※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).
#10: Sake Cup
No matter what anyone says, the cup is an important aspect of drinking sake.
The author Fujieda Shizuo wrote a short story called Denshin Ugaku, which includes a scene where a sake cup speaks in human tongue. The readers probably have no idea what I’m talking about all of a sudden, but I’m simply saying what was written.
Anyway, that doesn’t actually matter. The point is that the shape of the sake cup can have a large effect on the sake’s taste. I like both dry sake and sweet sake, but the cup shape is the deciding factor. To be specific, I like it when the form is not too shallow but not too deep, with a thin rim. This is because when I place it to my lips and tilt the cup, the sake flows smoothly and easily into my mouth, and when I close my lips, the stream cuts off quickly. With a cup like this, I can fully enjoy the sake’s aroma and taste without drinking too much.
Now, having written this far, I’ve forgotten what I wanted to say in this essay in the first place. I’m not sure how many cups I’ve drank either. Where am I, anyway? I feel like I had company, but I don’t know anymore.
Hmm, well, I’ll take another sip and then think about it some more. Readers, I recommend turning off your phone when you’re drunk. You never know who you might end up calling.
Vessels are a profound thing. Even if the liquid poured inside is the same, changing the vessel makes it feel almost as if the contents themselves have changed. It’s often said that a healthy body fosters a healthy spirit. Similarly, a vessel and its contents cannot be separated.
All right, this is getting bad. I’ll get the bill and then resume drinking at home, with my favourite sake cup.
※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.
#9: Mount Fuji
Editor N told me to go see it, but I shrugged and said, “That’s not possible.”
And yet here I am now, writing this manuscript in a cafe at Mount Fuji Station, drinking lemon juice and listening to ART-SCHOOL. You really never know what’ll happen in life.
The lemon juice is sour, but that’s good.
At the cafe in front of the station, the lovely laughs of the local madams and the smoke coming from the nearby men’s cigarettes are both pleasing to the senses. Those are good too.
I recently learned how to accept various aspects of life and myself, and living has become much easier. Ochiai Yoichi-san, Tomabechi Hideto-san, and the Buddha all say the same thing. In the wise words of Nakamura Tempu-san, “Life is what your heart interprets it as,” and for some reason or another, that concept has sunk in.
The driving force behind my actions is often enough “anger,” and one of my themes in life is to not let that emotion influence me too greatly. There isn’t any specific thing that started it, but time and time again, I’ve been saved by oracles. (For some reason, whenever I’m standing at the crossroads of life, I always receive a divine revelation from god. For more details, please see the issue of VOICE Newtype that I was on the cover for.) Well, I phrase it in a way that makes it sound like I took up some crazy religion, but that’s really just how it feels.
Today I’m going to be meeting my elementary school friends for the first time in ten years. Memories change over time thanks to rosy retrospection, but I’m sure it’ll be an enjoyable night nonetheless.
The ice in the lemon juice clinks against the glass. There’s still a bit of time left.
I didn’t see a dream on the first night of the new year, but I did see Mount Fuji. This will probably be a good year, and that’s enough for me.
I think I’ll relax and enjoy life, slowly and steadily. I pray that your lives will be blessed too. Happy New Year.
※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).
#8: Andromeda
Even if you’re standing at the crossing, I might not be able to spot you anymore.*
My serialization in VOICE Newtype began with a comprehensive checkup. Since it reached essay #10 the other day, I took the opportunity to have another physical examination done. I didn’t have any particular symptoms, but I made the appointment anyway, figuring it was for the sake of my future health.
Just to get this out of the way, there weren’t any issues save one thing. It was actually anticlimactic. Unfortunately, due to various circumstances there was no endoscopy or barium x-ray, so there wasn’t much to it.
However.
My eyesight. It was halved.
I had mild astigmatism as a child, but it healed. Over the past 25 years, both of my eyes drifted from about 1.2 to 1.5. Glasses don’t look good on me and I absolutely refuse to wear contacts because they hurt, so I’ve had no choice but to go bare eyed.
