“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.
Even François, actually a Frenchman but so integrated after ten years in Japan that he can no longer live without his kotatsu (heated table) and his butt-washing toilet seat, shares this opinion. Nitori, that’s what you should buy. It’s Japanese. It’s better. Don’t think they sell artisan furniture with nail-free wood joints at Nitori or anything like that – they sell furniture similar to what you’d find at Target: MDF and particleboard furniture and more of that kind of misery. A sort of Ikea, but uglier. In my opinion, anyway.
No, the moving man was not a fan. I had hired his company to move my bed, and while we were at it, some more furniture. The desk was manageable, he said. But my bed, or rather the pull-out sofa bed in the office, was a problem. “I think it will be fine!”, I said. “What if we disassemble it?” He still believed that the thing would break or we wouldn’t be able to reassemble it, but this stubborn foreigner was not deterred. Ikea furniture not movable? Sir, do you know Marktplaats.nl? Hmm, probably not.
"But Toeps, why are you moving things around? Didn’t you just get that bed?"
Eh, yes. That’s right. I bought the bed two years ago at Ikea. For guests, and for me to chill out on in the office. Charlotte slept on it for a month, and when François stays over, we use it too. But now I have a room in François’ house, and I was missing a bed there. I could buy a new bed, but this sofa bed would be ideal.
Besides, I’m finding that ‘three houses’ is a bit too much. (Before my old classmate starts complaining again, I still only have one apartment, one office, and just one room at François’, which I now share with two cats and the accompanying litter box, scratching post, and other accessories.) Lately, I’ve been spending more and more time at François’, the house is becoming tidier, and as a result, I feel much better. But my rooms in Hachioji are becoming more chaotic, the household chores are always behind, and honestly: that bed in the office is actually a bit too big for the space.
So, we started thinking. I created a giant spreadsheet with all the scenarios and their financial, visa-related, and furniture-related consequences. We chose the most complicated plan because it would ultimately yield the best end situation: I would move some furniture to François’ now, then move my tatami mats from my tenth floor apartment to the office for a new relaxing or sleeping spot, and eventually, but not before November at the earliest when my visa is extended, register at his place, after which I could cancel the upstairs apartment. (François lives, although nearby, just over the border in another prefecture, and I don’t know how much administrative hassle it would cause if I suddenly have to apply for my extension somewhere else.) This seemed like a great situation to us: Cozy, but with enough breathing room when I need time for myself. And with the furniture I already had, moving in would be a piece of cake.
Moving business inflation
“Maybe you should just get a quote from a moving company,” François said. So I filled out an online form and almost immediately received an email: “Hello, can we come by to take a look?” The email exchange was in English, but when they called yesterday to confirm the appointment, everything was in Japanese. The guy himself only spoke Japanese too. My Japanese is pretty decent now – I understood most of what he said to Google Translate without needing to read the translation – but it’s always extra stressful.
“It will probably cost about 30,000 yen, 40,000 yen,” François had said. The quote ended up being 71,500 – the moving business is subject to inflation. (That, or I just want to take too much stuff, and well, it’s another prefecture…) Still only 422 euros, but more than I had expected.
I waved goodbye to the moving guy and took the train to François’. Everything felt wrong. Should I just buy a new bed…? But then I’ll have a surplus of furniture in November… Should I keep my office as it is…? It’s a nice, pleasant place as it is… (See also this office tour video I made with Olga.) Should I lay down the tatami mats at François’? And put futons on them so we can chill and host guests? I grabbed the tape measure and measured again. I thought they wouldn’t fit, but it turns out they just do.
“I prefer the bed,” said François. This man, who previously dismissed my Ikea Soderhamn suggestion for the living room in favor of an extendable Nitori piece, which I said in the store was the only not-totally-hideous sofa. This man prefers the Ikea bed over the tatami mats. It’s going to be my room, so I get to choose, but this consideration makes it extra difficult. If I do this… Then that… And then that… The furniture is dancing through my head like the dinner scene in Beauty and the Beast and I don’t know how to stop it. I want to lie down on the bed and mindlessly watch TV. But, well, that’s not possible here yet.
Related posts
Buongiorno and konnichiwa
It’s-a me, Toeps, business manager. This blog is a selection of the things I have done in recent months. Because a lot has happened, and a lot is still going to happen! What exactly, you ask? Well…
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.”
Two
Two big things are happening this week. One, the physical version of the English translation of my new book comes out tomorrow. The digital version came out last week, but because of Amazon’s annoying procedures, the paper edition had to wait another week. I also haven’t received an author’s copy or proof yet, because they don’t send those to Japan. Instead, I had Riemer look at it, and film it, and I made final adjustments based on that. For tomorrow’s festive photos, I just printed a color copy at the convenience store. 50 yen and some advanced origami magic, and it’s just like the real thing.
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.
Why infodumping may not be the best love language after all
A girl is talking to the camera in a short clip made for platforms like Instagram and TikTok. “People often think we autistic people are egocentric because we respond to your sad story with a similar story from our own lives – but this is how we show empathy!” A bit later, a brightly colored image appears in my feed: “Infodumping is my autistic love language.” We need to normalize it, because this is how autistic people show they care, according to the widely shared post.
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.
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.
Fireworks
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.
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.
Bye bye balcony Fuji
When I moved to Japan, I spent the first month and a half living in my office. Now, that sounds worse than it actually was, because my office is simply the tiny apartment I bought back when we were all stuck at home during COVID lockdowns and border closures. To meet the requirements of my business manager visa, I quickly needed to find a separate living space (home offices aren’t allowed), and I found one on the 10th floor of the same building. A bat had to be chased out first, then it needed a couple of weeks of ventilation, but after that, it slowly but surely became my home.