Gazillion

“How many is a gazillion?”

A Japanese friend asked me this after returning from a trip to California. An American had advised him not to go to a particular restaurant. He said it would be too crowded and added that “There will be a gazillion people there.”

My friend knew the words “million” and “billion” and thought that “gazillion” must be an even larger number. He wasn’t sure, though, of the precise number of zeroes.

Actually, I think gazillion is slang. I know I used it growing up in California. It refers to an imaginary number. It’s unimaginably large—bigger than a million, bigger than a billion . . . a number as large as, well, Godzilla. Yes, the root of the word gazillion is “Godzilla”.

My friend’s question brought back memories. As a child, my images of Japan came from Godzilla movies. I saw them on television dubbed into English. I watched Godzilla smashing his way through Tokyo, turning over trains and stepping on cars.

Godzilla was one of Japan’s first pop-culture exports. And as we can see from the word gazillion, he made an impact on the English language as well.

Yet until my friend asked me, I hadn’t made the cultural connection.

Upon reflection, I realized that watching Godzilla movies was one of my first intercultural experiences. Not only did they come from Japan, they were different from other movies I knew. As a child they sometimes didn’t make sense to me.

I was used to movies full of “good guys” and “bad guys”. The cowboy in the black hat was the bad guy and the sheriff was often the good guy. This was true for monsters as well. Frankenstein is a monster that seems at first bad, but is in fact a victim of the mad scientist that created him.

Yet I could never tell whether Godzilla was a “good guy” or “bad guy”. There were tanks and guns firing at him as he smashed up whole neighborhoods. Yet he also fought off other monsters and was seen as a hero. And there were children excited to see him—they watched him fight from some distant hilltop. Who were they?

I understand Godzilla movies better now. And I know that Japan has a long and unique cinematic tradition. Japanese cinema has its own aesthetic tradition—I particularly love Ozu Yasujiro—that is different from that found in Hollywood or European film. It may be that I sensed these differences watching Godzilla movies, even as a child.

My friend’s question also reminded of something I had asked when I was first learning Japanese. I wondered what “counting word” one would use for Godzilla. If there were two Godzillas, would it be futari, or perhaps nittou?

I love the never-ending exchange between language and culture. My Japanese friend went to California and brought back a piece of Godzilla without even realizing it. Watching those movies as a child I never could have guessed that I would learn Japanese. But this has raised a new culture and language question for me.

How do you say “a gazillion Godzillas” in Japanese?

