Canon's Diary

Action without thought is empty; thought without action is blind – Goethe

While living with schizophrenia, I move between Tokyo and Osaka. Through this journal, I hope to quietly share moments from my daily life—and memories from the journey I’ve taken with my illness.

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Recording my Daily Life as a Diary

  • Early Summer Breeze and the Murmurs of the World

    June 9th. Last night, I fell asleep in my chair until around 2 a.m.
    In a rush, I brushed my teeth, set my alarm, and went back to bed.
    However, I had set the wrong time and woke up at 5:30 a.m.
    I reset it for 6:30, but ended up half-awake, with a somewhat unpleasant feeling lingering.
    The sky was clear.
    I washed my face and had my usual breakfast.
    I packed the rice I had cooked yesterday into a container and put it in the fridge.
    Around 7:30, I left for work.
    “It’s a bit hot,” I thought.
    The air was already warm enough to make me sweat.
    Maybe it’s time to go without a jacket.

    At my desk at work, I powered up my PC and opened my email to make sure there were no urgent tasks.
    I opened the lid of my coffee pot and was greeted by a familiar, comforting aroma.
    I began my usual work routine.
    Nearby, someone was participating in a web meeting; I could hear their voice through the mic, the sound of fingers typing, and the gentle whoosh of the air conditioner.
    Maybe because my sleep had been shallow, I felt a little foggy-headed, but gradually returned to my normal self as I got into the work.

    At lunchtime, I headed to the cafeteria.
    After some indecision, I chose fried shrimp fritters, an Italian-style omelet, and a broccoli salad.
    It had been a while since I’d had something deep-fried.
    The corn kernels were also fried—surprisingly delicious.

    Work settled down, and during my lunch break, I opened my phone and came across some disturbing news.
    In Los Angeles, the National Guard had been deployed to crack down on undocumented immigrants, and clashes were occurring between authorities and protestors.
    About 300 troops had been stationed there.
    The footage showed tear gas being fired, people being detained—it was clear that large-scale chaos had erupted.
    Harsh sentiments toward illegal immigration are rising in European countries as well.
    “It feels like the world is moving in a direction that runs counter to globalization,” I thought.
    Even in Japan, due to issues like foreign tourists violating local manners, the government is announcing new policies.
    Countries everywhere seem to be growing a bit more sensitive about accepting foreigners.
    Still, when people from other countries act rudely, it doesn’t just reflect poorly on the individual—it can affect how the entire country is perceived.
    Japan once had a saying, “Traveling allows you to discard your shame,” but that’s just a convenient excuse for irresponsible behavior.
    Wherever you are, I believe we should act with dignity and responsibility as members of society.

    Trump’s “America First” stance seems to have rippled across the globe, with many countries now prioritizing their own interests.
    But perhaps it’s the very existence of borders and separate governments that makes us constantly watch and guard against each other.
    When you talk to someone from another country, especially on a personal level, you often find how easy it is to connect.
    Will there ever come a day when we can see the world as one united nation?
    Hmm, maybe not.
    The web of global interests is far too entangled, like a knot that can’t easily be undone.
    It feels like that delicate balance is on the verge of collapsing.
    Somehow, I can’t shake the feeling that something tremendous may happen within the next four or five years.

    By the time I was heading home, the sky had turned cloudy, and a light rain had begun to fall.
    I stopped by the supermarket and picked up a frozen hamburger patty, then went home.
    For dinner, I stir-fried some leftover pork and flavored it with ginger sauce that had been sitting unused in the fridge.
    “Hmm, the ginger flavor isn’t that strong. The mirin doesn’t come through much either.”
    Honestly, the sauce I made myself before tasted better.
    Ginger pork can be pricey, so maybe next time I’ll just use regular pork belly, season it like ginger pork, and grill it like barbecue.
    That could work just as well.
    There were some leftover carrots, so I boiled them with a bit of salt.
    By the way, how exactly do you shred cabbage properly?
    Maybe I’ll look it up online.

  • June 8 – A Testament to My Day Lived

    Exhausted from last night’s tennis lesson, I slept soundly until 9:30.
    Being Sunday, the nearby construction site was quiet. It was a peaceful morning.
    I opened the curtains—it was cloudy but not as humid as yesterday.
    I washed my face with cold water, brushed my teeth, and had a simple breakfast of rice with raw egg and instant miso soup.

    “Now then, what shall I do today?”

    First, I decided to put my futon out on the balcony to air.
    There’s nothing quite like sleeping in a sun-dried futon.
    Then I vacuumed the room.
    Later this month, I’ll be returning to Tokyo for remote work and to handle inheritance paperwork from my father to my mother.
    So I rescheduled my Osaka tennis lesson to this afternoon at 2 PM.
    It’ll be three straight days of lessons, but my body seems to be adjusting well—no real fatigue.My schizophrenia symptoms remain stable, and with medication, I can now go about my daily life with little to no difficulty.

    “Laundry can wait until after the lesson. Oh, and I should wash the bath towels too.”

    With that in mind, I headed to the supermarket to buy cabbage and pork.
    I was planning to make my usual soba for lunch.
    I also bought two bottles of sports drinks for tennis—about 110 yen each for 500ml.

    “A bit pricey… Maybe next time I’ll switch to powdered mix.”

