From 'Yabai' to 'Maji Yabai': A Defeat of Vocabulary or a Victory of Emotion? - An Essay on Wordplay

It happened while I was standing at the Shibuya crossing.
A pair of people who looked to be in their early twenties were peering at a smartphone screen, taking turns repeating the word "yabai" over and over.

"Isn't this yabai?"
"Yabai. Seriously yabai."
"Right? Too yabai."

There was neither a subject nor a predicate in that conversation.
Yet, between them, something dense and meaningful was certainly being shared.

What on earth could it have been?
Information about a delicious cake, a new release from their favorite idol, or perhaps the desperate scope of tomorrow's exam.

Since when did we start entrusting everything to this versatile three-character word?

To begin with, if you trace the roots of "yabai," you find a surprisingly dim and prickly landscape.
In the Edo period, this word was written as "yaba" (厄場) and was primarily slang used by people living in the underworld.
In short, a "yaba" was a prison.

Thieves being chased by officials would whisper "Yaba!" to their accomplices.
It was a life-or-death alert meaning, "If we get caught, we're going to prison; this is bad."

Alternatively, there is a theory that it originates from "yaba" (矢場), meaning an archery range.
Since former archery ranges were often hotbeds for shady business, stepping into one was a "dangerous" thing to do.

In other words, it was originally a prickly, negative word used when standing at a critical juncture in life or on the edge of darkness.

Somewhere along the way, it gradually changed its form.

The major turning point was likely between the 1980s and the 90s.
Amidst the hustle and bustle that still carried the scent of the bubble economy, a phenomenon like a "bug" in the language occurred.

Perhaps it was when delinquents began using it to describe someone as "yabai," imbuing it with both fear and respect, that the door to a positive meaning was opened.

Entering the latter half of the 90s, the use of this word accelerated rapidly.
In addition to its previous meaning of "bad" or "inconvenient," it began to incorporate an ultimate affirmation: "so amazing that I can't find the words to describe it."

I feel like the landscape of the Japanese language has changed since those days.
Folders for emotions that were previously carefully categorized as "wonderful," "moving," or "beautiful" were all thrown into one large box labeled "yabai."

In the modern era, "yabai" is no longer just an adjective.
It is a wildcard for emotions and the ultimate "highly compressed file."

For example, when the sunset spreading out before you is so vivid that you are left speechless.
We save ourselves the trouble of verbalizing that beauty and intentionally pack it into those three characters: "yabai."
The receiver, too, reads the atmosphere of the situation, instantly decodes it, and empathizes.
This might be called a sophisticated communication skill unique to Japanese people, who possess a high-context(Note 1) culture.

Let's try a slightly wild imagination here.

What would happen to our daily lives if, starting tomorrow, the use of the word 'yabai' were completely banned by law?

In a meeting, a subordinate who noticed a mistake in the presentation materials would have to report it while sweating profusely, saying, 'I have encountered an extremely inconvenient situation.'

A food blogger slurping ramen would be forced to write at length, 'The richness of the pork bone broth and the sharpness of the soy sauce show an exquisite harmony, shaking my taste buds intensely.'

The speed of communication would drop dramatically, and social media timelines would be filled with heavy, explanatory text.
Ironically, it would highlight just how much we are saved by the 'lightness' of this word every day.

Of course, there is criticism that using 'yabai' for everything is an abandonment of vocabulary.
I cannot discard the ideal that language should inherently be more delicate and richer.

However, language is a living thing.
It is not a specimen trapped in a dictionary, but the very breath exhaled in the city, along with someone's body heat.

The 'yabai' uttered by an Edo-period thief while trembling, and the 'yabai' released by a modern female student with sparkling eyes.
Across four hundred years, the same sound resonates with completely different colors.
Doesn't that transition itself seem like something very 'yabai'?

For those of us living in an era without clear answers, this word might be a refuge for 'unnamable emotions' that are neither black nor white.

Next time you find yourself saying 'yabai,' consider this: deep within that word, is the danger of the Edo period shaking, or is a new emotion of the future budding?
It might not be a bad idea to take just a fleeting moment to look at the resolution of your own heart.

Now, as for the finish of this essay, for me...
Well, I pride myself on it having turned out a bit 'yabai,' but what do you think?

The labyrinth of language is interesting precisely because you can never see the exit.