Time and Cherry Blossoms

 After days of unsettled weather, the rain finally stopped. I took a morning walk along Dankazura at Tsurugaoka Hachimangu, enjoying the early cherry blossoms.

 

The cherry blossoms in Kamakura are about half in bloom now. They will likely reach full bloom all at once by this weekend. With friends coming over the day after tomorrow, the timing could not be better.

Today is March 27.
It feels early—too early.

Even if I feel rushed realizing that a quarter of the year has already passed, it does not mean that time itself is moving any faster. The cherry blossoms are proof of that. Human time does not run ahead of nature; it is only our perception that accelerates.

People often say that time feels faster as we grow older. That may be true, and there are studies that support this idea. But in the end, it remains a matter of individual perception. Time itself does not shorten equally for everyone with age.

Cherry blossoms reliably bloom between mid- and late March. Since Somei Yoshino trees are clones, they serve as a consistent marker of the seasons. At least, it is not the case that this year alone has suddenly accelerated.

If the seasons were truly speeding up, it would mean that all cherry trees share that shortened time. But human experience does not follow such a simple rule.

Thinking about this slightly cumbersome idea, I glance at the cherry blossoms visible from the train window on my commute.

In Tokyo, the cherry blossoms are said to reach full bloom today, just a little ahead.

They may not measure time with the precision of a quartz clock. But perhaps time itself was never meant to be that exact.

Time may feel faster, but nature keeps its own steady pace.

 

Human society is endlessly troublesome

Are conflicts between people an inherent trait of being human? And if so, what kind of desires give rise to them?

 

Various desires amplify themselves in the pursuit of fulfillment, and people find it difficult to resist satisfying them.

If something can be achieved through individual effort, it does not necessarily trouble others. However, when it cannot be done alone, people gather allies, form groups, and end up exerting pressure on others.

Troubles arise not only between individuals but also between groups. Regardless of age or scale, why do such complications persist? And yet, however troublesome they may be, we cannot simply abandon them.

Around the world, wars and conflicts continue without end. We cannot afford to treat them as distant events. All phenomena are interconnected, and eventually their effects reach us as well.

It is difficult to specify in what form, but one way or another, complications will arise.

With complications come worries.
And yet, even the word “worry” itself is not easy to define.

Recently, I find myself wondering why human beings are such troublesome creatures. Even a good person represents only one aspect; from another perspective, they may appear less so—perhaps not evil, but simply human.

All of these complications are, in the end, things that humans create for themselves.

If it were possible not to create such “troubles” at all, that would have to be the work of a god.

But even gods, it seems, have their own divisions of responsibility.
And so, even they are not quite as omnipotent as one might expect.

 

Perhaps trouble is simply the price we pay for being human. 

All Living Beings Are Bound by Inequality

There are reports that, in connection with the issue of exploitative host clubs, the framework of Japan’s Anti-Prostitution Law is once again being discussed. In these discussions, not only those who sell, but also those who buy are said to bear responsibility.

I do not intend here to debate the morality of prostitution itself. It has been described as a profession older than spies or politicians, and in that sense, with a history spanning thousands of years, it may be considered a fundamental human occupation.

 

What seems more important is to consider why individuals come to engage in prostitution in the first place.

The same applies to so-called “tokuryū” groups—loosely organized, fluid criminal networks. Without examining why people come to involve themselves in crime, meaningful discussion is not possible.

In various court cases, the backgrounds of offenders are often brought into consideration. Frequently mentioned are poverty and a lack of parental affection. In the recent news as well, there was a woman who explained that, driven by emotional deprivation, she began visiting host clubs and eventually engaged in prostitution to finance it.

Encounters with such stories bring a clear realization of how unequal human society is. Some are born into wealth, able to pursue education and personal interests freely, growing up in comfort, while others are not.

This may seem unjust, yet it is equally true that complete equality is unattainable. Place of birth, skin color, physique, appearance—there are countless factors that differentiate individuals, and these differences can never be entirely erased.

This is not limited to humans. In the animal world, females select males to pass on stronger genes, and offspring from such pairings are more likely to survive. Even what we call biodiversity ultimately follows such principles.

All living beings, in essence, exist within a framework of inherent unfairness.

