April 2010Archives

by Anna Kunnecke


Even though we live in one of the grayest, dingiest corners of Tokyo, my life is full of flowers.  
Our very tall apartment building has some unbelievably effective landscaping, and they do it in a space that would fit on the head of a thimble.    So we get to walk through a bower of seasons even though we live in a concrete tower.  (And sometimes we make rhymes about it.)  
There is always something blooming, even in the middle of winter.  Camellias mostly, in waves of red, rose, and white, all dewy and blinking among the glossy green.  Then right around February when it's so grim and bleak that you just think the world will probably end this time, that there was a cosmic mistake and they forgot spring this year, the ume (plum) come out.   These unbelievably fragile blossoms float straight out of stark branches that look like they've been charred and traumatized by the wind.  It doesn't seem physically possible that these flowers could come out of those black sticks, and they feel almost divine, they're so welcome.  
And soon after that, while it's still bitterly cold, the daphne bloom, my true love, my absolute favorite scent on this entire earth.  First these little buds start to spike out, and then they grow angry, like purple porcupines, and then when you think you just can't bear it for one more day, they all burst open.  Each little spike unfurls these tiny pointed petals, and each blossom shimmers a little bit, like they're dusted in crystalline snow or some very tasteful glitter.  And the fragrance--there are no words.  It's like lemon went to heaven and had an orgasm.  So even though it's still bitter, and you want to curse the frozen ground, you'll be walking down an ugly street all battened down for winter and suddenly feel yourself swoon, like your soul just slithered and slipped on the banana peel of love.  It's dangerous, this daphne; it can induce utter euphoria and make people decide to do crazy things, like have babies and buy puppies and plan epic hanami (flower-gazing) parties.  
    Because soon after the daphne, the sakura (cherries) start to bloom: that quintessential Japanese obsession, the dainty ephemeral blossoms symbolizing the brevity of life and the beauty of something else and mainly it's an excuse for everyone to put down bright blue tarps upon the freezing-ass ground and drink themselves silly.  While gazing at the blossoms, naturally.  Ahem.  That is to say.  Sometimes the drinkers remember to look up, but you have to remember that it's really cold and people tend to huddle.  Okay, so it's not so much about the blossoms at all, but nonetheless the little cherry saplings by my building are still quite lovely.  Then the petals begin to fall and thank god because by this point every single person in Tokyo is hung over and wishing to high heaven that they could stop drinking already.  The little children spend hours gathering up the big frothy drifts of pink petals that pile up everywhere.  They gather them up and catch them in their skirts and stick them in their pockets and mostly they throw them all over creation, so that everyone and their dog has lovely ephemeral sakura petals sticking to them at all times, like the whole world has developed a case of dandruff.  Pretty, pretty dandruff.  
    And this whole time, every supermarket and flower shop is brimming with sweet peas, just absolutely fluttering with them, and you can fill your whole house with their girlyness and fragrance for the price of a latte.  
    To be continued... 

By Emily Connor

I recently went to get my eyes examined. Since Japan has socialized health insurance, people get the choice of going to a private practitioner or a hospital for the same price. A friend one told me that university associated hospitals are the best place to go for any health related issues, so I decided to visit one for the first time.

The hospital I visited specializes in ocular care, and so all of the patients there are filed into one large room with eight to ten different eye chart stations set up, all patients sitting next to one another. Since most of the people there were elderly, doing a seeing-eye chart was no easy feat. All of the people surrounding me were literally screaming out their answers to the chart to the point where it was difficult for me to hear myself think. After finishing up my seeing-eye chart examination, I was escorted to another waiting room area until my name was called for the second part of my eye examination. Everything was very quick, very proficient and within one hour I was in and out of the hospital, despite the fact that there were probably at least forty other people there. I even managed to get some prescription eye drops while I was there.

I suppose the point of this blog is to talk about how although the doctors and nurses I've come across in Japan aren't very personable or overly-friendly, they really get the job done quickly. I remember going to the doctors back home in the US and having to wait a long time in the lobby, and then wait another long amount of time inside the actual examination room only for a nurse to finally come in and announce that the doctor would be in 'in a few minutes' which often took up to a whole half an hour. Also, dentists in Japan don't talk to you while they have implements in your mouth-- there is no random chit-chat, they simply do their job. I love it.

