Tsukuba Monogatari: First post
People who have lived in California all their lives can hear words like “hot” and “humid,” but I doubt very much whether they truly know what these words mean. It was mid-September in Wakayama, where I was visiting my friend Penny before starting my assignment in Tsukuba. I left her air-conditioned apartment as cool as a cucumber and had some trouble locking her door. After jiggling the key this way and that for about 40 seconds, I was bathed in sweat. THAT is hot and humid.
Fortunately, I had remembered to pack a handkerchief (and even had it in my shoulder bag), so I was able to wipe the sweat dripping from my face. I was so pleased with myself for remembering this Japanese custom that it was several seconds before I realized that I was mopping my face vigorously like a construction worker—not delicately dabbing, with handkerchief neatly folded, as ladies are supposed to do. My vigorous swabs became delicate dabs, and I felt that I would do well in Japan after all. Like riding a bicycle—even after an absence of five years, I could still do it.
Imagine my dismay when my coworkers in Osaka (upon hearing my imagined “success story”) politely asked if I had used a designer handkerchief, folded and used so as to conspicuously display the designer label on the outside. Not only is my handkerchief NOT a designer label, it is the type that obasans (elderly women) use when they’re wearing kimono. There’s always more to learn.
How about this one? It’s an Issey Miyake!
No, Ruth—that’s a man’s handkerchief. And it isn’t ironed.
Heck. I give up.
“Designer hanky, unironed.” © R. A. Sasaki. All rights reserved.
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