A Sleep-Deprived Morning, and One Small Senryu

A humid morning in Kamakura, a poor night’s sleep, and a manuscript reminder arriving through Facebook. One worry leads to another, and before long the mind refuses to rest. This short essay ends with a Japanese-style comic verse about modern life, where reminders now come through email, LINE, and social media.

The humidity has been high since morning, and the discomfort index keeps rising.

Last night, Kamakura was wrapped in an even deeper fog than usual, and visibility was badly impaired.

After I came home, a reminder about a manuscript arrived through Facebook, and once I saw it, I could not fall asleep.

Just when I finally began to feel sleepy, I started thinking about a research meeting I will be helping to organize next year, and my eyes opened wide again.

These things tend to come in chains. One thought leads to another.

I tried the sleep method of “relaxing the whole body and thinking about nothing,” but into the empty space I had tried to create in my mind, various thoughts began to seep in and spread like stains.

I slept for less than four and a half hours.

Not enough.

Even on weekdays, I would like to sleep at least five and a half hours, but that is not always easy.

If I took medicine, I could probably sleep a little longer, but I do not like the idea of relying on it too often.

So today, I will cut this post short and get to work on finishing the manuscript for which I have been reminded.

Come to think of it, this morning’s news mentioned Sara Senryu, formerly known as Salaryman Senryu.

Senryu is a short Japanese comic verse, similar in form to haiku, but usually more humorous and focused on everyday human life. Sara Senryu is a popular contest in Japan that captures the small frustrations, ironies, and absurdities of working life.

So here is one of my own:

　　　　Reminders come
　　　　by email, LINE, and SNS—
　　　　no place left to hide.

In modern society, even pretending not to be home no longer works.

There is nowhere to escape.

 

In modern life, even silence has too many notification channels. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• humidity：湿度
• discomfort index：不快指数
• visibility：視界
• manuscript reminder：原稿の催促
• to seep in：しみ込む、入り込む
• to rely on：頼る、依存する
• senryu：川柳。俳句と同じ五七五形式だが、日常や人間模様をユーモラスに詠む短詩
• no place left to hide：逃げ場がない
• notification channels：通知手段、連絡経路

Naoto Takenaka: Japan’s One-of-a-Kind “Strange Actor”

 Some actors are great because they disappear into their roles. Others are unforgettable because their own strange, magnetic presence always shines through. For me, Naoto Takenaka belongs firmly to the second group.

 

In this year’s NHK historical drama Toyotomi Brothers, there was an unforgettable scene last week featuring Naoto Takenaka as Hisahide Matsunaga.

Standing in a room engulfed in flames, Matsunaga declares to the brothers, “Whether something is real or fake — such things do not matter.” Then, with a truly explosive intensity, he dies in the blaze.

Earlier in the episode, another line also stayed with me: “If I told you that ___, would you believe me?”

I have been a fan of Naoto Takenaka ever since his famous comedy routine in which he “gets angry while laughing.” He has entertained me for decades.

The shape of his head, those bulging eyes, and above all, that beautiful voice.

That voice — precisely because of that voice — makes his bizarre performances shine.

To me, he is a one-of-a-kind kaiyu.

The word kaiyu is difficult to translate. It literally means something like “strange actor” or “eccentric actor,” but that does not quite capture it. A kaiyu is not merely a good actor. He is someone whose presence is odd, magnetic, funny, unsettling, and unforgettable all at once.

When I think of actors like that, the first names that come to mind are Danny DeVito as the Penguin in Batman Returns, Jim Carrey in The Mask, and Rowan Atkinson as Mr. Bean.

Some people might also call Jack Nicholson or Willem Dafoe kaiyu-type actors, but that is not quite my image of the word.

In Japan, when people talk about kaiyu, names such as Rentaro Mikuni, Teruyuki Kagawa, or Akira Emoto often come up. They are all great actors, of course. But to me, they feel slightly different.

If an actor fits too naturally into serious drama, I hesitate to call him a kaiyu.

Other than Naoto Takenaka, the only Japanese actor who comes to mind for me is Takeshi Kitano, internationally known as Beat Takeshi. His performance as Sergeant Hara in Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence was magnificent.

