For Tokyo residents, you can visit the Aoyama Flower Market Tea House (https://www.afm-teahouse.com/) in Minami-Aoyama, Akasaka and Kichijoji. You can savor their refreshing fruit and herb teas (with rose, mint, marjoram, rosemary, lemon grass, cinnamon, orange peel, cornflower, and many other fusion flavors), and petal sodas and juices. Their floral-decorated sumptuous meals include plum and berry French toast, beef stew with olive rice and carrot salad, and omelette with homemade tomato sauce, avocado puree, seasonal leaf vegetables and edible flowers. Don’t miss the Hana-kanmuri French Toast designed like a floral crown filled with seasonal fruits, framboise, herb, and edible flowers. For dessert, the Flower Parfait mixed with rose jelly, cherry mousse, mixed berries, cereal, edible rose petals and vanilla ice cream is a hit. Most especially, the tea houses swarm with greenery and flower blooms hung from the ceilings and on the walls, inviting you to bathe in its forest-like ambiance. While embracing the floral scene, you may reflect on Inoue’s thoughts to always embark on something new and never be afraid to do things you have never done before. Enjoy some of the photos I took at the Minami-Aoyama and Akasaka locations.

© Alma Reyes 2023

Are you one of the residents in Japan who goes through an “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe” when deciding if you should or should not wear a mask outside your home? Since the government removed the mandate of obligatory mask wearing a few months ago, I was quite curious to see how Japanese would diligently respond to the announcement. Expectedly, at that time, more than 90% of the locals could be seen still hanging on to their masks, indoors and outdoors, whether while walking on the streets, riding a bicycle (really?!), inside stores, supermarkets, restaurants, train stations or inside trains. 

I had started taking off my mask when walking outdoors (and absolutely while riding my bike), but admittedly, still put it on sometimes inside the train, especially when packed. At the two language schools where I teach, mask-wearing appears to be still the rule of the day (as of this writing). Similarly, I have opted to still wear it when having my one-on-one private lessons at a café (for being guilty of becoming Japanese, out of respect). Yet, I remove it when the lesson is over.  Recently, I have seen more people getting the hang of doing away with masks, but this percentage may have risen slightly to just 30%. Above all, many Japanese STILL wear masks outdoors while walking on the streets (and while on their bicycles), which I find utterly incomprehensible.

Japan is known worldwide to be mask lovers. Japanese have been accustomed to mask-wearing even before the COVID-19 pandemic as a precaution against cold and hay fever. Thus, while many Karens of the world screamed out of the frying pan into the fire during the lockdown peak in 2020 for refusing to be succumbed to the mask syndrome, social media went berserk in front of poker-faced Japanese who just shrugged off the chaos as ridiculous. On top of that, Japanese are well reputed for their austere adherence to cleanliness and public hygiene. The minute notion of sitting next to an infected person (even from just a cold) can trigger escalated stress. School children who suffer from a cold, runny nose, or excessive sneezing are often advised to stay home (and equally for teachers).

The dilemma, therefore (if it were put to such), of wearing or not wearing a mask is not simply a matter of allegiance to government regulations or exercise of personal judgment. For Japanese, this issue is a reflection of civic responsibility.  “Ki wo tsukau” is a fundamental attribute of Japanese social decorum. It is one of the cultural traits I particularly respect Japanese people for, although disproportionate practice of it could be overbearing sometimes. The expression entails displaying consideration for the other person’s feelings or disposition above one’s own. It is a golden etiquette that foreigners can learn from. I have asked many Ja the sun or the cold.” For some, wearing a mask can imply protecting oneself or others from hay fever or a cold; thus, nobody could really demonize them for being conservatively stuck-up.

As for the ubiquitous sight of mask-wearing while walking ALONE outdoors or riding the bicycle, this eccentricity can only be rationalized by habit. Alternately, some Japanese find it cumbersome to put on and pull down their mask time to time depending on where they are, thus, keeping it on regularly solves the fussiness.

Notwithstanding the current global situation of mask-wearing being almost invisible in many countries, many Japanese still restrain from foreign travel, and some have probably developed acute paranoia towards non-Japanese whom they believe may be more prone to the infection than them. Is it still a wonder why many Japanese suffer from stomach or intestinal pain when they travel abroad? We all know that bacteria has given a lot of merit to immunization, so virtually, the greater exposure one has to germs, the less probable feasibility he would be infected. It would be a spectacular sight to witness that day when all Japanese would have finally given up their dearly beloved health-protection and social etiquette armors. After all, if there is anything that Japanese are most comfortable in, it is being guarded in their own shell that keeps them secured to a safe zone only they can trust.

