As if Japan isn’t complicated enough when it comes to gift giving, visiting a sick friend in the hospital comes with its very own set of horrifying opportunities for The Big Fail. Here’s how NOT to say “Get Well Soon” in Japan…
Where I come from, flowers are always a safe bet. They don’t torpedo anyone’s diet, tempt them to fall off the wagon, or require application of any emergency epipens. But in Japan, giving flowers might not only fail to cheer, they might send the opposite message!
Chrysanthemums: The kiss of death. No, really.
In Japan, these little bunches of cheery mums are sold everywhere, because that’s what everyone puts in the vases flanking the family crypt when they pay a visit to their dear departed.
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Equinox Lilies: Exuberant rockstar of seasonal Instagram goodness or rat-whacking guardian of the graveyard?
Best not to show off your seasonal gifting chops by plucking a bouquet of higanbana for your friend in the hospital, lest they get the message you’re hoping for them to share the fate of the unlucky rodents who find out the hard way what a mistake it is to gnaw at the roots of this native amaryllis that is traditionally planted around cemeteries.
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Potted plants: Perhaps not the life-affirming sentiment you hoped to convey
In case you thought you could avoid the unintended messaging attached to cut flowers by opting for a nice, healthy houseplant instead, think again. Giving someone in the hospital anything with roots sends the message that you hope they grow roots there and NEVER GO HOME.
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Avoid 4 and 9 like the plague
You also have to be careful about how many of anything you give, if you don’t want to wish death and/or suffering on your recovering dear one.
All over Asia, things tend to be sold in sets of five instead of sets of four, and here’s why:
Imagine you’re counting to ten, and instead of calling out the numbers “one, two, three, four…” they’re pronounced, “one, two, three, deth…” instead. That’s why multi-story buildings in Japan often skip from the third floor to the fifth and you’ll never find your nearest and dearest confined to a hospital bed on the deth floor in room number deth-hundred-dethy-deth.
The number nine isn’t quite as shunned, but because it’s pronounced the same as the character for pain and suffering, best stay away from telling your ailing best buddy that you hope they have nine lives too…
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Jonelle Patrick writes novels set in Japan, and blogs at Only In Japan and The Tokyo Guide I Wish I’d Had
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