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We
all find ourown ways to belong.

Komaba Times welcomes the spring of 2024 with the most multilingual and multimedia edition of
our magazine yet. “Issue 13: Belonging” showcases writers, artists, and academics across the University of Tokyo’s campuses covering the gamut of what it means to belong. No two contributors
to this issue agree on the concept of belonging. However, as difficult to grasp and unpack the word
“belonging” is, the beauty of this issue lies in the polyphonous song composed of voices, minds, andhearts hailing from different origins, each on their journeys. A song, a magazine, and a story open to
your interpretation emerge thanks to our differences. “Belonging” is a constant debate and tirelessassessment of a given situation, wrapped up in associations with emotions, material things, ephemeral moments, technologies, and amorphous concepts.
From the complicated history of our university, ChatGPT use in classrooms, social outcasts in Shinjuku’s Toyoko district, to house plants that remind us of home, our authors engage with the often
tenuous but incredibly rewarding question of how they belong, where they belong, and how they
can help others belong. We welcome readers to find in themselves their profound sense of belonging.
The articles you are to read in this issue are also available online in a digital format, available on our
website. Yet, our exploration of belonging does not stop there.
As a team of international students working to exchange knowledge and art with those within andoutside our circles, we dedicate this issue to the displaced people all around the world and the journalists working to share these stories with us. With heavy hearts, we mourn for all the relationships
disrupted, the lives lost, and stories abruptly ended in global conflict not only in the last year but inlong-standing struggles against oppression. Every member of Komaba Times is from different backgrounds and our identities and ways of expressing them are complex; our life paths are certainly far
from determined. Thus, in a time where writers and artists are at the core of historical remembering,
we extend our call to all students, teachers, family, friends, and companions in life, to dedicate timeand effort in reflecting on whose and which lives that have been lived and are yet to be lived are remembered. Issue 13 asks readers to remain active in helping others feel the sensations and meaningsof being in loving comfort, whatever form it may take. We hope that this issue helps our readers findinspiration to contribute to the belongingness of themselves and those around them.

Cover Design by Rongrong | Editors’ Note by Alyssa & Will | Photos by Alyssa

Komaba Times Issue 13*This digital edition includes two exclusive articles before the Credits and Acknowledgements.

Belonging in school

Belonging beyond

52 Years Across Building 900
Chien-Cheng Chiu (James)

2

On whom will the lights in トー横 shine
tonight?
Madeleine Shi

24

Teaching the future impact of generative AI– reflections on the “ChatGPT Lab”
Michael Facius, Associate Professor

4

Basso Continuo
Mizuki Igata

27

The Water Server Saga Continues
Mahi Patki

8

Sing Kanji, Sing
Yang Xu

28

A Life Of Possibilities: my 2023, and finding
belonging through music
Zihan (Martin) Huang

11

Lost in Tokyo, Found in Japan:
Snow-covered Discoveries on Belonging
Andrew Lee

30

Todai’s Tokenized Internationalization
Chien-Cheng Chiu (James)

14

Did we grow up online?
Lucia Stallard & Jenna Stallard

32

Belonging as “Knowing Others and Being
Known”: Komaba Times in Conversation
with Temple University Japan’s Student
Leaders

18

Between the Illusions of Home and theEphemeral Sense of Belonging
Priya Mu

34

Reclaiming Time, Place and Belonging:
Fukushima 12 Years On
Abigail Chua

22

Breathing In
S.Lett36

Living Room
Rongrong Zhuge

38

Sakura Bicycle
Lian Sabella Castillo

40

Three Bleached Corals Talking About
Politics
Alyssa Castillo Yap

42

Credits & Acknowledgments

44

52 Years AcroSS

ROOm

900

Chien-Cheng Chiu (James)

Someone shouted through the megaphone. My superior in the
Komaba Festival Committee told us not to approach them, but
I could not help myself. I hid behind the bushes and listened totheir speech, anxious about what would happen next.
It was November 23, 2021 in frontof Room 900 at the Komaba Campus.
Inside Room 900 was the ceremony
where the winners of the beauty
pageant, “Miss Todai” and “Mister
Todai” were to be announced. Outside
Room 900, students held placards
and spoke through megaphones.
Behind the door was like a wedding
ceremony – Miss Todai candidates
wore white dresses, paired with Mister
Todai candidates who wore black suits.
Each contestant delivered speeches
thanking everyone and everythingthat had gotten them there – parents,
pets, etc. In front of the door, however,indignant protesters condemned every
injustice from lookism and patriarchy
to capitalism. Between them weremy superiors at the Komaba Festival
Committee, who stood in front of thedoor, unfazed by the protesters.
I was baffled by the scene.
The beauty pageant participants,
the protesters, and the Committee
members shared the same space, but
between them there was no interaction– no conversation or conflict. The
organizers of the beauty pageant
held the ceremony inside Room 900
2

Photo © Graduate School of Arts and Sciences,
University of Tokyo

as if nothing was happening outside.
Criticisms of the beauty pageant had
been pronounced for many years,
but the organizers of the event never
responded to them.1 The Komaba
Festival Committee took a laissez-faire
position on the issue, only hopingthat the protests would not turn into
violence. Even the anti-beauty pageant
activists seemed reluctant to engage
in conversation. They never suggested
a discussion with the organizer of thebeauty pageant or the Committee but
simply demanded the event stop. The
protester’s slogans evoked memories ofextreme leftists in the 1960s; “misukon
funsai” (smash the beauty pageant),
for example, was widely used in theircampaign. The concerns or interests ofthese three parties intersected at Room
900 but ultimately, went in different
directions. The result was the bizarre
scene I saw: protesters were angry,
beauty pageant winners delivered
their speeches affectionately, andCommittee members stood outsidewith poker faces.
The divide was not only
on the beauty pageant or genderissues. Another divide was between

international students and local
Japanese students. According to one of
my friends at PEAK (Program in English
at Komaba), many of the participantsof the protest were international
students. The protest was organized
by a PEAK student born and raised inJapan but had studied in the UnitedStates for several years. From mytime here, I found that international
students are more familiar with theculture of social activism because of
their experience in other democratic
countries. On the other hand, Japanese
students tend to associate protests
with violence because of the terrorismlike student movements in the 1960s
and early 1970s in Japan.2 Large-scaledemonstrations are also rare in Japan
now although it is a democratic
country. That is probably why mysuperior posted an alarming message
in the Committee’s chat group, warning
all the junior members to stay indoors
and not to approach the protesters –the Committee was mostly composedof local Japanese students. The firstdivide was on the beauty pageant andgender issue. The second one was on
the culture of social activism.

al activism, though.

