A Story of Purple
Let me tell you a story. The year is 2017. It’s summer. The story is set at UC Berkeley. The program is Y-PLAN TOMODACHI. 100 students from Tohoku, Japan are about to arrive. One of their instructors, a 23-year old non-Japanese woman, is nervous. She has only just recently returned from spending ten weeks volunteering at a refugee camp in Greece. She misses her refugee camp community and is counting the days until her return. She wonders if she made the right decision to join the program. Is her Japanese good enough? Will the students like her?
The students arrive. She gets sent pictures of her 25 kids. They’re to be the Purple team, she’s told. The night before the first day of class, she scans through the pictures and tries to match names to faces, as she can’t fall asleep anyways. She is awake until 4 am. Nervous.
She meets the students. They too are nervous. Through telephone charades and other activities, they all start to warm up to one another. She feels some relief at being able to communicate with them. They are amused at her Japanese-English mix. She laughs with them at her language mistakes.
Day 3. Class time is intense, as the students engage in a quick run-through of the Y-PLAN methodology by analyzing downtown Berkeley. Students have fun, but are soon a bit frustrated. Constructive feedback is given. The instructor reads through their reflections and wonders if everything will be okay in the end. Will these students be able to speak their mind? Will the shy ones step up? Will they collaborate with each other?
Days pass by. Students visit their project site and engage in analysis and brainstorming. Leadership qualities start to emerge, sometimes from unexpected places. Friction starts to emerge. Purple doesn’t seem like a family. Can we get along? Can we find a solution together? The boys are fine, but there is tension among some girls. She makes ichigo daifuku for them, in hopes that food will create more unity. Although it seems like they’re stressed, they also have a lot of fun together.
They work hard and come together, delegating tasks. They think critically and creatively, coming up with a plan for the site that centers on education and economic sustainability. They stay up late into the night, writing their scripts in Japanese, then English, making intricate models, PowerPoint slides, a skit.
Presentation day. The students are tired, having not slept much the night before. Together, with purple bows in their hair, they present their plan. The instructor is so proud she tears up in the back of the room.
Now it’s time for their individual action plans. The instructor thinks that the team has come together, but after talking to a student, she realizes there are still unmet expectations and a lack of true ‘family’ among the team. She shares this with the teaching team and surprises herself with her tears. She feels insecure in her teaching ability and wonders if the students would have been better off with someone else.
The instructor tries to bring the team together one last time through reflecting together. There are some breakthroughs, but it doesn’t seem like enough. Friction eases, but compared to the other teams, Purple bonds are not as tight-knit. The program up and moves to a new campus, and with it, the instructor feels like there are no more chances for the team to come together as one.
Gears switch, and attention focuses on individuals. A couple of students have no desire whatsoever to change their hometowns. Others are passionately pursuing their action plans and fretting over the details. One student often sits alone to the side, thinking deeply about resilience and sustainability, the significance of human-to-human connections, and other philosophical matters. The instructor observes that students are helping each other, and there is camaraderie as they discuss their plans together.
At the talent show, Purple creativity and collaboration is on full display. The chance to think for fun and not for an academic purpose was much needed. The teaching team and all 100 students have fun, laughing at/with one another, celebrating one another’s talents. Purple is united, smiling, laughing, joking around. The instructor spends the night without sleep, writing letters and preparing gifts, dreading the inevitable goodbye.
The final day. Students present their individual action plans to the panel. The morning hours pass by quickly — in a flash, the program is done.
The instructor is a vulnerable, emotional being. She knows she will cry at any moment. Reflecting as a team in the afternoon, Purple expresses how they have felt about the past three weeks. One by one, they share about initial reservations, regrets, discomforts, yet end with a resounding message of unity, family, a new respect for one another’s opinions and the unique individuality of each Purple member. They share how they have learned to ask For Who and Why when thinking about action plans. They express love for the team, the family. Tears fall.
Graduation. The ceremony is long and a bit dry. Student speakers head to the stage. Purple speakers share their experience and what they’ve learned. The instructor’s heart wells with pride. One speaker then shares his opinion of Purple and captures the team’s essence and growth eloquently from the heart. The instructor’s resolve to not cry further shatters, and she sobs in the back of the room. She is so proud of her students, so relieved that she wasn’t terrible, so thankful that in the end, Purple was Family.
The night continues. Food, gifts, a dance party. The instructor quietly observes the proceedings. めに焼き付ける; burn the memories into your eyes. Some girls change into dresses, some boys into suits. Her boys are helping each other with their hair for the dance. Lots of photos are taken. Kids jump up and down on the dance floor, whining when the music is cut off at 10:00 pm.
She thinks all tears have been shed. She and others drag out the final goodbye, lingering at the dorm to pass out letters. Students are all crying, hugging, saying final thank yous and I love yous and I’ll never forget yous. Even her boys are crying. Turning around to shout one last time, ムラサキ大好き, her resolve breaks again, and she sobs as she leaves.
Why does she cry? She cries because the words are true.
ムラサキ大好き. I love Purple.
She cries because despite having said many goodbyes before, and knowing that goodbye is never really goodbye, and despite professing her independence often, she will truly miss this eclectic bunch of kids, these 25 budding leaders.
She cries because she is so proud of how far they have come.
This is the story of Purple. This is the story of how 25 students from three different prefectures, a non-Japanese instructor, and many other actors (RAs, TAs, field advisors — so grateful for you all) came together to form a beautifully imperfect family. This is the story of how they each learned what it meant to be a team, what it meant to work from strengths and work on weaknesses, what it meant to celebrate individuality but be open to collaboration, what it meant to be leaders from the front of the room and from the back. This is the story of learning how to contribute to a community, both the one back home and the one created in their midst.
パープルのみんな、本当に大好きだよ。この絆を忘れないでください。大変だったけど、結局仲良くして、家族になった。今までの成長を引き続いて、自分のコミュニティーに貢献しよう！自分に自信を持って、前に進む！Be leaders in your own style, but always remember to listen to your teammates!
また会える日まで, I know we will meet again someday!