Maybe a lot of people feel nervous when visiting the doctor, so they really enjoy talking with the nurses and doctors as a way to ease the tension. I just don't happen to be one of them. I go to the doctor to take care of my health, not to share my life story which no doctor genuinely cares about anyway. I'll never forget the time I was getting a cavity filled and I was pumped up with Novocain and the dentist still insisted on asking about my plans for the summer and what I was going to do later that day. You have sharp tools in my mouth, Ma'am. Please focus on your job at hand! I've only been to the dentist once in Japan and let me tell you, that man was silent as a mouse as he examined my mouth. That's the way it should be.

If you don't mind getting your eyes examined in front of a bunch of strangers, then Japanese health care is most certainly for you. It's quick, cheap, and gets the job done. Great success. 

by Anna Kunnecke

    We are so sleepy these days.
    Even when we actually manage to all get to bed on time (which means all the three-year-old's needs have been wrangled, all sips of water delivered, all the last emails put to bed, all the laundry hung up) even then, it is hard to pry us out of bed in the morning.
    All of us.
     The two grownups in our household have two shrill alarms that we manage to ignore for scandalous amounts of time.  And while my friends moan about how their kids wake them up at the crack of dawn, I have to drag my sleepy girl out of bed--literally gathering her floppy limbs in my arms and carrying her out of her room.  Then we sit on the couch, yawning and cuddling, with her eyes buried in my robe "because Mama it's too bright for me."
    I told her preschool teachers about the way we were coming to resemble a family of slugs, and they nodded and said, "Oh yes, that's because it's April."  Only here is my top-secret theory: if it had been May, they would have said "Oh yes, that's because it's May."  And they would have meant it.  Every new month here seems to bring some set of mysterious seasonal symptoms that are unheard of in the west.  
    In the winter, naturally, children get colds, but apparently spring colds are just as notorious.  The cold weather makes them lethargic, but then the summer days exhaust them.  Even the gentle in-between weather, like we've been having lately (except for that one rogue snowstorm; that was hardly gentle weather), is blamed for all sorts of malaise: low appetite, poor sleep, general grumpiness.
    I find this incredibly comforting.  Even though I can't seem to nail down the rules of what sort of sub-par behavior is excusable in which months, I love the basic premise: that humans are not really creatures who can sail through the seasons, month in and month out, week after week, at full throttle.  Believe me, it is hard for me to admit this.  I myself enjoy full throttle very much.
    But for a country famous for its workaholism, Japan also sanctions lots of restful moments: the snuggle under the kotatsu in winter, the sprawl under cherry blossoms in spring, the summer evenings spent prone on tatami mats, mid-day naps when the cold hits.  Okay, maybe that's only four actual rests, lasting perhaps an hour each.  But in between there is a great deal of allowance made for the ebb and flow of energies.  
    It feels like a very kind to our poor bodies.  As an American I often feel so betrayed when my body breaks down: Allergies?!  A cold?!?! How dare you!!!!  Don't you know that we have THINGS to do???  Whereas here the whole country walks around wearing creepy white masks during allergy season and everyone asks sympathetically about each other's noses, and during the balmy weather no one thinks ill of each other for being pale and lethargic instead of springing about planning picnics.  
    So I have to admit that sometimes this concern for the body can taste just the tiniest bit of hypochondria.  But who says that our relentless urge to be everlastingly bloomy healthy, to never falter or rest, isn't a sickness of its own?  So right now perhaps we are simply cycling through seasons of quiet to balance out the go-go-go days.  And in May?  Ah, May.  In May we shall be golden.  

By Martin Faynot

By Emily Connor

The Japanese need to calm down when it comes to donuts.

It seems like a lot of Japanese people just can't get enough donuts. In the years I've been living in Japan, there have been so many donut cafes that have taken off overnight. Places that serve donuts covered in hot espresso, cafes that serve donuts covered up with gelato... Hamburgers shaped like donuts, donuts made of tofu, savory donuts... A lot of donut places that are no longer hitting it off in North America also seem to randomly pop up in Tokyo. (I'm really praying for a Tim Hortons to eventually land down in Japan, but that will never happen in a million years.) Tokyo is a paradise for people who love donuts, although a lot of these gourmet treats don't come cheap.

