This post is a little bit about the small daily obstacles I face as a foreigner in Japan, a little bit about the comfort of being in the hands of a trusted friend in a foreign home-away-from-home, but mostly about a posh, soothing, sensual hair experience.
A year and a half after living in Iwaki, I’ve somewhat gotten used to the cozy half-anonymity that comes with being an ex-pat in a small city. Despite this, I still have moments of self-consciousness for not quite knowing how to do the simplest grown-up tasks to take care of myself. Included in that (very long) list is knowing how to call in a for a hair appointment. For the past several months, I let my hair grow out into a shapeless tangled mess to put off stumbling through phone conversation with a complete stranger in my broken Japanese and mumbling, American-accented babble.