Flabbergasted

Flabbergasted

I surprised myself the other day. Speaking to a Japanese friend in English, I unexpectedly used a word that I rarely do. Talking about something that surprised me, I said: "I was totally flabbergasted." Even as the words came out of my mouth I stopped and thought "Wait, she won't know that word." My friend's puzzled expressions confirmed that I was right. "You were what?" she said. I explained that the word "flabbergasted" means extremely surprised or shocked. She understood and the conversation went on. But I was puzzled. Why had I used that word? Let me explain. I have two modes of English that I use. One of them is a kind of international American English. The other mode is the California English that I grew up with. Depending on who I talk to, I slip into one mode or the other. When I speak international English, I tend to use the most standardized vocabulary and expressions. It's still American English, since I'm using American grammar and vocabulary (I use the American English "make a decision" rather than the British English "take a decision"). And my pronunciation is clearly American. But I speak in a way that's standard for English speakers around the world. An Indian, Mexican or Russian speaker of English would understand. When I'm speaking in my local California English, on the other hand, my language becomes more casual and local. For example: Joseph's local English: What's up! How you been? It's been ages. Hey, what ever happened about that job interview you were telling me about? Did you get word back? Joseph's international English: Hi! How are you! Long time no see. Hey, I remember that you went for a job interview. What happened? Did they contact you after that? Even when speaking in my local English, I don't use lots of slang or unusual expressions, but my language has a casual oral style. My international English is closer to written English and uses standardized expressions (such as "Long time no see" rather than "It's been ages.") Many native speakers, of course, don't know how to switch between a local dialect and a more standardized international English. To learn takes time and practice. You need regular contact with international speakers. One of the first challenges for native-English-speaking language teachers is learning how to speak a more standardized form of English what will be understood by their students. But let's get back to "flabbergasted". I surprised myself because, though speaking with an international speaker, I had used a fairly non-standard word. The dividing line between my two Englishes temporarily broke down. On reflection, however, I figured it out. This particular friend speaks English very well and learned it in California. She has picked up some verbal mannerisms from there. For example, she uses the word "totally" to mean "really"—as in "The hamburger was totally delicious." And I have heard her use the expression "big time" to mean "very much so" as in: A: "Did you have fun?" B: "Yeah, big time!" And she uses some casual conversation forms of common words, such as "yeah" or "uh huh" instead of "yes", and "un uh" instead of "no". So, in talking with her these expressions unconsciously triggered my local English. But as I spoke I caught myself slipping between my two different modes. This isn't the first time that this happened. When I first started working with Torikai Kumiko, her English was so fluent and natural that my brain would slip into my local language mode. Of course, she had no problem following so it wasn't a problem. My Japanese friends sometimes think that native speakers have all the advantages when using English. But that's not true. The ability to use a standardized form of English, and to be linguistically sensitive to someone—these are powerful tools for international understanding. So please, take pity on native speakers who can only use their local English. Don't be flabbergasted when you don't understand. Slow them down. Ask questions. Give them help practicing their international English!

A short word – A long time

A short word – A long time

One day years ago, I was sitting in the lounge at school where I worked. There was a group of high school students gathered around something—a photograph I think—talking and laughing about what they saw. Another student came over and wanted to see too. He said in a lonely-sounding voice なかまにいれてよ！The group burst out laughing and made room for him. At the time I was struggling to learn Japanese and hadn't understood what he said. But everyone's laughter made me want to learn more. I understood ～にいれる(put ~ into ~). But I didn't know the word なかま（仲間）. So I looked it up but my dictionary had an impossibly long list of possible translations: friend, fellow, partner, company, companion, circle, associate, colleague, gang, mate, party, set. What? How could one word have so many meanings? Clearly, I thought, なかま described a kind of relationship. But what kind? I tried to find the common thread of meaning in the words. Some seemed similar (friend, mate) but others quite different (colleague, associate). How could the same word translate as both friend and colleague? And other words, circle, gang, party seemed totally out of place. I asked a student. "What is なかま?" "It means‘friend’". "So what does なかまにいれる mean? (The only translation I could think of was "Put something into one's friend." That couldn't be right. It sounded painful and not very friendly!) "It means something like‘Let me be your friend.’" But this didn't make much sense to me in this situation, since the students were already friends. "What's the difference between なかま and ともだち?" I asked. My student thought hard and said "It's the same... but not really. Sorry, I can't explain." I dropped the subject. Studying Japanese had forced me to stop trying to translate directly. Sometimes I asked for a translation of a simple English word and got back a very complicated answer. For example, shortly after arriving in Japan I asked how to say "but" in Japanese (as in "I want to go the party, but..."). Someone told that it could be が or けど or けれども or しかし. Other times, particular words seemed very Japanese. I was told it was impossible for a foreigner to understand わび・さび. So I tried to forget the word なかま. But it kept coming up in conversations. I heard なかまになる. I wondered if that meant simply "To become friends." But I also heard なかまはずれ. I knew that はずれる means "unfasten" or "come off". This made no sense to me: To unfasten a friend? And what about 仲間意識? Friend awareness? One thing was clear: To understand even this simple word, I had to understand Japanese relationships. They were different than what I was used to in the U.S. Hierarchy is important (use of honorific language is common and complex). And people socialized differently. Even making friends seemed different. In the U.S. it's often a one-on-one process, while in Japan people often become close with those in their class, circle, company, etc. Individual friendships often develop in the context of the group. So, to truly understand なかま, I needed more than a dictionary. I needed to make friends, socialize, spend time with Japanese colleagues... I had becomeなかま. I had to be someone's ともだち. Learning this one word would take a long time. I had to experience relationships as Japanese do—to learn to look at Japan from the inside. But in the end, this approach worked! And eventually I learned that being on the inside is what なかま is all about.

