The Temperature of Hokkori
Lately, whether I am walking down the street, scrolling through my social media timeline, or watching television, I encounter the word "hokkori" everywhere.
A steaming mug, a kitten basking in the sun, a scene of an elderly person and a child holding hands.
As a word to describe such scenes, these four characters seem to have established an immovable status.
As a 100% pure positive symbol, synonymous with "heartwarming" or "healing."
However, every time I hear that sound, I feel a small but undeniable sense of discomfort, like a hangnail, somewhere in my heart.
I discovered the true nature of this discomfort a few years ago.
It is said that "hokkori" in the traditional language of Kyoto, the so-called "Kyo-kotoba," has a completely different texture from the one we use today.
When an elderly person in Kyoto says, "Ah, hokkori shita wa," it is not about a sparkling, healing feeling.
It refers to the "sudden exhaustion" felt after working on one's feet all day or after successfully completing a major event.
It is the feeling of "phew" that comes when you finally put down a heavy load and your knees go weak.
Rather than spiritual fulfillment, it is a sense of relief accompanied by physical fatigue.
That is the weight that the original "hokkori" carries.
Ever since I encountered that fact, my filter for language has changed decisively.
Whenever I hear someone mutter "it's so hokkori" about a scene I once would have viewed with a smile, thinking "how heartwarming," the image of a Kyoto craftsman dropping his shoulders after finishing a big job, or women from a bygone era finishing their housework, overlaps in my mind.
If I meet someone who says "it's so hokkori" while watching a kitten playing innocently, I find myself unable to enjoy the moment, as an out-of-place thought crosses my mind: "What kind of heavy labor did that kitten just finish to be so exhausted?"
The word "hokkori" has, before I knew it, ridden the wave of a trend and rewritten our daily lives with the lightness of a new word.
The speed at which words spread is terrifyingly fast.
Now, even the younger generation in Kyoto, influenced by television and social media, uses this word as a synonym for "healing."
Words are living things, and it is the way of the world for them to change their shape with the times.
I believe I understand that.
Even so, I find myself pausing.
The Japanese language has, since ancient times, layered multiple meanings onto a single word.
Ultimately, even a single hiragana character can take on completely different colors depending on the situation or the speaker's breath.
Wasn't that delicate gradation the very beauty and depth of the Japanese language?
Convenient words are increasing, and meanings are converging into one.
While this makes communication smoother, it also seems to be stripping away the "scent of life" and "body temperature" that words were originally supposed to possess.
The weight of the relief of "phew" from the past is being covered up by the modern symbol of "warmth."
I want to cherish this sense of discomfort.
Feeling lonely at the mismatch of words—perhaps that is proof that I love the deep, easy-to-get-lost-in forest that is the Japanese language.
Today, I tilt my head slightly at the word "hokkori" I saw somewhere.
And behind it, I am searching for the lingering echo of a quiet sigh, an "otsukaresama" that has become hard to hear.
❖ ── ✦ ── ❖
#Essay #DailyLife #Discomfort #OriginOfWords #Hokkori #OriginOfWords
#KyoKotoba #DepthOfJapanese #TemperatureOfWords #DailyThoughts #TrueNatureOfDiscomfort
#DifficultyOfJapanese #Transition #AdultLearning #RefiningSensibility