Kotoba 言葉 by ifauritaddei

言葉 KOTOBA

Introduction Kotoba, “word” in Japanese, is formed by the characters “koto” 言 (remark) and “ha” 葉 (leaf). This combination has roots in Japanese poetry and in the ancient belief that words are born from the human heart like leaves on trees. While introducing the reader to a range of Japanese kotoba that encompass specific concepts, this magazine delves into a variety of topics within Japanese culture and society. Tessa Rizzoli, January 16, 2021

Index Anmoku-ruru

暗黙ルール

Chikan

痴漢

Karoshi

過労死

Inemuri

居眠り

Izakaya

居酒屋

Omotenashi

おもてなし

Sunakku

スナック

Rabu hoteru

ラブホテル

Ryokan

旅館

Akiya

空家

Nagaiki

長生き

Onsen

温泉

Sento

銭湯

Hanami

花見

Tsukimi

月見

Hatsuyume

初夢

Anmoku-ruru The word “anmoku-ruru” refers to all those unspoken agreements that form the base of the Japanese culture of “not bothering the other”. A straightforward example of tacit understanding in Japanese culture is represented by all the unspoken rules that passengers are expected to follow on public transportation.

1. Get on the train in turn 2. Don’t take up too much space 3. Respect priority seats 4. Put your phone on mute 5. Keep it quiet 6. Don’t eat and drink 7. Don’t litter 8. Don’t do your makeup 9. Don’t smoke 10. Refrain from drunken behaviour

Chikan

The word “chikan” refers to men who take advantage of crowded trains to grope women. Under police suggestion, since the end of the 90s, some carriages in the Tokyo subway have been reserved for women only. Less than the 10% of the victims of chikan’s sexual harassments find the courage to report it. Some of the victims fear that they might not be taken seriously, while others are more concerned with being on time for work. In the meanwhile, gropers get in touch on the internet to exchange advice on the best time and location for their activity. Unlike what is commonly thought, these men are are often educated men with a decent job and a family. To them, committing sexual harassment on trains may be empowering. on the train is a demonstration of power.

痴漢

The chikan problem emerged in the 1988, when a woman on the Osaka subway witnessed the harrassment of a man toward a girl, and asked him to stop. The man reacted angrily, abusing her much more insistently. Then, with the help of another man, he dragged the girl out of the train, brought her to an isolated place and raped her. To some Japanese, the moral behind this story was that one should never intervene.

Jo, 37

Manami, 26

I was living in Osaka and I was working an admin job for a recruitment company at the time. I had to take the subway, and I never bothered with the ladies carriage. Since I’m taller than the average Japanese women, I never felt threatened or at risk while being on thw train or subway. I was listening to my iPod (this was back in my mid-20s) and the train was crowded but not too packed. I had a skirt on as it was spring, and I was about the second row from the door. I was close enough to see my face reflected in the window. I felt something touch the back of my thigh and assumed it was someone’s bag or an accidental moment. Then, the thing touching me moved slightly up my inner thigh… then higher up my inner thigh… then was touching the outside of the crutch of my underwear. I completely froze. I felt like I wanted to faint and vomit at the same time. I could see the guy’s face in the reflection of the window. He just stared at my reflected face with no expression at all. It was like a horror movie. I shifted my whole body before his hand could move anywhere else and, as I was just starting to think about how to do next, the train stopped and I stepped off the train at that station. Older me is quite angry that no one I told (including my boss) suggested that I contacted the police. I even remember one guy at work telling me that I needed to be more careful as I was cute and had long, gaijin legs. I still love Japan more than anywhere, but this was just a really awful thing that happened.