But in the end, this is just a matter of personal taste, so perhaps it does not really matter.

For me, a kaiyu is an actor who is obviously talented, but also someone whose debut or breakthrough role left such a strong impression that the image follows him forever — and instead of trying to erase that image, he embraces it and turns it into part of his own character.

Of course, we can never know exactly where the actor ends and the performance begins. But because those two things are mixed together so completely, watching him is always a pleasure.

In that sense, Naoto Takenaka remains the best of the best.

I hope he continues to thrive. He is apparently still only around seventy, so I expect he will keep surprising us in all sorts of roles for another twenty years or so.

 Some actors play strange characters. Naoto Takenaka makes strangeness itself feel like an art form.

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• one-of-a-kind — 唯一無二の
• eccentric — 風変わりな、奇妙な魅力のある
• engulfed in flames — 炎に包まれた
• explosive intensity — 爆発的な迫力
• bulging eyes — ギョロ目
• bizarre performance — 怪演、奇妙で強烈な演技
• magnetic presence — 人を引きつける存在感
• unsettling — 不安にさせる、不気味な
• breakthrough role — 出世作となった役
• embrace — 受け入れる、自分のものにする
• where the actor ends and the performance begins — どこまでが本人で、どこからが演技なのか
• thrive — 活躍する、成功し続ける
• art form — 芸術形式、芸の域

 

Secondhand Words Have No Soul

 As the rainy season approaches, even a morning walk begins to feel different. A small change in daily routine leads to a larger reflection on writing, rewriting, and the strange lifelessness that sometimes appears when old words are reused. This essay considers why freshly written words may carry something that polished secondhand words cannot.

 

The rainy season is slowly drawing near.

My wife and Anne walked with me to the station, but halfway there I began to feel sweaty.

My wife said that our morning walks would soon have to be shifted to the very early hours.

Perhaps I should also stop walking in a jacket.

Once that happens, we will have to change all sorts of small routines—making lunch, taking out the garbage, and so on—which feels rather troublesome.

When living with a dog, the cold of winter may actually be easier.

Hatena Blog suggests related articles from the past.

Among them, I found a somewhat nostalgic three-part series. When I opened it, the content was more interesting than I had expected.

I thought that perhaps, if I rewrote it now, I could make it better. So, as a trial, I had ChatGPT summarize the three articles and tried to write a revised version based on that summary.

The result had a reasonably coherent meaning.

But somehow, it was not interesting to read.

Other people might still find the content interesting.

And yet, the writing had no movement, no sense of life.

The same thing happens when speaking to people.

When I talk while thinking, words come out with force and momentum.

But when I read from a manuscript, I am merely reading words that have once been pasted onto paper.

Like a carp laid out on a cutting board, the words are already half dead.

So I gave up on writing a remake, or a second brew of an old article, and instead began writing a new piece—this very piece.

Of course, I do not mind correcting particles, typos, or small mistakes in old articles.

Still, even those flaws may express the momentum of the writing, and perhaps they can be overlooked to some extent.

Words have a soul.

And perhaps that soul belongs only to words that have just been written, or words that have just left someone’s mouth.

Once words or sentences have been released, they eventually die there.

Of course, many works remain as literature.

But a secondhand version of them will never carry the same soul.

Perhaps this is what we mean by work that only human beings can do.

 

A secondhand version of words may be polished, but it cannot inherit the soul of the moment in which they were born.

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• secondhand words：二番煎じの言葉、借り物の言葉
• have no soul：魂がない、生気がない
• coherent meaning：筋の通った意味
• momentum：勢い、流れ
• pasted onto paper：紙に貼り付けられた
• half dead：半ば死んでいる
• a second brew：二番煎じ
• overlooked to some extent：ある程度は目をつむってよい
• carry the same soul：同じ魂を宿す
• the moment in which they were born：言葉が生まれた瞬間

 

My Convenience May Be Your Inconvenience

 When organizing an academic conference program, I was reminded that what seems reasonable from my side may not feel reasonable to someone else. We all have our own expectations, but those expectations are often little more than personal wishes. From conference schedules to international conflicts, misunderstandings begin when one side forgets that the other side also has its own circumstances.