And let me tell you-- so many of these donut shops are continually brimming with customers! People line up to try the latest and greatest donut shops... The one that is currently the most popular is Krispy Kreme.  It's incredible, though. I've witnessed people lining up for over an hour just go buy a dozen donuts-- can you imagine? I mean, I can understand the concept of waiting in line to get your hands on the latest-and-greatest gadget... But donuts? I've never had a donut in my entire life that I would wait more than five minutes in line to get, and I'm from New York!

One of my friends informed me today about a new donut shop that's apparently opening up in Hiroshima-- a store that is a collaboration between a hamburger shop and a donut shop. Apparently this new shop offers set menus featuring hamburgers and some monstrosity called a 'donut parfait' that puts the definition of a donut to shame. I know that we Americans have an image of being the most obese and eating the most disturbing fast-food items (the new KFC bun-less chicken sandwich, for example...) but not even we Americans have burger shops that serve burgers with a 'donut parfait' on the side! The idea sounds so ridiculous that I doubt even Paula Deen would have the guts to compile such a menu.

Tokyo is a huge place, and you could easily argue and say that there are just as many popular creperies and ice cream parlors as there are donut shops... And perhaps it's true. However, it just seems like people get the most excited when it comes to donuts. I've seen people line up maybe twenty minutes or so for ice cream, but never to the extent where the store was forced to put up an 'estimated wait time' sign. Although it seemed like the donut boom was dying down for a while, the new tofu-donut and donut-hamburger wave has just crashed down upon us, meaning that donuts will maintain their popularity for quite a while more.

Viva la donut, I suppose.

by Anna Kunnecke

      Some aspects of cultural difference are charming.  Shoes on or off inside the house, bowing versus handshakes, anything to do with food; these are easy, amusing.  But some aspects of the culture gap are harder to cross.  
      I recently read a Japanese novel (in English) where within the first few pages the reader is asked to make several leaps of faith.  That a mother would leave her infant alone at home for half an hour as part of her daily routine. That she would always leave the door unlocked.  That neither the grandparents, father, nor neighbors would object.  But I had no trouble making those leaps.  
     What's considered safe and reasonable parenting is more varied across cultures than I sometimes like to admit.  
     I'm talking about the practice of leaving infants asleep at home, alone.  This could be grounds for criminal neglect in the US, but in Japan it is not only common, it's also the only way many mothers get a chance to ever get out of the house without physically lugging their baby along with the groceries.  They're not usually gone for long--a quick run to the supermarket, a dash to pick up an older child at kindergarten--but it still stops my heart.  
But how reasonable is my horror?  Statistically speaking, it's possible that danger is more likely to hit the baby who is carried out of doors than the one left at home.  Realistically, the real potential harm to an infant left alone, especially one who cannot even roll over on its own, is limited to catastrophic events like earthquake, fire, or a break-in.  (The presence of an adult in the home is no guarantee against the frightening and still-not-understood danger of SIDS, or crib death.)  It is much more likely that an infant will meet all sorts of harm out in the world: cars, bicycles, falling objects, germs, the precariousness of a mother negotiating steps and bags and a toddler--these are all everyday, constant dangers.  And yet, and yet.  
     I find myself appalled, but I can easily play devil's advocate to my even-more-appalled American friends.  I know that these Japanese mothers love their children, are meticulous in their care, and would never dream of deliberately endangering them.  Some of our American practices seem horrifically negligent to them: for example, in some circles it is believed to be fatally dangerous for children to sleep in rooms with heat, air conditioning, or even a fan blowing.  Also, taking a newborn out of doors at all during its first month is considered simply outrageous.  These seem, frankly, like silly things to me.  But from their point of view, my insistence on car seats and bike helmets seems comically over the top.  
     Keep in mind that to most Japanese parents whose children don't attend any sort of daycare or preschool, the idea of leaving a small child with a stranger--a babysitter that is not family--is unthinkable.  Although it's changing as more women work outside the home, the standard thinking has always been that to leave children in the care of anyone other than family is unnatural, dangerous, and simply wrong.  This leaves the entire burden of parenting on women, many of whom function like single parents, with a father who returns only late at night.  Calling a babysitter and going out for a date is a parenting rite of passage for westerners, but not so here.  What feels to us like a healthy occasional separation between parent and child is considered cruel.  It's not hard to see how if that's your starting point, then leaving your sleeping baby in a locked apartment is just a pragmatic measure to keep everyone sane.  I believe that, intellectually.  But every time I think of the sleeping babies home alone, my stomach lurches.      

