entry 36!

Yesterday, while heading out for laundry, I stumbled upon a quote on a wall that stopped me in my tracks:

“散ると見たのは凡夫の木の葉は大地へ帰るなり”

“It is the ordinary man who sees the leaves as simply scattered; the truth is, the leaves return to the earth.”

The words struck me deeply, as if they had unlocked a doorway to another realm of understanding. They reminded me that while I often live in a world of my own creation, it’s vital to reconnect with nature and the cycles around us.

At first glance, the falling leaves might seem like the end of something—a quiet, bittersweet moment as they drift to the ground. But in truth, their journey isn’t over. Those leaves return to the earth, enriching it, nourishing the soil, and preparing the ground for new growth. What looks like an ending is simply part of a much larger, beautiful cycle.

Life, like the seasons, follows a rhythm. In autumn, we release what no longer serves us, much like the trees shedding their leaves. Then winter arrives, a time of stillness that can feel barren and lifeless. But beneath the surface, winter is full of quiet preparation. The trees conserve their energy; seeds lie dormant, waiting for spring’s warmth. Our lives mirror this cycle. In times of change or loss, when we let go of old habits, ideas, or relationships, it can feel like the end. Yet these moments are not endings—they are transitions. They are necessary pauses that create space for renewal.

Winter, with all its quiet and cold, isn’t something to fear or resist. It offers us a gift: time to reflect, rest, and prepare for what’s to come. It reminds us that even during life’s harshest moments, growth is happening beneath the surface.

The falling leaves teach us that nothing is ever truly lost. What we let go of becomes part of something greater. Our struggles and endings, like the leaves, enrich the soil of our lives, setting the stage for transformation and rebirth.

As the spring always follows winter, no matter how long or cold it seems. Trust in that cycle. Let the leaves fall. Let the winters come. They are not endings but beginnings in disguise, reminders that brighter seasons always lie ahead.

The wisdom of nature is all around us, patiently teaching us that even in letting go, there is life, hope, and the promise of renewal. Cheers!!

Captured in my local park, showcasing one of the oldest tree species.

entry 35!

Life in Tokyo is a delicate balance of contrasts. The city is alive with neon lights and unending energy, but winters here are quiet, almost haunting. As another year closes, I find myself reflecting on the duality of life—light and shadow, yang and yin—and how this city, and my journey as a student within it, have mirrored that balance.

There’s something magical about Tokyo in winter. The sharp cold air bites at your skin, and the days are shorter, but there’s beauty in how the city adapts. Cafes glow warmly, filled with laughter and the aroma of coffee. Streets are lined with decorations for New Year’s, sparkling like promises. This is the yang, the vibrant, bustling energy that Tokyo exudes even when the temperatures drop. For a student like me, it feels like the city is cheering me on—reminding me to push harder, to chase my dreams no matter how cold or tired I might feel. But winter also brings shadows. The nights stretch longer, and with them comes a certain loneliness. Walking home under the streetlights, bundled in my coat, I can’t help but notice how the light casts elongated shadows on the pavement. It feels like a metaphor for my life here: for every moment of joy and discovery, there’s an ache of homesickness or self-doubt. In these quieter hours, the yin settles in. It’s in the silence of my tiny dorm room, where I’m left alone with my thoughts, that I realize how much I’ve grown—and how much I’m still learning.

This year has been a cycle of beginnings and endings. I’ve thrown myself into projects, excited by the challenge of balancing schoolwork and my own ambitions. I’ve made friends who feel like family, shared meals under the glow of lanterns, and walked through Tokyo’s parks as golden leaves fell like blessings. These are my moments of light, when I feel alive and connected to the world around me. But there have also been times when I’ve struggled to keep up. Deadlines piled up. Some friendships didn’t last. The pressure to prove myself—to be better, smarter, more accomplished—loomed over me like the weight of an unspoken expectation. In these moments, I found myself lost in the shadows.

