the qualia journal

The decipherer of an enigma.

2011-12-24T12:00:00.000+09:00

Last night, I was having drinks with my best friend and literary agent Hamish Macaskill, in a Tokyo wine bar. While we were waiting for the British novelist David Peace (now resident in Tokyo) and Spanish film director/writer David Trueba, Hamish said something quite interesting. There is a trend, Hamish said, of English writers producing contemporary or period dramas based in Japan. In the genre, Hamish said, it appears that it is essential to write the details that a Japanese writer or those who are familiar with the Japanese culture (like Hamish himself) would omit. In fact, Hamish often finds the details described in a novel based in Japan (the smell of a soy source, etc.) unnecessary and disturbing.

"It seems that the novels that I don't like sell well!" Hamish said.

Hamish's comment stroke a chord of truth in me. We take for granted what we are accustomed to. The merit of an outsider is that he or she can decipher the implicit cultural codes. The writer becomes the decipherer of an enigma.

As the two Davids arrived, we went on with the wine drinking and deciphering business, bringing together different backgrounds, prejudices, hopes and dreams. (Hamish is originally from Australia) It was a fitting action for the soul and the body on an evening of pre-Christmas merriments.

David Trueba (left) and Hamish Macaskill. David Peace went to the restroom.

Confessions of an atheist.

2011-12-23T12:36:00.003+09:00

First of all, happy holidays, everyone!
This is a season of goodwill.
So it is with a spirit of goodwill that I jot down the confessions below.

One of the most salient endeavors of notable intellectuals in recent years has been the effort to spread the philosophy of atheism. The late Christopher Hitchens was one of the most active proponents. And of course, Richard Dawkins, whose book "The God Delusion" laid out persuasive arguments as to why religions can be sometimes oppressive, did a great service to humanity in pointing out the road toward more freedom.

It is a trivial matter, in my own perspective, that a concept of God where "he" or "she" possesses a personality like our own, is passé. In fact, Baruch Spinoza presented a beautiful argument about the absolute infinity of "God" in his magnum opus "Ethica" in the 17th century. According to Spinoza, a concept of God where he has a body, will, and intellect, is self-contradictory as these properties pertain to finite existences like ourselves. I think that was a conclusive argument. The concept of observing and punishing God has been passé for more than three centuries.

Thirty something decades after Spinoza, I think the only intellectually interesting and challenging problem about the concept of God today is why we sometimes do have illusions of a "finite" God. There might have been psychological and/or evolutionary needs. For example, the central thesis of Christianity, as I understand it, is the belief that Christ was the Son of God, and yet was incarnated to have a finite body like us, and went through all the hardships that led to his eventual crucifixion.

Although as a rational human being I remain an atheist (strictly speaking, as I am resonant with the Spinozan concept of God, I might qualify as a "pantheist"), I do find the "story" of Christian incarnation and crucifixion fascinating and deeply moving. That an "absolutely infinite God" could voluntarily put Itself in the position of a finite and mortal being like ourselves by incarnation and go through the agony and pain of persecution and death, is, I think, one of the most beautiful "fictions" that human beings have ever conceived.

After all, the very nature of our phenomenal experience is illusory. Love is an illusion, and so is perhaps the very concept of scientific truth. To say something is illusory does not mean that it must forever be marked by stigma. When an illusion has proved powerful, it is useful to study the nature of its epistemological origins, and clarify the continuing effects on people's lives.

Thus, although I hope to remain a rational thinker, I feel as if the basic claim of the "atheist" movement has now been well received and accepted, at least in the intellectual circle, so that it is probably time to proceed with business of the elucidation of its nature of the "illusion" of God, in a spirit of goodwill.

Well, that was my confession, folks. Happy holiday seasons, again.

The Crucifixion, seen from the Cross, by James Tissot, 19th century.

Beauty and dictatorship as defense mechanisms.

2011-12-20T09:40:00.002+09:00

The “dear leader” of North Korea, Kim Jong-il is dead. The dictator could not control his own heart condition. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn’t put the dear leader together again. Although he was feared by the people, I think Kim Jong-il was feeble as a man, deep down. And perhaps he knew that himself.

As everybody knows, dictatorship is a kind of defense mechanism. The very concept of a political power suggests a dependency on others, in a big way. If you don’t have other people, on whom can you exercise your earthly powers? It is not very much fun to be a dictator, if there is only one people (you!) in the nation. As a dictator you depend on your people. So much so, that it becomes a dangerous addiction before long.
Reports suggest that when Kim Jong-il succeeded his father Kim Il-sung, he was not sure of his power base. He judged, correctly, that the military was to be the key for securing power. He went on with his business of strengthening the military. The nuclear weapon, the missiles, and the rest is now history. After all, these were manifestations of the defense instinct of a feeble man, who was dependent on his people for his very existence.

At this point, I should say that there is a completely different mechanism that could be taken by a fragile existence.

Beauty.

Take the painting of Mona Lisa by Leonard da Vinci, on display in the Louvre in Paris, for example. As a physical entity, it is very fragile. It has no means of defending itself. If an evil will wishes to destroy it and set it on fire, it can easily do so. However, the extreme beauty of the Mona Lisa has been the strong defense machinery which has preserved the painting over the centuries. And it will be preserved thus, for all eventualities, in the centuries to come.

So here is the spectrum of self-defense for you. On one extreme, you have dictatorship, nuclear weapons, and the missiles. On the other, you have beauty. What a bewilderingly complex and enigmatic world we live in.

Kim Jong-il, 16 February 1941 – 17 December 2011 (image from Wikipedia)

Mona Lisa, circa 1503–1519 to …. (image from Wikipedia)

What a wonderful pet you have on your iPad.

2011-12-19T09:23:00.001+09:00

With the advent of e-books and e-book readers (right now I am an avid user of the kindle reader on iPad), my childhood habit of being turned into a bookworm without warning has returned with a vengeance. I am reading several books at the same time, flipping between them as my whim seems to dictate.

The list right right now are: “Cycles of time” by Roger Penrse, “Linked” by Albert-laszio Barabasi, “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert, “Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austin (reading for a third time!) and “Last Child in the Woods” by Richard Louv. Last week, I finished “the Doors of Perception” by Aldous Huxley for the third or Fourth time.

Although we have an abundance of texts scattered all over the cyberspace now, looking back on my own experience, books remain the significant and perhaps sole life-changer. The duration, concentration, and the sheer synthesis involved in the experience of book reading seems to be an indispensable ingredient of a dramatic change in one’s world views.

For example, “Free to choose” by Milton Friedman that I read when I was about 20 changed my idea about competition and market. I confess probably I am still under the influence of this book. An Albert Einstein biography that I came across at the tender age of 10 (I read the Japanese version as I did not speak English at all at that time) inspired me so much, that I found myself wanting to be a scientist and revolutionize the world conceptually.

Thus, although I do find the timely arrivals of latest news and comments on the web now an essential part of my reading experience (powered, nowadays, by Flipboard), I do keep my insatiable hunger for more books, from all genres.

It is my view that you can look around the world from the vantage height in proportion to all the books that you have read in your life, with all the books stuck on top of each other. Thus, reading a book is an act of building that famous Newtonian giant. You can nurture your own giant by reading books. What a wonderful pet you have on your iPad.

“If I have seen a little further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants.”

(Isaac Newton in his letter to his Robert Hooke on February 5, 1676)

The Flipboard user experience.

2011-12-18T09:52:00.002+09:00

I have been using the Flipboard on iPad for a week. Yes, I am VERY late to arrive on this. I am like that sometimes, failing to register an important technical trend. I am still unable to appreciate the usefulness of Facebook, for example, although I have been a registered user for over a year now.

I must say that I find Flipboard extraordinarily interesting and useful. It has changed the way I read texts of interest. I mainly browse through the news and tech sections. The way relevant sources are curated and brought to my fingertips provides an interesting insight into how the meshed up web will evolve in the future.

I read somewhere that “every millisecond counts” was the hidden ethos among engineers at Google. When you search something, it is important to return the results as quickly as possible. It is not computation, it is also about the user experience. If you extend that logic to modes of sensorimotor interaction on the web in general, you begin to see why and how an application like Flipboard is a substantial innovation.

Even if you could have arrived at more or less a similar list of information sources through traditional search engines, the ebb and flow of the pages curated through Flipboard provides a completely different user experience.

Traditional ways of “gathering” information on the web begin to pale and fade in the face of Flipboard. It is interesting to witness the latest innovations happening on the web in the direction of enriching user experiences in general. A company which does not regard user experience as an integral part of its business is prone to fail in the coming era. A few names come across one’s mind.

The cloud has finally arrived, and it is here to stay.

2011-12-17T09:20:00.002+09:00

I used to have the notion that natural language processing was lousy and unreliable by default. And it was not simply a Luddite sentiment. With the sort of new technologies like Siri, however, the times they are-a-changin’. The artificial processing of natural language seems to have finally arrived. And it is here to stay.

Although from the strictly theoretical point of view the juries are still out, it appears that the cloud is definitely a crucial element in the remarkable innovations. The computations are distributed, and the resources are on the web. A self-contained system on the client device would not have succeeded so much. One element is the computational capacity, but the very nature of the network is also a defining factor.

And when you think about it, language has always been about the cloud. When we humans comprehend a word or a sentence, a whole network of knowledge and memories is invoked. The pattern of activation is likely to follow the famous power law. In such a distributed environment, there is no strict central control. The scattered and haphazard nature of processing has always been the defining factor of the conversations that we carry every day. And the chain of causality does not end with an individual brain. Words have been passed on from people to people, over the years, mediated by spoken words, written records, on the air, and through accidental encounters.

In the technology world the cloud has just arrived. Among our brains, the cloud has always been here. The cloud has finally arrived, and it is here to stay.

To build or not to build, that is the question.

2011-12-08T11:06:00.001+09:00

I have made several visits to the tsunami devastated areas in Tohoku. The damages have been tremendous and heartbreaking. Now that the sorrow of lost lives and memories start to sink deep into the psyche, a hard question emerges.

To build or not to build, that is the question.

Historical records show that the area has been hit repeatedly by massive tsunamis in the past. Measures have been taken, including towering concrete walls to fend off the waves. While these precautions have helped to diminish and delay the effect of tsunami in some places, the size of the massive waves caused by the earthquake on 11th March meant many such walls were destroyed and/or overcome, with the water coming into the land with a brutal force.

The hardest choice to make now is whether to go ahead with rebuilding in the tsunami devastated areas. If it were not for the risk of tsunami, the seaside areas provide the most beautiful and comfortable living opportunities, with a convenient access to the sea for those people involved in fishery and related industries. On the other hand, the probabilities of future tsunami damages are understandably very real in people’s minds.

To complicate matters, no coastal area in Japan can be said to be safe from the threats of tsunami. Although the Tohoku area might stand out because of recent events, the possibility of a tsunami attack exist, both in theory and practice, throughout the land of Japan. Thus, making the choice of building and not building poses a hard question not only for people in Tohoku, but also for the rest of us all over Japan. It is a case where one’s philosophy of life is tested, on top of the probability estimates by seismology experts.

Facebook and twitter.

2011-12-06T08:38:00.004+09:00

I still cannot find a useful angle to come to terms with Facebook. I am not a heavy user. I should say I am perhaps not an active user at all, although certainly registered. Given the reported popularity of the service, it is a strange enigma, as I tend to embrace new web services.

It is not the problem of Facebook specifically. It is a common defect, in my view, of Social Network Services. Perhaps the problem is not for everyone. It is a problem just for me, and the likes of me.

There is too much cognitive load compared to the benefits. I don’t so much like to see my friends’ candid photos or their casual observations. Surely these things are nice, but there are other interesting matters in this world too.

The thing is, I much prefer the brutal and swift way that people (or rather, issues) are connected in twitter. There, you don’t have to submit or respond to a friend request. The connections and comments are made without the embarrassing diplomacy and niceties. It is all about memes, not personal relationships per se.

Thus, I find myself in the domain of minorities, while the rest of the world is apparently head over heals on Facebook.

Meeting with Mr. Clive Williams Nicol.

2011-12-03T09:02:00.000+09:00

On a day when a cold rain started to fall, I met with the famed writer Clive Williams Nicol. The severe weather was fitting, as Mr. Nicol is a man who has traveled in wilderness, one trip taking him to the North Pole.

Mr. Nicol is one of these rare people who can combine the fire of passion with the coolness of intelligence. He has written extensively and deeply about nature. It is all about experience, and you need to reflect on your own mind in order to write well in this genre.

Listening to Mr. Nicol is like hearking to an old oak tree. You feel the flow of time embodied in the shape of a man, and you have the desire to attain that maturity when you are old. That becomes your inspired ambition.

With Mr. Clive Williams Nicol

The absolute nature of separation.

2011-11-13T22:10:00.001+09:00

There is nothing more interesting than the enigma of time. The future becomes the present, and the present turns into the past. Once the transformation is over, there is no going back.

In psychology, people talk about the specious moment, and there is a fundamental asymmetry to that. The duration of the present is usually described in milliseconds, but that is strangely insufficient. The essence of transformation would not be captured in milliseconds. We need other ways to describe the specious moment.

The key question here is to deal with the transformation in an explicit manner. The transformation is happening all the time, even as I write these sentences.

This morning I find myself in Washington DC. I just finished my breakfast. Some moments ago, I was waiting for the breakfast to arrive, and there is no going back to that recent past. The absolute nature of separation is one of the fundamental aspects of our experience, and yet we have not successfully described it.

The no-show of iPhone 5 was only a minor disappointment compared to the absence of the wizard.

2011-10-05T09:36:00.001+09:00

This morning, I woke up to find a world without iPhone 5.

The revision to iPhone 4S was a good and sensible one, although my enthusiasm at this moment is not strong enough to make me rush to update my iPhone 4 straight away. The delivery by Tim Cook was impressive. The Apple stock will surely recover in due time. But there was something deeper and disturbing last night (JST).

The wizard is gone. There would be no more “one more thing”. Our hearts would not be throbbing in anticipation of a world-changing gadget. There would be no more Steve Jobs on stage, and the world would forever be a place minus that particular enchantment.

When we were kids, we looked up at our parents as if they were wizards. Nothing was impossible for dad. Mom would give me the most incredible present on my birthday. As we grow up, these expectations waned. We inevitably realized that mom and dad were ordinary human beings, with their own limits and shortcomings. We found ourselves independent and grownup when there were no more “wizard elements” in our parents.

It seemed that we never grew out of Steve Jobs. Steve was always a wizard, smiling rather mischievously, coming back to stage, with the now immortal “one more thing”. These days are gone forever, much to our regret.

Apple fans care about the health of Steve Jobs as dearly as their own greying parents. Long live Steve! Probably it is a good idea for Steve to stay away from the chores of running a company. Somehow, we probably took it for granted for too long that Steve would be wizard for us forever. Perhaps it is time were on our own, however strange it might feel.

Yesterday, observing the stage without the former CEO, we realized that it was now time for the growing pains. The no-show of iPhone 5 was only a minor disappointment compared to the absence of the wizard.

Loosening order, new realities

2011-08-02T10:28:00.002+09:00

It is difficult to characterize a particular era, especially when one is living in it. The last couple of decades have been marked by many unexpected events (beautifully argued as "black swans" by Taleb) and newly emerging value systems. To use a musical metaphor, we are listening to many exotic and new pieces, but they are so numerous now that we have almost forgotten that they were once novel. Many things we take for granted today were rarities and oddities only a few decades ago. How fast the human brain adapts to a changing environment! And we keep marching.

I was studying in the United Kingdom in the middle of the 1990s. I remember quite vividly when a BBC anchorman remarked to an IT guy speaking live from the West Coast via satellite that "you do not have to wear a tie and a jacket when you are a millionaire". This idea, that a businessperson with power and wealth does not necessarily have to dress "seriously", is such a cliche nowadays that it is almost not worth mentioning it. We are so accustomed to millionaires and billionaires dressed in T-shirts and jeans, looking like complete nerds (in many cases they actually are in a big way). Indeed, there is no apparent "correlation" between the way one dresses and one's degree of affluence any more. Class is gone, as far as outward looks are concerned. Nowadays a restaurant imposing a strict dress code looks almost moron. "Smart casual" is perhaps the only acceptable dress code, apart from, perhaps, no dress code at all.

Once, attending a conference in Googleplex, I noticed that there was a rather nice looking young fellow. It was none other than Mr. Larry Page himself. Mr. Page must have been worth billions of dollars then, but his outlook did not tell. There were a few admiring girls around Mr. Page, but that could happen to any nice fellow about his age. Judging from how he looked, he could have been a graduate student. Actually, Mr. Page was probably a graduate student in his spirit. Remaining a graduate student in spirit is probably the name of the game and the strength of a company like Google.

There have been several defining moments in the history of information technology. When Jack Kilby conceived the idea to implement circuits on a silicon chip, he was laying down the formula for a whole industry. When Larry Page and Sergey Brin hit upon the idea to analyze the web as a graph structure, they were effectively bootstrapping themselves to super-successful entrepreneurship. When Mark Zuckerberg was dumped by his girlfriend, his unique method of revenge, putting a pair of girl's faces on a webpage asking the visitors to click which was hotter, opened the door to the most successful social network service, the Facebook.

The general trend of the information revolution, combined with the procession of globalization, where people from various cultural backgrounds are brought together to interact, have led to the loosening of the old orders, and emergence of new ones. The evolution/revolution happens in unexpected and haphazard steps, challenging assumptions, upsetting notions.
When put in a state of chaos, we seek order and meanings. A religion, an ideology, a value system, a theory, an empirical evidence, an illusion. We are always in search of life-saving ideas. We are badly in need of one now, in this remarkable era of transitions and redefinitions. Ideas come, ideas go. And some stick and remain, through a mysterious process of evolution of memes.

(Fragment from a book I am writing, codenamed "Malmesbury")

This is entropy!

2011-07-02T12:47:00.000+09:00

The novelist Yoshinori Shimizu once wrote a masterpiece titled "Don't talk about entropy on your date". This humorous short story (written in Japanese) depicts how a science student, once he starts talking about entropy, gets carried away and forgets to take care of his lover, only to be dumped. Serves him right, right?

Don't talk about entropy on your date. This is a very valuable piece of advice for certain kinds of people, including myself. The subject of entropy is so fascinating, deep, and engrossing that it is really a danger to start talking about it.

Oh, you don't know what entropy is? Well, in a nutshell, it is a measure of the...wait, don't get me started. I will never stop.
Mr. Masanobu Koike, a long-time editor for the great literary critic Hideo Kobayashi, told me this fascinating story. One evening, Kobayashi drank with his artist friend in Tokyo. On their way back to Kamakura, Kobayashi started talking about entropy.

Kobayashi was a man of incredibly broad and deep learning. He once discussed at length the philosophy of Henri Bergson, in a famous unfinished work titled "Reflections".

