Watashi no ie

I once read a book set in a futuristic Japan where the main character stays in a placed called “Cheap Hotel”, where the rooms are crafted out of used shipping containers. Since space is at such a premium in Japan, the shipping containers are ideal since they can be stacked on top of one another. Inside, the kitchen and bathroom are essentially built into the walls of the container, with the bed on the opposite side. I think the people who designed my apartment were big fans of that book.

This isn’t to say my room is bad or disappointing; it’s just veeeery small and compact. My kitchen, as it were, is not a room. It’s a receded area, about 5 feet wide and 6 feet tall, set into the wall of my hallway. I have a single gas burner, a counter that is about a foot wide, and a sink, all adjacent to one another. Beneath the burner there are two switches, one to turn on the overhead lights (which are inexplicably red; I’ll need to go buy some new lightbulbs soon), and one to turn on the vent, which is fortunate as I have a tendency to inadvertently and suddenly turn many of my dishes into flambé. Beneath these, at knee level, is a large cabinet filled with all sorts of necessary kitchen accoutrements that have accumulated over the years and been left by former inhabitants of my apartment. I have, among other things: 5 pairs of chopsticks, bamboo mats for rolling sushi, seven spoons, multiple instances of Tupperware, an American-made blender for some reason, a rice cooker (which has become my new favorite device), multiple cups and a few plates. More interesting, however, is what I don’t have: a single pot or pan, the lack of which render the burner mostly ornamental, and a fork. I have not a fork to my name. I discovered this the other day after I made some spaghetti (by borrowing a pot from my neighbor, incidentally) and discovering that I was going to have to either barehand the pasta and burn off my fingerprints in the process, or struggle with the intricacies of eating spaghetti and meat sauce with chopsticks. I opted for the latter for about 5 minutes before breaking down and borrowing a fork from the same aforementioned neighbor. I’m going to have to do something about this.

Additionally puzzling is my bathroom situation. I have two bathrooms, which is nearly twice as many as I’m used to owning. The first bathroom is literally that; it contains an impressively deep tub, with a wall-mounted but detachable shower head that is connected to a valve in the sink. To engage the shower, you have to turn a dial on the neck of the sink’s faucet to “showa” (honestly, that’s how you say shower in Japanese). This disables the sink and sends the flow of water up a hose into the showerhead. Likewise, to use the sink you must redirect the water away from the tub. This seems somewhat wacky to me. Additionally, the entire room is kind of rubberized and seems like it’s all carved from one giant block of something. A drain is located in the floor, allowing you, as in the Japanese tradition, to shower yourself off quickly while standing in front of the tub before you get in to take a bath. This also enables me, in the American tradition, to close the door and just go hog wild spraying every surface with the shower head, just because I can.

My second bathroom, or the Toilet Annex, as I prefer to call it, is an incredibly small room containing just a toilet and a small cabinet built into the wall with a sliding cover. It also has, disturbingly, a window that, if opened, looks directly out to the street. The glass in the window is bubbled and distorted for privacy, but if slid open it gives the whole neighborhood both a great view and something to talk about. I keep that window closed.

The remainder of my apartment pulls quadruple time as a bedroom, living room, dining room, and, when I’m feeling particularly raucous, study. I suspect it can be converted to a boxing ring but this has yet to be proven. Despite the size of my room, it is still MY room, and it’s just big enough to avoid being too small. I daresay it’s cozy, even. It is, in my opinion, extremely wise of Obirin to have given everyone a room of their own and not to have put us in shared housing, as living in a strange and new place such as we are comes with a certain degree of irritation and a need to be alone from time to time. Thankfully, we are able to do this. Especially in the Toilet Annex.