There was no physical groping in my case, but I wanted to share my story to have a discussion about what people consider sexual harassment to be in Japan, and the extent in which women face it in their daily lives. It happened about a year ago, on my daily commute. I was getting the same morning train every day and started to recognize some faces in the same carriage. One day, I noticed a man, probably in his 60s, standing uncomfortably close to me. There was some room to move around, so I did just that, but he started following me around. At first, I thought I was overreacting, but this continued for the next three days. At that time, when I was young, this type of harassment was something we all had to go through in silence. When I first had a hunch he might be following me, I was too unsure to do anything. So I just kept quiet. But when it had happened three days in a row, I was sure that it wasn’t just me. I was still too self-conscious to confront him, or make drastic movements or run away. I just decided to leave home a bit early and get on a different train to him. I felt defeated. I was pissed I had to change my schedule to avoid his harassment. But what enraged me the most is that he could be doing exactly the same thing to other women.

Yuri, 25

Ako, 26

My first chikan experience was when I was 16 years old. An old guy started grinding himself on me on the metro. At first, I didn’t notice, but then it continued for so long that I turned around and when I looked back, I saw he had an erection. I was so scared I couldn’t do anything. I think my school uniform made me a target. Another experience I had, was when I was touched by the same man three times. After the third time he tried to touch me I ran after him, but there were so many people at the station and he was so fast. When he was far enough away he looked back at me and laughed. I felt disgusted, angry confused, but mostly scared. I now usually use the women-only carriage.

When I was 15 years old, it took me an hour on the packed train to get to school every morning. It happened to me almost every day. There were subtle incidents, like being stuck next to a person who was reading a book, holding it at the same height as my breasts. When the train would shake, the hands holding the book would touch my breasts. At first, I thought it was an accident, but as I turned my body, the hands would follow me. When I realized that it might be chikan, I’d get off the carriage, wait for the next train and was late for school. I had no experience or knowledge about men at the time, so it made me think that this is what guys want and it’s normal.

出る杭は

the

打た

nail

れる

that sticks out gets hammered down.

Karoshi In 2019, on October 12, Japan was preparing for the arrival of Hagibis, the most powerful typhoon to hit the country in decades. As the danger grew, social media catalogued the complaints of workers who had been forced by their employers to brave nature’s fury and turn up for work. The typhoon-driven sense of outrage attests to a deeper misery afflicting Japanese workplaces — a web of spoken and unspoken expectations (anmoku-no-ruru) that support a culture of long hours and poor sleep. The ethos and expectations behind emails telling staff to “bring sleeping bags and extra snacks” in case they were stranded at work by the typhoon are among a host of problems surrounding overwork, from companies banning long naps in office restrooms to the fact that 19 workers in their twenties fell victim last year to “karoshi”, or death by overwork (that is, stress-related ill health or suicide). Professor Jun Kohyama, a neurologist at the Japanese Society of Sleep Research (JSSR), claims that: “Japanese people may have more awareness of sleep than before, but people tend to admire those who are devoted to work and press on without enough sleep. I fear that the situation hasn’t changed at all”. His comments come a year after prime minister Shinzo Abe passed his flagship “workstyle reform” legislation to address persistent overwork and other problems in Japan’s workplaces. The legal changes have promoted several initiatives by companies, such as Osaka-based

technology company YRGLM, which allows staff to refuse work calls and emails on their days off. The reforms have also added momentum to the #KuToo campaign of Yumi Ishikawa against company policies that require female employees to wear high heels. However, overwork remains the norm. Labour groups and employment lawyers have serious doubts that a fundamental change in Japanese work culture is close at hand. On October 1, few days before the typhoon, the government published a white paper on overwork and

karoshi that demanded industries adopt more effective measures to reduce deaths. The report found labour offices around Japan recognised 158 deaths in 2018 as being from overwork, the lowest total in a decade, but ìstill unacceptably high. Many of the deaths arose from long working hours and excessive workloads. Some 6.9 per cent of the Japanese workforce worked for more than 60 hours in the final week of each month, traditionally companies’ busiest period, while job-related issues continue to rise as a proportion

of Japan’s overall suicide rate, according to the white paper. The health ministry has introduced the concept of a “karoshi line”, a level of overwork past which a person is at serious risk of a potentially fatal illness such as a heart attack or cerebral haemorrhage. The threshold is defined as working overtime of more than 80 hours a month over a two- to six-month period.