They talked all the way on the train, but the artist friend did not understand what entropy was. Getting off the train at Kamakura station, they kept talking, walking along the road that runs parallel to the precincts of Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine.

As the artist friend did not get it, Kobayashi became all the more excited. While explaining entropy, Kobayashi got closer and closer to the artist friend, with the result that the artist was cornered towards the shallow stream along the road, until finally, he lost balance and dropped into the water.

Splash! The artist lay on his back, quite surprised and bewildered, wet all over. He looked up at Kobayashi, who triumphantly said, "now you see? This is entropy!"

We don't know how and if the artist got even.

I sometimes visit the beautiful old residence of Hideo Kobayashi on the mountain. Getting of the train at Kamakura station, and passing the aforementioned road, I tend to remember this great story of a passionate intellect. With entropy even Hideo Kobayashi can be carried away.

Perhaps fireworks are mirrors.

2011-06-29T08:48:00.001+09:00

The great Fireworks Festival of Nagaoka started, I learned on my last visit, after the city was burned to ashes during the Second World War. Thus the beauty and splendor are dedicated to the souls of the dead. Most of the onlookers would probably be unaware of the significance of the airy show. That's OK. The fireworks work for our aesthetics even in sheer ignorance.

We were standing on the snow, and were looking at the fireworks above, an annual winter display of the magnificent technology. Although on a smaller scale compared to the summer one, it was still grand. There was an eerie quality of the beautiful, lived and experienced, enshrouded by the cold.

Takumi was standing next to me. He has been my sidekick ever since I met him when I was teaching at the Tokyo National University of Fine Arts and Music.

Takumi is a terror to many girls. He is known as "P. Ueda". The prefix comes from the fact that the subject of his oil painting is mainly his private part. He claims that his thing is shaped like the Jaguar emblem.

We were standing on the white field, far from the cheering crowd. All of a sudden, Takumi started to tell me about his mother. She left home when he was six years old, never to return. The next day an aunt came, and made him the first milk coffee of his life. He has not seen his mother ever since.

It is not clear, to this day, what made Takumi tell me the story of the tragedy of his life on that evening, in the show, shivering from cold, looking up at the great display of the fireworks. Maybe it had something to do with the souls. Perhaps fireworks are mirrors.

Cannot go to school.

2011-06-28T13:09:00.003+09:00

I recently met a few pupils who had extraordinary characters. And they can't go to school. Chatting with them, looking at their faces, they appear quite normal, lively, and thoughtful. And yet they cannot go to school. Something within them apparently tells them that going to school is not such a good idea. And I must say that, as far as I could trust my intuition facing them, that it was a sensible choice.

In a country where "home schooling" is an exotic idea, if a boy or a girl boycotts school attendance, parents panic and teachers reproach. Because there is such a narrow range of what could be considered to be "normal behavior", once a pupil steps out of the fairway there's a tremendous pressure to go back.

Talking with headmasters and chairman of the educational board, I sometimes feel that the disease is in the system, rather than in the pupils who boycott it. The air of conformity is so thick that it is suffocating, rather than life saving. If you can go to school, that's fine. Myself, I could go to school everyday and rather liked the experience. But if a child finds it difficult to go to school, that's fine and normal, too. The disease is not in the child. The disease is in the society that enforces conformity, where "home schooling" is still an exotic and "illegal" idea, after all these years.

First bitterness.

2011-06-27T08:22:00.000+09:00

As can be observed from my earlier blog entry (Red bag was the object of desire), I was fond of coffee flavor as a child. Coffee, however, always meant a sweet drink. I never took black coffee. Actually, properly ground and brewed coffee was not so ubiquitous when I was a child.

It was therefore only at the age of 11 that I had a proper black coffee. I was with my mother's sister in a bar, in the southern city of Kokura. My aunt was a woman of the world. She had a wide knowledge of the pleasant and the adorable. She was a gateway into the grown-up world, at least in the eyes of the child.

On that day, for some reason I did not quite comprehend, the bar was open in the afternoon, and I was there, in the ambience of sophistication and posh. My aunt offered me to buy anything I wanted. I looked at the menu, and was quick to see that the most expensive item in the soft drinks was the "blue mountain" coffee.

"Blue mountain coffee, if you please", I said timidly. My aunt looked at me with her big round eyes. "You're a child, and yet you crave for the best", she said. "All right then, a blue mountain coffee. But listen, since you're taking it, no sugar or milk. You've got to drink it black. OK?"

I said fine. My heart was pounding wild as I took my very first taste of the black coffee. To this day, I remember quite vividly the sensation of the black liquid going into my system. It was the encounter with my life's first bitterness. And I didn't regret it.

My father and the motorbike

2011-06-25T08:19:00.000+09:00

Ever since my infancy, I knew one thing for sure. My father was not the type of person who would ride on a motorbike. He might drive a car (he actually did and still does), but he would never ride a motorbike.

So strong was my conviction, that I was quite shocked when my father started taking lessons. Soon he got a rather big motorbike. He would put me in the back seat, and ride in the countryside. Apparently, it was the thing to do for man. Maybe he was having a midlife crisis.

One day, I was walking with my friends towards the playground. In the distance, I noticed a policeman questioning a couple of people. My friends started to say "the police has captured someone! The police has captured someone!" I tried not to look in the direction, and suggested, very casually, that we take alternative routes.

Actually, it was none other than my father, with my grandfather. Apparently, the police was questioning them, for not wearing the helmet. Oh, God, that was embarrassing. My friends kept making fun of the unfortunate couple, while I prayed that my father would not look in my direction. Fortunately, none of my friends there recognized the face of my father.

When we were safely in the playground, I sighed a deep sigh of relief. I then apologized, in my heart, for ignoring a family member (actually, two family members) in a socially perilous situation. When I met my father that evening for dinner, I did not say anything about the incident. My father hushed about it too.

Soon after this day of embarrassment, my father had a minor accident on the motorbike and had his collarbone broken. He was hospitalized for one month. After he got out of the hospital, he got rid of the motorbike. I never saw a motorbike again in my house. The midlife crisis of my father was over.

Under the board, there is hell.

2011-06-22T07:33:00.001+09:00

One of the things that really surprises and impresses me is the resilience of people who have been afflicted by the tsunami disaster. In particular, fishermen and their families seem to have a philosophical resignation for whatever the ocean inflicts upon them.

A few weeks ago, I was visiting one of the most severely damaged areas. I talked with a boy who escaped up the hill behind his house. From where he was, the ocean could not be seen. His grandfather happened to be standing at a place where the sea could be observed, and yelled out that the tsunami was coming. The boy and grandparents fled, grabbing weeds, treading on rocks and boughs, escaping for their life.

Fortunately, they could make a narrow escape. The water came to up the boy's foot, and the waist of grandpa, as then the tsunami began to recede. They stayed in the mountain overnight, shivering in the cold. The next morning, the rescue and relief came.

When I asked the boy if he wanted to live near the sea again, he said yes. Considering the flight that he had, and the complete destruction of his house, this answer seems surprising. But then the philosophy about the ocean is deeply different. His father is a fisherman. A fisherman's life is in and from the ocean. A fishermen faces the forces of mother nature. That's is the name of the profession. Nature is usually benevolent, but can become quite savage from time to time.

Among the Japanese fisherman, there is a saying "under the board, there is hell". Below the safety of the board of the ship, the vast ocean is lurking, which can become brutal at any moment, and when that happens, there is no resisting the unleashed energy. Humans are at the mercy of the forces of nature, ever since the beginning of time, now, and in the future forever.

Under the board, there is hell. This philosophy of fisherman is probably true for all of us, even in the bright lights of civilization. We sometimes forget that.

We just sat on the river bank, and watched the water flow.

2011-06-19T08:44:00.000+09:00

Youth is about wondering, not knowing why or how, and making many mistakes.

As I look back, my college days were full of wonders and mistakes. And the figure of a fat man was always with me.

His name is Ken Shiotani. He is a fat philosopher at large, meaning he has no job. His wife supports him. It is amazing to think that he worked for Japanese government once. That's where he met his wife. Now he has achieved a status of the "Totoro" character in Hayao Miyazaki's film. Nobody knows why he is here, but he is here anyway. And he is incredibly clever. He is too clever to make a living in this vulgar world.

I met Ken Shiotani as I entered college, and have been with him ever since. Once, we were lying on the bank of the Sumida River, with a can of beer each in our hands. We were making confessions about girls, as well as discussing difficult questions in Physics and Mathematics.

It was dusk, and many lovers were strolling the river bank in couples. They saw us, two blokes, drinking beer, speaking nonsense. They took the natural reaction of avoiding us, not coming to within a 10 meter radius of where we were lying. Maybe they thought that we were homeless people. We were dressed quite shabbily. Once I was refused by a restaurant owner when I tried to enter with Ken Shiotani. For some strange reasons, Ken Shiotani is always wearing a pair of sandals. Even in the middle of winter. Maybe that's why he looks like a retired sumo wrestler.

In any case, that evening, when Ken Shiotani and I lay on the bank of the Sumida River, drinking beer, talking about girls, physics, and mathematics, abhorred like pests by the well-meaning couples, stands as an epitome of my bohemian days. We were ignorant, full of hope, and did not know where we were going. We just sat on the river bank, and watched the water flow.

Boy's eye in the keyhole.

2011-06-18T08:34:00.000+09:00

Once I was in the restroom of a railway terminal. It was what some people would call "no.2". As I was sitting there, I noticed that there was a footstep outside. Incredibly, an eye looked into my private space through the keyhole. It was a small boy, about 5 years old.

The boy looked into the toilet quite eagerly. His eye showed all the symptoms of earnestness and concentration. Naturally I felt strange, but then understood.

The boy apparently wanted to go to the toilet so desperately. An emergency situation. It was apparently "no.2". If it had been "no.1", the boy would have gone the other way. As the boy was so intent on going to the toilet, he was looking into the otherwise private space, to see who was there, and what he was up to.

Fortunately for the boy, I was just about to finish. So I said, "wait, I will be finished very soon. Just wait!"
After flushing, I opened the door. A cute boy hurried into the toilet, noticeably relieved.

As I went back to the corridors of the terminal building, I could not help smiling. How desperate the boy must have been! To this day, I remember the very intent expression of the boy's eye in the keyhole. It reminded me of a wild rabbit I once encountered out there in Scotland.

The Octopus Woman of Wales

2011-06-17T08:44:00.000+09:00

I stayed in England for two years, and have been returning to the country ever since. I found the English true to the reputation world wide. Reserved, masters of understatements.

Therefore it was a shock to learn an alternative culture different from the English. One day I traveled to Wales. I got on the train to reach Cardiff. On the way to St. David's, Britain's smallest city, I dropped off the station and went into a pub.

The pub was fairly crowded at the middle of the day. There was a group of people near the window, making a merry music. A man was playing the guitar, and men and women were singing to the music. As I look back, that scene itself was already a rarity, to an eye accustomed to the English reservedness.

I found a seat at the bar, and sipped a pint of local ale. The music making folks had apparently been drinking quite a few pints of beer themselves, judging from the merriment of their noise.

Suddenly, a woman stood up, and started walking. She came towards me dancing, moving her arms and legs like an octopus. As she passed by me, something incredible happened. She grabbed my private part, squeezed it, and went on walking, dancing like an octopus.

I was naturally shocked and was still aghast, when the woman returned from the restroom. She was still dancing like an octopus. I anticipated a repeat.

My anticipation went unanswered. The victim this time was a gentleman sitting a few stools away. The octopus woman walked dancing, and grabbed the private part of that gentleman, squeezed it, and went back to the music group, dancing like an octopus.

People laughed, the gentleman laughed, and I laughed at last, recovering from repercussions of the unknown. Maybe things were different in Wales. Take it easy, and let things go. After a few pints and a bathing in the sun of a golden afternoon, I began to understand the Welsh way of life.

I have encountered many strange things in my life, but my private part has been squeezed by a woman only once. Here's to the octopus woman of Wales.

Constellations

2011-06-15T09:54:00.000+09:00

Once in a lifetime you notice an entirely new universe, and see that stars are shining in a great constellation. In the naive belief that they're near, you try to reach out, only to realize the formidable distance between the sources of light and your good self.

At those moments, you feel so desperate. You feel that the distance is never to be overcome. You can only yearn for the stars, and are forever bound to the earth. You feel so miserable and tiny.

And yet, here's a thought that might make you relax. True, you may never reach the stars. True, you might not become a member of the constellation yourself. However, it remains that you have seen it. There are lives led quite happily without ever knowing the existence of the new universe that you are craving for. People living in blissful ignorance. You, who have looked up at the sky, and noticed the stars shining, are nearer to that space than before.

Even if you cannot reach the stars physically, lights have already started to shine within yourself. You may think that stars shine only in the heavenly space. But one day, you might find a little tiny luminance within your heart, independent of the constellation above, but inspired by, and enlivened through, a subtle resonance between your good self and the unreachable stars.

When this happens, you would smile like you have never smiled before. And I'd love to see that smile. Maybe I would love the smile better than the constellations.

Red bag was the object of desire.

2011-06-14T17:58:00.001+09:00

When I was at kindergarten, there were two kinds of bags for milk money. Each morning we would bring 50 yen for the milk provided at lunch. White bag was for the ordinary milk, and red bag was for the coffee-flavored one.

In the morning, we would put the milk money bag into a wooden box, with our names on it. Some were white, others were red. Somehow, my mother got an idea into her head that I was never allowed to bring the red bag to kindergarten. I looked with a painful agony and wishfu longing at the red bags that my friends brought and joyfully put into the wooden box.

Red bag was the dream of my life. Red bag was the object of desire. There was nothing more adorable than the sight of a red bag
in the wooden box. I remember it vividly even now.

Yellow umbrella.

2011-06-13T07:20:00.002+09:00

It is rainy season in Japan now, so that every day is almost certainly wet. I can't say I enjoy this time of the year so much. I am a walker, and do not like to carry around an umbrella. I do, however, have a cherished memory associated with the rainy season. It started with an umbrella.

I was 9, a 3rd grader in the elementary school. One day it was raining hard, and I was alone in the classroom. It was dark inside and outside. I was feeling lonely. I don't recall why I lingered on in the classroom. Maybe I left something behind and returned to get it. I was a careless boy then, and probably still am.

Feeling the pain, I went to the window, and looked on the school ground. There was not a soul there, except a classmate of mine. It was Kumiko. Kumiko held a yellow umbrella, and walked alone in the pouring rain, in the middle of the school ground.

I do not know how it happened. Kumiko seemed so small, so isolated, and yet she carried on with her steps, holding the yellow umbrella, walking towards the school gate, perhaps in pain like myself. Exactly at that moment, I realized that Kumiko was dear to me. It was the first time in my life that I ever realized that someone was so special in my heart. It was a moment of love.

Thus, the rainy season is somehow associated with the image of Kumiko, with a yellow umbrella, walking alone in the school ground. When I think about it, the raindrops becomes tears from a past long gone.

Other people are mirrors.

2011-06-12T09:14:00.001+09:00

Other people are mirrors. In them, you see the reflection of your own self. Sometimes the reflections are distorted, but they are still helpful in coming to terms with yourself.

Often it so happens that you express at length your deepest passion, what you value, only to be ridiculed and ignored in the end. It has not come across to the listener. Your eloquent expressions have fallen on deaf ears. At those moments, you feel as if you have been betrayed by the world, and you start secretly licking your wounds. And yet, what is actually happening then is a beautiful self-recognition. You have come to your true self by stumbling on the rocky surface of miscommunication.

At other occasions the resonance is overwhelming, sometimes almost frightening. You feel your own idea appreciated and absorbed by the other party. It starts going to and fro between you and him (her), until the energy is magnified and reach a truly phenomenal dimension. You embrace the bliss of living, and being together becomes magic.

Whether resulting in resonance or rejection, other people are always mirrors, reflecting ourselves in a yet unelucidated mathematics of transpersonal infection.

But the anger is there.

2011-06-11T10:23:00.000+09:00

Since the Great Eastern Japan Earthquake on 11th March 2011, I have visited the tsunami-afflicted areas twice.

Once I was drove a hired car from the Sendai station myself. I was unable to leave the vehicle, haunted by what I saw. I did not have any connections to make myself useful for the people in need. I could merely witness, feeling inexplicably and deeply guilty, unable to make sense of what was happening and what had happened.

On the second occasion, I visited a temporary school for junior high students who lost their houses by the tsunami. They were all up and going, smiles on their faces. The headmaster told me that despite their optimistic outlooks they have experienced worse than nightmares. On the night they escaped into the mountains, many elderly people passed away. It was a cold night. Some had fled just wearing t-shirts. And yet, on the day that I went, their faces were all smiles and forward looking.

I have been spending many hours thinking what I could do. The destruction caused by the tsunami is beyond belief. Miles, literally miles of habitats washed away. Entire communities lost forever.

I don't know how it is, but the only way I can seek atonement is by changing. To make this nation, which has been stagnant for a couple of decades now, go in a new direction. To reinvent myself, so that I am more open, more linked, more outgoing.

And there is deep anger at the stagnation of Japan in general. I know the connection is illogical. The indignation at the inability of the nation to change has nothing to do with the brutal physical force in the shape of tsunami. But the anger is there. It has to change.

The trip (I)

2011-05-05T09:45:00.002+09:00

It was in the earl days of May, 2011, that I found myself finally on a Tohoku Shinkansen train bound for Sendai.

It was a trip mixed with apprehension and remorse. Apprehension, as I did not quite know what to expect. I was planning to hire a car. Would the road be OK? Will I be able to get gas? Remorse, as the trip was somewhat overdue. I would have liked to travel to the devastated area earlier, helping people in need in any way I could. But simply couldn't. I suspect it was partly a question of schedule and partly inaptitude lurking in my personal traits. I was simply unable to find a temporal or psychological "window" to travel to the afflicted areas, no matter what the consequences might be.

A few weeks earlier, I was having conversation with Nobuto Ariyoshi, Chief Producer of "The Professionals" program on NHK, in which I played the role of the castor for more than 4 years. Nobuto and I are very close personal friends.

I was telling Nobuto about my plan, and revealed that I would probably walk from the Sendai station towards the sea, thus making myself independent of any means of transportation. "You should definitely go to Onagawa", Nobuto said. "You should head towards where the Maine Pal building used to be."

Nobuto went for a few weeks to the NHK outposts in the Sendai area, helping his colleagues report on the state of the region and people's tremendous efforts towards recovery in the afflicted area. Nobuto said he had seen scenes of damage beyond description. "It goes on and on and on", Nobuto said. "Even with our best efforts as tv journalists, we simply could not cover everything. There are many unreported sufferings, unnoticed by the world, silently endured by those affected. You should definitely go there yourself and see how it is"

It was perhaps Nobuto's words that finally pushed my back to venture into the most severely damaged areas. I decided to go to Onagawa as Nobuto suggested, and witness the devastation by myself. I felt that I had a duty to experience it, almost like a moral imperative, and report it to the larger world in my own words, to record and not to forget, what happened to many innocent lives.

