Into the World:
The Random Thoughts in My Mind

It was a traditional sight in front of the local community center. Several pairs of mothers and their young daughters were walking from the nearby parking lot, dressed in the summer kimono of different colors highlighted with graceful floral patterns. They were perhaps heading into a classroom that would show the young daughters how to properly dress and undress in these traditional Japanese dresses, no longer used in daily life but still a common sight in summer festivals like firework watching, night prayers at Shinto shrines, and just any traditional summer outings for traditional holidays.

Even at first sight, Sapporo, the capital city of Japan's northernmost Hokkaido prefecture, looks different from your average Japanese city. The center of the city forms a perfect grid, with the streets running north-south or east-west so straight that, if it were not for the streams of cars on them, one can easily see from one end of the city to the other. And these streets, at least two lanes in each direction (if not wider) are designed for easy navigation by cars and other vehicles, rather than facilitate easy crossing by pedestrians just wondering around to get a taste of street life. Shops and restaurants are neatly packed into rectangular buildings on rectangular land plots, rather than spilling onto the streets.

There is nothing remarkable about the Korean restaurant around a corner of the residential suburb that I live in. Toted as a family restaurant, the small space, with a row of counter seats facing an open kitchen is usually run by an elderly couple with little Japanese skills and their middle-aged children. In a neighborhood with few options for Korean food, the restaurant gets a steady stream of customers, at least on the weekday nights that I have visited. Given that many Korean dishes require lengthy preparations of putting together and boiling the ingredients, the proprietors of the restaurant were constantly occupied.

It is interesting to witness a piece of history right in the neighborhood that you live in. In this residential suburb of Chiba city that I live in, there is a little wooden Japanese-style house sitting in the corner of a small backstreet, surrounded by similar houses populated by normal people. Yet, in this little wooden house, decades ago, lived Aisin Gioro Pujie (愛新覺羅溥傑), the younger brother of Aisin Gioro Puyi (愛新覺羅溥儀), the last emperor of the Manchu Qing Dynasty that ruled China until 1911. After the fall of the Qing Dynasty, he came to Japan as a member of the royal family of Manchukuo.

In front of my apartment in Chiba, there is an elderly man in a uniform every morning from 7am. Tasked by the neighborhood committee, the man is at the same spot every weekday to greet the young children passing through on their way to school. "Good morning!" The elderly man never fails to say in his loudest voice as each child passes through. His voice is loud enough that I, living in the apartment unit right next to the road where he stands, can be woken up in the morning just by his voice. Most of the children he greets are equally vocal, responding in equally loud voices almost as a routine day after day.

A mutually agreed ceasefire has finally taken hold after a short eleven-day rocket-and-air-raid war between Israel and Gaza. But the ceasefire only took place after hundreds of protests across the world (both in solidarity with Israel and the Palestinians) and pressure from major powers around the world. This ceasefire, unfortunately, was too late for the more than 200 people who perished in the conflict, thousands who were injured, and more than 50,000 people who were displaced in Gaza as Israeli airstrikes destroyed their homes for being suspected centers of operation for the ruling political party-cum-militia Hamas.

Even a casual purveyor of Japanese pop culture would be familiar with the concept of "kawaii." Loosely translated as "cute," it introduces a certain immature, baby-like naughtiness to everything from interior design to the pages of comic books, reflecting a nation often obsessed with seeking out both physical and mental youth even in the twilight years. Nowhere is kawaii more apparent than in the designs of female girl bands, or "idol groups" in the local parlance, that often consist of teens in matching uniforms dancing in sync to bubblegum pop songs about first love and growing up to leave adolescence behind. 

Two months after the military overthrew the civilian government in Myanmar, the country is on the verge of civil war. Ethnic militias are gearing up for a fight against the increasingly violent military, which has resorted to shooting protestors to keep an increasingly tenuous peace. Protestors, not content at being shot at, have graduated from throwing rocks and Molotov cocktails to fleeing from the cities to join guerrilla groups in the mountains of the country's remote borderlands, hoping to take back their country by force. Conflicts have embroiled Burmese communities outside the country, with individual Burmese, not to mention diplomats and governments-in-exile, openly speaking out against the junta.

The National Museum of Japanese History is a sprawling complex in Sakura, in the hinterlands of Chiba prefecture west of Tokyo. Its semi-rural location perhaps allowed the government and academic facilities that together set up a building complex that, albeit briefly, goes through the entirety of Japanese history from the pre-historic to the post-World War II era. It is an ambitious project challenging for both the curators and visitors alike. I started my tour of the facility at 11:45 am and had to rush through the last two sections of the museum just to make our exit before it closed at 5 pm. 

