I choose the rooms that I live in with care
The windows are small and the walls almost bare,
There’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair.
The windows are small and the walls almost bare,
There’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair.
(Leonard Cohen / Tonight Will Be Fine)
As unpredictable as the shifts of one’s destiny can be, so it happened that my first time of renting an actual apartment is now, in Japan. For years I have been residing in dormitory rooms and apart from occasionally being bothered by neighbors and roommates, I liked it. So I am kind of curious to see how I would do in this mission of building my own, though temporary, nest from scratch.
Well, notwithstanding the indescribable tortures of Japanese bureaucracy, the need to conduct all my business in Japanese very different from what I’ve studied back home, the unreasonable amounts of money needed
for signing the contract, I am actually enjoying it. It occurred to me recently that it is not the thought of having my own place that makes me happy, but the feeling of change, of an adventure. I even enjoy the relative poverty I have been thrown into by the expenses of moving, and the big empty room with nothing but a futon and a window viewing a Japanese style roof and a bit of a bamboo forest.The emptiness of the room sure makes me understand one of the basic concepts of Zen aesthetics – the beauty of the void. As much as I’m looking forward to designing this room in a way that represents my personality, I can’t help feeling that every piece of furniture or decoration I bring in takes away some of the options. (My personal style of interior design is, by the way, something between a monk’s cell and a French brothel. That means very minimal, but with a lot of red-scale colors).
My first purchases (and also last till next month – no money left) were a kotatsu (a great Japanese inventi
on – a low table with installed heater) and a refrigerator. The thought of me owning something as solid and prosaic as a refrigerator is beyond hilarious to me. I actually have to pretend to be only renting it for a year to avoid attacks of commitment phobia. But other than that, and the Kyoto winter closing on me its cold embrace, I’m really happy. I’m starting a new life again, walking great distances every day, falling asleep on the floor of my empty room while trying to imagine what may this new life bring, and occasionally waking up to scenes such as this snowy day. Living the Gypsy Chic.