過労死

Inemuri 12

The Japanese image of the worker bee, who cuts back on sleep at night and frowns on sleeping late in the morning, seems to be accompanied by an extensive tolerance of so-called “inemuri”, the act of napping on public transportation or even on the ground, in the street and during work meetings, classes and lectures. If sleeping in a bed or a futon is considered a sign of laziness, then why isn’t sleeping during an event or at work considered an even greater expression of indolence? The truth is, inemuri is not considered sleep at all. Not only is it seen as being different from night-time sleep, it is also viewed differently from taking a power nap. Diligence, which is expressed by working long hours and giving one’s all, is highly valued as a positive moral trait in Japan. As a consequence, someone who makes the effort to participate in a meeting despite being exhausted or ill demonstrates diligence, a sense of responsibility and their willingness to make a sacrifice. Thus, inemuri, or even feigning inemuri by closing one’s eyes, can be employed as a sign that a person has been working hard but still has the strength and moral virtue necessary to keep themselves and their feelings under control.

The Japanese don’t sleep. They don’t nap. They do Inemuri.

Izakaya

居酒屋

“Izakaya” is the Japanese equivalent of the international gastropub, a place to eat and drink in a setting that is high quality but informal and friendly. Today’s izakaya offer a slow-paced, eat-anddrink-as-you-go style, with drinks and dishes being ordered and appearing at the table in a relaxed, informal style. Izakaya are generally after-work or even happyhour-type affairs, so drinking remains the focus. Although some izakaya are nomi-hodai (“all you can drink”) and tabe-hodai (“all you can eat”) styles, most izakaya allow drinkers – and in this format, drinking is the main point – to order as they go along, with the drinks and eats being totaled up at the end of the evening. As with many forms of bar food, most often plates are shared among the group, rather than enjoyed separately. But however you eat it, most of this bar food is likely to be of the consistently high-quality that most Japanese establishments maintain. This being Japan, the variations on these basics can be overwhelming, and the menus can be intimidatingly extensive. Izakaya began as small, informal affairs, with seating on tatami mats, at low tables, similar to the local pub, and traditionally marked with red paper lanterns hanging outside. But today large, well-lit chains such as Tsubohachi, Watami, Shoya and many others have sprung up to serve the large and often rambunctious post-work gatherings that izakaya have come to be. Seating at tables has become much more common.

Omotenashi

The concept of Japanese hospitality is defined by the word “omotenashi”, whose meaning is deeply rooted in the Japanese culture. It is not simply about being kind to guests, pouring tea, or cheerily saying hello and goodbye. Its history supposedly traces back to the grandfather of the Japanese tea ceremony, Sen no Rikyu, who claims that each tea ceremony is “ichigo ichie”: a once in a lifetime experience. Thus, each meeting with a guest is a once in a lifetime experience, and every moment should be honored. The host makes the guest feel as important and welcome as possible, expecting nothing in return.

お客様が神様

Sunakku “Sunakku”, or snack bars, have been fixtures of Japanese nightlife for a half century. Found in various forms in towns and cities across the country, they are generally small drinking establishments that revolve around an older female proprietor who provides a comfortable and relaxing environment for patrons to drink and socialize. Snack bars are indeed typically cozy, with only counter seating

and perhaps a few tables, and are run by a sole “mama-san” who warmly entertains her mostly male clientele, chatting, mixing drinks, lighting cigarettes, and singing duets on the shop’s karaoke machine. Snack bars emerged around the time of the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, as the government was tightening regulations on the adult entertainment industry in the runup to the event.

In response to a new law requiring adult entertainment establishments to close down at midnight, snack bars began offering light meals, along with their regular services to circumvent the ordinance and stay open into the early morning hours. Although the number of snack bars in the key urban areas has dwindled considerably, they continue to thrive in more rural districts. They offer

travelers and locals alike a warm sense of community and remain nostalgic symbols of the vibrant nightlife that existed in Japan’s booming economy of yesteryear.