「お二人は3月にゴールインしました！」goes the TV program that discusses the relationship trajectory of a newlywed couple. Literally stating that "the two people reached the 'goal in' in March," this phrase uses "goal in," a Japanese-made English term that is commonly used to refer to two people that have been dating for a long time getting to the stage of marriage. The term is so commonly used that Japanese speakers rarely think about the underlying implication of the term itself, and how marriage, as an institution, is perceived within modern Japanese culture.

It is sad to see how low the reputation of Aung San Suu Kyi, the de facto leader of Myanmar until a few days ago, sank on international social media. While Burmese citizens appealed for international solidarity in criticism toward the military coup that toppled the Suu Kyi government on the likes of Facebook and Twitter, the response of foreigners has been lackluster, to say the least. The few outspoken foreigners have instead used the sphere to criticize Suu Kyi's apathy toward the suffering of the Rohingya under her watch.

Ten years ago, in the aftermath of the Great Tohoku Earthquake, the Japanese economy faced a brief slump that was attributed as much to the behavior of the Japanese general public as damages by the Quake itself. Due to the devastating nature of the Quake, many Japanese people took upon themselves for "self-restraint" (自粛) on entertainment-related spending, canceling parties, outings, and other leisure activities as a display of respect toward the thousands who perished in the Quake.

The biggest news of the year that just passed is no doubt the global spread of COVID-19. Media outlets and people around the world have over time became front and center in a historical moment, as a global pandemic, unprecedented in the lifetimes of most of today's residents on Earth, ravaged nations and economies around the world, disrupting everyday life. As different states came face-to-face with the speed with which the virus claimed the lives of their citizens, the media coverage increasingly centered on how the disease seemed to take on different trajectories in different places, hurting some countries much more than others.

Recently, Nike released a short advertisement on Youtube that depicts three Japanese young athletes of non-mainstream ethnic identities (two Korean, one half-black) overcoming discrimination and bullying through their participation in their schools' and communities' soccer teams. Despite the intention of crafting a universal message of social inclusion in a country grasping an unprecedented question of what to make of an increase in Japanese residents of non-Japanese descent. The ad was picked up by international media outlets as a sign of the country's continued reorientation from centuries of self-designated ethnic and cultural homogeneity.

For many Japanese people, the first and probably the most common type of "foreign food" that they encounter and partake in their lives is Chinese food. Ever since the first Chinese migrants brought the cuisine to the Japanese masses in the pre-World War II era, Chinese food has been the go-to choice for those looking to fill their stomachs on the cheap. With the country's defeat in World War II, many Japanese residents on the Chinese mainland were uprooted and returned to Japan, where many eeked out a living by peddling foods of their previously adopted homelands.

More than a year ago, I argued that a history of ethnic conflicts and a political structure that gives too much regional autonomy threatens the peace the country achieved under Abiy Ahmad, a 2019 Nobel Peace laureate. Indeed, as 2020 draws to a close, the Ethiopian federal government is on a military offensive against Tigray, a northern region whose ruling political party was once behind the political force behind the authoritarian regime that Abiy and his allies worked hard to overthrow. With the federal government cutting off electricity, water, and internet to Tigray and a large number of locals fleeing across the border to Sudan as refugees, the war threatens to destroy Abiy's hard-earned international reputation as a peacemaker.

I was eating mochi for lunch when I started wondering how the word mochi managed to enter the English language despite the product being not so well-acquainted among the average native speaker of English. The word itself is completely meaningless to someone without exposure to Japanese or the wider East Asian culinary tradition, a simple transliteration of the Japanese term for "gluttonous rice cake" that has, in some corner of the Western world, symbolize an exotic snack almost exclusively, despite it being around for thousands of years and used in dishes sweet and savory, for proper meals and desserts.

For a publication that is known for supporting liberal causes, most important of all the respect of human rights around the world, the Economist can be highly pragmatic. The magazine argued for institutionalizing international migrants as second class citizens in their host societies to placate the worst tendencies of anti-immigration xenophobia that has made headlines in many recipient countries. Setting aside the discussion on whether systematically introducing bureaucratic and economic inequalities between migrants and "natives" contradicts the principle of universal human rights, one should not doubt that the Economist  values practical solutions over lofty ideals in dealing with real-world issues.

In a TV interview in the aftermath of the World Food Program (WFP) receiving this year's Nobel Peace Prize, a former senior Japanese official at the WFP spoke of the one big lesson from his more than 30 years with the organization. He noted that every inequality, no matter how far away, is relevant to every nation and people around the world, and it is necessary for everyone to keep their eyes peeled for every conflict that emerges to better understand themselves. The words of the former WFP manager could not more in time today especially in Japan, as a deadly military conflict rages in the Caucasus with little mainstream coverage.

It's rather odd for me to hear people question my Japanese-ness even implicitly in Japan. Granted, I am by no means Japanese by ethnicity or nationality, but speaking Japanese without much of a foreign accent while having the looks to fit straight into the mainstream, I am accustomed to people assuming that I am Japanese as long as they don't ask for my real name or a copy of my identity card.