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After the bath, at the very front of the sink.
I take my usual serum, in the usual amount.
The moment it touches my cheek, a small, prickling sting.
Thinking I imagined it, I smooth it in again.
No — it stings.
I turn the bottle over and check the date I opened it.
Just over two months.
The color hasn’t changed. Nor the smell.
And I haven’t changed a thing.
Where did I go wrong?
Two months, the same bottle
Two months had passed since I cut down to one serum.
Just one.
At the same time.
Somewhere I can reach without thinking.
That was all I had kept to.
On nights I worked late.
On nights I came home from drinks close to the last train.
Even on nights when taking off my makeup was all I could manage, I reached for this one bottle.
In front of the mirror, a few drops in my palm.
Cupping my face in both hands, I press it to my cheeks.
A brief ritual, about ten seconds long.
No change big enough for anyone to compliment.
Still, each time I stood at the sink, my back straightened a little.
It was lasting.
That in itself made me a little proud.
And tonight, that serum stings.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say it betrayed me.
But I felt, a little, as if I had been left behind.
I open my phone and start to type “sensitive skin serum.”
Would buying something new fix it?
My finger stops.
That is how I kept adding more, before.
Three half-used bottles, lined up at the back of the shelf.
I didn’t want to go back to those days.
The air turns to autumn first
Before bed, I opened the window a little.
Until last week, the night air had been heavy.
A damp heaviness that clung to the skin.
Tonight, the air is light.
The breeze coming in is crisp and dry.
Come to think of it, the laundry hung up indoors was already dry this morning.
The corners of my lips feel slightly tight.
My hair doesn’t frizz the way it did in summer.
Without my noticing, it was the air that had changed.
In bed, I look it up a little.
Apparently, as the air turns dry and cold, skin tends to react more readily to irritation.
Several studies have also reported that the condition of the skin changes with the seasons.
Not every study, though, shows the same results.
There are things we know, and things we don’t know yet.
Even so, I felt I understood one thing.
I hadn’t suddenly become someone my serum no longer suited.
The hands that had kept at it hadn’t done anything wrong.
What had changed wasn’t the hands, but the air they were touching.
Humidity can’t be seen
Humidity is something you can’t see.
Temperature, you feel on your skin.
Sunlight, you can see with your eyes.
But humidity, you always notice after something else.
How fast the laundry dries.
How light the sound is when you close a door.
The faint catch at your fingertip as you turn a page.
On a winter morning, the small snap of pain as you pull off a sweater.
None of these is the air itself.
They are more like traces, left behind after the air has passed.
Summer in this city smells of the sea.
Walk near Osanbashi Pier, and the salt-laden wind sticks to the back of your shirt.
That heavy wind, at some point, went off somewhere.
No one knows when it left.
The weather forecast doesn’t tell you, either.
By the calendar, the autumn equinox has already passed.
But the body doesn’t learn the seasons from a calendar.
The air changes first, and the skin notices, as if chasing after it.
By the time you notice, the season is already half a step ahead.
It must have happened the same way every year.
Around this time last year, too, something must have stung.
I just never once thought to blame the season.
I opened the door alone
On my way home the next day, I got off the train at Kannai.
Usually, I come with a colleague.
This was the first time I had gone alone.
Past the ticket gates, I almost turn back more than once.
I can’t quite picture myself renting a table alone and playing alone.
There’s no particular reason.
If I go home, I’ll probably just look at my phone.
In that case, I’ll stop in for a little while.
That was about all it was.
I didn’t come for exercise.
Nor for beauty.
I climb the stairs.
My footsteps ring dry.
At the door, I let out one breath.
When I open the door, cool air touches my cheeks.
The lights fall in squares on the tables, and only on the tables.
The green of the cloth.
At some table, a ball drops — tok.
No one is looking my way.
People who came alone are playing alone.
Here, that seems to be the most ordinary thing.
At the front desk I rent a table and pick out a cue.
Walk around the table.
Chalk up.
Choose the ball to aim at.
Picture where the cue ball should come to rest.
Get down, and steady the breath.
As always, send the cue through.
Today, the balls are running
The ball I aimed at went in.
But the cue ball rolled farther than I expected.
Past the spot where I wanted it to stop, into the cushion, and back again.
Once more, I shoot it the same way.
Again, it rolls too far.
I meant to use the same touch as last week.
The same order, too.
The same stance, probably.
And yet only the result was different.
“The balls are running today, huh.”
A voice came from the next table.
It was the regular who had once told me about the routine.
“Running?”
“The cloth and all sorts of things change, you know. They’re really running today.”
“I thought something had gone wrong with my stroke.”
“Everybody thinks that at first. That’s why you spend the first few balls asking the table. How far are things rolling today?”
With that, they went back to their own table.
As I watched, they played their first few balls softly and slowly, with no force behind them.
Their eyes followed, intently, the place where each ball came to rest.
Not a ball to pocket, but a ball to ask with.
I tried doing the same.
A little shorter than usual.
A little softer.
The cue ball rolls slowly, and stops.
Half a step short of where I pictured it.
I hadn’t suddenly lost the ability to play.
It was the table that had changed, a little.
I play for just an hour and return the cue.
I open the door and go down the stairs.
The night air of Kannai is light, just as I thought.
Waiting at the crossing, I feel the wind on my cheeks.
There are days when the usual road is strangely hard to walk.
Days, too, when the usual conversations don’t quite mesh.
Each time, I have assumed that something in me had gone wrong.
The light turns green.
Back to the same serum
I get home and take a bath.
At the very front of the sink, my usual serum.
In the end, I didn’t buy anything new.
I gently close the phone screen, the search still half typed.
There are no more half-used bottles at the back of the shelf.
Only this one.
The one my self of two months ago placed here for me.
Before I pick it up, I glance out of the window.
The air is light tonight, too.
In the windows of the apartment building across the way, lights come on, one here, one there.
I dispense a little less than usual and warm it briefly in my palm.
No rubbing — I press it in gently.
It touches my cheek.
A prickle — and yes, a little sting.
The same serum as yesterday.
The same order as yesterday.
And still, a different night from yesterday.
All I changed was the amount, a little, and the pressure of my fingers.
I haven’t changed my serum.
I just stopped treating the same thing the same way.
I put the bottle back in its usual place.
Tomorrow, the air may change again.
The table, too, may show a different face.
Each time, I only need to ask a little.
How far will things roll today?
How much will it sting tonight?
I haven’t changed a thing.
I’ve just started, a little, to ask.
Why not make pool your next beauty habit?
👉 It wasn’t the serum’s fault it didn’t last.
👉 See the Yokohama Billiard Hall Guide
References
- Engebretsen, K. A., Johansen, J. D., Kezic, S., Linneberg, A. & Thyssen, J. P. (2016). The effect of environmental humidity and temperature on skin barrier function and dermatitis. Journal of the European Academy of Dermatology and Venereology, 30(2), 223-249. doi:10.1111/jdv.13301
- Dolečková, I., Čápová, A., Machková, L., Moravčíková, S., Marešová, M. & Velebný, V. (2021). Seasonal variations in the skin parameters of Caucasian women from Central Europe. Skin Research and Technology, 27(3), 358-369. doi:10.1111/srt.12951
- Jiang, W., Wang, J., Zhang, H., Xu, Y., Jiang, C., Yang, J., Liu, W. & Tan, Y. (2022). Seasonal changes in the physiological features of healthy and sensitive skin. Journal of Cosmetic Dermatology, 21(6), 2581-2589. doi:10.1111/jocd.14476