Room 900 was no stranger to sociMishima Yukio in Room 900, Illustration by Alyssa

As the largest assembly hall at the
Komaba Campus, it has witnessed numerous
conflicts. The most well-known event was the“legendary debate” between writer Mishima
Yukio and Zenkyoto members in 1969.
Whereas the incident in 2021 was marked byindifference, the 1969 debate demonstrated
the possibility of conversation.

On May 13, 1969, Mishima Yukio, a literary titan andright-wing activist, was invited to a debate with the members ofZenkyoto, a leftist student organization.3 Both Mishima and theZenkyoto were radical in ideologies and belligerent in practices– Mishima was obsessed with bodybuilding and founded a
militia, whereas college students were occupying Yasuda Hall andclashing with the police in the 1960s. On the day of the debate, aposter drawn with a human-faced guerilla lifting weights appearedat the Komaba Campus. Titled “Special Exhibition of Todai Zoo:
Modern Guerilla”, the poster was a welcome – or a taunt – forMishima. The poster satirizes Mishima, who was obsessed with
the idea of strength and power (both of the individual and thenation), by suggesting that such thinking is primitive and outdated.
It seemed that the debate would inevitably turn into a violent
fight. Uneasiness surrounded Room 900 before the debate.

Nevertheless, Mishima andthe Zenkyoto member conversed.
The debate was heated but neverviolent. The atmosphere wasgrave but with some light-hearted
moments. At some point, one
Zenkyoto member accidentallyreferred to Mishima as “Mishimasensei”, causing the audience tobreak into laughter. The Zenkyoto
member corrected himself but
added that to him, Mishima is moreof a “sensei”(which means “teacher”
in Japanese) than professors at
the University of Tokyo. Despite
seemingly irreconcilable stances on
issues such as the emperor system,
Mishima and the Zenkyoto tried
to persuade their opponents andthe audience. The debate was later
given “legendary” status because
it demonstrated the power ofconversation – that a conversationtranscending ideology is possible.
Unreleased footage of the debate
was edited into a documentary
titled “Mishima: The Last Debate”
and released in Japan in 2020.
The 52 years across Room
900 – the drastic contrast between
the 1969 debate and the 2021
incident – make me wonder
whether indifference has takenover conversation. In this light, thetitle of the documentary seems
to suggest that the MishimaZenkyoto debate was not only the“last debate” in Mishima’s life, but
perhaps also the “last debate” inmodern Japan. Of course, debatestake place every day in classrooms,
conference rooms, the Diet, andso on. Yet, a genuine conversation
acknowledging and embracing
conflicting ideologies is rare.
Mishima committed “seppuku”
suicide the year after the debate,
whereas the radicalization of
student movements in the early
1970s brought an end to the “seasonof politics” in Japan.
Japan is now known for a low
voter turnout, especially among theyoung generation, and a reserved
attitude toward politics. A scene
strikingly similar to the anti-beauty
pageant protest in front of Room
900 took place at the Japan National
Stadium in 2021. As you can guess,it was the opening ceremony of the2020 Tokyo Olympics. Protesters
shouted “Stop it!” outside thestadium, worrying that the Olympics
would lead to a deterioration of thecoronavirus pandemic. On the other
hand, inside the stadium were thePrime Minister, the mayor of Tokyo,
and officials of the International
Olympic Committee, whocelebrated the start of the Olympic
Games in a merry atmosphere.
Again, there was a divide but not aconversation, just like that between
the protesters in front of Room 900
and the organizers of the beauty
pageant inside. Conversation thatembraces divide seems to havegone extinct. As Akuta Masahiko,
one of the Zenkyoto members who
debated with Mishima, commentsin the documentary film, “It was the last
era that words still held power.”If the legendary debate between
Mishima and the Zenkyoto has any
lesson for us, it is to embrace, rather
than to evade, our divide – to discuss,rather than to pretend they do not exist.
Have we lost the ability to converse?

Room 900 reminds us that it istime to pick it up again.

1 Let’s also do justice to them: theorganizer chose “Todai-versity” as thetheme in the next year’s contest although
the content of the contest, including theway the candidates were selected, did notchange much.
2 The student movements radicalized in
the early 1970s and culminated at the Asama-Sanso Incident, where five membersof the United Red Army held civilians as
hostages in Nagano Prefecture. Two policeand one civilian were killed, and many
were injured. Now, some of the extreme
leftist organizations were still present, andJapanese universities have been especiallycautious of the influence of such organizations at the campus.
3 In the Japanese context, “the right” isusually associated with nationalism, Shintoism, support for the emperor system,
remilitarization (or the normalization of
the Self-Defense Forces), etc. On the other
hand, “the left” is related to communism,pacifism, anti-government, support for
Article 9 of the Japanese Constitution, etc.
Edited by Will & Alyssa
Designed by Anna & Rongrong