Patience has been my greatest teacher here. In a city that never stops moving, I’ve had to learn to slow down, to embrace the yin of stillness and reflection. Winter has taught me that it’s okay to pause, to sit with my doubts and uncertainties. Some nights, I’d stare out of my dorm window, watching the city lights blur in the distance, and let myself simply be. I stopped measuring my worth by how much I achieved and started finding value in the quieter, smaller moments. A kind word from a classmate. The first sip of hot tea on a freezing morning. The laughter I shared over a simple meal of ramen.

Now, as I prepare to step into another year, I see the beauty in this balance. Tokyo has shown me that light and shadow aren’t enemies—they coexist, shaping each other. Yang drives me forward, inspiring me to dream bigger, to create, to explore. Yin reminds me to rest, to reflect, to embrace the parts of myself I’ve ignored. It’s in the rhythm of this duality that I’ve found who I am: someone who is still learning, still growing, still finding harmony between the bustling city lights and the quiet of winter nights.

As the year ends, Tokyo is already preparing for its next beginning. The streets hum with anticipation, just as my heart does. There’s a certain peace in knowing that endings are never final—they’re simply the shadows that make way for new light. And so, I carry the lessons of this city, of winter, and of another year ending with me: to cherish both the light and the shadow, to be patient with myself, and to keep moving forward—one step at a time. Cheers!!

entry 34!

As another year is only 18 days away and there are times when everything feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, like the world has lost its color and left you in a place of endless monotony. Your mind, once sharp and vibrant, is clouded with fog, making even the simplest tasks seem insurmountable.

The joy you once found in life—whether it was in people, hobbies, or even the small moments—has faded into the background, leaving nothing but a hollow shell. You move through the motions of daily life, ticking off boxes, fulfilling obligations, but it all feels so mechanical. There is no passion, no excitement—just a sense of drifting without purpose.

The weight of the silence in your heart is deafening, and even the smallest spark of hope seems like a distant, unreachable dream.

Everything that once brought light to your world has turned gray, leaving you with a pervasive emptiness that is hard to shake. It’s a place where joy feels impossible, where the connection to others seems strained, and where you’re simply existing without truly living.

Yet, despite it all, you continue. You move forward not because you want to, but because it’s all you know to do. You go through the motions of life, a shadow of who you once were, driven by a silent will to just keep going, even when it feels like there’s no reason left to. It’s a slow, heavy endurance through a landscape that feels barren and lifeless. But in this numbness, there is a quiet resilience—because even though everything around you seems gray, you still find a way to keep going, not knowing what awaits you beyond the fog. Like I’m writing this words with all this gray things within my mind. So Cheers!!

entry 32!

“This blog’s content will remain within me, unspoken and untold.”

entry 31!

Today, I managed to find an answer to my ever-expanding quest. It feels like I’ve been trying to scratch an itch deep within my soul for as long as I can remember. Honestly, I wasn't even sure what I was looking for—until now. What I wanted was a philosophy that works for every situation. A simple, universal answer to life. Something that can hold me when everything else is slipping away.

After all this time, I finally see it, though the answer isn't what I expected. Maybe it’s peace of mind that I want, a sense of calm that could silence the chaos in my head, a life without complications—something that could ease all my worries. I think about it when I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, listening to my own heart beat, wondering if it’s possible to ever feel truly content. I want to believe that there’s a way, but the path never feels clear, and maybe that’s because it isn’t meant to be. How could there be a simple path? I’ve got my insecurities, my jealousy, my superstitions, my moments of wanting validation from others. I’ve got my restless nights, the days where I feel like I’m not enough, the days when I overthink everything and spiral. And that’s okay. I don’t need to rise above it all to find the answer. Maybe it’s not about erasing those parts of me, but about accepting them.

