Canon's Diary

Following President Trump’s partial 90-day postponement of mutual tariffs on various countries, the New York Stock Exchange soared by 2,962 USD yesterday—marking the highest one-day gain in history. The global economy and international community are thrown into turmoil by the actions of a single individual. Watching ABC News, I can’t help but notice how few Americans seem to question him. The thought that this kind of chaos might continue for another four years is somewhat depressing. Incidentally, ABC News reports frequently on natural disasters—hurricanes, blizzards, wildfires. Is this due to climate change? Or is Japan simply blessed with a milder climate?

Today, we held a handover meeting with the Sales Department. We discussed how to proceed with the first submission of technical documents. Though the department has only just been launched, its direction is becoming clearer. I hope we can make a good start. Suddenly, a message popped up in our family group chat from my mother. Four of her front teeth had fallen out, and she was heading to the dentist. I was concerned but too busy with work to ask for details, so I hurriedly replied with just, “Whaaat!?”

My mother was a full-time homemaker. My father was almost always away for work from morning till late at night, and he didn’t talk much. Naturally, my personality as a child was heavily shaped by my mother. She was a member of the Soka Gakkai (“a lay Buddhist movement founded in Japan”), and began teaching me Nichiren Shoshu (“a branch of Nichiren Buddhism”) from as far back as I can remember. “Have a compassionate heart,” she would say. “Chant the sutra every day. Burn with life as you chant the daimoku (“the phrase ‘Nam-myoho-renge-kyo,’ considered sacred in Nichiren Buddhism”). If you sleep with your feet pointed east, you will be kicking the Buddha.” I believe that’s how she phrased it. Every morning and evening, I was made to kneel in front of the family altar. Thanks to that—my younger sister included—we were both able to recite most of the sutras by memory by the time we reached elementary school.

At the time, we lived in a town called Higashigaoka in Tokyo’s Meguro Ward. About a five-minute walk from Komazawa-daigaku Station on the Den-en-toshi Line, down a narrow alley, was the house of my grandfather, a carpenter. My family rented out the second floor. What I remember most is the living room with a large south-facing window and a green carpet. On the left side of the old CRT television sat a small, oddly placed altar. A bunk bed. The dining room with wooden flooring that my grandfather had built himself. And next to it, my east-facing room.

My mother was a devout believer. She often took us to Soka Gakkai meetings. Most of what we heard there were testimonies from members—how they had lived through incredibly difficult times but, thanks to chanting the daimoku, their lives had miraculously turned around. My mother would proudly tell me stories like, “There was a man in the Gakkai who lost his pinky finger, but after chanting the daimoku tens of thousands of times, it grew back,” or “There was someone with terminal cancer who chanted and expelled the cancer through waste—it completely disappeared.” I was a young elementary school student when I heard these things. She subscribed to three copies of the Seikyo Shimbun (“the Soka Gakkai’s official newspaper”)—one for herself, one for me, and one for my sister, or so she said. But back then, I didn’t have the capacity to question any of it. That was simply the world as I knew it.

What was deeply engraved in my young heart, I think, was the concept of compassion. To forgive everything. To give to others. To do things for others. I didn’t understand much beyond that. The monster within me suppressed my ego. That’s why I couldn’t speak up. My mother was probably content with that. She often criticized other religions. If there was a Christian family in the neighborhood, she would engage in religious debates with them and proudly tell me later, “I never backed down from them.” She also dismissed other Buddhist sects as “heretical” without a second thought. She put all her energy into converting new members to Soka Gakkai.

I no longer blame her. It was the era of Japan’s rapid economic growth, when everyone was aggressively asserting themselves. Around 1975, when I was about eight years old, that was the kind of time we lived in. Soka Gakkai was fully committed to expanding its followers under the slogan of kosen-rufu (“the widespread propagation of Nichiren Buddhism’s teachings”). But as I grew older and began to notice the differences between myself and my classmates, a sense of unease started to take root. I’ll leave that story for another time.

Now, I’m writing this in a hotel room near Ibaraki Station in Osaka. Every five minutes or so, the rumble of a passing train echoes through the window. Other than that, it’s completely silent. Today is Thursday, and I’ll head back to Tokyo tomorrow evening. But I’ll be back working in Osaka for another week starting Monday. This hotel is old but clean and comfortable, so I’ve already reserved the same room for next week.