FINDING STILLNESS IN THE WORLD'S BIGGEST CITY

This city, one of the most populous in the world, has mastered the art of compression.

- MALIN FEZEHAI

During rush hour, white-gloved oshiya, or pushers, squeeze commuters into packed subway cars. Hotel rooms are sometimes barely larger than the bed inside them. Major intersections teem with pedestrians, traffic and flashing billboards.

As a photographer and journalist, I was familiar with Tokyo's density but wanted to explore its quieter side. I set out to chronicle the peaceful gardens, cafes, atriums and shrines where people don't just escape the noise; they find pockets of community, solitude and refuge.

Hitoshi Abe, a Japanese architect and professor at UCLA, explained that Japanese design excels at creating spaces that evoke tranquillity.

"A little garden the size of a tatami mat can feel like a miniature of nature," he said. "Japanese design creates small environments that connect you to something larger: A bonsai mimics a full tree. A tearoom with one flower and the sound of boiling water can recall the feeling of being deep in nature."

This sensibility is rooted in the concept of shichu no sankyo — dwelling in the mountain inside the city — a design philosophy that brings the essence of nature into even the most urbanised spaces.

Researchers have established that spending time in nature has health benefits and that quiet, minimalist environments can reduce stress. The tendency to prioritise stillness and connection to nature "is one of the core aspects of Japanese design", Abe said.