3

New Chat

Teaching the future impact of generative AI –reflections on the “ChatGPT Lab”
F

Michael Facius, Associate Professor, Tokyo College
When ChatGPT trended in the media last spring, it was clear to me that I needed torethink my original teaching plans and offer a seminar on generative AI instead. We
were in the middle of a hype cycle: suddenly, everyone was talking about AI – more
often than not in life-or-death terms. A piece of software able to engage in human-likeconversations on seemingly any topic sounded both endlessly promising and deeply
scary. Promise was mostly overshadowed by fear, however: fear of the dawn of the ageof machines, and of millions of jobs being lost to AI. In the context of higher education,an AI that can produce usable essays in a matter of seconds seemed to spell the end for
traditional forms of writing exercises and assessments.
Even though teaching on ChatGPT in the context of the Graduate School of Interdisciplinary Information Studies’ ITASIA program – which is, after all, about “Information,
Technology and Society” – was of obvious relevance, I needed to think hard about how
to approach it. How to teach about an emerging phenomenon whose true impact onsociety is still in the stars, all the while being overdetermined by the storylines of panicking media outlets?
The starting point had to be the basic technical background of generative AI – howdoes contemporary machine learning in general and large language models in particular work, and what are their limits? In two further introductory sessions, we discussed
readings that shine a light on AI from software studies and media studies perspectives.
Software studies proposes to analyze AI not as an abstract entity, but as a phenomenon
embedded in technological, social, political and economic assemblages, from the immense electricity demands of the server farms in which applications such as ChatGPT
run to the political ideology of techno-optimism that places the hopes for humanity’s
future in the hands of the tech overlords of Silicon Valley. From the perspective of media studies, storytelling itself becomes the object of study – how are current apocalyptic fantasies informed by the long history of cultural imagination about robots, AI, andother advanced technologies, from Terminator to the Y2K scare?
While these three critical lenses – technology, society, media – are essential to understand generative AI beyond the hype, they didn’t answer the urgent need of the historical moment in the early spring of 2023 to get a handle on its future potential. Thankfully there are well established academic fields and methodologies to do just that, oftengrouped under the loose label of future studies. While the future is inherently open andunknowable, it is also not entirely random. It is dependent on social, technological andecological developments in the present. In other words, there are path dependencies

4that allow us to think about the future in systematic and academically rigorous ways.
Future studies tries to identify current trends and develop plausible scenarios about
what could happen, so it seemed to me a fitting underlying approach for the seminar.
Yet, future studies is not an easy approach to take or teach. For one thing, ITASIA
students are a multidisciplinary bunch. In our seminar, there were participants withbackgrounds in the humanities and media studies, but also software engineers andsome with experience working for governments and railway companies. That’s a greatbasis for a stimulating learning environment and intellectual exchange, but it alsomeant there was no way I could act as a content expert for the impact of AI on all thesefields. In order to enable everyone to effectively explore their own area of interest andexpertise, my role needed to be that of a guide to future studies methodologies andfacilitator of a shared knowledge base.
The default learning management system was not fit for this purpose because it was
designed for lecture-style teaching with one-sided file sharing by the instructor anda very basic forum function. After checking out several third-party alternative apps, I
decided to use Notion, as it didn’t have a steep learning curve for newcomers and wasboth simple and flexible enough to grow with the changing needs of the projects on
which we were about to embark. It allowed me to add and arrange content on the go,
and all participants to equally develop content together. Given the emerging natureof the ChatGPT hype, we needed a place to share relevant news, studies, and memes
from week to week. We also needed a space to try out ChatGPT and share prompts andresults. Above all, I wanted everyone to be able to create a workspace for their projects
that they could manage based on their own learning style and progress, but where we
could also see and comment on what everyone else was doing.
The expected outcome of the participant projects was a scenario story on the impact ofgenerative AI in five or ten years on a social, political, technological or cultural domainof their choice. Getting started with the scenarios was quite a challenge for both me
and the participants. It was challenging for me because it was the first time that I taught
a future studies class, but also because I wanted to give participants as much freedom
as possible to develop their projects. Freedom isn’t always the easiest option though,and allowing choice in how to approach and write scenarios instead of offering a fixed
template right away made the first weeks a bit of a trial-and-error exercise until everyone found their groove.
For participants, the format was challenging for the obvious reason that we are allsocialized into writing traditional academic papers, a clearly delineated genre withdefined rules on how to develop an argument, present evidence, and a narrow windowof accepted writing and citation styles. Scenario stories are quite different: writing about
things that haven’t happened yet and aren’t properly researched can feel daunting, andwriting a story requires imagination, perspective-taking, and empathy.
Depending on what participants felt more comfortable with, they started with collecting research on current trends in their chosen area, or with potential directions thesetrends might take and impacts they might have. Towards the middle of the seminar,5we had a short in-class writing session to jumpstart everyone’s imagination on the story
part. In the latter half, participants gave research-based inputs so we could think about
potential future developments together.
The range of topics was wide and fascinating: How will generative AI be deployed inhealthcare, from mental health support to pharmaceutical interventions? How can AI
help streamline and optimize political decision-making and democratic processes? How
will it affect dating and intimacy, and to what extent can it enhance or replace creative
endeavors that were until very recently seen as an exclusively human domain?
Obviously, all of these use cases are being explored by engineers and pondered byexperts in the respective fields in which generative AI is being deployed. What is often
missing is a human component. Traditional approaches in future studies such as scenario
planning tend to center economic concerns of the companies that develop AI products,
or the concerns of policymakers and governments. A scenario story approach rooted in
the humanities instead attempts to imagine how these technologies will affect the very
concrete human beings who use them: the clients, professionals, or general users of
AI-powered apps.
What was very important to me in this context was that participants didn’t take the easy
way out and imagine a dystopian scenario. Dystopian visions are so prevalent because
they don’t require a lot of intellectual effort. They are well-rehearsed cultural tropes.
The fear of AI somehow taking over the world plays on the century-old fear of Western
empires that those mistreated, exploited and enslaved by empire will, given the chance,exert revenge. In this regard, people of color, aliens, and machines (robots and AIs) all fill

Komaba Times Design TeamA dystopian future of AI
Generated with AI (Microsoft Bing,
powered by DALL-E 3)
February 22, 2024 at 6:15 PM