Preparation for the trip was an uneasy one. I had to think what I could do, once getting there. Would I have a chance to talk to the small kids in the refugee camps? Would they be pleased, if I had a few snacks to share? How about a few boxes of "Mushroom Mountain" and "Bamboo Village" chocolates, two definitive favorites of Japanese children? Or should I bring some interesting books that the kids can read in the long afternoons in the school gym, where they and their families are taking refuge? Should I consider helping people with the clearing of debris, an indispensable action in the process towards recovery?

It was difficult to assess the situation beforehand. There were reports of too many materials being sent to the relief camps. Books are difficult to match, people having different preferences and interests. I felt somewhat shy of bringing my own books. Probably I would appear too presumptuous.

After much thought, I finally came to the conclusion that I should go anyway, without any definite plans to do any specific volunteer works. It is quite possible that I may be unable to visit the relief camps in a proper way, without a prior arrangement. I may just have to observe, and see what I can do, perhaps not on the spot, but on the intermediate to long terms. Of course, should some opportunities arise where I could be of any help, I would and should be prepared. I put a pair of thick cotton gloves, and a pack of masks into my backpack. Finally, I set off.

As the Tohoku Shinkansen train left the platform, there was much formality and perhaps a little bit of tension on the train bound for Sendai. "In the event of an earthquake, the train would make an emergency stop", the train conductor warned in a carefully worded announcement. The digital news flash above the door of the car carried a special message, expressing condolences to the people in Tohoku for the tremendous loss, and hoping for a recovery. When I walked out onto the deck to go to the toilet, there was a man in black suits, wearing the Japan Railway Company badge. Apparently, this gentleman, most probably a management high in the rank, was stationed there on the train to see to it that everything was going as planned.

It was quite understandable that they were taking these precautions. The Tohoku Shinkansen train, the pride of Japan Railway East Company, had resumed its operations only a few days earlier. The Tohoku line was severely damaged by the earthquake. The resumption of Shinkansen service, after a hectic recovery effort in defiance of aftershocks and threat of power shortages, was regarded by many to symbolize the hope that things, somehow, would slowly go back to normal again, if not immediately for the better.

As the bullet train approached Sendai station, I looked for signs of damage inflicted by the earthquake. There were blue sheets here and there on the house roofs, indicating an ongoing repair process. Apart from those visual signs of irregularities, the city of Sendai seemed to be up and going.

Getting off the train at Sendai station, I began to see signs of recovery. People in the corridors were smiling, briskly going on with their own businesses. Pupils in school uniforms were chatting loudly, as any healthy teenagers would do. Store clerks were selling at the top of their voices local delicacies and souvenirs. I was heartened to see these testimonials of the energy and determination of the Sendai people to make life tick, no matter what.

I slipped into the rental car office. I could only reserve an outdated model. I would have preferred a hybrid car, which would have alleviated worries about the need to refill gas on the way.

Gas was a natural theme for our conversation. "Would you fill the gas before you return the vehicle?" asked the store clerk in a polite manner. "Sure," I said. "I wonder if there would be any trouble with the gas stations?" At that time, memories were still fresh with images of people lining up for the gas, in the days after the earthquake. There was a high profile tragedy of a man who was lining up to fill some gas for his daughter at night, taking warmth from a heater, fell asleep, and was killed by carbon monoxide poisoning. "The gas stands are quite all right", the man in uniform answered. "At least within the city of Sendai."

The store clerk took me to the car park. The number plate was that of Okinawa. Presumably, they had to take in cars from the tropical island to fill the shortage of rental cars in Sendai area. The car was small, but functioning excellently. You could not expect less from a Japanese car rental company.

It was thus with a little anxiety and trepidation that I got on the road to Ishinomaki and Onagawa. Honestly, I did not know what to expect. For sure, I have seen the coverage of the tsunami disaster and the devastation inflicted upon the region. However, as Nobuto said, the damage was apparently too severe and widespread to give a full coverage. I just had to see and take in, in order to start things in earnest, my way.

(This is a part of a series of essays written after the earthquake of 11th March, 2011, which brought devastations to eastern Japan.)

Everybody is different, everybody is good.

2011-05-01T12:36:00.001+09:00

After leaving the city of Hagi, we went on a seaside route, heading towards the hot spring town of Nagatoyumoto. "Yumoto" (literally meaning the source of hot water) is a common denominator for many hot spring places in Japan. Our designated lodging for the evening was Otani Sanso, which has a reputation of wonderful service and food, combined with, needless to say, an excellent bathing experience in hot water.

On the way to the hot spring town, I was looking out of the car window with an idle heart. The impressions felt at the school under the pine tree was still very much alive within me. What are we going to do? In the flow of consciousness, in the aftermath of an intensive encounter, I was taking it somewhat easy, absorbing with interest the passing coastal scenery of the Sea of Japan.

At a turn, a roadside sign attracted my attention. "Misuzu Kaneko Memorial Museum", it said. Misuzu Kaneko is a household name in Japan, famous for her poems, which are poignant and vibrant, verging on being almost beyond belief, that such words could ever come out of a human mind.

"Everybody is different, everybody is good", she wrote in one of her well-known masterpieces. Thus to praise diversity is a politically correct cliche nowadays. Given the context and age in which these words were churned out, Misuzu's words are almost like miracles. Misuzu's poetry provides such a wonderful and gentle penetrator into the human soul, moving people, inducing them to be fundamentally better.

"I cannot spread my hands and fly. Birds are unable to run fast on the ground like me. When I shake my body, I don't make an enchanting sound. Bells do not know many songs as I do. Bells, birds, and me. Everybody is different, everybody is good."
Misuzu's works are in plain and simple Japanese, so that even a small child can understand and appreciate them. The philosophy expressed is deep. It resonates well with the traditional sensitivity of the Japanese for the changing and the perishing, including their own lives. The appreciation of the pathos of things ("mononoaware").

Reading her poems, one feels that Misuzu's heart is always with the suppressed and defeated. In one of her poems, Misuzu portrays the joys of fisherman at great harvest, contrasting it with the mourning processions of fish in the ocean weeping for the lost ones.

Misuzu was born in 1903, and her short life ended in 1930. She was only 26. Her marriage to an untruthful and profligate husband resulted in much misery and a prolonged battle over the custody of their only daughter. Finally, Misuzu could not take it any more. The poet took poison, escaping from the miseries of life.

Thus, from a practical point of view, Misuzu's life might have been a tragedy. However, the purifying effect of Misuzu's genius meant that the sufferings and torments had no trace in her works. Reading her lines, one would not suspect the ups and downs (mostly downs) of her personal life. Actually, it comes as a great shock for many of Misuzu's poem lovers, to get to know the actual history of her existence.

The very magic of Misuzu's poetry resides thus in the cleansing process. The secret of creativity is to hide its sources, said Albert Einstein. Misuzu's life and her works are great lessons for humanity, telling us that it is possible to remain mellow and pure after unspeakable afflictions. Turning sour as a reaction to hardships is not necessarily a natural course of things. People from children to mature adults simply adore Misuzu's lyrics. Perhaps we can all sense, without even knowing why, the existence of a deep, and embracing love in what Misuzu writes.

The roadside sign for "Misuzu Kaneko Memorial Museum" brought all these reflections within me. We were passing the seaside town of Senzaki, where the poet with a gentle heart was born and lived. It is probably fitting, I thought, that I remembered Misuzu Kaneko at this time of difficulty. Maybe we can learn a lot of things from the lovely poems of Misuzu. Perhaps we can all be like children again. Then we could derive strength from the audacity of youth.

The sun was inclined towards the west as our car arrived at Otani Sanso. There was one hour or so before supper. At such times, I always make a point of walking around, trying to get to know the area, acquainting myself with the ambience of the land. After casual conversations, I discovered that my editor and photographer preferred a dip in hot water to physical activities. I thus set out alone, exploring on my own the tranquil charms of the town of Nagatoyumoto.

There was a river just in front of the hotel, and a small path led gently to the riverbank. It was clearly a stroll designed to entertain the whimsical and easygoing hearts of people coming to relax in the hot spring. The route was flat and effortless, inducing one to go into deep thoughts.

It was only a few weeks after the earthquake and tsunami, and the connotations were inescapable. The town of Nagatoyumoto was far from the sea and there was no real danger of a tsunami. However, the river flow reminded me of the numerous towns in the ocean side exposed to and perished by the savage forces of the tidal waves. Suddenly I felt like crying.

How many people would you say there are, in this quiet and lovely town of Nagatoyumoto? One thousand? Maybe two thousand. It is such a small and beautiful town. The traces of history, the tiny workings of the everyday, are the building blocks for this community. The breathings and touches of people are recorded and expressed in every tiny nuance of the town. There is nothing more beautiful than the venerable, peaceful tranquility of a historical community.

And yet, in Tohoku, numerous communities were lost as the result of the earthquake. Houses where memories had been kept, tiny paths children hed been using to go to school over the years, pa and ma shops where laughter and opinions had been exchanged, were lost forever, in the brutal wave caused by the tremors of earth's crest.

There is no atonement for such a loss. It is, simply and precisely put, irreparable. I thought to myself, trying to come to terms with the unexpected surge of emotion.

Walking along the serene flow of the river, I cast my eyes on the loveliness of the town of Nagatoyumoto. After what we have experienced in the earthquake, appreciation has perhaps become deeper and more lasting. You learn to take pleasure in the smallest of things, like a pot of plant placed in a garden corner.

Everybody is different, everybody is good. I thought of Misuzu Kaneko again. Her creations have been inspiring and giving a lot of courage to people. Did she ever come to find solace in the hot water here, I wondered. Did she ever have a moment of tranquility, when comfort came her way, rather than she offering the world words of sunshine?

At that moment, I felt as if my personal happiness depended very much on the answer.

I sincerely hoped she did.

(This is a part of a series of essays written after the earthquake of 11th March, 2011, which brought devastations to eastern Japan. This essay is a sequel to "School under the pine tree".)

School under the pine tree

2011-04-23T10:41:00.003+09:00

It was Thursday, 24th March 2011, the 12th day after the earthquake. Early in the morning, I headed toward the Haneda airport, which Tokyo residents use for mostly domestic flights. For the first time after the earthquake, I was to leave Tokyo. I had not been out of Tokyo since the 7th, when I returned from a trip to Hakata, Kyushu. Prior to that, I had been to the United States, attending the TED conference at Long Beach.

I am normally a restless fellow. The 17 days stay time in Tokyo was unusually long. After the quake hit Tokyo, two business trips had been cancelled; one to Kyoto, and one to a hot spring near Sendai. Actually, Sendai was within the most severely damaged area. Had either my trip or the earthquake been a few days off, it was possible that I might have been affected by the worst quake in Japan's postwar history. I could have been unable to move and breathe amongst the calamities.

As I approached the airport terminal, something seemed to start circulating within my system; something that I had long forgotten. I met my editor and photographer in front of the check-in counter. "Hey, I'm glad to see you well. Where were you when the earthquake hit??" We greeted each other with what had become the virtually default question since the quake, "where were you at that time?".

Everything is electronic in a contemporary airport. I put my printout of e-ticket over the reader, and was very cordially directed to the security gate. As a Japanese, I am accustomed to these mannerisms, but for this once, a dash of thankful emotion surged towards those in uniform. I placed my MacBook on the tray, took off my coat, walked through the metal detector gate, and collected my things back into the bag. The whole procedure was something that had become a routine, something I took almost for granted. And yet, it felt so fresh and even "shining" after the nervous confinement in the aftershocks-rocked Tokyo.

My destination in this trip was Yamaguchi prefecture. Some 100 years before I was born, this region had been one of the centers for the major social change that brought about the modernization of Japan--The Meiji Restoration in 1867. Its unique status as the arbiter of modern Japan meant that people from Yamaguchi always occupied a central position in politics. 61 prime ministers have led 94 cabinets in the modern era. Of those, 9 prime ministers had come from Yamaguchi, including the first-ever Japanese prime minister, Hirobumi Ito, and the latest as I write this, Mr. Naoto Kan, who is currently carrying the weight of restoring Japan back to health after the earthquake.

Although the trip itself had an independent purpose, I made a point of visiting Shoka-sonjuku in the city of Hagi, Yamaguchi prefecture. It was my very first visit. Shoka-sonjuku, which literally means "village private school under the pine tree", was instrumental in bringing about the Meiji Restoration. In this now legendary school, Shoin Yoshida, the much learned and spiritual leader, taught young people and inspired them. His disciples later proved to be instrumental in realizing the revolutionary social changes that led to the modernization of Japan.

I always wanted to express my deepest respect to Shoin Yoshida somehow, the great teacher whose idealism and passion was a source of inspiration to those who envisioned a new Japan. The period in which Yoshida taught at the school under the pine tree was rather short. He began his lectures in 1857, at the young age of 27, succeeding his uncle's role as the headmaster. His lecture ran for just one year, during which time such notable young samurais as Shinsaku Takasugi and Hirobumi Ito were inspired to do what they could towards the building of a new Japan.

In the days eventually leading to the Meiji Restoration, the turmoil caused by the dying cries and oppositions from the "ancient regime" meant that many aspiring and innocent young lives would be lost for petty or fake charges by the powers that be. Two years after he assumed the role of headmaster at the school under the pine tree, Shoin Yoshida was sentenced to death for his alleged involvement in a foiled assassination attempt against a high Tokunaga shogunate official. He was only 29.

It was awe inspiring to stand in front of the building of the school under the pine tree, which remains to this day. It is such a small establishment. Nowadays, the name "juku" (private school) refers to prep school for entrance exams, which are usually conducted in an increasingly outdated "paper test" paradigm. What a trivialization of a once brilliant and intense idea. How do modern academic institutions such as universities compare with the humble and (you could almost say with much reverence) shabby school under the pine tree, in terms of passion and vision, not in terms of physical grandeur or authorities endowed on them by the government?

Histories are not easily forgotten in Japan, a nation always obsessed with its own past. In the year 2010, Japanese people earnestly consumed stories about those young samurais who brought about the Meiji Restoration. The sentiment was that it was now a time for great changes in Japan, and the stories of the enterprising young ones, who dedicated their lives towards the opening of new Japan, inspired people.

The year 2011, well before the devastating quake and tsunami attack, brought new wind of sentiment to the land of rising sun: It is good to appreciate the inspiring tales from the Meiji Restoration. However, if the appreciation was not accompanied by practical measures and tactful implementations, it would by all possibilities end as an unfruitful consumption of fantasies. The more than 150 years of distance in time from the Meiji Restoration meant that it was now possible to keep a safe distance between the current affairs and the vibrant turmoil of the bygone era. There was a danger that the story of Meiji Restoration would remain fairy tales, irrelevant to the contemporary issues. As the year 2011 dawned, the Zeitgeist was noticeably changing. People were starting to take things more seriously, at their factual values. Fantasy scenarios no longer sufficed. People were starting to feel restless.

It no longer appeared sufficient, or indeed appropriate, just to praise the events leading to the Meiji Restoration. Social parameters have changed. Time had moved on.

And then the earthquake struck Japan. Many things were "reset". In waking up from the aftermath, we were searching, not so much for an answer, but a direction we could follow.

It was at this poignant moment that I stood before the school under the pine tree. I was searching within myself, for a feeling that I could trust. The context had changed completely. Japan is in great crisis. My personal life would be also affected. Perhaps we would emerge out of this crisis as a different kind of people. Maybe the change will be dramatic. Alternatives would enter the main stream. Japan would be transformed, possibly beyond recognition.

The trumpet shall sound, and we shall be changed. The question is how, and in which direction? Standing in front of the school under the pine tree, I was searching for an answer. I am still searching for one now.

The school under the pine tree. (Photo taken by the author)

Awaitings (I).

2011-03-23T16:34:00.004+09:00

It is the 11th day after the quake, and the grim reality continues to penetrate our existence.

Natural disasters are always bad enough. Loss of life is intolerable, no matter on what scale. Having said that, this particular earthquake has been simply too devastating. Nobody yet knows for sure how many lives have been lost. Some communities have been wiped away in their entireties, leaving no one to report the missing, or deplore and weep for the deceased.

As of this morning, the Asahi Shimbun reported that the number of confirmed death is now 9199, with another 18456 missing. This appalling arithmetic of death is most probably an "underestimate" for the true nature of damage. We can only imagine, shudder and pray at this stage. In such a tragedy, deepening as things unfold, grief finds no end. Ultimately, there would be no soothing for a calamity of this scale. One could only hope for the beneficial effects of the passage of time.

In and around Tokyo, shortage of power is predicted to continue through the summer, when heavy and widespread use of air conditioning would inevitably result in peak power consumption levels. Scheduled power outage is actually likely to continue well into the winter of 2011/2012. If this forecast by those in charge proves to be the case (and all indications are that it probably will turn out to be the case), the very foundation of society as we have known it might be compromised. Termination of electricity even for a few hours, if prolonged, would seriously disrupt activities in the capital. Through the dense network of influence and interdependence in today's economical systems, the effects will be eventually felt here, there, and everywhere. And I am not talking just about Japan.

We already hear small businesses cornered to the rim of bankruptcy. Big companies are also affected, finding impossible to carry on business as usual. The entertainment and restaurant industries are clearly the worst affected. In a central Tokyo hotel I visited this Tuesday, half of the restaurants were announced closed.

In the publishing sector, with which I am involved myself, people talk about paper shortage, resulting in postponed magazine publications and cancelation of book launches. Friends of mine who work as freelancers have had their assignments cancelled at a very short notice. If this wave of cancellations prolongs, many lives will be seriously affected.

The damaging ripples this disaster has wrought upon the people is widespread, deep, and unprecedented. And yet, for many Japanese, this particular disaster has a certain element of the "deja vu." Although the damage exceeded almost any alarmist's expectations, the fact that a major earthquake would strike any given part of Japan some day or other has been buried in the Japanese psyche for all those years.

Anticipation of a disaster to come has been in this writer's mind, too. Ever since infancy, for as long as I can recollect, as a matter of fact. The expectation of a tremor to come has been in my subconscious mind, influencing in often unexpected ways my world view and personality. I suspect this is the case for many people here.

My grandfather Shichiro Mogi experienced the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, in which more than 100000 people were killed. The epicenter was off Kanagawa, close enough to cause severe damage in Tokyo. Shichiro was living in downtown Tokyo at that time. When I was small, Shichiro often told me, his first grandson, about the traumatic experience, especially around the 1st of September each year, the date the earthquake hit. Although the details of his descriptions now escape me, I vividly remember the way Shichiro narrated the great fire caused by the earthquake. "When I made an escape up the hills at Ueno Park", he would often tell me, "I could see an ocean of fire from the hills towards the Tokyo Bay" On the way back home on the morning after, Shichiro would keep telling me, he saw many dead bodies in and around the river, many of them burned, too numerous and quite uncountable. The calm demeanor with which Shichiro conveyed these words to the then small me was in a marked contrast to the graphic scene described. Maybe he did not want to frighten the grandson too much.

