Japan is aging, and as usual, I’m with the gang. I’m unthinkingly in love with Japan and its culture, but body/aging issues make some things difficult—simple things like removing shoes before you enter a structure or someone’s home. I live with lower back issues, and on most days, if I’m careful, I can avoid pain, but the stiffness is always there, just around the corner. So, if I bend my back forward to pick something up from the ground, I must do it slowly and carefully. As one can gather, Japan is very floor-level orientated, and there are places where you either have to sit floor-level or take your shoes off without a proper seat nearby. And if you ask for a chair or a stool, you will get one, but it’s not automatically waiting for you. Most people, especially if they are on the younger side, don’t even think about these issues. But the irony is that there are more older people in Japan than ever. It’s not youth culture, but older adults’s world with body/aging issues that are ignored in most locations in Japan.
I’m easily seduced by Japanese customs because there is beauty in its practices, but so is S/M, and that type of beauty may not be for everyone. When you walk down a street or on a sidewalk, you have to remember that there are people behind you on bikes, and that alarming sound of a bell warning you to watch out is an essential instrument to have around for one’s safety. A city like Tokyo is based on chaos, and there is really no order, except for the train stations, which are like anchors in the sea; they mark the spaces. I think Kyoto is a good place for senior citizens because the streets are very straightforward, and all have names. As mentioned, Tokyo streets are not all named; they seem to exist because they are there, and that’s that. The poet, in me, loves the mystery that is Tokyo. On the other hand, taking my shoes off without a footstool is a painful experience.
The staircases in Japan are deep, steep, and uncomfortable to walk on, except for the steps from the mid-century apartment structures, and they are sloped in a walkable manner. Most steps from the 1950s and before are almost ladder-like angles, and most have rails, so it’s manageable. The structure I wrote about yesterday is dangerous. If one falls, there is a good chance you will die or be crippled. And no railing on the stairs. Everything is built for visual pleasure, but nothing is practical about using the space except showing art and works in the room. My only approach to that space was to run out of the room, and I did so in a Jerry Lewis manner by running away. The owner and the collection in his private museum are both superb, but the design of that place is not suitable for an aging man like yours truly. Still, the nature of collecting is seductive as well as sexual. To own something is to possess it, and often, I would wander through my library, thinking that all of these books are mine. And I’m sure the collector in Tokyo feels the same way. We both fetishize life and turn it into a collection. I love and appreciate that.
And before you tisk tisk against this aging man, I want to remind you that aging is the most intense time in one’s life. There are no golden years to lean or depend on; it is a journey to death, but the path is unknown. And without a doubt, when my time comes, I hope it is in Japan.