Before meeting my wife, I always thought of Japan as a country where punctuality was deeply embedded in society, the image of trains always leaving and arriving on time being the prime example. Coming from Sweden where a train arriving on time is a bit of an oddity, together with my affinity for punctuality, Japan seemed in that way like paradise to me. And when I first met my wife, she came to our meeting just right on time (of course I thought).
In hindsight I see that my lovely wife made an effort to make a good impression on me when we first got to know each other (it did not take many dates until she had me waiting for her). So since meeting my wife and moving to Japan, I have been struggling with keeping my image of Japan as the country of punctuality. Unlike me, my wife is quite comfortable being late, so in our family I am the one always trying to keep us getting to where we are going on time. When living in Tokyo, more often than I want to believe, there were delays on the trains, especially during rush hour, so I always took us to the train station early. After moving to Fukuoka, experiencing sometimes a bit of a laidback attitude to punctuality, I have even started to question my strong feelings about the virtues of punctuality a little (although on second thought I always come to the conclusion that I want to teach our son that punctuality is a good thing).
Just as I was about to give up my image of Japan as then land of being on time, I saw a very literal sign that showed me that I must have been right in my impression all along.
Out on a walk the other day, the same route that we often take, I suddenly got the idea that I wanted to photograph that oldish beautiful mailbox that seems like it has been there in the little street since before I was born. Taking a closeup, the mail collection schedule caught my eye, and I almost started to tear up – while on weekdays the mail is collected around ten in the morning, on Sundays the mail is collected at around four minutes past ten. That is pure poetry to a lover of punctuality. So the next time I want to mail a love letter to my wife an early Sunday morning, I can safely assume that if I only make it there three minutes after ten, I will be in time.
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