 

When I put together the program for an academic conference, someone complained to me, saying, “But this was what I wanted to do.”

Well, to be more precise, it was probably not so much that this person wanted to do it personally, but rather that they wanted one of their pupils to present their own research. Still, in this world, all sorts of unexpected circumstances arise.

Nothing ever fits perfectly into the shape we had imagined.

Our expectations are betrayed again and again, but expectations themselves are often selfish wishes in disguise.

Even when it comes to the themes and order of presentations at an academic meeting, each speaker has their own circumstances. My wishes cannot possibly match the convenience of every participant.

Even when I ask someone to do something with good intentions, thinking it may help them grow, there will always be people who find the request troublesome or burdensome.

My convenience may well be someone else’s inconvenience.

If we look beyond our immediate surroundings, even regional conflicts have arguments on both sides.

Because I am Japanese, I inevitably tend to think first from Japan’s point of view. But the countries and regions surrounding Japan also have their own circumstances.

Food supply, population issues, climate problems, political systems—the list goes on.

That is why it is meaningless to condemn the other side one-sidedly and, in the end, let things turn into war.

Everyone should understand this. And yet, before people sit down and talk, someone strikes first, and something irreversible happens.

Human beings are foolish creatures.

I myself have probably caused trouble for others and pushed people away without realizing it, simply because I have acted according to my own convenience.

It is regrettable, but some things cannot be undone.

What is convenient for me may already be inconvenient for someone else. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• convenience：都合、便利さ
• inconvenience：不都合、迷惑
• complain：不満を言う
• pupil：弟子、教え子
• circumstances：事情
• selfish wishes in disguise：身勝手な願望が姿を変えたもの
• burdensome：負担になる、面倒な
• one-sidedly：一方的に
• irreversible：取り返しのつかない
• cannot be undone：元には戻せない、取り返しがつかない

 

 

 

Paper and Pen Still Help Memory Stick

 In an age of PDFs, screenshots, and digital slides, it is easy to assume that paper and pen have become old-fashioned tools. Yet during medical conferences, I often notice capable young doctors still writing things down by hand. Perhaps there is a reason for that. Taking a photo of a slide may feel efficient, but it does not always leave much in memory. Writing, on the other hand, seems to make something settle more firmly in the mind.

 

It was the first clear, refreshing morning in quite a while.

But unlike the “average seasonal temperatures” we had until yesterday, it seems the heat will return from today.

My body has not quite caught up.

Still, work begins again.

Last week, I had three conferences, and I was rather tired by the end of it.

A conference between pathologists and clinicians is, basically, a place where pathologists explain histological findings to clinicians.

Clinicians may look at tissue sections and not immediately know what is there, so the pathologist has to explain the findings.

Of course, the reverse is also true.

Pathologists do not know everything about clinical medicine.

We understand the essential nature of disease, but we do not always know which treatment is used for which condition, or how those treatments are actually performed.

We can examine a resected stomach specimen, or tissue after part of the heart has been ablated.

But we do not really know how the stomach is cut, or what kind of instrument is used to ablate part of the heart.

During one of those conferences, I noticed that quite a few doctors were writing notes while I was talking about microscopic findings.

I had assumed that fewer people carried paper and pens these days.

Apparently, that is not entirely true.

In the end, writing something down with a pen on paper may still be the best way to make it stay in memory.

I often see people taking photo after photo of PowerPoint slides, or even recording them on video.

I wonder if they ever really look at them later.

Doing that can make you feel as if you have already understood the material.

In my case, when I was studying for exams, I used to highlight textbooks and handouts with markers.

That alone made me feel as if I had understood everything.

But when the exam came, what remained in my memory was often only the colors—pink, yellow, and so on.

The actual content had disappeared.

Back in my student days, the friends who did well were the ones who filled their notebooks with writing.

When I studied subjects I was good at, I also wrote a lot in my notebooks.

In this paperless age, printed materials are rarely handed out at meetings anymore.

PDF files are distributed, we view them on our own computers, and the same slides are projected on the screen as the meeting proceeds.