Looking back, I suspect that it was those narratives of my grandpa Shichiro as well as the information that I got from television, books, etc. that formed my impression that life-threatening earthquake could happen any time where I live, in a nation called "Nippon" or "Nihon". Even as a child, I understood the vulnerabilities involved in living in the country of Mount Fuji.

When I was 5 or 6, I started to have dreams. It was the same dream again and again, and would invariably leave me sweating in bed as I awoke. In it, I am watching a mountain, not in such a great distance, but far enough from town so that I can only dimly see its rather ominous shadow against the sky. All of a sudden, the mountain splits into two, and a white, gigantic monster emerges from the schism. Silently, but with clear and malicious intent, the monster drifts, towards the town, towards me.

I panic. I know for sure that if the monster ever gets me, it would afflict on me an agonizing death, or something much worse, although I could not tell exactly what would happen. So I run. I dash though the streets, never looking back, but always feeling the presence of the white gigantic monster behind me. Sure it is coming onto me.

Finally I take refuge in a house in town, belonging to somebody I don't know, with a very large glass pane facing the street. Once crouching in the cozy darkness of the house, I feel relieved, although I am aware that the escape might be only temporary and illusory. However, I do say to myself: Here, even if the white monster comes, it would not be able to see me, as I am so tiny and down below. From the monster's point of view, I am just one of the millions of people being chased, and would therefore hardly count. I think it was in these dreams that I learned to rebel in the comforting knowledge of being insignificant.

Still crouching, I hear a radio playing aloud somewhere. A man's voice is giving the latest news about the monster. The grownups are also afraid, as I can acutely sense from the tone of his words. The tension within me also gets higher. I don't lose my mind, however, managing to reassure myself in this state of anonymity.

I invariably woke up at this point. The moment I came to myself, I realized that it had been that dream again. I found much solace in the fact that I was safe in bed, in my house, which was not ostensibly destroyed. As I recall, I can see that the "white gigantic monster" most probably symbolized the natural disasters that might strike me one day. The earthquake was first and foremost on the agenda of my little imagination.

I don't think mine was an oddball case. Many people in Japan grow up with a vivid awareness of earthquake vulnerabilities. In this process, the fear of the earthquake gets tightly woven into the makeup of people. The sensitivity and preparedness to something, something that might strike us at any moment, anywhere, in any context. This particular way of feeling probably helps us Japanese get prepared for the eventualities, while admittedly having certain side effects.

As I grew up, my earthquake-related dreams became more specific. I dreamed often, for example, about the damage a big earthquake inflicts on house. I am in my parents' house, and the whole structure suddenly shakes. I fear for my life, and take shelter under the table, as every child is taught to do in this country. However, it is not my house that gets crushed. Instead, my neighbor's house, which was taller than my parents', would be bent in the middle by the quake like a sheet of paper, and the upper structure would come falling down on our house. I scream the cultural equivalent of "Oh My God!" I invariably woke up at this point, back to consciousness, back to safety. I had a tendency to wake up from dreams at my most vulnerable moments, such a convenient child that I was.

The worse fate I dreamt up for my neighbor's house probably did not come from any selfishness or wishful thinking on my part. It was simply easier, given the makeup of the visual system of the brain, to imagine the neighbor's house collapsing, which I could "render" to myself from the vantage point of the outside. In other words, it is much more difficult to imagine the housing that you're currently in literally crushing onto your body. It is difficult to imagine such a tragedy inflicted on yourself, all the more so to actually experience it and cope.

(To be continued)

Sun, moon, mountains, and water.

2011-03-22T15:06:00.005+09:00

We need to keep diversity at any cost, even at a time of difficulty such as this. Stiff upper lips, with occasional smiles emanating to all around.

It was therefore a good thing that my best friend Shinya Shirasu went ahead with the arts exhibition that he produced and curated himself. The exhibition opened 8 days after the earthquake hit Tohoku area, in the Setagaya Art Museum in western Tokyo.
Shinya comes from a very privileged family background. Shinya's grandfather, Jiro Shirasu, from whom he perhaps inherited the ragged good looks, became famous for his active role in "nation building" after the end of Second World War.

Jiro Shirasu was educated at Cambridge, made friends with British upper class. Upon returning to Japan, he foresaw that the war with the United States was inevitable, no matter how unwise that action was. Shirasu also predicted that Japan would lose the war, a perception he presumably and well-advisedly kept to himself given the raging nationalistic sentiments at that time. Shirasu retreated himself into the suburb, bought a farm, and lived a life of a "country gentleman". In the legendary country house ("Buaiso", now a museum open to the public) Shirasu kept the quiet style of a hermit, keeping a distance from the wartime government of Japan.

On 15th August 1945, Emperor Showa (then Emperor Hirohito) delivered the famous "Gyokuon hoso" ("Jewel voice broadcast") over the radio, which effectively announced the Japanese surrender. Shortly after that, when the long-time friend and mentor Shigeru Yoshida was appointed Prime Minister, Shirasu's active political life began, which made his name in history.

Shirau was appointed as an advisor at the Central Liaison Office, which had the important mission of negotiating with the General Head Quarters led by General McArthur. Shirasu had a substantial role in the formation of the new Constitution of Japan, which was drafted amid dense and often heated negotiations between the GHQ and Japanese government.

At a time when most Japanese obeyed the orders of the American conquerors without questions, Shirasu was described as the "only defiant Japanese", who sometimes defied GHQ orders as a man of principles.

Jiro Shirasu (from http://bit.ly/g7xe4f )

65 or something years later, Shinya Shirasu sometimes reminds one of the defiance of his grandfather. Shinya has just gone ahead with the arts exhibition ("Prayers to nature") against the wave of event and meeting cancellations after the earthquake. This particular exhibition commemorates the centennial anniversary of the birth of his grandmother, Masako Shirasu. Masako was married to Jiro Shirasu, an art lover with a good taste and essayist with a soul, famous in her own right.

Shinya's grandfather on his mother's line was the great literary critic Hideo Kobayashi, who established almost singlehandedly the modern Japanese prose style of critical essays. Auditory records of Kobayashi's lectures, now available on CDs, are "The Old Testament" of Japanese public speech. Hideo Kobayashi's daughter married with a son of Jiro and Masako Shirasu, giving birth to Shinya and his younger sister. Given such a background, it is fair to say that Shinya is truly a "royal straight flush" of Japanese culture, as I am wont to say rather teasingly to Shinya.)

Masako Shirasu (from http://amba.to/goQ0vc )

Hideo Kobayashi (from http://bit.ly/dSIkhA)

Shinya Shirasu (from http://bit.ly/9wTqoy)

On the afternoon of 18th March 2011, exactly one week after the earthquake hit, Shinya held the opening ceremony at the Setagaya Art Museum. It was a difficult day, which is perhaps an understatement. The public transportation in Tokyo was still chaotic, and there was this (both in psychological and practical terms) very real danger of then ongoing nuclear crisis at Fukushima Daiichi. I decided to go, for friendship's sake. I knew how much energy and passion Shinya Shirasu has put into the preparation of this exhibition. Friends stand by friends at difficult times.

One of the masterpieces on exhibition was the "Jitsugetsu sansui-zu" ("Sun, moon, mountains, and water") screen dating from the 16th century, which Shinya's grandmother Masako Shirasu "discovered" in a temple in western Japan and brought to the public's attention through her essays.

Opportunity to see this famous screen at first hand is rare and far in-between, except at special exhibitions like this one. Kongoji temple in the south of Osaka city, which has been protecting this precious piece of art into modern times, exhibits it only on two designated days a year, acting on quite understandable intentions of preserving a irreplaceable cultural heritage.

Thus, it was with great anticipations that I went to the Setagaya Art Museum on the day of opening ceremony, despite concerns for the ongoing crisis at the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Plant.

Setagaya Art Museum is situated in the spacious Kinuta Park. It has its own backup electricity supply, a factor which helped the head of museum to make the laudable decision to go ahead with the exhibition. Once surrounded by the park greens, I felt my nervous system noticeably relax. I realized only then how strenuous these days had been, after the great earthquake, in the shadow of the appalling damage that has been done and the imminent crisis at the nuclear plant.

I met Shinya in front of the Museum. "Congratulations, my friend!" I said to Shinya, shaking his hand. Shinya was dressed in a handsome suit, welcoming guests with a big smile, but not without his characteristic shyness.

"There will be no drinks provided. The party is cancelled for today because of the earthquake, sorry!" Shinya said to me in a whisper. "Only the exhibitions, I'm afraid". "Don't worry", I said. "I will buy you a drink when things have settled down." "You say you haven't brought any good wines for me today?" Shinya said, jokingly, with twinkles in his eyes. "Wait some time", I said. "Today's art works only, as you've just said yourself. Drinks later!"

What warmth! It is those small talks that keep life going! I waved Shinya a temporal see you. The doors were now open. Guided by museum attendants, we went into the halls to admire the collection of artworks curated by Shinya, many of them expressions of prayers, dedicated to the joys and sorrows of life.

There it was, in the dimly but sufficiently lit room, the "Sun, moon, mountains, and water" screen. It was a particularly poignant time to admire its magnificence. Most probably once in a lifetime, as I suspect would become evident many years from now, when I look back on the difficult times of the past through the rosy windowpane of recollection.

Standing in front of the masterpiece, my attention was immediately drawn to the fact that the "waves" in the lower half of the painting reminds one of tsunami. This realization was perhaps not entirely due to associations made by the over-sensitive nerves after the earthquake. It also had, I suspect, a much deeper resonance.

The identity of the creator of the "Sun, moon, mountains, and water" screen is now lost. Mystery surrounds its origin. It is difficult to pin down exactly what contexts were behind this impressive portrayal of nature. Today, one can just stand, admire, and feel, explore, and implore. One then feels that the philosophy behind the screen is the ethos "everything is connected". Not only the trees on the mountains, the flowers blossoming on the boughs, but also the rocks and waters, moon and the sun. They are all living, vibrating, anticipating and responding to the existence of each other, connected. There is no division. Everything in this world is connected. No life and death.

Therein perhaps lies the truth, a truth that is probably too terrible to face, too harsh to be taken into the calm speech of daily life.

The tsunami waters waited for hundreds of years to reach the deep inlands. When they finally made their ways, had the time of their lives, a terrible tragedy was wrought upon the innocent lives of tens of thousands, quite unintended, but strictly prescribed by the laws of nature.

Sun, moon, mountains, water, and me. Lost for words in front of the screen, I could only pray.

This world is such a cruel place. And yet, through still unknown miraculous steps, life and beauty somehow descend to the earth.

On day 8 after the earthquake, I was witnessing a magnificent portrait of the miracle of existence in an art museum in Tokyo, under the shadow of developing nuclear crisis. The radioactive materials are perhaps having the time of their life now, I thought, released after such a long period of confinement.

Please, I prayed, please be it so that we could live and let live. Let us somehow overcome, because, even if, everything in this world is connected.

"Jitsugetsu sansui-zu" ("Sun, Moon, Mountains and Water") screen, the left (above) and the right (below) panels (from http://bit.ly/fcfJiC)

The importance of being diverse.

2011-03-21T17:18:00.001+09:00

Ever since the Tohoku Earthquake hit, so many events and meetings have been and are being cancelled in and around Tokyo. All over Japan, in fact. Some of them are put off as a direct consequence of the earthquake. Others are results of empathetic act on the part of those concerned, or rational efforts to relocate human and material resources in an effective way. The shortage of power necessitated a careful appraisal of all social events. Still, some cancellations simply do not make sense. Some cancellations are not wise actions, even from the viewpoint of helping those afflicted by the disaster.

The reason why we are well advised to carry on doing our daily chores, while needless to say caring and acting for the people in need, is perhaps rather complex in its makeup but not that difficult to grasp.

There is after all such a thing as a "healthy metabolism" of society. Without it, our society simply does not have the robust strength necessary to support and restore as required. "Normal" activities have to go on, even in areas where the connection to the rescue and relief efforts is not outright evident.

In order to extend help to those in need, volunteer works directly related to the emergency situations of course count. Food, water, fuel, and other indispensable materials need to be delivered to the areas of devastation quickly. Electricity must be provided. Media works are also evidently indispensable. The maintenance of communication channels such as mobile phones is one of the first priorities. Social networks, e.g., twitter and facebook, play increasingly important roles in keeping people connected. They have proved crucial in coping with this crisis.

The network of mutual influence and support, however, extends far wider than we would immediately perceive. The deterioration of diverse activities in society ultimately undermines our ability to respond to emergency and prolonged needs. Society is an organic dynamical system. With loss of diversity its very health is endangered.

In Tokyo, because people have been generally refraining from dining out since the quake, the restaurant industry is suffering. Events after events have been cancelled in the entertainment sector, affecting the lives of many. People working as freelancers or part-timers in various fields from media to catering are complaining about having their assignments cancelled at a very short notice.

At such a time of extraordinary crisis, there is a tendency in us humans to be focused on one thing, often verging on single-mindedness, if not amounting to outright panic. To be honest, that has happened to me, too. Ever since the fateful Friday afternoon on which the earthquake hit, I have been simply unable to take it off my mind. The same seems to be true for many people in Tokyo. Whenever I walk in the streets and pass people, the conversations I overhear are dominated by earthquakes. And doomsday scenario is not uncommon.

Only yesterday, as I walked through the backstreets, I heard a young man, crouching on the street, talking earnestly to an elderly couple. He was speaking rather loud, so that the words came to me very clearly.

"I know this from a close friend of mine. The Self Defense Force actually knows for sure that another big one is going to hit Japan. This time in Tokai area. They know it for sure. But powers that be do not acknowledge it. They are hiding the information so that people in Japan do not get too frightened."

The elderly couple was listening to the young man's version of conspiracy theory very eagerly. The gentleman was even nodding in a grave manner, as if to suggest approval and commitment. Granted, at a time of such an extraordinary crisis, conspiracy theories abound, and may sound psychologically real. The young man's prediction of another earthquake hitting Japan is yet to materialize, and I hope it won't come to pass. There is no evidence to suggest that another big one is imminent. Having said that, the whole episode suggested to me once again how narrow-minded we could become at those times.

So one of the difficult but absolutely crucial tasks now is to go back to life's diversity, rather than shying away from it. We need a healthy entertainment industry. The restaurant sector has to flourish. Books need to be sold and read, hotels rooms have to be filled with laughter. While investing a substantial amount of our time and energy on the rescue and relief efforts, we somehow need to keep life's diversity. Apart from thinking about this earthquake and pondering the future of nuclear energy, we need to sing a song of the various joys of living.

When you come to think about it, the charm of Japan derives much from the various kinds of natural and cultural varieties to be found in this small island nation. Facing and embracing diversity is actually so natural to the Japanese mindset, as is evident from the relaxed and sometimes haphazard way people in which approach religion. New Year's Eve at the Shinto shrine, funeral in Buddhist style, celebrating Christmas in a big way, being wed before a minister in a church, making the eternal vows with hands on the bible. We needn't learn new things. It simply suffices to remember.

One hopes that the current wave of cancellations, affecting the entertainment and restaurant industries in particular, would be only a temporary one. We need to realize the importance of breathing and enjoying an air of diversity. Only by keeping ourselves culturally and mentally robust through variability could we hope to help those in severe situations here and now, and you-know-where-and-when.

Google account required for commenting

2011-03-21T13:15:00.003+09:00

For moderation purposes, this blog now requires users to log in using a google account to leave comments.
I apologize for any inconveniences. This has been necessitated by a flow of SPAMs.
This requirement seemed to the most mild one out of the choices provided by blogger.

(I trust that many users have a google account anyway. )

Looking forward to reading your insightful comments.

Ken

That's the spirit, although not in so many words.

2011-03-21T11:15:00.002+09:00

This morning, I woke up to find the headlines on the front page of Japanese newspapers to have a happy tone for the first time since this crisis began. A 80 years old grandma and 16 year old grandson have been saved from the debris of their house 9 days after the strike of the terrible quake. With the situation at Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant now apparently closing in to controllability, people in Tokyo are noticeably breathing easier. The rain falling in Tokyo this morning, without any significant level of radioactivity in it, has a soothing effect on the agitated minds.

The crisis is far from over. As of this morning, the confirmed number of deaths has surpassed a staggering 8000, with more than 13000 missing. When you face these deaths one by one, imagining the individuality, unique character, smiles, tears, loves, friendships, dreams, and despairs, then it becomes simply too hard to take.

The full extent of the disaster is not known yet. With the easening of the nuclear crisis (although it is far from being over), a sober and grim realization of the tremendous loss of life sinks in.

It is not that people in the afflicted area were unprepared. The communities along the coast have been subject to repeated tsunami attacks. The tsunami caused by the Great Chilean earthquake in 1960, for example, propagated all the way on the globe's watery surface to the Sanriku area, killing 142 people. Going back further in history, there was the Meiji-Sanriku earthquake in 1896, which caused a massive tsunami reaching a height of 38.2 meters and killing more than 20000 people.

Learning from history, they have built high anti-tsunami walls, some of them 10 meters or even higher. "When an earthquake strikes, immediately escape to high places. Tsunami is expected." Such notices have been ubiquitous in those communities, and people took very educated notice of them. In short, the people have been well prepared, both in physical and psychological terms.

And yet, the tsunami caused by this quake of 9.0 magnitude was beyond any people's reasonable expectations in its scale and brutal force. It is reported that the wall of water caused by this earthquake exceeded 20 meters in height in some places. In Ofunato, it has reached 23 meters. The concrete anti-tsunami walls were easily overcome and destroyed, resulting in a rampage of sea water over the inhabited area, crushing houses, sweeping buildings, taking precious lives away from mothers, fathers, brothers, friends, lovers, people.

That the sheer scale of natural disaster sometimes exceeds even the most sophisticated and careful precautions is something that has affected the Japanese mindset deeply. Some people might call it "fatalism". It may well be so. But if the word "fatalism" also implies that people are being passive, that is not the case. Resoundingly not the case.

In relatively disaster free regions like central Europe, planned continuation of human efforts for hundreds of years might make more sense. The Cologne Cathedral, for example. The building of this magnificent building started in 1248. Its completion took more than 600 years. When completed in 1880, the Cologne Cathedral became the tallest artificially made structure in the world, only to be surpassed four years later by the Washington Monument in the United States.

The perseverance of the German people to keep working on a plan through the generations is admirable. That is not to say that the Japanese are not capable of perseverance and arduous efforts. Here, perseverance takes quite another form. The Japanese spirit of perseverance does not aspire to physical permanence or feigned eternity. In this country, perseverance is nurtured rather in the resigned acceptance of the fact that nature sometimes beats us.

