Today I went to a quiet cafe by my house to get some reading done. I was excited to go since it was a place where talking is not allowed. It’s rare to find places like this in Tokyo, and I get easily distracted when I’m reading, so it sounded promising.
I get there, I clumsily open the two doors initially sheathed by a curtain, to be met by the eyes of an initially scary looking man sitting at the corner of the counter, the closest seat to the entrance, and then my instinct is to go further into the room, I’m sorry that I didn’t know the quiet had begun so proximately. But on the longer side of the 4 seat counter, there are two people already, and then I’d have to sit next to someone, I mean I’m fine with it but what are the rules?; I look through the carefully hanging dried flowers and organized books that block your direct view between the counter and the center kitchen, and I see the man who runs this place, who guides me to the shorter 2-seat side of the counter, and now I’m ready to read.
For the first 10 minutes, nothing I read matters. It wasn’t even that I couldn’t understand what was being written, which happens a lot with the book I’m reading; rather I could objectively tell that it was masterful prose, and I knew if I were reading it at home, I would’ve had some sort of a more physical reaction to the words. I think it was the classical music. It’s calming but very cheerful. Almost like it assumed something about everyone, and it assumed the same thing.
It was weird because the place was definitely very quiet; a rare commodity for someone like me who just wanted to sit and read. But it was a very different type of quiet. Something about it made me want to put my book down and look at my surroundings, although maybe “want” isn’t the right word. But I did do it. The shield of books and dry flowers stretched in front of my counter as well, and to my immediate left, I think there was a bookshelf and porcelain angels, some antique clocks and lamps, clumsily organized. Some more angels when I looked up too. The coffee came and it was very strong; it was accompanied by a chaser shot of a slightly weaker coffee, which I had never heard of before as a way to officially serve coffee.
But when the caffeine kicked in it almost felt like I was hallucinating. I had finally gotten used enough to the almost medieval ambience and the story in front of me was finally starting to feel pertinent. Judith giving Aunt Rosa a letter that everyone forgets who it’s from. Henry had shot Charles, but you’re not that surprised so you almost think it must have been mentioned before. It’s supposed to be a place where talking is not allowed, but the cafe owner is telling the woman at the far end of the longer counter to take her time and rest, more than once, which is strange and makes me wonder if she’d been there long enough to where she might have felt guilty. Or that he just loves saying that. The music reminds you of a 17th century ball. There’s a mirror in front of me for some reason.
I found myself trying to make sense of why this felt different from what I wanted. It was just weird how loud everything felt. Almost like the cafe had a concrete plan as to how you would enjoy its space. You would drink the coffee, listen to the music, stare at the paraphernalia, let it all start to relax you, spiritually heal you, and you would soon be on your way. The quiet felt commoditized. They didn’t want to know what you did in your quiet, and frankly didn’t care, maybe even worse than that, they overwrote your quiet with theirs. Like I was being shown how to enjoy quiet.
I’ve always known that I enjoy, and value, freedom and self-expression. I just didn’t know, until now, that I seek quietude because I believe it eventually will help me better practice these values. Which is probably why the quiet I had today almost felt like a betrayal; why then have quiet at all?
Of course, a part of me feels like writing something like this is a huge overreaction. To be honest I quite liked the cafe; the coffee was good, the owner was very nice, the food’s probably good too and I’m looking forward to trying it sometime soon. It’s just that I think our reasons for why we value quietude is just different.
If I were to have my own cafe, I’d make it quiet so that people can hear themselves more clearly.
And by that I mean hear themselves read. I’ll just reread this book anyways whatever