I did not expect that I would be spending my Sunday afternoon being pummeled by airborne, plastic-wrapped mochi cakes. But this is exactly what happened when my uncle invited me to a local mochi throwing ceremony in commemoration of a new building that was just erected within walking distance of my family's house.
As he gave me a plastic grocery bag and advised me to wear shoes, somehow I was under the impression that we would be throwing mochi at the house, in the same way that Japanese people threw soy beans out the window to ward off evil demons.
I didn't bother delving deeper into the illogic of my assumptions - after all, it seems counterproductive for people to have to scrape chunks of mochi off a newly built structure - but once I arrived, I was informed that no, we weren't doing the throwing of mochi, but the catching and dodging of mochi that rained from the height of the three-story house at deadly speeds.
Before I moved to Japan recently, all I knew about mochi was that they made fabulous afternoon snacks and every New Year's Day when my mother made mochi soup, she always reminded me of the 80-something-year-old lady who died alone from eating mochi, and those who swallowed them too quickly risked killing themselves from mochi asphyxiation.
When they aren't accidentally killing the elderly, mochi is an edible ornament of the divine. Mochi cakes are offered to Shinto priests at ceremonies in name of the entire community that the Shinto shrine represents. And apparently, mochi cakes are also thrown from the top of newly erected buildings as a Shinto tradition to bring good luck to them.
By the time I arrived, an army of Japanese housewives was already lined up on the street with their aprons and plastic grocery bags. They had been around since 3:30 p.m., and it was already almost five. While the construction workers nailed together the remaining wooden bars of the building, the neighborhood women gossiped and shared news.
I felt like I was witnessing something that I thought no longer existed in this day and age - the social phenomena of neighboring families who actually knew each other quite well and not only that, actually cared when a new building was erected in their neighborhood.
Finally, a tiny, makeshift Shinto altar was put together on the top of the building. A small cluster of people bowed and prayed before the altar that the new building will keep their occupants safe. It was all necessary formalities before the real fun started. Every time someone shifted at the top of the building, a small child from down below screamed, "It's coming! It's coming! It's coming!"
And then, finally, the mochi throwing began.
It wasn't just mochi that rained from the skies. The people on top also threw coins and little store-brought snacks. Everyone down below - regardless of age, occupation or social status - was suddenly democratized by the basic primal need to hunt and gather for free food and free money.
Forget about letting the little ones win, or being polite to the elderly. Old people grabbed the plastic-wrapped snacks from little kid and vice versa, and before any feelings could get hurt, another volley of mochi and coins and snacks fell from the sky, and there was no time to ruminate over the fairness of whose hands touched what first.
I was only able to grab a measly three rice cakes. My grandmother was able to nab six. My aunt, eight.
"The secret," she later told me, "was that while everyone else was busy looking up, I kept my head down towards the ground."
If I ever attend another mochi-throwing ceremony, I will be sure to do so. That, and wear a helmet.
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