スナック

Rabu hoteru With life expectancies rising, a diminishing interest in marriage and a high population density, multi-generational houses are becoming ubiquitous throughout Japan leading millions of couples, and increasingly tourists, to stay at pay-by-thehour love hotels every year. With more than thirty thousand in the country, love hotels are now a multi-billion dollar business that accounts for a quarter of Japan’s sex industry. In an ever-greatening tech-orientated and crowded world they offer a unique space for sexual freedom and exploration.

ラブホテル

The history of love hotels can be traced to the Edo Period (1600â&#x20AC;&#x201C;1868) when tea houses with discreet entrances and tunnels were established for liaisons with geishas and sex workers. The term love hotel, however, came several centuries later, courtesy of a neon sign in Osaka in 1968, precursor to the proliferation of this new type of establishment.

Yet love hotels were initially born out of necessity. Japanese houses are traditionally small with thin walls, often housing several generations under one roof. After the Second World War an unprecedented economic boom exacerbated already cramped urban living conditions that consequently led to a fervent social need for a place for couples to escape to.

While some love hotels continue to offer fantastical experiences, boasting all kinds of imaginative bedroom settings, the most essential commodity for a love hotel is still discretion. Often indistinguishable from standard hotels, their secret entrances ensure anonymity and privacy for all their visitors, may they be married couples, singletons or sex workers.

Love hotels represent a space and an opportunity for emotional and sexual expression, that empowers individuals and reconnects couples. Nowadays, in an era of apparent sexual apathy, with the Japanese government even offering cash incentives to couples to have more children, the popularity and demand for love hotels continues to defy trends.

Ryokan

“Ryokan” are Japanese style inns found throughout the country, especially in hot spring resorts. More than just a place to sleep, ryokan are an opportunity to experience the traditional Japanese lifestyle and hospitality, incorporating elements such as tatami floors, futon beds, Japanese style baths and local cuisine, making them popular with both Japanese and foreign tourists alike. There are many different kinds of ryokan, varying greatly in terms of size, cost and style. Some ryokan are small, family-run establishments with just a few rooms, while others are large, hotel-like facilities with hundreds of rooms. Ryokan range from no-frills, budget varieties to costly establishments catering to the very wealthy. While extremes exist, the average cost of a ryokan stay is between 15,000 and 25,000 yen per person, per night. While this may be too expensive to stay at everyday, it is well worth indulging on one special night during your travels. Also keep in mind that ryokan stays usually include an elaborate dinner in the evening, followed by breakfast the next morning. Meals are typically kaiseki ryori (Japanese haute cuisine) that feature local and seasonal specialties.

旅館

空家

With more than 20% of its population aged 70 and older and the birth rate declining, Japan has a property problem: there are more homes than people to live in them. As populations decline in countries across the globe, the demand for housing will also drop as the number of households decreases. This is already happening in Japan, where the country’s dramatically ageing population is fuelling a massive inventory of vacant homes, known as “akiya”.

Akiya The so-called “akiya” dot the landscape all over Japan. They are particularly concentrated in rural areas, as younger generations abandon their roots to move in cities with more opportunities. In these rural areas, where demand for homes is low, akiya are worth so little that estate agents don’t want to take them on; indeed, they can’t make money from fees, which are calculated based on a percentage of the property value. Although a growing number of vacant properties are being listed on akiya banks, authorities haven’t been able to enforce renovation or demolish many of them without being able to identify owners from whom to get permission. Local councils are feeling pressure to ensure the akiya don’t become a burden in the event of natural disasters. Since most akiya are a few decades old, these older wooden homes are less likely to withstand typhoons and earthquakes. This means any damage clean-up of damaged empty properties falls on others. In rural Okutama, a mountainous town in the north-western valleys of Tokyo prefecture, the Council’s Youth Revitalisation Department started a programme four years ago to use the akiya donated by heirs who preferred giving away homes rather than leaving them vacant. New tenants who take on an akiya can pay a small monthly fee across 15 years, after which they will get the property’s title as well as fees refunded.