6the same story space. However, this story space is a purely fictional one, even if recent
philosophical discourse on post-humanism or the singularity has attempted to elevate
it to an academically substantial endeavor.
Scenarios in which AI is abused for surveillance, political gain, and the replacement ofjobs, on the other hand, might be more realistic, but so what? Focusing on this type ofdystopia allows us to evade a much more urgent question: What kind of AI-assisted
world do we want to live in? Which present conditions need to be in place to createa world where the useful potential of AI is maximized while harmful tendencies are
kept in check or mitigated? Dystopia leads to passivity and hopelessness, while what
this world desperately needs more of is people with the ability to imagine a betterworld and concrete pathways to get us there. In that sense, storytelling rooted in bothclear-sighted analysis of current trends and conditions as well as strong, empathetic
and hopeful imagination is a key leadership skill for the mid twenty-first century.
Given the complexity of scenario stories regarding methodology, writing style andimagination, I offered to hold optional writing workshops in which we could discuss
everyone’s drafts from these various angles; I was happy that most participants decided
to join. I felt that everyone, including me, was surprised by how powerful and engaging
the stories turned out to be, even in their draft versions. So powerful, in fact, that weare currently preparing to publish them as a booklet that will be made available open
access on the Tokyo College website (https://www.tc.u-tokyo.ac.jp/en/). We’re planningto get the revised scenarios out in spring, in time for the first anniversary of the releaseof ChatGPT 4.

Komaba Times Design TeamA utopian future of AI
Generated with AI (Microsoft Bing,
powered by DALL-E 3)
February 22, 2024 at 6:24 PM

Edited by Will & Alyssa | Designed by Alyssa & Rongrong
7

the water server saga continues
Mahi Patki
Have you noticed the fancy water refill
spots around campus? If you are new to
UTokyo, you might think the 25+ waterservers across all UTokyo campuses
have always cozily belonged there. In
fact, they were only installed recently!
Check out my article in the Komaba
Times’ Issue 12 entitled, “Quenching
our thirst for change: Transforming
Komaba Campus into an oasis” to learn
more about the process. But for now,here is a quick summary:
The water server project is an ongoing student-led
initiative that began in 2021. After years of separate but interrelated work on various projects, different environmental circles in UTokyo eventually
started collaborating. This led to the formation of
the UTokyo Sustainable Network (UTSN). Together, we wrote an evidence-based proposal where we
argued for the need to install bottle refill stations
on campus. UTSN then presented this proposal atnumerous student dialogues, and even in front of
UTokyo’s President. In February 2023, after over
two years of lobbying, 13 new servers
were installed at Komaba and 3 at Hongo
Campus. In the following months, more
have popped up in all UTokyo campuses,
leading to a total of 25 water servers!
Without shying away from its ambition, the projectcontinues to grow as we work towards a near-zerowaste campus where reusables are the norm, andsuperfluous single-use packing is eliminated.
In other exciting news, the challenge of not knowing who or how to contact evaluation committees
or funding bodies for a sustainability-related project on campus has been overcome! In May 2023,
the Todai Sustainable Campus Project (TSCP) and
UTSN merged, leading to the formation of the
UTokyo Green Transformation Student Network(GXSN). In doing so, the organization became8

the official student committee working with theGreen Transformation Promotion Subcommittee,
towards advancing the just transformation of socio-economic systems into regenerative ones within the boundaries of natural systems at UTokyo.
This transformation is what GX stands for, andGXSN with its Promotion Subcommittee serves
to realize a sustainable and inclusive society inwhich everyone can live happily and with dignity.
With a focus on becoming carbon-neutral, nature
positive, and a circular economy, GX (the official
abbreviation for Green Transformation) is oneof the pillars of the “UTokyo Compass”, thebasic policy regarding the philosophy anddirection of the university.
GXSN has many different projects and seeks to
explore the campus space as a testing ground for
global GX. The concept of thinking globally andacting locally is a key starting point. As students,
isn’t our university campus one of our most local
places? If we can transform our campus, we canattempt to discover what it takes for GX nationally and globally. So far, GXSN projects include
introducing more plant-based food options on
campus, race-to-zero planning, and monitoring
and recovering biodiversity. Surely, many more
timely projects will emerge that will push further
the frontiers of GX at UTokyo and beyond.

Another highlight of 2023 was the first-everUTokyo Sustainability Week held in June. This
event featured daily “Sustainability Talks’’ where
professors, researchers, and students shared theirsustainability-focused work. During the week, we
harvested garlic and onions grown in our on-campus community garden, Komabatake, held a waterserver stamp rally and library exhibition, andcollaborated with the UTokyo Co-op 2 to provide a
special menu in the cafeteria. Keep an eye out for1

our 2024 events including the April 2024 inter-university Sustainability Week collaboration!
With all of these new and ongoing developments, itis crucial to quantify the impacts of our work andits relationship to our desired outcomes. In doing
so, I hope that this work can serve as an example ofstudent leadership, substantive change, and environmental action. Below are three main strategies
for measuring our impact:

Biweekly tracking of water consumption at 12 servers on
Komaba I campus through installed water meters. We
found that between March 28th, 2023 and January 29th,
2024, a minimum of 149,752 liters of water was refilled,equivalent to over 299,500, 500 mL PET bottles. In the2023 spring semester alone, a minimum of 208,000
bottles were collectively refilled! ³

WATER CONSUMPTION
2023 SPRING(

2

To put the water refill data into perspective, The
Komaba Co-op kindly provided us with on-campus
beverage sales data for 2019 (pre-pandemic) and 2023
(post-pandemic and post-server installation). In the2023 spring semester, 76,676 packaged beverages werepurchased from the vending machines on Komaba I
campus – a 63% rise in sales since 2019. This increase islikely caused by the installation of vending machines in
2 new locations on Komaba campus. On the other hand,
110,338 packaged beverages (including PET bottles,
cartons, cans, etc) were sold in the Co-op stores, ofwhich 12,854 were bottled water – a decrease of 37.4%
and 19.8%, respectively, since 2019. Although this may
seem like a massive decrease, we cannot conclude that
it is directly caused by the server installation, especiallyas the COVID-19 pandemic likely had an unpredictable
impact on sales.

