There's magic in the evening beauty ritual. Because it brings us back to ourselves. That moment when we're truly alone, listening to our inner voice. It's the hour when the mirror tells us a story, and when we seek in our own gaze the wisdom to regret less and to love even more. I pour the oil between my palms and glide it over my face, perhaps to erase the day's agitation, those traces of the energy required to get through it. I used to live in Paris, I know. Here in Tokyo, daily life is more serene because it's more disciplined. No hiccups in schedules, everything runs smoothly, leaving room for small pleasures. Like the kindness that appears on every street corner. The gentle Keiko from the nail salon walks me out after my treatment and lingers in the doorway. She will follow me with her eyes until I am out of sight. I walk down the alley, moving away without looking back, all the while sensing her presence. At the turn, I turn around and she greets me courteously one last time before I disappear. It is the traditional omiokuri, "seeing someone off," a mark of respect that prolongs the experience and strengthens the bond between people, a gesture that is, moreover, entirely selfless.
Yes, tonight my skin has something to tell me. A summary of the day. There's life experience in all of this. Love, encounters, frustrations, children, meals, successes or failures, or perhaps our perception of them. We promise ourselves to let our skin tell us, with absolute honesty, everything that happened. We can also let it leave a few shadows sometimes, when it suits us. Touching our skin, massaging it, being present with ourselves, simply being there. The oil carries away the texture, the pigments, the impurities, everything in the gesture, everything in the caress.
Okay, next step: washing away the residue with the generous lather of rice soap, which envelops me in a bubble of pure bliss and a comforting, familiar aroma of cereal. I project myself into this magnificent, untamed Japanese landscape. What if we were to remain still for once, and let nature come to us with its flow of energy and inspiration? To remain suspended in the flow of time, completely open to the experience. In my bathroom, Hokusai's Great Wave off Kanagawa seems ready to sweep away the blues of the suspended soul with its power. Mount Fuji, in the trough of the wave, remains unwavering, immutable and eternal. I think softly. Calm down. We can be restless on the mountaintops, my world is quite solid.