    I used to watch my wife carefully budgeting during her shopping trips.
    Back then, I’d think, “Do you really think I earn so little?”
    Now that I cook and shop myself, I find I want to save just as much. Funny how that works.

    Back home, I started preparing lunch, only to realize there was some rice left over.

    “Hmm, maybe I’ll skip the soba and use this for a rice porridge instead.”

    So I changed plans and made egg porridge.
    I boiled water in a pot, added thinly sliced carrots, pork, and cabbage, and cooked until the carrots softened.
    Then I added some soba broth and bonito stock.
    Once done, I stirred in half a bowl of rice and dropped in a raw egg to mix in at the end.
    I sprinkled chopped scallions on top before serving.
    The sweetness of the carrots and richness of the cabbage really came through.
    It was filling despite using only a small amount of rice, and the nutrition balance was great.

    “Still, maybe the flavor’s a bit weak. It needs a kick.”

    So I added a bit of sesame oil and salt. Better—but still room for improvement.

    Let me describe my room a bit.
    The living space is about 7.2 tatami mats, or roughly 12 square meters.
    I chose a bed with lots of storage underneath due to the limited space.
    Most of my clothes, except jackets, fit there.

    Above the bed hang a wall clock, my racket bag, and a monochrome poster of my hero, Roger Federer.
    His backhand finish has deeply influenced my own tennis form.
    My room doesn’t have any fluorescent lights—just a single lamp with a warm orange glow. I prefer to feel calm at night, so I’m not fond of the brightness of fluorescent lighting.

    The TV is a surprisingly large 55 inches for such a small room—I got a good deal from an appliance store clerk.
    I’ve connected a 150W Marantz integrated amp to Polk speakers.
    As a former audio manufacturer employee, I couldn’t help but care about the sound.
    I often listen to classic jazz at night. Chet Baker and Louis Armstrong are favorites.
    His rendition of “April in Paris” always touches my heart.
    My table and chairs are camping gear I bought on Amazon—easy to fold and carry when I eventually move out.
    For now, they work just fine.
    Beside the TV is a photo of Canon, my beloved Sheltie who passed away last February.
    I rotate the photo depending on my mood—there are many to choose from.

    Now it’s time to head out for tennis.
    I took in the futon, changed clothes, and rode my bike to the court.
    The bike is parked at a nearby rented lot.
    Back in Naruse, it stayed indoors, but here it’s exposed to the weather, so I cover it.
    Removing the cover every time seemed annoying at first, but I’ve gotten used to it.

    At the tennis school, I changed into shoes for carpet courts and took the lesson.
    On the third consecutive day, my body felt light, and my strokes were consistent.
    When I ask, the coach gives excellent advice.
    He said that since my forehand tends to launch high with lots of spin, I should slightly tilt the racket face down at impact.
    “Ah, that makes sense. I’ll try adjusting next time.”

    After the lesson, I showered with cool water to ease muscle inflammation.
    The ride home takes more caution—if my leg cramps while riding, it could be dangerous, so I keep my speed down.

    Once home, I started laundry and cooked two cups of rice.
    I enjoyed it with a lightly alcoholic white sparkling wine.
    There’s nothing quite like a chilled drink after exercise.

    It was only 5:30 PM, but I had dinner early.
    Tonight’s meal was “Osaka-style spicy keema curry.”
    No, I didn’t make it myself—it was instant, just heated in hot water.
    But it had plenty of spices and was quite enjoyable. A flavor I hadn’t had in a while.
    I sipped some scotch with soda in a small glass to avoid overdrinking.

    I truly enjoyed this weekend. It had just the right touch of spice. It’s small moments of fulfillment like these that keep me going. Life feels peaceful now.

    Back when I was struggling with schizophrenia, I never imagined a day like this would come.

    To those living with the same condition, I want to say this: each person experiences it differently. In my case, it took more than 30 years. I know how painful it can be. I could never simply say, “Just hang in there.”

    But I do believe this — the day will come when you can live an ordinary life again. So please, walk through it together with your doctor.

    From the bottom of my heart, I hope that as many people as possible will one day find stability and peace in their lives.

    Now, it’s time for me to sleep and get ready for the week ahead. I hear there’s a dinner gathering for my department on Wednesday. Looks like tennis on Tuesday and Thursday might have to wait.

  • On a June Afternoon, I Took Off My Jacket and Wore Just a White T-Shirt

    Saturday, June 7. I woke up at 8 a.m. to the clattering sound of a power shovel loading debris onto a truck and the grinding noise of someone shaving down a concrete wall with what seemed like a grinder, rebar and all. Not the most pleasant way to wake up. I was still tired from yesterday’s lesson and wanted to sleep a bit more, but the noise from nearby construction forced me out of bed.

    I was starving but didn’t feel like cooking, so I went to the convenience store and got a rice ball, a pasta salad, and a bottle of green tea. About 600 kcal in total. Not bad for calorie and nutritional balance. It’s certainly convenient, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing something essential. Like I’m neglecting the dignity of eating… or maybe not. Still, it’s not cost-effective. Probably better not to rely on convenience store meals too much.

    Unable to sit still because of the noise outside, I started doing laundry and cleaning. I also needed to buy pork and rice from the supermarket. I had some cabbage and carrots left, so I thought about making soba for lunch—but I just had soba yesterday. Let’s go with ramen today.

