Humiliated in Tokyo while Naked
:: Mar 31, 10:50 PM

On November 5, 2006, I turned 26. It was a little over a year after I moved to Tokyo and my dad had been in and out of the hospital. He happened to be back in the hospital on that particular birthday. So I planned my Sunday around visiting him at the hospital. Being single in a new city was great. I would wake up early in the morning and explore my neighborhood before the stores would open. I rode the trains with the eagerness that only a newcomer could. And even going to the hospital made me feel like I was special, “How many people get to say that they’ve been at a hospital in the middle of Tokyo?!”

The hospital was located in Azabu-juban and I remember that my dad told me about an “onsen” hot springs in the area. He mentioned he had gone several times during another hospitalization period that allowed him to “sneak out.” This time though, he was not allowed to leave the hospital. No joyrides to Roppongi. Anyway, he recommended this onsen to me probably because he thought it would school me on something Japanese. At the time, he probably said the word “onsen” because I wouldn’t know what a “sento” or public bath, meant.

I turned 26 and I wanted to cleanse myself. No more games, I was entering adulthood and I had to start busting balls. But first I had to take a bath. I arrived at the station with a mental map (I google mapped it before hand). I knew I would be on a corner so I hovered around until I found it. It was a little hard to see at first because I hadn’t expected it to be on the second floor. Up the steps I went and I was greeted with a rather shabby-looking entrance.

A woman behind a glass window gestered for me to come forward, so I did. She sensed my apprehension. I paid the admission fee and took my shoes off. As I entered, I realized this was a “sento,” a public bath, and not what I imagined when I heard it called an “onsen” hot spring. It was fine with me though, as it felt retro.

It had been nearly two decades since I had been in a public bathing situation and I felt very self-conscious to be naked in a public place even though I was alone in the dressing room. I could see that someone was in the bath though, through the clouded glass door that separated me in the dressing room from her in the bathing room. After I took off my clothes and put them into the basket, I headed to the cloudy glass door.

I slid the door open. There was a washing area with about five faucet and hand-shower sets on the left side of the wall. Towards the back was the bath with an old lady quietly stewing. There were no mirrors, which I found kind of eerie. I mean, usually when you are scrubbing down in a public bath, you want to be able to see that you are completely scrubbed down. Maybe it’s the movies, maybe it’s history class, but not being able to spot two exits in a bathroom made me fret. The only way out of that bathing room was the way you came in.

So I situated myself meekly in the corner faucet farthest away from the bath in which the old woman was soaking. I washed my body and shampooed my hair remembering that one must wash themselves thoroughly before going into the bath. As I rose to get up, the old woman yelled at me—“Excuse me, girl! Excuse me.” I was sure I had cleaned myself thoroughly so I was startled. “The bubbles. You made bubbles. You need to wash away each and every bubble, down the drain. You left a bunch over there.” She pointed to the corner where I was sitting, thinking I was minding my own business. I must have turned bright red. I don’t remember saying anything as I walked back in shame, naked, to my corner. I turned the hand-shower back on and flushed away every bubble down the drain. As I was flushing, the old woman stepped out of the bath. She muttered something venomously at me as she left the room.
I felt inept. But I wanted her to know one thing, “It’s not my parents’ fault.”

Once she left, I was so relieved. But I wished I could have told her that one thing, just to clear the names of my mom and dad.

Once every bubble was gone, I re-approached the bath. The bath water was black as squid ink. This particular bath water was infused with sumi (charcoal) for its mineral benefits. I had never seen such black water, so it made the experience doubly eerie. Nevertheless, I dunked myself neck-deep into the water. I couldn’t see the rest of me and I was beginning to feel like this trip to the bath was turning into something that was anything but relaxing.

Written on March 31, 2009 in Beijing