A Considered Reflection
on a Considerable Period of Time

This post is a manifestation of a confluence of events - the end of 2007, my 1000th day in Japan, and my not having anything better to do. It seems to me to be an apt time to reflect on my time in Japan in general, and on 2007 specifically.

One of the more notable events of the year, I think, was that on March 20, I was living in a concrete box with a double-glazed window that could generously (and reluctantly) be described as a dormitory room; and on March 21, I was not. My move to an apartment on the other side of Tokyo was not simply a geographic relocation, it was a fundamental improvement in my standard of living.

Whereas before, when I was living in my concrete box, I would be awoken from my slumber by the melodious sounds of metal grinding against metal when the 6:02 morning train rumbled past my window; now, the only sound, if any, is the squeaking of rust wheels of the walkers used by the grandmas in my 'hood' to perambulate impatiently back and forth in front of the store on the 1st floor of my apartment building, waiting for it to open.

Whereas before, when I was living in my concrete box, I had to remind myself to close the curtains before getting out of the shower so as not to give the students in the high school directly opposite my window (on the other side of the train tracks) an unexpected biology lesson in gaijin genitalia; in my new apartment, I found myself one day looking out the window at the old lady in the building opposite mine looking back at my recently showered, wet and naked body, and it occurred to me that I should probably buy some curtains and then keep them closed.

Life is a learning curve, I have since discovered, and the occasional accidental expose of naked flesh makes it all the more interesting.

Something else I learnt (sans the exposure of naked flesh) was always to measure the width of the hallway into the living room before ordering a 2 seater couch. This lesson derived from my realisation that I am, in fact, utterly incapable of manipulating the fabric of time and space in order to bend the corporeal world (namely my narrow hallway) by the sheer force of my will. My creative mind lurched into action, and I conjured up the fantastical solution of energetically hurling the couch out the window of the building opposite mine and through the curtainless window of mine. However, after considered reflection, I arrived at the rather sensible conclusion that rocking up at the house of the old lady I had exposed myself to not a few days earlier, only to then ask her to if I could eject a couch out of her window, would be a considerably big ask...

Part 2 to follow tomorrow.

The Bachelor Pad Discoveries - Part 1

Two months down, and I'm finally settled into my new bachelor pad. Since I first moved in, I have made a number of discoveries - including those of the unpleasant, olfactory variety.

I have discovered this - given the distinct topography of my suburb and the particular aerodynamic qualities of my neighbourhood, when I open both the door in my bedroom (that leads onto the veranda) and the window in my living room, I can create a wind-tunnel - the ferocity of which can be tempered in part by my repositioning of the sliding door that separates the two rooms.

This God-like power to summon a veritable tornado in my apartment is especially handy now that it's summer in Japan. The downside, of course, is that it is entirely possible that any posters I put up on my walls of naughty girls in naughty positions wearing naughty, naughty negligé (if any) could get sucked out the window, never to be seen again...

This is the beginning of something... smelly

There was something rotten in the state of Denmark, or, at the very least, there was something utterly rancid in my new apartment - there was a potent, god-awful stench that emanated and insinuated itself into every corner of every room in my new place, that waited at the door for me to return, like a lion waiting for the opportune time to pounce on an unsuspecting gazelle. I had simply assumed it to be little more than leaking sewerage pipes, or a dozen rotten corpses ingeniously and surreptitiously hidden away into yet-to-be discovered nooks and crannies.

After having tried attacking and cleaning what I had originally suspected of being the source: the forest of mould underneath the bathroom sink which I had only discovered (on day 3 after having moved in) when I had slipped in my metal bathtub, fell on my arse, only to look up and bear witness to my new indoor greenhouse. After that failed, I then tried to mask the smell by strategically placing more than a few room freshener thingamabobs around the joint. When that failed, I then set about triangulating the source of my apartment's aromatic discontent. Long story short, I am a genius.

My new place is great - for one, it's big... nay, huge...nay, gargantuan! It's at least four times larger than my old dormitory room. But then, I've always maintained that if you can touch the opposing walls of your apartment at the same time, then you are, in fact, enclosed in a prison cell, so my old dorm room doesn't properly serve as an accurate basis for comparison. To put things into context, you could have a reasonably decent conga line going on in my living room...

The only problem is that I don't yet have a fridge, a washing machine, my gas or Internet connected, a study desk, book case, table, seating of any description, or, for that matter, a bed! Admittedly, I do have a futon, but it's pathetically single (much like it's owner) and is, to my mind, a glorified, and decidedly uncomfortable, mattress. If I can get an Internet connection at the very least, I figure that I can survive indefinitely without the rest.

The end of an era

I'm moving to my new place on the other side of Tokyo today. I've got one foot out the door, and the other strategically wedged into the suitcase handle, dragging it along behind me...