    I headed out to the supermarket. I wonder how many times I’ve crossed this railroad crossing. Once, I used to see crossings as symbolic milestones in life, something almost sacred. But when you cross them this often, that special feeling wears off.

    The supermarket sits quietly down a small alley just past the tracks and a right turn. It’s a bit small. Rice was still expensive, as always. But I needed it, so I reluctantly bought a 5kg bag. “How am I even supposed to store all this?” I grumbled. I picked pork slices for ginger pork. Also grabbed mirin and sugar. Back home, I started prepping ramen.

    Boiled water, tossed in the carrots first since they take the longest to cook, then added chopped cabbage. After about 5 minutes, once the carrots softened, I threw in the dried noodles and pork. Boiled for another 3 minutes, checked the noodle texture, mixed in the soup base, and finished with a raw egg and chopped green onions on top. So simple. Seems like I tend to rely on cabbage, carrots, pork, and green onions. But hey, I’m still a beginner at cooking. Maybe this is just my style for now. I’ll probably be living alone for a while longer, so I’ll gradually try more things.

    During lunch, the outside suddenly went quiet. Looks like the construction workers were on their break too. My ears felt relief in the silence. But that peace didn’t last long. They resumed work after lunch, and my room was once again engulfed in thunderous noise. I couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to go out. “Yeah, let’s go to Takatsuki today.” I also needed more shirts for work and some kind of container for all the growing number of condiments.

    I changed into jeans, threw on a jacket, and went out. Takatsuki Station is the next stop after Tonda on both the Hankyu and JR lines. My destination was the Hankyu Department Store, which is closer to JR Takatsuki Station, but I chose to take the Hankyu line to Takatsuki-shi Station and walk to JR Takatsuki instead. The sky was overcast, but it was humid. I soon took off my jacket and walked in just a white T-shirt. The rising temperature hinted at the beginning of the rainy season.

    On a Saturday afternoon, the Hankyu line is flooded with express trains. I think I waited about 10 minutes for a local train. After getting off at Hankyu Takatsuki-shi Station, I exited from the north gate and headed toward Takatsuki Station, passing through the downtown shopping streets. I’d visited this area even before moving here, and it still felt like a place packed with izakayas, restaurants, and drugstores. Quite a few karaoke joints too—not that it matters to me since I’m terrible at singing.

    I arrived at Takatsuki Station, rode the escalator up to the north side, which is livelier with large stores and department buildings. I went into the Hankyu Department Store and bought two work shirts at UNIQLO. On the way back, I dropped by Loft and ABC Mart but didn’t find anything in particular, so I returned home via the JR Kyoto Line and Settsu-Tonda Station. All in all, it was a nice walk. My step counter logged about 4,000 steps.

    For dinner, I planned to make ginger pork. Started with the sauce—soy sauce, mirin, sake, sugar, and a bit of grated ginger. Tasted it. Then I cut the pork into manageable pieces and fried it in a pan with olive oil. Once it was cooked through, I added the sauce and coated the meat. Served it with shredded cabbage and tomato. The flavor was decent. The tang of the ginger paired nicely with the mellow sweetness of the sugar.Adding a bit of flour might have been a good idea too.Still, I noticed that the pork slices labeled “for ginger pork” these days come with a ready-made sauce. That would’ve made it easier. Not sure why I didn’t use it. Maybe I’ll try it next time.

    Tonight, I’m heading out for tennis lessons again. I’ve been keeping up a steady workout routine, and my body feels good. If I can just sharpen my technique a bit more, that’d be even better.

  • How to Live With a Self That “Can’t Do Anything”

    Friday, June 6th.
    I went to bed around 10 p.m. last night, so I ended up waking at about 4 in the morning. It seems my internal clock is set to six hours of sleep. I would really prefer to get at least seven hours, so I crawled back under the covers. Around 5 a.m., I got up briefly to take a photo of the sunrise. The photo at the top is from this morning. I like that my window faces east—when the morning light enters my room, it’s easier to reset my mindset for the day. Since I’m usually out at work during the day, east-facing is actually better than south-facing for me. Wanting to make up for the lack of sleep yesterday, I got back in bed after taking the photo and slept for another hour. Thanks to that, I felt good this morning.

    For breakfast, I had frozen fried rice and some chicken-and-cabbage consommé soup I had made in advance. “Oops, I forgot to add the green onions,” I thought, but I’d already started eating and didn’t feel like getting up to go back to the kitchen—so I just finished it as it was. Every time I buy frozen fried rice, I try a different kind and enjoy comparing the flavors. Today’s choice was a low-fat mixed fried rice—40% less fat.

    While eating, I watched the morning news. There was a report about Ukraine launching a large-scale drone attack on a Russian air base on June 1st. Since the invasion of Ukraine by Russia began in February 2022, there still seems to be no clear path to a ceasefire. The number of civilian casualties is heartbreaking. The situation has shown little sign of improvement, and the war now looks set to drag on. Even Donald Trump, who was said to have been quite eager to promote ceasefire negotiations, recently made a cynical comment: “Might as well just let them fight for a while.”