Sometimes I think I know what I want, and then it slips through my fingers, and I end up wanting something else. What I think I want and what I end up getting, what I get and what I end up searching for—they all blur together, and I wonder if I’m chasing shadows. I wonder if I’m really as deep as I think I am, or if it’s just the words that make it sound profound. Sometimes I feel like I’m wide open, laid bare for everyone to see, vulnerable and raw. And sometimes I feel like there’s nothing deeper to me at all, just layers and layers of confusion.

But today, in one of those moments of clarity, I realized something important—maybe I’m just meant to flow, like a river. When I can let go of all the overthinking, the analyzing, the questioning, and just exist, that's when I find peace. Maybe that’s the metaphor that ties together all of my philosophical quests—the idea of a river's flow. To move with life, to embrace each moment, whether it's joyful or painful, whether it’s filled with laughter or tears. To move like a river, knowing that the path doesn’t have to be clear to be right. I think of all the happy moments, the sad moments, the mundane seconds in between, and maybe the answer has been there all along.

Maybe I don’t need a perfect philosophy that works for every situation. Maybe I just need to be here, fully, in every messy, beautiful, confusing moment. To embrace the twists, the turns, the bends, and let life carry me. Even when I don't know which path to take, maybe I just need to trust that moving forward is enough—that somehow, I'll find my way.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe the only philosophy I need is this: just to flow, with all my heart, through whatever comes. Peace ✌🏻

entry 30!

What is a dream? And what does it really mean to achieve one? We all have dreams, but have you ever wondered what it’s like to finally live inside the dream you’ve worked so hard for? Let me share my experience because right now, I’m living in that dream—and it’s not what I expected.

I can still picture myself sitting in my room in Kolkata, imagining what my future would look like. I put everything I had into reaching that dream. I stayed focused, I pushed myself, and I never let go of the idea that one day, I’d make it. And now, here I am, living the life I used to daydream about. It feels surreal, like a dream come true, but not exactly the way I imagined.

Is it perfect? Not at all. But that’s okay because nothing in life is perfect. I’ve made it to the place I worked so hard to reach. I’ve accomplished so much of what I once dreamed about. But here’s the thing—when I was dreaming of this life, I never thought about what would come after. Now that I’ve achieved almost everything I wanted, I find myself wondering, “What’s next?”

Back then, I had a mission, a clear goal. I was always pushing toward that vision. But now that I’m here, I realize I need a new dream. And you know what? I’m struggling to find it. It’s strange, but I feel like I’ve lost the ability to daydream. I used to be so full of ideas, so full of hope, but now I’m so focused on being practical, on “real life,” that I can’t see the next dream clearly. Maybe you’ve felt this way too. If you have, I’d love to hear your story. Sometimes, when you achieve a big dream, it leaves you feeling a bit lost, like, “What do I do now?” I think that’s why we all need to keep dreaming, even after we reach our goals.

I know I’ll find my way again. I’ll find that spark. But right now, I’m taking time to reflect, to rest, and to truly enjoy the “honey” of the success I once craved. Life has made me tough, and that’s a good thing. But I’ve also realized that without a new dream or mission, life can start to feel a little empty. So here’s my message: Keep dreaming. Don’t let go of your dreams, even after you’ve reached them. Write down your goals, save your ideas, and never stop imagining what’s possible. Dreams give life meaning. Without them, you’ll feel like something’s missing.

Whatever dreaming of right now, keep pushing for it. Don’t give up. The journey may be hard, but once you get there, the peace and satisfaction you’ll feel will be worth it. And remember, achieving your dream isn’t the end of the road. There’s always more to dream about, more to strive for. Now that I’ve tasted the honey of one dream, I know it’s time to find a new one.

So dream big, hold onto your vision, and let the process unfold. Life is about constantly evolving, finding new dreams, and creating the future you want. Don’t quit. You’ve got this.

So peace✌🏻

entry 29!

The more I live, the more I understand—none of us are truly easy to be with. We each carry within us an entire world, filled with unspoken struggles, silent anxieties, past traumas, and lingering fears. We are all carrying something. And the journey to becoming who we are? It’s never straightforward. It’s tangled, it’s messy. It’s human.