© Alma Reyes 2023

It is not every day that we see a Filipino actor take a lead role in an international film. But, this is not the sole reason why every Filipino should watch the captivating film “Triangle of Sadness” by multi-awardee Swedish director Ruben Östlund. Garnering the Palme d’Or 2022, European Film Award for Best Film 2022, and more awards and nominations for directing, screenwriting, costume design and acting performances, this aesthetically crafted film conveys so many overlapping messages that may hurt, anger, or enlighten us, and awaken the baffling realities of our daily existence.

In a gist (spoiler warning), the story involves two young millennial fashion models, Yaya and Carl, who win an all-expense-paid cruise trip in exchange for social media promotion, and mingle with the bourgeois and oligarchs on board the yacht. Amidst the sexism and social and work hierarchy visible on the yacht, the passengers succumb to seasickness and possibly food poisoning during a stormy dinner, causing havoc, electricity failure, and sewage flood. Pirates from nowhere bomb the yacht and leave eight passengers and crew trapped in an isolated island.

Every scene in this movie is important and worth scrutinizing because it satirically represents every fragment of our distorted social structure and human relationships. The opening scene with the shirtless male models of varied ethnic backgrounds prepping up for an audition speaks of a delusive diversity and inclusion. The shot of the single Asian judge seated at the table of judges, physically and verbally secluded from the “white” judges, mocks the concept of racial equality. On the humor side, the models are coached to look serious for a high-class brand (Balenciaga) and smile for a lower-class brand (H&M)—a metaphor on how lower classes of the society appear to have a happier outlook in life than the more stoic and formal upper class. Don’t we Filipinos know this too well.

Then, there is the gender equality issue when Yaya and Carl argue about footing the dinner bill. Intriguingly, Yaya, who is a a more high-end successful model than Carl (therefore, earns more income), admits that she had been manipulating Carl and enjoys the thought of being his “trophy wife.” We ask ourselves if women truly play secondary roles in the society, making them exert more effort (than men) to be recognized, and whether power play between men and women can be the root of relationship issues. Can Filipino marriages and corporate systems relate to this?

Let’s go back to the Filipino casting in this film. The boat scene tries to open our eyes to class segregation, and what a better scenario to show it than on a cruise where the fancily dressed ultra-rich behave like royals sipping champagne on the upper deck, while the minorities (enter Filipino crew) labor as cleaners, dishwashers, technical engineers, and so on in the lower deck. Here, we meet Abigail (played by award-winning Dolly de Leon), the toilet manager, who later transforms into the heroine of the movie. She is fastidious, efficient, and diligently able to manage her co-workers, in contrast to the American captain (Woody Harrelson) who is drunk and unmindful of his passengers’ welfare. He exchanges political and intellectual combat with the filthy rich Russian Dmitri—a plain ridicule of US and Russia capitalism and socialism. Furthermore, even within the Western system, the white-collar crew must heed the wealthy passengers’ commands—again, denoting unequal treatment and hierarchy abuse by bosses towards subordinates. They cheer enthusiastically “money, money, money,” signifying their synonymous desire with that of the lower deck crew’s. 

The most entertaining part of the movie is the island scene. Abigail claims her position as the new “captain" since she is the only one in the group who can catch fish, cook it, and set up a fire—an indication of the upper class’ inferior survival capability. She exercises her new power to set rules and undermine the group who, in turn, now falls as slaves to her in order to survive. The hilarious scene of Abigail distributing cooked octopus bits one by one to the group with her getting the bigger share epitomizes the sometimes, false distribution of wealth we witness among governments. Abigail sleeps comfortably inside the lifeboat while the others suffer out on the sands. Moreover, she exploits Carl to be her lover (reverse labor abuse)—something that she would never be able to do if she were living in the real world. This reminds us of many Filipinos who choose to work abroad to enjoy benefits of luxury and status that cannot be attained back home.

The open ending leaves puzzled viewers imagining what Abigail would finally do after Yaya discovers an elevator on the other side of the island that leads to a hotel resort (therefore, the “normal” life), and pulls Abigail to join her. Instead, Abigail picks up a rock and attempts to kill Yaya, but that final act is not shown. As a Filipino like Abigail, do we empathize with her disposition? Naturally, if the others learn that there is a way out of the island, Abigail would lose her attained power. She would resume her unprivileged status, and be disrespected and ignored once more.  What would you do in Abigail’s shoes? Is it enough for lower-class Filipinos to remain in their rank as long as money secures them? Could there be an end to feudalism in the Filipino society, which continues to encourage the outspread gap between the rich and poor?

We applaud Dolly de Leon for her wonderful performance. She is the only Filipino actor, so far, who had been nominated at the BAFTAs and Golden Globe Awards. Her awards and nominations are countless among film associations in Los Angeles, Portland, Vancouver,  London, and more. Be sure to catch the movie and feel the Abigail in you.

© Alma Reyes 2023