New year, new focus 2026
I'm not sure if you're happy or not, so new year.
Starting this blog was one of the goals on my 2025 "try-out" list, and I’m glad to see it’s going well.
Until last year, I used to draft my entries in a memo and rewrite them later, but I’ve now shifted to writing directly into the blog window — a small but meaningful change in my workflow.
Much like this shift in my writing process, my life has been filled with unexpected events since last year. It finally feels as though things are moving in a positive direction at this stage of my life.
I’m curious to see how far I can go. My to-do list for 2026 is quite ambitious; if I succeed in even one of these goals, my life could change dramatically.
I’ve kept the list concise, but since each goal is significant, I’ve decided not to share the details publicly until they are accomplished.
I actually had a breakthrough even today. I attended an academic reading club, and through our discussions, I began to seriously consider pursuing a more professional, high-level career. To achieve this, I realized I need to become much more fluent in English, which is why I’ve committed to journaling again.
This journal has a specific purpose. While I’m comfortable with general conversation and interpreting for others, my weak point is delivering logical, structured arguments in English. I find it difficult to engage in spontaneous public speaking or academic debates. This realization only became clear through my recent discussions at the reading club. Now that I’ve identified the problem, I’m ready to face it head-on and work toward a solution.
Ultimately, this year is about turning self-awareness into action. By using this journal to refine my logical thinking and communication skills, I hope to build the confidence needed for the next stage of my career. It’s a process of trial and error, but I’m excited to see where this newfound focus will lead me.
Draw in private
I didn’t notice it myself until a friend pointed it out: “You know, your tone of voice is blatantly honest.”
The comment surprised me at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.
After surviving the tumor — thankfully benign — and learning that my liver scare was merely the possibility of developing fatty liver, something in my inner wiring shifted. I became more direct, more willing to speak without softening the edges, and strangely enough, more unashamed of that honesty. Facing the body’s vulnerability rearranges one’s priorities; the unnecessary layers fall away.
Before that period, I believed I was “decent” and “thoughtful,” but in hindsight, those qualities were often disguises for hesitation and self-suppression. I tended to hover in my mind rather than enter the world, analyzing risks and negative outcomes before taking a single step. I wasn’t careful — I was cautious to the point of invisibility.
When I used to draw, especially in my early years as a professional painter, my motives were tangled. I wanted recognition. I wanted someone to notice. My artistic intention was shaped less by what I loved and more by how I imagined others might react. In a professional context, that hunger for relevance may be useful, but it can also erode authenticity. Over time, I drifted away from my own aesthetic instincts, and perhaps that is why I stopped drawing altogether for nearly twenty years.
Now, I’ve begun again — but this time, the intention feels different. I’m trying to create not for approval but for presence; not for the gaze of others, but for the quiet conversation between hand, mind, and memory.
Maybe this is what honesty really becomes — not just something spoken aloud, but something lived without disguise. When I draw, I'm now concentrating on doing what I really want to.
歯目マラ Strikes Back: The Eye Spy Edition
This month, my eyesight has taken a nosedive. In Japanese, there’s a cheeky proverb about men losing strength in three areas with age: teeth, eyes, and… well, the rest of your “machinery.” At first, I just noticed more floaters drifting across my vision, but now it seems the old saying is coming true in full force — my eyes, like my teeth, are starting to betray me.
Since my work revolves around staring at screens and tablets all day, the blur became unbearable. I quickly decided it was time for a new pair of glasses. After a two-week wait, today was finally the day I picked them up.
The moment I put them on, however, I was confronted with an almost comical scene: everything beyond my immediate reach was a smear of color, except for the nearest objects. I explained to the optician that I needed them sharp enough to read and write at my desk, and thankfully, the adjustment was made.
Now, I can finally read books and documents on screens without straining my eyes, and the relief is enormous. Yet, the world beyond my desk remains a hazy blur—a reminder that clarity, like aging, has its limits.
Still, I can’t help but laugh a little at this absurdity. Life, it seems, has its own sense of humor: it grants me the focus I need most, right where I work and read, but leaves the rest slightly out of reach. Perhaps that’s not such a bad deal.
