A Day in My Life Teaching English Abroad as an ALT in Japan

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A random Thursday in January

6:33 am

Despite setting my alarm for 6:15, this is the time I eventually manage to crawl my way out of the covers.

My bedroom feels like the inside of a Costco freezer, and it takes all of the little energy I have just to be able to brave sitting up. 

Although I vowed these words would never come out of my mouth, I find myself missing the heat of the Japanese Summer; at least then I’d still have working fingers and toes. The floor I’ve been lying on feels like just that – a floor. 

Sure, I have a futon to lift me a couple of inches above the ground, but now that the weather has turned, it feels no better than lying on a solid sheet of ice.

6:48 am

I cradle a cup of coffee in my hands. It’s peacefully quiet this morning, and I feel calm; I love these early starts in the countryside before the chaos of the day kicks in. 

It’s hard to imagine that just last year, I couldn’t brave presenting to a class of six fellow students without giving myself a panic attack.

Now I’m sipping coffee and scoffing down a pastry in a foreign country, about to teach eighty students without feeling so much as a shiver.

I’m proud of myself for getting here. 

7:50 am

I’ve made it to work without accidentally bumping into any of my students in my box car, which is, peculiarly, an impressive feat.

The path connecting the two main buildings of the school doubles as the entrance to the staff parking area, and driving through it every morning feels like trying to navigate a field of sleepy, unbothered sheep.

A dozen students wave eagerly back at me as I reverse my car into its space; perhaps it has something to do with the stuffed animals decorating my dashboard rather than excitement to see me, but it’s a great way to start the day, nevertheless. 

Everyone’s busy first thing in the morning; there are teachers running this way and that, children lugging backpacks twice their size, and parents rushing in to present forgotten water bottles and P.E. bags. I resume my position at the front doors, ready to greet drips and drabs of students as they arrive.

The same six students stand at the entrance to the school with me each day. They always welcome me in with big smiles and lots of patience, and despite the language barrier, they use what I’ve taught them to involve me as best they can. Today, they notice my sausage dog socks, which is a subtle tactic of mine to create a readily available conversation starter.

If I leave this year with nothing else but the long-lasting reputation of the crazy sausage dog lady, I'll be happy.

Lessons begin

8:30 am

Thursday is one of my busiest days: six lessons and a staff meeting.

I’d definitely rather be hopping from lesson to lesson than sitting idle in the staffroom, but Thursdays are particularly tough. Especially starting the day by teaching the third grade.

There’s nothing more infuriating than opening my textbook to a page that requires my students to cut out a dozen mini flashcards. Not only are these flashcards the size of my thumb, but they have a habit of getting lost under tables, inside pencil cases, and deep inside the trenches of other students’ pockets. 

The classroom becomes a blur of flying bits of card and lots of giggling, but I’m glad to hear that English is being used, despite the chaos.

9:25 am

My special needs classes consist of some out-of-tune singing (usually me), a lot of dancing (mostly me), and a lot of yelling and shoving (at me).

Thankfully, the second period is like the golden egg of timetabled lessons; it’s still early enough in the morning that the kids haven’t lost interest, and it’s late enough for them to have woken up and have found some extra energy. 

We start by singing the ‘ABC’ song; I set up the TV so we can all gather in front of it and dance to our hearts' content.

Although this class isn’t the most confident in their English speaking abilities, they do enjoy a bit of a jump around, and I enjoy the break away from the monotony of the school textbooks.

English learning is meant to be fun, and I’m glad I have the opportunity to reinforce that.

By the time the bell for fourth period rings, I am a sweaty, stinky mess.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and it almost makes me jump backwards.

I could have sworn that I came to school with at least a semblance of professionalism, but now my hair has fallen out in strands across my forehead, and my skin looks all dewy and flushed – it’s impossible to stay pristine in this line of work.

Tea time

11:20 am

My favourite time of the day.

I’ve barely made it through the office door when I’m ushered into the staff kitchen by the tea lady. I feel bad reducing her to such a bland and emotionally detached name after everything she has done for me, but for the sake of her privacy, I hope you’ll understand my decision. 

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” she says (in Japanese). Blanket statements about the weather are about the only Japanese I can manage. I nod in agreement, even though the staffroom is currently in competition for the coldest room with my bedroom.

I watch nervously as she reveals a brown paper bag from a secret hiding spot in the cupboard next to her. I wonder what she brought as a tea-time snack today. This week, it’s been Japanese pickles, rice crackers, and persimmons (an orange fruit that can be likened to an orange, which, until yesterday, I didn’t know existed… (the persimmon, not the orange)).

As a picky eater, this really tests the bounds of my anxiety. I take a relieved breath when she reveals a couple of strawberry candies. When I place my own offerings on the table (Happy Hippos (aka the best snack on planet Earth)), it prompts a bowing battle back and forth that gets us caught in a loop for what feels like minutes.

On a more serious note, the tea lady has been my anchor at this school for the past year.

When I lost my Grandad back in April, I was just a week away from starting work at this school. I felt very isolated being so far away from home for the first time and not being with my family. But most of all, I felt the deep loss of one of my biggest supporters and best friends.

In Japanese culture, it’s still taboo to talk about such personal subjects, so I decided to keep my grief behind closed doors and start the school year off positively, as best I could, just as my Grandad had wanted; it was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

The tea lady stepped into my life at exactly the right time and took me under her wing as if she subconsciously knew it was what I needed. Although I lost such a pivotal person in my life, I gained another. 

She may never know how much her care and support have meant to me.

Lunchtime 

12:10 pm

There’s a folded-up copy of the lunch menu inside my desk drawer. I gave up on translating it after the first few meals, partly because I’m not sure I want to know what I’m eating before it goes in my mouth, and also because the translations often leave me more confused than I started.

