1/9/2024 0 Comments We re big in japan![]() Japan’s obsession with compartmentalization fascinates me: how theirs is an entire universe that has been measured, allocated, situated and stowed away so neatly. ![]() Just look at a bento box where lunch comes pre-dissected and perfect for any picky toddler–no single food item touches any other food item. There is always a container to put something in always a separate dish for one specific item. In the old country houses had rooms that were 6 tatami and 10 tatami mats big and some of the palaces in Kyoto had floor plans that exceeded 100 tatami mats.Īlready, I have noticed how compartmentalized everything is in Japan. For example, a traditional Japanese tea house is only 2 tatami mats big. Japanese rooms, houses and apartments are all measured by the number of tatami mats it takes to cover the floors. Woven from rice straw and used to cushion the floor of any traditional Japanese room, tatami mats are Japan’s standard unit: 3 feet by 6 feet. I could feel the cloth ridges where the edges of two tatami mats meet. I realized this one night as I lay on the floor, trying to fall asleep, my arms pulled in to my sides and my head shifting on my beanbag pillow. The average male height in Japan is 5 feet 7 inches (171 cm) and although you see a wide variance of Japanese people (like anywhere else in the world), Japan’s material culture is standardized for the average. In a country of precise proportions, my 6 feet 4 inches (193 cm) height makes me an outlier. ![]() I have come to accept that I am a giant in Japan. Accepted the fact that I am basically too large. Meditation helped the throbbing headache pass, and in a Zen-like way, I accepted. It was painful and for two seconds, I hated this place for making everything so small. Once, I almost knocked myself out when I kissed a cedar beam at a temple in Kyoto. I have a permanent bump on my forehead, the result of constant run-ins with exit signs, doorways, and light fixtures. I bow out of respect but more importantly, I bow to avoid the pain. Either I squeeze my shoulders inwards and fill the 4-person elevator all by myself, or I am kneeling in the bathtub, bowing under the shower head, or else I am turning around in miniature aisles and knocking bottles to the floor, collapsing shelves and stepping on the bare heels of middle-aged shoppers. I already feel too big for everything, everyday. They gasp audibly in that Japanese way, inhaling and singing, “Oh!” before laughing awkwardly at my awkward size. When I stand on a street corner, waiting for the light to change, they look up at me with shock.
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