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.

 

 

A World Where No One Really Knows

As tensions between the United States, Israel, and Iran continue, many people watch anxiously to see how the situation will unfold. Yet the deeper one thinks about it, the more uncertain everything appears. 

 

The attacks on Iran by the United States and Israel show no clear sign of ending, and many people are watching closely to see what will happen next.

In today’s world, if oil were no longer available, the price of almost everything would rise. That alone is enough to make the situation deeply concerning.

Some might say that Iran’s nuclear development should never have been allowed to continue unchecked. Yet how far had it actually progressed? And if that is the issue, then what about North Korea? Once one begins to ask such questions, the discussion becomes endless. Many claims may be partly true, and partly uncertain.

Human society seems to run on imagination—or perhaps on the interaction of countless assumptions. We rarely know what others are truly thinking, yet we easily convince ourselves that we do. Even our own thoughts are often unclear.

Even if we try to understand the world through physical events, everything remains relative. Our own perceptions are not as reliable as we might believe. To be honest, I am not even sure that I fully understand what I myself am thinking.

Writing down one’s thoughts may give them form, but even as they are written, they begin to fade and change. In that sense, our understanding always remains incomplete.

For that reason, no one truly knows when the current turmoil will end. Because there are opposing sides involved, even those directly responsible may not know what lies ahead.

Perhaps the human world simply continues forward in this kind of chaos.

One thing may be clear: no one fully understands everything. And if that is true, then it may not be so easy to decide who is truly wise and who is not.

In that case, perhaps each of us can say that we are meaningful in our own way.

 

Perhaps the only certainty in human affairs is that none of us truly understands them. 

The Problem With Measuring Happiness

Yesterday’s lecture is finally behind me. I managed to get through it somehow. For a little while I can relax, but the next task is already waiting—the preparations for a research meeting that I will organize.

 

My field of pathology is rather narrow and deep. Because of that, there are very few pathologists involved in it.

Even though pathologists themselves are not abundant, most of them are occupied with cancer diagnosis. Naturally, manpower and funding tend to flow toward those areas. Less popular fields receive very little of either.

Our research group sometimes feels more like a small club of enthusiasts. We complain to each other from time to time, but somehow keep things going.

Once again I will have to look for speakers from this small circle. Young doctors are few, and finding people is never easy.

Sometimes I wonder how long I can keep doing this. Yet after spending so many years in this field, it is not so easy to walk away.

I suppose I will just continue until the day I am quietly replaced.

Time passes quickly. It is already the middle of March.

Far too quickly.

I do not know how much time I have left in life, but at this pace it feels as if life might end before I have the chance to do anything truly enjoyable.

I cannot even say whether I am happy or not.

At the very least, happiness is something that only the person himself can decide. It is not something others should judge.

When people say,

“Oh, what a pitiful person.”

it is often nothing more than an intrusion.

And yet there are certainly people whose lives are shaken by the decisions of a handful of tyrants. That is still happening in many parts of the world today.

Even for myself, I cannot be certain that Japan will never be drawn into war. In some ways, one might even say that we are already in a kind of economic war.

If there were a clear scale to measure happiness, perhaps things would be easier to understand. But such a scale does not exist.

In the end, it is difficult to know.

 

Including the question of why we live at all, life remains something profoundly mysterious. 

Kamakura Morning Walk Before a Conference

 Before heading to a small medical conference in the afternoon, my wife and I took our flat-coated retriever, Ann, for a quick morning walk around Kamakura.

 

Since I had to catch the train later, we kept the walk within an hour and tried to move at a brisk pace. Or at least I thought we did. Perhaps it is simply that my legs are slower than they used to be.

A strong wind had been blowing since early morning, and the pollen seemed almost visible in the air. My wife suffers from hay fever more severely than I do, and she looked quite uncomfortable. I felt sorry for her, especially because she has a visit scheduled this afternoon to a nursing home, where she brings Ann for volunteer visits.

 

Myohon-ji Temple

We walked as far as Myohon-ji Temple. The plum blossoms were already almost finished, leaving the town in what the Japanese call a seasonal gap between flowers.

Still, there was plenty to enjoy. Like the small flowers in our own garden, many neighborhood gardens were beautifully in bloom. The spirea trees near the local elementary school were especially lovely.