    Seeing such news, I felt a deep sense of loss and helplessness—but still, I went about getting ready for work. I made some coffee and washed the dishes. I wanted to buy some rice, but lately it’s gotten too expensive. Most rice sold in stores comes in 5 kg bags, which is too much for someone living alone like me. A 2 kg bag would be plenty, but they’re rarely available. Until the government’s emergency rice reserves start circulating, I guess I’ll be relying on frozen fried rice for a while. “Yeah… I’d like to expand my cooking repertoire a bit,” I thought, trying to shake off the gloom. “Maybe I’ll try making ginger pork this weekend.”

    Heading off to work, I noticed the sun’s rays felt stronger than before—summer is clearly approaching. The shopping street was, as usual, bustling with people, cars, and bicycles. Compared to Naruse, there seemed to be more young people here. Naruse had a much higher proportion of elderly residents—it felt like a town that epitomized Japan’s aging population.

    Work went smoothly today, without any major issues. I work at a pump manufacturing company. When I joined in 2020, I didn’t understand much—pump performance, characteristics, materials selection—it was all a mystery to me, and I seriously wondered how I’d manage. But now, in my fifth year, I’ve gained a fair amount of knowledge. When I hear technical explanations, I can visualize the internal structure in my mind.

    For lunch at the company cafeteria, I went with my go-to dish: tempura soba. The grated ginger garnish was subtle, just the way I like it. “Although… the broth is a bit on the salty side,” I thought—but still, I like that this meal lets me load up on green onions and seaweed. I’m deeply grateful to be able to enjoy a warm meal every day. Japan is probably one of the most stable and affluent countries in the world.

    Hans Rosling, in his 2018 book Factfulness, explains the global income distribution like this:
    Out of the world’s 7 billion people, about 1 billion live on less than $2 a day, with their entire lives consumed by the struggle to secure drinking water and food. Around 3 billion live on $2–$8 a day, barely managing to afford a motorbike or small appliances. About 2 billion can afford refrigerators and cars, though saving money remains difficult. And the remaining fewer than 1 billion live on over $32 a day—enough to attend university or travel abroad.

    Roughly 800 million people are undernourished worldwide. In low-income countries, it’s normal for women and children to spend hours every day just fetching water. Around 20% of the global population lives in slums—without access to clean toilets or safe housing. In Japan, food is abundant, yet about 5 million tons of it is wasted every year. Clean, drinkable water comes straight out of the tap. Earthquake-resistant housing and advanced appliances are the norm here. But these “normal” things would cease to be normal with even the slightest change in environment.

    One of the biggest factors behind poverty is political instability.
    For example, South Sudan is one of the poorest countries in the world. Having gained independence only in 2011, it has been plagued by civil war and ongoing political unrest. Hunger and displaced populations are serious issues. Infrastructure is almost nonexistent; education and healthcare barely reach the people.
    Somalia, too, has suffered decades of civil war and terrorist attacks from the Islamic extremist group Al-Shabaab, along with droughts and floods that worsen food shortages.
    In Myanmar, the elected government led by Aung San Suu Kyi was overthrown in a 2021 military coup, and many civilians lost their lives. Suu Kyi remains imprisoned—I wonder if she’s doing okay.
    The Democratic Republic of the Congo is essentially in economic collapse due to ongoing conflict and the presence of armed groups. Child soldiers, forced labor, and human rights violations are widespread.
    Meanwhile, Afghanistan under the Taliban, the slums of Bangladesh, and Gaza continue to suffer—conflicts and humanitarian crises that are in the news constantly.

    So, what is it that I can actually do?
    I make a modest monthly donation to UNICEF, but in truth, it’s less about helping those in need and more about convincing myself that I’m doing something.
    Realistically, I probably can’t do much at all.
    The power of a single civilian is, as Hiroyuki Itsuki wrote in A Drop in the Great River (1998), just that—a single drop in a vast river.
    And yet, we human beings are creatures capable of such irrational acts.
    Perhaps what’s truly important is being aware of that very nature.
    To recognize our own sinfulness, and at the same time, to appreciate the profound dignity of simply living each day.
    In order to prevent even a single tragedy, I will make whatever effort I can in my own life, and devote myself to that.
    What one person can do, in the end, is to live out their life fully—and pass on that way of being to the next generation.
    I believe that acknowledging one’s own powerlessness, and still choosing to keep going—that very stance is what true strength is.

    Tonight, I have a tennis lesson scheduled from 8:30. Since I’ll be exercising, I kept dinner light—some gyoza with ponzu and chili oil, plus a rice ball I picked up from the store. I added chopped green onions to my instant miso soup.
    Tennis feels a bit like yoga to me sometimes.
    While I play, I occasionally find myself meditating to calm my mind.
    The human heart is fragile, so easily broken.
    I want to take care of mine—to keep it steady, so it won’t be crushed by the absurdity of the world.

  • “Yes, this is it.”—My Distance from Different Cultures—

    Thursday, June 5th.
    I woke up with a jolt. It was 6 a.m. The curtain was half open, and morning sunlight streamed into the room.
    Despite how much I drank last night, my body naturally wakes up around six. Strange.
    Still a little dazed, but no headache. I splashed cold water on my face, then took a shower.
    Breakfast was simple—salmon chazuke.
    I ground fresh coffee beans with a hand mill, brewed it with care, and poured it into a pot. The coarse grind made for a mellow yet richly flavored cup.