The magic of words

The magic of words

When I was ten years old, my brother Jamie came home from a year abroad. He was 21 then, and had studied French in Strasbourg, traveled through Europe, and even spent six weeks in East Africa. 　　　　At the time—1972—no one in my family had traveled much. Even my parents had rarely left San Diego. My brother's homecoming was a triumphant event. 　　　　I remember that he brought souvenirs—a mask, a knife and a small antelope sculpture. We sat in the living room as he told stories of his adventures. 　　　　Most striking for me that evening was Jamie's demonstration of Kiswahili phrases he had learned traveling in Kenya and Tanzania. His souvenirs were not only objects, but also sounds from Africa. The words he spoke were mysterious and seemed to contain a powerful magic—as though hearing them could transport me halfway around the world. 　　　　Jamie had a great talent for languages and went on to a Master's Degree in linguistics. He married a woman from Geneva and settled down in California. French was the family language, so when I visited I was immersed in a foreign world. On shelves next to his desk were books in all the languages he had studied—Spanish, French, German, Russian. The words inside, written by far-away people, contained a whiff of the magic I had first experienced years before. 　　　　Unfortunately, I have less talent for languages than my brother. Despite his positive influences, in High School I nearly failed my required Spanish classes. I resisted memorizing anything—vocabulary lists, grammar rules, sentence structures... Studying in school nearly killed my interest in foreign languages. 　　　　Jamie has an organized mind and a powerful memory. He once told me that the biggest challenge to learning a foreign language was remembering words. "The first 500," he said, "are the hardest." He loves knowing unusual words and remembering the details of their grammatical usage. 　　　　I, though, had to find my own approach. I hate lists, but foreign words interest me in a different way. They seem like a window into the minds of people who live in a different world. Foreign words become real enough to keep my interest as soon as I get to knowpeople who use them. Much of my language learning has been done abroad. 　　　　I agree that the first 500 foreign words are a big challenge. Yet beyond this test there is another barrier—or mystery—to learning foreign words. Even the simplest words in a foreign language can be impossible to translate. They hint at a different way of experiencing the world. I was shocked to learn, when studying basic Japanese, that different objects were counted using words that depended on shape: ippon, nihon; issatsu, nissatsu; ichiwa, niwa. How exotic! 　　　　And I remember not quite understanding the word nakama for perhaps a year when one day, at a home party with students, I somehow "got" it. I needed more than a dictionary—I needed to become part of an intimate circle of friends; to live the experience of nakama. 　　　　As I continue my struggle to learn vocabulary, it seems to me that the magic I felt in my living room so long ago has, in the end, really worked. In ways I never could have imagined in 1972, words have transported me to other worlds.

