A single zabuton is a very small place. Yet when we sit upon it, we may feel: “This is my place.” At the yose, everyone has a place to sit. The girl has hers. Her brother has his. Grandfather has his. Even strangers have places of their own. Each person occupies a separate space, yet everyone watches the same stage together. There is something meaningful in this. Having a place of our own is not the opposite of being together. Sometimes, having a place where we feel secure is precisely what allows us to share an experience with others. As people remain seated, they hear the same story, are surprised at the same moments, and sometimes laugh together. People who began as strangers have now shared a little piece of time. Perhaps 座 is not simply about sitting down. It can also express having a place of our own while sharing the moment with those around us.

At dusk, the girl and her older brother went with Grandfather to a yose, a traditional storytelling theater. Footwear was neatly left near the entrance. The girl removed her sandals and stepped onto the tatami. Inside were rows of zabuton cushions. Many people had already taken their places. “Where do we sit?” “Anywhere that is free,” Grandfather said. They found three cushions together. The girl settled onto one. “Is this my place?” “For now.” She looked down at the small square cushion. The moment she sat upon it, it somehow felt as though she had found a place of her own. Soon, a storyteller appeared on the stage. He too sat on a single cushion. “He sits too,” the girl whispered. “He can become all kinds of people without leaving that spot,” her brother said. The story began. Facing one direction, the performer became a proud master. Turning the other way, he became a troubled servant. Holding his fan like chopsticks, he appeared to enjoy an imaginary meal. The girl was fascinated. The storyteller barely moved from his cushion. Yet inside the story, he traveled through town, entered houses, argued with people, and made peace again. Then came the final line. The entire audience burst into laughter. The girl laughed. Her brother laughed. Grandfather laughed. So did the elderly woman in front of them and the man sitting farther away. The girl looked around. Before coming here, most of these people had been strangers. They had come from different homes and lived different days. But now they were all sitting on the same tatami floor, watching the same stage. During the break, the girl asked, “Why does everyone sit to watch?” “Would you rather stand?” “I’d get tired.” Grandfather laughed. “When you sit, you usually stay in one place for a while.” The girl looked at her cushion. She had indeed remained there since the story began. “So sitting means choosing your place?” “Perhaps that is part of it.” She looked across the room. Everyone had a place. Her own place did not take away anyone else’s. Beside it was another place, and beside that, another. Soon the next storyteller appeared. “It’s starting,” her brother said. The girl settled into the center of her cushion. It was one small place, and for this moment it belonged to her. Yet she was not alone. Together with everyone around her, she waited for the next story to begin.

Collecting this kanji brings these jukugo closer ✨