Still, despite the town facilitating basic architectural maintenance, offering an additional allowance of up to $18,000 to renovate the property and including free children’s services for prospective tenants, Okutama is still struggling to find new residents – especially with other schemes subsidising family housing that include newer homes. So far only seven families in Okutama have chosen to opt for akiya, according to the council. Chie Nozawa, professor of science and engineering at Toyo University, predicts the akiya problem will grow largest in central areas of big cities that haven’t found solutions to revive older neighbourhoods in which populations are declining rapidly. This is the case as suburban towns spring up with new housing in lieu of residents taking up akiya. This means that the future of these buildings – thus, of the small towns they are located – depends on whether or not local councils take strategic action to utilise akiya. “Solutions need to be implemented to bring in new generations,” says Nozawa, “or otherwise the rapidly declining population will only fuel more vacant towns and buildings.”

長生き The Japanese life expectancy is the world’s highest, at 87.32 years for women and 81.25 years for men. In 2019, the number of Japanese aged 90 reached 2.31 million, including over 71,000 centenarians.

Nagaiki In the past years, various studies have sought to reveal the secrets of “nagaiki”, or long life in Japan. The Japanese diet is a major reason for long lifespans. It is indeed lean and balanced, with staple foods like omega-rich fish, rice, whole grains, tofu, soy, miso, seaweed and vegetables. All these foods are low in saturated fats and sugars and rich in vitamins and minerals that reduce the risk of cancer and heart disease. However, the secret lies not only in what people eat, but also in how they do it. A common saying in Japan, “hara-hachi bun-me”, suggests that people should eat only until they are 80% full. This is achieved through small portions and slower eating. At mealtimes, food is served into small plates and people sit on the floor to eat together: along with using chopsticks, this makes the whole eating process slower, which aids digestion. It is well-known that a sedentary lifestyle can lead to a poor health and a shorter life expectancy. The Japanese avoid this by incorporating movement in their everyday lives. Many elderly people in Japan do still walk or cycle around. “Ikigai” is an ancient Japanese philosophy which encourages people to live with joy and purpose. It teaches that having a purpose is essential for life fulfilment and that you can find joy and purpose in many aspects of your life such as helping others, eating well, and being surrounded by the loved ones. The ikigai way of living is especially popular in Okinawa, known as the “Land of Immortals”.

Onsen

温泉 Much more than a dip in a bath, the onsen culture stretches way back. One of Japan’s oldest books, the Nihon Shoki written in 720, documents onsen including Arima, Shirahama and Dogo Onsen. There is evidence that the latter may have been used over 3,000 years ago and has been declared the oldest in Japan. Today, onsen can be found all over the country.

Located along the Ring of Fire and with 10% of the world’s active volcano, Japan is blessed with geothermal-activity. As a result, and perhaps one of the biggest but lesser-known aspects of Japanese culture is the “onsen” or “hot spring” and the naked communal bathing culture that accompanies it. The onsen is one of the most authentic ways to experience the country’s culture. The onsen process begins when rain, snow, and other forms of water seep into the ground, so that water is pooled once it hits the hard rock, forming aquifers. Normally this water is collected as “mineral water,” however when it is next to the magma, these waters are heated, creating pressure that pushes the waters back to the surface of the Earth’s crust, forming a hot spring. However, not any old warm body of water passes the test of being “bath certified” and there are laws stating what an ‘onsen’ actually is. In order to be deemed an onsen, waters must be over 25°C and contain any of 19 minerals commonly found in Japanese waters. Minerals, such as sulphur, iron, calcium, and magnesium are just some of the examples of what can be found in hot springs. Dependent on this mineral makeup, the health benefits and even colour of hot springs can be vary. Heating bathwater of your own was no easy feat before the days of our modern conveniences, so hot spring waters that came directly from the land, ready to use were considered nothing short of a miracle by the people of early Japan. On top of the convenience, people found that bathing in these springs could relieve muscle aches, cure skin ailments, be a quick cure for fatigue, or even just help keep your blood flowing and body warm in the cold winter months. Nowadays, Japan boasts more than 3,000 hot spring resorts with more than 20,000 onsens.

