A Day of Autumn Leaves with Ann in Kamakura

 A rare free Sunday finally arrived, offering the perfect chance to enjoy Kamakura’s autumn. With Ann at my side, I set out with my wife to explore the colors of North Kamakura and revisit familiar paths I rarely walk despite living here.

 

Living in Kamakura is a blessing, but it doesn’t mean I always enjoy what it offers.
On weekdays I’m away at work, and weekends often disappear into obligations. Even Sundays have been filled with errands lately, leaving little room for a proper walk.

Today, at last, was different — a clear, quiet morning and the perfect day to step outside.

 

My wife suggested that the colors around North Kamakura were at their peak, so we took Ann and headed out for some autumn leaf viewing. We passed through Kenchō-ji and walked along the side of Jōchi-ji. The maples at Kenchō-ji were stunning, but the path by Jōchi-ji sits in the shade of the eastern ridge, keeping the sunlight away — just a bit unfortunate.

 

From there we climbed up to Kuzuhara-oka Shrine, descended toward Zeniarai Benzaiten, and continued on to Sasuke. The area still has small fields here and there, giving the walk a faint touch of countryside charm. The air was crisp, the mountains bright with color, and simply walking felt good.

 

We returned to the station and stopped by Shimamori to buy next year’s calendar. There were the usual crowds of tourists, though noticeably fewer visitors from China, and the familiar black one-box vans were almost entirely absent. At this level, the crowds felt manageable.

By the end of the eight-kilometer walk, my knees were laughing a little.
It was a day that reminded me how beautiful Kamakura’s autumn can be — and how out of shape I’ve become.

 

 

The Autumn Colors at Home Are Beautiful This Year

This year’s autumn leaves have turned out far better than I expected. Despite the intense summer heat and worries that the foliage might wither, the colors around me — from the places I visited to the trees in my own garden — have shown surprising resilience and beauty.

 

I’m beginning to think that this year’s autumn colors are better than expected.

Some were worried that the extreme summer heat would cause the leaves to dry out prematurely. A friend who lives in Karuizawa even hinted that “Kumoba Pond might not be great this year…” But when I told him, “I saw the news about the foliage at Kumoba Pond,” he casually took it back, saying, “Yes, it actually held up quite well this year.”

 

Even on my way to Haneda Airport the other day, the autumn colors I saw from the monorail were vivid and beautiful.

 The trees in our own garden are also beginning to show their colors.
The konara oak is turning a deep, rich shade.
The plane tree will likely follow a bit later.

And then there are the fallen leaves — an endless supply. No matter how much my wife sweeps, it never seems to end, and she has been sighing about it.
I suppose I’ll have to lend a hand tomorrow.

Just Staying in This Place Takes Everything

 A brief moment in an online study session reminded me how easily we can mistake “I don’t understand” for “I haven’t learned enough yet.” What followed was a lesson in humility—and a reminder of what it means to remain a practicing physician.

We had an online study session, and I gave a short presentation.
During the discussion, I mentioned a result that had puzzled me. An expert who was attending immediately offered an explanation.

His explanation lasted barely ten seconds and contained five technical terms.
Yet understanding each term and combining them to reach a conclusion requires substantial knowledge.
Only after hearing him did I realize that, had I understood the subject more deeply, I could have solved it myself.

It was embarrassing.

I wanted to label the issue as “beyond my understanding,” but in truth it had been well within reach—if only I had learned enough.

When I told a colleague about this, he reminded me of the Red Queen hypothesis.
In Through the Looking-Glass, the Red Queen says:

“It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.”

For me, that line becomes:

“As long as I call myself a pathologist, I must keep updating my medical knowledge.”

At a recent class reunion, I found myself grumbling that studying is exhausting.
But complaints without effort are nothing more than a pose.
For physicians, knowledge directly translates into patient benefit.
To remain a doctor, one must keep running—continuously, relentlessly.

In that sense, if I can no longer run, perhaps I should step away from the front line.

For now, I choose to take the embarrassment as progress.
And I will keep running a little longer, without hesitation.

The Stress of Living by Each Other’s Signals

 From rushed mornings to tightly timed commutes, our days often feel dictated not just by the clock—but by the subtle signals we exchange with others.

 

I often feel as if my entire day, from leaving home to returning at night, runs on a minute-by-minute schedule.

Mornings are practically second-by-second.
From washing my face to preparing breakfast and taking out the trash, a small lapse in efficiency can easily cost me one or two minutes.
And when I’m still half-asleep, I sometimes forget to grab the newspaper or put coffee in the machine without actually brewing it—tiny disruptions that throw things off.

Traveling is no easier.
I can write blog posts or study languages while on the move, but switching between tasks is surprisingly demanding.

Yesterday, on my way back from Sapporo, I thought two and a half hours would be plenty.
But after leisurely eating pork rice, I found myself checking in at the very last minute, barely having time to choose souvenirs.
I had completely underestimated the vastness of Hokkaido. It was my own oversight, but still—too close for comfort.

Why am I always living under such time pressure?
Most people, I suspect, feel the same.

Yesterday ends, today arrives, and tomorrow follows.
Yet navigating that cycle calmly is harder than it seems.