But now, the two lights that I was so proud of have lost their brilliance.* I won’t say the exact number, but my vision deteriorated more than expected. I don’t need to wear glasses, but I was told to avoid looking at things from up close too much.
Thinking about it, it’s true that I haven’t been doing anything good for my eyes. At work I stare at scripts and monitors, when I get home I read books and watch movies, and when I go to bed, I look at my smartphone with my bangs over my eyes. If anything, I’m actively moving towards catastrophe. I ate SUKIYAKI for work the other day, but I haven’t been looking up as I walk for who knows how many years now.**
I realized there were signs that my vision was deteriorating. When I’m waiting for the train, I can’t tell the difference between 0, 3, 6, and 8 on the electric display board. Well, it’s more that I’ll think, “I guess that’s an 8?” Usually I’m right, but occasionally I’m not. That’s how it’s been.
Also, when I’m saying lines that go on and on, I quickly look down at my script and my eyes slip. I can recognize the words and, given a moment, understand what they mean, but it takes more than an instant for my eyes to adjust their focus. I haven’t really done anything about it, assuming I was just tired, but this is a serious problem.
However, I’m known for hating injections and not being able to handle pain. Obviously I hate eye drops too, and I’ve never used them voluntarily despite having pollen allergies. I’ve never once carried my prescribed eye drops on me. This is who I am, but I’ve finally, finally resolved to buy eye drops.
…After writing all of that at this local restaurant, I’ve discerned that the decisive time has come at last. There’s a drugstore on the same street as this restaurant, and it surely sells eye drops. I’m surely going to buy eye drops there—the mild type that’s gentle on the eyes.
But I cannot stand up yet. It’s troubling that I can’t see your brown hair swaying gently in the wind,* but I don’t want to take the first step just yet.
I order another beer and take a sip, trepidatiously waiting for a 32nd day of summer vacation that shouldn’t be possible.***
*Referencing the song “Andromeda” by aiko **Referencing the song “Ue wo Muite Arukou” (aka “SUKIYAKI”) by Sakamoto Kyu ***Possibly a reference to the PSX game “Boku no Natsuyasumi” which had a famous bug where you could reach August 32nd
※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.
#7: The Left Ear’s Significance
I always grasp rhythm with my left ear.
The other day, I happened to see a video of myself doing a song recording. Concerts aside, I usually don’t get to see how I look when I’m voice acting or singing. As I watched, I noted that I tended to furrow my brow, and that I was wearing something that a senpai bought for me. But then I realized: I had my hand on my left ear the entire time. To be precise, my hand was on the headphones, since it was a recording. But at any rate, throughout the course of that short video, I never took my hand off of my left ear.
I hadn’t been conscious of it at all, but I realized that during recordings, I do always grasp the rhythm and check the melody with my left ear. Even during concerts, I listen to the clicks (sounds that maintain a fixed rhythm) and check the overall volume balance with my left ear. It’s not just when I’m singing, either. Even with voice acting, if I’m recording by myself, I only put the headphones over my left ear. Even during radios, I only use the left earphone.
I try to be attentive to my physical mannerisms when it comes to work, so it felt like I’d fallen into an unforeseen pitfall. Was there something significant about my left ear? Not as far as I could tell. I’m right-handed, so it could be that my body is more balanced that way.
Well, I could take my time reading books to find the answer, but these days, it’s best to ask other people—or the internet.
So I googled it. The first result had shocking information! It’s often said that the left brain and right brain are responsible for analytical and intuitive thinking respectively. Going off of that, the signals from the left ear go to the right brain—in other words, the part that excels at processing sounds intuitively.
This means I have musical sense, right? I gloated to myself, but as I continued reading the article, it spelled out a music composition theory where the right ear is superior for rhythm and the left ear is superior for melody.
Wait, then it’s the opposite…?
Thinking back, there were certainly songs that I could never sing well, regardless of the melody’s qualities or my musical tastes. And when voice acting, there were days when I was lacking explosive power in my impulsive roles.
Perhaps if I wear the headphones on different ears depending on the situation, I’ll get even better results. What an elegant idea. I’ve obtained yet another new skill. I chuckled to myself.