 

Dankazura Avenue

The buds of the cherry trees along Dankazura Avenue had grown noticeably larger. Perhaps they will bloom by the end of this month.

Unlike Kyoto or Nara, Kamakura is a compact town. One of its charms is the abundance of quiet walking paths like these.

A short morning walk is often enough to remind me how pleasant it is to live in Kamakura.

A Long Line for White Day in Tokyo — Perhaps the Economy Runs on Human Emotions

 On my way home last night, I saw a long line of men standing in front of a sweets shop at a busy transfer station in Tokyo. They were most likely buying return gifts for White Day. Watching the scene, I found myself thinking about something simple: perhaps the economy is ultimately driven by human emotions.

 

Last night, on my way home, I noticed a long line of men standing in front of a confectionery shop in the concourse of a major transfer station in Tokyo. They were probably buying return gifts for Valentine’s Day chocolates.

Beside them, a salesperson was loudly calling out to customers.

The scene was rather strange—almost frenetic.

Since White Day falls on Saturday the 14th this year, people who received chocolates at work will need to give their return gifts on Friday. From the perspective of workplace etiquette, returning a gift is a way of repaying a kind of symbolic obligation, so doing it a little early seems unavoidable.

As for me, my wife had prepared some sweets from Kamakura for me to give in return, and I made sure to bring them today.

However, my wife herself also gave me chocolates, and I have not prepared anything for her yet. I will be attending a research meeting on Saturday, so I will not have time to buy anything then. I had thought about bringing home flowers, but I cannot get back to Kamakura while the flower shops are still open.

What a dilemma. Perhaps I should just buy something tonight.

It was only recently that I realized this is how the economy keeps turning.

There are people who keep the economy moving, and at the same time people who are being moved by it. Even when we question the meaning of these customs, it is surprisingly difficult to step outside the framework.

Valentine’s Day chocolates may seem like a rather silly custom, and White Day—returning gifts for them—perhaps even more so. Yet when I was younger, receiving chocolates still made me happy.

At my age, I understand perfectly well that they are mostly “obligation chocolates.” Still, knowing that there are people who do not dislike me enough to ignore me entirely is not such a bad feeling.

Human emotions, even the smallest and most subtle ones, are discovered and connected to economic activity. Opportunities for business are hidden everywhere.

Life might be much simpler if we lived only with the bare necessities of food, clothing, and shelter.

But the moment feelings such as desire or pride—emotions, in other words—enter the picture, economic activity expands.

Sometimes I feel like escaping from that cycle. Yet as long as we are members of society, doing so is not so easy.

 

 

Spring Allergies and My Uneasy Relationship with Masks

 Spring is my favorite season, but it also brings a layered assault of dryness, yellow dust, and pollen. For someone prone to coughing, even a comfortable workplace can become part of the problem.

 

During the pollen season, I develop a cough along with a runny nose.

The nasal symptoms are reasonably controlled with medication, but the cough caused by swelling in my throat is stubborn and slow to disappear.

I suspect the swelling has several causes layered on top of each other—first dryness, then yellow dust from the continent, and finally pollen.

Of course, for someone like me who easily feels cold, spring is a season I truly love. Still, this combination of irritants can be overwhelming.

And above all, the fact that I spend most of my working hours in an air-conditioned “comfortable” room does not help my throat.
It may look comfortable, but the dry air moves in a constant direction, and that subtle airflow seems to irritate my throat continuously.

Occasionally I go to the wards for conferences, and the higher humidity there feels much easier on my throat.
Apparently the environment is quite different from that of the laboratory sections.

Placing a humidifier in the room might improve things somewhat.
But the room is far too large for a household humidifier to make much difference, and I would also worry about moisture settling on the microscope.

In the end, wearing a mask is the cheapest and most reliable solution.
But I have never liked masks. Even during the COVID pandemic, I found them uncomfortable.

Fortunately, at my workplace masks are not required in areas without patients—such as offices outside the wards and outpatient clinics.
In a way, that actually helps.

As the old saying goes, fortune and misfortune are twisted together like strands of a rope.

This is not exactly about coughing, but within the pathology department I do wear a mask in places where safety management requires it.
Still, being free from it elsewhere is a relief.

