How "Komekuen Syndrome" Taught Me to Find My Own "Authentic Self"

"That doesn't make you Japanese at all."

I was often told that. Each time, I would apologize and look down.

In the spring of 2013, I developed "Komekuen Syndrome" (Rice-Eating Syndrome).
I couldn't eat rice; I became completely unable to put rice into my mouth.

It started after I threw up after eating a bento box.
I remember it well. I was in the restroom of a hall I had visited as part of my broadcasting club activities, vomiting while trembling. I watched the rice from the bento I had just eaten come back up, barely digested, and then I vomited again.
That became a trauma, and I became afraid of eating.

My father named it Komekuen Syndrome. I think he was trying to provide a pop-culture-style response to the situation of me not being able to eat rice.

Not being able to eat rice is embarrassing as a Japanese person. I thought so too. But if you can't eat it, you can't eat it. It wasn't about liking or disliking it; the feeling of "fear" came first.

For the next four years, I couldn't eat rice.
Since I was a high school student, the bento I brought to school became bread or noodles. Honestly, it didn't feel good to see everyone else holding bento boxes filled with rice, but I endured it by munching on bread or slurping noodles.

Along with not being able to eat rice, my overall food intake decreased.
My body became thin, I was constantly malnourished, I had persistent dizziness, I would suddenly fall asleep, and I was in an abnormal state. I once collapsed at a train station due to severe menstrual pain and had to be taken to the hospital.

Every time I felt unwell, I was blamed: "It's because you're not eating rice," or "That's why you're so thin." I knew, I knew, but I was afraid of rice.

I spent a long time feeling sorry that I couldn't eat rice.
For example, when the whole family went out to eat, I would have to ask for a different menu because I couldn't eat rice. I was constantly being accommodated.

It's not that I wanted to be accommodated.
But I couldn't order rice dishes because I felt bad about leaving food behind. I had no choice but to apologize.

As I wrote at the beginning, I was told many times, "That doesn't make you Japanese at all."
"It's strange that you can't eat rice even though you're Japanese."

At the time, the feeling of guilt won out, and I couldn't say anything back, but now I want to say this:

"What does it mean to be Japanese?"

What comes to mind when you, the reader, hear the phrase "being Japanese"?

When I asked ChatGPT, "Please list 5 things that come to mind when you hear 'being Japanese'," it replied with this:

Nowhere in this list does"eating rice frequently"appear.

Also, rice consumption in Japan is declining.

Despite this situation, I was constantly labeled as 'not Japanese enough' because I couldn't eat rice.

It was around the time I entered university that I became what you might call 'Japanese enough'.

When I went to recruitment events for clubs and circles, I was often treated to meals. At those times, I would give in to the guilt of refusing by saying, 'I can't eat rice,' and started eating it little by little.

At first, I would put side dishes on top of the rice, eating it in a way that 'soiled' the white rice. Gradually, I became able to eat it even when it was plain.

I took a bite, swallowed it, and still, nothing happened. How distant a prospect that simple act felt to me back then.

I wasn't afraid. That was the biggest surprise of all.

Now, I eat rice normally.
And yet, I still don't think the me from back then 'wasn't Japanese.' The me from those four years when I couldn't eat rice, and the me who now holds a bowl and shovels down white rice as if it were the most natural thing in the world, are the same person. 'Japaneseness' is something that wavers even based on something as simple as rice consumption, so I no longer have to nod along to words used as a shield to hurt others.

I think of my father, who gave it the name 'Rice-Quence Syndrome.' Back then, I thought it was just a pop nickname, but now I understand.
Because he gave a handle to a reality that was too serious, I was barely able to carry it. Things that are too heavy cannot be held as they are.

If there is anyone out there right now being blamed by someone for 'not being able to eat' or 'not being able to do' something, I want to tell you this.
It has nothing to do with what nationality you are, or who you are.

Even if there are things you cannot do, you are still you.
Even if you become able to do them, you are still you, unchanged.