The Marrakesh Maze

The Marrakesh Maze

Some travel destinations sound really exotic. For me, simply hearing the names Kathmandu, Machu Picchu or Addis Ababa brings to mind the mystery and adventure of going abroad. So I was thrilled several years ago to have the chance to visit Marrakesh, in Morocco – just such a place. 　　　　In the ancient city center there you will find the medina—the jumbled, twisting bazaar district where Berbers and Arabs in hand-made sandals sell everything from dried figs to henna tattoos. I wandered through alleys and squares, stopping for tea in shops selling carpets and leather jackets. I bought dried apricots and fresh juice. It was a maze full of exotic sights and sounds. 　　　　But then I got lost. 　　　　I wasn't too worried. In Morocco I had little trouble communicating. French, which I had spent two years studying, is widely spoken. All I needed to do was ask for directions back to the square where I had begun the day—just nearby the hotel where I was staying. My travel companion had wisely thought of this strategy. 　　　　But somehow I couldn't remember the name of the square. I had repeated it several times just to be sure I didn't forget, but neither of us had written it down. "What's the name of the square?" she asked me. 　　　　"Ummm, It's . . . " 　　　　"You don't remember." she said. 　　　　"Ummmm, no. But you do, don't you?" I said. 　　　　"Of course I do" she said, "It's Djamaa El Fna. How could you forget?" 　　　　"I guess my memory isn't that good." 　　　　"That's weird. You are a language teacher. How did you ever learn foreign languages if you can't even remember a single word?" she said. 　　　　What my friend said is true. I often do have a poor memory in situations like this. In spite of that, though, I have learned foreign languages. What I've realized is that each of us learns differently, and that we have to take advantage of our particular strengths. 　　　　In my case, I have trouble learning things in isolation—memorizing vocabulary lists, remembering my flight number or the name of someone I just met. Yet when I learn something in a natural context—a new word during a conversation, for example—I remember easily and am good at understanding its nuance. It's as though I learn with my whole body. Also, I learn better by listening rather than by seeing. Some people must write things down to remember them, but I have to hear them. 　　　　When I started studying French (I was already in my late 30s!) I built my study plan around my strengths, instead of feeling sorry for my weaknesses. Rather than making vocabulary lists, I listened to dialogues and followed along in the book. I let my ears do the work, rather than my eyes. 　　　　I avoided memorization. I didn't try to learn, for example, all the days of the week at once. Instead, if the word lundi (Monday) came up in a dialogue, I learned that and didn't force myself to learn the other days. My vocabulary learning was less systematic, but I often remembered more "advanced" words that caught my attention. 　　　　To take advantage of my intuitive learning style, I found materials with French dialogues on the left page and English translations on the right. I didn't need to rely on vocabulary lists and could visualize the situations. I remember things better when they are connected to people and interactions. 　　　　Of course I still felt frustrated with my progress. Learning a language is difficult for everyone, and I struggled. But understanding my own learning style and planning my studies helped me feel more in control. If I felt bored or stuck I changed my study plan. This helped me avoid feeling powerless and giving up. 　　　　Learning a language often feels like being lost in a maze. We know that there is a goal but we can't see how to get there. But getting lost is the only way to truly see new places. We simply have to enjoy the adventure and trust that somehow we'll find a way to our goal—and eventually make it to Djamaa El Fna　square!

On the train to learning

On the early morning train I saw a junior high school student on her way to school. The cell phone hanging from a strap on her wrist was decorated with bright stickers but she wore a heavy expression—like someone with a depressing day ahead of her. She was reviewing English vocabulary words on a stack of flash cards held together by a metal ring. 　　　　She looked bored, flipping through the cards mechanically. Perhaps she hadn't done her homework, or had a test. In any case, I felt sorry for her. On this day, English was a burden and the flash cards seemed to weigh her down in her seat. 　　　　The stack was huge – probably more than two hundred. That's too many, I thought. I wanted to talk to her, to ask her what she was studying for. I wanted to ask how she used her flashcards. I wanted to show her how to turn flashcards into a game rather than a curse, but I held my tongue. She got off at the next stop. The learning machine 　　　　The brain is a learning machine and flash cards are a tool for delivering information to it. Like any tool, flash cards can be used intelligently to achieve maximum performance, or like a clumsy weapon—overloading the brain with too much information. 　　　　The basic idea of flash cards is simple. The foreign language word is on one side, and the definition is on the other. If you remember the word, you put the card back in the stack. If you can't remember it you look on the other side. But that's just the beginning. Flash card games 　　　　The first tip for using flash cards is: Take them off the ring! Flash cards should be used actively, not passively. 　　　　Don't simply go through all the words mechanically. Make choices and be creative. If you remember a word easily, replace the card at the very back of the stack. If you barely remember, put it somewhere in the middle. Extra difficult words should be put near the front so they appear again soon. In effect, you create a guessing game for yourself as you decide "How far back in the stack can I place this card and still remember next time?" 　　　　Another game you can play is to lay out all of your cards on a table or desk. Review them all and arrange them into some pattern, such as easy words towards the right and difficult words towards the left. Then create a new stack using that new order—from easy to difficult, for example. You can also arrange them in alphabetical order, or by word types (nouns, verbs, etc.). 　　　　Because your brain works best with rich images, try putting sample phrases together with the word. If the word on your card is "increase" add a sample phrase such as "increase my pocket money." This creates an image of the word that will stick in your brain more easily. Make a game of inventing funny phrases. Study strategies 　　　　These techniques are simple but based on an understanding of how memory works. I hope that the girl I saw on the train can find some creativity in her studies, perhaps with the help of a teacher who promotes these kind of active study strategies. 　　　　But of course the same techniques don't work for everyone. We all have different learning styles and should create our own personal study strategies. Next time I'll talk about some of my failures and triumphs as I tried to learn French—starting from zero—while already in my thirties!