So, this year I’ve had trouble with my teeth and eyes. I hope I won’t encounter problems with the other areas mentioned in the Japanese proverb. It seems totally fine for the next one, I believe.
By the way, I'm thinking to write something on my new accounts. I'm not sure how to manage them now. FYI
https://zenn.dev/hakomori/articles/hakomori-20251115sat
French Auto-translation B1 level
Ce mois-ci, ma vue s’est beaucoup détériorée. En japonais, il y a un proverbe drôle qui dit que les hommes perdent de la force dans trois parties avec l’âge : les dents, les yeux et… eh bien, le reste de votre “machinerie”. Au début, je voyais juste plus de corps flottants dans ma vision, mais maintenant, il semble que ce proverbe se réalise complètement — mes yeux, comme mes dents, commencent à me trahir.
Comme mon travail consiste à regarder des écrans et des tablettes toute la journée, la vue floue est devenue insupportable. J’ai rapidement décidé qu’il était temps d’acheter une nouvelle paire de lunettes. Après deux semaines d’attente, aujourd’hui était enfin le jour où je les ai récupérées.
Quand je les ai mises, j’ai été confronté à une scène presque comique : tout au-delà de ma portée immédiate était flou, sauf pour les objets très proches. J’ai expliqué à l’opticien que j’avais besoin que mes lunettes soient assez nettes pour lire et écrire à mon bureau, et heureusement, l’ajustement a été fait.
Maintenant, je peux enfin lire des livres et des documents sur les écrans sans fatiguer mes yeux, et je ressens un énorme soulagement. Pourtant, le monde au-delà de mon bureau reste flou — un rappel que la clarté, comme le vieillissement, a ses limites.
Je ne peux pas m’empêcher de rire un peu de cette absurdité. La vie, semble-t-il, a son propre sens de l’humour : elle me donne la concentration dont j’ai le plus besoin, là où je travaille et lis, mais laisse le reste légèrement hors de portée. Peut-être que ce n’est pas si mauvais.
Cette année, j’ai eu des problèmes avec mes dents et mes yeux. J’espère que je n’aurai pas de problème avec les autres parties mentionnées dans le proverbe japonais. Cela semble parfaitement aller pour le reste, je crois.
For Self-Discovery, I think
November.
The preparations for my upcoming jaw surgery and teeth alignment have become more intense lately, yet I feel I’m slowly adapting. The pain is still there, but I no longer mind it much. It’s simply part of the process of becoming better — so there’s no need to dwell on whatever emotions my body tries to evoke.
Since my last journal, I can say that my philosophy — or perhaps my sense of belief — about how to live has shifted significantly. Maybe “shifted” is too strong a word; it feels more a bit like an internal realignment, a quiet but vivid transformation in how I see things.
As this year draws to a close, I feel a quiet satisfaction. The goals I set for myself earlier have mostly been accomplished, and that brings a certain peace. Back in summer, after finishing my life assignments for the year, I already began to step toward the next stage of my life.
One of those assignments was to keep a daily journal in English.
It’s not such a hard task anymore — writing has become almost natural — but I haven’t managed to keep it every day. I think the reason isn’t laziness, but something else I can’t yet define.
Perhaps I’m still searching for the meaning behind the act of keeping a journal itself.
This year, a few people told me that the things I create—my writings, blog posts, and small projects—seem to come from a desire for attention or popularity. At first, I laughed it off, but later I met others who shared that same opinion.
It made me think. I’ve already accepted that some people will ignore me or find me uninteresting, and that’s fine. But if someone sees me as pitiful, that’s a different matter — it stings in a way I can’t quite accept it.
My motto is simple: I create and write because it aligns with something deeper in me — some quiet inner philosophy under my sub conscious. When I write, I’m reaching out to someone who might understand, someone who might feel the same strange pulse of thought that I do.
And maybe that’s the real reason to keep writing — not to be seen, but to connect across the unseen distance between minds.
Writing is my way of saying, I exist, and so do you, even if our words never meet directly. In that shared silence, there’s already a kind of understanding.
Call to return to where I am after events
So many events unfolded last week that I can hardly capture them all in my English writing level — my limited vocabulary feels like a narrow vessel for such crowded thoughts. Still, I want to write them down little by little later, so they won’t fade into the blur of passing days.