It never even occurred to me that I should’ve just worn them on both ears from the start.
※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).
#6: Penmanship with Flair
I admire penmanship that has flair.
When I was a kid, specifically until I was in 2nd grade, people complimented my handwriting fairly often. It was neat, followed the correct stroke order, and had the right stops and hooks. But in 3rd grade, when we started learning how to write with brushes, it became clear that my peers had spent more time taking calligraphy lessons—or perhaps they simply had more potential to begin with. Nowadays, my handwriting is a struggle to read. Even my parents call it unfortunate.
The other day, I was watching TV late at night, and there was a program called “Hakuchuumu” (Daydream). Ito Seiko-san and Nakai Rika-san do various daytime activities, and instead of narration, handwritten words are displayed on the screen. The penmanship was very peculiar yet beautiful; it was stylish, like the writing you often see in magazines and whatnot. It resembled the handwriting of my uncle, who’s an editor. I looked into it and was both surprised and impressed: it was Lily Franky’s handwriting. Lily-san can do everything—he’s a author, illustrator, copywriter, and actor. And on top of that, he even has such wonderful penmanship? According to the internet, he still writes with a fountain pen on grid paper.
Anyway, I’m going to start by buying grid paper on Amazon, taking the fountain pen my grandmother gave me out of storage, and looking up how to put the ink in.
※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).
※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.
Note: Sanma is the Japanese name for the fish Pacific saury or mackerel pike. Both of the English names are clunky to use repetitively, so I am leaving it in Japanese. (There will be a glossary at the end for the rest of the food vocabulary.)
#5: Sanma
The sanma season has come once again. No matter what anyone says, sanma has to be shioyaki—grilled with salt. No grated daikon, no soy sauce. If you have to garnish it with something, at least keep it to kabosu. Lay the salt on a bit strong, grill it just a bit too long, and eat. Kabayaki, tinned, sashimi, sushi, al ajillo—I’ve tried all sorts of preparation styles, but none of them beat shioyaki.
I’m from Yamanashi, which doesn’t border the sea, but since I begged for sanma so much, we always had it on the dinner table once a week. I wasn’t very good at using chopsticks as a kid, so my father would flake the flesh nicely for me and my sisters. Later on, I developed some independence and insisted on doing it myself. Naturally I couldn’t do it well, and the poor sanma fell into pieces as I ate. I wasn’t discouraged, though, and eventually I became decent at it.
Lately, I often see people cut the fish at the head and use chopsticks to slide the flesh off all at once, removing the backbone in one go. But when eating fish—especially sanma—I don’t want to do that. I think back to that time when I battled with the sanma day after day, wanting to be able to eat it cleanly without using any secret tricks.
Sanma has connected me to people.
My senpai showed me a nearby izakaya. It has a disorganized atmosphere but the food is incredible, so I continued to go there occasionally. There weren’t really any other customers around my age, and I doubt the employees paid any attention to me sipping away at my drink. Late one summer, I saw that shioyaki-style sanma had been added to the menu, and I ordered it immediately. As I was waiting, a couple sat down next to me. They seemed slightly older than me, and they ordered sanma too—but apparently, I’d ordered the last one for the day. Timing is a cruel mistress, and as soon as the waitress told them the bad news, my sanma arrived. “Yes, that’s the last one,” she said. I wanted to run away.
I had an apologetic look on my face as I stared at the sanma.
Yep. It has a nice face.
I took a gulp of beer, held it in my mouth for a bit as I wet my lips, then took a bite of the sanma.
Ahh, this is it.
The flesh had just the right amount of fat, the grilled surface of the skin matched exquisitely with the salt, and then there were the innards, which I couldn’t eat when I was a kid. It was all irresistible.
This calls for sake. I ordered Hakkaisan to add more splendour to the rotation.
Before I knew it, the sanma had cleanly vanished, leaving only the head, bones, and tail behind. My sake ran out at the same time, so I called the waitress. “Oh my, you eat so cleanly,” she said.
The couple heard her and looked at my plate. One of them said, “Ohh, bravo!” while the other said, “The sanma must be satisfied too.”