The Oil Crisis Behind Our Ordinary Lives

Looking around, I realize how much of what surrounds us is made from petroleum. Even everyday plastic items remind me of how deeply oil is embedded in our lives.

 

If everything marked with a recycling symbol is ultimately derived from oil, then I cannot help wondering what would happen if that supply were to stop. It is difficult to even imagine how we would manage.

And yet, despite this growing concern, daily life still appears calm. The news, of course, leads with tensions in the Middle East, but it is filled with many other topics as well. Listening to these “other stories,” I sometimes feel as if we are deliberately looking away from what may be a far more immediate threat.

Of course, there is little point in endlessly reporting a stagnant situation, and discussions about national budgets and policies are necessary. All events in the world are interconnected, and none can be entirely separated from the others. Still, the steady flow of ordinary news makes me wonder whether we are avoiding facing the crisis directly.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, the concept of “normalcy bias” became widely discussed—the tendency to believe that things will remain as they are, and that we ourselves will be unaffected. Perhaps now, we are doing something similar, treating the issue of oil as distant and unrelated to our own lives. But that may no longer be tenable.

If oil were to stop flowing into Japan, we would inevitably be forced into a life of scarcity. What that would look like is hard to say. Perhaps it would resemble Japan at the time of my birth, or even the period immediately after the war.

In any case, we may be entering a time when we must face the possibility of a poorer future—and prepare ourselves for it.

 

Perhaps the question is no longer whether it will happen, but whether we are ready for it. 

 

Cherry Blossoms Move the Economy

  A cold, rainy morning—hanabie, the chill that comes just as the cherry blossoms begin to bloom.

 

There was a news report saying that this year’s cherry blossoms are blooming slightly earlier than usual.

If they reach full bloom within a week, one organizer of a local cherry blossom festival was worried that by the time the event begins in about ten days, the petals may already be falling.

In Kamakura yesterday, the blossoms seemed to advance noticeably between the morning when I left home and the evening when I returned.

It reminds me how important the timing of cherry blossoms is to Japan’s economy.

Rather than following a fixed calendar, economic activity here often depends on a natural phenomenon—the blooming of sakura. It may seem relaxed, but perhaps it reflects the generous mindset of people who appreciate nature.

Cherry blossom forecasts themselves are also interesting.

No matter when the blossoms bloom, it is, after all, entirely up to the trees. Yet today, large amounts of data are collected to predict the exact day of flowering.

Perhaps the time will come when we no longer talk about whether a meteorologist’s forecast was right or wrong.

Still, it feels a little curious that meteorologists and weather companies—neither botanists nor horticulturists—are the ones making these predictions.

In any case, weather clearly has a strong influence on the human economy.

The weather will likely remain relatively mild until mid-May, which is a relief. After that, however, the rainy season and then intense summer heat await.

By then, I hope the conflicts in the Middle East will settle down and energy supplies will stabilize.

 

Weather, in its quiet way, moves the economy as much as any policy or market. 

A Dog Show That Felt Like a Conference—But More Exhausting

 On the final day of the holiday, under clear skies, I took Anne, my Flat-Coated Retriever, to a large dog show held at Tokyo Big Sight.

 

The event was the JKC Sakura Annual Show 2026, one of the largest dog shows in Japan.

I have been thinking that, after I retire, I might participate with Anne myself. For that, I wanted her to get used to the atmosphere.

The last show we attended was relatively small—something like a regional meeting in academic terms. But this one was on a completely different scale, more like an international congress.

The moment we entered the hall, it was overwhelming: dogs, dogs, dogs—and people, people, people. In fact, it even felt like there were more dogs than people.

Large dogs, rare breeds, beautifully groomed show dogs—one after another, dogs I had never seen before appeared in front of us.

As before, Anne did not seem to enjoy the environment very much. She kept stepping backward, sometimes almost slipping out of her leash.

We even tried a training session for the first time, but it seemed we gave the instructor a bit of trouble. In the end, both Anne and I were simply exhausted.

Still, I was impressed by the sheer scale of the event. Organizing something like this must require tremendous effort.

In many ways, it felt just like an annual academic meeting—complete with corporate booths and an incredible amount of human energy.

It was enjoyable, yes—but also deeply tiring.

The one comforting moment was when someone said, “What a beautiful dog.”

I can’t help wondering whether I can really become a handler at the age of 65. 

