i lost it at the ceremony

so graduation came and went and my favourite little sannenseis are all grown up and gone. now will be a month long break before the long trudge that is high school commences and it will be one of the few moments in their lives where they will be utterly free and yet their own being enough to decide what they want to do and when they want to do it.

so I thought I was going to keep it together at the ceremony, because as moving as I could ostensibly perceive it as being, it was also in Japanese. most of the speeches and moving songs escaped me (though the speech from the mayor of Tomioka ended with an impassioned, “将来必ず富岡に住んでいる!” or, “in the future you must live in Tomioka!”, which was a very sincere and heartfelt plea from a mayor of a small semi urban town whose major product is agriculture.) one teacher got very sniffly during the sannensei’s farewell songs, and many sannensei girls were crying, but i stood quietly, holding it together in a very admirable way. though as they trooped out of the hall for the last time, there was a distinct pang.

after that was this uniquely Japanese thing whereby all the first and second years lined up from the third-year entrance to the exit of the school (with the staff rounding up the home stretch directly in front of the gate), and sannensei would clear out their shoe lockers and take that last walk out of school. and that was when I started losing it. it was just the many crying faces and looking at the kids one by one as they passed in front of me for the last time. and 3-4, my favourite class of all time was the last to exit. So the baseball boys (including all time favourite crooked teeth) filed past me, most of them too dazed to actually acknowledge anyone (and realistically, I know they meant a lot more to me than I ever really meant to them). but crooked teeth, bless his soul, looked at me directly and raised his shoes (I think it was meant to be a ‘yo’ hand salute but he was holding his shoes from his just cleared shoe locker) and I said, “good bye, Ogino” and choked slightly on the words. and then my favourite girls started filing down in tears, and mami, this third year that had lately been very openly affectionate toward me ran up and hugged me.

and that was how I lost it at the ceremony.

I started blubbering like a… a whale. and I couldn’t stop. and the teachers around me, ms. s. and ms. t (who is mr. s’s kendo teacher-partner) were like “oh~! she’s crying!” and mami is looking amused and distressed and holding my hand. and I finally get it together and wave her good bye. later, ito, a student who’s kind of slow but also quite affectionate to me comes up and demands my email, because I had previously told her that after graduation I would give it to her. “yakusoku, yo, sensei.” she reminds me, and I write my email out on a piece of paper for her. later I meet various students of varying closeness, I manage to choke out “ganbatte” to a pair of them, but I think they could vaguely grasp the sentiment because they smile kindly and shout “see you!” after me. so I hold it together as the first year level head spots me and walks me back to the staff office trying to make jokes to make me laugh. but then—at the very end, in front of the steps that lead to the staff room, all the baseball boys stand, taking photos together. and as I round the turn to mount the stairs, crooked teeth stands smack in the middle and our conversation goes something like this,

Ogino: Yo, Ailin!
Me: -constipated expression- … -waves-
Ogino: … are you crying?!
Me: … -nods-
Ogino: WHY?!
Me: … -starts to cry again-

and naturally, poor 15-year-old Ogino is not fully equipped to deal with a sobbing 23-year-old girl (I don’t think men are ever equipped to deal with such a thing) so he quickly retreats to the the other boys at the side and as I mount the stairs, I hear him telling them “Ailin is crying!” and then as I reach the top of the stairs, I hear ishida (yuta) call out “ailin!” and when I turn, the baseball boys are looking at me, and it’s all the usual suspects, mr m., ishida, mr m. redux, daichi, ryoto, Ogino and I can’t really remember who else cos my vision was rapidly blurring up again with the next well of tears, and they go, “goodbye!” and grin and wave. mr. m. has this enormous smile on his face, in which there is a definite trace of “I made her cry over me! she likes me! she really likes me!” and I just do a little wave back because now there is no stopping the tears and I have definitely crossed the line into UGLY crying so I decide to do damage control for my image and retreat into the staffroom asap.

so other teachers are vaguely confused about my onslaught of tears considering I have only been here 7 months and I’m not even a full-time sannensei teacher. mr. s. even come up to me directly and asks bluntly, “er, why are you crying?!” to which I just glare because if I open my mouth again I will quite possibly choke and cry again. and I am not. crying. in. front. of. him.

but… I mean, why else am I crying? I love these kids. I really do. they were my friends, and they were the ones who always talked to me, and I was really, really fond of them. they made school life really interesting, and I always enjoyed my sannensei classes. they were my Japanese teachers and my guide to pop culture, and they remembered details about my life better than other actual teachers in the staff room. they were always sincere to me in their affection and I loved them for it. there are too many things I wish I could have adequately expressed to them, but even if language wasn’t the issue, I have the occasional problem of emotional teaspoonery (i.e. having the emotional capacity of a teaspoon and not being able to convey anything beyond that) and I could never have honestly told them how I felt. and I really wish I was carrying a camera, because the baseball boys at the steps was definitely a photo I would have really wanted to have, but the chance slipped away and I will never see them together like this again and slowly their faces will fade. even mr. m., even ishida, even ogino.

and that is why I lost it at the ceremony.