Second Language Learning and Identity: Cracking Metaphors in Ideo ...

Much of my primary and high school life in my young world was spent enduring hardships. With my father in the hospital, the pressure of achieving well in school, and the rebirth of Japan after World War II, it was not a simple existence. My mother worked hard to be independent, running a kindergarten. She encouraged me to get an education, and early on I had the goal of becoming as independent as she. After graduating from high school, I wrote the entrance exam for Sophia University and was accepted. I was fortunate because only 7 of the 50 students selected that year were women.

With trembling fingers

She penned a sign—“gratitude”

And drifted away

(Yoshimoto, 2005, p. 37)

During my last years at Sophia, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I visited her hospital room daily and often slept there to keep her company and take care of her needs. I was able to graduate, despite the extra responsibilities, and one month after graduation I married. I did this so quickly after graduation because my mother wanted to see me married. She worried about me becoming “unsold merchandise.” In Japan, at that time, the common metaphor for women who were not married by age 25 was , Urenokori, which means unsold merchandise. After graduation, I applied to the Asahi Newspaper Company for a job as a journalist. That year, however, they only hired men, and I felt disheartened by this gender discrimination. Of all the women in my graduating class, none of us were awarded jobs with any newspaper in Japan. The practice at the time was to not hire female journalists, and so I was not as much surprised that I was not given a job as I was discouraged. Given this explicit disapproval of my gender, I grudgingly accepted becoming a housewife.

One year into my marriage, my mother died of cancer. During that awful year, she did not complain even once about the pain. On her deathbed, even though she could not speak and her hands were trembling, she asked me to give her a pencil and paper. She wrote the word , kansha, which means appreciation or thankfulness. The word itself is composed of the characters meaning feeling and apology.