09.2024
For some time now, I’ve been walking at night with a theme in mind, taking photos as I go. Sometimes I have company and other times I don’t, but either way, it’s a series of beautiful moments. Late summer’s lingering heat remains intense, with evenings still warm enough to bring a light sweat. Yet, the moon hanging in the clear night sky seems to have grown more luminous. Before I realized it, the peak of summer had quietly slipped away.
Mid-month, I visited the airport for the first time in five years to see a friend off. On the train ride there, memories surfaced when I set out on my own journey. The only difference between departure and return was the amount of luggage—everything else about me had been completely transformed. People often speak of journeys taken to find themselves. For me, it was slightly different. I returned having reaffirmed and accepted who I was. That conviction has since become the foundation of my current self. Perhaps for that reason, I felt nothing but serene happiness even as I stood on a windswept observation deck watching planes take off. The heat radiating from the ground seemed capable of melting even the sadness of parting.
Growing older and becoming an adult often overlap, but they aren’t necessarily synonymous. As someone who lives while embracing the child I once was, I’m certain of that. Occasionally, my immature self—unyielding and stubborn—peeks through, and I’ve recently resigned myself to the idea that I might be this way until the end of my days. Perhaps everyone is like this to some extent.
For me, surrendering and accepting are nearly the same thing. Especially in recent years, I’ve felt this repeatedly. It’s not that I’ve grown accustomed to it—I’ve simply had no choice but to acknowledge it. There are still realities I want to turn away from and fates I want to resist, and they visit me frequently. But running away doesn’t change the outcome, and that, too, is an undeniable truth. If there’s one advantage I’ve gained with age, it’s the ability to focus my awareness on the present moment more quickly than I could in the past.
When I strive to love myself properly, the difficulty of the task makes me want to give it all up. Yet, when I confront the truth, I find that even my surroundings seem to shift, reflecting my internal changes. And so, I continue to receive small gifts every second of every day. From now on, forever.
08.2024
By chance, I visited the town where I had spent some time in my younger years. It’s a peculiar place that never fully feels like either a city or the countryside, and in the end, I never grew fond of it. Following faint memories, I took a shortcut from the station I once frequented and walked to the building where I used to live. It looked unchanged since my last memory, but it seemed someone else was living there now. The whole town felt distant and unfamiliar as if I had never spent a year and a half there. The thought that I might never come back made the feeling of loneliness even stronger.
On the way back, I climbed the pedestrian bridge I had used countless times before and looked down at the wide road beneath. The timing, during twilight, made the view unexpectedly beautiful. Standing there, I let myself reminisce about the many things that had happened to my naive younger self. I thought I might cry, but no tears came—only an overwhelming urge to offer words of encouragement to that version of me.
Soon after, I climbed another pedestrian bridge near my current home and looked down at the scene below in much the same way. This place feels like a better fit for me. Although I’m weary of the heat lingering in the ground even after sunset, as a second temporary home, it’s more than adequate. Above all, I know of a paradise on earth. I’ve resolved to do anything, literally anything, to return there someday.
Coming here has made me even more aware of how precious it is to encounter those brimming with potential. The opportunities to gain new perspectives and values diminish year by year, which perhaps makes them shine all the more brightly. I might have once been such a presence for someone, too.
At the same time, I’ve come to understand how profoundly an environment—no matter how passively we engage with it—can shape a person. Culture, with all its differences, is endlessly fascinating and continues to capture my interest. Explaining the intricacies of my mother tongue, which has become so deeply rooted in my identity, to others feels absurd and often makes me laugh. It’s astonishing to think that people of the past created such complex and delicate systems. As someone who has navigated through several languages, I feel a deep sense of reverence. That’s why I wish never to lose the love and respect I hold for all cultures.
07.2024
I’ve been reflecting on the definition of a “new environment.” Does it mean starting to interact with people I’ve never been involved with before? Or does it refer to a physical relocation? Perhaps it’s both—or maybe it involves something else entirely. In most cases, I fear stagnation in my growth, and I tend to leave a place just as I start to feel too comfortable. Whether this is a sign of strength or weakness, I still don’t know. For now, though, it doesn’t feel like the wrong choice.
For a long time, I’ve resolved to make every decision of mine the right one, no matter what. However, that doesn’t mean I’m always filled with confidence. There are mornings when I feel on the verge of breaking, and nights when I put on a brave face. Even so, that’s what it means to be human—that’s who I am. I hope there will come a day when I can look back on these moments and laugh.
