Kuriyama sensei recognized, we are birds of a feather who eat sweet potatoes together. We are now bonded in sweetpotatoholicism, and she has taken it upon herself to ensure that I never get free. She doubled down on her efforts, and since that day, every single day that I have been at Ozu High School, I have received a sweet potato from her – always perfectly steamed, and wrapped in plastic. In the beginning, when she was converting me, it was simply the giving of a gift. It has since become a game. The question is no longer whether I will get a sweet potato or not on any given day, because she knows, and I know, that I am going to get a sweet potato. The question is now, how? And the ways are many. She is sly, she is cunning. She will come to my desk, to all appearances, on a matter of business, with a inquiry; an English question, an update on the club, some school news – it’s all a masquerade, a pretense, a feint, meant to draw my attention away from the sweet potato that I find myself holding in my hand at the end of it. Passing her in the staff room, she finds ways to work them into our interactions. I mention to her that I’m fasting. “Oh, you must be hungry then. You could use this.” And a sweet potato appears. I come back to my desk from a series of grueling back-to-back-to-back sessions of About Me Bingo – sweet potato is waiting there to restore me. I found that after a period of time, I had even come to rely on, to depend upon my daily sweet potato. There was a day where I had forgotten my lunch, and the first thing that I did was turn to my tantosha, Goto sensei, and say, “I’m gonna’ need that potato.” And on a day just last week, when I had again forgotten my lunch, I said the same thing, and was met with “But Kuriyama sensei is not here today.” And I was destroyed. What was a gift, then became a game, then became something even greater, even magical, a mysterious force. For there was a day, last week, where I thought I finally wouldn’t be getting the potato. Opportunities had come and gone, and I had been saving some of my chocolate for her, 86%, all day – but the potato never came. For as long as I thought sensible, I held out, but in the end I gave up hope. Today there would be no potato, there would be no exchange, and so I ate the chocolate. After I had said my “Otsukaresamadesu!” (“I’m leaving now!”) and had stamped my inkan (ink seal that I stamp on a paper that says I showed up to work), had swapped out my inside-of-school-shoes for my outside-of-school-shoes, I was halfway through the parking lot and had turned the corner of the building, and who greets me but none other than Kuriyama sensei. I give out a surprised, “Hey!” She replies with, as she conjures it up out of her pocket, “Steven sensei.. your potato!” That meeting did seem to be accidental – she expressed as much surprise as I did – but I couldn’t help but come away from it wondering if there were higher forces at work. Mystical forces. Potato forces. I’ve never felt guiltier about eating chocolate. I had given up on her; but she had not given up on me – she still had the potato.

As you can tell from the story, this is currently a big development in my life. And what I’m thinking about now, is something I’ve been thinking about recently, about how there are certain people that just make your life brighter. They have a certain shine about them, a certain radiance, a charm, an aura, and interactions with them never fail to bring some of that brightness into your day. You have a certain synchronicity with them; your cogs match, your pieces fit. I am lucky enough to have a number of those people at my schools, and in my circle, students and teachers alike. Kuriyama sensei is certainly one of those people. And it strikes me now that another one of those people is Matsuzaki sensei, at Shoyo, who also gives me daily produce. I’m seeing a theme here.. From her, I’m getting weekly dekopon, or shiranui, and this is an interesting thing, that she told me about – there are two names for the same fruit; they conduct a “special test” and if the sourness level is above a certain threshold, it’s declared a dekopon, and if it’s at or below, a shiranui. I could have them switched. I probably have them switched. In both cases, they are one of the greatest citrus fruits you could possibly grace your tastebuds with. (I’ve typed tastebuds and autocorrect is telling me I’m wrong. I won’t change it – I like tastebuds as one word.) But, about these bright people.. I think about this now, I think more acutely, because I know that some of them will be gone soon. In Japan, the school year ends in the spring. The third years have already graduated (there are three grades in Japanese high schools). The new school year will start in April. At the end of March, the teachers will leave, and new teachers will come in their place. This is a quirk of the Japanese school system – teachers are rotated throughout the prefecture. They typically work at a school for a few years, but they can for as many as ten or more, in rare cases. My tantosha, who is one of these lights, will be leaving. So will Matsuzaki sensei, who has done her duty and will now be enjoying the freedom of retirement (she’s very excited about this). I knew about their leavings, but I was caught by surprise this week in a conversation with Kuriyama sensei and Hayashi sensei, after Ozu’s graduation ceremony. Hayashi sensei is having a baby (due in two months, she hid it well, I never noticed) and Kuriyama sensei has worked at Ozu for ten years – she’s on the chopping block. I asked if she would get another year, and she said to me, “Do you think Kouchou sensei likes me?” (Ultimately, it is the kouchou sensei’s (principal’s) decision, who stays and who leaves). I asked for a percentage and she gave me 50%. The winds of change blow strong this spring. If she goes, it will be the end of an era.

I wish they would stay! But, so is life. The world is ever in flux. Sweet potato season doesn’t last forever – but when it goes, new seasons take its place. Specifically, I think it will be nashi season soon (the Japanese pear). And that’s an interesting fruit, kind of an apple-pear hybrid, with the skin, color, and flavor of a pear, but texture and shape of an apple. I embrace nashi season with open arms!

It’s funny – I started this post by saying that I started something new a few weeks ago – and I haven’t even told you what it was. I’ve spent this whole time talking about Chestnut Mountain and her sweet potatoes. That sums up about perfectly how I write these things. Each one is a creation, as unpredictable as the shape of an island after the eruption of a deep-sea volcano. And what I had wanted to tell you in the beginning was completely insignificant – it was just the capstone, being blown off by the pressure that had built up inside that crusty, magma-laden chamber. Still, we’ll get to it, but not tonight. This magma has cooled!

I’d like to leave you with a quote. Recently these words from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Essays have been resonating with me.

“If you are true, but not in the same truth with me, cleave to your companions; I will seek my own. I do this not selfishly, but humbly and truly. It is alike in your interest, and mine, and all men’s, however long we have dwelt in lies, to live in truth.”

That’s it! I have added a widget that enables you to be notified by email whenever I post, if you’d like to do that. It should be right under these words. It is also now easier to find my blog. If you just search maninjapan.jp you’ll find it. Apparently, it was hard to find my blog via searching, there being many other man in Japan blogs (one man, garbage man, and tallest man; we should form a coalition of men in Japan). I still don’t think I show up in the search, but everyone can remember maninjapan.jp, especially me, which means I can now tell my friends how to actually get here, instead of going through the whole, “Well just search it! No no, not onemaninjapan. No, I’m not garbagemaninjapan! There’s nothing special about me! Just maninjapan! What do you mean I’m not showing up!”

Anyways.. Jya mata ne!

UPDATE: She came today. I’m deep in reading NHK Easy News. I hear, “Oh! You have plenty of food.” *Noting my stack of apple, mikan, chocolate, and cereal/nut/seed mix* She casually places a potato on my desk. Before I can even say thank you she’s moving on, and I say, “Hey, wait, wait.” And put a piece of chocolate in her hand. When this is all said and done I might just have to show her this post.