While the Four Cups Are Still Steaming — Regarding Four Writers —
I am reminded of the way steam rises when I have a cup of tea.
I find myself wishing that the warmth placed before me could also reach the seat of someone far away whom I have yet to meet. It is this feeling of "paying it forward" that is quietly spreading from the comment section through LaLaLa's "Pay It Forward Project."
The person who receives words of support then passes a gentle word on to someone else—perhaps to three people. In this way, kindness connects little by little, like a waltz of flowers, as if unraveling.
I had just started on note, and there were many days without any follows or likes. The other side of the screen was quiet, and there were nights when I could only hear my own breathing. But the moment I received my first "like," a small spark was lit deep in my chest.
The fact that a stranger had truly read it. An indescribable joy, as if someone had told me, "I see you here." I feel that this warmth will surely be remembered quietly from time to time in the future. Even now, that gratitude is my support.
And at the same time, I think that just keeping it in the palm of my hand is not enough. The kindness received should remain as kindness and go to the next person. It doesn't have to be grand words. It doesn't have to be said perfectly. Just a single line written in the comment section can slightly unravel someone's day.
As if to increase the number of places where steam rises. The support born here is carried to another place. It circulates, connects, and becomes a light in someone's chest once again. Today, I reach out my hand a little to the beginning of such a cycle.
I, too, will leave a cup for this pay-it-forward project. For me, it was to hand over writing that moved my heart to readers I have not yet met.
In Japan, there is the term "on-okuri" (paying kindness forward). You do not return the favor to the person who gave it to you, but pass it on to someone you have not yet met. In Taiwan, there is the concept of "suspended coffee" (daiyong). You leave a cup of coffee on the shop counter for someone you don't even know who will come later. It is not a round trip of returning a favor, but a single stream. Without choosing the recipient or seeking a reward, what is received overflows from the vessel and spills over to the next person.
The four people I chose write about different things. About grandmothers, aesthetics, rain, the reality of dairy farming, and people who are being forgotten. But when lined up, a single thread runs through the bottom. How to keep what is disappearing in one's hands—everyone is facing that question in their own way. The fact that I live with cows on a northern ranch and write down words surely has its roots in the same place.
I will hand them over one by one, while they are still steaming.
1. Sena-san "A side of my grandmother I didn't know"
When I read writing about someone's grandmother, I am always remembering my own grandmother at the same time. This piece by Sena-san was the same. Even though it is a record of someone else's grandmother, as I read on, the drawers of my own memories open one by one. A kitchen I shouldn't know and a voice I've never heard feel nostalgic for some reason.
It seems there is such a mysterious path in human memory. The back of someone else's grandmother overlaps with that of my own before I know it, and the time of two people rises there. The "side I didn't know" that Sena-san wrote down is surely a key that evokes the "side I knew" for each reader.
I think this is what it means to record. What you write for yourself becomes a light that illuminates someone's memory someday. I learned that from Sena-san's quiet writing style. It is a piece I want to quietly hand to everyone who has a grandmother.
2. Sanjuro-san "Choosing 'Aesthetics' over 'Justice' — A serene presence that transcends absurdity"
After finishing it, I notice that my heart has become quiet. What is written is about anger. That strong emotion that wells up when you meet an adult without dignity. And yet, while reading, my inner self becomes calm instead. This writing truly achieves the mystery of having movement within stillness.
Sanjuro-san does not say to erase anger. He says that anger is a high-sensitivity sensor that tells you your boundaries have been violated. Therefore, instead of lashing out or enduring it, you stop and observe for a moment. Then, you can see that the essence of people who attack others is not strength, but the flip side of weakness.
How quiet this gaze of "being able to see" is. Do not descend to the opponent's ring. Do not try to change them. Just turn it into nourishment to sharpen your own axis. As I read, my posture straightens at the way of thinking that turns emotions not into weapons, but into tools to refine one's way of life. It is a signpost for living beautifully in a murky world.
3. Kosuke Takeshita "Reclamation Note #53 AI that doesn't know the field becomes a 'deadly weapon'."
As someone who also lives with cows in the northern lands, I read this piece with deep nods of agreement. Takeshita-san, after having thoroughly used AI in daily life, still asserts this: if someone who doesn't know the reality of the field uses AI, it can become a weapon.
What remained in my heart is the fact that the basis for judgment is placed on "primary information." Entering the barn, smelling the milk that changes with the seasons, and walking on my own two feet while carrying heavy buckets in both hands. Only those who have that mud-covered, tangible experience can pass judgment on the answers provided by AI, saying, "That doesn't fit this land." The exact same thing can be said for my own life. The tools my husband built by hand and the words exchanged over the phone were things that did not exist on a screen.
Do not chase size, chase depth—this one line encapsulates everything about the meaning of insisting on manual labor in the frontier. In days where we are likely to be swept away by convenience, this is a precious record of pioneering that allows me to confirm where my own feet are planted.
4. Book Publishing Misho-sha "Being Forgotten by People Is Cruel (From Folklore Dialogue Vol. 1)"
After reading this dialogue, I couldn't close the book for a while. Tetsuya Kimura talks about "The Forgotten Japanese" by folklorist Tsuneichi Miyamoto. Once, Miyamoto said that a person's life is not cruel because it is miserable, but that it is cruel to be forgotten by people—that one phrase remained deep in my heart.
Kimura-san says that folklore is not just about digging into the past. Right now, before our eyes, there are people being made invisible and forgotten. He cites the story of a long-established shop owner who knew the history of Shinjuku Nichome inside out, but passed away without anyone recording it. The irreparability of passing away without leaving words behind.
I realized that the reason I am trying to create a space in an empty house where children can be handed the stories of the elderly is rooted here. To listen is to resist oblivion. It is to pass the time someone lived to the next hand before it disappears. Not chasing the past, but preserving the present. It is a dialogue that deeply encourages that stance. It is a piece I want everyone who thinks about memory and inheritance to open.
I leave four cups of steam here.
If even one of these pieces remains warmly in your hands, then next time, please carry a cup of your choosing to the seat of someone you haven't met yet. I believe that kindness is something that circulates in that way.
I am not returning what I received, but passing it forward.
#PayItForwardProject
*This project is hosted by LaLaLa. Click here for project details.
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