Sento

銭湯

Stephanie Crohin, Japan’s first sento ambassador, has a passion for Japan’s bathing culture and she’s been promoting, writing and photographing on the subject for the past few years. “People always ask me the difference between sento and onsen. For me, the two words aren’t different or opposite from one another,” she says. Both onsen and sento draw their water from underground sources, but the key difference is that onsen water contains a specific mineral or chemical composition. It’s undeniable that the word onsen carries significantly more weight than sento – the former certainly conveys an image of being more luxurious. Onsen, says Crohin, is a title that needs to be earned. The water must be tested and often the process isn’t cheap. Crohin points out that many of Tokyo’s “sento” do draw their water from geothermal sources and have properties comparable to those of onsen, however, “some sento owners simply aren’t interested in that. There’s the price, of course, but more so they don’t want to attract people just for that.” Because there’s more to sento than just bathing. Besides offering a place to wash one’s body, the sento is also a place to cleanse one’s mind Being at the sento means you are solely focusing on your own body with no outside distractions – no social media or text messages to snap you out of your bubble. Moreover, soaking in steaming, mineral-rich water has positive effects on the skin. However, Crohin reveals that what she came to appreciate the most was the community aspect of sento. “This warmth that not only came from the baths but also from the people.” Japanese bathhouses are of course a place to wash your body, but they most importantly take on the role of neighborhood hub. “If you ever need to know what’s going on in the neighborhood, you call the sento, because they will know”.

Contrary to popular belief, sento are not public establishments. While itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s correct to say theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re spaces that are shared by a community, sento are privately owned facilities. Traditionally, they were a way for rich families or community members to give back to their neighbors. When more and more people started to go to these baths, rules were established and respected from sento to sento, but the buildings themselves remained private property. The only thing that is public are the rules adopted in order to join the National Sento Association.

Unfortunately, the number of sento in Tokyo has been steadily declining since the 1970s. Today, we count only about 530, a small number in a city with an estimated population of 13.4 million residents. The reason is partly because modern Japanese homes now have private bathrooms, but it’s also a result of demand for real estate. Sento are being demolished to make space for apartment complexes. These two factors are also causing the image of sento to change, moving from being viewed as a necessary establishment to a place that “stinks of old” in the eyes of younger generations – which is why Crohin’s work, which is shining a light on the modernity of sento, is important. “I push people to try them as much as I can,” says Crohin. After their first experience, and after becoming comfortable being naked around others, most people begin to love sento. In metropolitan Tokyo, the sento is one of those rare places where you can experience Japanese tradition in its purest form, along with a true sense of community that transcends cultural barriers.

After arriving in Japan in 2008 on an exchange program with Rikkyo University in Ikebukuro, Stephanie Crohin had her first sento experience, and her passion for the culture quickly grew. A decade later was named an official bathhouse ambassador by the National Sento Association. Her work consists now of many sento-related activities, from guest appearances on radio shows to giving private tours to first-time sento goers.

She often collaborates with different municipalities where she has the unique job of immortalizing and preserving the age-old culture of communal bathing in Japan. Her work has led to her publishing two books, in which she introduces beautiful bathhouses, interviewing the owners and photographing the facilities and artwork herself. The books document over 100 Japanese bathhouses. Crohin, however, has visited over 800.

Hanami

“Hanami” is a Japanese term that falls into the category of “looking at things” words, and it literally means “looking at flowers”. In the ancient world, while the poor were toiling in the fields, the rich built lush private gardens. The Chinese were particularly enamored with the fragrant plum blossoms – an equally beautiful flower, but much heartier and less vibrant than cherry blossoms (sakura). In the 700’s, local aristocrats would read Chinese poems celebrating the transient beauty of plum blossoms. In their gardens, each flower’s location became a new venue for poetry writing events or places to engage in other artistic activities, such as calligraphy, flower arrangement, and painting. The most common flowers were wisteria, plum blossoms, peach blossoms, and ultimately cherry blossoms, which were treasured for their brief yet brilliant bloom. By the Heian Period, the term hanami had become synonymous with “cherry blossom viewing” specifically, and was no longer considered just “flower viewing”. The tradition of yo-zakura, or nighttime sakura viewing, is generally thought to have origins in Yoshiwara and similar Edo Period red light districts because businesses stayed open late and used lanterns to maximum effect to make their shops seems more attractive at night, especial- A Japanese proverb says: “hana wa sakuragi, hito wa bushi” – ly during the short cherry blossom sea“as for flowers, there are sakura; son. While men frequented the pleasure as for men, there are samurai”. On the surface, this simply quarters, wives and daughters came to means the greatest of flowers enjoy the illuminated trees. Anyone who are cherry blossoms and the greatest of men are samurai. has enjoyed yo-zakura knows there’s a But there’s a deeper meaning: big difference between daytime hanami a samurai’s life may seem noble and poetic, but at any moment and nighttime hanami. he may be cut down in battle