= 1,000 bottles)

DECREASE IN
BEVERAGE SALES

packaged
beverages- 37.4 o obottledwater

2019 2023- 19.8 o o
93

Feedback is crucial to understand how members of UTokyo feel about this project. It
is evident that consumption of packaged beverages is high and sales can be reduced
significantly. Buying packaged beverages remains the status quo, and many people
still hesitate to carry a reusable bottle. Due in part to sparsity, water servers remain
insufficient for incentivizing people to refill bottles over buying packaged beverages.
Additionally, since the servers are all located indoors, on weekdays after 8PM,
weekends, and national holidays, most servers are not accessible. We need to installmore water servers in strategic locations, but we also must figure out how to change
single-use culture. To this end, we are searching for solutions that work for everyone
and greatly rely on user feedback to sharpen our focus and action.

If you have any thoughts
about the project,
feel free to share themwith us at the linkin the QR code!
https://www.utokyo-gxsn.org/water-server

Towards fostering a support system for university and high school students interested inrunning waste-related projects on their respective campuses, UTokyo GXSN hosted theCampus Changemakers Summit in collaboration with mymizu (an app to access free water
refill spots globally). Participants came up with ideas from tackling waste from eraser dust, tomaking art out of repurposed garbage. As universities in Japan realize just how fundamental
free water provision is to campus welfare, to preventing heat-related illnesses, and topromoting waste reduction, it comes as no surprise that a wave of inter-campus and interuniversity collaborations towards installing water refill stations is finally washing over us.
The water server project exemplifies that we have more power than we imagine. I invite you
to be a catalyst and take action for anything that you feel passionate about!

1 The policy was released on September 30, 2021.
It is available via the University’s official post on UTokyo GX,
at https://www.u-tokyo.ac.jp/en/about/gx/about.html
2 UTokyo’s Consumers’ Cooperative Society,responsible for everything from the on-campus cafeteria to travel center
3 Data can be accessed through our website:
https://www.utokyo-gxsn.org/water-server
10

Photos by Mahi

Designed by Pedro
Edited by Jihyun, Will & Alyssa
Illustrations by Eriko Yamada & Leah Han

A Life of Possibilities:
my 2023, andﬁnding belonging
through music
Zihan (Martin) Huang

February, in Hangzhou. I spent a few days on the edge of Xihu, and for a few more I went elsewhere, somewhere
else in Zhejiang, down to the southwest. On the train over, I listened to about 5 hours of music, non-stop. For
part of it, I listened with one earbud in. My first time getting really into what people call “Plunderphonics” using samples from pre-existing sources to make wholly new compositions. I listened to The Avalanches’ Since
I Left You, and for the next week I think I listened to Frontier Psychiatrist, the album’s highlight single, twice
a day. Another highlight: DJ Shadow’s Endtroducing, a rich instrumental hip-hop album lauded by critics andfans as some of the best that plunderphonics has to offer. I was eating well. Then too was Oneohtrix Point Never(one of the many names used by musician Daniel Lopatin). I’d tried to get into his music before, and the only
album I really liked from him was Garden of Delete, a feast of synths vastly different from the work he’s probably
most known for, Replica. Replica was a weird one - I’d listened to the record multiple times but always had somedistaste for it. Short, ghostly loops of 80s commercials twisted into haunting compositions. Dreams in waking
life. But it was only in the context of this trip that I really broke into the rich vein that is Lopatin’s work. Replica
finally clicked in Hangzhou, riding the taxi from the train station to the hotel. His music would accompany me
throughout the year, culminating in his 2023 release, Again, which I’ve bought tickets to see him perform live.
Some honorable mentions from the trip include Dorian Electra and Richard Dawson (especially his 40-minutelong song The Hermit).

11

I found something in 2023 I can at least be happy with, I think.
Throughout my first semester I always heard about how fun it would be to be in a circle. Some people
in my year joined them right off of the bat. I wasn’t really fussed – I had a couple of high school friends
I would go out with every week or so, and so I had at least some social life. When April came around, I
felt obligated to try something, anything – out. I checked out some clubs and circles online, and I founda couple that looked pretty interesting. One such circle was a music circle I’d never heard of before, butaccording to the charts I saw them post on Twitter, we had some pretty similar music tastes. I thought I’dshoot my shot, and I DMed them on with a collage of 400 albums I’ve listened to, arranged in a rainbow
pattern. They seemed impressed (being impressed doesn’t carry over well in Google Translated Twitter
DMs). I went to see them when they were looking for new recruits (I’d gone the day before they were there
but didn’t see them. I ended up hanging around a couple of circles/clubs I couldn’t have possibly joined
either). I was really scared walking up to the people at the music circle’s booth. I awkwardly looked around,pointing at CDs I recognized and saying one-word sentences. I showed them a couple of my album charts.
None of the people there remembered me from that day, probably. I took their flier and joined their shinkan Discord server.
Spending Golden Week outside of the city, first in
Toyama and then in Kanazawa. Beautiful places, small
cities where shops close early. I went to Tateyama, with
its huge snow walls. Andin came DEVO, pioneersof the New Wave sound,with their seminal Q:
Are We Not Men? A: We
Are DEVO!. This was thetime I really discovered
them, listening to theentire album in one go
at Toyama Station. Thisone I’d tried before, but
it only clicked when I got
around to Jocko Homo or
Mongoloid. And it finally
hit me, listening to theguitars of Bob Mothersbaugh and Bob Casale,that New Wave was justan evolution from punk,that it didn’t just emerge
from nowhere in the
80s – a fact I had known,
but never really felt. And I never looked back – fromthere I began to go and listen to New Order’s Power,
Corruption and Lies, which clicked as well, and Tears
for Fears’ Songs from the Big Chair. I re-listened, too, to
OMD’s Architecture and Morality, which I had alreadyliked for a long time. At Kanazawa Castle I listened
to the entirety of Justice’s Cross, which I compared toDaft Punk’s Discovery (I listened to Discovery on the
train to Tateyama from
Toyama), two albums I
had listened to a lot but
never really gotten into.
I feel a bit ashamed insaying that only Cross
clicked hard – I like
Discovery, but Cross isjust good on a different level, a seamless
dream-like experience
with catchy vocals andpunchy bass. Walking
around Hie Shrine in
Toyama I listened toControlled Bleeding’s
Knees and Bones, ashiveringly harsh album
with a fair amount ofbeauty hidden in thenoise. What was possibly the weirdest was
The Smiths’ The Queen is Dead finally clicking on theupper floors of the Daiwa Toyama department store
and bookstore. I never really got it before despite it
being one of the most liked albums among people I
know.

