Cherry Blossoms and a Dark World

 I decided to skip my usual lunch today and instead take a short cherry blossom walk on my way to the station, accompanied by my wife and Anne. With rain forecast for the next few days, it may well be the kind of rain that scatters the blossoms.

 

Cherry blossoms are, without question, both beautiful and fleeting.

Even though I remind myself of this every year, once the petals are gone, I seem to forget it all over again.

As we approached the second torii gate along the dankazura of Tsurugaoka Hachimangu, I began to feel raindrops on my cheek. I wondered whether my wife and Anne made it home without getting too wet.

 

The situation in the Middle East remains uncertain.

There was a time when U.S. intervention could bring a certain level of resolution, but today conflicts have grown far more complex, and quick conclusions are no longer possible.

Information flows from all sides, yet what is true is difficult to discern.

Thousands of lives have already been lost in Iran. These are lives that should never have been lost.

The same tragedy continues in Ukraine and Gaza.

Perhaps those we call “leaders” do not act solely out of their own will.

Various forces accumulate, becoming a pressure that is ultimately impossible to resist, leading to the final decision.

Whatever name we give to that structure, similar forces seem to exist everywhere, each moving in pursuit of its own interests.

And yet, the weight of the lives lost behind all of this is immeasurable.

Thinking about it, I cannot help but feel how difficult it is for human beings to make truly independent decisions.

At times, I even find myself wondering whether it might be better to entrust such decisions to something other than humans. But, of course, things are not so simple.

 

If only we could live like cherry blossoms—simply blooming, and simply falling.

But reality is not that simple.

Watching the first petals begin to scatter, I find myself feeling a quiet, lingering sadness.

 Even in full bloom, the world does not feel entirely bright.

New Season, Quiet Hope

 After a clear and sunny day yesterday, rain fell overnight, leaving a misty morning that feels like a quiet reset.

 

In contrast to yesterday’s bright daytime weather, it rained during the night, and this morning is wrapped in mist.

With the temperature already high, the rain feels like a welcome touch—just enough to refresh the air. It must have washed away the pollen as well.

It seems that the cedar pollen season is finally coming to an end. I have never checked formally, but I do not appear to have a cypress allergy, so I am hoping this marks the end of this year’s pollen troubles.

The fiscal year will end in just a day or two.

Yesterday, I hosted friends for a cherry blossom gathering, and while a bit of pleasant fatigue lingers, it was a refreshing break.

In any case, the end of pollen season is something to be grateful for.

A new fiscal year is about to begin.

The news has already begun to reflect changes in personnel, and there will likely be many shifts in roles in the days ahead.

Farewells are always a little sad, but new encounters bring their own quiet anticipation.

 

Between endings and beginnings, the air itself seems to change. 

Welcoming Old Friends

 A clear spring day in Kamakura, perfect for cherry blossom viewing.

 

It had been a long time since we last invited guests to our home.

Before the pandemic, we used to do this from time to time, but those opportunities had quietly disappeared.

We walked together from the station, stopping by a few well-known spots to enjoy the blossoms, and then made our way home at an easy pace. There, we shared the wine and snacks everyone had kindly brought, and spent the afternoon in relaxed conversation.

 

Our guests were not current members of our department, but former colleagues—senior and junior alike—from the pathology world. In other words, a group of familiar faces, and, perhaps more accurately, a group of rather strong drinkers.

Some are now busy as university professors, while others have stepped away from full-time work and are taking life more slowly. Each has chosen a different path.

Even so, having all once chosen the rather specialized field of pathology, conversation flowed naturally, and time seemed to pass almost too quickly.

Before we realized it, evening had fallen. We walked them back to the station, enjoying the night blossoms along the way.

Spending such a gentle time with gentle people, I found myself quietly feeling that this, too, is a kind of happiness.

 

A quiet gathering can sometimes say more than a celebration. 

Peace behind cherry blossoms

It was cloudy in the morning, but the sky soon cleared.
The cherry blossoms along Dankazura at Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine have begun to open beautifully.

 

People are out in large numbers, enjoying the blossoms.
This is what a perfect day for cherry blossom viewing looks like.

And yet, in many people’s minds, there lingers the news of the U.S.–Israel invasion of Iran and the resulting energy crisis.

As long as reserves remain, a sense of calm may be maintained.
But how those reserves will be allocated is far from clear.

At least for now, electricity may be sustained by the temporary return to coal-fired power.
However, concerns remain about the availability of materials for various industrial products.

War, by its very nature, takes human lives.
No matter the justification, it is difficult to see any true cause that can legitimize it.

Those directly involved may each have their own reasoning.
Even so, it is hard to believe that this particular war carries any real justification.

A war without a visible exit strategy cannot possibly claim a meaningful purpose.
Seen this way, the loss of so many lives feels not only tragic, but profoundly futile.

Unlike cherry blossoms, human beings have only a few moments in life when they truly shine.
Those who have lost their lives in this conflict have lost those moments forever.

Can such a thing truly be acceptable?

Was there no one who could have stopped the outbreak of war?
It begins to feel as though those surrounding the decision-makers were merely yes-men.

If such people are steering the course of a leading nation,
then even the peaceful scene of cherry blossoms in Japan begins to feel fragile—almost like a facade.

 

Peace, like cherry blossoms, may be more fragile than it appears. 

 

Time and Cherry Blossoms

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Human society is endlessly troublesome

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

All Living Beings Are Bound by Inequality

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Oil Crisis Behind Our Ordinary Lives

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

Cherry Blossoms Move the Economy

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

Cherry blossom forecasts themselves are also interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was enjoyable, yes—but also deeply tiring.

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

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

A Spring Walk That Became a Hike in Kamakura

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

Writing as Thinking

 

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

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

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

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

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

　

Then is writing itself the purpose? Not quite.

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

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

　

So why is that?

Perhaps humans simply like to think.

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

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

　

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

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

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

　

This act of “verbalization” is quite interesting.

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

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

I cannot even properly describe the taste of wine.

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

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

　

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

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

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

And that, in its own way, is interesting.

 

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

When Hope for the Future Begins to Fade

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, I want to rebuild.

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

 

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

Aging: The Long Road to the End

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

The Front of Spring

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But will this spring truly allow us to forget?

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

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

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

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

Ignoring diversity is no longer possible in the modern world.

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

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

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

 

 

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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