Is this because the concept of “time” came into existence?
Or were humans just as busy even before time was formally measured?

Coordinating our actions with others—using shared “signals”—is a uniquely human form of communication.
Perhaps what feels like being chased by time is, in truth, being chased by the subtle differences in these signals we exchange with one another.

We are busy every day because we constantly adjust ourselves to others’ schedules.
And in the end, that is probably where much of our stress comes from.

Speaking Ill of Others Only Ends Up Hurting You

 A morning of work in Sapporo reminded me how easily conversations can drift into gossip—and how important it is to keep myself out of that spiral.

 

I worked in Sapporo this morning.
Since it had snowed recently, I was a bit worried about the conditions, but everything turned out fine.

I had arrived the day before and had dinner with two pathology colleagues who live here.
One is the chair of a study group I belong to, and the other is a slightly younger pathologist.
We talked about the group’s current situation and its future.

When you have conversations like that, it can easily slip into gossip, and eventually even badmouthing.
But neither of them is the type to speak ill of others—and that alone made the evening pleasant.

Thinking about it, speaking badly of someone is nothing but a waste of time.
If I have a spare moment, it is far better spent sharing dreams or talking about something uplifting.

Joining someone in badmouthing means stepping into that circle myself—
and that circle is, without question, a negative one.

It is like willingly stepping into a space filled with negative energy.

When a conversation starts drifting toward speaking ill of others, I need to make sure I don’t follow that direction.
Otherwise, the one who ultimately loses is me.

We Must Be Careful Not to Let AI Take Over How We Live

 In an age when AI can offer ready-made answers to almost any question, even our behavior at weddings or funerals could soon be guided by digital instructions. But what happens to our humanity when our reactions, emotions, and manners all become standardized? This is a reflection on how we should relate to AI before it quietly rewrites our way of living.

 

There are countless moments in life when I find myself wondering, What should I do now?
Weddings and funerals are probably the situations where this feeling arises most often.

As the years go by, invitations to weddings decrease, while opportunities to attend funerals steadily increase.
Family-only services are more common these days, and my actual attendance has declined, but it is still something one must be prepared for.

When I was young, I relied on hastily purchased “etiquette handbooks” and tried to manage with whatever last-minute knowledge I could acquire.
Now, everything can be found online, and you can simply follow the steps displayed on your smartphone.
Ceremonial etiquette has become surprisingly easy.

Soon enough, AI will probably guide our behavior on the spot.
It might tell us that a wedding toast should last three to five minutes, that we should nod politely to the family, or that we ought to slip out after about ten groups have left the reception.
For a funeral, perhaps it will warn us to keep a solemn face during incense offering, and to avoid overeating or overdrinking during the “shōjin-otoshi,” suggesting that we leave after fifteen minutes.
AI could provide instructions down to the smallest detail.

But relying so heavily on AI may eventually lead to something more troubling:
a world where even the “appropriate degree” of joy or sorrow for each kind of relationship is prescribed like a manual.

What kind of society would that create?
People would no longer look around to follow others—they would all follow AI.
Everyone would end up acting in similar ways, like a regiment of robotic soldiers in a science-fiction movie.
It feels eerie now, but in the distant future it might be considered normal.

Human progress has always depended on our acceptance of diversity.
If AI-driven uniformity becomes the default mode of thinking, what will happen to our ability to feel, choose, and deviate?
Convenience is seductive, but if we allow AI to shape our way of living too much, we may end up placing humanity itself at risk.

What Feels Truly Like Kamakura

 

On a long weekend in late autumn, Kamakura shows two contrasting faces — crowds of visitors filling the streets, and quiet moments that remind me why living here feels special. Yesterday offered a glimpse of both. 

 

Yesterday my wife was on duty at a local bazaar, so I stayed home with Ann.

I drove a neighbor — a member of the same volunteer group as my wife — to the venue and returned home.
While hanging the laundry and tending to a nearly dying poinsettia, I realized the bazaar was about to begin.

I walked to the venue with Ann, combining it with her morning stroll.

The bazaar was packed — far too crowded to bring a dog inside.

The road that cuts through the center of Kamakura was filled with people, as it was the middle day of a long weekend.
It was just as crowded today as well.
Those black vans that used to be everywhere have clearly decreased in number.

If anything feels “typical Kamakura,” it is surely this constant flow of visitors.

Kamakura’s charm also lies in the greenery of the surrounding hills and the nearby autumn colors.

Of course, such scenery can be found elsewhere, but there are moments that make me think, “This is something you can feel only when you actually live in Kamakura.”

One such moment happened yesterday while I was tending to the poinsettia.
A group of monks from Kenchō-ji came by on their alms rounds, chanting as they walked.
Ann was startled and began barking, so I quieted her and stepped outside.

As I do every year, I went to the entrance to offer a small donation.
The monks chanted a sutra, and I put my hands together in gratitude.

This, too, is something that feels deeply, unmistakably like Kamakura.

 

How to Hedge Against China Risk

 Japan’s relationship with China has always been complicated, but recent political tensions have made that instability painfully visible. The question now is how Japan should prepare itself—economically and socially—for a future in which reliance on China may no longer be a safe assumption.

 

Prime Minister Takaichi’s remarks about Taiwan seem to have enraged the Chinese leadership, prompting a rapid series of retaliatory measures against Japan.

