The Cherry Blossom Rarely Smiles

by Ioana Lee

  My room had, besides the eight-person bed, two telephones and a large television with international cable, which made me very happy because once in a while I got to escape in different languages. Many times I was under the impression that Otoosan wanted me to be strictly Japanese, with just a very light foreign, exotic feel. From the beginning my room was decorated with dolls, puppies, plushy bears, cats and elephants, scattered all over the place—on the night stands, bed, my little desk, stereo and television. They either forgot that I was 25 or perhaps believed that I’d become a mother soon. Or maybe the Ancestors were coming to play during the night in my room. Whatever their reason was, I wasn’t very comfortable with it. It was only later that I began to understand the childish spirit of the Japanese people, e.g., the little flowers colored on envelopes by women of all ages, the tassels hanging on their ears, flowers in their hair and pockets, purses, t-shirts and socks embroidered with Hello Kitty, etc. Japan was clearly suffering from a Lolita Complex and it was a bit disconcerting.

  As a woman in Japan you mustn’t be too beautiful, elegant, sexy, or self-confident, but rather childishly pretty, doll-like, naïve and playful. I was horrified to find out that this was the way everyone perceived me, regardless of them being adults or children. This was my unintended “charm,” which I personally perceived as a visual and emotional handicap. I don’t even know how to fully explain it otherwise.

  Japanese Toilet

  The technological miracle that is the Japanese toilet deserves its own chapter; without it the physiological needs wouldn’t be fully taken care of in the true sense of the word. First of all, the room in which it is located, depending on one’s taste and financial situation, could look either like a mini restaurant, an office-library, or a relaxation and meditation spa room. In our home we had two rooms like these. I’ll describe the one very similar to a spa. Right at the door there was a fluffy, thick mat—with a prominent brand name on it. Next to the matt there were two pairs of slippers, fluffy and comfortable as well. The way to use a toilet is quite simple, that is if you are Japanese. Often times Romanians find themselves in Mother Nature when they have to pee, in which case they do it in the forest, behind a bush, or, if one is more “civilized” next to a building. I was shocked to discover that some even did it in a crowded market in Bucharest (!)

  Japanese people have a totally different way of relating to these types of physiological needs. By saying this, I mean that when they arrive at the door, next to the slippers and mat, they switch the ones that they use in the house with the ones next to the mat. These slippers are only used in the bathroom. The ones that they wear in the house are only to be used in the rooms with a western design, not in any manner in the Japanese designed rooms, where they have a tatami on the floor. For a non-Japanese like me, things weren’t as clear as they seemed.

  The first time I opened the bathroom’s door, I didn’t understanding why this beautiful pair of slippers, way too elegant, was on my way to this unexpectedly urgent visit there. Once inside the bathroom I was perplexed. I wasn’t able to identify where the toilet was. And this was all happening to me in my own house! The bathroom was very large, with a luxurious carpet on the floor, a small television, books, magazines, radio, telephone and a remote control on the wall. It didn’t look like a place where I would pee, but rather like a place where one would study for a final dissertation, or watch the fluctuation of the stock exchange or, in a last case scenario, practice yoga. Let’s continue the investigation… In the middle of the room, covered by a mat and multiple other crinkles, was something that looked like a toilet. Once you got close to it the toilet seat automatically went up. If you were a man a second seat went up as well. I never understood how it knew if you were a man or a woman, a little girl or boy, a cat or a dog. The one sure thing was that it knew and regardless of how many tricks I tried, it never turned out the way I wanted. I liked the game of trying to fool it, though. Many times I would dress in man’s clothes and I would walk into the bathroom like a man, speaking with a very thick voice. I even thought of having surgery to change my sex … it would have been interesting to see if the toilet would have caught that one.

  Often times I even forgot the primary reason I was in the bathroom. I was totally intimidated by that sophisticated toilet. The situation was pretty much similar to when, at 13, I received a love letter from a boy and my whole family made fun of me. Not knowing what to do, I thought about peeing in my pants, since I was too embarrassed by this omniscient toilet in a room that smelled of flowers and vanilla. The idea of privacy in a bathroom where the toilet “knew you” kind of disappeared; I was thinking of what other things that room knew about me?! I looked around to see if there were any cameras. None in sight. Imagining that I was a ninja, I found the courage to… pee. I sat down and… Ouchh! OUCHHH! The seat was so hot, I nearly hit the ceiling. I was flabbergasted. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought to myself “I could ask Ken to come and help me out, but that would mean that I’m unable to figure out how to use a Japanese toilet in my own house.” I thought of running out to the backyard. There were some trees and bushes there. I was too stressed with the whole situation. I couldn’t go outside and pee, as it was unacceptable. The Asian Gods might get upset. They exist in trees, flowers, grass, etc., and who would want to be seen peeing by the Gods?

  “No. I’m staying here. I’ll keep trying,” I said to myself. I then discovered the small computer next to the toilet – Aha! Written clearly in Japanese, along with pictures, was the temperature of the throne. So the temperature could be adjusted. I started all over again and I sat down. Hmmm… It was warm and nice, so much better than before. Finally I got to relieve myself of the five cups of green tea. When I got up, all of a sudden I felt the warm shower of a bidet. I don’t know how to express this elegantly, but it had a precise aim that made me question everything again. It was very comfortable. It even had a Jacuzzi effect. A few minutes later I felt a delicate breeze.