Of course, I try to wear a mask on the train so that my coughing does not bother people around me.
The difficulty is timing. I tend not to put it on until I feel a cough coming, but once the coughing actually starts, it is already too late.

Finding the right moment to put on a mask is surprisingly tricky.

 

When Did the World’s Fragile Peace Begin to Crack?

 Fifteen years have passed since the Great East Japan Earthquake and the Fukushima nuclear accident.
Reflecting on nuclear power, war, and the fragile balance of global stability, one cannot help but wonder when the equilibrium of peace began to break apart.

 

A return of winter cold has kept the days chilly.
The mornings and evenings are especially cold.

It has now been fifteen years since the Great East Japan Earthquake.
On NHK, the accident at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant was described as being of “the worst level in the world.” That phrase stayed in my mind.

When did people begin to use such expressions?

I had assumed that the Chernobyl accident was worse.
But perhaps Fukushima was just as severe—perhaps even more so.
Hearing the announcer’s words made me start to think that way.

Perhaps it should not be described as “among the worst,” but simply as one of the worst disasters the world has ever seen.

Japan has long suffered from nuclear-related tragedies.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
The Lucky Dragon No. 5 incident.
And Fukushima.

For Japan, nuclear power seems almost like a cursed domain—something we might be better off keeping our distance from.

And yet, when one considers the possibility of Iran closing the Strait of Hormuz and the immediate energy crisis that would follow, the argument inevitably returns to nuclear power as a necessary option.

Still, one cannot help wondering what the American president, Donald Trump, was thinking when he initiated military action against Iran.

If it was truly meant to distract attention from the Epstein documents controversy and his own political troubles, then it would be difficult to call it anything but foolish.

We were told that air superiority would be achieved within days.
But unexpected drone attacks have already complicated that assumption.

Iran has reportedly attacked Arab oil-producing countries—fellow Islamic nations—and even begun laying naval mines.
It seems to be resorting to desperate tactics.

Yet it is not easy simply to dismiss such actions as foolish.

During the Pacific War, Japan’s military leadership once prepared for a decisive battle on the home islands.
What Iran’s Revolutionary Guard might ultimately decide to do is impossible for outsiders to predict.

Even if one speaks of regime change in Iran, no one truly knows what kind of political system would bring that country stability or happiness.

What can be said, however, is that the decision to abandon dialogue—the greatest “weapon” diplomacy possesses—carries enormous responsibility.

For a long time, the world seemed to maintain a fragile balance of peace.
When did that balance begin to break?

Perhaps the seeds were planted long ago.

At this point, it feels naïve to say that each of us can change the course of events simply through individual action, as we might during an election.

When we realize that we can only entrust ourselves to the great currents that move the world, a profound sense of helplessness begins to settle in.

Can Cutting Back on Nuts Help Me Lose Weight?

 Winter seemed to be fading, but today the cold has returned.
With temperatures dropping again, I find myself thinking not only about the weather, but also about the extra weight that quietly accumulates each year. Recently, I decided to ask AI for advice on a simple strategy to stop that trend.

 

The cold has returned.

Today’s high is only 12°C, the kind of temperature that feels like midwinter again.
The sky threatens snow, the sun refuses to appear, and the chill seems to deepen.

Animals naturally store fat in response to the cold, and apparently I am no exception.
Every year I seem to store a little more.

When I was younger, my metabolism was higher, and by the time summer arrived my weight would more or less return to normal. At my age, however, that is no longer something I can count on.

As usual, the number on the scale has continued its steady climb, finally passing 78 kilograms and entering what I would call the danger zone.

I have been trying a low-carbohydrate diet, but it seems that even that has stopped working.

So, somewhat helplessly, I asked AI for advice.

The causes seemed obvious enough to me:
snacks after work, more snacking immediately after getting home, and evening drinks.

When I asked what could realistically be changed, the answer was simple.
Reduce snacking overall, of course—but the easiest step might be cutting back on nuts.

Not eliminating them entirely, just controlling the portion.
A small amount after work is fine, but once I get home, I should drink water and wait until dinner rather than reaching for more snacks.

Apparently even this small adjustment can make a noticeable difference.

So I decided to stop eating nuts after getting home.

The funny thing is that I had already stocked up on quite a few bags of them.
Instead of throwing them away, I decided to divide them into small portions and keep them as a modest after-work treat.

