Spring until further notice
24th February 2010
Today was Carry Your Coat Day.
I wasn't aware of it until I went outside and saw people with coats slung over their arms or dangling from their hands.
Some may think that this is what happens when you've dressed for winter and the weather suddenly decides to do spring.
Not true. Carry Your Coat Day actually has its roots in an old custom. In the past, to welcome the arrival of spring - warm weather as opposed to the spring solstice when it was probably still freezing - people would take off a layer of clothing. A sign of their desire to get closer to the new season, as it were.
But spring wouldn't realise what they'd done if they simply took off their coats, jackets, haori or michiyuki and left them at home. Hence the custom of walking around while carrying your outerwear.
If you find yourself in Japan on Carry Your Coat Day, why not engage in an ancient folkway? Take off your coat - only your coat, mind, let's not get law enforcement officers involved - and carry it.
With little effort, you too can be part of Japanese culture.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
My pleasure
14th February 2010
First of all, to my Chinese readers and any reader celebrating with the Chinese this new year, gong hei fatt choy, xin nian kuai le, huat ah!
I'm going to do something a little different today: I'm going to explain myself. It's not something I usually do but because this is the new year and I've eaten far more pineapple tarts than someone running a low-grade fever should, I will.
It's the pineapple tarts talking. I may take down this post once they stop.
But for now, this is what they're saying:
I've been writing about Japan for almost three years now and one comment I hear fairly often is that the pieces are...different. Or if the other person's being blunt, strange.
And I don't mind that at all. I would like to know why people feel that way though (if you have any ideas about this, the comment section's all yours).
More than one reader has said that the columns don't seem to fit into the Review section of The Straits Times, which is where they appear every fortnight. The Review pages are for commentaries, where writers put forward an argument - and argue it out.
I've gone over some of the columns I've written and the closest thing some of them have to an argument? "Buses are nice." Or "flowers are nice". Or if I'm on a roll, "Flowers are really nice".
Different and, to be blunt, strange.
So what am I doing?
I'm answering this now to try to make it clearer for myself and to make sure I don't lose my way in easy jokes and easier opinions.
At their best, these pieces do not offer points of view; they are points of view. They do not express argument; they embody it. In the bones of the best of them are ideas that I have jumped on, shaken, dug my nails into when life bit and I would not cry out. The ideas left are those that did not break. As long as they are lived rather than just believed, those pieces can be written.
I do not bring opinions to the table; I build rooms out of them. If you would know what they are, look under the wallpaper, in the wood grain of the table, in the air that stirs when you enter.
I do this not because I believe there's anything wrong with pieces that state and argue with nothing up the writer's sleeve - they're efficient ways of sharing ideas and, done well, offer much pleasure.
But statement and argument and information speak to the mind, to habits - some would say, prejudices - of thought.
And we are more than creatures of mind.
To the part of you not much used to being addressed, I will speak for as long as I can.
I do not seek to change your mind and I know I cannot change you. All I can do is create spaces where you can, if you choose, speak to the self you seldom see - or to the self you're hoping to see though you're a little hazy on what that self looks like.
Making spaces. Making space. That's all.
If you will allow me, let me do this for you.
14th February 2010
First of all, to my Chinese readers and any reader celebrating with the Chinese this new year, gong hei fatt choy, xin nian kuai le, huat ah!
I'm going to do something a little different today: I'm going to explain myself. It's not something I usually do but because this is the new year and I've eaten far more pineapple tarts than someone running a low-grade fever should, I will.
It's the pineapple tarts talking. I may take down this post once they stop.
But for now, this is what they're saying:
I've been writing about Japan for almost three years now and one comment I hear fairly often is that the pieces are...different. Or if the other person's being blunt, strange.
And I don't mind that at all. I would like to know why people feel that way though (if you have any ideas about this, the comment section's all yours).
More than one reader has said that the columns don't seem to fit into the Review section of The Straits Times, which is where they appear every fortnight. The Review pages are for commentaries, where writers put forward an argument - and argue it out.
I've gone over some of the columns I've written and the closest thing some of them have to an argument? "Buses are nice." Or "flowers are nice". Or if I'm on a roll, "Flowers are really nice".
Different and, to be blunt, strange.
So what am I doing?
I'm answering this now to try to make it clearer for myself and to make sure I don't lose my way in easy jokes and easier opinions.
At their best, these pieces do not offer points of view; they are points of view. They do not express argument; they embody it. In the bones of the best of them are ideas that I have jumped on, shaken, dug my nails into when life bit and I would not cry out. The ideas left are those that did not break. As long as they are lived rather than just believed, those pieces can be written.
I do not bring opinions to the table; I build rooms out of them. If you would know what they are, look under the wallpaper, in the wood grain of the table, in the air that stirs when you enter.
I do this not because I believe there's anything wrong with pieces that state and argue with nothing up the writer's sleeve - they're efficient ways of sharing ideas and, done well, offer much pleasure.
But statement and argument and information speak to the mind, to habits - some would say, prejudices - of thought.
And we are more than creatures of mind.
To the part of you not much used to being addressed, I will speak for as long as I can.
I do not seek to change your mind and I know I cannot change you. All I can do is create spaces where you can, if you choose, speak to the self you seldom see - or to the self you're hoping to see though you're a little hazy on what that self looks like.
Making spaces. Making space. That's all.