Later, I often forget the contents of the meeting completely.

To remember them, I have to search for the file and pull it out again.

Perhaps this is simply because my memory has declined.

Even so, when I occasionally print out the materials, bring them with me, and write notes on them, I remember them surprisingly well.

Paper and pen still matter.

Perhaps I am simply old-fashioned and unable to keep up with advanced technology.

Still, many young doctors who seem capable are writing things down during conferences.

There is, of course, a concern that if you are writing, you may miss what you should be looking at.

But there will be many similar opportunities in the future.

There is no need to remember everything from a conference.

If even part of it remains as a firm memory, that may be enough.

For that, paper and pen are still useful.

Some things still enter the mind best through the hand. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• histological findings：組織学的所見
• clinicians：臨床医
• pathologists：病理医
• tissue sections：組織切片
• ablate：焼灼する、焼く
• PowerPoint slides：パワーポイントのスライド
• highlight：マーカーを引く、強調する
• paperless age：ペーパーレスの時代
• printed materials：紙の資料
• firm memory：確かな記憶、定着した記憶

 

Preparing for a Memorial Service and Taking a Hike

 A quiet day spent preparing for my father’s seventh memorial service, tending the family grave, planting flowers, and later walking through a hilly park in Fujisawa. Sometimes, a day without much thinking is exactly what one needs.

 

I cleaned the family grave in preparation for my father’s seventh memorial service.

I bought flowers that can withstand dry weather, then cleaned the area and planted them.

In the evening, I visited Shinbayashi Park in Fujisawa.

I walked the full hiking course, with its surprisingly steep ups and downs, and broke a sweat for the first time in a while.

 

I did not use my head much today.

But once in a while, that is probably just fine.

Some days are better spent moving quietly than thinking too much. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• memorial service：法事
• family grave：先祖代々のお墓、家のお墓
• withstand dry weather：乾燥に耐える
• steep ups and downs：きついアップダウン
• break a sweat：汗をかく
• once in a while：たまには

 

 

Why I Stopped Reading Manga as I Grew Older

Manga is now one of Japan’s most powerful cultural exports.
But for those of us who grew up with it long before the world discovered it, manga was not “content.”
It was a companion, a secret room, a way of dreaming.

And then, one day, I stopped reading it.

Japanese pop culture—manga, anime, and everything around them—has been admired around the world for quite some time now.

I belong to the generation just after Ashita no Joe. Perhaps it would be more accurate to call mine the Black Jack generation.

As for anime, my childhood ran somewhere from Star of the Giants to Mazinger Z and Time Bokan.

I preferred Champion to Jump.

I also enjoyed girls’ manga. I even liked Ohayō! Spank, the one with that enormous dog.

In junior high and high school, I was more of a literature boy, so most of the manga I read came from friends who lent me their copies.

By the time I was at university, comics were in their golden age. I read a lot, especially Big Comic.

They called it gekiga—dramatic pictures—and many of those works were better written than ordinary television dramas. The fact that so many of them were later adapted into TV series proves the point.

So, for a long stretch of my life, I lived alongside manga. At one point, I read almost anything I could get my hands on.

And yet, for the past ten years—perhaps even longer—I have stopped reading manga.

These days, manga seems to be something people read on tablets and phones. On trains, I see young people swiping through panels with their fingers. Sometimes I glance over, but nothing really pulls me in.

I am sure there must be excellent works out there.

Still, I do not feel like reading them.

Even Golgo 13, which once felt eternal to me, suddenly disappeared from my life at some point. So I do not think this is a matter of whether today’s manga is good or bad.

Why did this happen?

Perhaps it is because I no longer daydream.

Or rather, perhaps I have become unable to daydream.

As we grow older, we become more realistic. It is a little sad to feel one’s imagination grow dull.

On the other hand, perhaps I have learned to taste reality more deeply.

Our tastes change with age.

That is a lonely thing.

But if I have been released from manga, then perhaps I have also become, in some small way, free.

To stop reading manga may not mean losing a world.
It may mean finally waking up inside another one.