About a week later, the circle invited everyone in the Discord to a live show. So did another circle(that does basically the same thing, but that I didn’t join). I ended up going to both, and for the circle I
didn’t join I slinked off into the night after they were done performing. At least they had free pizza. The
other live performance was much smaller. At the end, I was invited along with a couple of other new
people to a dinner. There I really let loose. I spent hours, even after dinner (in some sort of after-party)
discussing music, showing off my album list – I was home. This was the first time I actually felt anything
like this since coming to Japan – being able to talk with people who like the exact same things as me. I remember very clearly getting into about an hour-long discussion with someone who moved over to my sideof the table, mostly about electronic music – we talked about Dilla, the Avalanches, Machine Girl – I hadn’tfelt so alive in months.
12And so it was that I was roped into the circle – I would go to their events, their lives, their dinners.
I signed up first to sing – I couldn’t play any instruments – and sang some covers. I didn’t take it very
seriously in the first few months, though – I didn’t practice, so I would spend lives looking at my phone forthe lyrics. I was really there, during the early days, to talk about music – every time we went to a restaurantor park after the show, I would loudly play whatever music I was into at the time, shuffling through songs
I thought people would like. Where I couldn’t really communicate because of the language barrier I could
through music. I discovered a lot of music, and helped other people discover music. I talked a lot withpeople about shoegaze, EDM, whatever – and I loved it. Community was what saved me – it’s what mademy university life an actual life. I don’t think I could be more grateful. Music was, and is, what connected
me with a group that called me one of their own.

I’ve been to a good few concerts and live shows thisyear. Tokyo has a lot of them, with bands I actuallylisten to – I wasn’t really involved in the undergroundmusic scene in my home city, and the extent to which
I was included only a few anime cover bands. My
experience with these live shows was very positive –although I don’t really like going outside, loud noises
I can’t control with a button, or crowds of sweaty concert-goers, there’s something about seeing bands I’ve
known and loved in front of me that just feels good.
I remember seeing Black Country, New Road playsongs from their album Live at Bush Hall live at Spotify O-East – a euphoric experience, especially Luke’s
performance of Across the Pond Friend. I boughttickets to SONICMANIA but realized I couldn’t go at
the last second because they didn’t allow people under
20 in. My concert-going ramped up towards the endof the year – I bought tickets to a festival only to see
Fatboy Slim (I didn’t know any of the other artists). I
went to see Yo La Tengo – I saw someone faint in theaudience, and I could have fainted as I had almost
fallen asleep by the second half of their 150 minuteperformance. DOME Festival, a one-day music festival held solely in one building, was great, though – Iexperienced the genius of pioneers in dance music,from the frantic noisiness of BBBBBBB to the moresubdued performances of Grischa Lichtenberger andthe one and only Bogdan Raczynski (World’s End
Girlfriend was there as well, for some reason, andtheir performance was fantastic). Squid was a goodexperience, and the way they transitioned between
songs was magical. Interpol was good, but the people
next to me kept talking really loudly during theperformance. Soul Glo, the creators of one of the best
albums of 2022, almost blew my ears off and had myears ringing for two whole weeks. Tinariwen interacted with the audience very well, and I was surprised somany people went to see them – the entire venue waspretty much full, and I couldn’t even find my way to a
spot where I could see all members of the band. My final show was Pool Kids, which was backed up by two
opening bands, of which I really liked Texas 3000 –the band came on 2 hours and 30 minutes after opening. I missed Mass of the Fermenting Dregs opening
for them the day before I saw them, though. I saw oneof the members’ posts on my Twitter timeline, sayingthat they were playing in Japan, and although I had
never heard their music I impulse-bought a ticket for
the next day’s performance. It was a very good decision. In hindsight – the show was probably themost fun I had in 2023.

I ended up going to the circle’s gasshuku in August. It was the first time I had ever done something
like it – a week-long retreat in the mountains of Nagano, discussing and performing music. It was a
week of joking around, doing fun activities, and talking for hours on end. But I felt like, to some extent, I
shirked a lot of my responsibilities to the circle during this event by not practicing and spending an inordinate amount of time sleeping. This was when I decided I would be taking the entire circle thing much
more seriously – I would start learning an instrument and memorizing the lyrics beforehand to anything I
was doing the vocals for.
And then, once the school year started anew, and I finally had underclassmen, I started roping mykouhai in. I began learning the drums seriously with a friend of a friend. I performed at Komabasai (andgot sick, because the flu had spread to basically everyone in the circle). I wanted my kouhai to have thesame fun that I did, to have a more fulfilling university life that the circle gave me, to feel like I did when I
found out there was someplace I belonged.
2023 was a good year, I think. And it’s a good year precisely because I found a community in which
I could feel comfortable and talk about something I liked. And for that, I am grateful to everyone who
helped me along in the journey, and to those I brought into it.
Photos by Zihan | Edited by Will | Designed by Anna & Alyssa

