New Year's Eve is almost here. What will you put on your Toshikoshi Soba this year?

Hello, this is Toraneko!

There is only a little bit of this year left, isn't there? When I look out the window, the city lights are shimmering and trembling in the cold wind, and it almost makes my heart feel a little fragile.

Have you all made progress with your New Year's preparations? As for me... it's embarrassing to say, but my cleaning is only half-done, and I spend my days feeling restless, as if I'm being chased by the numbers on the calendar. I keep telling myself I need to get it together, but I always end up brewing a cup of warm tea and just zoning out.

Today, I would like to talk a little bit about the "Toshikoshi Soba" (year-crossing noodles) that I prepare with trembling hands every year.

The little bit of "selfishness" I put into my noodles

"Why do we eat soba at the end of the year?"

You all know that better than anyone, don't you? Because they are long and thin, we wish for "longevity," or because they break easily, we wish to "cut off bad luck"... These are things you can find written in any book, and I feel a bit presumptuous even talking about them.

But I always slurp my noodles for my own selfish reasons.

Actually, I am very greedy, yet at the same time, very timid. Even though I feel like I've walked through the year with all my might, when I look back, grains of regret like "Oh, I shouldn't have said that" or "I could have been kinder at that time" keep spilling out.

At times like that, I secretly rely on the "breakability" of the soba.

There is a story that says, "Goldsmiths used soba dough to collect scattered gold dust." Every time I hear that, I feel like I am trying my best to collect the "fragments of small happiness" scattered in my heart using the soba.

My days were full of failures, but there must have been moments that sparkled within them. I want to absorb all of that into the soba and take it into myself. That is the slightly self-deprecating, yet desperate wish I make while eating.

My own way of resisting the idea of "thin and long"

The phrase "live a thin and long life" is often used.

While I think it is a noble sentiment, it also makes me a little afraid. After all, if I continue to be thin for a long time, it feels like I might just snap in the middle... I am not that strong.

That is why, when I eat Toshikoshi Soba, I interpret it in my own way.

"It's okay to be thin. But I want to be connected to someone."

Soba noodles are unreliable if you only have one, but they overlap many times in the bowl, don't they? I, too, am a thin and unreliable existence on my own. There are nights when I write this blog and my heart is filled with anxiety, wondering, "Who would even read this kind of writing?"

But because you are all here reading this, and because I receive such warm comments, I feel like my thin thread intertwines with yours, and we can become a slightly stronger "bundle."

For me, Toshikoshi Soba might not just be for wishing for longevity, but a ritual to confirm my gratitude that "I was able to stay connected to someone again this year."

My little 'good luck charm' hidden in the toppings

What do you put on your soba?

Shrimp tempura? Or perhaps just simple green onions?

I always add a topping as a 'good luck charm' for whatever I feel I'm lacking the most at that time.

In years when I lacked confidence and kept my back hunched, I chose a straight shrimp tempura. As if to tell myself, 'Stand tall and look forward.'

In years when my heart felt prickly, I chose fluffy fried tofu. As if to soothe myself, saying, 'Have a softer heart.'

This year... well, I think I might add plenty of grated yam (tororo).

So that no matter how much my heart feels like it might fall apart, I can tenaciously hold it all together.

...Well, that sounded cool, but maybe I just really like the gentle taste of grated yam. I'm such an uncool person, always finding reasons after the fact like this. I'm sorry.

Finally, together with all of you

When the bells of New Year's Eve ring out, I'm sure you will all be eating your soba while facing your loved ones, or perhaps while facing your own quiet selves.

I think the sound of slurping soba is like the 'punctuation' in the story of this past year.

For those who had a hard time, or those who had nights where the tears wouldn't stop, I hope that the moment you bite through that soba, all your sadness will 'snap' away, and a new, blank page will be turned.

Supported by your kindness, I am able to put down my pen (oh, I mean stop typing on my keyboard) once again this year.

You might laugh and say, 'The tabby cat's stories are a bit strange,' but those smiles of yours are the greatest feast for me.

I hope that next year, my thin thread will continue to be connected to all of you somewhere.

I am someone who lacks confidence, but if I could stay gently by your side, there would be nothing happier than that.

Please, everyone, stay warm and enjoy some delicious soba.

Wishing you a Happy New Year.

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