    Last night, I had dinner with colleagues at a seafood-focused Italian restaurant known for its oyster dishes.
    The place is called “Umeda Wharf,” about a five-minute walk from Hankyu Umeda Station in Osaka.
    It was my first time visiting Umeda, and I found it to be a very polished business district.
    The restaurant occupied the entire ground floor of a commercial building. Its interior combined wood and white tones, with soft orange lighting and candlelight creating a relaxed, Mediterranean atmosphere.
    The weather was perfect, so we had reserved a terrace table under a large beige parasol.

    While it was still light out, three of us—another Japanese colleague and a young Malaysian man in his 30s—chatted for a while.
    About an hour later, a young Vietnamese man and a Malaysian woman joined us.
    Before we knew it, the table was filled with laughter and lively conversation.
    The Malaysians were Muslim and didn’t drink, and were mindful of what they ate. But they could eat oysters, which was a relief.
    Raw oysters, fried, gratinéed, grilled, in soup and pasta—the fresh dishes kept coming, and we all cheered with delight.
    The Malaysian man, who has lived in Japan since 2013, had just gotten married last year. Apparently, 700 guests attended his wedding reception. We Japanese were stunned.
    While Malay is the official language of Malaysia, English is its second language.
    Everyone spoke Japanese very well, casually switching between English and Japanese without missing a beat.
    Even as someone older, I was spoken to on equal footing, with honest and unfiltered emotions.
    I followed suit and became completely engrossed in the conversation.
    “Yes, this is it.”
    This is the kind of conversation I want to have.
    Since moving from a foreign-affiliated company to a traditional Japanese one, I’ve struggled a bit with the corporate culture here. I’ve been studying English all this time just to feel this way.

    Japan is a society deeply rooted in the value of wa—a form of harmony that emphasizes maintaining group cohesion and avoiding conflict above all else.
    Though things are slowly changing, there’s still a pervasive belief that not speaking one’s mind equals being considerate. It’s common to match the opinions of elders or superiors, or to say vague, diplomatic things as a form of social grace.
    Few countries elevate the dichotomy of honne (true feelings) and tatemae (public façade) to a core cultural principle like Japan does.
    I believe this is why many foreigners find Japan so mysterious.
    Though I’m Japanese, I’ve always felt uncomfortable with this style of communication.
    That’s why I find the directness of foreigners not only refreshing, but comfortable.
    Working at a global company, with frequent international interactions, had felt more natural to me.
    I suppose it’s partly due to the environment I was raised in.

    And so, carrying the warm afterglow of last night, I wrapped up my work today.
    I had a tennis lesson scheduled for 7 p.m., but I was just too sleep-deprived.
    I canceled and rescheduled for tomorrow.
    I want to play tennis twice a week on weekdays, but I still haven’t quite found the ideal rhythm.

  • Jazz in the Morning, Oysters at Night

    I woke up at 6:15 in the morning. When I opened the window, the sky was clear and the sun was dazzling. The room felt a little warm. It seemed I had run out of coffee.
    For breakfast, I had instant miso soup and rice with a raw egg dropped on top, seasoned with a dash of soy sauce. Tomorrow is recycling day. Since I had plans to go out for dinner with a friend tonight, I took care of the recycling in the morning—cardboard, styrofoam, and plastic bottles.
    The collection site has a roof and is built like a small shed with block walls, so there’s no concern about the trash getting ruined by rain even if I drop it off a little early.

    On my way to work, I listened to jazz by Sarah Vaughan. It didn’t quite match the morning scenery, but I’ve always liked jazz.
    I’ve never been good at doing other tasks while listening to music, but jazz is the one exception—it never disturbs me and serves as a comfortable background.
    The sun was strong today. I saw some women walking with parasols.

    Work was fairly busy. It took a bit of time to format the submission documents according to the client’s specifications. That task alone consumed half the day, and I felt there’s still room for improvement in that process.

    This evening, I went out to a seafood Italian restaurant to have oysters with some colleagues.
    There were two Malaysian coworkers, one Vietnamese, and two Japanese including myself. I appreciate the Japanese colleague who invited me.
    It’s been a while since I’ve had such a pleasant conversation. I hope this kind of connection continues.

    That’s it for today—sorry to end abruptly. Tomorrow night, I have a tennis lesson scheduled.

  • A Regular Rainy Tuesday

    Tuesday, June 3rd. I woke up at 6:30 to the alarm on my phone, but fell back asleep and finally got up at 6:45, saved once again by the iPhone’s snooze function. As always, I opened the curtains. It’s raining today. The sky is covered in clouds, and I can’t see the sun. I washed my face with cold water and shaved. For breakfast, I poured soy sauce over some leftover soup and rice from yesterday, with a raw egg cracked on top. Since I got up later than usual, the morning felt rushed. I changed into a dress shirt, started boiling coffee for my thermos, and washed the dishes. Today is burnable garbage day, so I took out the trash. Thursday is recycling day, but we had so many cardboard boxes stacked up at home that I decided to bring a portion of them out today too.

    With my work backpack on my back, a garbage bag in my left hand, and a bundle of cardboard boxes and a large umbrella in my right, I walked down the stairs and out of the apartment building.

    The rainy commute was crowded as usual with students in uniforms. Carrying a big umbrella, I was careful not to bump into anyone. This area seems to have a solid bicycle culture—even in weather like this, people pedal along in raincoats.

