I’m currently reading The Convenience Store by the Sea by Sonoko Michida and am enjoying it far more than I expected to.
I knew I would like it, because I find Japanese slice-of-life content irresistible, but beyond being just another pleasurable read, the story, though simple, cuts quite deeply into the essence of modern life, particularly the pervasive loneliness of it all. Michida also touches frankly on the imperfect aspects of Japanese culture and society, including the oppressive patriarchy, school bullying, and growing old alone. As the title lays out, the story revolves around a small town konbini, interestingly called ‘Tenderness’. ‘7/11’, ‘Family Mart’ and … ‘Tenderness’? An odd choice of name for a convenience store. Perhaps a victim of translation quirks.
The characters are assembled as a cross-section of society; appropriately so, since a convenience store is where most people in town are likely to, if not congregate, at least pass through regularly. Young; middle aged; old. Married; single; grappling with puppy love. Satisfied with life; disgruntled and pining. Ambitious and hopeful; world-weary and beaten down. All brought together by daily essentials and mouthwatering konbini delicacies like curry dons, strawberry parfaits and egg sandwiches.
(If you’ve been to Japan you’ll probably know that konbini foods are a cuisine unto themselves, and often are of a much higher quality than you’d expect from anything out a fridge or straight off a shelf. I myself fell hopelessly in love with a banana crepe from 7/11 when I was there last summer and still think about it often.)
Reading in Ya Kun this morning over breakfast, I looked up and realised that the scene around me wasn’t all that different from the story playing out in the book. The shop was manned by 4 staff – a man in his 60s, a woman around the same age, and two young men. I wondered if they were a family, but that seemed too unlikely. One of the young guys took my order; he had kind eyes and an overgrown mullet dyed mahogany, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a squirrel. He and the older auntie took most of the orders, while the other young man mutely prepped toast sets. The older uncle was also working on food prep, but was anything but silent. He was constantly barking at the others in a gruff voice, but when I listened properly I realised he was actually being quite nice, like asking if the order-takers needed some help. There was a great warmth and camaraderie in the way they all worked together. I must have looked quite encumbered by the baby carrier because while everyone else had to pick up their food from the counter, the uncle specially brought mine to me, and even appeared again later with napkins. Both he and the auntie seemed very taken with the baby and would periodically send smiles her way. Glancing around, the customers were a mix of business executives, blue collar workers, and students. Some appeared to be regulars and exchanged greetings with the staff as they came and went. Then, a very pretty young woman wafted in. She must have been new to Singapore, because she was unfamiliar with the menu and, well, this is sort of our national breakfast. The uncle wasted no time and barked out a series of menu recommendations at her. Despite clearly not understanding a word of it, she smiled politely in return. Eventually she pointed at something on the menu and the uncle beamed triumphantly.
Convenience stores aren’t so much of a thing here, though I do recall many happy moments from my student days spent huddled at the back of a 7/11 with friends, eating cup noodles and gossiping. Daily essentials are generally more expensive in convenience stores than in supermarkets, so unless absolutely necessary, we get them elsewhere.
Breakfast joints, however, are probably our equivalent to the konbini culture in Japan. On the higher end of the scale, places like Ya Kun, Toast Box, Fun Toast – air-conditioned, reliable, fast, familiar. For something less predictable, there are the coffee shop or hawker centre breakfasts. Regardless of where you land, there’ll almost definitely be sets of kaya toast and coffee or tea being peddled. Singaporeans (myself included) are particular about the variations in taste, portion etc., but honestly, it’s hard to go wrong with something so simple. Even a bad toast set will offer just enough comfort to start the day decently well. At least, that’s what I think. Maybe I lack a more discerning palate, but I make up for it with a disproportionate tendency to romanticise the things I eat and love.
Bad idea to write this up at night, because guess what I’m dying to eat now? Time to go rifle through the fridge for a snack. Goodnight!
Medium Delirium 