Tag: Tsurezure naru mama ni

Published: 2017/12/16
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/362

※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.

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#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.

Published: 2017/9/30
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/323

※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.

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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.)

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#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.

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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
• Al ajillo – fried in chili garlic oil
• Izakaya – informal Japanese bar

Published: 2017/4/22
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/209

※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.

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#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.

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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.

Published: 2017/3/17
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/178

※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.

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#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.

Published: 2017/2/1
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/156

※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.

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#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.

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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

Published: 2017/1/10
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/141

※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.

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#1: Feeling Sophisticated

In between jobs, I was eating beef cutlet in Shibuya and overheard a group of four high school boys sitting at the table next to me:

“Rock salt really is good”
“Sounds sophisticated”
“Nah, I prefer oil and salt”
“Sophisticated would be wasabi soy sauce”

How nice, I thought. When I was in high school, I don’t think I ever took a detour on the way home from school to eat and hang out with friends like that. After class, I’d ride my bike to the biggest bookstore in the prefecture and buy manga and novels based on their covers. That’s how I spent my days.

I didn’t even drink coffee much until I moved to Tokyo and started going to cafes and coffee shops. I vaguely recall occasionally going to Starbucks with a bandmate, but I’d be sipping black tea while staring at his sketchbook. The way he looked, drinking his coffee while sketching the mug, also seemed very “sophisticated.”

On that note, I also didn’t understand the appeal of soba noodles at all until I started drinking alcohol. Even when my family went to a soba restaurant, I’d always order tempura on rice. My hometown has a famous B-class cuisine called chicken giblets—my father and grandfather would wash them down with beer and slurp their soba noodles, and that felt “sophisticated” to me too. That said, my personal ranking at the time was Ramen > (Unsurpassable Wall) > Udon > (Unsurpassable Wall) > Soba, so I never really tried it.

Coffee, soba, tempura with salt, engawa seasoned with lemon—I never tried any of these. Up until high school, I was very cautious about trying new things.

Now, after this young Saito who admired sophistication officially made it to Tokyo, he decided to try out all sorts of sophisticated things. Talking about cold-brew coffee despite not understanding how it worked, only dipping a third of the soba noodles into the sauce, watching French New Wave films, et cetera, et cetera. Sadly, this country bumpkin had already become snobbism incarnate. I was at the age where I thought sophisticated things were equivalent to social status.

Thinking about it, those high school boys didn’t really care about whether something was sophisticated or not. They just wanted to have fun sharing delicious ways of eating delicious food. It made me think, if only I had that kind of “sophisticated” fun when I was in high school. Today after work, I think I’ll stop by somewhere to drink a cup of sake and nibble on some salt, sophisticatedly.

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