In the city of Ise, people have been maintaining the most important Shinto shrine in the country (Ise Grand Shrine) for more than 1300 years. The will to keep going no matter what did not take the form of physical permanence, however. They have been rebuilding the main shrine architectures such as Naiku and Geku every 20 years, with only a few recorded irregularities in times of turmoil.

It is difficult to say exactly what was the origin of such a convention. The shrines are built of wood, as opposed to stones in the case of Cologne Cathedral. The wears and tears would show after, say, 20 years. It has been believed that the Shinto "gods" prefers new and shining things, and people respected these divine preferences. Japan is a country rich in forestation. Finding an appropriate tree for logging has been possible with careful planning, although becoming harder in recent times. Efforts to renew the forest for the purpose of shrine rebuilding have been conducted since the beginning of recorded history. It is also often said that the 20 years rebuilding cycle has provided a valuable and indispensable opportunity for "on the job" trainings, transmitting the necessary skills and know-hows of shrine building to the next generation.

The Grand Shrine at Ise might certainly be a special case, but the ethos is there. The spirit of perseverance in the form of rebuilding is a hallmark of the Japanese mindset. That would explain why, for example, the Japanese have made such remarkable recoveries after numerous calamities throughout the history of the nation, after the almost entire destruction of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and downtown Tokyo in the Second World War, for example.

The myth of the phoenix thus portrays very well the Japanese spirit of perseverance, albeit not necessarily expressed in so many dramatic and grandiose words.

In the near future, when people have regained enough strength, the sound of hammers will surely start to be heard in the lands of devastation. The danger of tsunami striking the cities again in the future might be in people's minds. However, that would not prevent these people from rebuilding the communities, perhaps with an increased level of precautions and planning.

That's the spirit, although not in so many words.

Earthquake

2011-03-17T11:06:00.002+09:00

SInce the earthquake on the 11th March, life as we know it has changed beyond recognition in Japan.

I am tweeting @kenmogi about situations developing in my beloved country.

May calm and happiness prevail!

Ken Mogi

The bizarre backwardness of Japanese job market.

2011-01-29T17:01:00.000+09:00

The fact that Japan is an island nation has led to the preservation of many unique customs. Some of them (e.g. Kabuki and Bunraku) are cultural gems. Others are simply outrageous and should be abandoned in the modern era asap. However, saying good bye to old customs is sometimes hard to do, especially when it concerns a value system tightly woven into society.

The manner in which Japanese companies recruit workers is bizarrely backward. Not only is it stifling the economy, but also, which is more serious, it is crushing the spirits of the young. Japanese companies, especially those big ones whose stocks are traded in the Tokyo stock exchange, impose age and college graduation year restrictions on the applicants. Typically, they state that the applicants should be less than a certain age. At the same time, the companies often allow only the fresh graduates (or, to be more precise, those students who expect to graduate from college at a definite period in the near future) to apply to their supposedly lucrative jobs.

The bizarre system (which is totally without any economic merits, although some old guards do claim there are some advantages) means that you need to follow a tightly scheduled lifeline. Once you step out of the line, then there's no question of getting a "proper job" at a "respectable company". The establishments are failing to see how this restriction of personal freedom is suffocating the Japanese youngsters, an intellectual and moral failure totally unjustified in the contemporary world.

The immediate victims of the Japanese system are those with atypical cv. Going around the globe, in the style of the "gap year" so widespread in U.K. and elsewhere, is totally out of the question. The jealous guards of the Japanese system, in the form of questioners at job interviews, typically demand explanations for any "holes" in the applicant's cv. A "hole", in the strangely medieval mindset of Japanese corporate culture, means any period of time you have spent away from institutions and organizations as a free individual. By this definition, Prince William of Wales, who took a gap year in South America, would not qualify for a position in a Japanese company.

Naturally, youngsters make some noise, but it falls on deaf ears. The plain fact that the present system constitutes a serious violation of basic human rights seems to have escaped the attention of powers that be so far. In cognitive neuroscience, we do study a phenomenon called "inattentional blindness", but the inaction of Japanese companies possibly qualifies for an "oddball".

(This theme to be continued)

We need sunshine, not the bomb: The QI incident.

2011-01-22T09:12:00.003+09:00

An episode of QI, BBC's popular comedy quiz show hosted by Mr. Stephen Fry has caused an uproar in Japan. In this particular episode, Mr. Tsutomu Yamaguchi, who survived both the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombs, was introduced as "the unluckiest man in the world". As it was reported that the Japanese embassy made a protest to the BBC and the production company, indignation and anger spread in Japan, as was apparent from television shows, newspaper editorials, and tweets and blogs that followed.

It might be difficult for someone outside Japan to understand the sheer horror and anger associated with the atomic bombs. After all, other nations just imagine how damaging it is. Japanese people, by the turns and twists of history, have actually experienced it. It is not just a fiction or a movie scene. It is a hard reality. In this respect, the BBC and the production company clearly lacked imagination and respect to one of the most traumatic human experiences in the 20th century.

Having said that, I would also like to point out that the outrage came perhaps from a miscommunication rather than an intentional malice. As someone who spent two years of happy and stimulating postdoc days in University of Cambridge, and who have been visiting the U.K. almost annually ever since, I deeply love and respect the British sense of humor. I know Mr. Stephen Fry to be an intelligent, loving, and liberal man. I adore the QI show, just as I admire other Stephen Fry legends like the Blackadder series. How sad that this particular episode of QI caused anger and sadness in my native land.

The British sense of humor means that you confront difficult social issues, sometimes verging on the outrageous. It is like an act of walking on a tight rope. When I met with Mr. David Walliams in Tokyo several years ago, he said that it is always difficult to strike the right code. In creating Little Britain, Mr. Walliams, together with Mr. Matt Lucas, had to seek a difficult balance between being enjoyably provocative and saddening innocent people.

Trying to be courageous in comedy making is laudable and reserves all the respect. I know Mr. Stephen Fry has been very
courageous and inspiring. Being a pioneer, however, sometimes comes with a price, a point all of us should perhaps appreciate.

I hope that this incident will start a much needed in-depth communication process between Japan and the U.K. I sincerely wish that what started with a dark cloud of anger would end in a peal of laughs.

We need sunshine, not the bomb.

The Universal Human (1)

2011-01-04T15:20:00.002+09:00

An inspiration came to my mind when I was spending the new year's vacation with my mother.

In the previous year, the world witnessed several quite intriguing and significant changes. Liu Xiabo was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, but was unable to attend the ceremony due to restrictions imposed by the Chinese government. A number of exposures by Wikileaks led to a fiasco in the democratically elected governments. The founder of Wikileaks, Mr. Julian Assange, was arrested for a crime deeply smelling of conspiracy not on the part of Mr. Assange, but of those trying to convict him. Those turmoils in the world at large contrasted very vividly with the cozy and small world of my mother, aged 73, who spoke mainly of the old times.

I thought to myself. My mother is very distant from the "realitities" of today's world. Probably justifiably so, considering her age. She does not use the internet, knows nothing about twitter or facebook. (She might have just heard about these things). She probably would not understand what a "hashtag" is. I would not dream of asking my mother the significance of Mr. Julian Assange's activities.

And yet, my mother was very real. I could almost feel her soul. As she talked about the old days, discussing how I was when I was a boy, this incident, that uncle, I gradually started to understand (or rather, remember) what the world was like, seen from her eyes.

To my astonishment, her world was as real as the globalized and digitized web of relations that was emerging on this earth as the definitive new reality in which we would all have to breathe. This particular realization, I should like to claim, was not necessarily one propelled by sentimental emotions and attachment.

The key problem is that we tend to dismiss a certain type of living as not "fitting" to the trends of the time. We create fashions, and discriminate against those who do not subscribe to them. Haven't we made the same mistake repeatedly in history, where we contrived some ideas for a "model human being", and excluded those not fitting these criteria as "outside the circle"? Haven't we discriminated against people in other nations, people with minority sexual tendencies, people with exotic skin colors, people with certain personality traits?

That is when I realized that I needed to consider the concept of the universal human in a very serious manner, and with some degree of urgency. A part of the urgency comes from the emerging new nations. The rises of countries like China and India have made it necessary to reconsider the world order in a context of heterogeneity. And these nations are not alone. The news of the World Cup in 2022 being awarded to Qatar, the first Arab nation to host the competition, was a clear message that the world has become much more diversified. Differences in religion might appear to be significant, but is in fact getting less and less intruding into our lives. The time has come when we had better start appreciating the differences in people in a very serious manner.

We may impose by moral requirements that people be treated equally, without regard to the superficial differences. But our heart might not necessarily be in such an action. Unless we understand how the different modes of behavior emerge, we cannot really respect the difference. We live in a scientific era. We cannot "feel" it, unless we come to some understanding of the whys and hows.

Now you need an element of the Leviathan to shine

2010-12-12T11:45:00.001+09:00

It has been sometime since I last updated my blog. In the last few weeks, I have been privately occupied, with this and that. Meanwhile, the world seems to be moving into a chaos zone. I think an era of the Leviathan has come.

Used to be that order and justice were simple matters. There were several accepted authorities, and the rogues were easy to point out. Now, with the advent of forces that ignore the long respected institutions, the world has come to a state where the Leviathan roams.

Probably it started with China. Its defiance of the world order, as typified by the Nobel Peace Prize fiasco, is both worrying and inspiring. When I say inspiring, the point is that it reminds us of what kind of animals we remain to be. Then came the wikileaks saga, which is still going on. The reaction from governments of the United States, U.K., and Sweden revealed to us the sometimes murky nature of the nation state. Even the democratically elected governments are now “suspect”.

So it is an era of the Leviathan, in which laws and orders are not automatically guaranteed. The most intriguing fact of the day perhaps is that now you need an element of the Leviathan to shine, whether as a nation or as an individual.

My long-standing relationship with the airborne ghosts is thus revived again.

2010-11-23T05:01:00.001+09:00

Memories are sometimes so intriguing. Consider the time when I was in the forest of Kyushu, near my mother’s parents’ house, and suddenly encountered a huge swarm of butterflies. The species was Common Bluebottle (Graphium sarpedon). Common Bluebottle, as the name suggests, is not a rare butterfly. Numerous times, I have seen them in isolation, or in a group of few. However, never before had I seen literally tens of them flying around a tree in full bloom. The flowers were white and small. The Common Bluebottles were scattered over the sky. It was such a breathtaking sight.

I was about 6 or 7, and lots of water has flown under the bridge since then. It is such an enigma why and how such memories stay, and from time to time surge out of my unconscious. It did surge this morning, and that is why I am writing about this particular piece of childhood memory in this journal.

It is also interesting how with the procession of time the memory has kind of “purified” itself, assuming an almost mythical nature within my mind. I know these butterflies to have perished long ago, in that summer of my throbbing encounter. Their phantoms however continue to thrive in my mind, synaptically reinforced every time I remember that chance meeting. My long-standing relationship with the airborne ghosts is thus revived again.

Becoming China 2.0

2010-11-22T09:15:00.003+09:00

Several years ago, I was in the Tiananmen Square, mingling among the crowd. There were various kinds of people. Those who apparently came from rural areas had red cheeks, very excited, trying to absorb everything that were around them. I was in the category of first comers, opening my eyes to the sheer vastness of the nation of China.

When I imagined the massive land that surrounded me, I felt I understood why the Chinese culture tends to be self-centered. They can afford to be. When you have a long history, massive land, with over a billion of people, you have the illusion that you are at the center of the world. You can put yourself under the delusion that you don’t have to really care for what’s happening outside. You feel that you are entitled to have your own way, supported by the great mass of momentum that is behind you.

The recent series of squeaking noises that surround the nation, notably this ongoing fiasco about the Nobel Peace Prize, seems to reflect a widening gap between the traditional Chinese mindset and the reality of the globalizing world. Yes, China is massive, yes, China is rapidly growing, and yes, there are more Chinese than any other ethnic group on earth. It may be true that in the past the Chinese could do pretty well by considering themselves as being at the center of the earth, having their way and imposing it on the nations around.

But things have changed. The brutal fact of the day is that China is only a part of the world, albeit a very important part.

The tendency of the Chinese media, fuelled by the self-confidence resulting from the recent economical growth (which is a good thing in itself), to regard its relation with the West in a confrontational context might be self-serving in the short run but is ultimately untenable. China needs to grow into “China 2.0”, where it recognizes the fact that it is an integral part of the grid that is covering the earth, for everybody’s benefit, based on the principle of cooperation and mutual respect. By becoming China 2.0, its excellent tradition of flamboyant and deep culture would shine even more, bringing benefit not only to the Chinese but also to the world at large.

China please wake up.

The universal human remains hidden, deep in the layers of collective psyche.

2010-11-18T05:02:00.000+09:00

I am attending the Society for Neuroscience meeting in San Diego, and I am thinking about the universal human, on the floor of the gigantic poster sessions.

Nietzsche famously conceived the superhuman. Experience in the last few days made me ponder the universal human, albeit not in the Renaissance sense.

Globalization has brought about crushes between cultures, where people tend to stress the differences. And yet at the same time we start to notice that there are much common hidden agenda among us. And the noticing sometimes takes detective work and intelligence.

The basic biological needs are easy to decipher. We all become hungry, thirsty, and yearn for a mate no matter what part of the world we come from. It is more fun to consider the underlying universality in seemingly contrasting social behaviors.

It is not just about differences in national cultures. No matter what profession you are, whether you’re a scientist, journalist,
broker, grocer, housewife, cartoonist, or a sportsman, you’re likely to be motivated by a set of reinforcers. Since social reinforcers are heterogeneous and not easy to decipher, the universal law of underlying dynamics often go unnoticed. Hence the universal human remains hidden, deep in the layers of collective psyche.

It is almost noon in San Diego, and I am getting hungry. I may go to a Sushi place. Other people would make different choices, seemingly reflecting cultural differences. The underlying pattern of reinforcement is the same for the universal human, however.

Missing the “what” questions.

2010-11-09T08:40:00.001+09:00

When I was an undergraduate, I often used to ask the “what” questions. As I was a Physics major, most of the puzzles were Physics-related. What is a mass? What is energy? What is space? What is time? There were other questions, of course, like what is life and what is love. I was wont to argue for many hours about these profound issues with my friends. We strolled along the river banks, we drank beer, we weathered the cold winter wind, we smiled at the cherry blossoms No matter what we did, we never stopped asking the “what” questions.

Almost 30 years later, it seems that my mind is nowadays mostly occupied by the “how” questions. How can I make this happen? How could one construct something? How do you bring about peace among these people? How are sustainable energies generated in principle? How can I make the person in front of me understand what I mean? How do you enrich life?

It is certainly true that the “how” questions are more practical, leading one to endless endeavors in the everyday towards the betterment of the general conditions of life in general. From the point of view of maturing, the progress from the “what” questions to the “how” questions was surely an advancement.

And yet, I sometimes find myself missing the “what” questions. I miss the pale-faced youngster who insisted on asking these simple-minded, but fascinating questions. I long for an encounter with someone who is stupid enough to ask the “what” questions, in this day and age.

Perhaps, if I dig deep into myself, I will still be able to find that youngster. Just a thought. It is such a fine day in Tokyo, a good opportunity for reveries, you know.

Nationalism is a luxury made possible by globalization.

2010-11-06T09:36:00.002+09:00

The fact that nationalism is on the rise in some parts of the world seems to be indicating the ubiquity of growing global interdependence. It is only a long overdue recognition of the self, mirrored in the mind of others. When in isolation, people do not have the way of thoughts leading to nationalism. Nationalism is a luxury made possible by globalization.

That is why patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel (Samuel Johnson), as luxury is always the last refuge of a scoundrel.

Stupidity of the second kind.

2010-11-04T08:52:00.001+09:00

I think there are two kinds of stupidities. In one, you try to protect yourself. By looking down on others, for example. In the other, you don’t protect yourself. You just do whatever urges you, and get hurt, ridiculed, and quite often misunderstood. It is the second type of stupidity that I very much adore.

I am always after the stupidity of the second kind, and shy away from the first. I would like to remain stupid, for the rest of my life. I would never stoop so low as to regard myself invincible, morally impeccable, or pride on saying the right thing at the appropriate time. I would like to drop a lot of bricks.

15 years old farewell

2010-10-31T12:17:00.001+09:00

Everybody knows that Japan is an island nation. But we sometimes forget that, because the main Honshu island is so large.
Recently I flew to the Kozu island off Tokyo bay from the Chohu airport. A 35 minutes flight took me from the heat of metropolitan Tokyo to the cool breeze of the island. From island to island, literally. But we sometimes forget the former is one.

The Isu islands, the Kozu island being one of them, are united in proud isolation. Every two years they hold Parents and Teachers Association meeting. I was invited to give a talk. I always say that I cannot resist an island invitation, again forgetting that I live on one.

The island children grow up in a cozy atmosphere. There is only one class, and each one of them knows their classmates by heart. When they reach the age of 15, however, they have to say goodbye to the island, as there are no senior high schools. It is called the “15 years old farewell”. They have to live separately from the parents, and study on the mainland (which is again an island, but we forget that.)

These children say goodbye to the familiar and cozy in the spring of the 15th year. When I heard this story from an experienced educator, my heart felt a sweet pain. Maybe that is the destiny of all Japanese people, as we jump into globalization. We should not forget about the 15 years old farewells.

Life on an island. The Kozu kids displaying their festive dance.

Born with a mother tongue non-transparent to the “outside” world

2010-10-25T09:03:00.001+09:00

Language policy is really serious here in this country, and has grave implications for my own life, too. I love Japanese as my native tongue, and am fairly articulate in it. For the last few years, I have made it my policy to improve my English, to the point that I would be able to express myself in some way or other so that my inner voice would be heard, by my conscious self, too. There are several difficulties, though.

Non-English speakers always accuse that native English speakers have it too easy. I have thought about this long and hard, and now I feel that would like to make a science of it.

Born with a mother tongue non-transparent to the “outside” world, as defined and constrained by the lingua franca status quo, there are certainly issues to be studied scientifically, towards a consolation for the soul as well as satisfying intellectual curiosities. Perhaps there is a new field here. My mother speaks only Japanese, and some rudimentary English. She would be incomprehensible on an American cultural highway, but she is a valuable woman all the same. Japanese is fairly lucky. There are even more minor languages. How could these souls be saved, in the face of the arrogant Hollywood type pitchers of “universal” language?

Language policies and strategies, studied from evolutionary, game theoretic, ethical points of view. I have already started a modeling effort. Maybe I would ask Yoshihide Tamori to participate.

The size problem.

2010-10-22T14:47:00.001+09:00

I have been to Singapore on a few days trip, attending a conference and giving a talk. The energy in Singapore is incredible. Even politicians are open-minded and quick in making decisions, a rarity in my home country. One of the officials said that Singaporeans had to reinvent themselves constantly. I have never heard a remark of similar nature from someone in power in my native country.