  It is somewhat embarrassing to continue with these details, which turned an everyday event into a science fiction episode. The last thing I’ll mention is that at the end, the toilet flushed automatically, the seat went down and a vanilla flower essence flooded the room. I’ve heard that there are different types of thrones which thank you for using them, or play triumphant music when you’re done… Here’s how you can make friends that love you unconditionally and comfortably and that don’t ask for anything in return. Because I often spent over two hours in the bathroom, Ken would call me from upstairs to ask me if I was feeling well or if anything was wrong. It was hard for him to comprehend the pleasure I experienced in that quasi-science fiction room.

  I don’t recall which Romanian politician said after returning from Japan that these two countries would reach the same level of development in 200 years, with the condition that Japan retrogrades and Romania develops rapidly. To put it more metaphorically: Winter is not like summer, and Romania is not like Japan (paraphrasing Romania’s president Traian Basescu).

  To prosper doesn’t mean to evolve

  Little by little my self-alienation process progressed. It became worrisome. I was loosing my sense of reality, my values, my perception of what was necessary, my humble modesty… I could swear that my mother made me perfect. The passing of time was degrading my personality instead of ennobling it. I was becoming what I hated the most. I resembled the portrait of Dorian Gray, yet poorly painted with faded and tired colors. I had all that I needed: money, luxury, a personal driver, people who loved and respected me, who offered me everything. They were also living in total luxury, yet with humility and modesty. I had the chance to meet very important people and I was proud to impress them with my evolved language, my cosmetic beauty and fake modesty.

  The Kurosawa family was fairly big, yet only Otoosan, Ken and I were taking the spotlight at meetings, parties, etc. Based on their Japanese rules, Ken’s younger brother and sister didn’t have any rights when it came to their last name or the family’s
estate. Initially I found this very painful, after which it went to my head. I blush writing all these things, yet it’s some sort of tough self-analysis. It helps me understand the vain side of my personality when I was 25 years old.

  I remember that one day I got upset because I didn’t have an elevator in the house, like Ken’s uncle had in Tokyo—from the first to the fourth floor. May God rest his soul; his uncle was a unique, generous and modest individual. Years ago he was considered the third wealthiest person in Japan. Now he’s among the top 200, I believe. I considered the lack of an elevator in the house to be a critical problem. Otoosan (that’s why I loved him so much), instead of getting angry at my fussiness and absurdity, tried to explain to me in an elegant and gentle way, that he thought about the elevator but because I was claustrophobic he decided, along with the architect, to cancel the project. It was true that for a few years I suffered from claustrophobia, but it went away over time. I was suffering then from a more severe condition, of which I was unaware: megalomania… Over time this turned into embarrassment and a sort of existential claustrophobia.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one changing. Day by day Ken became even more Japanese… Now I get to laugh about it… but then he was increasingly possessive and jealous. He loved me in a stuffy and tiring way, with the kind of affection that I couldn’t tell if it was love or hatred. In public he was very distant and ashamed of every European gesture that I dared to express. Even my make-up was a big problem for him because it didn’t match his ideal of Japanese beauty.

  I asked him to explain to me what was happening with his love. He didn’t seem to notice that things were going the wrong way. I don’t know if he ever really loved me, yet I do know for sure that he loved my presence next to him out in the world. The compliments he received only made him happy in the moment yet destroyed our tranquility once we arrived home.

  “Can you explain love? The desire to posses in some cases, in others the desire to surrender, to lose the sense of responsibility, the wish to be admired. Sometimes just the wish to be able to talk, to unburden yourself to someone who won’t be bored. The desire to find again a mother and a father.”[viii] Ken’s love was the desire to possess: my wife, my Ioana, mine, she belongs to me, I have documents to prove it. My love was the desire to be admired. Ken always admired me. “I love you so much that I almost hate you,” he once told me. “I hate the fact that you fool all of us with your beauty, that you can get anything you want because of the way you look. I hate when I’m angry at you, yet, when I see you I’m not myself… I am no longer the same man…”

  He used to do sketches of me many times. I saved only one portrait, which I have to this day. He was very talented. He also wrote profound haikus… I loved him because he spoke Japanese. Because I couldn’t understand him at all… Because he was the only man I met who I was unable to truly know. “Once I marry I expect to feel like a bird in a gilded cage” Tanizaki Junichiro wrote… The challenge was that I didn’t expect this at all, yet it was happening right in front of my eyes, faster than I could imagine.

  Out of all the Japanese writers that I read about, I liked most Tanizaki Junichiro, due to his rich characters. He would have been against our international marriage and would have critiqued it with his pungent irony. He wrote in many of his pieces that Japanese should only marry Japanese. I was thinking of how similar I was to one of his characters, Naomi. She was a modern Japanese woman who had the courage to assimilate all western influences. He critiqued her for her taste, yet adored her at the same time, saying that without her obvious defects, selfishness and insecurity; she would have lost her charm. Nevertheless, I wasn’t Naomi. For Ken I was the Lolita he was suffocating. He considered me a childish woman. I suppose I became a childish woman based on how his family and him treated me. I also learned many things from him, even though he was just 6 years older than me. Maybe he suffocated me with his love because he was Japanese, because that was the only way he knew how to love, agonizing himself.

