Every now and then, I check out Threads, Zuckerberg’s answer to Twitter. Now, we all know that people on Twitter (okay, okay, X) end up in bubbles, but Threads is way worse. The algorithm that serves up posts to me thinks I’m interested in exactly two things: autism and Japan. So, 50% of my feed is edgy takes from the autistic “community”, and the other half is filled with dumb questions (“How much money do I need for a two-week vacation in Tokyo?” – Uh, I don’t know, what do you plan on doing?) and even dumber statements (“Men in Japan never wear shorts because showing leg hair is gross!” – Uh, I just saw about ten guys in shorts on the train, nobody cares?) about Japan.
And because Zuckerberg also runs Instagram, that nonsense seeps over there too. The reels I get are all about Japan, but the algorithm hasn’t quite figured out that I live here. I see videos “for people who miss the sounds of Japan” – honey, if I miss the sound of a convenience store, I just step outside – or, and this one got me thinking yesterday: A video with touristy images of Japan, with the text overlay: “When life sucks, but you know you have a trip to Japan to look forward to!” Yeah, that doesn’t really work for me anymore, I thought.
It doesn’t help that it’s summer, and it’s about 36 degrees on average, and it doesn’t really cool down at night either. It also doesn’t help that I have to work. But the last few weeks, it hasn’t really felt like I’m living in Japan. I’ve mostly been inside, in a room with the same Ikea furniture as in the Netherlands, with two cats and a Frenchman. I’d be more likely to believe I’m living in France; French streamers are blaring on the TV, and there are LU digestive biscuits in the pantry. The Frenchman makes his Nesquick every morning, and I have cornflakes or a grilled cheese sandwich. When I open Instagram, I see my friends and acquaintances traveling; Kyoto, Osaka, Nara… I feel a twinge of jealousy. They’re in Japan. Just like I used to be.
Hey Toeps, wait a minute? You live in Japan.
Does it become normal so quickly? I think about the other posts I see on Threads, from bitter expats, telling anyone who will listen that living in Japan is not the same as going on vacation to Japan. That you should just give up on that emigration dream because, listen, it sucks, it’s really tough, and besides, you’re not going to get a visa anyway. Now, as for that last point, I’ve already proven them wrong, and duh, of course vacationing is different from daily life, but help, am I turning into one of those bitter expats?
Yesterday, François wanted to go to a ramen restaurant he’d seen on YouTube. It was an hour away from us, with four different trains and a route through the center of Tokyo. I wasn’t really excited about the idea initially, but I knew there was a second-hand clothing store nearby. A store I used to happily travel across half the city for. When I first went to the store about four years ago, I walked for forty minutes afterward to a park where you can see Tokyo Disneyland in the distance. “Maybe we can do that too!” I suggested, quickly followed by a less enthusiastic, “But yeah, it is 36 degrees…”
Suddenly, I heard myself talking. I realized that my friends, who posted about their Japanese adventures every day, were also walking around Kyoto and Osaka in 36-degree heat. Besides, I needed some quality time with François too. At his place, we’re always working, doing house chores, caring for the cats… That gets boring really fast, even though the cats are sweet and the house is a nice place to live. I figured it didn’t really matter what we did, as long as we got out for a bit.
And so, we got on the train, the first of four, on our way to the restaurant. I looked out the window and saw Japan. François always makes the same joke when I pick him up or take him somewhere: “So, this is Japan, huh…?”, as if he’s a tourist setting foot on Japanese soil for the first time, instead of a salaryman who’s lived here for ten years. But yesterday, I said it, and I meant it seriously. I looked out the window as if it were new, and I felt the same joy I used to feel when seeing the characteristic Japanese houses and buildings along the tracks.
We checked out funny T-shirts in the second-hand shop, then ate a hearty bowl of ramen, and then I said, “It’s already dark, I don’t really feel like walking through that park for 40 minutes (the Disney fireworks were canceled anyway, so there wouldn’t be much to see), but maybe we could do something in the city?” So we took the train to Tokyo Station, grabbed Starbucks, and then took the elevator to the sixth floor of the KITTE department store, from where you can access the rooftop terrace. The rooftop terrace has an amazing view of Tokyo Station and is a lovely place to sit on a hot summer evening. We watched shinkansen and regular trains come and go, and enjoyed the flickering sky in the distance. Thunderstorms, or in other words, Mother Nature’s fireworks.
Related posts
I went to a meeting for autistic girls in Japan
Some time ago, I was invited by Kohei Kato, an autism researcher at Tokyo Gakugei University who also works as an editorial manager at Japanese publisher Kaneko Shobo. He immediately told me not to expect too much, but he wanted to get acquainted. He gave me two books from his publishing company about autism in girls and women, in Japanese. I haven’t read the books yet (my Japanese isn’t that good, unfortunately), but the titles were promising – these books were about camouflage, or masking.
I like to move it, move it (the Japanese way)
Ever find yourself in this situation? You plan to move just a bed, so you contact a moving company, and before you know it, half your stuff is at your boyfriend’s place? That’s exactly what went down this Tuesday on moving day.
The Ikea haters
“Ikea furniture is not made for moving. It will break.” The Japanese gentleman from the moving company looked troubled. He spoke in Japanese to Google Translate, and then his phone spat out the translation in Dutch. Just before, he had asked if all my stuff was from Ikea, to which I cheerfully replied, “yes.” I love Ikea. The Japanese do not.
The end of a Starbucks
François and I were standing in line for the Starbucks in the shopping center of Keio-Hachioji station, when a poster caught his eye. One of those posters with big red and yellow letters, and something in Japanese that translated as “clearance sale.” I had seen the poster before, but since my brain still doesn’t automatically translate Japanese, I hadn’t given it a second thought, and assumed it was just another advertising poster. But François’s Japanese is better, so he asked the barista, “Clearance sale?” – “Yes,” said the barista, “everything closes on March 31. We’re leaving too, the whole building is vacating.”
Exchanges
A few weeks before I flew back to the Netherlands, I was already not feeling very well. I was overworked, stressed, and a bit directionless after the publication of my new book, Deze autist ging naar Japan. I had just hired Olga, mostly because that would look good; a business manager who doesn’t manage anyone, of course the Japanese immigration bureau thinks that’s odd.
Lost and found
Last month I photographed Cynthia. Among the internet veterans perhaps better known as Miss Lipgloss, but nowadays blogging under the name Cynthia.nl, because we’re all not 15 anymore, and that sticky substance your hair got caught in is more than welcome to stay in the 00’s. So, Cynthia. A surprising development for some, because eh, you didn’t like each other much, did you?
Coughing Out Loud
“I’ve never had COVID,” I said earlier this year to a friend who canceled our plans because she was down with it for the third or fourth time. “That seems unlikely,” she said. “You’re probably just someone who doesn’t show symptoms.” Although I wanted to believe that, I wasn’t so sure: “I’m still one of the few who wears a mask…” Living in Japan certainly helps with that; here, it’s quite normal. But even in the Netherlands, I wore a mask on the train; my visits are always short, and, as I reasoned, getting sick would just be a waste of my time.