Being Tall in Japan

The number one question I get about living in Japan is ‘So do you like feel really tall there?’

Yes.

There are plenty of restaurants that I can’t fit my legs under the table in. It reminds me of my days working in a pre-school when I would sit in the tiny chairs and just keep my legs to the side. Effectively riding side-saddle. Many of these restaurants also have sections with lower ceilings, so I have to bend over to even reach my seat that I won’t be able to sit in properly. And yes, I can tell you are laughing at me sir as I awkwardly fumble into position.

As far as low ceilings go, a few of the apartments I looked at made me feel like I was John Cusack stumbling upon the four and a half floor. After seeing a couple of these, I didn’t need to check them out any further after opening the door. I opted for a space with an 18 foot ceiling. I don’t feel tall at home. It’s nice.

I feel tall on the streets when I pass a little old lady and she violently turns her head upward, mouth agape (sometimes letting out a terrified shriek.)

I feel tall on the morning subway when I have ten people using my chest as a pillow as they snooze on their commute. I don’t feel as tall on the subway ride home, less people and the ceilings in the cars are actually pretty high. Higher than I found in the London tube.

I feel tall when I’m at a club and the lasers from the stage cast a shadow on the back wall that reveals my shadow to be head and shoulders above the moshing masses.

I feel tall when one of the first questions people ask me is ‘Whoa, how tall are you?’ I don’t know how tall I am in centimeters, which is their standard, so my information isn’t much use to them. Sometimes I say I am eight feet tall, because they just have to accept it and I can snicker to myself.

I feel tall when I’m playing streetball at Yoyogi Park. Where I am the default big man. I want to stay on the outside and pop threes, but they wave me down below, wanting to make entry passes into me as they call me ‘Shaq’ or ‘Dwight Howard.’ Ironic. It doesn’t seem to compute that I am skinny to most. It’s like my tallness has blinded them. And for a guy with a lifetime of derogatory skinny nicknames attached to him, I’ll take it.

Well, speaking of the morning subway, time to go catch one and serve my daily duty of ‘sleeping pole.’

I’ll talk to you all real soon.