・・・

Vocabulary Notes

• cultural export：文化輸出品
• companion：人生に寄り添うもの
• secret room：心の中の隠れ部屋
• daydream：夢想する
• dramatic pictures：劇画の意訳
• golden age：全盛期
• nothing really pulls me in：どうも惹き込まれない
• once felt eternal：かつて永遠に続くように思えた
• grow dull：鈍くなる
• taste reality more deeply：現実をより深く味わう
• released from manga：マンガから解放された
• in some small way, free：少しだけ自由になった

 

 

The Fear of Something Unknowable Called Human Beings

 On a morning of heavy rain and distant thunder, my dog Anne followed me around the house in fear. Watching her tremble at sounds she could not understand made me think about the fears human beings also face—and about the most frightening source of all.

 

This morning, in addition to heavy rain, I could hear the sound of thunder from time to time in the distance.

Our flat-coated retriever, Anne, is not good with loud noises.

Ever since she noticed the thunder, she has been restless, following closely behind me wherever I go.

As soon as I realized there was thunder, I hurriedly closed the windows and even the lace curtains. But a dog, with hearing far sharper than any human’s, was never going to miss the sound of thunder, however distant it might be.

She followed me around, making frightened little sounds.

Today was the collection day for cans, bottles, and plastics. In weather like this, I could hardly let my wife take Anne with her to the garbage station, holding an umbrella and carrying a large bag. So I went instead. Anne followed me all the way to the front door, and only turned back when she saw the heavy rain outside.

The rain was so hard that even sorting the cans and bottles felt unpleasant, but I somehow managed to finish and came back home safely. My wife, who had been making my lunch while I was gone, told me that Anne had been whining the whole time I was away.

And then Anne began following me around again.

Last night, there was a fireworks display in Zushi, and my wife told me Anne had a terrible time throughout it.

I remembered that last year, when we had gone out to see fireflies, the sound of fireworks reached us from somewhere nearby, and Anne became terribly frightened then as well.

From a dog’s point of view, of course it must be frightening when a loud, incomprehensible sound comes falling from the sky.

Even for human beings, thunder has long been counted among frightening things. In Japan, there is an old saying: “earthquakes, thunder, fire, and fathers.”

Lightning can cause power outages. If it strikes you, it can kill you.

We know that thunder is the sound produced by a discharge of electrical energy. More than anything, we know that it will pass. So we endure it for a while and wait it out.

But a dog cannot understand any of that.

During that time, Anne must be fighting a fear far greater than ours.

Poor thing.

Yet frightening, unknowable things are not limited to dogs. Human beings have many of them too.

Air raids in war. Robberies committed by anonymous, fluid criminal groups.

Both can threaten one’s life, and in the sense that they may be impossible to avoid, they may resemble thunder for a dog.

But earthquakes and thunder are natural phenomena. There is little we can do against them.

War and crime, on the other hand, are caused by human beings themselves.

When I think of it that way, I cannot help feeling that human beings may be the most unknowable, and the most frightening, existence of all.

Perhaps the most frightening unknown is not nature, but humanity itself. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• distant thunder：遠くで鳴る雷
• restless：落ち着かない、そわそわした
• whining：クンクン鳴くこと
• incomprehensible：理解できない、得体の知れない
• wait it out：過ぎ去るまでじっと待つ
• air raid：空襲
• anonymous criminal groups：匿名性の高い犯罪グループ
• unknowable：知り尽くせない、正体のわからない
• humanity itself：人間そのもの、人間性そのもの

What We See, and What We Put Into Words

 On a foggy night in Kamakura, followed by a humid rainy morning, I found myself thinking about newspapers, television news, and the difficult work of filling blank space. Some days, the news seems thin, yet journalists still have to find something, gather facts, and turn them into words. In a way, pathology is not so different. A pathologist does not simply look into a microscope and offer impressions. The real work lies in noticing what matters, understanding what it means, and putting it into language. AI may help organize information, but the first act of seeing meaning in what lies before us still belongs to human beings.

 

Last night, Kamakura was wrapped in dense fog.
And this morning, rain has been falling since early in the day.

The seasonal rain front is stretching across the Japanese archipelago, bringing weather that feels like an early hint of the rainy season. It is terribly humid.