Winners and losers!

When I entered high-school, I felt like a loser—skinny, a bit shy. I was envious of the confident older guys—the "winners"—they were athletic and outgoing, with deep voices and big laughs. I was especially envious of those with a girlfriend. I thought: Certain guys find girlfriends and other don’t? What’s the difference between them? Can I follow the example of the "winners" and find one someday too? 　　　　When I first came to Japan and was learning Japanese I had a similar experience with "winners" and "losers". I was living in a guest house with many other foreigners. Yet I had trouble making progress with Japanese, especially with writing. I lost motivation and ended up hanging out, watching TV with the other foreigners where I lived. I felt like a language-learning "loser". 　　　　In the guest house there were foreigners who spoke good Japanese. Others used English all the time, even after a long time in Japan. Because I was having such trouble, I became interested in learning: What’s the difference between those who learn Japanese and those who don’t—what separates the language-learning “winners” from the "losers" ? 　　　　So I started to talk to the other foreigners. I asked them about their studies. I watched them. I wanted to find secrets for success and learn what to avoid. In time, I started to find differences, and based on what I learned, I started making some progress. So what did I find? The most important goal: One "winner" told me "We either learn or we forget." He said that once you stop learning you start going backwards. So I decided to change my goal—rather than telling myself I wanted to be a fluent Japanese speaker, my goal simply became “Don’t stop learning!” I became afraid of failure, and used that fear to motivate myself. Everyone's a beginner: I was surprised to find that the best speakers didn't feel like experts. (They seemed like experts to me!) They didn't talk about "being good" but about improving. They were focused on their daily studies, not the fantasy of someday being fluent. Understand yourself: I saw that everyone learns differently. The best learners talked about what works for them. For example, some learned well through reading while others preferred listening. Some enjoyed learning grammar while others hated it. The worst learners simply blamed the Japanese language for being "hard". How not what: The best learners I met thought actively about different study techniques. I asked one person "What technique did you use to learn Kanji?" He said "What technique DIDN’T I use? As soon as I get tired of one thing, I try another. I’ve tried them all. Somehow, I manage to learn something." Make promises: The good speakers didn't rely too much on self-motivation. One told me that the only reason he studied was a fear of not having the correct answer in class. Taking a class or studying with others forces you to make commitments. It's tough to do it alone. 　　　　A fear of failure helped me a lot. So even today, my only goal is to keep going. Regardless of skill level, those who find a way, somehow, to keep learning, are the true winners. Next time: Good language learners use creative study techniques. Sometimes, standard techniques can be made much more effective with just a twist of creativity. Next time I'll talk about some that I have picked up over the years.