I’ve been exercising and taking walks repeatedly as if to resist the oppressive heat. I’ve also become more selective about what I consume, and it’s fascinating to see how it positively affects my body. Retracing the places I used to visit frequently a decade ago makes my own transformation feel strikingly clear. As I walk along a path echoing with the chirping of cicadas, wishing not to be swallowed by the vortex of this chaotic city, I see my sweat fall onto the asphalt, evaporating almost instantly.
I’ve always disliked summer. That feeling has only intensified with age, yet at the same time, I’ve come to recognize it as a necessary season. There are moments when I feel gratitude for the sunlight that takes away my impatience and loneliness. One day—perhaps sooner or later—I’ll understand how this summer has impacted me.
06.2024
In a refreshed yet familiar environment, I am adjusting my way of being while reevaluating everything I truly need. Something has certainly changed from before, but I still don’t know exactly what it is. Perhaps it’s okay not to know.
One thing I’m certain of is that the amount of physical belongings I own has drastically decreased. The benefits of traveling light are countless. That’s why, at times, I readily let go of unnecessary patience. Resources are finite. If I’m not mindful, I could quickly lose the opportunity to grasp what truly matters to me.
Perhaps as the cost of encountering something dazzling, I’ve fallen gravely ill once again, and this time it completely defeated me. My voice sounds like sandpaper scraping, and even my sighs are punctuated with coughs. I lose consciousness before I can even attempt to sleep, unable to distinguish between dreams and reality.
Logically, I know it’s impossible to completely avoid pathogens for the rest of my life. Yet foolishly, I found myself cursing my condition so deeply that I wished it were otherwise.
Even so, after sleeping enough, I managed to recover some rest. Gazing calmly at my fully healed body, I recognized the preciousness of normalcy. I ventured cautiously outside, took a deep breath, and walked through the streets. “No rain lasts forever,” I thought, though it’s such a cliché.
05.2024
There is a hint of heat mixed in with the cheerful weather. The increasingly strong sunlight seems to announce that summer is just around the corner. In this place, properly embracing the change of seasons feels like a challenge. As I walk and lose myself in thought, I find my mind wandering to the past—those formative years I spent here, the people I met, and the ones who left. The things I gained and let go of. These memories no longer feel like recollections but like I am tracing someone else’s journal, devoid of reality.
With its relentless changes and transience, this city sometimes feels as if it is made of sand—fragile enough to be blown away by the wind, leaving only a rough texture in its absence. Caught between concrete and skyscrapers, even my emotions threaten to harden, but I refuse to give in. Above all, the beautiful sights I catch at the seams of daily life still save me. And now, I have a place for my soul to return to. It is not here but somewhere beyond the skies and seas—a land that calls me back.
I wonder when I began to see elements of myself in others. Perhaps, from the very start, we had no true barriers. When I try to envelop the world with love, it glows faintly, and a gentle breeze stirs. It may be overly optimistic to think this solves everything in a world like ours, but at the very least, I want to affirm the ground I walk on.
Here, even when night deepens and I close my eyes, the city never stops moving. Perhaps this is the perfect place for people to live, masking their loneliness as they go. Maybe it’s fine to have such a phase in life—just as I once did.
04.2024
No matter how many times I see them, cherry blossoms are always beautiful, adorable, and fleeting—a strong flower that suits the clear blue sky. As they bloom, I’m reminded of this same season four years ago. It was a time filled with vague unease, wondering if life would ever return to what it once was. Avoiding “non-essential outings,” I watched these blossoms from inside the car on my way back from errands. They were achingly beautiful, even in their bittersweetness.
Now, four years later, as I walk under the trees without any barriers between us, an indescribable flood of emotions wells up within me. I fill my lungs with the spring air and occasionally stop to touch the bark of the trees. Everything changes, including myself. Change cannot be stopped, but it can be accepted. One of the greatest gifts this period has given me is the ability to find a glimmer of light in even the most despairing scenes.
Guided by the grand flow of time, I have returned, after five years, to the place where I once spent six years of my life. From the train, I look down at the familiar streets. The city itself shows no dramatic changes. If anything has changed profoundly—for better or worse—it is me. I find that being immersed in the very essence of urban life quickly takes a toll on my health. I recall that I used to be fine, but perhaps it was my “okay” self back then that was the anomaly.
Nevertheless, no matter how many times I relocate, my ability to adapt and establish a foundation for living has improved remarkably. The accumulation of small, daily routines often leads to the essence of life. Once again, I gather my resolve. Now, perhaps it’s time for a walk. The air outside smells of a spring night.