There are days when I read the newspaper and feel that there is hardly anything I want to read.
No major incidents, no particularly striking topics, and yet the pages are dutifully filled with words.

When I see such pages, I think how difficult the work of a newspaper reporter must be. They have to find something, go out and report on it, and then turn it into words to fill the blank space.

I sometimes think the same thing when watching television news.
A news anchor, with a perfectly serious expression, reads out a topic that makes me wonder whether this is really something that needs to be broadcast over the public airwaves as news.

Whether it is radio or television, empty time has to be filled with sound or images.
Filling empty space, after all, must be hard work.

The work of a pathologist has something similar about it.

Pathological diagnosis is not like a newspaper article or a news program in the sense that it exists to fill pages or airtime.
Still, it is similar in that a blank space has to be filled with words.

A pathologist cannot simply say, “This looks like this,” or “This seems rather bad,” as if offering a casual impression.
The work depends on how well those observations can be put into language.

Beyond the microscope, there are tens of thousands of cells.
They have different faces and form different shapes.

To understand what kind of tissue they make up, and what kind of biological behavior they may show, we look at the appearance of each cell, consider the overall picture, review the clinical findings, and move toward a diagnosis.

Diagnosis is the act of integrating all the information taken into the mind.
That, I think, is the real work of a pathologist.

We pick up findings, integrate them, and put them into words.

But if we do not understand what those findings mean, there is no way to integrate them.

With AI, a diagnosis can probably be organized to some extent.
But the stage before that is where the true skill of the pathologist lies.

From the outside, we may look as if we are sitting still.
Inside our heads, however, all kinds of specialized knowledge are turning around and around.

The same may be true of newspaper articles.
A reporter has to gather material, investigate it, and then integrate it.

If several facts are given to AI, it will probably turn them into something that looks like an article.

But AI will not go out and report.
The gathering of material still depends on a capable reporter.

In that sense, the work of finding something meaningful in the society spread out before one’s eyes may resemble the work of considering what pathological condition is suggested by microscopic findings.

And then, to put it into words and fill the blank space is difficult work.
It is where skill is tested.

AI can arrange collected information into a plausible piece of writing.
But it is still the work of human beings to notice, first of all, where something feels wrong in the tissue under the microscope, or what in society deserves to become an article.

To fill a blank space is not simply to increase the number of words.
It is to find meaning in what is visible, and to give that meaning language.

Filling a blank space begins with seeing what truly matters. 

・・・

Vocabulary Notes for Learners

• dense fog = 濃霧
• seasonal rain front = 梅雨前線
• dutifully = 律儀に、きちんと
• public airwaves = 公共の電波
• casual impression = 何気ない印象、感想
• biological behavior = 生物学的態度、ふるまい
• integrate = 統合する
• plausible = もっともらしい
• where skill is tested = 腕の良し悪しが試されるところ
• what truly matters = 本当に大切なこと、意味のあること

If We Really Wanted To, Perhaps We Could Even Achieve World Peace

 Hydrangeas are already in full bloom in Kamakura, and even the fireflies seem to have arrived early this year. Watching the recent Japan–South Korea summit on television, I found myself wondering: if people truly decide to get along, perhaps peace is not as difficult as we imagine.

 

The hydrangeas in front of Kamakura Station are already in full bloom.

The same goes for the fireflies. Perhaps the seasons are moving faster this year.

On television, I saw Prime Minister Takaichi visiting South Korea and speaking with the president there in a friendly atmosphere. I found myself oddly surprised, thinking, “So we can get along after all, if we decide to.”

The news narration said that differences in historical understanding still remain between the two countries. That may be true. Problems are problems. But even while carrying them, it is still better to get along.

As the saying goes, things are often easier done than feared. Once people actually try, they may find that it can be done.

There are many science fiction novels and films about world peace.

In some of them, peace is actually achieved.

Sometimes it is achieved through authoritarian rule. Sometimes through AI.

There are also stories in which people grow tired of the peace they have finally obtained, or rebel against being managed, and end up destroying it.