Coming back to Tokyo on the plane, I was thinking about the size effect. The size of Japan is intermediate, not too big, not too small, and therefrom arise lots of problems. Japan is not big enough to assume a superpower role like the U.S. or China. Japan’s domestic market is large enough to sustain its publishing and broadcasting industries, two areas where globalization was supposed to happen but never did, probably due to the language barrier.

Japan’s peculiarities should arise not only from its unique history but also from the sheer size of its economy and culture. There one has a chance of drawing universal conclusions from a seemingly peculiar problem.

Ideally, I would like to do everything en plein air.

2010-10-18T09:27:00.000+09:00

Even small children are fond of moving their hands and leaving tiny traces of colored lines on the paper. A whole career can be built, starting from the doodling. If you take the business of drawing and painting seriously, there is no end in sight. It is an infinite process.

For sometime, I have been fascinated by the idea of the French impressionist’s “En plein air”. You paint something on the spot, without deliberation, devoid of painstaking days of hard work. Everything is conducted spontaneously, on the spot, with a dazzling result artistically.

When I visited the Musee d’Orsey a few years ago I was taken by the paintings by Monet (refer to the entry into this journal on the 9th October 2004). It was at this time that the concept of “En plein air” became so important within me that I have been thinking about its universal applicability to other fields of activities ever since.

Ideally, I would like to do everything en plein air.

En plein air.

Mozart was a forerunner of John Lennon.

2010-10-17T09:54:00.002+09:00

People might think that Mozart was a naïve guy who left for others to write the librettos of operas. If you look carefully you notice otherwise. There is something very consistent in what he wrote, not only in terms of music but also in the sense of universal humanitarian values.

At the end of the opera “Die Entfuhrung aus dem Serail”, the hostages are released and people dance in rejoice. The celebration of humanity, without religion, without border. Unity of men beyond the classes, races, and cultures were the penetrating theme of ALL his works. Mozart was a forerunner of John Lennon.

My personal revolution.

2010-10-16T12:30:00.000+09:00

In the last few months, I seem to have learned that to bring about revolution to the society is a very difficult task. Yes, I am stupid enough to come to learn this at the mature age of 47.

Perhaps this is something felt only by some residents in Japan. Hopefuls truly sensed that the long overdue revolution (or evolution) of the nation’s political and government system would come about soon. Then the hopes kind of faded, with the defeat of Mr. Ozawa in the election for the leadership of Democratic Party of Japan.

Now I feel that revolution needs to start at a personal revel. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see a middle-aged man in much need for revolution. The way I organize my life, breathe the culture, write, say, hear, needs to be modified in order to accommodate my dreams. I must think more of my personal revolution.

You are a fine gentleman (2).

2010-10-12T09:51:00.000+09:00

(Continued from the previous entry)

I walked on along the twilight street, but my inner turmoil did not seem to calm down. It was obvious now that the lady in a black formal dress at the restaurant rejected us because of how I looked. I was wearing a jacket, but underneath it I had my T-shirt on, with very vivid illustrations.

Apparently it was a question of dress code. The salaryman and his girl, who came after us, were welcomed into the restaurant without any problem. In my view, they were rather homely people, without any particular distinctions. The fact that the lady at the restaurant welcomed them seemed to tell me something deep and sinister about society in general.

Maybe it was only my youthful imagination. Perhaps I should have worn a jacket and tie like the salaryman. But then I never wore a tie, unless it was absolutely necessary. And you never know beforehand that you would walk into a restaurant with a draconian requirement as to how customers should be dressed. It seemed not at all sensible to live in the shadow of a possible encounter with such an establishment.

The more I thought about it, the heavier my heart became. At least, the lady at the reception should have told me explicitly the dress code of their place. It was not sensible at all just to tell that we were not welcome. One might take it personally. I took it personally. I had to call the place.

I happened to have the card of the restaurant, which I took casually as I left. I phoned the number. After some ring tones, a woman's voice answered. I tried to be as calm and to the point as possible.

"Hello. we are the customers who have just visited your place. You told me that you had no table this evening. After we left, we saw a salary man couple walk into the restaurant. Apparently they had no reservation. If your rejection was based on a dress code, you should have told us so. I think it would have been only fair. I don't think we would visit your restaurant ever again. Good bye!"

When I told the lady about the salary man couple, she seemed to gasp on the other end. When I hung up, I felt I had done all I could do, and the best thing would be to forget about it. But my inner wounds seemed to remain unhealed, tormenting me with every step.

I started to walk on street again, looking for a place to rest my soul.

My girl friend, who was listening to my conversation on the phone and therefore understood the situation for the first time (she was not someone who would naturally notice these things), held my hand and said, "you know, you are a fine gentleman".
Her gentle voice finally provided the consolation for the evening. It came as unexpected as the rejection at the reception.

(End of this essay.)

You are a fine gentleman (1).

2010-10-07T11:48:00.000+09:00

When I was young, I wanted to try new things. One day, I found a posh building in central Tokyo. I went in. There was a rather nice French restaurant. I examined the menu. Although in those days my means were limited, I would somehow be able to manage it on that day. Yes, I wanted to venture into this establishment. So I asked my girl friend, who was standing beside me, if she would like the idea of a romantic dinner together. She said she would actually very much love it.

So I went to the entrance, and a lady in black formal dress welcomed us. When I said "we are two", she said she could not accommodate us on that evening, she was sorry, because all the tables were booked. I shrugged my shoulders, and walked off, thinking that nothing could be done, since all the tables were booked. Apparently it was a very popular restaurant.

Then something strange happened. As we strolled in the corridor, I looked back. There was a middle aged man and a younger lady in front of the French restaurant, looking at the menu just as we had been doing a few moments ago. From their behavior, it was apparent that they were just passing by, had not made a reservation, and were now examining the menu to see if they would like it. The man was a typical "salaryman", wearing a bland jacket and tie. The girl's dress was no better in taste.

Then something extraordinary happened. The lady at the reception came out, said hello to the salaryman and his girl, and welcomed them in. I could not hear what they were saying, but she was apparently inviting the salaryman and his girl into the restaurant, without any reservation, making no fuss. In a moment I understood what had happened. I walked away slowly into the street, trying not to disturb my girl friend.

It was a warm summer evening, and I was wearing a T-shirt and a jacket. My face was red with something, which I could not fully grasp. As I walked on, a sense of deep humiliation overtook me.

Whenever I lose the balance of my mind, I tend to remain silent, trying to contain my inner turmoil. My girl friend apparently noticed my transfiguration. Since she was a sensible person, she also walked on slowly, without asking me why or how.

(This essay to be continued tomorrow)

Abrupt concentration.

2010-10-03T09:02:00.001+09:00

For some time, I have been making a point of abrupt concentration. I may be idling on the sofa, and all of a sudden, I would start concentrating on something, whether it is work or play.

When I give a lecture, I would shortcut all the protocols and niceties, going straight to the point, often on the verge of conducting an attack of pleasant surprise on the audience.

I was discussing this particular piece of my philosophy of life with Prof. Tatsuru Uchida, a well-known scholar in French philosophy. Tatsuru remarked that what I had just said was actually the core spirit of martial arts. Tatsuru is a practitioner of Aikido, you know.

In the tradition of Japanese martial arts, the basic assumption is that you never know when the enemy would attack you. It is quite possible that when you are relaxing and idling away, the opponent suddenly attacks you from behind. It is therefore absolutely necessary to be able to "ignite" your system in a moment, reaching the highest level performance within a second. There is no time for "warming up". The enemy does not wait until you are up and ready. Tatsuru's comments made sense to me.

So, without knowing it, I have been practicing the core spirit of Japanese martial arts.

I am quite a peaceful person, though.

Dear, Mr. Autumn.

2010-09-28T09:44:00.001+09:00

Summer in Tokyo this year was unusually long. The record-breaking heat spell went on and on, until we residents started to think that we were now officially in the subtropical zone, the high temperature prevailing and becoming a permanent reality of our lives in the capital.

Then, the persistent heat suddenly disappeared. A few days of rain bought a chill which made us think that the winter has arrived without the mellow and yellow autumn in-between.

Damn that! I do love autumn. I love the deep blue sky over the sober tree. I love to watch a persimmon tree bearing red fruits all over the place. I miss the cool breeze that make the leaves rustle. It is too hard to go straight into the cold winter, without the soothing effect of a gorgeous autumn.

Dear, Mr. Autumn, please don't go away without giving us a chance to come back to our sincere selves after the carefree summer.

Please, please give us a fair share of autumn. Someone responsible up there, please!

Myself and the red-bellied newt (5)

2010-09-26T10:25:00.001+09:00

So the newt was alive, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Once in a direct contact with the reality, a sense of practical wisdom took hold of me. I scooped the poor chap out of the tank, and put it on a dish. I changed the water with brisk vividness. I even washed the stones one by one, rubbing off the algae on the surface, something that I had never done before. I fed the newt, once it was back in the refreshed habitat. From its still posture, it was hard to tell whether the small creature was grateful for what I had done finally after all these days, or held a justifiable resentment against my negligence, which almost cost his life.

So the newt crisis was over. After that fateful day, I lived with the newt in peace, taking regular care of the tank, until a few years later, it died of natural causes. Although my conscience was now clear, a strange aftertaste lingered in my mind.

The fact that I was unable to come face to face with an unpleasant truth hurt me in a permanent way. In the sure knowledge of the gradually deteriorating situations, I could go about with my life as if nothing was happening. I could not bring myself to do the simple task of newt tank maintenance. There, you had it.

The whole process revealed something ominous and yet unavoidable about the human nature. The significance of the newt episode in my life remains and grows within me to this day.

(End of this essay.)

Myself and the red-bellied newt (4)

2010-09-21T09:10:00.000+09:00

The clock in my heart started to tick slowly. The passage of the every day became painful. I felt the urge to take a look at the newt tank, but was too afraid to do so. Sometimes, we avoid the truth at all costs.

During the course of a day, I would suddenly feel a pang in my breast. Then a wave of agitation would run through my system. What has happened to the newt? Was it starving to death in the murky water? Was it crying for help desperately, which I did not hear? "It is too late now". I thought. The remorse of having done something irreparable was growing like a beast lurking in the darkness.

Three days, four days, five days, ....then eventually a week passed without my going to the tank to witness what had happened. I lived a life of an increasingly troubling nature, with the Sword of Damocles hanging above. And there seemed to be no escape from the stalemate.

Then, one afternoon, there was an unexpected turn in the wind. I was coming back home from school on the usual route, when I noticed that something had changed in me. It was as if an entity, which had been dispersed like a cloud, was made into a rigid spinning ball which could now be handled. Now I was ready to go to the newt tank.

Opening the house door, I went straight to the tank, as if in fear that if I stopped even for a moment I would lose the energy to go through. My heart pounded like an wild animal as I approached the tank in the dark corner.

I was finally ready to accept whatever would come. The verdict was imminent. Gingerly, I peeked into the tank. There it was--the newt, although somewhat feeble looking, was alive, hiding itself as if it was shy of its existence. To my surprise, the water was not that dirty either, although visibly at a lower level due to evaporation.

(To be continued tomorrow)

Myself and the red-bellied newt (3)

2010-09-20T10:13:00.001+09:00

(Continued from yesterday)

I had completely forgotten about my pet newt. Oblivion be damned! It was a horror realization. Apart from the smelly water concern, the most serious worry was that I had not fed the newt for days. Exactly how many, I could not remember. It all started with the disappointment in the rather dull reaction that I got from the creature. But, at the end of the day, it was the moral responsibility of a pet keeper to take a good care of the animal. I was negligent in that.

Of course I blamed myself. Then something extraordinary happened. I did not immediately rush to the newt tank to perform the overdue caring. I knew that I had better take a look at the newt, but I simply could not bring myself to it.

Maybe it was all a matter and workings of imagination backfired. I imagined that the newt was now dead, its body dried up and shrinking. My unconscious vividly depicted the fatal end of the lovely animal. It was all my fault. Or possibly it was still alive, suffocated in the dirty and smelly water, crying for help. Maybe it was covered all over with sticky and repelling materials now. In all likelihood it was too late.

Nothing could be done now, I kept saying to myself, as I went to school and tried not to think about the newt. My adult logic tells me now that no matter what the situation, there was no sense in postponing the actual getting to know. However, I was a weak child. Maybe every child has this weakness. The more I thought about the newt, and the more I felt responsible for it, my remorse turned into a strange inability to take any action. A agitated period of procrastination had set in. Maybe I was fearful of fear itself.

(To be continued tomorrow)

Myself and the red-bellied newt (2)

2010-09-19T08:11:00.000+09:00

(Continued from yesterday)

Days passed, and I kept playing with the arrangements for the newt paradise. Within the small dimensions of the transparent glass case, I put some small stones, plants here and there, and kept changing their placements. The only thing was that I was not too sure whether the newt appreciated my efforts at all.

Then, the change gradually happened. I kept changing the water, feeding the newt, with less and less enthusiasm. There must have been ups and downs within the systems of the little creature even within the artificial bounds, but these were not immediately evident for me. A child's mind is whimsical. It is always seeking something interesting, and when there is nothing more to explore, the enthusiasm fades. Shining existence would so easily transform into dull non-existence.

One day, coming back from school, I realized that I had not looked into the newt's paradise for several days. It was the end of summer. The weather was still warm, with occasional heat spells. I could easily imagine that the water would be smelling now, due to the activities of the microorganisms which I did not care to think about. And the newt--I suddenly came to realize that I had not fed the newt all these days. Then the worry started.

Myself and the red-bellied newt

2010-09-18T09:00:00.001+09:00

When I was about 10 years old, I went to a pet shop and encountered my newt. It was the Cynops pyrrhogaster (Japanese fire belly newt) species. Its cute form, and the vivid red color on the belly immediately captured my imagination.

The newt was not very expensive, well within the reach of my humble pocket money. I paid, and asked the owner to put it in a plastic bag. Gingerly, and with a heart full of imagination, I took the newt back home.

At that time, I was fond of devising all kinds of habitats for my pets. I made a grass jungle for my grasshopper. For the rice fish (Oryzias latipes), I put lots of small stones and water plants and imagined that I was one of the small creatures. For my newt, I prepared a whole small world of water, stone, and dirt, arranged in a way that I imagined would provide a high quality entertainment for the chap.

It was not long before I discovered that the newt was a rather dull animal. It does not move most of the time, and when it does, it jerks and then just stops. There was no question of a friendship between us. I did touch the newt and handled it in my hand from time to time, but from the way it wiggled its tails and opened and shut its mouth, I could not say that it was enjoying the experience very much. Soon, I learned that watching without interfering was the best newt policy for our co-existence.

(This essay to be continued tomorrow)

Master Darling and Kiyo

2010-09-15T08:43:00.000+09:00

Yesterday, as I was moving through the maze that is Tokyo, I finished reading Botchan, written by Soseki Natsume, and translated by Yasotaro Morri, on my Amazon kindle.

The novel ends thus:

I forgot to tell you about Kiyo. On my arrival at Tokyo, I rushed into her house swinging my valise, before going to a hotel, with "Hello, Kiyo, I'm back!"
"How good of you to return so soon!" she cried and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. I was overjoyed, and declared that I would not go to the country any more but would start housekeeping with Kiyo in Tokyo.
Sometime afterward, some one helped me to a job as assistant engineer at the tram car office. The salary was 25 yen a month, and the house rent six. Although the house had not a magnificence front entrance, Kiyo seemed quite satisfied, but, I am sorry to say, she was a victim of pneumonia and died in February this year. On the day preceding her death, she asked me to bedside, and said, "Please, Master Darling, if Kiyo is dead, bury me in the temple yard of Master Darling. I will be glad to wait in the grave for my Master Darling."
So Kiyo's grave is in the Yogen temple at Kobinata.

As I perceive Japan to be in a great need of and actually in the process of serious transitions, and I myself have loads of things to worry about in my life, the last few weeks have been full of turmoil. After the storm, it was deeply rewarding to read the story of pure love (or "affection", should I say?) between Master Darling and Kiyo, who are not related and separated by age in a large number.

Time for change.

2010-09-13T09:05:00.001+09:00

I have not written into this English Journal for a little longer than a week now. The writing streak is now officially broken. I don't really care. Maybe my life is moving into a new stage.

One of the reasons why I did not (or could not) write into this journal was because I was busy tweeting in Japanese with my twitter account @kenichiromogi. (The English account is @kenmogi) It seemed, for a few glaring days, that the time for change has finally come to Japan. Away from the dominance of organizations and job titles, more freedom to individuals, farewell to the old press, and more important than not, a true reform in the political system.

I was being an accidental "activist" on the twitter, with much love and peace, together with some notable individuals in the Japanese cultural and political scene. And yet, (you know these things take time and make some surprising twists when you least expect them), it seems that we need a certain reflection period before it really happens.

It is probably true that the time for change is imminent for this country. For the time being, I am back to normal. There are loads of things to do, pro-change or otherwise, and there probably will be more bends in the road, both private and public.

The summer is gone.

2010-09-03T10:10:00.001+09:00

I don't know how, but I do feel that the summer has gone.

Ever since childhood, at some time in August or September, I would suddenly come back to myself, and feel that the summer has now gone. I instantly go into a serious mood, ready to tackle heaps of books and do some thinking.

During the summer, I tend to be carefree, not really knowing where I am going, and would just let myself go, here and there, into the blue sky, over the sunset horizon. Then, when the cool breeze of September touches my cheeks, I would suddenly realize that there are things that only hard work and serious commitment can bring.

So this year, again, a few days ago, I suddenly felt again that the summer was now gone. Life welcomes change. Another wave has come and gone in my life. That makes the rhythm. Now I am ready to take some autumn and seriousness.

Socratic method.

2010-08-28T22:53:00.001+09:00

In many cultures a truth is simply bestowed upon the youth as given. You are not supposed to question the authorities, let alone to have new ideas yourself.

The Socratic method is quite the opposite. It emphasizes the process, rather than the end result. In a Socratic dialogue, nobody has the absolute authority. The ultimate truth, or something fuzzily and convergently approaching the truth, is to be co-discovered through the exchange of ideas.

In the internet era, with the advent of communication tools such as twitter, the Socratic method is finding a new significance. Now it is easy to exchange ideas with people over a large physical distance. The sheer density and purity of the dynamics of exchange is contributing to the amassing of the critical mass.

The Socratic method needs to be studied and practiced in earnest, in search of the new principles of distributed enlightment.

The Socratic method.

Michael Sandel.

2010-08-28T09:39:00.001+09:00

On Thursday, I had a wonderful time interviewing Michael Sandel in Tokyo for a magazine. Sandel's "Justice" (http://www.justiceharvard.org/) is very popular in Japan, as elsewhere in the world. The whole lecture has been broadcast on NHK educational. Lots of people were deeply inspired by Prof. Sandel's passionate teaching.

Prof. Sandel told me how much hard work has been put into the making of the series. Although there are lots of open coursewares on the web, the "Justice" program is unique in the quality of the video work, not to mention the academic excellence.

