Canon's Diary

Tuesday, July 15th.
Because of the rain yesterday, the morning air was cool. The sky was lightly overcast, but the forecast said it would turn into scorching sunshine by afternoon.
Last night, I cooked about two cups of rice, so this morning I enjoyed green onion soy sauce rice with miso soup.

It’s been two and a half months since I moved to Osaka on April 26th. With my father’s passing, the days flew by, filled with arranging the funeral, managing inheritance procedures, changing registrations, and making trips back and forth between Osaka and Tokyo. Even so, I wanted to live each moment with care, so I challenged myself to cook for the first time. I also started keeping a household budget. In Osaka, I joined a new tennis school. And as much as possible, I’ve kept a daily journal to record my days.

Every day has been full of new sights, new customs, and new people.
But humans are truly creatures of adaptation.
The new life that once sparkled with excitement, the shopping street by Tomita Station, the view of Kodera Pond and the library from my apartment—these are all slowly shifting from “something special” to just “everyday scenery.” That first flutter of excitement I felt was precious beyond words.

At lunch, I had a set meal of mapo eggplant at the company cafeteria, dining with some colleagues. When I took a photo of my lunch, they looked at me curiously and asked, “Do you always take pictures like that?”
I smiled and replied, “Yeah, I send them to my family or put them in my journal.”

After another hectic day at work, I came home in the evening and cooked dinner—some cabbage soup I’d made in advance, sautéed spinach, ham, and eggs, and a simple bowl of rice with raw egg.

Just recently, the Wimbledon final wrapped up, where Jannik Sinner defeated Carlos Alcaraz to claim his first Wimbledon title. The day before yesterday, I woke up at 3 a.m. just to watch Sinner serving for the championship, completely thrilled. But today, I found myself watching a YouTube video of the Kanto singles tournament for players over 80.

Even at that age, they’re out there playing official singles matches. Of course, they can’t hit powerful shots like the younger players. But I found myself applauding these 80-year-old competitors even more enthusiastically than I did during the Wimbledon final.

It reminded me that I, too, can continue on with my tennis journey. It was a clear reaffirmation that tennis is truly a lifelong sport.

As the extraordinary becomes ordinary, there may be fewer things left for me to write about in my journal.
But I still want to keep capturing the small moments of wonder, joy, and surprise I find in everyday life.