Leaving aside how each of those imagined stories ends, perhaps peace itself may be surprisingly easy to obtain if humanity truly decides to live peacefully.

When I look at the conflicts happening around the world today, I wonder where the legitimate reasons really are.

Are they not simply being carried out under convenient slogans, by politicians or companies trying to protect themselves?

Perhaps most of them are things that make us think, “Is that really worth all this?”

Peace should be something we could obtain rather easily, if only we stopped this and that, and tried to get along a little.

The fact that we cannot do even that is a rather sad thing.

Peace may be closer than we think, and that may be the saddest part of all. 

 

ーーー 

Vocabulary for Learners

• hydrangea：紫陽花
• fireflies：蛍
• historical understanding：歴史認識
• authoritarian rule：強権政治
• grow tired of：〜に飽きる、倦む
• convenient slogans：都合のよい大義名分
• get along：仲良くする、うまくやる
• world peace：世界平和 

The End of Pax Petroleum: When Oil Shortages Reach Medical Supplies

A notice about the proper use of medical supplies made me realize how deeply our lives depend on oil. From plastic containers to hospital materials, modern society is built on petroleum products. As tensions in the Middle East threaten supply chains, the question is no longer only about energy prices, but about how fragile our everyday world really is.

Yesterday, a mass email arrived, urging us to use medical supplies appropriately.

Of course, this was because of the shortage of petroleum-related products caused by the crisis in the Middle East.

The government says that there are reserves and that there is no need to worry.
But if that is true, why are prices rising, and why are some items becoming difficult to obtain?

Without a sufficient explanation, the anxiety of ordinary citizens like us only grows.

Brazil, Azerbaijan, and other oil-producing countries.
I find myself surprised, rather belatedly, to learn that there are so many oil-producing nations in the world.

Japan is now apparently rushing to import oil from countries we had not paid much attention to before.

Will that be in time before panic spreads at home?
No, it has to be in time. Otherwise, we will be in serious trouble.

Now that things have come this far, I realize once again that almost everything in front of us depends on that liquid called oil.

Even from the viewpoint of energy, coal is a solid, and uranium is difficult to handle.

As for everything else, there is hardly any need to say it.

Products related to pathology work will also be seriously affected.
Or rather, most of the containers in this world depend on naphtha, a petroleum-derived product.

When I think about it that way, I begin to imagine a world in which “containers” themselves may disappear.

That would mean not only medicine, but almost every industry in Japan coming to a halt.

Even if a ceasefire agreement were reached between the United States and Iran, and even if the Strait of Hormuz were reopened, that strait would no longer be what it once was.

It would remain a risk factor incomparable to anything we had imagined before.

Perhaps we will no longer be able to obtain cheap Middle Eastern crude oil as a matter of course.

There may have been something cartel-like about the oil-producing countries.
Even so, the world peace supported by oil — something we might call Pax Petroleum — may never return in the same form again.

People around the world are now facing a situation that cannot be solved simply by changing their own behavior.

How are we supposed to live from here?

Thinking about such things, I continue to live today, surrounded once again by containers made from oil.

 

We may have been living inside Pax Petroleum all along, without ever noticing its walls. 

 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

mass email　一斉メール。職場や組織全体に送られるメール。

medical supplies　医療関連用品、医療材料。

petroleum-related products　石油関連製品。プラスチック、溶剤、容器などを含む広い表現。

ordinary citizens　一般国民、一般市民。少し社会的な文脈で使いやすい表現。

oil-producing countries　産油国。

belatedly　遅ればせながら、今さらながら。

naphtha　ナフサ。石油化学製品の原料となる重要な物質。

petroleum-derived product　石油由来の製品。

come to a halt　停止する、滞る。

Strait of Hormuz　ホルムズ海峡。中東の原油輸送における重要な海上交通路。

risk factor　リスク因子、危険要因。

as a matter of course　当然のこととして、当たり前のように。

cartel-like　カルテルじみた、カルテルのような。

Pax Petroleum　「石油による平和」という意味の造語的表現。Pax Romana などに似せた言い方。

without ever noticing its walls　その壁に気づくこともなく。見えない構造の中で生きていた、という余韻を出す表現。