03.2024
During this time of the year, as spring and winter alternate, I find myself completely at the mercy of the shifting seasons. Looking back, I realize I chose a fitting moment to embrace both an ending and a beginning. Among the lessons etched into my life’s woven history, one stands out: the importance of knowing when to leave. Perhaps leaving while still being missed is the perfect way to go.
These days, I’ve been moving from place to place even more frequently than before, and each journey invites me to delve into my thoughts. Gazing at distant city lights from the train window, countless memories of different landscapes come rushing back. The fatigue from all this traveling seems to have taken a toll on my health, but I’ve resolved to weather this period as best I can. Even now, I take solace in feeling that I’m making gradual progress—both physically and mentally.
With a fortunate blend of luck and opportunity, my next destination has been set—a place I once called home. Having lingered far longer than expected in my current perch, where comfort seemed to root me, I now feel a renewed sense of purpose. This move has reminded me of the significance of changing environments, as well as the fact that this new yet familiar place will never coddle me.
For the past few years, I’ve clung tightly to the bare minimum—what might even be considered an attachment. How this simplicity will influence my next chapter remains unclear. Still, when I engage in earnest self-reflection, I’m often surprised by the wisdom that surfaces. There’s no shortage of lessons learned during my wanderings, so I trust that I’ll manage just fine this time, too.
I don’t own much. My innate talents are next to none. Yet, I’ve developed a system to preserve the memories I don’t want to lose, each one complementing the others. Despite my deep love for this life of mine, I tend to forget that very fact unless I remind myself of it from time to time. And so, this serves as another note to my forgetful self.
02.2024
This month began with a sacred ritual, and along with the chill of winter, I felt my body enveloped by an almost spiritual aura. When I listen closely to the sound of the air, I can sense, however faintly, the presence of spring within it. Perhaps it’s because the days are growing longer, and I find myself gazing at the blue sky more often.
Rocking gently on a train, my mind wandered as I thought about the concept of distance. There’s something both achingly sorrowful and deeply endearing about it. In my immaturity, I tend to lose sight of myself when my perspective narrows. Lacking composure, I sometimes let slip words I don’t truly mean to those I hold dear. Even though I pride myself on having a firm axis and clear principles, I find myself in this sorry state. I must admit that I am weak and fragile to my very core.
Yet, it is precisely because of this fragility that I often find solace in distance—and the time and space that accompany it. When I step back from everything and return to this present moment, the past and future feel so far away that they might as well not exist at all.
Whether for work or personal life, I meet people—seemingly at random—and focus my awareness on the background each of them carries. The fact that someone I know, or even someone I don’t, is living calmly and peacefully despite carrying countless worries also brings me salvation.
I’ve forgotten when exactly I realized just how deeply I love humanity, this species called humans. Perhaps it’s been that way from the very beginning—or maybe, it’s been so long before what I might call the “beginning.” If not, I couldn’t explain why I continue to embrace and forgive myself, even when I’ve been hurt or saddened by my relationships with others.
And so, no matter what happens, I ultimately choose to face forward. As long as light continues to shine upon this beautiful world.
01.2024
A wave of dizziness overtakes me, and the warmth drains from my body. I struggle to breathe, and when I try to form words, tears come instead. Asking “why” feels utterly futile, the question dissolving into the void. Everything in the world moves in slow motion. If it were only a bad dream, I wished with all my heart to wake up—but that, too, was in vain.
When I could no longer think, I shut myself in my room, listening intently to the sound of snowmelt trickling outside the window. The unending, ceaseless sound suddenly reminded me that I was still alive. I stood up, opened the window, and let the shockingly cold, crisp air flood both the room and my lungs at once. My eyes snapped open, involuntarily. I am alive—not as someone else, but as myself. Realizing this, I cried again, resenting the warmth of my tears.
For some time, I’ve been dreaming of a paradise on Earth. My heart has always lingered in “somewhere that is not here,” but now it rests in “a specific place that is not here.” A small, clean, and deeply charming land. I know—or at least I think I do—that no place can be perfect, and even if it were, perfection would only be an illusion.
Above all, I can’t accept the idea that escape is inherently wrong. To live without losing hope, people need a place they can anchor their hearts. Sometimes, it doesn’t even matter if that place is physically far away. And even when foolish humans reach their paradise, they continue to seek challenges. They revel in the solitude they have chosen, and rise again and again, even after being wounded. How foolish. Foolish—and beautiful.
But well, let me turn my gaze back to reality. Thick, sharp icicles dangle like weapons, while fine snow dances in the air with every gust of wind. The cold is almost unbearable, and yet, I can’t help but love winter. It’s not so bad after all.