Still, it makes me wonder.

Why do people create foods that are so irresistibly delicious?

We live in a consumer society, of course, but companies continue to produce and sell foods that we know perfectly well will harm us if we eat too much of them.

Human beings are, perhaps, creatures full of contradictions—and in some ways rather comical ones.

Something That Could Happen to Any of Us, at Any Time

 Recent military strikes on Iran by the United States and Israel suggest that the conflict may not end quickly. Watching these developments from Japan raises unsettling questions: how stable is the world we take for granted, and how suddenly could our own lives be affected by war?

The military attacks on Iran by the United States and Israel appear likely to continue for some time.

Few people expected Russia’s invasion of Ukraine to last this long, yet it has. Something similar could easily happen again.

Time cannot be rewound, and no one truly knows what will happen next.

There are reports that Arab oil-producing countries may also be drawn into the situation, potentially affecting the production of oil and gas. For a country like Japan, which has few natural resources of its own, the consequences could be serious.

Even the trains and cars that move so routinely today might not operate as freely as they do now. If that happens, what would our daily lives look like?

And there is always the unsettling possibility that missiles could one day be launched toward Japan from abroad.

A few nights ago, I woke in the middle of the night to a roaring sound from the sky.

For a moment I wondered if war had finally reached Japan. I hesitantly pulled back the curtain and looked outside, only to find a torrential downpour.

My wife, sleeping beside me, had apparently thought the same thing.

War can arrive in someone’s life at any time. None of us can say it will never happen to us.

When I see images of war—beautiful buildings reduced to rubble in an instant—I cannot help thinking how foolish it all is.

Human beings have repeated the same act throughout history: destroying human, animal, and plant life, reducing everything to nothing.

If this is what progress leads to, I sometimes wonder whether humanity needed to evolve and advance at all.

Perhaps it would have been enough for us simply to live in harmony as part of nature.

 

How Cold This Winter Really Was

 A casual conversation during a walk sometimes explains things that had puzzled me for weeks. The damage in my garden finally made sense.

I have an abstract due tomorrow, but after pushing myself too hard yesterday, I cannot seem to get motivated today.

So instead, I went out for a walk with my wife and our dog, Ann.

 

Along the way we stopped and chatted with a florist we know. I mentioned that all of my flannel flowers had died this winter.

“Yes, we’ve been hearing that from many customers around Kamakura,” she said.

She told us that during a particularly cold spell in January, many plants had been damaged.

“At that time, the temperature dropped to minus three degrees in Enoshima,” she explained.
“It wasn’t just frost. The air itself was so cold that the inside of the plants froze and they died.”

So that was the reason.

 

Even my ponytail palms, which had always survived winter without any problems, had turned completely brown this year.

This winter really was cold.
If something is kept inside a refrigerator for long enough, of course it weakens.
The mystery finally made sense.

Perhaps because of that conversation, and because the weather was so pleasant, I spent the entire afternoon working in the garden after returning from our walk.

 

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When the Timing Breaks, It’s Hard to Recover

 Recording a lecture should be simple—at least in theory. But once the rhythm breaks, getting it back can be surprisingly difficult.

I was asked to give a lecture for the upcoming spring meeting of the Japanese Pathology Society.
This year, however, it will be delivered as an on-demand presentation.

That means the lecture has to be recorded in advance and submitted before the deadline, which is next weekend.

Since I have another research meeting that weekend, I decided to finish the recording today.

Recording directly in PowerPoint is convenient enough, but it feels quite different from speaking live in front of an audience.
I recorded it in a quiet room, but when I listened afterward, the sound echoed slightly and was harder to hear than I expected.

More than that, I simply am not used to speaking while recording.

The script appears at the top of the screen, so all I have to do is read it.
Each segment is only about a minute long.

Even so, reading it smoothly from beginning to end turns out to be harder than it sounds.

Once I stumble over a word, it is surprisingly difficult to recover.

It reminded me of a moment during the recent Winter Olympics.
A skier lost balance midway through the run and could never quite regain the rhythm afterward.
It felt very much the same.

And thinking about that only made me stumble again.

In the end, it took three hours to record a thirty-minute lecture.

Broadcast announcers really are impressive, I thought again.