Into the World:
The Random Thoughts in My Mind

The small poster next to the main entrance of the neighborhood gym is clearly designed to be seen by all who try to enter its premises. In big red letters, it states that the gym absolutely prohibits tattoos and that anyone found with one will be reported to the police and be escorted off its premises. Regular members of the gym who are later discovered to have tattoos, the poster says, will have their membership immediately revoked. The gym proudly presents itself as a "clean" destination free of body art, and the poster at the entrance symbolizes it.

Variety shows are a genre to itself in Japanese TV. Comedians, actors, and other TV personalities get together on-stage, crack jokes, watch videos, and talk about their life experiences. Sometimes, these personalities are sent to various restaurants, shops, and other locations, where they interact with locals, shop, eat, and talk so that the audience get to know the personalities, learn some new knowledge, and find out about new destinations to hang out on the weekends in their hometowns and faraway cities. Sometimes, the shows are cringeworthy and xenophobic , but they continue to thrive and evolve.

Thanksgiving is a time for family get-togethers in the US. Distant relatives come for a dinner party, with turkey or otherwise, under one roof, perhaps for just this once in a whole year. But eating and talking are not the only activities when family members get together. When people get together so rarely, some gift-giving is bound to be necessary, so retailers see the Thanksgiving weekend to be a great time for pushing more products out the door. The result is a Black Friday tradition of jaw-dropping discounts and binge-buying for the whole family.

It seems to be a social norm everywhere in the productive world that imbibing alcohol is an after-hours activity. Because people are generally consigned to work during the day, drinking before dinner during weekdays is frowned upon as the behavior of the unemployed alcoholic. And in a world where many proscribe to the idea that a good day off is a productive day off (in a sense of getting hobbies and other things done outside of paid work), drinking while there is still sunlight out on the weekends is not exactly the most socially acceptable behavior either.

A small L-shaped counter with six seats, a long cabinet crowded with bottles of alcohol, and two TVs playing old movies and music videos...the little hidden bar is simple enough that one could mistake it for a nightspot in rural Africa . But this little bar was in the back of a nondescript office building in a nondescript neighborhood in a nondescript part of Japan. For 18 years, the owner of the bar ran the place by himself, relying on the old regular customers who have grown to know him personally as they came in week after week, month after month, for chilling and quiet chats.

At first sight, Squid Game  has a lot against it on the road to global popularity. It is unabashedly violent, refers to some idiosyncrasies of modern-day South Korea that many people around the world may not be familiar with, and does not stack its cast with the young, beautiful, and famous. Yet, what has been termed as the South Korean version of The   Hunger Games , speaking directly out against the evils of social stratification by taking class schisms to its extremely violent logic end, has somehow become the biggest original series in the entire history of Netflix.

The setup at one of the University of Tokyo's bigger conference halls is also designed for a major event. Hundreds of staff members checking paperwork, rows of chairs for people waiting their turn, and elaborate signs and partitions to direct the flow of traffic have turned the normally empty conference hall into one that serves a single purpose: an assembly line of getting as many COVID shots into people's arms as possible in a short time. The massive amount of human and physical resources, not to mention the planning, that went into the affair certainly displays the dedication of the university to its staff and students.

The 24-hour gym that I go to near my apartment is moving up the technology chain. Replacing a contactless card key system that allows users to go in and out, the gym recently introduced a facial recognition system that allows those registered to open the door just by scanning their faces. It is more convenient for users who are unwilling to carry their card keys around. And from the gym's perspective, it effectively prevents users from lending their card keys to their non-paying friends. The goal is to eventually entice all users to switch over to the facial recognition system and get rid of all card key users. Some users seem to be quite resistant. Even though the gym sent multiple emails to users about registering their faces for the new system, and posted the same notice on the gym's premises, the majority of the users continue to show up with their card keys. Even though gym staff is around when these users visit, the users do not seem to have any intention of speaking to t

Turn on Japanese TV and one often sees programs about foreigners living in the country. The shows have foreigners introducing their cultures to a Japanese audience, stories about foreigners who lived in the country for decades and how they interact with the community, and unfortunately, many foreigners who choose to caricature their own cultures to make a living as foreign TV stars. But as COVID rages on and Japan remains firmly shut to the very idea of accepting new long-term foreign residents, TV shows about foreigners have also evolved somewhat in line with the changing attitudes during COVID.