The waitress offered me a beer as thanks for the sanma, and I took her up on that. The couple ordered drinks at the same time, and we found ourselves making conversation as we drank.
I still go to that izakaya often, and the employees all remember me now. Occasionally I encounter that couple again, and we drink while talking about how great all of the food there is.
Ah, I must go. The sanma is calling for me. If any of you spot me at an izakaya, giving a sanma my undivided attention, please just smile and carry on.
Glossary
Sanma – Pacific saury / mackerel pike
Daikon – white radish
Kabosu – a type of citrus fruit used for its juice
Shioyaki – grilled with salt
Kabayaki – fish is split down its back, cut into smaller pieces, dipped in a sweet soy sauce-based sauce, then grilled
※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.
#4: Pocari
At any rate, I love Pocari.
For as long as I can remember, my drink of choice has always been Pocari. On the way home from swimming class, in my water bottle at school sports events, and accompanying my meals—all Pocari.
However, when I was a child, my parents were rather strict (thinking about it now, it was only natural). They insisted that I only drink tea or milk with my meals, so the most I could do was secretly drink it at night while eating rice crackers. I wasn’t a heavy drinker at the time.
As an aside, when I was young, I thought that the alcohol my parents drank so appreciatively must have been something like Pocari. I’d even pour Pocari into a plastic bottle cap and sip from it.
Anyway, I maintained an appropriate relationship with Pocari until I turned eighteen. The change occurred the spring that I began living alone. In my own domain, with no parents to stop me, I was free to choose when I woke up and what I ate. I rapidly grew more intimate with Pocari.
Pocari first thing in the morning. Pocari at lunch. One last Pocari before going to bed. Pocari was always by my side.
When I turned twenty and began drinking alcohol, the water content in my body had already been mostly replaced with Pocari.
By the way, did you know that the word “Pocari” represents several different flavours? Even if you only look at the format, there’s canned Pocari, bottled Pocari, Pocari Sweat powder, Pocari Sweat jelly, and so on and so forth. There was also Pocari that contained a sweetener called stevia, and lately, I see a lot of the mild-flavored one called Ion Water.
My favourite and the one I’ve known the longest is canned Pocari, but regrettably, it’s inconvenient to carry around. I drink bottled Pocari when I have a hangover in the morning, but I just can’t get enough of canned Pocari’s sweetness lurking within a cold, metallic exterior.
If I were on my deathbed and I could have one last taste of something, I’m certain that I would not choose beer, fried chicken, or umeboshi—it would most definitely be Pocari.
They say that the world of voice acting extends far and wide, but I’m sure that there is no one who loves Pocari more than me.
So, I’m always open to work, Otsuka Pharmaceutical.
Miscellaneous Notes
This essay was originally published on Soma’s 26th birthday.
Soma read this essay aloud at the 3rd release event for his book. At the 1st and 2nd events he drank water, but at the 3rd event he had Pocari since he was reading the Pocari essay.
Readers voted for their favourite essays in the book and this one ranked #4, which surprised Soma a lot.
At the release event, Soma wondered if he could make his own commercial song and send it to Otsuka Pharmaceutical in hopes of it leading to something.
※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.
I’m not good with animals, but I quite like going to the zoo. It has that unique, sluggish yet calm atmosphere. On this early afternoon, I saw a couple on a date, a boy reaching towards a lion, a flamingo standing on one leg and drinking water, and nocturnal beasts making displeased grunts.
Sitting on a bench, gazing absentmindedly at the sky, flipping through a paperback book I brought with me, and enjoying the peaceful time without anyone forcing me to do anything. It’s not a bad way to spend a day off.
…If only this really was a day off.
“Wait, it’s the zoo itself I like, not the animals!” I cried.
The editor, Enu-shi, ignored my pleas and smiled. “I bought animal food!”
But I never asked for it! I reluctantly accept the vegetables and glance at the enclosure, where a round-eyed elephant is waiting. I guess I have no choice but to be brave. Thus began my fun-filled animal interaction time.
