"Tutu Funny; A Foreign Ballet Student in Japan" By Susan Hirakawa [3 November 1999]
I should have known from the first lesson that I got more than I had
bargained for in joining a Ballet class here in Japan. It was not so much
what I got but what I ended up giving to the rest of the class. The sparkle
in the madam's eyes on that first day held the hint of her delight to find
a living, foreign-body specimen for showing those endless anatomical
differences between the gaijin body and the oriental. Here are some of the
valuable lessons I have been privileged to provide in the flesh:
1) While our legs may be long, they cannot compare in strength. This
lesson inevitably follows after a dismal effort on my part to raise my leg
higher than my hip while supporting all my weight on the ball of one foot.
And it is usually accompanied with a graphic display of the traditional
toilet squat position that sensei insists is the secret to her
countrywomen's strong thighs, never mind that it is the rare modern
urbanite who can still maintain that pose long enough to finish the job.
2) While our shoulders are wide, the lower back fails to hold up under the
stress of point shoes where body alignment is crucial, or, as in my case,
excruciating, without the all important tushie tuck.. On the other hand,
she points out, foreigners are spared the infamous Japanese curse of
kata-kori (stiff shoulders), thanks, in her opinion, to the Western use of
high tables, sofas and chairs, which by the way, also gives us our longer
legs and straighter spine. Eating her words (and my cooking) would not be
punishment enough if she saw the low counters I've had to cook and eat on
here in Japan. I must be getting used to them; now the throbbing starts as
soon as I begin even thinking of what to cook for dinner.
3) Speaking of food, according to my sensei, foreigners diet gives us an
advantage in muscle shape too. I was pleased to find out that this round
butt of mine is thanks to a high protein diet which has infiltrated my
ancestors DNA and forced generations of my family to buy only elastic
waisted clothing. It always helps to know "why", doesn't it? Thinking about
it now, I must admit that since hearing this last tidbit, the main dishes
at our house have taken a suspicious turn towards the vegetarian.
4) Westerners are better at expressing themselves through dance. Sensei
attributes this to the larger western ego, said, coincidentally, during one
of the first classes I took before I knew the impoliteness of not
hesitating when told to assemble for the center exercises. Taking the lead
in obedience and thoughtfulness, I ran quickly to the front of the room in
true NYC ballet class "survival of the quickest" tradition. Hey, a spot in
front of the mirror under the critical eyes of the teacher can easily
translate into an extra 300 calorie loss. Meanwhile, those skinny
wallflowers behind me were holding up the class by feigning shyness and
manners and waiting for the teacher to choose where they should be so
grateful to stand. Aesthetically dictated by my superior height, she chose
that I should be in the back.
It isn't so much the constant comparisons that I mind. It's the tangent,
head-nodding "hmm's" from the other dancers, most of whom are living,
breathing, exceptions to every rule imaginable that might give westerners'
bodies the slightest advantage over Japanese ones. I should be so lucky as
to have one-tenth of the DNA responsible for their beautiful bodies. The
biggest difference between them and me is really only hard work, with a bit
of youth and vitality on their side, plus maybe a greater tolerance to
authority. Now, after five years, I have learned to smile and nod in
agreement with the rest of my classmates, and the comments are coming less
and less since I'm not such a new face (that is: body) anymore. Sensei is
less interested now that I have failed her by producing three boys when she
had hoped from me the ultimate Svengali project, that of shaping a mixed
Japanese and American ballerina of her own, giving a big sigh and saying
"zannen"(what a shame) whenever our gang happens to meet her around the
neighborhood. Why do I put up with the abuse? Call me a masochist, but each
time I see my elderly sensei's straight back and beautiful legs moving and
jumping in ways I can only hope to someday, I can't help but to keep going
back to her for more.
Susan Hirakawa, an American mother of 3 boys enrolled in Japanese
schools and a graduate student at Sophia, has lived in Japan for 12 years.
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