A Spring Walk That Became a Hike in Kamakura

 What started as a simple cherry blossom walk turned into a light hike in Kamakura.

 

After yesterday’s rain, this morning brought clear blue skies.

Pollen was clearly in the air, but thanks to my medication, I managed with just a slight irritation in my throat.

I walked along Dankazura to Kamakura Station to see my wife off.

The cherry blossoms were just beginning to bloom—perhaps only ten percent open.

 

It was still a bit chilly in the morning, but the temperature was expected to rise, and the flowers would likely open quickly over the next couple of days.

Even early in the day, the area was already crowded. When the Yokosuka Line train arrived, a large number of people poured out onto the platform.

Walking through the crowds with my dog didn’t seem ideal, so on the way back, I decided to take a small hiking trail up Mount Gion.

We entered from behind Myohonji Temple, and thanks to my dog pulling me along, the climb felt surprisingly easy.

 

She’s in great shape—an excellent hiking companion.

One of the best things about Kamakura is how easily you can turn an ordinary walk into a small hike.

 

One of the best things about Kamakura is how easily a simple walk can turn into a small hike. 

 

Writing as Thinking

 

Why do we keep writing, even when we don’t fully understand the reason ourselves? This simple question leads to something deeper about thought, language, and habit.

What discourages me most about writing a blog is when what I write is rejected or denied.

Since that possibility is always there, one might conclude that it would be easier to stop writing altogether. And yet, I continue. I don’t really understand why.

Perhaps many bloggers feel the same. They write without clearly knowing their own reason.

Is the act of writing itself the goal, or is it the act of expressing one’s thoughts? If I tried to organize that distinction, I might find an answer. But at least for me, I don’t feel that I have anything in particular I want to “send out” to the world.

　

Then is writing itself the purpose? Not quite.

It’s not as if I would die if I stopped. I could quit anytime. If I don’t have time, I simply don’t write that day.

But when I do have time, I write again the next day.

　

So why is that?

Perhaps humans simply like to think.

My flat-coated retriever, Anne, seems to think only about playing. When she sees me, she brings a ball, licks my face, or sleeps when she’s calm.

I, too, would be happy to keep playing with her forever. But at some point, I start to wonder, “Is this really enough?” I stop playing, and begin doing something else—or thinking about something.

　

Most of those thoughts are trivial, things that disappear almost immediately.

And yet, one of those trivial thoughts happens to be in my mind at a given moment, gets put into words, and remains.

In other words, something that would have been meaningless is preserved, just slightly, as a record of thought—simply because it has been verbalized.

　

This act of “verbalization” is quite interesting.

As a pathologist, I describe cells and tissues almost every day. I can put the state of the human body into words reasonably well.

But when it comes to describing food, scenery, or music, I am not particularly skilled.

I cannot even properly describe the taste of wine.

That is why translating the electrical signals constantly moving through my brain into language should be a highly sophisticated act.

And yet, I can do it without much effort. That, to me, is something rather curious.

　

I started writing from the question of why I keep writing a blog every day.

In the end, it turned into a reflection on how complex an act this really is.

If one reads this piece from beginning to end, perhaps the path of my thinking—its flow—becomes faintly visible.

And that, in its own way, is interesting.

 

Perhaps writing is nothing more than giving shape to thoughts that would otherwise disappear. 

When Hope for the Future Begins to Fade

 Lately, I have often found myself unable to hold on to a sense of bright hope for the future.

 

There are still many responsibilities placed upon me—tasks I am expected to carry through.

I should be able to wish for their success, even to imagine it. And yet, that image does not come easily.

I had thought this might simply be due to age rather than pressure, but I have begun to realize that it is not just that.

It may well be shaped by the world we are living in—conflicts and wars unfolding across the globe, rapid environmental changes, and the gradual contraction of Japan under the weight of a declining and aging population.

Even if one lives an ordinary life, reality can overturn everything without warning, far beyond one’s own control.

What once seemed like solid foundations—such as energy and other basic systems—are in fact built on fragile ground.

And on top of that comes the stagnation of the Japanese economy.

If the days of prosperity are now called a thing of the past, perhaps that is true.

I do not believe I am clinging to them, yet somehow I find myself affected by them, my spirit worn down.

This is not unique to Japan. To varying degrees, people around the world may be feeling something similar.