We often talk about finding “the one,” but it’s never about meeting someone without baggage—because that person simply doesn’t exist. The truth is, real love, real friendship, real connection isn’t about searching for someone who has no scars. It’s about finding someone who is willing to sit beside you as you unpack yours. It’s about two people who choose each other, flaws and all, day after day. To love someone deeply is to create a space where both of you can exist as you are—unapologetically human. It’s about making room for each other's messiness, vulnerabilities, and imperfections without judgment. It's understanding that the beauty of being human lies not in perfection, but in the cracks and crevices, the spaces where light seeps through.

We are all works in progress. We are all, at times, difficult to be with, and that’s okay. We aren't bound together by polished surfaces, but by the raw, imperfect reality of who we are underneath. We connect in our struggles, in our shared vulnerabilities, in the quiet places where we allow ourselves to be seen as we truly are.

The cracks in our timescape don’t make us weaker—they make us real. And in that realness, true connection begins. Sometimes, it’s in those very moments of imperfection, in the raw honesty of simply being, that we find the deepest love, the most profound friendship. So pause. Breathe. Know that being human means being beautifully imperfect. And it’s in that shared imperfection where we find the connections that truly matter. At least I think so…!! Peace✌🏻

entry 28!

Recently, I’ve been struck by a thought that feels both profound and unsettling: what if everything I’ve done, am doing, or will ever do is already done? Like a script that’s been written for me long before I even realized it. It’s as though I’m living in a world where every choice, every action, is predetermined, and I’m just following along unknowingly.

I’ve heard whispers of this idea before, back in my hometown. You know, those old sayings passed down by elders—"everything is written"—as if our lives are set in stone. But this time, the thought hit me differently. It wasn’t just something I remembered or heard in passing; it was something I “felt”. Like really felt. I found myself questioning whether anything I’m doing is truly mine. It’s as if everything I “want” to do, or “have” to do, is already decided, and I’m merely going through the motions. The strangest part? There are things I try to force or manipulate—those moments where I think, "I’ll make this happen," but despite my efforts, they don’t occur until they’re supposed to. It feels like some events are stuck on their own timeline, and no matter how much I push, they only happen when the time is right. As if they were always meant to happen, but not before their appointed moment. This feeling, this knowing, connects me back to those words from my childhood: "everything is written."

It’s funny, isn’t it? I can’t bring myself to fully believe in this idea of fate or destiny, yet I also can’t completely dismiss it. It lingers in the background, nudging at me, asking me to pay attention. And here I am, writing about it, even though I’m unsure if I’m doing this because I want to or because I was always meant to. It’s hard to ignore the sense that some things feel scripted. Like this blog. I decided to write it—or did I? Who’s to say I didn’t write it because “you” were always meant to read it? And now you’re reading it, exactly as it was intended. Or maybe it’s not fate at all—maybe it’s just coincidence. But then again, why does it feel like something more?

I think what gets me the most is how much this idea—this feeling—messes with my sense of choice. On the surface, it seems like I’m making decisions. I wake up, I choose what to do with my day, I decide what I’ll focus on. But when I stop and think about it, I wonder: am I really choosing? Or am I simply following a path that’s already laid out, and these "choices" are just illusions?

I’ve come across scientific theories that flirt with this same idea. Some physicists suggest that the universe operates on cause-and-effect, a chain of events that began long before we existed and will continue long after. That means every decision, every action, is just part of this chain, with no room for deviation. It’s a deterministic view of the universe—one that strips away the idea of free will entirely. Then there’s the concept of time. We tend to think of time as a straight line: past, present, future, all flowing one after another. But what if time isn’t linear? Some theories in physics suggest that every moment—past, present, and future—exists simultaneously. So, maybe every event in our lives has already "happened," and we’re just moving through it, frame by frame, like a movie we’re experiencing in real-time. In that sense, everything truly is written. It’s just waiting for us to experience it.