For this to happen immediately after the APEC summit must be a complete loss of face for China’s top leadership.

One of the sanctions announced was a travel advisory discouraging Chinese citizens from visiting Japan.

In Kamakura, the number of tourists appears to have dropped by 20–30 percent.
For businesses that depend heavily on Chinese inbound tourism, this must be a serious blow. But when foreign relations are this unstable, perhaps the more sensible approach is not to rely on such a volatile source in the first place.

Japan should rebuild its fundamental economic base and treat Chinese demand merely as an “extra” during times when relations are good.

People say Japan “cannot survive without China,” but if necessary, we can simply return to the economic structure of the era when China was still developing.

The hollowing-out of Japanese industry was a choice we made ourselves.
After the Plaza Accord strengthened the yen, Japan outsourced production to cheaper regions—chiefly China.
The rest is well known: China’s remarkable growth into a global manufacturing powerhouse, now strong enough to challenge even the United States.

China worked hard to become “the world’s factory,” and that achievement deserves recognition and respect.

Even so, relations with such a country are difficult.

If they are difficult, then we must first secure our footing rather than becoming overly reactive to every shift in the political winds.

Not long ago, Japan was furious about Trump-era tariffs and talked about forming economic blocs without the United States.
If that was acceptable, then shifting away from dependence on China should also be an option.

Japan is often described as a “resource-poor nation,” but it possesses strong infrastructure, a rich cultural foundation, and abundant human capital.

If Japan made better use of its craftsmanship and its characteristic strengths, it could remain a wealthy nation.

To hedge against China risk, Japan should avoid pursuing endless growth and the expansion of a consumer society.
There is another path forward: valuing, maintaining, and sustaining what we already have.

 

Is a Pay Raise for Lawmakers Just Another Self-Serving Move?

 A clear night sky and the promise of good weather over the long weekend usually bring a sense of calm. Yet the recent news about a proposed salary increase for Japan’s Diet members has stirred an entirely different feeling—one of puzzlement and doubt. For a political world that often speaks of reform and self-sacrifice, how should we understand this move?

 

The stars were beautiful last night, and it looks like we’ll have fine weather throughout this three-day weekend.

Now, I hear that members of the Diet are planning to raise their monthly salary by 50,000 yen.
What exactly is going on?

If this were being pushed only by the Liberal Democratic Party, I might understand.
But the reports say that even Ishin, their coalition partner, is in favor.
For a party that claims to champion “self-sacrifice” and political reform, approving a pay raise feels contradictory, to say the least.

People say that “politics costs money,” but that is a different issue altogether.
Isn’t this precisely what one would call a self-serving decision?

If they are going to reduce the number of Diet members by ten percent, why not simply distribute that portion among the remaining members?
Would it not be possible to set a fixed total amount of money that the national legislature is allowed to spend?

To Reduce My Sleep Debt

 As winter settles in and the cold makes it harder to leave the warmth of my bed, I’ve started to rethink my sleeping habits. I realized that my persistent sleep shortage comes simply from going to bed too late, and I finally decided to take small steps toward paying off my “sleep debt.”

 

The winter chill has arrived, and getting out of bed has become difficult.
I realized—quite obviously—that my sleep deprivation comes from going to bed too late. So, starting two nights ago, I made a point of getting into bed by 11 p.m.

Even then, I still can't reach a full seven hours of sleep. But at least I can avoid the five-hour range that happens when I go to bed after midnight. For now, I’ve decided to prevent my “sleep debt” from growing any further and repay it little by little.

When I look up the term “sleep debt,” I find the following explanation:
“Sleep debt refers to the cumulative effect of insufficient sleep, which builds up like financial debt and negatively affects the mind and body. Chronic sleep deprivation can lead to reduced concentration and memory, irritability, fatigue, and may increase the risk of high blood pressure, diabetes, and other lifestyle-related diseases. Sleeping in on weekends may temporarily alleviate the shortage, but it cannot fully repay the debt itself. Maintaining adequate, regular sleep on a daily basis is essential.”
It seems that accumulated sleep debt brings along various other problems as well.

In my case, my average sleep time is about five hours and forty-five minutes—clearly too short.
If this lack of sleep is causing my reduced concentration, poorer memory, and increased fatigue, it all makes sense. I would like to believe these are not simply signs of aging.
My persistently high blood pressure (now somewhat stabilized with medication) may also be related to insufficient sleep.

One’s own health is something only one can manage, and sleep duration is one of the most important factors.
If I could extend my sleep by just an hour, it would become six hours and forty-five minutes, and occasionally even exceed seven hours. The reason I have become “unable to sleep long hours” may simply be that my average sleep time has been too short for too long.

I’m not sure how much improvement I’ll see once I repay my sleep debt.
But when I manage more than six hours, like today, my head feels noticeably clearer, and I imagine my work efficiency would increase as well.

Of course, stress does not come only from sleep debt.
Repaying it won’t solve everything. It is important to look at one’s entire lifestyle and live with a broader perspective.

When I Suddenly Realized I Had Become a Minority

 Japan is rapidly becoming a super-aged society, yet the reality I see on my daily commute feels strangely different. One day, I realized that people my age were no longer the majority around me—and that awareness arrived quietly, almost without warning.

