The Postcards on My Wall
When I first moved into my new flat in Tokyo, I was greeted with an empty room likeany other; if you had taken a photo and showed it to a friend, it would have beendifficult to guess where in the world this apartment was. Perhaps the size would havegiven it away; Tokyo apartments are notoriously on the smaller side, though mine is anextreme case (4sqm!). (The property developer of my apartment claims that it resembles‘hotel-like living’. It is worth noting that hotel rooms in Tokyo are also notoriouslycompact, more so than apartments.)
Nonetheless, the rent and location was good, and with the world’s biggest city
glimmering outside the window, I was convinced that I would use the extra money
saved to primarily live outside in the city itself, making the most of the amazing places
the metropolis had to offer. So whilst small, my tiny room was an exciting blank canvas,
my own little cosy nook in a city of 13.96 million people.
A year and a bit on, and I’m sitting on my bed, albeit alittle cramped(!), writing this, glancing round at the sameapartment, but a very different living space. That blankcanvas is now filled with art and objects, each recounting
another memory of my journey in Japan so far. It's anamalgamation of life in the UK prior, and recent
adventures in Japan, creating a sort of fusion between
British and Japanese culture in one space. I suppose it's anaccurate reflection of how I myself have been influenced and inspired by Japaneseculture in my time living here.
I’m glancing over at the wall by my bed. Once plain, it isnow plastered in various postcards from museum
exhibitions, posters and photos which have slowly creptup the wall over the course of the year. Each one is asnapshot in time, of a place and memory. In Japan,museums and galleries often use paper tickets for entry,
and they’re very lovely - great for scrapbooking (or fordecorating your barren apartment). I have a few on my wall, each capturing a gallery
visit with a friend or a solo adventure.
It's not unusual to happen across a small exhibition or gallery inTokyo; aside from the larger museums, such as Mori ArtMuseum, there are often smaller art venues tucked away in thesame building as an office, a residential area, and sometimes
even parking lots. I’m reminded of the time Veer and I set out toexplore Nihonbashi, and found a couple of small galleries
showcasing very different artists.
Another time, a solo adventure to a gallery exploring
liminal spaces and shadow. Popping over to Nakano
Sun Mall one day resulted in finding an exhibition of
the unique architecture of the mall (once futuristic at
its time of design in the 60s) being reimagined byyoung artists in the context of how we imagine thefuture to be. Those postcards are clipped to some fairy
lights above my window, and detail scenes of galaxies swirling above the name-sakeatrium windows of the mall, flying cars and shop fronts emblazoned with futuristicwares.

A few more - a couple of photos of whena friend came to visit during the spring.
We went to Okinawa, Japan’s mostsouthern prefecture, closer to Taiwan
than it is to the archipelago, and hometo the Ryukyu Kingdom. We’re striking
a pose at a photo booth just at theentrance of a cave within Okinawa World, a theme park dedicated to Okinawan culture.
Below that, there's a postcard from a cafe I often frequent, aptly named Traveller’s Tree
Cafe. It's a cosy cafe that serves coffee and tea from all over the world. Many of myfriendships I made in Tokyo began with a coffee (or a very delicious Butterfly Blue Pealatte) at Traveller’s Tree.

A little higher up the wall, and therefore more recent, are somememories from my homestay in Kagoshima. I was lucky
enough to have my birthday during this time, and my lovelyhomestay family took me to a Ryokan in the lush Kagoshima
mountains, to enjoy onsen and a meal, overlooking the turn of
the leaves into autumn. The ryokan gifted me some cut
bamboo chopsticks, with the paper parcel they were wrappedin wishing me a good birthday and good health in the future.
Reading it on a difficult day transports me back to feeling the cool autumn air on myface, enjoying the outdoor onsen.
My homestay memories also linger around my kitchenette; I can spy a few cups thatneed washing that were gifted to me by my homestay mum. She had many friends whowere artists in the local community, specialising in pottery, woodwork and weaving toname a few. Pottery is especially important in Kagoshima, with a long history spanningover 400 years. My homestay mum and I would often jump in the car, and visit her
friends’ workshops on the hot Kagoshima days. It was lovely to meet her friends, see
their work and learn what it's like to be an artist in Kagoshima over a cup of Hojicha(Roasted Green Tea with a smokey flavour).

A little further away, I can see a wad of receipts that need binning.
They’re sandwiched in a hanging fabric organiser. On the front of eachof the pockets is a scene from a place called Shirakawago - a tiny village
in the snowy Gifu mountains just outside of Takayama. It’s a world
heritage site, famous for its ‘Gassho Houses’ which loosely translates to‘hands together in prayer’. Each of the houses in Shirakawago have a
distinctive triangle shape, invoking that image, and are constructedfrom wood. They are still lived in today, and most of the families run a
B&B set up, where you can stay overnight in the village and enjoy atasty home cooked breakfast and dinner using local ingredients fromGifu.
Each prefecture of Japan has a local speciality, and many tourists (bothdomestic and international) seek out to try the local craft and food ofthat prefecture. Gifu specialises in Hida Beef, as well as Hida Sansho
peppers.
If you’re able to stay overnight in a Gassho house, you’ll be treated to magical
Shirakawago after the last bus has gone home; it’s an enchanting atmosphere, especially
if you go in the winter when the houses are blanketed in snow and adorned withilluminations. I will always remember huddling around the hearth, chatting to thefamily that lived there and the other guests, watching the snowfall from behind somequite scary looking icicles hanging from the thatched roof. I can’t believe that was a year
ago now.
These days, I’m beginning my work placement. My specialism lies within programmingand computing. I am lucky enough to work on a research project to help build
Gunkanjima (Battleship Island) in virtual reality. My particular task involves creating a
digital archive of Showa Era (1926-1989) objects by collaborating with museums andscanning the objects into 3D. There aren’t many historically accurate digital models ofShowa objects with their historical contexts attached available for use online, so I’mthrilled to help digitally preserve an important part of history.
Sitting not far away from me is a stack of museum pamphlets and posters that I
collected during my last string of visits to source objects to be scanned. Last week I
visited Ome, a sleepy countryside town just outside of the sprawling metropolis, butstill part of Tokyo prefecture. Ome has some beautiful hiking trails through golden
leaves at this time of year, as well as a focus on Showa era memorials that are dottedaround the town. Turn a corner, and you’ll be greeted with a Showa Era movie poster
painted onto a wall, or some funky artwork of cats; the town’s mascot.
I visited two museums here last week, preserving both the history of the town and theShowa Era objects used by the people who lived there. As I proceeded to the second floorof the museum, I was unexpectedly greeted by an eerie exhibition covering ‘The Snow
Woman’, a ghost who is said to haunt areas secluded by snow. There was a map withsupposed encounters in the nearby area on display! Perhaps global warming has silver
linings after all?
I’m left considering where else I should prospectively visit (hopefully with fewerghosts), and what would be most useful for the project as the year begins to draw to aclose. As we approach winter, the next time I will see the viridian leaves of the trees onthe Waseda Dori, it will be springtime, and my journey here as I know it will be drawing
to its conclusion. Will I try to stay in Japan, or drift on to another adventure? The future
is uncertain.
Until then, I have more space on the wall to fill.