Although the ambience of the Harvard classroom was one of the key elements in the "Justice" experience, the defining moment came from deep thinking. In the first lecture, after discussing the Trolley car example, Prof. Sandel goes on to deliver a short speech. That's when he says that the purpose of the lecture was to incur a "restlessness of reason" in the students. I almost gasped when it came. The restless of reason has been in me ever since.

With Michael Sandel in Tokyo.

Which is a good thing.

2010-08-26T22:24:00.001+09:00

For a long time, Japan has prided itself as the first nation to modernize in the region of Asia. Despite the terrible and self-brought defeat in the Second World War, Japan has somehow clung to the title of "the foremost in the region." Until recently, that is.

Now Japan seems to have lost all its confidence. In my own perspective, for someone born and brought up in Japan, this shift in the national psyche is needless to say sad, although admittedly tinged with the excitement of new competitiveness.

Personally, in my own life, I have always enjoyed the game of catching up. My home country losing the position of no.1 is no problem for me, especially as I tend to base the value of my own existence and others' independent from any nationalistic thinking anyway.

Recent travel to Singapore (I just got back to Tokyo this morning) convinced me that now the tropical nation of 5 million people is more advanced than Japan in many respects. Especially as regards the immigration policy. I never understood how it is, but some people in Japan are ultra-conservative about welcoming people from abroad as collaborators in society building. As far as I am concerned, people are people everywhere. There is no reason why people from abroad should not be encouraged to come to Japan and enjoy the opportunity for challenge...in a slightly different way from the ethnic Japanese, perhaps, therefore adding to the diversity of people's traits in the process.

As I have stated, I think Japan is losing its self-confidence. Which is a good thing. One always has the chance of reviewing oneself from the external point of view, when one has a crisis in one's self confidence. Most probably, the time for self-doubt and soul searching has come to Japan.

Institution is the last resort of a scoundrel.

2010-08-25T11:06:00.001+09:00

On the second day at the CUTE center in NUS (National University Singapore), we had another hectic and yet deeply enjoyable time. In the morning, we discussed in the session of Society 2.0, chaired by Penny Low, Member of the Singaporean Parliament. Adrian Cheok and Masa Inakage joined in, adding stimulation to the already heated and heating debate.

In the afternoon, we had a public talk on the NUS campus. The groove was fantastic. Thomas Crampton, social media guru specializing in China and Asia, (Thomas Crampton's webpage) started his talk capturing in video the dialogue with Yair Goldfinger, founder of ICQ. When I asked Thomas what he was doing, he said he was just shooting for youtube. A speaker on stage capturing his own talk for youtube! That was just the right atmosphere for me.

Talks by Yair Goldfinger and Penny Low followed. It was my turn to give a talk. I discussed how the evolving contingency structures on the net was nurturing humanity 2.0. Woo Woontack then gave an excellent talk on augmented reality.

In the Panel discussion that followed, I said something that I would only say when I felt certain that the audience was the right kind and the reception would be electric. I said, just as in the famous quote by Samuel Johnson "Patriotism is the last resort of a scoundrel", nowadays "Institution is the last resort of a scoundrel." Thomas Crampton jibed in, saying that universities should aim to be open to the public as much as possible, as it was the mission of the universities to spread knowledge to the wider society.
There was a memorable response from a man in the auditorium who said that he was living on an island which was 12 hours ride on boat from Singapore, and how he was accessing all the academic information thanks to the internet.

Before we knew it, it was twilight. We had a wonderful party on the NUS campus. At such times, I have a habit of strolling away from the people. When I was admiring the Singaporean sunset alone, I noticed there was another soul looking in that direction. It was none other than Masa Inakage.

At these moments one feels that two souls are resonating. Masa was admiring the same natural wonder with me, without knowing that I was hiding myself in the darkness of night.

Penny Low, M.P, in the morning session.

Adrian Cheok and Masa Inakage

Thomas Crampton capturing his own talk for youtube. Yair Goldfinger is being interviewed.

The sunset on the NUS campus.

Masa Inakage admiring the same sunset.

I kept walking, singing the unsung song of praise.

2010-08-25T10:24:00.000+09:00

Since I came to Singapore a few days ago, one of the things that attracted my attention has been the sheer cultural diversity. Chinese, Malay, Indian, Indonesian, and other cultures are mixed in an impressive atmosphere of tolerance and creative fusion.

The other night we were invited by Jimmy, a friend of Atsushi Sasaki, to a sea food restaurant. We found ourselves in the suburb of Singapore, Jurong West, far from any tourist destinations and right in the middle of residential area. It was a rare opportunity to immerse oneself deep in the Singaporean way of life, as it happens unsung, unreported, but full of life under the tropical sun.

When dusk fell, everything seemed to become gentle. There was some magic in the air. As I stood alone in a market place, I felt that one star was too bright to be true. No matter how long you gaze at it, the star did not change its position.

We had a wonderful supper at the sea food restaurant. While eating, I strolled around. There were many manifestations of the different cultures that make up Singapore. Visualization is the spirit of today. Visualization of diversity is something particularly divine and rewarding. I kept walking, singing the unsung song of praise.

Seeking nature in Singapore.

2010-08-24T00:49:00.000+09:00

Singapore is such an urban country on the surface. You have the impression that no matter where you go, you find buildings and paved streets. A friend of mine told me that if you go to the Singapore zoo, you will find the land as it was before development, covered all over with jungle vegetations. That gave me an inspiration, without actually visiting the zoo.

During the coffee break of conference at the National University of Singapore, I took a walk. Although I was not aware of my motives, I think I was unconsciously seeking nature.

After a few minutes, I came to the border of development. The flat land that surrounded the buildings ended, and there was a rather steep slope. It was covered thick with trees and plants, something that I had not seen in Singapore before, but something which, when you came to think about it, was only natural in such a tropical climate.

Wandering around, I witnessed several butteflies fly. Welcome to fragments of Singapore before civilization. I cried with joy in my heart. Something came to fruition after all those years.

Rebel with reason.

2010-08-22T19:55:00.001+09:00

I am in Singapore now, attending a conference at National University Singapore.

I met with Ilya Farber, my neurophilosophical friend now based in Singapore. We were discussing about various matters over Mexican food, when Ilya mentioned about the spirit of rebel in the United States.

Obedience without reason was not appreciated highly in the United States, Ilya said. If you have a reason to do something against the convention at a time, you are encouraged to do so. Rebel with reason is better than obedience without reason. That is the American spirit, Ilya told me while we were enjoying the night breeze of Singapore.

We also engaged ourselves in discussions on the philosophy of pragmatism. What a stimulating night!

Ilya Farber in a Tokyo restaurant earlier this year.

Sixth sense

2010-08-21T08:41:00.003+09:00

As the sheer volume of information available for an average individual increased, we really need a keen and well-tuned "sixth sense" while surfing on the web.

More often than not, when using the internet, there is no logical necessity to look up a particular website, except for cases where the purpose is specific. Out of the possible sequential combinations of web visits, one can only conduct a single track visit, killing all other possibilities.

When you think about it, it is an awesome sight. While the texts on the web are "read" by search engines and robots, the human mind is ever restricted in its capacity and spans of attention. There is a "jump" from the multitude of possibilities to the finitude of actual choices. Thus, you really need a "sixth sense" to make most of the web and enrich your life. The next website you are going to visit my change your destiny, or forever confine you in the mundane every day.

The question is, what constitute the "sixth sense" in terms of practical actions and reviewing customs?

Sixth sense

2010-08-21T08:41:00.001+09:00

A fool can be cured only when he dies (II).

2010-08-20T07:53:00.001+09:00

(continued from yesterday)

The phrase "a fool can be cured only when he dies." is a very famous one in Japan, known even among the children (in its original Japanese expression, of course). I grew up with the phrase, saying occasionally the phrase "a fool can be cured only when he dies" to each other as a kid. The implication was that being a fool was a condition that could not be cured so easily. The message was to accept each other's unique condition, including being a fool. Because "a fool can be cured only when he dies", one had to be tolerant to each other.

It was only after I grew up that I learned that the phrase actually came from the famous Rokyoku piece "The Tale of Jirocho Shimizu" by Torazo Hirosawa. Jirocho, a powerful and thoughtful leader, thought highly of and loved one of his disciples, Ishimatsu of Mori. Ishimatsu was a courageous and strong man. Ishimatsu, however, was a foolish man. Ishimatsu lacked the ability to calculate, take precautions, and make necessary preparations. Precisely because Ishimatsu was foolish, he could be brave and endeavoring at the same time. The phrase "a fool can be cured only when he dies" is thus a praise of Ishimatsu's boldness. Looking back, I think we knew its deep significance intuitively when we were throwing the phrase to each other in our elementary school days.

A record cover featuring Torazo Hirosa and Ishimatsu of Mori.

A fool can be cured only when he dies.

2010-08-19T22:19:00.001+09:00

Japanese literature has a rich tradition in the philosophy of life. The genre of Rokyoku, in which important events and life histories of famous persons are recounted in a dramatic and engaging way, provides a particularly resonant medium for the appreciation of life.

Torazo Hirosawa (1899-1964) is a universally recognized genius in the genre of Rokyoku (musical and dramatic recounting of the life of historical figures). Torazo's mastery resides in the organic combination of the tragic and the comic.

Torazo's legendary performance of the Life of Jirocho Shimizu (1820-1893), a gangster and political activist at the same time, is full of heart-wringing drama of life and death. A particularly poignant phrase is "A fool can be cured only when he dies."

(To be continued tomorrow)

Torazo Hirosawa

Cartoons unawares

2010-08-18T08:03:00.001+09:00

We have our weekly lab meeting, where we hold the journal club and also discuss things. One of my students (he has a Ph.D now so he is technically no longer a student of mine but I always feel that he is still one), Takayasu Sekine, is very good at making drawings.

I am often caught unawares by a cartoon of my image on the white board. Yes, I am a bit overweight, but I am not THAT
overweight. He draws me as a fur seal, lying lazily on the rock. I might be lazy at times, but not THAT lazy.

Here's a recent drawing of me (apparently) that I discovered on the white board. When I realize that Takayasu has made another cartoon, I look at him glaringly, and he returns a peevish smile. Maybe one of these days I will take revenge. Takayasu looks like a platypus, some people have said.

One of the cartoons apparently depicting me found on the white board at the occasion of a recent journal club.

Takayasu Sekine with one of his drawings.

I want to have everything, RIGHT NOW!

2010-08-17T08:02:00.001+09:00

When I was in the teens, I often wanted to have everything RIGHT NOW! As ignorant youths often do, I wanted fame, not in many years later, but right then in my mature youth. I wanted a beautiful and caring lover the same day. I wanted to author a great masterpiece and be forever remembered in history. And I wanted that transition from anonymity to fame happen within a day, or better still, within a moment!

Looking back, I of course understand how ridiculous these wishes have been (otherwise I would not be living a normal social life--yes, it IS debatable whether the particular social life that I am leading in and around Tokyo is something that can be termed "normal"). However, I do feel at the same time that in the Sturm und Drang, in that ignorant storm of youth, there was something to be cherished and treasured.

Maybe I need some element of the "I want to have everything RIGHT NOW!" state of mind right now in my (supposedly) mature life.

The great transition from hate to love.

2010-08-16T07:19:00.001+09:00

Nowadays I really enjoy a cold glass of beer in the evening. After a strenuous work day in the heat island of Tokyo, what better ways are there to wind up and get relaxed than cheers and clinks of glass?

Now that beer has become an indispensable part of my life, I sometimes wonder what made me shrink from the very idea when I was a kid. Needless to say I was below the legal drinking age, but my abhorrence of beer seemed to carry something more extreme and deep. I suspect that is the case with many children. And yet, as you grow up, in the magical transformation of age, you learn to love the bitter liquid.

One day you hate it, the other day you just love it. The great transition from hate to love. Yet another enigma of life.

Cream puffs

2010-08-15T07:41:00.001+09:00

Yesterday, when I returned from the studio of All Japan Senior High School Quiz championship, I found a box. Tomio said that it was for me. Apparently, a kind editor visited me and left it as a souvenir.

After the shooting was over, we went to an Indian restaurant near the Nippon television. Several other editors came, and we had a very joyous evening.

I tend to be careless about these things, so I did not look into the box until I went home. When I opened the paper bag, I discovered that there were two, rather than just one, boxes. Inside the box, I found several cream puffs.

Had I realized that I had almost 10 cream puffs in the bag, I would have surely shared them with my friends. Due to my negligence, I had taken them all home.

Now, I love cream puffs in general, but usually do not consume more than one cream puffs in a row. Now I found myself in a situation where I had to eat several cream puffs, in order to save the value while they are fresh.

This morning, I have eaten two cream puffs already. Probably I have to extend my jogging distance by twofold, making friends with the butterflies in the forest and sweating like summer rain.

Hiding (IV).

2010-08-14T09:26:00.000+09:00

(continued from yesterday)

I left the mountain brook and started to walk towards the middle-aged man's voice. The road was covered with dirt, and the evening sunshine was casting an orange light on it. "Ooi" the middle-aged man called again. From the loudness of voice, it was clear that he was quite near me now.

I walked on, and from behind the curve in the road, the middle-aged man appeared. I saw him, and he saw me. I swung my butterfly net to and fro, pretending to search for a butterfly. Then I had nothing to do. I now had to look into the middle-aged man's eyes,

"Why didn't you answer back?" The middle-aged man said, with somewhat rough breath. "Why didn't you answer back, when I called you? I called you many times. Why didn't you say something?"

I could not answer. I could not answer, as I did not know the answer myself. I did not know why I had not yelled back to the calls of "Ooi." I did not know why I felt shy and wanted to hide from the middle-aged man. I did not know why I wanted to be alone in the forest.

"I am sorry." was my feeble answer. "I was chasing the butterflies and...." I almost felt like sobbing. The middle-aged man smiled. "It is all right. Now that I have found you safe, everything is all right. But we need to go to the bus station very quickly now. Otherwise we have to spend the night in the mountains".

Having something to do was such a relief. I hurried, almost ran, to the bus station. The emotional crisis was over.
As I galloped though the path, I started to laugh. I could not suppress the impulse. I laughed peevishly first, trying to hide the big smile from the middle-aged man. Finally, I could stand it any more. I burst out, and the middle aged man, who was running beside me, laughed heartily, too.

(End of this essay)

Hiding (III).

2010-08-13T06:29:00.001+09:00

To this day, I do not understand what was behind my impulse to hide from the middle-aged man. It was not that he looked dangerous or anything. When you think about it really hard, he looked somewhat similar to a young teacher who scolded us in the classroom when we were third graders. But that was just a superficial likeness. For all I could tell, his intentions were good. Kindness radiated from his countenance. And yet, somehow I wanted to hide from the man.

Perhaps I felt that peace and tranquility had been disturbed through the conversations with him. Although the chat was lively and enjoyable, probably I would have preferred being alone in the forest, listening to the sound of silence. Possibly I was secretly indignant that it was too late to regain that desired tranquility. The day was already almost spent. And I had to start heading for the station very soon. Probably I was angry with the man. Or perhaps I was just being a little bit shy.

"Ooi! Where on earth are you?!" "Ooi, are you all right?" The middle-aged man kept shouting, and his voice became louder gradually. He started to sound quite concerned. Probably, he thought that I was lost or something. He might have been thinking that I was hurt and unable to move. It might have well been that he feared I was unconscious.

When I put myself in the position of the middle-aged man now, I can well understand his concerns. Here was a 12 years old boy alone in the mountains, chasing butterfly. The boy had been chatting in a very friendly manner all the while, and all of sudden the boy was no more. No matter how often and loud you called, the boy did not answer. Maybe there had been an accident. Maybe there had been something serious. With the benefit of hindsight, it was no wonder that the middle-aged man was concerned.

I could see such a line of logic on that day, even. I felt that I had a moral obligation to yell back. However, something inhibited me from doing so. There was this strange and uncontrollable agitation in my heart. As time passed, and as the middle-aged man's calls became louder and more desperate, I increasingly felt that it was now probably too late to answer back. In the beginning, it was just a tiny twist in my whimsical mind. I just failed to answer the first few yells. And yet, now that I had remained silent for such a long time, the middle-aged man should be suspecting that there was some intention on my part, something hideous, something even vicious. And I could not bear such thoughts any more.

(This story is to be continued tomorrow)

Hiding (II).

2010-08-12T08:22:00.000+09:00

The middle-aged man I met along the mountain brook said that we walk together. I said fine. So both of us set out to look for Panchala ganesa loomisi.

Within my bosom, my secret wish was to just glance at this lovely butterfly in flight. The ephemeral bluish color on the wing should present a fascinating flickering light when the butterfly is airborne, I imagined. It was almost like an anguished longing.

However, no matter how hard we looked, Panchala ganesa loomisi did not come into view. There were some other butterfly species which looked similar to Panchala ganesa loomisi. Narathura japonica, for example. Every time a likely candidate came into the view, I jumped and run. Every time it turned out to be yet another false alarm.

Time passed, and the sunlight started to weaken. Evidently, I had to start heading home in a few minutes. At that time, I was wandering in the forest on my own. I had been walking with the middle-aged man, but had parted at some time earlier. This was not an unusual action for a butterfly chaser. After all, nature is vast, and it is always a good idea to cover different habitats, in an effort to conduct a joint "filtering" operation.

Suddenly, I heard the man yell out for me. "Ooi", I could hear his voice. "Ooi, where are you?" I could tell that he was quite near. Maybe he wanted to make sure that I was O.K. Maybe he was thinking that he would kindly take me to the station. After all, I was only 12 years old. However, due to the thick foliage, I could not see him. And vice versa.

Out of the blue, I wanted to hide. I felt that I did not want to join that man anymore. I did not know what happened to me. I just wanted to hide, in the tranquility of the forest.

(This story is to be continued tomorrow)

Hiding (I)

2010-08-11T09:42:00.001+09:00

When I was 12 years old, I wanted so much to capture a particular butterfly species, Panchala ganesa loomisi,. It was a small and lovely butterfly. The habitat of this rare species was very limited. Around Tokyo, there was one mountain range where the butterfly inhabited. One Sunday I could not stand it anymore. I jumped onto a train and ventured off to that area of promise.

It was not long after arriving that I realized that the search was going to be difficult. The forestation was quite dense, and the biomass was large. That should have been a good sign in the general sense. However, it also meant that the butterflies would be dispersed and hard to find, even if there were any.

I knew from prior knowledge from books and magazines that I would have to go down to the mountain brooks to have a good chance of encountering the butterfly. When I was walking along a flow, I met with a middle aged man. The man held a butterfly net in his hand, just like me. He asked me "did you come for the Panchala ganesa loomisi?" I answered "yes". We started to chat. The man said that it was great of me to come all the way to this mountain alone, considering my age. I felt proud and happy to hear that. Evidently, he was a very nice man.

(This story is to be continued tomorrow)

Panchala ganesa loomisi

Ebizo keeps a dragon.