By 2030, people aged 65 and older will account for 29.4% of Japan’s population—nearly one-third！

On paper, that sounds like a significant demographic.
But in everyday life, the number of older adults actually out and about is surprisingly small.

On the trains during the morning and evening commute, nearly everyone is younger than I am—workers, students, teenagers. Older commuters are clearly the minority.
I’ve been riding trains since junior high school, which makes it nearly fifty years now.
Only recently did I realize that, somewhere along the way, I had become part of the minority.

The idea that I once belonged to the “volume zone” feels like something from a distant past.

This shift means I have to be a little more mindful of my behavior on trains.
The truth is, I can’t predict how younger people will move or act.

In the old days, someone might listen to music with headphones.
Now, everyone is absorbed in entirely different things on their smartphones.
Their sense of manners varies widely, too. Some act in ways that feel “normal” to me, while others operate according to entirely different standards.

Ethical values have changed as well.
Since around the time phone scams targeting the elderly began spreading, it feels as if the idea that “taking money from older people isn’t so bad” has crept in—and even evolved into the notion that “taking from those who have more is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Trying to understand the mindset of people young enough to be my children—or even younger—is difficult, even when I think back to my own parent–child relationships.
If that’s the case, then trying to understand complete strangers with no blood ties becomes even more challenging.

So when a young commuter beside me, absorbed in a game, presses an elbow into my side, all I can do is shrink a little and endure it.
To be fair, I’m usually hunched over my own smartphone, engrossed in a language-learning app, so perhaps we’re even in that regard.

I still have a few more years of working life ahead of me.

These days, my hope is simply that things pass peacefully and without trouble.
If I find myself feeling increasingly cautious or defensive, it may not be wisdom—it may just be age catching up with me.

Our Thoughts Are a Mixture of Gems and Stones

 As winter settles in, quiet moments before sleep bring a swirl of thoughts—brilliant ideas, trivial fragments, and everything in between. Sorting through them is part of how we make sense of ourselves.

This morning in Kamakura, it was six degrees—
the same as in New York, where my daughter lives.
“December-level cold,” the forecast said, and indeed the air had turned sharp.
The autumn leaves outside the train window looked especially vivid.

At night, when I lie down, various thoughts begin to circle.
They are truly a mixture of gems and stones—some worthwhile, others nothing more than scraps.
Some seem promising enough to use for a blog post, while others will disappear the next moment.
Some ideas, once they start, refuse to stop.
Some feel like an extension of a dream.

One method is to keep a notebook by the pillow and jot down whatever good idea arises.
But the one time I tried doing that with my phone, it woke me up instead, and I gave it up.
Perhaps professional writers or scholars can make such habits part of their craft,
but for a pathologist-blogger just trying to get through daily work, sleep takes priority.
And yet, there are nights when even that doesn’t go well.

Is our thinking a treasure heap, or a pile of garbage?
There are ideas that lead to Nobel Prizes, and ideas that lead to crimes.
The boundary is usually clear, but some thoughts sit in a gray zone, hard to classify.
What we encounter in dreams might be one such kind.

In any case, taking time to think deeply is important.
I want to avoid reckless actions and continue to examine each thought carefully,
building them up one by one.

A Moment That Will Test Japan’s Diplomatic Strength

 Japan now faces an unexpected diplomatic test following remarks by the prime minister that have stirred tension with China. As reactions escalate at the civilian level and international responses remain muted, the situation demands careful observation.

 

The recent remarks by Prime Minister Takaichi have set off a wave of reactions.

The Chinese government’s response has been stern, and the impact is beginning to extend to civilian travel and exchanges.
At this rate, I am no longer sure whether I will be able to attend the academic meeting scheduled in China next year.

Both the United States and South Korea appear to be remaining on the sidelines, leaving Japan and China to manage the issue directly.
Since the current situation stems from a statement by the prime minister, it will not be easy for Japan to step back.
How the government will navigate this remains unclear.

This is precisely the kind of moment that tests Japan’s diplomatic capability.

Officials are reportedly preparing for bureau-level talks, yet it is hard to imagine China—where saving face carries great weight—yielding readily.
The rapid escalation of civilian-level pressure almost gives the impression that a contingency plan for such an event had long been prepared and has now been put into effect.
By contrast, it is uncertain how well prepared Japan has been for a situation in which a political remark evolves into a diplomatic dispute.

In a street interview conducted in Beijing, one person stated:

“Today’s China is different from the past. We should settle accounts for the last war.”

Even among generations with no personal memory of the conflict, feelings of resentment seem to persist.
Some say that the sense of historical grievance extends back to the Opium War and Western imperialism.

Against this backdrop, how will Japan respond?
The situation is becoming difficult to predict, and developments warrant close attention.

Humanity, Forever Consuming the Earth

 A late-night NHK documentary on Indigenous communities in the Peruvian Amazon left me reflecting on how deeply—and perhaps inevitably—humankind consumes the planet.

 

Last night’s NHK Special was a documentary about Indigenous people living deep in the Peruvian interior.

The program touched on the ongoing development of the Amazon, and it left me with a heavy feeling.