According to Google Translate, we’ve got ‘pork and stinky sauce’ to look forward to this week. And, if I make it to next week, I might find a ‘little shark’ on my plate.

Today, I’m looking down at a bowl of plain rice, a salad consisting of carrot, cucumber, bean sprouts, (potentially) crisps, and cabbage, and the biggest slab of egg that I’ve ever seen in my life; it’s so thick, it more closely resembles a Victoria Sponge Cake. The soup must be ginger-flavoured today with tofu and a mysterious grey jelly substance that remains unidentified.

The lack of a knife and fork or spoon doesn’t faze me anymore; I pick up my chopsticks and get to work slicing the brick egg into smaller, more manageable slices. It's surprisingly delicious. Don't judge a book by its cover!

Lunch break

12:55 pm

The second the bell rings for lunch break, I hear a stampede of fourth graders sprinting down the corridor. 

It’s nice to know that this generation of kids still enjoys throwing themselves around in the dirt outside rather than sitting glued to a screen for twenty minutes. 

Japanese Elementary School playgrounds have been stuck in time for centuries. Ours consists of a flat field with some monkey bars, a climbing frame, two soccer goals, and the dirt hill.

This dirt hill serves no particular purpose, but it’s the hangout spot for all the cool kids wanting an elevated view of the playground. Hence, this is where I’m heading at lunch today.

It’s a bit of a toss-up at the lunch break whether I’ll be dragged into a game or left to wander around the playground like Billy-no-mates.

If I’m spotted by my second-graders, I can guarantee that I’ll spend the next 20 minutes being chased around in a game of tag. If my first graders get to me first, I’ll spend a considerable chunk of time standing still and watching them perform amateur gymnastics on the gym bars. And, if for some reason, I remain undetected, it’s up to me to force myself into a conversation or game unless I fancy walking slow laps around the field (which is, embarrassingly, a regular occurrence).

It’s a sunny day today, and the sky is incredibly bright blue; everyone is outside, screaming and laughing and enjoying the fresh air. From the top of the dirt hill, I can see that an intense game of tag with the second graders is already underway by the school gym – I make a mental note to avoid that area.

There’s giggling behind me, and it’s growing louder. I spin around just in time to catch a hand poking me in the lower back. As I lock eyes with the perpetrator, he squeals and runs in the opposite direction. 

What grade is he in, you ask?

Second.

So, it seems we're playing a game of tag.

The weekly meeting

3:15 pm

We have more than one staff meeting each week, but Thursday afternoons are the most regular and formal affairs.

After a packed afternoon of back-to-back lessons, I’m content sitting at my desk in the staff room, usually sipping on a hot beverage whilst I crack on with some marking. 

The meeting doesn’t officially begin until 3:30 pm, but most of the faculty are seated with note-taking equipment in hand and ears perked by 3:15, ready to hear the hot gossip for the week. 

Once I’ve seen off the majority of the students at the front door, I make my way into the office to join them. I may look like I know what is happening, but that’s because I’ve mastered the art of sitting pretty and nodding intermittently to give the illusion that I’m part of the conversation. Truthfully, I can never tell for sure whether the speech the principal gives is praise or scolding. 

As I’m sitting at my desk trying to read the facial expressions of teachers around the room, I feel even less sure of the answer; some look miserable, a couple are falling asleep, and the teacher opposite looks like she may burst into laughter any second.

The meeting usually ends with omiyage (teacher-gifted snacks and tea). I happily take my bag of goodies but leave the investigating until later on – I’ve got important places to be.

Gakudo (After-school club) 

3:55 pm

For most of this academic year, the place where all the kids went after school was a mystery to me. Of course, I’d seen the building they disappeared into, but I’d never ventured outside after school to see what all the screaming and laughing was about. I wish I’d been braver earlier. 

If I finish my desk work before the end of my working day, I usually slip out of the staff room and into the playground where students of all ages are busy running riot.

Outside play at the Gakudo club is basically a free-for-all; the kids grab whatever they want from the toy cupboard and go nuts. 

Today, I tiptoe into the playground to survey the area and work out which activity I’d most like to join, but my cover is immediately blown when two of my first-grade students spot me from a distance and come hurling towards me.

I’m swiftly brought into a game of hide and seek. 

As you can imagine, it’s significantly harder for a fully-grown adult like me to find a hiding space in a playground that is mostly barren apart from the dirt hill and a couple of trees bordering the field.

Nevertheless, it’s my favourite game to play with these kids. They’re eager to demonstrate their English speaking skills by counting to twenty, so it’s kind of a win-win situation; I get to play a fun game while they're entertained practicing their English. 

Home time

4:30 pm

It’s always hardest saying goodbye to the kids at the Gakudo club. I always have such a fun time playing whatever game I’ve been dragged into that I don’t want to leave. Plus, it’s hard to communicate why I can’t stay and play forever to a bunch of seven-year-olds who don’t have that level of English understanding yet. 

Nevertheless, at 4:30 pm, I give a round of high fives to everyone around me and head back to the staff room to pack up my things. 

4:35 pm

The sun sets early at the moment, so the sky has turned a beautiful shade of pink. It feels like a reward for the hard work of the day, but it also makes me think of how sad I’ll feel leaving at the end of April. 

Out in the countryside, the sky is always blue. It’s refreshing to be able to walk outside at night and see the sky scattered with stars, which is not always the case back home. The air feels so crisp and clean, and the wildlife is abundant.

I’ll miss driving to and from school, where the rice farmers are hard at work preparing their fields for the next harvest.

I’ll miss driving 30mph on straight roads and feeling like it’s a rush whilst the rest of the world ticks by more slowly.

Most of all, I’ll miss teaching such kind and welcoming children who accepted me from the very second I stepped through those school doors.