花見

or asked to give his life. He is beautiful, but fleeting. Likewise, a strong storm or sudden frost might ruin all the cherry blossoms, ending the season early.

Tsukimi “Tsukimi”, whose literally meaning is “looking at the moon”, is a tradition that dates back to the aristocrats during the Heian period in Japan (794-1185), who would admire the moon’s reflection on the water and read poetry. Through the years it has evolved from late-night parties during the Edo period (from 1603 to 1868) to an occasion, today, that is more akin to what it was originally, a deeply contemplative, almost solemn moment; a time to reflect, pay thanks, and pray to the lunar god for good health.

月が綺麗ですね

In Japan, people often tend to express their feelings through nature. The sentence “Tsuki ga kirei desu ne”, which literally means “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” can actually be regarded as a declaration of love.

Hatsuyume

初夢

While in the West, most of our “dreams” in the New Year period consist of our swiftly broken resolutions, the Japanese take dreaming a lot more seriously. The subject of “hatsuyume”, or the first dream of the new year, is traditionally considered an omen of how the coming year will welcome you. Bizarrely, one of the most fortuitous hatsuyume is the aubergine. At first thought, this may seem a bit strange. This oddity is explained by the Japanese love of homophones. The Japanese word for aubergine is “nasu” which is similar to the words “to accomplish” or “to fulfill”.The legendary Mt. Fuji is an auspicious dream, too, as the highest mountain in the land, it has often been a source of inspiration for poets and artists. Another high-flying fortunate dream is one containing a hawk, as it is considered a powerful bird.

Credits

Lee Chapman

Lukas Korschan

Andrew Curry

Skander Khlif

Stephanie Crohin

Matoko Hashimuki

Credits Free University of Bozen-Bolzano Faculty of Design and Art Bachelor in Design and Art â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Major in Design WUP 20/21 | 1st-semester foundation course

Layout Grid: 6 Column Grid Module proportion: 1.319 : 1 (check with GridAid | single unit)

Project Modul: Editorial Design

CPL | Character per line - Body Text: 65 characters including spaces (check with InDesign - info)

Design by: Ilaria Fauri Taddei Magazine | Kotoba

Printed: Bozen-Bolzano, January 2021 Digital Printing

In collaboration with: Tessa Rizzoli Supervision: Project leader: Antonino Benincasa Project assistants: Andreas Trenker, Emilio Grazzi Photography: Lee Chapman (cover; 2; 16-17; 18-19; 20-21; 24-25; 26; 27; 28-29; 30; 31; 34-35; 37; 38-39; 40-41) Lukas Korschan (4; 11; 14-15) Andrew Crew (7; 32) Skander Khlif (8; 13; 23) Stephanie Crohin (42; 45; 47) Metoko Hashimuki (48; 50-51; 52-53) Format: 170 x 240 mm Fonts | Font Sizes & Leading: Body Text Gotham Book 10/13 pt Japanese Body Text Hiragino Sans W1 16/26 pt Caption Text Gotham Book 7/8.67 pt Title Text Gotham Bold 34/40 pt Japanese Title Text Hiragino Sans W7 34/40 pt Subtitle Text Gotham Bold 16/24 pt Japanese Subtitle Text Hiragino Sans W5 21/26 pt