By Martin Faynot

By Kevin Cooney

    When I first arrived in Japan I spoke no Japanese.  I obviously read none either.  But I did my first day in Japan learn my first two new Kanji.  A process that would not prove as easy for other more complicated Kanji.  They were 大 and 小.
Respectively they mean "Big" and "Small." You might wonder by what means of deduction I figured out their meaning.  Well, these two Kanji I found side by side. No, not on the menu for beverage sizes.  No, not while buying a pair of new Japanese shoes.  No, not while trying on "I love Tokyo" T-shirts.  I found these two Kanji side by side in the bathroom.  I was presented with a flushing choice: big or small.  I'm still after nine years not entirely sure what decides big or small.
    I bring this up, because after nine years this still strikes me as one of the most emblematic creations of Japanese design genius.  Using less water when necessary is ecological, economical and entirely simple.  The world is currently worrying itself about any number of disasters.  Global warming, harsh economic times and a plethora of other issues confront the world.  The looming water shortages don't even blip on the radar of most folks.  As the world tries to adjust to painful lifestyle choices like using less petroleum or changing their diet, some small solutions exist that seem despite their obvious benefits to have not been adopted world wide.
    I suppose over the years the toilet with a size choice has become less novel for me.  But I still look at the handle in wonder.  Not that I can't decide if I need to use big or small.  Rather I don't understand why every toilet world wide doesn't have this option.

by Anna Kunnecke

    My little girl is swinging like a madwoman on the swings, and I sway next to her.  Back and forth; back and forth.  I'm so aware of the swing, how romantic it is, how poignant.  But wait--a swing?  A child's plaything?  What the heck? 
    But then I remembered.  I live in Japan. 
    A swing, in Japanese movies and TV shows, functions in the same way that oh, say, a lamppost or a park bench might function in western movies.  Over and over again, instead of the characters sitting down on a fallen log in the woods, or standing on a windswept beach, or pausing on a bridge over a creek, we have--ye olde park swings.  The 'office lady' sits forlorn on the lone swing, pushing herself back and forth with one perfectly polished heel.  The 'salaryman' staggers into the park, collapses into the swing, and puts his head into his hands.  The teenager, little boy, housewife, grandmother--they all come to the swings. 
    As the mother of a small child, I don't appreciate that this results in my actual literal neighborhood swing set being littered in the morning with beer cans, cigarette butts, and shattered sake bottles.  I'd prefer that parks were the province of children.  (Yes, motherhood has made me a cranky and conservative biddy.)  But when an old friend came into town, after we'd had dinner and caught up, we left the noise and heat of the izakaya and walked through too-quiet neighborhood streets, trying to continue our conversation in whispers.  We ended up at the park and swung in tandem, swaying forward and back as we made our way into the truer conversation, the quiet confessions, the gentle nostalgia of old friendship.  We needed the swings with their lulling rhythm. 
    It's rather odd.
    But also kind of touching.  In the urban centers, there is very little green left.  In fact, in the parks themselves there is very little green left.  My theory is that since we city denizens so badly crave the chaotic and soothing rhythms of nature, we find something comforting about swinging because it approximates water or even swaying grass.  Sadly, the swing is likely to be standing in a sandy gravel lot so that the swinger sits staring at a public toilet and a sad patch of shrubbery.  But where else can you sit quietly on your own without looking suspicious?  There are so few moments to pause, to reflect.  Most places in Tokyo, if you stop moving long enough even to get your bearings, you'll be gumming up the works.  There is a steady stream of movement, and stopping is not appreciated.  And so the swing has taken on this iconography.  It's the trembling moment of loneliness.  It's the spot of solitude, the locale for sensitivity or alienation. 
    Next time you see a Japanese movie, watch for it:  the swing.  It's the moment when the epiphany is about to hatch, when the reconciliation will turn up, the childhood memory will be resolved, or the despair will turn to action.  There'll be the slow creak, a sharp inhale, and then--the story will turn.