It all started when I was told that I could spend a day photographing and acquiring writing material at a location of my choice. I answered with a quarry and the zoo. I’ll leave the quarry for another time, but it’s not like I was lying when I said I wanted to go to the zoo. I went there often when I was a child, and even after moving to Tokyo, I went to the zoo several times. It’s a laid-back place, and I have plenty of fun just having staring contests with lazy-looking lions. I’m not looking for a direct relationship; I just want something platonic, which was supposed to be fine.
Alas, as soon as we arrived, we found out that there was a limited-time event where you could feed the elephants, so we made a sudden dash for it. No, like I said, I don’t need any direct interaction!
And so, I had a face-to-face meeting with an elephant.
Whoa, it’s huge.
The elephant was very gentlemanly, though. It skillfully used the tip of its trunk to pluck the Chinese cabbage from my trembling fingers.
Thank you, Mr. Elephant. I somehow managed to complete my mission.
“Okay, next is the giraffe!”
Huh?
The giraffes could be fed at any time, unlike the elephants. To be honest, it’d been a long time since I’d seen very large animals like elephants and giraffes up close, so I hadn’t known what to expect. But since the elephants were much bigger than I’d imagined, I could guess what the giraffes would be like.
And so, I had a face-to-face meeting with the giraffes.
Whoa, they’re long.
There were four of them! Up close, they were quite intense, and uh, their teeth sure looked strong, haha. As I was thinking about them, the camera crew gave me the “go” sign. I knew that the elephant would use its trunk, but what about the giraffe? What do giraffes use?!
Their tongue. The answer is a thick, purple tongue, glistening with saliva. Unlike the elephant, from the way the giraffe licked me, it must’ve thought my fingertips were part of the food. I wonder if they tasted good. While I was looking at the giraffes, a young giraffe that wasn’t allowed to be fed yet glared at me. Sorry, but I can’t do anything for you! Get some yummy food from your caretaker!
“Okay, next is the amusement park!”
Huh?
I had successfully—albeit painfully—completed my mission, but I never imagined that there would be an even greater ordeal awaiting me. There was an amusement park next to the zoo, and the staff decided to take pictures at the attractions there as well. Now, I’m afraid of heights and I don’t like thrill rides. In other words, I wasn’t given the right parameters to enjoy amusement parks. So honestly, I wasn’t enthusiastic about this suggestion. But still, I didn’t often go to such places, and from the looks of it, I doubted there would be any fast rides there.
I was naive.
A ride that spun 360 degrees in every direction. A rollercoaster with a loose seatbelt. A creaky Ferris wheel that stopped when I reached the top for some reason. The cameraman was all smiles, but of course, I was utterly distressed. After it was all over, my one salvation was the familiar taste of the Pocari Sweat they were selling at a booth.
But, well, despite my complaints, it’s human nature to persevere. Apparently, I wasn’t as dissatisfied with the elephant and giraffe feeding experience as I’d thought: on a later day, I found myself going to another zoo. It was very windy that day, and most of the animals were huddling to try to brace themselves against the cold. It felt like the shoebills, Malayan tapirs, and giant pandas were giving me resentful looks, as if to say, “Hurry up and put us in the warm building.” Sorry, this is just how the zoo works. I felt bad for them as I walked around right before closing time.
Suddenly, I realized: this whole time, I thought I was looking at the animals, but if you think about it the other way around, weren’t they looking at us humans too? I could feel their eyes on me. Resentful looks? Is that really true? Do their eyes really have such by-the-book nuances? Who’s being watched; me or them?
Even though I should’ve been cold, a bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. I quickly left the zoo, too scared to look back.
Later on, I was having drinks with a friend from university who had returned to his hometown after graduation to find a job.
※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).
※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.
#3: The Perfect Watch
In the past, I was never a fan of accessories, and I certainly never wore rings or necklaces. In fact, I felt uncomfortable having anything sticking to my neck or arms, so I didn’t even want to wear turtleneck sweaters.
But people change, and now I really like wearing silver accessories and mock turtlenecks. I used to have no interest in the accessories at variety stores, but lately I enjoy casually dropping in and browsing them.