Slash-and-burn agriculture has long been an issue, but large-scale deforestation has become even more serious.

The footage of massive trees—grown over centuries—being felled one after another was truly shocking.

But this simply means that the Amazon is now the one being cut down.
Human beings have consumed timber for survival since ancient times.

And what we consume is not limited to wood.
We devour every kind of resource the Earth provides, to the point where it sometimes feels as though humanity might swallow the entire planet.

Environmental issues have finally begun to draw wider concern as climate change grows more severe, but they have long existed in different forms across the world.

Perhaps we have become a little more sensible through these painful experiences—but even if the pace of destruction slows at times, it never truly stops.
As long as human beings exist, we can do nothing but continue consuming the Earth.

All we can do is live with an awareness that we are entirely dependent on this planet.

I often heard the phrase “Let’s protect our irreplaceable Earth” when I was younger, but it seems to have faded from everyday conversation.

I want to keep that message in mind once again.

The Earth is not infinite.

 

So This Is What Happens When a Hawk Rises to the Top

 A quiet autumn day in Kamakura, yet the news has been anything but quiet.

 

Chrysanthemums are blooming everywhere now.

At Tsurugaoka Hachimangu, the leaves are turning deeper shades of red and gold, reminding me that autumn is already well underway.

Meanwhile, Prime Minister Takaichi’s remark in the Diet — that a Taiwan contingency could become a “situation threatening Japan’s survival” — is making headlines.
I say “making headlines,” but to be honest, I don’t really understand the details well enough to judge what’s right or wrong.

I certainly don’t know enough to pretend I do, so all I can do is watch quietly from the sidelines.

Even so, the fact that China has called for its citizens to refrain from traveling to Japan as of today — that’s no small matter.
The tourism industry, which depends heavily on inbound visitors, must be hurting.

On the other hand, Taiwan and Japan have been drawing closer economically, each for its own reasons, and that trend will likely continue.

Prime Minister Takaichi has long been known as a hawkish politician.
So when someone like that becomes the leader, perhaps it isn’t surprising that these things start happening.

Her approval rating is apparently over 60%, and people still seem to welcome her leadership for now.
But if the situation starts to smell even a little “dangerous,” who knows how quickly that mood might change.

As voters, maybe we need to accept that choosing a hawkish leader comes with consequences, and keep that in the back of our minds.

I often hear people lament Japan’s declining presence in the world.
Maybe that’s why we cheer so loudly for stars like Ohtani or Yamamoto, or for the national soccer team — symbols of Japan still shining on the global stage.

Life isn’t made only of good things.
And when it comes to politics, we citizens probably need to face it a little more seriously, whether we feel ready or not.

 

What Makes a Good Politician?

The idea of a “good politician” feels increasingly elusive. As society grows more complex and voices multiply, what qualities should we truly expect from those who lead us?

 

Prince Shōtoku is said to have been able to listen to ten people speaking at once.

Whether this means he literally distinguished ten different voices or that he could handle numerous petitions at the same time, the point is clear: such a capacity is what leaders have always been expected to possess.

As the Diet convenes and political debates dominate the news, I often realize just how many issues confront this country.

A cabinet minister must grasp every matter within their jurisdiction and respond accordingly. A prime minister, who oversees them all, carries an even heavier burden.

In a society where countless individuals can freely raise their voices, politicians today are expected to wield abilities many times greater than those attributed to Shōtoku.

Yet human nature and human capacity have hardly changed in the 1,500 years since his time.

That is precisely why scandals occur endlessly, from the national level down to local politics.

So what, then, are the qualities of a good politician?

Being a politician is not simply about engaging in politics. Integrity grounded in fairness, and an ethical compass befitting a public role model, are essential.

But I doubt many people embody all these qualities. Most excel at something while falling short elsewhere.

And holding strong convictions inevitably creates contradictions. Stand on the right, and one cannot be entirely fair to those on the left—and vice versa.

What, then, motivates someone to become a politician in the first place?

Are they politicians for the sake of politics? Politicians for the people? Or politicians because “politician” happens to be their chosen profession?

To me, these elements seem to blend together indistinguishably, making it hard to discern a clear image of what a politician should be.

Some may say that education doesn’t matter, scandals don’t matter—just win elections and deliver results.

But even if “politics is about results,” how those results are viewed varies across a full 360 degrees. Evaluation changes dramatically depending on where one stands.

What are the qualities of a good politician?
And, more fundamentally, what is good politics in the first place?

It’s Only Natural for Our Expectations to Be Disappointed

A rainy night, a soaked bedsheet, and an unanswered questionnaire—small reminders that expectations rarely unfold the way we imagine.

 

It must have rained sometime during the night. When I stepped onto the balcony to take a photo, the deck was wet.

The bedsheet my wife had hung out to dry overnight was soaked through, and later I heard her cry of dismay when she discovered it.
To make matters worse, the forecast says it will be cloudy all day, so recovering any dryness during daylight hours seems unlikely.

Since this happened at home, it’s hardly someone else’s problem. It’s troubling—very much our own doing.

When my wife asked last night whether she should hang the sheets, I casually said, “It should be fine,” without even checking the weather forecast. So half the responsibility is mine.
In that sense, I’m just as disappointed as she is.