Nothing will change simply by recognizing this, and time will not turn back.

So the question remains:
Do we continue living with a heart on the verge of breaking, or do we somehow try to rebuild it?

Of course, I want to rebuild.

But I cannot yet see clearly what I should rely on, or how to begin.

 

For now, I would like to begin simply by reconnecting with those close to me, and sharing something of the heart. 

Aging: The Long Road to the End

The air has been heavy with pollen these past few days.
Even with medication, many people seem to be struggling with persistent symptoms.

This annual discomfort led me to reflect on a more fundamental question:
what exactly do we call a “disease,” and what is the true role of a doctor?

 

Sneezing can be heard everywhere. I am no exception.
Even those taking anti-allergic medications seem to find little relief.

Hay fever is a troublesome condition—whether we call it a disease or merely a symptom—and it returns every year without fail.

But what exactly do we mean by “disease”?
And what word stands in contrast to it?

I used to think that doctors exist to cure diseases.
In reality, however, the number of truly curable diseases is quite limited.

Most diseases are defined as conditions in which structural or functional abnormalities of the body cause discomfort or suffering, interfering with daily life.
If that is the case, can aging—the greatest source of discomfort and decline—be considered a disease?

One might say that without symptoms, one is healthy.
Yet as we live, that is, as we age, irreversible dysfunctions inevitably emerge throughout the body.

It may sound like a sophism, but human beings are, in a sense, patients moving inevitably toward death.

Within the broad process of aging, various conditions such as infections and cancer arise.
The role of a doctor is to manage these conditions as they appear.
There is very little medicine can do against aging itself.

Exercise, mental activity, and dietary care—these are things one can choose to do without ever seeing a doctor.

Doctors do not possess a cure for aging, this incurable condition.
At best, we can respond to and control the abnormalities that occur along the way.

Human life, if well cared for, can extend to around a hundred years.
The task of medicine is to correct deviations that arise during that long process.
When this is done well, patients can live more comfortably, and perhaps more happily.

Whether a hundred years is long or short depends on the individual.
Yet considering that we are only some twenty generations removed from the time of Christ, it may not be so short after all.

Each life, in its own way, is longer than we tend to think.
As physicians, we must continue striving—day by day—to support that time as best we can.

 

Each life is longer than we think—and worth quietly sustaining. 

The Front of Spring

 The blooming of cherry blossoms in Japan marks the beginning of the “sakura front,” a seasonal line that moves northward each year. Yet the word “front” also carries another meaning—one that reminds us of the uncertain state of the world today.

 

Yesterday, the first cherry blossoms of the season were confirmed in Gifu, marking the beginning of the sakura front as it slowly moves northward across Japan.

It may seem almost leisurely that the blooming of cherry blossoms becomes national news. Yet many people draw energy from it. After all, cherry blossoms are the flower most closely associated with Japan.

Tokyo is expected to see its first blossoms tomorrow, so Kamakura will likely follow soon. Just two days ago, the cherry trees along Dankazura were still completely bare, but it is always enjoyable to search for the earliest blossoms while walking.

There is an old fable about the North Wind and the Sun. In that story, the warmth of the sun persuades a traveler to remove his coat. In a way, the sun resembles the gentle warmth of spring.

Once the heavy coat comes off, both body and mind feel lighter.

For human beings, creatures who live with little more than a thin layer of skin, clothing is essential. Yet the season when we need less of it naturally brings relief. It is, quite simply, the feeling of “Come, spring.”

Soon the harsh cold of this winter will likely fade into memory as the cherry blossoms bloom.

But will this spring truly allow us to forget?

The global situation remains uncertain. Concerns about a possible oil crisis are growing, and the sense of unease is only deepening.

The word “front” may describe the advance of spring, but it also evokes the front lines of war. And war itself is beginning to take on a different form.

Just as aircraft dramatically changed the nature of warfare during the Pacific War, small drones are now shaking modern battlefields.

It seems that the shape of war is once again undergoing transformation.

Ignoring diversity is no longer possible in the modern world.

Beyond drones, new domains such as cyberspace and outer space are rapidly expanding. Each of these arenas is developing its own forms of power.

Perhaps by accepting this diversity, a new order may eventually emerge.

And if that new order can bring balance back to the earth, perhaps that will be the true arrival of spring for the world.