Before last week, I had already decided to limit my activity on social media (maybe I wrote it down on some journal.) Until then, I had been attending dinners and gatherings with friends, and I didn’t want my sudden silence online to cause unnecessary concern or misunderstanding.
Yet, deep down, I knew I needed distance now — not from people themselves, but from the noise that surrounds them.
Especially in this year from the beginning, I have been troubled by the sheer eccentricity and emptiness/violence of what I see on those platforms: chaotic posts, shallow conversations, words that seem to float without meaning. I do not wish to condemn anyone — after all, those spaces are open to all, so long as no laws are broken.
Still, I can’t deny the ugliness that seeps through them. There’s something wearying about witnessing people speak endlessly and yet say nothing.
For a while, I even considered stopping this journal’s updates on X too. But a few steady readers still follow my posts there, and perhaps they might not notice if I continued quietly. So, for now, I will keep sharing, though my heart is no longer in the rhythm of that digital world.
Today I’ve been nursing a dull lower back pain; mild but sheer sting pain, probably from all the travel last week. Two days of complete rest have brought slight relief, but I still move with caution, aware that the body, like the mind, needs gentleness after strain.
This forced pause is kinda timely. It gives me a moment to breathe and reflect before I begin writing about the many moments from my business trip — the long flights, the dense human encounters, the thoughts that followed me home.
In silence, I begin to see what I have been missing: that withdrawal is not isolation, but an invitation — a call to return to myself, to listen inwardly before I speak again to the world.
Journal : Prendre du recul (TCF B1 ChatGPT)
La semaine dernière, beaucoup de choses se sont passées. C’est difficile pour moi de tout écrire, parce que mon niveau d’anglais est encore limité. Mais je veux essayer de noter petit à petit mes souvenirs, pour ne pas les oublier.
Avant la semaine dernière, j’avais déjà décidé de moins utiliser les réseaux sociaux. Jusqu’à ce moment-là, je voyais souvent mes amis, je faisais des repas avec eux, et je ne voulais pas que mon silence soudain en ligne cause des inquiétudes. Mais au fond, je sentais que j’avais besoin d’un peu de distance — pas avec les gens, mais avec le bruit autour d’eux.
Depuis le début de cette année, je trouve les réseaux sociaux trop fatigants. Il y a beaucoup de messages bizarres ou vides, des conversations sans vrai sens. Je ne juge personne, mais tout cela me semble parfois triste.
Aujourd’hui, j’ai mal au dos à cause de mon voyage en avion. Après deux jours de repos, ça va un peu mieux. Cette pause me fait réfléchir : parfois, s’arrêter est nécessaire pour respirer et écouter son cœur avant de parler encore au monde.
My Silent Weight of Routine
I lift weights every day. At my gym, in my quiet living room of early morning after returning from the office, I begin my routine — not with heavy loads, but with the steady rhythm of familiar movements and weights. Push-ups, bench presses, arm curls. Each repetition feels less like exertion and more like conversation: my muscles whispering awake, my body tuning itself to awareness. That breathing, awareness like a meditation become important to me today.
In the past, I chased results — a stronger chest, a sharper outline in the mirror, the illusion of progress measured by numbers. I once believed effort and outcome were always in harmony, that discipline would naturally sculpt reward. Maybe I would have thought I was able to be a builder-like. But time has a way of humbling that belief. I’ve learned that not every repetition translates into transformation, and not all growth is visible.
Now, my training has become something quieter — a ritual rather than a pursuit. I no longer lift to build; I lift to balance.
Each motion fixes the day’s tension, like resetting a rhythm that keeps both body and mind aligned. When I feel the ache of sore muscles, it no longer means exhaustion or failure. It’s a subtle comfort — a reminder that I am still moving forward, still inhabiting myself fully, one small motion at a time.
And perhaps that’s the truest progress: not the body I shape, but the calm I sustain.