“To have one’s expectations disappointed” means that a prediction or hope is betrayed and things don’t go as planned.
Implicit in this is the presence of an “other”—a person, nature, or circumstance that does not move according to our wishes.

It is essentially the same as “being let down.”
Whether the object of our expectation is another person or the weather, when reality fails to match what we hoped for, we lament that our expectations have been undone.

My wife took care of the household chore of hanging the sheets at night.
Her modest hope—that it wouldn’t rain until morning—was simply overturned by the rain that came after midnight.

No one did anything wrong.
It’s not as though God decided to tease her by sending rain in the night.

I’ve been circulating a questionnaire to members of a subcommittee for a certain academic society, but the responses have been slow to return.
This, too, is another case of disappointed expectations.
It never helps to expect too much from others.

In life, expectations are bound to be broken.
Perhaps it’s better to live with that understanding—so that the shock, when disappointment comes, will be gentler.

Has Our Social World Become Smaller — or Wider?

 As our lives move deeper into the digital realm, the way we connect with others keeps changing.
Sometimes it feels as if our world has shrunk, and yet, in another sense, it has expanded beyond measure.

 

Lately, I often feel that my circle of human relationships has grown remarkably small.

At work, I have one junior pathologist and four or five laboratory technologists.
I’ve known the pathologist for two years now, but we’ve long since run out of small talk; these days we mostly stick to work-related conversations.
Our values differ in many ways, and that can’t be helped.

As for the technologists, we work in separate areas, so we hardly talk at all.
Most of them are in their twenties, and our topics of interest don’t overlap much.
It’s only natural—after all, we’re almost a generation apart.

Other than them, the only person I regularly interact with is my wife.
She is, of course, my greatest supporter and companion, and our conversations never seem to run dry.
When work is over, I go straight home, and I truly love the home we’ve built together.

Unlike me, my wife is sociable and has many acquaintances in our neighborhood.
She may not have many people she’d call close friends, but her social world is far broader than mine.

Somehow, my own society has quietly narrowed over time.
The ease of email and social networks surely plays a role.
When I wonder how someone is doing, it’s easier to send a message than make a call, and by scrolling through Facebook or Instagram, I can “force-feed” myself bits of their recent life.

This blog doesn’t reveal much about my own daily details, but—

“Well, it seems Coloken is doing fine.”

—might be the sort of vague impression I leave.

Human connections, and the society they form, have in one sense become smaller, yet in another, vastly expanded.
Whether one feels loneliness in that shrinking space, or builds a new kind of community within the digital world, depends on the person.

As for me, I still long for real, face-to-face interaction.
Perhaps it’s because I was born and raised before the digital era—a member of the old human race.

We Humans Shouldn’t Just Keep Taking

 In our daily lives, we often receive far more than we realize. But taking without giving back — that’s not how life should be.

 

When I don’t get a reply after asking someone for a favor by email, I start to worry.

Maybe they simply forgot to respond.
Or perhaps they want to decline my request but don’t know how to say it.
There could be many reasons — maybe their computer just broke down.

Of course, I don’t enjoy doing these troublesome tasks myself.
It’s just something I got involved in, a kind of volunteer work that I can’t easily step away from.

The other day, a junior colleague from my department asked me to review a paper.

He said he had already asked several people, but everyone turned him down before finally reaching me.
Even if it feels like being drafted in the lower rounds, once you’re called, you have to accept — especially for a younger colleague you care about.

Still, peer review is pure volunteer work.
You spend your limited time and energy, squeezing out what intellect you have left, all for the simple reward of having your name printed in a journal’s reviewer list.
Most likely, he himself is on the editorial team — which means he’s also volunteering.

Human society is built on give and take.

There’s a simple saying: “No work, no pay.”
But volunteer work is different — it’s “Work, with no pay.”

Even so, when I think about all I’ve gained and received throughout my life, contributing in this way feels like a small act of repayment.
It should never be seen as a loss.

As humans, we shouldn’t just keep taking.
Before we die, we ought to return what we’ve been given.

If we can break even — a perfect zero-sum — that’s already an achievement.
And if we ever try to escape without giving back, surely fate will find a way to catch up with us.

 

Of Detachment, Resignation, and Life Itself

 It’s Monday again — another new week begins. Yet when we look closely, do things really change that much from week to week, year to year? Perhaps not.

 

Again, Monday.

But this marks the beginning of another week.

What makes this week different from the last one, from the previous month, or from the same time last year?
When I think about it carefully, not much has really changed.

The cast of characters keeps changing, yet the essence of human relations remains the same.
Somewhere in the world, wars continue.
Because of human actions, other living beings are driven from their homes.
People fall ill, and many leave this world.

Such things repeat endlessly — and perhaps it is better that they do not change.
Even though we know what humans are, we still carry envy and jealousy within us until the end.
Human beings are, indeed, complex creatures.

There are two Japanese words — takkan (達観) and teikan (諦観).
They sound similar but differ in nuance.
達観 (takkan) means to understand the essence of things and to accept them calmly, with a broad and positive mind.
諦観(teikan), on the other hand, means to realize that something cannot be changed, and to let go of further struggle or hope — a more resigned way of seeing the world.
So, takkan is a positive outlook; teikan is the act of giving up.

