How I came to be self-conscious about my smell...

It seems I can't do the slightest thing without the persistent fear that someone is watching and judging me. I never used to have this problem. I went about my life with the knowledge that no one was paying the slightest attention to me. No one cared what or how I ate, how I smelled, where I went, with whom I saw seen, what I wore... But those were the good ol' days, before coming to Japan. Now my every move is the object of gossip and scrutiny, or at least that's how it seems to me. This is surely a sign that I should get out before I lose my mind completely.

I hesitate to categorize people based on ethnicity, having been on the losing end of such judgments so many times, but let it be said that Japanese people are known for having a sensitive sense of smell. They will often comment on smells I am unable to detect.

Before moving to my current school, I sat next to an English teacher named Ms. Umeda. Ms. Umeda's English was less than perfect, but that did not stop her from talking to me and asking me all manner of questions about my country, dreams, hopes, and fears. It also did not stop her from making what I would consider to be racist remarks, such as "You're white. I bet you're not a good driver." Still, she was the sort of person about whom one said such things as "God bless her, she means well," and "Her heart's in the right place."

This did not prepare me for how she greeted me one morning.

"Umm, Matchamonkey, are you ok?" she asked, looking sincerely concerned.

"What do you mean? Yeah, I'm fine."

"You smell sweet. Are you ok?"

I was suddenly overcome with the fear that I smelled like almonds, a well-known symptom of gangrene. I quickly sniffed myself to make sure death was not imminent.

"Um, no I don't. I smell like soap."

"Some of the other teachers were talking, and they think you smell sweet. They asked me to tell you not to smell sweet at school."

At this point, I had been at school for approximately five minutes. In that time, other teachers had caught a whiff of my scent, been offended by it, had a mini-meeting about it, and elected someone to ask Ms. Umeda to tell me not to commit the offence of smelling sweet at school again.

"...But I'm not wearing perfume. This is just soap. I use it everyday." Tears began to well up in my eyes.

"Maybe you shouldn't smell sweet at school," she added one more time, to be sure I got it.

She sensed that I was on the verge of a breakdown, and tried to soften the blow. "You shouldn't be upset. The students aren't allowed to smell sweet, so the teachers shouldn't either. That's all." She got up and went to her first class.

But I really wasn't wearing any perfume. Nothing was different that day. I had in fact showered with soap, but I don't want to live in a world where that's a bad thing. At that point, the mug on my desk caught my eye. My mom had sent me some raspberry hot chocolate which I made for the first time that morning. So that was the culprit, the hot chocolate on my desk. This, however, left me with more questions than answers. Who can't tell the difference between hot chocolate and perfume? Who is offended by the smell of hot chocolate? Why can't people just tell me when they have a problem with me, why is there always a middle man?

And so it came to pass that got paranoid about how I smell.