On Tokyo, the Impermanent Capital

In the West, "raw" nature might seem to be a sort of colossal, unopposable force, but in Japan, the grandeur is packageable. As a result of these differing opinions, the Western garden and the Japanese garden are distinctly different in the way each approaches nature. The Western garden only handles controllable natural forces, flowers and trees and bushes, which can be handled and pruned and watered all as individuals. The celebration of nature in a Western garden is in the more controllable aspects of nature. In effect, a Western garden avoids "raw" nature. The Japanese garden is completely the opposite. It seems to take the greater aspects of nature and make them controllable. A mighty waterfall becomes a tiny drop in a miniature river. A soaring mountain becomes a little rocky mound. And, unlike the Western garden, the Japanese garden achieves a cohesiveness that the Western garden lacks. The Western garden is a garden; simply a place to go and look at the flowers and trees and have a sit or take a walk, but still a part of the rest of the world. The Japanese garden is like a little world unto itself.

In terms of space in Japan, I agree with the generally acknowledged idea that the Japanese have to deal with much much smaller space allowances than Americans. Not that that means that a Japanese person does not particularly need or appreciate a greater amount of space. Rather, as the article states, a Japanese person would probably be more jealous and more appreciative of extra space than a California born-and-bred could ever be. Indeed, the very existence of such a thing as a tokonoma suggests that the Japanese have long suffered a lack of space (and privacy) that a person such as I have never conceived of. I don't particularly find the tiny spaces of Japan intolerable or even uncomfortable, but I do feel anxious sometimes when I'm in a car (people seem to freely pass over all sorts of lines while driving in Japan) and I am always amazed at how close vehicles can get without hitting each other. Indeed, I'm amazed at how I have not seen a single personal car that is significantly banged up or even scratched. California, for all its wide roads, does not sport half so many untouched cars. Of course, all that might simply signify is that cars around Tokyo move slower and therefore have fewer accidents, but I'm inclined to think that the sheer number of cars and crazy things that drivers do in Japan more than make up for differences in average speed. For example, on the first day in Japan while my host family was driving me home, my host mum decided she wanted a drink. Her dad, who was driving, spotted a vending machine and stopped in the road, let her off, and even reversed.

I'm not exactly sure of all the roles of "form" around Koshigaya, my homestay city, but by this time, I am certain of one thing: though I've been told by several native Japanese that I look native Japanese, I think I give people the vague impression that I am not Japanese for several reasons. First of all, it seems that all the people around my neighborhood fall into three categories: students in school uniform, office workers in suits (men), and housewives accompanied by small children. I don't obviously fall into any of these categories, resulting in the first look. I am also rather tall for an Asian woman and often stand hipshot rather than trim and prim on the train, resulting in the second look. Lastly, I might whip out a book in English or talk to one of my English-speaking friends, resulting in the furtive stare. I think that maybe even without those, I would still give the impression of being slightly wrong--the impression that I didn't really belong in the in-group no matter what I looked like.

According to Tokyo, the Impermanent Capital, Tokyo is like a collection of many small villages; namely, that each small neighborhood block functions as one without regard to the rest of the city. This results in a rather confusing array of small circles of influence that only an insider would understand intimately. It could perhaps be something akin to the push and pull among cliques of neighborhood kids around their usual hang-out spots. It isn't something that is really planned or ever discussed explicitly, but the boundaries are there. Koshigaya has some of the same elements, though perhaps more spread out, since the city isn't so jam-packed as Tokyo. It always surprises me just how many people my host mum seems to know in the neighborhood. I suppose that that sort of thing might be expected even back in America, but I myself don't know anyone in my neighborhood. The people that I know who live in the same city are all friends from childhood or from high school, none of whom I contact regularly. But my host mum and her friends exchange lessons in this and that with each other. It seems that all the "mamas" that know each other form a sort of network to fill up their days learning whatever another mama might know. For example, my host mum gives lessons in English, and takes lessons from different friends in flower arrangement, painting, sumi-e, and more. I think the village-like arrangement of Japanese cities makes for good community interaction and it seems like knowing someone in a given city is a way in that you must have. The community feeling is still strong enough to let insiders know immediately who the outsiders are. The whole insider-outsider thing makes a strong impression on a person and I find myself getting a little sucked into it--I find myself wanting to be in rather than out, and then kicking myself for it since I (and the rest of America, I suppose) pride myself on being independent.