Which is better? 

There is no single answer.
 

We may approach some things with detachment, and others with resignation.
Perhaps life itself moves gently back and forth between the two.

At the very least, as long as one has not fallen into despair —
that alone is reason enough to keep going.

I, Too, Am Lending a Hand to Global Warming

Even as autumn colors brighten, the world keeps reminding us that climate change is quietly reshaping everything around us.

 

This year’s autumn foliage has turned out surprisingly beautiful, considering the fierce heat of the past summer.
Squid catches are reportedly good, and even Pacific saury have become a bit more affordable.

Meanwhile, acorns are scarce in the mountains, and bears have been coming down into towns in search of food.
Which of these is caused by global warming, and which is not?

Still, there’s no doubt that climate change is happening.

Next week, from November 10 to 21, COP30 will be held in Brazil.
President Trump, who has declared America’s withdrawal, is said to be showing complete indifference—a worrying sign for the future.

The destruction of the Amazon rainforest is also said to be worsening, and I sometimes feel as if I myself might one day suffocate because of it.

Even so, I continue to use my car without much thought—so I suppose I have no right to speak ill of others.

The Subcutaneous Fat That Arrived with Winter

 As Japan marks Rittō—the first day of winter in the traditional 24 solar terms—the chill is settling in, and my fingers are starting to feel it. The season seems to have brought not only cold air, but also a little extra padding around my waist.

 

It’s already Rittō, the beginning of winter according to the traditional Japanese calendar.
My body seems to be adjusting to the colder temperatures, but my fingers still protest against the morning chill.

As the old saying goes, “In autumn, horses grow fat under the high sky.”
This year, after an exceptionally hot summer, the season shifted abruptly to autumn around the equinox. My appetite returned to normal—and perhaps a little beyond that—because my weight has crept up to my usual danger line of 78 kilograms.

Last year at this time, I was 75. That’s not a trivial difference.

I don’t feel particularly heavier, but when I tried on trousers from last winter, they were noticeably tighter. That was proof enough that my shape has changed.

It’s always difficult to control weight during this time of year. Left unchecked, I could easily hit 80 kilograms before I know it.

Perhaps my body is instinctively trying to store subcutaneous fat to prepare for winter, but I’m no bear.
Humans in the modern world have no need for such a biological reflex. I really should start cutting back on portions.

My height has also declined—from 178 centimeters in my youth to 176 now.
In theory, my body weight should also be two or three kilograms lighter than it used to be, but reality has gone in the opposite direction.

Shrinking in height means the cartilage between my vertebrae has thinned.
Humans have 24 vertebrae and 23 intervertebral discs; a two-centimeter reduction overall means each disc has compressed by about 0.8 millimeters on average.
Add in the natural wear and tear of the knees and other joints, and the extra weight only makes things worse.

In short, gaining weight with age is never a good idea.

My work schedule is hard to change, and meal times are not entirely under my control.
I make a point of taking the stairs, but beyond that I have few exercise habits.

Since I have Ann, my dog, perhaps the best I can do for now is to take her out for longer walks—and hope that both of us benefit from it.

She’ll enjoy it—and maybe I’ll get my waistline back. 

 

The Divisions Reflected in Buzzwords

 The announcement of this year’s “Buzzword Awards” reminded me how language can reveal the gaps within society. Words that define a year also show how divided we’ve become in what we see, hear, and care about.

 

Yesterday, the thirty nominees for this year’s “Buzzword Awards” were announced and reported widely on the news.

For something called “buzzwords,” many of them were entirely new to me.
Watching the list made me wonder—have I fallen behind the times?
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with selecting popular phrases.
In fact, preserving them as a record helps capture the air and memory of a particular year.

Still, some of the words make no sense at all.
I write a blog almost every day and read plenty of online news, yet most of these words don’t resonate.
They were probably everywhere among the people who used them,
but for those of us outside those circles, neither the meaning nor the context is clear.

Even buzzwords have their own kind of divide.
And in such a diverse era, I can only imagine how hard the judges must have worked.

If I had to choose, I’d go with Prime Minister Takaichi’s “Work and—,” “Old Media,” and “Ancient Rice.”
All of them evoke memories of the Showa era.
The rest are ordinary expressions or youthful slang—none of them leave a lasting impression.

Personally, I’d add “Gaza,” “Komeito Withdrawal,” “Female Prime Minister,” and “T-reg” to the list.
Among bloggers, “The End of Goo Blog” deserves a mention, though it’s probably too niche.
It’s a pity that “Yoshinobu Yamamoto” came too late for consideration.
And lately, I’ve been noticing “young men in platform shoes,”
though that’s purely a personal observation.

After all, the Buzzword Awards can only survive if they appeal to a wide range of people.
If older generations enjoy them alone, they’ll be dismissed as “Showa relics,”
so younger voices must also be included.

Looking at the nominees, it’s clear that the line between young and old is growing sharper.
A shared sense of what defines the nation—that’s something we no longer have.

Perhaps divisions have always existed.
It’s just that now, they’ve become impossible to ignore.

 

Wait, It’s Already Wednesday?

After the long weekend, I suddenly realized how quickly this short week is slipping away. Japan’s generous number of holidays can be both a blessing and a curse.