But here’s where the paradox kicks in. I don’t entirely believe that everything is set in stone. There’s a part of me that resists the idea. It feels too mechanical, too rigid. Life doesn’t always seem like a straight line; there are too many moments that feel spontaneous, unexpected, and, yes, even within my control. But at the same time, I can’t help but notice how often things fall into place at exactly the right time, no matter how hard I’ve tried to make them happen sooner.

I guess what I’m saying is that I feel like I’m stuck in this tug-of-war between fate and free will. Some moments, I’m convinced that I’m steering the ship, making choices that will shape my future. And other times, it feels like I’m being carried along by a current I can’t control, no matter how hard I paddle. It’s a strange feeling, this dance between believing in destiny and asserting my own free will. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if both things can be true at the same time. Maybe we do have some say in the way our lives unfold, but perhaps certain events are bound to happen no matter what. Perhaps some choices are ours, while others are part of a larger, cosmic script.

So, what does this mean for me, for any of us? Should we just surrender to whatever life has in store, trusting that whatever happens was always meant to happen? Or should we keep trying, keep striving, as if we’re the authors of our own stories? I don’t have a clear answer. But maybe it’s not about having a definite answer. Maybe the beauty is in the uncertainty, in the mystery of it all. I’ll continue living my life, trying to make choices, knowing full well that some things will happen exactly when they’re meant to, no matter what I do. And maybe that’s okay.

Because, in the end, whether everything is written or not, we’re still experiencing it. We’re still living, feeling, and moving forward. And who knows—maybe this blog was always meant to be written, just so you could read it. Or maybe we both just happened to meet here, in this moment, by choice. Either way, it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Everything is written—or is it? Peace✌️

entry 27!

Who are you, really, when the curtains close, When the day dims and your layers unfold? When the only voice left is the one inside your head, What truths do they speak, the ones your lips have left unsaid?

Do they whisper things you refuse to know, Words tangled in the spaces where your fears grow? When the city’s roar fades, and silence is all that remains, Do you rush to fill the quiet, or let it echo like rain?

Do you seek out creation at the end of the day, Or let the hours slip through fingers in a familiar way? When your favorite song plays and no one's around, Do you dance like no one's watching, feel the rhythm unbound?

Does the music unlock memories you’ve tried to ignore, Echoes of moments, thoughts you can’t quite restore? Who are you beneath the image you display, Apart from the reputation you carefully array?

When you close your eyes, what dreams take flight? Do you credit your journey, the battles you’ve fought with might? Are you the one saving or waiting to be saved, Or both, in a dance with the roles you’ve engraved?

And when you need help, why does the answer turn “no”? What is it you’re hiding, what don’t you want to show? In the reflection of the steps you've taken so far, Do you recognize yourself—do you know who you are?

Who are you, really, when no one else can see? When it’s just you, your thoughts and your silent you!!

So, who are you really, when all the noise is gone? When the layers are stripped bare and the masks fall away, can you face the truth of who stands beneath it all? Do you find peace in that quiet space, or do you still search for answers that slip through your grasp like smoke? Perhaps the journey is not in knowing for sure, but in the constant unfolding—allowing yourself to evolve, to be raw, to be real. And in those rare, fleeting moments of clarity, maybe you glimpse the person you've always been, waiting to be seen. Peace✌️

entry 26!

There are times in life when we drift away from our plans, our schedules, and our own beliefs. It happens so easily—maybe because we get bored or lose sight of ourselves, or maybe we follow someone else’s path for a while. Every time I step off my own track and take the advice or direction of someone else, I seem to make mistakes. These mistakes don’t just pass by; they linger, hanging over me like a heavy burden that I carry for far too long. The weight of these decisions feels unbearable at times, and I suffer deeply.