2010-08-10T08:34:00.003+09:00

Ichikawa Ebizo XI is a good friend of mine and a great Kabuki actor. He has a big secret. Ebizo keeps a dragon, and the dragon keeps growing.

The revelation came as I was having a conversation with Ebizo for a magazine article in a Tokyo hotel. Out of the blue, Ebizo mentioned in a casual and as-a-matter-of-fact manner that he was keeping a dragon with him.

The story went like this. Some time ago, Ebizo was attending a party. There was an elder man that Ebizo quite respected. When Ebizo looked at the man, there was a large dragon behind. Naturally, Ebizo was quite astonished. The man, looking at Ebizo's countenance, said dryly "Oh, do you see the dragon? It is standing just behind me, isn't it? Where you are looking at now, is the dragon's face. Do you see that? I'll tell you what. Bring a glass jar to this temple in the mountain. Normally, the master priest does not give away dragons to a first comer. But you may be different. He might give you a dragon."

So Ebizo went to this temple in the mountain. The head priest, after looking at Ebizo carefully, finally said that he might take back a dragon in the jar.

So Ebizo took a dragon in a jar back to Tokyo. As time passed, it grew bigger, and it came out of the jar. By the time I met with Ebizo, the dragon had become larger than himself.

As I listened to this story with amazement, Ebizo said to me, "just about where you are looking at right now, should be the dragon's head. Do you see that?"

I could not actually see anything, but I made a ambiguous response, partly to be diplomatic, but partly out of sincerity, as the dragon story made me think deeply.

From the scientific point of view, the whole story should be judged to be a fruit of illusion. A dragon is an imaginary animal. It does not "exist" as a physical entity.

But then there is a rich cultural history, in the far East, regarding the dragon. The dragon is a symbol of inspiration, aspiration, ambition, strength and energy. But tapping into the energy to be extracted from living with the imaginary animal, Ebizo is clearly becoming a larger figure as a Kabuki actor.

Another important point is that Ebizo is doing his day job well. Quite superbly, as a matter of fact. Once on stage, Ebizo's acting as a Kabuki actor is quite intensive, burning with energy, and has the elegance of a wild beast. Nobody questions that.
Some people, when possessed with a vivid imagination, stops functioning in their day jobs. They talk fanciful things, but does nothing. In such a case, the illusion loses its life, and begin to deteriorate.

Ebizo is different. Ebizo does not rely on his dragon. He uses his own body, practices, rehearses, thinks hard, and brings forth a wonderful Kabuki stage, moving the spectators. The dragon is then probably just a symbol of the excellence of Ebizo.
Ebizo keeps a dragon. And then he is a man with a practical sense. Ebizo is embodied. The combination of embodied practicality and the vivid imagination of a dragon is the chemistry behind the phenomenal great acting.

Ichikawa Ebizo.

I would not have been born.

2010-08-09T10:28:00.001+09:00

My mother is originally from the southern island of Kyushu. She was born in 1936.

On August 9th, 1945, at the age of 8, she was in the city of Kokura. On that fateful day, a B-29 carrying the "Fat Man" atomic bomb flew to Kokura. As there were too many clouds over Kokura, they turned the bomber to Nagasaki instead, which was designated as the second target. At 11:02 a.m., the bomb was dropped to the city of Nagasaki, killings tens of thousands of people. Many of the victims were innocent civilians, including many children, just like my mother.

If the clouds were less dense on that day over Kokura, my mother would have been victim to the cruel bomb. She would have not grown up to meet my father and marry. I would not have been born.

First love

2010-08-08T06:10:00.001+09:00

I think my first love "happened" to me when I went to my mother's hometown in Kyushu at the age of 5.

One of my mother's sisters was married to a farmer with a whole mountain behind the house. They held a bon-odori (summer dancing) event in the spacious garden.

There was a girl in yukata dress. She was my first love. There was something definitely elegant and beautiful about her whole demeanor. I did not know what her name was, nor where she came from. Her impression remains vivid to this day.

The darkness itself.

2010-08-07T09:21:00.001+09:00

(Continued from yesterday's entry "The firefly night")

My sister and I wandered around in the night, sometimes hand in hand. My mother dragged behind,　somewhat breathlessly, as I and my sister were walking fast.

It was quite a while before we could get any signs of fireflies. Suddenly, there was a cry. "Look, there goes the firefly!" We dashed on, but could not really observe the light hindered by the walls of people's backs.

Then a little boy came along, with an insect cage hanging from his hand. Lights could be seen going on and off in it. There were fireflies! "Where did you capture these things?" My mother ventured to ask. "Just there, over in the forest!" The boy's caretaker answered.

"Into the forest!" I cried, and I went off in that direction, with the equally excited sister. We looked around and around, but there were no signs of fireflies. Perhaps the had all gone to bed by now.

But then, as if in a miracle, there, in the grass near a big tree, was a flickering and vibrant light. We found the firefly! We made the encounter at last!

Strangely, by this time, the zeal to capture the insect and take it home was gone. I and sister lingered on to watch the fireflies without bothering to capture them. The night breeze was cool and pleasant. And then, gradually, we made friends with the darkness itself. The fireflies did not matter any more.

In a tranquil mood, we went home and slept.

The firefly night.

2010-08-06T07:21:00.000+09:00

When I was about 10 years old, there was an announcement in the local newspaper that a "firefly night" would be held in a nearby park. Thousands of fireflies would be released in the park for the public to enjoy, the article claimed.

The park, spacious but devoid of any clean running water, was not naturally a habitat of the light-emitting insects. The event was clearly meant to be one-off, with the fireflies brought in from somewhere else, either captivated in the wild or artificially nurtured.

In the contemporary atmosphere ever-conscious of animal welfare and environmental concerns, such an event would raise the eyebrows of many. At that time, however, thirty-something years ago, nobody seemed to have any objections. The fireflies might eventually perish in a foreign environment, but the joy that these insects give, no matter how temporary, was thought to justify the whole fuss (and mess for the insects).

I got all excited to read the article, and asked my mother to take me to the park. We had to ride the train to reach there. I took my small sister, equipped with insect net and cage. When we arrived at the station, there were already lots of kids with eager eyes. They had only one thing in mind. To see a firefly, and, if possible, to capture it to take home.

From the newspaper article, I had a vivid imagination of light points moving here and there in the dark, overwhelming the vision. The reality turned out to be more mundane. Perhaps the numbers were correct. However, averaged over the spaciousness of the designated park, the number of fireflies per unit area turned out to be disappointingly low.

"There are no fireflies," exclaimed my sister. "I would like to go home," she begun to wail. Perhaps the darkness frightened her. I did not want to go home in a hurry, so I kept saying "the fireflies would be in that direction", and continued to move around in the dark forest.

(This story is to be continued)

The beauty of butterfly watching

2010-08-05T07:52:00.001+09:00

When I go for jogging in the park forest nearby, I am always watching out for butterflies. They are lovely creatures. I used to try to catch them when I was a child, but nowadays I just observe their behavior.

The most interesting feature of behavior to watch is the route that they take. The butterfly flight paths should be in principle chosen carefully for the survival value (i.e., in search of nectar, possible mates, and avoiding predators), and yet are full of rapid turns and apparently whimsical perturbations at the same time.

The beauty of butterfly watching is that you never know when and from where they are coming. Every corner of your vision becomes a potential route of entry for the airborne creature. By waiting for the butterflies, your sensitivities are kept alive and vibrant.

Yesterday, I was lucky to observe a beautiful specimen of Great Mormon (Papilio memnon Linnaeus). This magnificent butterfly used to be more southern bound. Probably due to the effects of global warming, we can now observe Great Mormons in Tokyo, too.

Thus, while jogging among the greens, I can sometimes encounter a messenger from the south.

A Great Mormon.

Every child is born into a system of language.

2010-08-04T06:58:00.001+09:00

Every child is born into a system of language. I was born into the universe of Japanese, spoken by 130 million people but virtually confined to the island nation.

English came as a second language. Nowadays I use it constantly in my professional and private lives. As a non-native speaker I still have difficulties handling things.

Fortunately the situations are improving. I feel more and more confident and find tremendous joys in going over national borders and getting connected with people on the globe via the lingua franca. Having said that, the fact that English came to me as a second language has been a source of tremendous hardships in my life.

If only English was my native language. Such wishful thinking sometimes do come to me. On the other hand, there must be some advantages of being born into a minority language. I am yet to find the specific blessing. Maybe the point is too subtle to be made in a short period.

At the least, because of the difficulties experienced, I am set out to do a particular kind of soul searching. Hopefully I stumble upon some valuable truth one day because of this wandering around.

Being in a hot air.

2010-08-03T09:21:00.001+09:00

So I am back in Tokyo, back into the heat and humidity. When at home, I do not use the air conditioner, as I don't like the artificial atmosphere. The occasional breeze from the window is just fine for me.

Consequently, when I go out, I enjoy the cool air on the train, in the buildings. A tremendous motivation for me to go out!
The reason why I am resistant to heat can probably be sought back to the days when I was chasing butterflies in the field as a child. Butterflies love fine weather, and they roam around when it is hot. I associate good old memories with the state of being in a hot air.

Having said that, today's heat in Tokyo is probably a little bit too much even for me. Good thing that I will be going out soon.

East of Eden.

2010-08-02T16:41:00.002+09:00

On the plane back to Tokyo (JL001), I watched the film "East of Eden". I think I had seen this masterpiece directed by Elia Kazan a few times, in the days of my naive and callow twenties. The memory of the famous theme music, which is very easy to capture and remember, did not need any refreshing. On the other hand, I realized that I had forgotten most of the details of the film synopsis. The lettuce and beans, for example.

As I watched on, I was emotionally gripped. The story of rivalry between the twin brothers Cal (played superbly by James Dean) and Aron invoked a strange wave of resonance in my heart. The undertone of a possible romantic triangular relations between the twin brothers and Abra (played impressively by Julie Harris) added an atmosphere of tension.

The final scene of reconciliation between the father and son was moving because of the subtle chemistry portrayed. The presence of the ever annoying nurse added a strangely effective spice to the whole thing, which might have been otherwise too sweet. The chasm of misunderstandings and miscommunications finally melted like a snowflake touched by the warmth of the human skin.
Before I knew it, tears welled in my eyes. In order to hide my face from the flight attendants, I raised my right arm to the level of my ear, pretending I was stretching my body after a long flight.

East of Eden.

2nd day at the Science Foo camp.

2010-08-01T23:09:00.003+09:00

2nd day at the Science Foo camp on the Googleplex. Discussions begin in earnest. The sessions are self-organized, scribed down on large post-its on a large schedule board. I chose to attend the Evolution of beauty, Lightening talks (II), Minds, brains and children, Embracing uncertainty, Aliens and search for life 2.0., Death of old media & the birth of new democracy, and Future of authors sessions.

I met quite a few interesting people. E.g., Jaron Lanier and John Brockman.

I just love the atmosphere of free concepts exchange and jazzy dance together of minds. During the sessions, I always made a point of speaking out. But since the exchange of vocalized opinions are so continuous and never-breaking, my own music of thought needed to be precisely timed and had to be explosive when successfully inserted.
I thank the organizers and participants for the awesomeness of the whole thing.

Scince Foo Camp opening.

2010-07-31T22:43:00.001+09:00

First day of Science Foo camp 2010 at Google campus.

It was my first visit to the Googleplex. Impressive. The atmosphere of playfulness and serious concentration was resonating and just fine for me.

We registered at building 40. Lots of interesting people around me. We got out badges, souvenior paper weight with 3D laser sculpture. (Mine was the fractal Julia set. Others were DNA structure and geomagnetic field. Cool.)

With a glass of wine in hand, I took a brief stroll in the campus. Four men were playing beach volleyball. There was a whole T. Rex skeleton, with birds sticking out of here and there. There were posters recruiting people for film gatherings and table tennis tournament. The dress code seemed to be "google casual."

In the opening session, we introduced ourselves each briefly with three key words. Daniel Kahneman was there. Larry Page said hello to the participants. The organizers from Google, Nature, and O'Reilly made interesting opening remarks. How stimulating the whole thing is!

This taxi driver has developed a cognitive filtering machine.

2010-07-31T06:50:00.000+09:00

So here I am in Sunnyvale, California. It is 2:42 p.m. local time. In the evening, I will be attending the Science Foo Camp sponsored by Google and Nature. After I am done with this blogging, I will most probably take a nap, as I could not get adequate sleep on the plane.

I originally thought of hiring a car, but then judged it was probably too much trouble. Therefore I took a cab instead. I always enjoy conversation with the driver.

We were discussing the high tech devises on the car. The driver pointed to a camera and said it captured 8 hours of video, looping. "Do you get any strange customers?" I asked. "Yes", the driver said. "Especially at night. You know when people are loaded, when they are drunk, they sometimes behave strangely. But you can tell pretty well whether a guy is going to behave strangely when he is standing on the road." "Really?" "Oh, yeah. When a guy is waving his hand like that, or is standing in the middle of road, you can pretty well tell that he is going to make trouble. I just pass by them."

So it appears that this taxi driver has developed a cognitive filtering machine, telling potentially troublesome customers beforehand. A good adaptation. I am curious about the specific details for classification, though.

Being in a minority position is not without its joys.

2010-07-30T09:05:00.002+09:00

Throughout my life, I seem to have been enjoying the status of being a minority.

In the junior high, I used to chase butterflies in the field, and read grown-up's books. That was an attitude not ubiquitous among us brats, so I was always looked at as if observing something strange.

As I grew up, my tastes seemed to be shift into increasingly exotic areas in terms of sensitivity and feelings. I had to hide my true nature from time to time, but then I started to encounter people of my own kind.

I remember quite well the rubbishings and abuses we Mac users used to receive from the majority of people who uses the import from Seattle. They said that Macs are for fun and not for serious business. Corporations and schools matter-of-factly announced that their systems and apps were not compatible with the Mac. What do you care? Many computer viruses also turned out to be Mac-incompatible.

When waiting for the train in a Tokyo subway station, I tend to stand in the corners or at the farthest ends of the platform, away from where most people stay for convenience. For me, being alone seems to be more important than seeking convenience.

And the last straw is the problem of qualia. Many "serious" scientists laugh at it as if it is a pseudo-problem. They tend to maintain that functionalist approaches based on connectionist models are sufficient. Again, what do you care. One cannot change what one believes based on empirical observation and application of pure logic.

Being in a minority position is not without its joy. When you are in the majority, it is not that difficult to find people with whom you can resonate. Being in the minority, friend-making becomes an art in miraculous encounters. For example, if and when you find people who are seriously interested in the problem of qualia, that can give you a joy that lasts all your life.

May Ebizo and Mao live happily ever after.

2010-07-30T00:01:00.000+09:00

I attended the wedding party of Ebizo Ichikawa, the young and great Kabuki actor. The Kabuki is a miracle, as it is both popular and artistically very refined. Very few genres of art achieve these often incompatible goals.

Ebizo is a great person. He has the savageness of a beast, as well as a fine-tuned intelligence of a noble man. The lady he chose as his partner, Ms. Mao Kobayashi, is a well known newscaster and a very beautiful lady.

Once on stage, Ebizo can become very furious. He can portray characters very remote from human dimensions. His energy then truly approaches that of a dragon. However, this evening, Ebizo was just a very happy man, grinning all the time. May Ebizo and Mao live happily ever after.

Ebizo and Mao cutting the cake. From asahi.com.

EST, EST, EST.

2010-07-28T09:46:00.001+09:00

My favorite bar in Tokyo is "EST" in Yushima. The first time I visited this legendary bar, I was with Ken Shiotani, my fat philosopher friend. We had just turned 22. Shiotani was actually not that fat at that time. Then his belly area started to grow rapidly, and outpaced the Japanese economy.

I have a vivid image of the first night at EST. We were wandering in the small streets of Yushima, and Shiotani said out of the blue that he had a place that he wanted to try out. At that time, it was mainly Shiotani that came up with the proposals. I was rather a naive boy in the field of culinary and alcoholic delights. Shiotani was quite eager in this respect, which probably accounts for his big gain in weight.

The walk brought us to a thick wooden door. Inside, we found a polished bar table and a man in white cook coat with a gentle smile. That was Mr. Watanabe, master of EST.

Since then, EST has been my haven, EST has been my heaven, EST has been my home. EST, EST, EST. When do I go to EST next time with my fat philosopher friend?

With Ken Shiotani on the "Hanami" (cherry blossom admiring) night this March.

Passion meter.

2010-07-27T07:33:00.002+09:00

As I go about my life, I meet many people. Some are famous. Others are young. Many are experienced. A few are truly awesome. I seem to appreciate the individualities of these persons in many different ways. One of the most important, however, is what I would call a "passion meter".

The question is how passionate a person is about his or her life. Passion can be nurtured in adversities, so the superficial success or failure are not that important. Intelligence also does relatively little to do with the passion level.

When professing a cause, the key concern is how deeply the antagonist actually believes in that cause. In many cases, people are just saying niceties, and do not actually put their energy into the realization of the causes. Some people are too established to really care for other people or themselves.

The greatest tragedy in life is the loss of passion. When a nation or a society suffers from it, inevitable decline follows. In many cases, people do not notice the decline, as their eyes are blind to the fact that they can convert difficulties into passion, if and only if they have the courage to do so.

So I go about the world today again with my passion meter. When I encounter an outlier of magnitude in the passion measure, I consider it as one of the rare blessings to my life.

Sapporo

2010-07-26T08:19:00.000+09:00

Responding to the invitation of a senior high school headmaster Mr. Kawasaki, I gave two lectures in Sapporo. After the strenuous but enjoying hours, I strolled in the streets towards a local restaurant. It is always refreshing to venture into the unknown. Your instinct to discern the good from the mediocre, the tasty from the not so tasty, is highly invoked and something in you that remained dormant for so many years become active.

It occurs much slower than in a video game. The number of choices are also limited. You cannot fast-forward or keyword search.
But then everything is embodied, here and now.

Finally, we decided on a fisherman's restaurant. The defining moment is the taste of the evening's first beer. As I talked into the late hours with people from around the northern city, the joy of being on the road slowly unfolds itself.

In traveling, you are lost once and then find a transient home. You rest your weight on the newly found ground and then dissolve it without regret. The rather quick procession of things assures that your life is well revived and taken care of. You find that, once again, traveling has refreshed the life in you.

The 10 years wait of James Joyce

2010-07-25T08:13:00.001+09:00

The Dubliners by James Joyce is a sublime example of English prose work. Written in 1904, the classic masterpiece, however, did not get published until 1914. Seen from the perspectives of today, there is nothing objectionable in the work. At that time, however, some of the expressions in The Dubliners (such as "have a girl") were considered inappropriate.

The fact that James Joyce could not get his work of genius published for 10 full years is a testimony of the fact that reception is not always automatic or immediate.

Let the 10 years wait of James Joyce be a source of inspiration for every young would-be creators and young-at-hearts.

James Joyce.