    I arrived at the office and climbed the stairs to the locker room. “Good morning.” Everyone I passed greeted me politely. I scanned my timecard. I’m getting used to this routine. I put my umbrella in my otherwise empty locker and headed to the office.

    Today’s workload wasn’t as pressing as yesterday’s. I received a reply via email from the design team about an inquiry I’d made, and I got the information I needed. I reviewed the technical documentation once more and asked a colleague to check it over. There were 40 different technical documents in total this time.

    Lunchtime. I went down to the cafeteria alone. I chose shrimp tempura soba today, with extra seaweed and green onions. I topped it with shichimi chili powder, grated ginger, and dried kelp—my usual lunchtime combo. Since I had a hearty breakfast, I only got a small portion of barley rice. Hmm… I may have added a little too much ginger. The flavor’s a bit strong. A slight misstep.

    While waiting for my drawings to be checked in the afternoon, I had some free time, so I confirmed the details of upcoming project tasks with a colleague. Each client has different operational rules, so I suspect it’ll take time to get used to them. I spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on recent industry news.

    On the way home, I stopped by the supermarket to buy chicken breast, carrots, and olive oil. I’ve grown a bit tired of pork lately, so I was planning to make soup with chicken. “Hmm? No chicken breast? That’s unusual. Well, they have minced chicken—guess that’ll do.” “Carrots cost about the same whether you buy one or three. Maybe I’ll get three. Can I use them all, though?” Thinking these little things over, I finished shopping and hurried home. The sky was heavy and gray. A light drizzle came and went, but not enough to need an umbrella. I’ve gotten used to carrying groceries home in a suit after work. I feel like I go to the supermarket every other day. I wonder how much I’m spending on food.

    Once home, I took a bath, dried my hair with a hairdryer, and started preparing dinner. Different ingredients, but lately it’s always the same process—boiling cabbage, chicken breast (this time, ground), and chopped carrots. I flavored it with consommé, salt, and pepper for a Western-style soup. Served in a bowl with chopped scallions and a drizzle of olive oil, the chicken and cabbage consommé soup was complete. Since I had rice with egg in the morning, I fried some frozen fried rice for dinner.

    Not bad. “Maybe the minced chicken brought out more flavor,” I thought. “The carrots turned soft thanks to the longer simmering,” “I used scallions because we had them, but onions might’ve worked too,” “Ginger could be nice as well.” But I’d used too much ginger at lunch, so I wasn’t in the mood to use it again.

    Ahh. With dinner done, I finally felt at ease. Right now, I’m sipping a scotch and soda. No background music—I prefer quiet. I was supposed to have a tennis lesson today, but since I played two days in a row over the weekend, I decided to rest. Tomorrow, I’ve been invited to a seafood Italian dinner near Osaka Station by a few coworkers. Some colleagues from Vietnam and Malaysia are joining too. I’m really grateful they invited someone older like me. I’m looking forward to it.

    So dear readers, tomorrow’s post might be on hold. Sorry about that.

  • Hydrangeas and the Backs of an Elderly Couple

    June 2nd, Monday.
    I woke up at 6 a.m. As usual, I opened the curtains and looked outside. From my east-facing window, I could see the morning sun clearly. Although there were some clouds, the sunlight was dazzling.
    In the photo I posted, the large white building in the center is the Takatsuki City Koteragaike Library, which I introduced before. The Koteragaike pond, where the koi used to swim, lies just beyond it—on the right (south) side of the photo.
    I brought in the laundry I had hung out to dry the day before.
    While watching the morning news on TV, I had breakfast. Since there wasn’t much leftover rice, I made instant ochazuke with salmon and added a cup of soup pasta. Mornings are always a bit hectic, so breakfast tends to be something simple.

    Once I arrived at work, I started my tasks as usual. As I worked on drawings and datasheets, a few questions came up. I jotted each one down in my notebook as they occurred. When I had a better overall picture, I gathered my notes and asked the responsible person all at once. It’s more efficient that way and avoids taking up their time repeatedly. This is my own small method of improving work efficiency.

    I headed to the company cafeteria for lunch. I usually go for soba, but since I started living alone, I haven’t been eating much fish. So today, I chose something different—a fish-based menu.
    It was white fish in curry marinade, garlic sautéed snap peas, and ratatouille. The cafeteria usually serves rice mixed with barley, but I asked for a smaller portion today to balance out my recent high calorie intake.

    In the afternoon, I continued creating technical documentation. I searched for reference materials for the drawings but couldn’t find them, so I decided to leave that part for later. Once I finished the other documentation, I sent an email to the design department requesting the materials and wrapped up the day’s work.

    On my way home, I remembered I needed to buy green onions at the supermarket, so I walked with a bit more urgency.
    In the distance ahead, I saw an elderly couple walking together. They were likely both over 80 years old. Their backs were bent, and walking looked difficult, but they walked closely side by side.
    The wife spotted some pink hydrangeas in the hedge of a roadside apartment building and picked one. The husband seemed annoyed that she had taken a flower from private property and scolded her, then walked on ahead.
    The wife was left behind, standing sadly and gazing at the hydrangea in her hand.
    Normally, I would’ve passed by without much thought. But today… for some reason, tears welled up in my eyes. I quickly walked past the couple.
    Even on the way home, the scene wouldn’t leave my mind. I held back tears as I walked. Their image overlapped with that of my own parents. My mother loved my father deeply. She lived her life almost entirely dependent on him. My father often scolded her for it. But I believe he lived a very happy life—because he was loved so dearly by her.