I’m particularly into watches. I usually wear a simple black or brown one. Most of them have leather bands; one of them is an Ice-Watch. Ever since I was a kid, I had this vague impression that watches—especially ones with metal bands—were for adults. My father had strong wrists from playing baseball, and whenever I saw a watch wrapped around one of them, I’d think, “I’ll probably never wear a watch in my whole life.”
Nevertheless, after I started working, I had to appear in public and have my pictures taken more often, and my wrists and neck felt like they were missing something. Clothing-wise, I generally like simple shirts and cardigans, but they’re so plain that they don’t look attractive in magazines. So, I started collecting watches. But I wasn’t going to wear a luxury brand worth a thousand dollars—I wanted something simple but refined, with a not-too-busy face, a brass frame rather than gold, nice brand logo placement, and a leather band that felt nice against my skin; something that was easy to put on and take off, that was unisex rather than masculine, that would look tasteful when it peeked out from under my sleeve… and so my days of watch-hunting began.
From department stores to apps where you can talk directly to craftsmen, I kept searching and searching to no avail. Sure, “men’s FUDGE” had street snapshots of European men wearing watches that I thought were cool. There were even several occasions where I’d pass by a gentleman only to unnaturally turn around and observe the shining item on his right wrist. But no matter how many nice watches I saw, I could never find the perfect one. At this point, I don’t even care about the watch’s purpose anymore. I’m just looking for a perfectly-fitting partner for my left hand.
Even as I’m writing this essay, I still haven’t found it, and I’m checking the time on my smartphone. Then again, considering that it’s still too early to be looking back on my life, if I found the perfect watch now, I’d lose something to look forward to in the future. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to relax and enjoy the time spent in the search.
※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.
#2: Hopi Synchronicity
I was absentmindedly watching TV at home after work, and as is typical for the changing of seasons, there was an occult special on air. The program was about the prophecy of the Hopi, a Native American tribe. Their name means “peace,” and they’re considered descendants of the Mayans. Their warnings and predictions are passed down through generations. They made a few waves when they presented their prophecies to the General Assembly of the United Nations.
I love urban legends and the occult, but if you asked me if I sincerely believed in them, I don’t think I could honestly say yes. It’s ultimately just a hobby for me—something to enjoy. So I didn’t take this program very seriously either, treating it as an accompaniment to my drink.
Several days later, I was reading Nakajima Ramo-san’s essays and the words “Ho-pi- tribe” came up again. Intrigued by the coincidence, I read the essay very carefully and found out that the Hopi tribe possesses a unique concept of time. Apparently they don’t perceive time as a continuous stream from past to present to future—instead it’s events being “shown.” There are various theories about this way of thinking, but when I read this, I thought about the Akashic records. To put it simply, the Akashic records are an account of everything to ever occur in the past, present, and future of the world. In other words, it’s the exact same concept of everything being “shown” from there. Time doesn’t flow; it simply “exists.”
My stance on the Akashic records is the same as occult things in general: I don’t believe they really exist. But I do believe that mysterious signs like the ones in that TV show and the essay must exist somewhere. For example, when I was writing my university graduation thesis, there were multiple occasions where events that I thought were unrelated suddenly got linked together. Going further back, when I was studying for entrance exams, things I learned in world history would appear as topics in English passages. It was one of the interesting things about studying.
These mysterious signs are called “synchronicity”—intriguing little coincidences and miracles in our daily lives.
I don’t know if everything in the world is predetermined like the Hopi prophecy and the Akashic records say, but at the very least, I want to live my life appreciating the synchronicity that happens around me, because it feels like every day is a bit more fun that way.
And with that, tonight I’d like to latch on to that synchronicity and have a drink—Hoppy, of course.
Misc notes:
The essay referenced is 突かれていないビリヤード台 (Tsukareteinai Billiard-dai) from Nakajima Ramo’s 愛をひっかけるための釘 (Ai wo Hikkakeru tame no Kugi)
Hoppy is a slightly alcoholic beer-flavoured drink, often added to shochu