If you will allow me, let me do this for you.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Toshiya (通し矢) at Sanjusangendo
5th February 2010
Every year in January, an unusual archery competition is held on the grounds of Sanjusangendo, a temple in the south of Kyoto.
The current form of the Toshiya contest is in its 60th year but it dates back to 1609, when archers competed at one end of the temple’s western veranda to send as many arrows as they could into the target 118m away. They shot for 24 hours from six o’clock in the evening, taking a quick break after every 500 arrows. The current record was set in 1686 by a man called Wasa Daihachiro. He fired 13,053 arrows of which 8,133 hit the target.
Today’s competition is held beside the famous veranda and the morning section is for archers who turned 20 in the past year and have achieved at least the level of shodan – the first rung of a 10-step ladder.
Putting on the shooting glove before the contest starts. The thumb is pressed lightly to the first two fingers while the strap is adjusted.
The average Japanese bow used today is 2.2m long. Without a wall or floor bracket, it takes two people to string it: one to hold the tip and the other to loop the string around the other end.
Two arrows are usually fired in one round for kyudo, or traditional Japanese archery.
Waiting to enter the shooting area. Ideally, the bow and arrows extend behind the archer at the same level - rather like unfurling wings.
The moment of full draw. In the background, the veranda where the original Toshiya competition took place.
While most of the male participants wear the practice gear of white gi and black hakama (wide, pleated trousers), some opt for kimono. Men shooting in kimono have to remove their left arm from the sleeve first. In winter, this is not fun.
The first arrow is shot while holding the second at a prescribed angle. It's harder than it looks.
The last of the male entrants with the first of the female competitors waiting behind.
Reason Why People Prefer To Photograph The Girls No.1
Reason Why People Prefer To Photograph The Girls No.2
In a break from the regular gi and hakama, young female participants wear furisode - colourful kimono with sleeves draping down to the feet. The sleeves have to be tied back with a strip of cloth - tasuki - before the archer can shoot.
And after it's all over...
5th February 2010
Every year in January, an unusual archery competition is held on the grounds of Sanjusangendo, a temple in the south of Kyoto.
The current form of the Toshiya contest is in its 60th year but it dates back to 1609, when archers competed at one end of the temple’s western veranda to send as many arrows as they could into the target 118m away. They shot for 24 hours from six o’clock in the evening, taking a quick break after every 500 arrows. The current record was set in 1686 by a man called Wasa Daihachiro. He fired 13,053 arrows of which 8,133 hit the target.
Today’s competition is held beside the famous veranda and the morning section is for archers who turned 20 in the past year and have achieved at least the level of shodan – the first rung of a 10-step ladder.
Putting on the shooting glove before the contest starts. The thumb is pressed lightly to the first two fingers while the strap is adjusted.
The average Japanese bow used today is 2.2m long. Without a wall or floor bracket, it takes two people to string it: one to hold the tip and the other to loop the string around the other end.
Two arrows are usually fired in one round for kyudo, or traditional Japanese archery.
Waiting to enter the shooting area. Ideally, the bow and arrows extend behind the archer at the same level - rather like unfurling wings.
The moment of full draw. In the background, the veranda where the original Toshiya competition took place.
While most of the male participants wear the practice gear of white gi and black hakama (wide, pleated trousers), some opt for kimono. Men shooting in kimono have to remove their left arm from the sleeve first. In winter, this is not fun.
The first arrow is shot while holding the second at a prescribed angle. It's harder than it looks.
The last of the male entrants with the first of the female competitors waiting behind.
Reason Why People Prefer To Photograph The Girls No.1
Reason Why People Prefer To Photograph The Girls No.2
In a break from the regular gi and hakama, young female participants wear furisode - colourful kimono with sleeves draping down to the feet. The sleeves have to be tied back with a strip of cloth - tasuki - before the archer can shoot.
And after it's all over...
Herons for you, madam?
4th February 2010
If you have US$980 to spare, you may like to give these herons a good home.
4th February 2010
If you have US$980 to spare, you may like to give these herons a good home.
Monday, February 01, 2010
Let's settle this like men
1st February 2010
Another frozen day at the dojo: stiff shoulders, numb hands and breath puffing out white.
But around 7pm, two cheesecakes appeared. They were ceremoniously sliced and everyone was invited to help themselves.
There was a catch though: you couldn't just take a slice from one of the cakes; you had to eat both.
Two boys from the dojo had each baked a cake and after eating, you had to say which you thought was better.
This is the Way of the Warrior - sometimes, you face down your opponent with a sword. Sometimes, with a bow. And sometimes, with cream cheese, double cream, sugar, crushed biscuits and yoghurt.
Of course, some would say that the only opponent you face is yourself but the main thing is to keep the cake coming.
1st February 2010
Another frozen day at the dojo: stiff shoulders, numb hands and breath puffing out white.
But around 7pm, two cheesecakes appeared. They were ceremoniously sliced and everyone was invited to help themselves.
There was a catch though: you couldn't just take a slice from one of the cakes; you had to eat both.
Two boys from the dojo had each baked a cake and after eating, you had to say which you thought was better.
This is the Way of the Warrior - sometimes, you face down your opponent with a sword. Sometimes, with a bow. And sometimes, with cream cheese, double cream, sugar, crushed biscuits and yoghurt.
Of course, some would say that the only opponent you face is yourself but the main thing is to keep the cake coming.
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