    It’s no good—I’m getting more sentimental with age.

    Back home, I started preparing dinner while the bath was heating.
    Tonight, I decided to make a Japanese-style soup with spinach, pork, and carrots. I boiled the ingredients and flavored them with soba sauce and bonito broth.
    I served it in a soup bowl, topped it with chopped green onions and a drizzle of sesame oil—done.
    For rice, I had frozen fried rice.
    I paired the meal with a low-alcohol sparkling wine that’s been popular lately. For background music, I chose some classic jazz by Chet Baker and Louis Armstrong.

  • Cabbage and the Split Step

    I woke up around 9 a.m. My body was completely wrecked from last night’s intense tennis session. I couldn’t get myself out of bed for a while. My stomach was growling, too. Still, I somehow managed to sit up, opened the curtains. It was Sunday morning, June 1st. There were clouds in the sky, but it was bright. I didn’t have anything to eat at home, so I put on the black Nike cap I bought yesterday and headed to the convenience store to grab a rice ball and some green tea for breakfast.

    Now then, what should I do today? I was so frustrated by yesterday’s lesson that I booked another one at 2 p.m. as a form of revenge. But playing two days in a row takes a toll on the body and isn’t the most efficient way to play long-term. Ideally, I should take a day or two off between sessions. I take lessons once a week in Osaka and once a week in Tokyo at a different school. Since I plan to divide my work between Tokyo and Osaka each month, I can manage two lessons per week by adjusting the schedule. My plan is to take regular lessons on Tuesday and Thursday nights. On weekends, I’ll either use extra tickets, join a practice session with friends, or enter a match online.

    As I debated whether to go through with two days of lessons in a row, I began wiping down the kitchen to loosen up my tired body. I put away the dishes I washed yesterday. In the fridge, I found a little cabbage, carrot, enoki mushrooms, and spinach. The spinach could wait a bit longer, but the rest needed to be used up soon. I decided to have soba noodles for lunch and went to the supermarket to buy some vegetable fritters (kakiage). I picked up the kakiage and pork but forgot to buy green onions.

    When I started cooking lunch, I decided to skip the carrot and enoki since I already had the kakiage. Instead, I used pork and cabbage. No green onions, but the kakiage had something similar in it, so I let it slide. I boiled soba on one burner and simmered pork and cabbage on the other. For seasoning, I used soba sauce mixed with white dashi, making it into a bonito-based broth. I didn’t measure anything properly, but I always prefer lighter seasoning. I poured the broth over the soba, topped it with the kakiage, cracked a raw egg on top, and it was done. It’s the same soba I always make, but generally, cabbage is not commonly used with soba. Also I might have used a bit too much cabbage this time. It felt more like I was eating cabbage than soba. Still, I love the taste of boiled cabbage, so I tend to go heavy on the vegetables. That said, 158 yen for a single serving of kakiage felt a bit steep. Plus, it’s oily. I might hold back on buying it next time.

    After eating, I washed the dishes and took a breather. There was some coffee left from yesterday, so I warmed it up in the machine and poured it into a pot. Next time I grind beans, I’ll try a coarser grind.

    Now that I was full and feeling energized, I decided to go to the 2 p.m. lesson after all. I reflected on yesterday’s session. We practiced return-and-rush. The drill was to step forward just as the opponent tosses the ball for their serve, then take another step in and perform a split step as they hit the ball. From there, drive your lead foot forward and strike high into the opponent’s backhand side. Up until now, my return-and-rush was entirely self-taught, so this movement wasn’t ingrained in me. I kept making mistakes, and as I repeated the drill, I started rushing. I lost form in the basics—how to approach the ball, how to stay centered, how to rotate my hips from the pivot foot while keeping my arms relaxed and striking at the optimal point.

    Yeah… it became a mess. But come to think of it, this is the path everyone goes through when leveling up their technique. Trying to learn a new movement overwhelms the brain, and things you could do unconsciously before start to fall apart. It’s the cycle of “breakdown” and “integration.” You isolate a part of the movement, refine it, and slowly bring it back together into a smooth, fluid motion. It takes time, but the key is not to panic when things fall apart. I want to believe in this process and listen closely to my body as I train.

    With that mental clarity, I felt ready for the lesson. Tennis, I’ve come to think, feels less like a ball sport and more like ballet or dance. There’s a strong mental aspect too. And at the same time, it carries the spirit of martial arts. For me, it’s a very special sport. All right then—today I’ll focus on gradually increasing what I can do, without fear of failure.

    At 1:30 p.m., I got on my bike and headed to the court. The sun was getting stronger. The wind still felt good, but the brutal summer for riders was just around the corner. Today’s lesson had nine participants—a big group. The content was the same as yesterday, but with three times the number of players and slower returns, I could take my time to go over the fundamentals. Even though it was the same hour-and-a-half session, my body didn’t feel as strained. Repetition is key in tennis. I want to build on this and play with more composure. The coach suggested incorporating an early split step for the first volley after a return-and-rush. That, too, will take conscious effort.