I often find myself wondering, “Why do I let this happen?” Is it because I doubt myself? Or perhaps because, like many of us, I sometimes feel a little lost in my own world, unsure if my path is truly the right one. There’s this cycle I’ve noticed—I stray from my path, make mistakes, suffer the consequences, and then, somehow, I find my way back to myself. It’s not an easy cycle, and it often feels like I’m getting lost in some sort of black hole, where I can’t even see my own reflection.

During these moments of confusion, I lose more than just a sense of direction—I lose sight of who I am. It feels as though I’m falling into an abyss, unsure of my identity, my purpose, and even my worth. The world around me becomes a blur, and I start to wonder, “How did I get here?” It’s as if I’m floating in a vast space where nothing feels familiar or safe. But no matter how lost I get, there’s always something—a spark of hope, a leap of faith—that pulls me back to solid ground.

I think we all have these moments, where we lose track of who we are and what we’re supposed to be doing. For me, these moments of doubt and confusion often stem from dreaming too much or creating my own world of expectations. I’ve always had a vision of upgrading myself, of becoming better, day by day. I tell myself, “Just 1% better each day.” For over last seven years, I’ve lived with this mentality, constantly striving to improve, to reach that next level of self-awareness, of success, of fulfillment. Yet, even with all that effort, I still stumble. I still make mistakes.

Perhaps this is because there is no perfect definition of success, no ultimate version of ourselves that we are meant to become. Perfection is an illusion, something we chase but never fully reach. And that’s okay. I’ve learned that mistakes don’t define us, but they do shape us. Each mistake I’ve made has taught me something new, something valuable. They are the building blocks of my growth.

Just recently, I found myself in that all-too-familiar place of doubt. I listened to someone else’s advice, followed their path, and ignored my own instincts. I lost faith in myself, and now I’m suffering in a way that I haven’t experienced before. This time, it feels different—like I’ve lost something deeper, like my patience has run dry. I was talking to my Japanese aunt about it, a woman full of wisdom and life experience. She’s nearly 70 years old named NOMURA YOSHIKO(野村　佳子), and her words struck me with such simplicity and clarity. She explained everything in a way that made me see how much more I have to learn about patience, about life, and about myself.

This conversation reminded me of something important—sometimes, we desperately want something without fully understanding why. We chase after it, believing it will complete us or fill a void, only to realize that we weren’t ready for it. When I finally get what I’ve been chasing, I often find myself playing with it, testing it, before I use it for it’s true purpose. And this time, I lost something during testing that I truly wanted, something I couldn’t afford to replace. It sent me into a spiral of deep reflection, questioning everything—my path, my choices, my identity. But here’s where hope comes in. Even in the midst of that loss, I’m slowly finding my way back to the path that was always meant for me. It’s not easy, and I’m not entirely there yet, but I can feel myself coming back to life, rediscovering my purpose. I’m realizing that losing our way doesn’t mean the end of the journey. Sometimes, it’s part of the process. We get lost so that we can find ourselves again, with new eyes and a new perspective.

This experience has taught me that life is not about getting everything right the first time. It’s about making mistakes, learning from them, and continuing to move forward. It’s about having the courage to pick ourselves up after we’ve fallen, to trust in the process, and to believe that no matter how lost we feel, we will always find our way back.

So, if you’re like me, and you find yourself drifting away from your path, don’t despair. Mistakes don’t mean you’ve failed—they mean you’re growing. Each wrong turn teaches us something we couldn’t have learned otherwise. And while it may feel like you’ve lost your way, remember that you always have the ability to find your way back. You are stronger, wiser, and more resilient than you know.

What’s about your story? Have you ever found yourself following someone else’s path, only to realize it wasn’t right for you? How did you rediscover your own way? I’d love to hear how you’ve navigated the challenges of life, and what lessons you’ve learned along the way. Because in the end, we’re all on this journey together, and sharing our stories helps us find the hope and strength to keep going and going. Like the song of Oasis’s “Wonderwall”, give it a try and talk to you from other side of the world till then… Peace✌🏻