Two weeks ago, I moved to Japan for the first time. Having previously never left the United States, you might imagine what level of cultural adjustments resulted—if not from the social differences, then even just from the climate. It was thirty-seven degrees Celsius here last Saturday (or ninety-nine degrees in the Fahrenheit world), and to describe the humidity, well, just imagine the consistency and density of the air in a bathroom after someone in your family has used the entire hot water tank on a long steamy shower. Now, imagine the bathroom is actually just the world you live in, and the only way out of the bathroom is to go inside air-conditioned buildings, the entrance into which can be roughly equated to a glacial wall.

Now, being a naturally quiet and overly polite person, many things unique to East Asian culture have come without second thought, like train etiquette and bowing, but one thing that required a decided shift was using the public showers and bath, called ofuro. The ofuro is a large open room with a number of showers and mirrors and no walls, and it has a nice large bath next to the showers where no form of swimsuit or towel is allowed (although of course you wouldn’t be wearing a swimsuit into the shower anyway). The university I’m studying at kindly provides two curtained stalls specifically for awkward international students like me, but the expectation is generally for one to move on to the public showers when the curtains become too inconvenient.

For the first several days after moving in, I permitted myself the comfort of the curtains while I adjusted. Most Japanese people, I’ve discovered, don’t shave. And they certainly have a different hair washing routine than I do. So I continued slipping in and out of the shower stalls every night until one time, both stalls were occupied and I stood in the changing room wrapped in my towel, debating. How badly did I actually want to avoid people seeing me? Was I dedicated enough to pace the changing room and make myself look busy until a stall opened up?

So long story short, I’ve been using the public showers ever since.

I won’t claim it wasn’t awkward. I was homeschooled and hadn’t shared a bathing space with anyone unclothed since my mother piled me and my brothers into the tub together to play with rubber ducks and wash the dirt from our knees. But the first time I showered in the public space, my entrance came as no surprise to anyone but me. I awkwardly sidled up to the shower head and adjusted my soap and scrubby while a couple of girls sat on plastic shower stools nearby and chatted. A couple nights before while I was changing, I’d overheard a girl in the ofuro singing, shortly before she strode into the changing rooms in her full birthday suit, unabashed. I wonder if she didn’t notice me startle or if she just didn’t care.

For some reason, I assumed at first that if one had to be naked in the presence of others, one would not draw attention to oneself while doing so. And that’s what I did, washing quick and saying nothing. But my Japanese roommate will often leave for the ofuro and chat in the showers for an hour before returning to our room, and I quickly realized the norm is not only to coexist in the shower, but to socialize in it. “Nudity builds community,” one of my American friends joked. But that’s the ofuro in a nutshell.

My shift from awkward shower visitor to less-awkward community member has come slowly, one conversation at a time, with a lot of wide-eyed glances. As strange as it has been, though, overcoming my shyness and seeing others so open with one another has been refreshing. I might even prefer it to lonely showers now.

Last night, I accompanied my roommate to the ofuro for the first time, on accident. We both ended up going at around the same time in the evening and just stuck together. She asked me about foods I wanted to try. I asked her about her classes. One of my other friends was there, too, and we all sat in the steaming bath for several minutes, just talking. With the language barrier, many aspects of communication with the Japanese students have been more difficult than what I’m used to, but this step I feel brought us closer, the way only vulnerability can.

And hey, at the end of the day, it helps that I don’t wear my glasses in the shower.

Emilyn Shortridge

Emilyn Shortridge (’25) spent her Calvin years studying English linguistics, Asian studies, and ministry leadership, and intends to finish her Asian studies program in Chiba, Japan, in 2026. When at home in Plymouth, Michigan, she thrives anywhere near fantasy novels, houseplants, hot tea, or her calico cat, Genie, but she plans to live and learn in many cultures before deciding which corner of the world needs her most.