13

Tōdai’s
Tokenized
Internationalization
Chien-Cheng Chiu (James)
In 2016, an article written by Higo Haruka, a student
journalist at the University of Tokyo, positioned theProgram in English at Komaba (PEAK) as the “dejima” of the university.1 The metaphor of dejima, thename of the only trading post opened to European
powers during the isolationist Tokugawa period, speaks
about the hopes for PEAK to foster the much-neededinternationalization at the University of Tokyo. In 2017,
Todai Shimbun, the student newspaper at the University of Tokyo, also published two reports on PEAK’s obstacles
and potential.2 Then, PEAK seemed to be the wonder child,burdened with not only challenges but also hope.
Recently, however, news about PEAK in the media is nowhere to be seen. Have the goals been accomplished, challenges
been conquered? Can we now conclude that the dejima has
effectively triggered internationalization at this university?
This in-depth investigation examines PEAK’s student bodyand faculty members under the key and yet
ambiguous concept of internationalization. It
finds that PEAK is more a token than an actual catalyst of internationalization and diversity
at the campus.
PEAK is a bachelor-degree program
taught entirely in English at the University ofTokyo. Founded in 2012, it was the university’s
response to the “Global 30” project put forth
by the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports,
Science and Technology (MEXT). The Global
30 project urges top universities in Japan tointernationalize, including setting up English-taught programs. Once MEXT approves
the reforms proposed by these universities,
they receive a grant of up to ¥400 million
1 比護遥
「東大の
「出島」
は国際化をもたらしたのか」：https://newspicks.com/
news/1735511/body/
2 宮路栞「【東大PEAKに迫る①】PEAK生が語る、制度の利点・欠点とは？」：https://www.todaishimbun.org/
peak20171128/

from MEXT every year. Following Global 30, the “TopGlobal University Project,” launched by MEXT in 2014,
also provides financial incentives for top universities
to set up or expand English-taught programs. PEAK is
considered as an international program by the University of Tokyo under this context, but the increasing homogeneity of its student body and faculty renders theuniversity’s commitment questionable.

STUDENTSPEAK is designed for international students who receive non-Japanese secondary education. Around 250
students apply, around 60 of them are admitted andaround 30 enroll in September every year. The students
are divided into two streams of study: the humanities
and social sciences-oriented Japan in East Asia (JEA)
program and the natural sciences-oriented Environmental Sciences (ES) program.
Surprisingly, the student demographics are largely skewed toward East Asian nationalities. The data ofcurrently enrolled students are unavailable, and theAcademic Affairs Division refused to disclose it because “the use of personal information is strictly restricted.” However, the admission statistics show thatin the last five years, three out of four successful applicants to PEAK hold a passport from the East Asian
region (China, Japan, Taiwan and Korea).3 Moreover,Japanese nationals account for a third of all successful
applicants. Most of the Japanese nationals completed
their secondary education abroad or went to international schools in Japan, seeing PEAK as a route to reconnect with their Japanese heritage. They are eligible
to apply to PEAK despite a possible familiarity with the
3 PEAK Admission Statistics: https://peak.c.u-tokyo.ac.jp/whypeak/documents/index.html

Japanese culture and language because the eligibility
requirement is being “educated in languages other thanJapanese” according to the application guidelines for
September 2024 enrollment.4
It is difficult to conclude whether a Japanese passport makes one less international or not, but a highproportion of East Asian nationals – among it a highproportion of Japanese nationals – raises the questionof diversity. As Narita Daiju, a professor in the ES program since 2017, described such homogeneity, “I havesome research projects in Africa, and I’m quite interested in Africa, but at PEAK, we find few African students. [...] It [PEAK] is not the real representation of
the world. It’s not really global,” said Narita.
This no doubt contradicts the original purpose
commissioned to PEAK by MEXT: to attract foreign
students. In addition, the University of Tokyo prepares
special admission apart from PEAK for Japanese citizens who have completed their secondary education
abroad. PEAK might not be the most suitable destination for these Japanese students.
On the other hand, the high proportion of East
Asian and Japanese nationalities can be attributed tothe challenges Japan is facing as a destination for international students. Jonathan Woodward, an ES professor who has been involved in PEAK since its establishment, points out the difficulty for PEAK to competewith prestigious universities in the world. “Japan had
no prehistory of being a destination for international
students,” Woodward says, “why would they [foreign students] choose to go to Japan over oneof the well-known, well-established existing destinations for study?”
In fact, the student body has become
more and more homogeneous recently.
According to the admission statistics published on
PEAK’s admission website,
the percentage of students
from East Asia hovered around
60 percent in the initial years. In
2018, however, the figure roseto 70 percent and remainedlargely the same until now.

ISOLATION
Despite such East Asian-centered demographics, PEAK
students report a sense of separation or isolation from the primarily Japanese student community. In some parts, thesefeelings are a result of structural division. PEAK courses are
conducted in English and listed
4 Application Guidelines for
September 2024 Enrollment: https://peak.c.u-tokyo.ac.jp/vcms_lf/ApplicationGuidelines_2024.pdf

15

in a separate section on the syllabus provided to regularundergraduate students (referred to as “April-entry students”). April-entry students have to actively look forcourses offered by PEAK and work out how they cancorrespond to various course categories. As for extracurricular activities, most bukatsu (clubs) and sākuru
(associations) recruit new members in spring, when
April-entry students enter the university. PEAK students, enrolling in September, are often unaware of therecruitment schedule of Japanese bukatsu and sākuru,
missing the recruitment period as a result.
Yifei Guan, the president of the PEAK Student
Council at the time of the interview, shared her experience of the division. “PEAK is not treated as a veryequal part in the university,” Guan said. The PEAK
Student Council mediates between the administration office and PEAK students and organizes projects
related to campus life, such as making the yearbook.
However, the Student Council is not registeredas an official student organization at the university like the Jichikai (UTokyo Komaba
Student Union), which represents juniordivision students at the College of Arts andSciences. According to Guan, it is difficult for theStudent Council to “collaborate with any office orprofessors to disseminate information” because of
its unregistered status. “That showcases some part ofthe exclusion that we were talking about in terms of
information,” Guan said.
In addition to the structural division, there arealso implicit cultural reasons. A third-year PEAK student who preferred to be anonymous recalled, “Someof my peers attempted to join a bukatsu at one point
during our first year and were repeatedly told that they
were not Japanese enough to fully participate in theactivities of the club.” Eventually, her peers were able
to stay in the club, but there was a rule that members“could not take more than a week break to leave thecountry during the holidays or else be expelled fromthe club.” In the end, most of her peers decided to leave
the club because they had homes in other countries.
The dejima metaphor conveys the hope for PEAK
to bring internationalization to this rather homogeneous university. Before the dejima takes effect, however,it will have to worry about being sidelined first.

