I owe my dad and sister an apology. Neither of them will be particularly surprised by this, although they might wonder which offence I have in mind.
Back in in the UK, they both suffer quite badly from Hay-fever. I never did. And I took this as reasonable grounds for suspecting that they were making rather too much of it. There would be sneezing, streaming eyes and complaints about pollen, while I went about my day entirely unaffected.
Occasionally, I would even suggest that they might actually be faking it. It was an easy condition to dismiss when it happened exclusively to other people.
After I moved to Japan, people warned me that my good fortune would not last.
“Give it ten years,” they said.
“It’ll eventually get you,” they said.
The explanation usually involved some kind of cumulative affect, as though the body kept a pollen account with a fresh deposit being made each spring, until it could take no more. I scoffed at that notion too. And for several years the evidence appeared to support me. Spring came and went, other people suffered, and I remained irritatingly well.
Then, somewhere around my tenth year in Japan, sure enough… I developed hay fever, too.
I cannot offer my experience as scientific proof of the ten-year theory. I can, however, say that it was an exceptionally annoying coincidence. What I had not understood was that spring was only part of the arrangement. Japan also offers autumn hay fever, or aki-kafun, which in my case can be even worse.
Having spent years congratulating myself on escaping one season of allergies, I now find myself being afflicted by two.
Japan’s spring misery owes much to the cedar and cypress planted extensively for timber after the war; the Forestry Agency puts the estimated prevalence of cedar pollen allergy at 39 per cent in 2019.
My autumn suffering, however, comes courtesy of a different collection of plants, including ragweed and mugwort; apparently, one season of making everyone miserable was not enough.
This feels particularly unfair in autumn. I have already written my love letter to the season: the cooler air, the changing light and the relief of walking around Tokyo without arriving somewhere in need of a shower. I stand by all of it. My nose, however, has more than a few objections…!
Over the past few days, it has somehow managed to be blocked and runny at the same time; my eyes are dry; I’m continually sneezing, and the only medicine that seems to work leaves me barely capable of remaining conscious. I take it before bed, which deals with the immediate problem, but the following morning I am left feeling so groggy that it takes a good while to actually come to. Being awake and being ready to go turn out to be two separate events.
The weather is finally pleasant, there are dogs to walk and a city worth spending time in, but none of it is improved by this irritating condition.
I am beginning to appreciate that my dad and sister showed considerable restraint all those years ago. They had to endure the symptoms and listen to my insults.
I shall of course apologise properly when I am next home. Assuming I can get through the sentence without sneezing.
Sincerely,
Ross Harrison - A Tokyo-based photographer documenting a more authentic Japan beyond social media posts and postcards.