Journal : Le poids méditatif de la routine
Je fais de la musculation tous les jours. Le matin, après être rentré du travail, je vais à la salle de sport. Je ne soulève pas de poids très lourds ; je fais seulement quelques exercices habituels, comme des pompes, du développé couché et des curls. Chaque mouvement réveille peu à peu mon corps, comme si je lui disais : « Réveille-toi, sois prêt. »
Autrefois, je voulais devenir plus fort, un peu comme un culturiste. À cette époque, je croyais que chaque effort apportait forcément un résultat visible. Mais avec le temps, j’ai compris que ce n’est pas toujours le cas. Ce n’est pas du pessimisme, c’est simplement la réalité.
Aujourd’hui, je m’entraîne d’une manière différente. Je ne cherche plus la perfection du corps, mais un équilibre. Faire du sport chaque jour me permet de garder un bon rythme, de détendre mes tensions, et de calmer mon esprit.
Quand mes muscles sont un peu douloureux, je me sens bien. Cette douleur douce me rappelle que je continue d’avancer, pas seulement physiquement, mais aussi intérieurement. Peut-être que le vrai progrès n’est pas dans le corps que je change, mais dans la paix que je garde.
Reflections in a Digital Quiet
Today I received another LINE message telling me that someone I know had deleted their social media accounts. It was not surprising; I have often played with the thought myself — sometimes considering disappearing from those digital spaces entirely, other times imagining a brief pause, a hiatus to let the noise subside. Yet each time I decide it is not the right moment, I compromise instead by simply slowing down, reducing the frequency with which I write my ideas or reflections, or retreating into silence for a while.
I did not ask why they chose to delete their accounts. It is not my business, and more importantly, it is not my philosophy to pry into another person’s decision. Everyone has the right to protect their own inner landscape. Moreover, if I had asked them why, I would likely have received only a public, harmless answer designed to shield their truth.
In reflecting on this, I realize that my relationship with social media has changed.
These days, there are moments when my mind and body demand inward attention, when my soul seeks stillness rather than chatter. Especially when I am reading, I find myself immersed in thought so deeply that any outside communication feels intrusive, even destructive. At those times, dialogue with the world is not nourishment but interruption — it cuts across the fragile threads of contemplation I am weaving.
Looking back, I once treated social media as a kind of open journal. I scattered fragments of my private life and ideas online, hoping to spark a chemistry of shared thoughts, a resonance of ideas across invisible networks. But in truth, the reality has never matched that vision. Rarely do those spaces nurture the kind of genuine exchange I once imagined; instead, they more often flatten nuance, leaving words to drift without weight.
Perhaps the truth is that reflection thrives in silence, not in the ceaseless scroll of timelines. The deeper I journey inward, the more I recognize that the richest conversations often occur between the pages of a book and the quiet chambers of my own mind. And so, while others may vanish from digital spaces with abrupt finality, my way is different: I remain, but at a slower rhythm, choosing when to speak and when to retreat into stillness.
The act of stepping back from social media is not necessarily about erasing oneself from the eyes of others — it is about reclaiming one’s attention, one’s breath, and one’s inner voice. Whether through deletion, pause, or silence, the choice is the same at its heart: to honor the need for solitude in a world that demands constant exposure.
Could there still be some meaningful or soul-stirring chemistry to be found on social media in the future? I wonder. For now, I am taking a cautious step back.
Journal (Concise, French B1 by ChatGPT)
Aujourd’hui, j’ai reçu un message LINE. Une personne que je connais a supprimé ses comptes de réseaux sociaux. Ce n’est pas surprenant. Moi aussi, je pense parfois à quitter ces espaces numériques. Parfois je voudrais disparaître complètement, parfois seulement faire une pause. Mais je continue, en écrivant moins, ou en restant silencieux.
Je n’ai pas demandé pourquoi. Pour moi, ce n’est pas ma place. Chacun a le droit de protéger son espace intérieur.
Avant, j’utilisais les réseaux sociaux comme un journal ouvert. J’écrivais mes idées et ma vie, en espérant des échanges vrais. Mais souvent, il n’y avait pas de profondeur. Les mots restaient légers, sans poids.
Aujourd’hui, je préfère le silence. Je trouve mes meilleures conversations dans les livres et dans mon esprit. Pour moi, réduire l’usage des réseaux sociaux n’est pas disparaître, mais retrouver ma voix intérieure.