    At 4 p.m., I returned home and took a lukewarm shower. I had a sip of coffee from the pot and tackled the laundry. As always, there was a mountain of tennis shirts. In summer, laundry piles up fast. The new apartment doesn’t have a dryer, so that might be a bit of a challenge. I hung everything on the balcony and, once settled, spaced out a bit while sipping my coffee. I can hear the sounds of train crossings, the Hankyu line trains passing, and buses opening their doors at regular intervals. Planes don’t seem to fly over this area much. Back in Machida, the sound of jets in the distance lingered, but not here—it’s peaceful.

    At 6 p.m., I had dinner: a pouch curry and some soup pasta. I added a low-alcohol sparkling wine for a light treat. This curry was something my wife recommended. I found it at a supermarket in Osaka and bought a few for later. All it takes is boiling water to heat it up—no hassle at all. This marks the end of my day. A tiny reward and a quiet preparation for tomorrow. Work resumes again, and I’ve got a hefty batch of blueprints to finish. I’ll turn in early tonight to avoid carrying fatigue into the week.

  • A Day That Felt Like Going Back to My Student Days

    I woke up around 8 a.m. My back left molar ached. For the past couple of days, something had been stuck between my teeth and I couldn’t get it out. I didn’t yet have things like toothpicks at home, so I’d just left it alone. But this morning, the pain was bad enough that I couldn’t even eat breakfast. I had no choice but to go to the convenience store and buy some interdental brushes and toothpicks. After some care, the pain subsided a bit. It was already around 9 by then, so I finally sat down for a late breakfast. My teeth still hurt, so I went with something soft — a cup of instant noodles.

    It was Saturday, May 31st. The sky was cloudy again. I heard the rumble of heavy machinery, and when I looked out the window, I saw that a building across from my apartment was being torn down. The building was almost completely gone already. Come to think of it, what used to be there? It seemed too big to have been a regular house. I’d always paid more attention to the library and the bus rotary across the street, so I had no memory of what stood on this side. I checked on Google Maps using aerial view, and saw that it had been a large old residence with a brown tile roof. Apparently, it really was someone’s home.

    I didn’t have anything in particular planned for today. With time on my hands, I decided to make coffee from beans. The grinder I bought on Amazon was a cheap one, around 2,000 yen. I poured in the beans I’d picked up at the supermarket, and as they were ground, a rich aroma filled the air. I used the grounds in my coffee machine and brewed a cup. Hmm. Smooth and mild, not too distinctive. Just the small act of grinding the beans made the morning feel a bit more luxurious. It felt like I’d treated myself to something special.

    Before noon, I planned to go to the supermarket to buy some grated parmesan cheese and non-alcoholic drinks. I had a tennis lesson scheduled for the evening. Since I still had some bacon and spinach left, I thought I’d try making carbonara tonight. Lately, I’ve been getting leg cramps after my lessons, so I figured I’d load up on carbs beforehand.

    For lunch, I finished up some cabbage soup I’d made in advance. With nothing else urgent to do, I vacuumed the room. I figured I’d leave the laundry for tomorrow. My closet still holds a mountain of collapsed cardboard boxes from the move. The next recycling day is Thursday, so until then, the plastic storage bins remain out in the room.

    Around 2 p.m., I started feeling a bit idle. The construction noise was starting to get to me too, so I searched for a nearby sporting goods store. I found a big shopping mall about 10 minutes west of my apartment by motorbike. I changed into jeans, grabbed my helmet, and hurried to the bike parking area. Navigating the residential and shopping streets required caution — there are fast bicycles and kids darting out here and there. I basically rode at a crawl the whole way.

    The sporting goods store was huge — like a gymnasium — and I was drawn straight to the shelves of tennis rackets. They seemed to have just about everything. The mall also had a large supermarket, which was super convenient. I bought a Nike T-shirt and shorts at the sports store, then picked up a retort curry and soup pasta at the supermarket — both recommended by my wife. I also got a kitchen timer I’d been wanting for cooking.

    Back home, I set about making carbonara. I boiled the pasta and, during the 7-minute cook time, fried bacon in oil, seasoning it with salt and pepper until it was crisp. I cracked an egg into a bowl, added two tablespoons of parmesan cheese, and adjusted the flavor with black pepper. Hmm. It takes more than I expected to really bring out the flavor. Once the pasta was done, I added it to the now-cool pan and mixed it with the egg and cheese sauce. Thanks to the residual heat, the egg didn’t curdle. I had it with tomato soup and a non-alcoholic sparkling wine. This time, it turned out pretty well.

    At 8 p.m., after dinner and once my stomach had settled, I hopped on my bike and headed out for my tennis lesson. It was a 90-minute session with just three students. I was out of breath and sweating hard. My body still hasn’t recovered from the break I took. I’ll review today’s practice and try again tomorrow. I didn’t win any points in the game-style drills, which left me a bit deflated. I took a shower and headed home.

    Before I knew it, it was 10 p.m. Now I’m relaxing in my room with a non-alcoholic lemon sour. My father’s funeral had left me feeling detached from reality, but at last — albeit slowly — my new life in Osaka seems to be getting underway. Oddly enough, it feels a bit like I’m reliving my student days. Maybe keeping this journal is helping ease the loneliness of living alone. I’d meant to use this diary to talk about the past, but somehow… it still doesn’t feel like the right time. That’s the sense I get.