I didn’t realize tiny towels were a thing until I lived in Japan.

At some point, without making a conscious decision, I just started carrying one. Folded neatly. Always in my bag. It became as automatic as grabbing my phone or wallet.

Public restrooms don’t always have paper towels. Sometimes there’s an air dryer, sometimes nothing at all. So you dry your hands on your own towel, fold it back up, and move on. No fuss. No dripping hands. No awkward shaking them dry.

Over time, you stop noticing you’re doing it.

Read more by clicking on the link.

I have a soft spot for gachapon.

You know the machines: rows and rows of them, standing quietly in train stations, shopping centers, and random corners you didn’t expect to be charming. You put in a few coins, turn the handle, and out comes a plastic capsule with a tiny surprise inside.

I don’t seek them out deliberately. I just… notice them. And somehow I almost always stop.

What I love is the seriousness with which people approach them. Full-grown adults crouching down, scanning the display with intense concentration. Office workers in suits carefully opening capsules like they’re handling something precious. People comparing what they got with friends, or sighing dramatically at a duplicate.

Read more by clicking on the link.

Working with Japanese colleagues and especially living with my Japanese husband, I’ve learned that oyaji gyagu and dad jokes are cousins, not twins. Same love of puns, same tolerance for groans but very different rules of engagement.

The classic expat example still makes the rounds:
“When did the Japanese start eating eggs? A long tamago.”
Among expats or bilingual colleagues, it usually gets a chuckle. In a fully Japanese setting, though, it’s a lot of linguistic effort for a very modest return.

Read more by clicking on the link.