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Beverly Claire L. Fangonon.
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Life is a Lark...Not!
An Ode to a Sofabed: Home-decorating Ordeal of a Budget-strapped Yet Inordinately Fussy Girl 27 November 1999
"How long is the thing?" I ask over the phone.
"Um, let's see," he pauses, "I'd say around 6 feet."
I say that's too bad and hang up. Now I have nothing against 6-footers.
The longer (and wider), the better, that's the rule. Yet reality check
tells me that between my veranda window and the built-in closet, the
six-footer would have blocked one of the above. Chotto, ne. I
wanted them both to open wide.
That was Day 1 of The Great Sofabed Hunt.
After months of hunting for the last piece of furniture to make my new
life in Nagoya as comfy as possible, I was ready to give up. Already I had
visited every conceivable bazaar, second-hand shop, and moderately-priced
department store in the city: Osu Kannon, Yagoto, Gokiso, even the flea
market at Port Messe. I went around and everywhere to no avail. Gaijin (foreigner)
sayonara ads produced unwanted 6-footers.
Since no real bed could fit into my tiny, six-tatami apartment, what I
had in mind was a sofabed, one with folding arms that can be opened out
for sleeping or raised and leaned on for watching late-night BS TV. And
for sitting guests as well. I did spot a couple of such but they seemed
too light and flimsy--unfit for my gaijin weight and habits. So I sighed,
gritted my teeth, and tried to mentally prepare myself for undesired
futon-bonding.
Yet one day, while walking aimlessly and despondently around Hirabari
station, I walked into a futon store. And there I saw It. The sofabed of
my dreams. Movable arms on either side, folds up small, opens long, with
thick sturdy cushions and two fat throw pillows. It would fit perfectly
into what little space there was left in my apaato.
But there was one big problem. The sofabed's color was harsh
neon-orange, so bright it hurt the eyes. There was no way I could get a
good night's sleep on the thing, even with the lights off. I asked the
salesclerk for another color, and he showed me the one other option: a
green about as peaceful as a froggy's wet, slimy, bright green back. At
that moment, after silently cursing the manufacturers for making furniture
of such deplorable colors, I should have walked out the door. But the
sofabeds were on 50% off, and I couldn't resist the thought of finally
being able to sleep off the ground. So, unhappily, I chose the orange one,
thinking that roasting over the orange fires of hell was better than
sitting on a slimy frog's green back.
Now I fancied myself to possess an interior decorating thumb. I was
very careful with textures and colors. I believed that to expand small
space, light airy colors and coordinating furniture were a must. My
purchases prior to the sofabed, even when bought at second-hand hand
shops, were carefully selected to match each other, the wallpaper and the
floor linoleum. I was quite happy with how I had put things together,
consoling myself on my creativity to conquer the tinyness of my new
dwelling. Prior to the sofabed. What the new furniture needs, I said to
myself, is just a lovely sofa-cover. And everything will be kekkou.
So I set out for The Great Sofa-cover Hunt, this time humming a lively
tune, for I was convinced the endeavor would be totally agony-free.
Machigatta. Dead wrong. I found out that most of the affordable
sofa-covers were either pathetic or loud-and-tacky, or both. And all the
colors were wrong. The beautifully-spun, elegant ones were about as
expensive as the sofabed. And the colors weren't right, either.
I had always loved Indian woven fabrics. Their natural, earth colors
and rough yet pleasant texture gave an air of homespun charm, warm and
comforting. Not to mention the fact that they were affordable.
I was able to find two pieces of such in a little store at Osu Kannon,
but they were just way too small and so ended up as tablecloth instead.
Next I tried some Western-style bedsheets, but it was a mistake. More
Indian cloth, all too small, and I was running out of money but getting
more desperate to cover the minikui (ugly) furniture in my room. (I admit,
however, that if one ignores the color, it's quite comfy as a bed...)
Weeks of foraying around the city ended with me exasperated and bringing
home yet another wrong cover. Again walking aimlessly and desolately, this
time in Yagoto, I got into a department store, and there I saw It. The
cover to end The Great Hunt. Hanging heavily on a thick plastic hanger was
a woven, creamy beige, fringed sofa-cover from India. I bought it
immediately, and happily lugged it home, smiling triumphantly.
Fast Forward 02 October 2000. Here the sofabed is covered with a plain off-white bedsheet. On top of it is me, Beverly Claire; in the middle is an old friend from the Philippines (we belonged to the same church and youth fellowship), the newly married Am-mi Cherith Andales nee Salinas; to her right is husband Zaldy Andales, a Math teacher at the University of the Philippines-Los Banos and in Japan for graduate studies. He is holding one of my sumo dolls. :-)
I took off the latest wrong buy off the sofabed, and eagerly put the
right one on. That is, I tried to. First, I struggled to take it off the
hanger. Then I tried to unfold it. Little by little, my enthusiasm turned
to despair.
The fabric was heavy. And it was huge. Wide. Long. Large. After I had
managed--sweating, huffing and puffing--to somewhat arrange it over the
furniture, it finally dawned to me that I had just purchased a mammoth of
an Indian sofa-cover. So big it spilled over the furniture's arms, back,
and front. There was no way I could manage this cloth daily.
Keeping myself from ooki koe o dasucoto (screaming), I managed to take the
thing off the sofabed. And managed to somewhat refold it, although I made
no attempt to put it back through the hanger.
After gulping down some life-giving mugi-cha and wiping the sweat off my
face, I considered returning the purchase. But I didn't want to lug it
back to the store, and also I had already thrown away the price tag,
receipt, etc. Sigh.
So what was a now-penniless, self-proclaimed amateur interior decorator
in Nagoya to do?
She laid her head on her arms and bawled.
The latest wrong buy over the sofabed, making it appear like it was covered with scrambled eggs. The Indian fabric is under the furniture, passing itself off as a rug.
The lesson in this protracted, agonizing ordeal is: in the first place,
don't buy blindingly harsh, neon-orange sofabeds. That is, unless you
like the color. But if you're a normal young woman like me, who wants a
pretty, neat, nice and comfy apartment, then don't buy blindingly harsh,
neon-orange sofabeds (That goes for its green version, too). Be content to
sleep with your futons on the floor. While lying there, think not of
cockroaches and bugs and mice. Comfort yourself with the thought that you still have your money
to spend on several overpriced concerts at the Aichi Arts Center, and that
you don't have layers and piles of rejected sofa-covers stashed away in
the bottom part of your already cluttered closet.
Epilogue. I came to the point where I needed more space in my
closet, so I had to take out the big, beige Indian sofa-cover. In a fit of
desperation, I turned it into a rug, and at present it is still there.
Looking OK, but hard to clean. I am still on the hunt for the perfect
cover to put over my far-from-perfect sofabed.
Related Link Nagoya Recycling Center - Here you can sell, buy, receive gratis or give away things like furniture and appliances and other recyclable stuff. Submit your entries online and you'll get the (controlled) responses by email. A lot of households offer to give away large furniture they no longer use, but the condition is that you come and take it with your own means of transportation. Website is in Japanese only.
