letter from kyoto: there but for the grace of god

by Chris Gladis

The last few months have been tumultuous, to say the least. It was an experience that I imagine every expat has eventually; one that we try scrupulously to avoid: change.

Anyone who spends more than a few years in their adopted country becomes comfortable with it. You know its culture enough to not cause offense. You know your neighborhood, and the best places to get drinks or cheap sushi, or at the very least a nice place to spend on a sunny day off. Everything is cruising along just fine until the brakes clench, and it all goes spinning out of control. Only the lucky survive.

Last October, my employer, NOVA — the largest English conversation school in Japan — went bankrupt. We all knew it was coming. Some people jumped ship as soon as their September paycheck was late. Some, like me, hung on to the bitter end, paid with nothing but the students’ thanks and a fulfilled work ethic. But the outcome was the same for everyone; we were cut loose.

Japan does have a fantastic unemployment system, and those of us who lost our jobs on October 26 were eligible to get money from the state. And while I did twitch at the thought of going on public assistance (thanks, no doubt, to years of growing up with Republican parents) that was not what occupied my mind.

For the first time since I came to Japan, I felt truly lost — and a little scared.

My comfortable life was in danger, and the options seemed to be few and far between. Join another English conversation school? I could, but then I’d be back at the bottom of the pay-scale, to say nothing of the thousands of other ex-NOVA teachers jostling for the same jobs. Go into business for myself? I hardly have the confidence in my own business sense to pull that off, nor do I trust my dedication to it. I don’t have the qualifications to get work in a college or high school, and I really didn’t know what else I could do.

Losing my job in the States certainly would have been terrible, but not cripplingly so. Finding another job, even an interim job, is possible with a little bit of effort and a snappy resume. But here, I was suddenly aware that my only marketable skill was speaking English — and there were thousands more like me out there. Without a post-graduate degree or any kind of recognized ESL training, my options were very slim indeed: go back to the bottom of the eikaiwa ladder or go home.

It’s a shocking thing, the feeling that everything you’ve worked for could be gone any minute. Worse, to my mind, was the feeling of ignominious defeat if I were to return home this way. I wanted to return to the U.S. on my terms, not NOVA’s, and the thought of leaving because I had nowhere else to go was just crushing.

I found myself immersed in the process of self-evaluation, something I hadn’t done for a long time. I pondered my own worth, both as an English teacher and as a human being, and looked for what I might be able to contribute to society –- for which contribution I could get paid. And, given my tendency to list towards pessimism, it was not an enjoyable process.

What is the value of my experience? How can I recover my balance in such an uncertain situation? Most importantly, how can I stay in Japan?

I was fortunate, in the end. I was hired back when NOVA was salvaged by another company, G.Education. I survived their over-estimation of how many teachers they would need, and it looks like I may have a stable job again. Soon I should get my back pay from the government, a not-inconsiderable sum that I can put to good use.

Most importantly, however, I learned a lesson about complacency. It’s a dangerous thing in general, even more so when you’re living in another country. With no family here to fall back on, and no easy route to work, I became very aware of the fact that I was in real danger of having to return to the U.S., a prospect I did not relish. I had allowed myself to become lazy, and very nearly paid the price.

It’s very easy to keep part of yourself in your home country, thinking: “Well, if this Japan Thing doesn’t work out I can always go home.” It’s very easy to be away “temporarily” for a very long time, never really taking advantages of the opportunities that are offered to you. And that’s what I did. I haven’t wasted my time by any means, but I know in my heart that I haven’t used my time here nearly as well as I could have. I know now that for all these years, there’s been a part of me that has seen this as a passing phase, a not-so-brief stop on my way to “real life” and the ultimate decision of what I want to do when I grow up.

And so, with the New Year, came new plans. I’m going to take a course to get the CELTA (a TESL certification out of Cambridge University) and use that to move on to better things. With that will probably come a change in location and living arrangements — in other words, a move out of the comfort of the nest that I’ve made for myself.

All things considered, I’ve done well under adverse conditions. I kept my head level, waited out the troublesome times, and have come through the other side. It’s a lesson I never really wanted to learn — I don’t imagine anyone really does — but I’ve learned it nonetheless. So far, I’m still gainfully employed, and, survivor’s guilt aside, happy to be so. As with all major life upheavals, though, there is a lesson to be learned from this: if you’re going to live abroad, you have to commit to it.

tagged under:asia, education, living abroad