If there is one thing that biased Western media coverage got right about the current state of Afghanistan, it is the precarity of governance in the era of post-Taliban takeover. As the Taliban streamed into the major cities of the country practically unopposed, a large number of locals have spurned the new government, fleeing to the Kabul airport in the hopes of catching an evacuation flight to a new homeland. Many of these people genuinely fear for their lives, having collaborated with the Western "occupiers" and the previous "puppet" government that the Western allies propped up at great expense. 

As Kabul falls and the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan is nearly complete, there is a rather bipolar coverage of the events on the ground among Western media outlets. On one hand, there are extensive analyses of what led to the fact that an Afghan military, 300,000 men strong, that was trained and equipped with modern, US-made guns, tanks, and fighter planes, at the cost of more than USD 80 billion over two decades, simply disintegrated in the face of a two-week assault by a group of guerrilla fighters carrying nothing more than rifles and grenades. 

As the 2020 Tokyo Olympics draws to a close, major media outlets in Japan and around the world are already coming up with compilations of these Games' greatest moments. Particular to the Japanese case is a sheet abundance of crying on the part of both the athletes and commentators (many of whom are former athletes who participated in past Olympics). In media interviews, athletes shed tears of joy when they won medals, and plenty more tears of regret and disappointment when they lost close matches or just missed a medal. As commentators cried on-screen with the athletes, the media outlets hope that the audience cried with them.

For some people, the legendary American gymnast Simone Biles is currently in the news for all the wrong reasons. Before the Tokyo Olympics started, the news was all about her dominance in her sport, revolutionizing the field of women's gymnastics like no one before she has ever done. Given those news articles, people rightly expected her to win gold medal after gold medal in Tokyo. Yet, instead of winning gold medals, she has recently been in the news for suddenly dropping out of the team and individual all-around competitions, citing issues with her mental health.

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.

The bulletin board on the first floor of the small local community center was full. On a Saturday morning, the few classrooms available to rent by the center are all filled in with activities like "International Exchange," "Basic English," "Singing," "Calligraphy," among others. Various activity groups have their little posters pasted on the nearby walls, advertising in pictures and words their membership, meeting times, and the reason others should join. From the first look of the place, it seemed as if the community center is really a meeting place for all members of the community.

On the 4th floor of a nondescript office building, a five-minute walk from bustling Chiba train station is a series of small booths fronted by a reception. Those who are casually passing by may see that these booths resemble small meeting rooms, where those keen on privacy would be interviewed for jobs or thrash out the details of business ideas. That these booths are a "party space," as their operator calls them, would not be the first thing that would pop into the casual observers' minds. Their hidden secretive structure does not indicate their users wanting to talk to many people, as one would at a party. Yet, it is in these small series of rooms that many romantic couples are formed, after paying good money. After those interested sign up for a "party for people looking to get married" (婚活パーティー), paying JPY 5,000 (for a man) or JPY 1,500 (for a woman) each, they are directed to these little booths, where they are told that they will, in quick succession each

One of the most evident beneficiaries of the rush to work from home in the COVID era is video call services. With the advent of fast internet connections, people now matter-of-factly speak to each other over Zoom, Teams, or Skype video calls, for both the purpose of work meetings with colleagues and clients or casual meetups with friends and family members. Some people relish the ability to talk from the comfort of their living rooms, clad in pajama bottoms, to whoever they need to speak to with the push of a button. Some have come to consider video calls to be at the forefront of the vaulted goal of digital transformation of the workplace.

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.

Before the COVID-19 pandemic became big news, a topic that frequently popped up in mainstream media is the damage that fast fashion does to the environment. The enormous cost of producing, transporting, and handling the disposals of clothing and shoes that go out of fashion supposedly in a year or two has been rightly pointed out as a culprit for increase in trash in the rich world and excess exploitation of both natural and human resources in poor ones. While the garment industry brought development to a few countries like Bangladesh, Vietnam, and Cambodia, for most of the developing world, the negatives outweighed the positives.

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.