 

When I stopped to think about what to do today, I felt something was a little off.
Then it hit me—Monday was Culture Day, a national holiday, and that means there are only three workdays left this week, including today.

If there were just one more day, I’d have some breathing room—but life isn’t that kind.
I’ll have to stay focused and push through.

The other day, I was talking with my daughter, who’s currently working in New York.
She said, “Japan has so many national holidays—you actually get quite a lot of time off.”

Curious, I looked it up. The United States has eleven federal holidays,
while Japan has sixteen—five more than the U.S.
In fact, Japan ranks among the top countries in the world for the number of public holidays.

There was a time when Japanese people were known as tireless workers,
but those days are long gone. Now it almost feels as if our many holidays are putting pressure on our work schedule instead.

Well, that’s just how it is.
For someone like me, with only a few years left in my active career, it’s hardly worth complaining about.

What really matters is using the time I have wisely—
to get ahead on tasks with upcoming deadlines while I still can.
Instead of grumbling about lost time, I should just get on with it.

 

A Long-Overdue Day in the Garden

After weeks of cold mornings and busy days, the sun finally returned—perfect weather for tending to the garden. What began as a gentle autumn day ended with the first wintry wind of the season.

This morning was quite cold due to the radiational cooling.

Yesterday, the first “Kogarashi,” the winter wind, swept through—signaling that the chill of the season had truly arrived.

Even so, the sunlight was warm, and it felt like the perfect day to do some long-overdue garden work.
A day that began with the mild warmth of koharubiyori and ended with the bite of a winter wind.

Ever since we moved here, the space beside the path leading to the gate had never really felt settled.
But the pampas grass we planted two years ago has now grown tall and full, giving the entrance a sense of balance at last.
Naturally, once that part began to look right, the area around it started to seem off, and we decided to tidy it up.

I was also worried that the pampas grass might grow too large, so we decided to plant something that could balance it out.

At a nearby garden shop, we found Muhlenbergia capillaris—another grasslike plant, with fine, delicate stems.
My wife said, “It looks like a sparkler—it’s so pretty,” and that decided it.

We also chose Westringia, or Australian rosemary, a small shrub that grows into a soft, rounded shape.
We planted it on both sides of the grasses to frame the scene.
They are said to bloom with blue and white flowers, and I’m already looking forward to seeing them next year.

 

Both plants came in small pots, so the planting was easy.
I cleared away the weeds and arranged them neatly in place.

After fixing a few other spots that had been bothering me, my arms and shoulders were sore.
But this morning, on my way to work, I looked at the area again—it looked clean and fresh, and that made me happy.

Time to get back to work, feeling a little lighter.

Two Baseball Boys Who Seized the World Series Title

 The final game of the World Series was more than just a spectacle—it was a reminder of what pure baseball looks like, played by two men who never stopped being boys at heart.

 

The World Series Game 7, which has been widely reported since yesterday, was truly a sight to behold.

Last year’s matchup between the Dodgers and the Yankees was memorable mainly for Aaron Judge’s slump and Freddie Freeman’s MVP award. But this year’s victory was on a completely different level—because it couldn’t have happened without the brilliance of three Japanese players.

And at the heart of it all were two baseball boys.

Right after the game, pitcher Yoshinobu Yamamoto, who had thrown in back-to-back appearances, said in his interview,
“I was completely focused—almost like I’d become a baseball boy again.”
That simple phrase stayed with me.

When we think of “a baseball boy,” we naturally think of Shohei Ohtani—the original two-way player who made the dream of pitching and hitting a reality. Yamamoto, too, must have had that image in mind. Pitchers used to throw and throw again—game after game. That was once what baseball was all about.

And to top it all off, the Dodgers won the championship.
It doesn’t get any better than that.

Did I Fall for the Shapes of Hiragana?

 For nearly six months, the title of my blog had been wrong—and I didn’t notice it.
It was a small typographical slip, but one that revealed just how deceptive the gentle curves of hiragana can be.

 

Something strange had happened to the title of my blog.

What was supposed to be “Konna kimochi de iraretara”—“If I Could Feel This Way”—
had somehow become “Konna kimochii deraretara.”

I have no idea when it happened.
Perhaps it dates back to when I moved my blog to Hatena.
I was so embarrassed when I noticed it that I fixed it right away.

Maybe I made a mistake when I copied and pasted the title during the move,
or maybe it happened somewhere along the automatic migration process.
Either way, according to my old posts, the move was on April 25.
That means the wrong title had been sitting there for 190 days—almost half a year.

What puzzles me is how I failed to notice it.

When written in hiragana, de iraretara and ideraretara look so much alike.
The latter makes no sense at all, but once you believe it says “iraretara,”
your mind accepts it as correct.
It’s a curious thing—how easily we can be fooled by what we expect to see.

Japanese is said to be difficult because it mixes hiragana, katakana, and kanji.
But if even native speakers miss such mistakes,
it must be far more confusing for those learning it as a foreign language.

Then again, every language is difficult for those who didn’t grow up with it.
Reading, writing, and speaking—none of them are easy.

If only we all shared one universal language,
things might be simpler.
But then I wonder—why did God decide to make life so complicated for us?