  The ancestors that never sleep

  I never found out how many rooms Ken’s parents house had, and I doubt that they even knew. It was very sophisticated, built in a Japanese traditional style. It was filled with objects and had rooms with…”ancestors.” I went through a tough battle with the ancestors in Japan. I was frightened by them and scared to go inside those rooms to feed them. According to the rituals of the Shinto religion you had to put some of their favorite food on an altar, along with fruits and flowers. In secret, I was going back into those rooms to see if the food disappeared—that would have been the warning that I should return to Romania where the ancestors are not forgotten, but rest quietly wherever God took them.

  I noticed that the Japanese ancestors were pretty much like me: they didn’t touch the food. It had to be thrown away and replaced regularly with fresh food. I usually gave them oranges and big rice cookies. Some ancestors were in funerary urns, others in statues; the ones in metal statues kept in the house were horrifying, yet it was impossible for me to confess this to anyone. Japan has approximately 123 million people who are alive, and probably billions of ancestors who were all “alive” as well. Not all of them had statues, commemorative plaques, or small temples dedicated to them. If they would all have them I suspect that the whole country would have to move to Brazil or America. Being terribly scared of them I only went into eight rooms in my parents’ house. Their house was very close to ours, separated only by a garden with a paved path that connected us. Their house had multiple entrances and exits. I suspected that some were for us and some for the ancestors. Because I was a foreigner, Ken and I lived in a separate house; otherwise we would have all lived together, as that was the tradition in Japan. However, this custom was continuously changing in modern Japan. A pyramid of authority existed among family members, just like the hierarchy of a well-run company, where there are CEOs, CFOs, directors of multiple departments and employees.

  Not too far from our parents’ house, in downtown Sendai (located far north of Tokyo on the main island of Honshu), sat the glorious Shin Kurosawa museum. And this was just one of the many Kurosawa museums. I later found out that there are public gardens named Kurosawa in Vancouver, Canada. Through the main gardener I found out that these Kurosawa Gardens were very well maintained and absolutely superb. I haven’t visited them yet.

  The museum was located in a very quiet park that imposed a certain sober ancientness in its structure and attitude. The first thing that I was asked to do when I moved to Japan was to go and tell the Ancestors that I had arrived. I knew very well what this meant: to make omairi, meaning to go to their tombs next to the museum, bow in Shinto style and ask them to keep me under their protection, since I became a member of the Kurosawa family. When I went to the ancestor’s tombs for the first time, I clapped twice (Shinto ritual through which you capture the attention of the dead), after which I bowed, rubbed my hands together and clapped once more, bowing again. Over time I noticed that Ken was always more expedient with the ancestors. I used to spend more time there than him, talking to all the dead people, especially with Shin, who had passed away in Canada. I often wondered if he was keeping me under his protection, since he passed away so far from his homeland…

  I went frequently to make omairi for the Ancestors in the park, yet I never got comfortable with the Ancestors in my Parents’ house. I never went to their house alone and I never spent more than a minute by myself in any of those rooms… I never left their house without being accompanied by Ken. In spite of all that, I always felt like the Ancestors were following me.

  To love is a very big thing, but to be adaptable is even bigger

  After I moved to Japan we would always dine at our Parents’ house. At the time, I didn’t enjoy the Japanese way of eating; as a result I was always very agitated at dinnertime. Otoosan always asked me to taste a little bit of everything that was on the table. Japanese politeness prevented me from refusing him and because of this I often ended up throwing up. I remem
ber begging Ken in Romanian to tell Otoosan to leave me alone and to stop counting every time I swallowed. Ken said that he didn’t have the courage to do so and that I should try and eat; that anyway Otoosan was doing exactly what my parents back in Romania were asking me to do: eat. Indeed, I thought to myself, but at least they are my real parents…

  Whenever I tried to eat anything, Otoosan would tell me to keep my chop sticks closer or further together, my bowl more in the front or in the back, my tea cup on the right side and never on the left, my red plate next to the green one and not next to the blue one, etc.—all of this was happening under the mysterious and ruthless observation of the Ancestors. Soon after I moved to Japan I started to lose a lot of weight, get skin rashes due to the stress and have many sleepless nights. I felt nauseous and had terrible headaches. One day I threw up several times and Otoosan and Ken had to take me to the hospital. Ken’s uncle on his mother’s side, who was a medical doctor and a surgeon, owned the hospital where I was taken. He had a great team of doctors, nurses and pharmacists supporting him. On our way to the hospital I heard Otoosan asking Ken in a low voice if my feeling bad might be a reason to be happy—meaning I might be expecting. What an idea! I thought I’d die when I heard this. Ken’s answer was no. I wasn’t pregnant, but I was carrying: carrying too much responsibility on my shoulders. I didn’t have the leisure to be pregnant.