FACULTY
The situation on the side of faculty members is much
more complicated because professors at the University of Tokyo have multiple affiliations and often teachcourses for different departments and programs. In thecase of PEAK, courses are taught by not only faculty
members primarily affiliated with PEAK but also faculty members affiliated with other departments or hiredby other internationalization-related initiatives.
The number of foreign faculty members who are
hired by and primarily affiliated with PEAK remains
low. Currently, foreign faculty members account for
only half of the faculty members primarily affiliated16with the ES program and less than half ofthe faculty members primarily affiliatedwith the JEA program.
One barrier for Ph.D. graduates offoreign nationality to work in PEAK is the administrative tasks required. As a general principle, faculty
members at the University of Tokyo are expected toundertake administrative tasks. However, guidelines,
formal documents and regulations are overwhelmingly
written in Japanese, often in a convoluted style. Woodward pointed out that there is a mindset among hiring
officials that “it is extremely difficult for international
faculty to be able to undertake those administrativeroles unless their level of Japanese skill is extremely
high.”Ai Kihara-Hunt, the director of the JEA Senior
Division at the time of the interview, described the repercussions of such a mindset, “It’s not blocking foreign
or non-Japanese faculty, but it’s actually, in reality,
blocking.” The hiring officials might not intend
to stop foreign faculty members from joining the university, but the mindset that highJapanese proficiency is required makes themdisadvantaged in reality. Kihara-Hunt called it“unrealistic” to demand faculty members toundertake administrative work in Japanese if PEAK isa so-called “English” program.
In addition to language barriers, the type of
employment is another challenge that foreign faculty
members face. For foreign professors, obtaining permanent positions can be onerous. According to The
University of Tokyo Data Book, 73 percent of the Japanese faculty members at the University of Tokyo areon permanent positions whereas only 24 percent of theforeign faculty members are on permanent positions in
2023.5 Academic jobs are more insecure for foreigners.
In the case of PEAK, the ES program has a morebalanced faculty composition than the JEA program. In
the ES program, there are around the same number offoreign and Japanese faculty members, and several foreign faculty members are on permanent positions. In
the JEA program, however, five foreign professors havebeen hired based on temporary contracts since 2012,
but none of them landed on a permanent position.
Some underwent a tenure-track contract along with areview – a process in which a professor’s research andteaching in a given period of time are reviewed by acommittee in order to determine whether the university should offer a permanent (tenure) position to him or
her. Arguably, there might have been complex reasons
why the university did not offer permanent positions
to them. For example, another Japanese faculty member might simply be more qualified for the permanent
position than the foreign one.
Kihara-Hunt points to cultural practices as apossible obstacle for foreign faculty members to at5 東京大学の概要資料編：https://www.u-tokyo.ac.jp/content/400223323.pdf. Includes professors, associate professors, lecturers, assistant professors, researchers and research
assistants.

tain permanent positions. Kihara-Hunt’s career at the
University of Tokyo started with a temporary contract, but in the third year (of her five-year contract),“there was apparently already nemawashi without me
knowing, nemawashi for keeping the position that I amin.” Nemawashi, or “laying the groundwork” in English, refers to building a consensus before the formal
discussion through one-to-one, informal conversations. “Somehow people who wanted to keep me wentaround, did the nemawashi and got the position which
I am in now,” she said. Presumably, a senior faculty
member convinced other faculty members that Kihara-Hunt was a suitable candidate for the permanent position. The prevalence and importance of nemawashi in
hiring procedures are unclear, but their presence point
to the vital role that network and connections can playin the hiring processes. Foreign professors who are unfamiliar with such cultural practices and lack of interpersonal connections may face hardships in attaining
permanent positions.
The results are a lack of foreign faculty members
and, at worst, academic inbreeding – the phenomenon
that a university constantly hires its own graduates tobe professors. Out of the 14 JEA faculty members listedon the website only accessible to JEA Senior Division
students, at least 9 have a degree from the University ofTokyo, and 7 of them have more than one degree fromthe University of Tokyo. Academic inbreeding in the
JEA program is not only harmful to PEAK’s diversity
but also deviates from one of the objectives of the Global 30 project – to foster the hiring of foreign professors
and researchers.

SIZE
Many of PEAK’s challenges come from its small size.
The University of Tokyo accepts around 3000 undergraduate students every year, but only around 30 students enroll in PEAK. Woodward said, “You cannot
expect one percent level of anything to have a dramatic
impact.” He argued that the scale of PEAK is the “biggest issue” that fundamentally challenges the internationalization of the program. Indeed, opening around200 courses every year in English for only about 140
students is not cost-effective (although April-entry students can take PEAK courses). Changing formal regulations and informal conventions for around 10 foreign
faculty members in the program is also unlikely.
Nevertheless, any dramatic increase in the number of international students is impossible because
MEXT puts a cap on the number of students (teiin) in
national universities. If the number of total undergraduate students is fixed, then an increase in international
students means a decrease in Japanese
local students. In a high-profile
university like the University ofTokyo, such an attempt will
be very controversial becausea country’s public university is usually considered to serve its people. In 2020,

however, Yomiuri Shimbun reported
that MEXT was planning to remove
the limitation on the number of international students from 2022.6 There is
no follow-up news regarding this policy, but if thelimitation has indeed been lifted, then the expansion of PEAK will be an important step toward meaningful internationalization.

INTERNATIONALIZATION
Twelve years have passed since MEXT launched the
Global 30 project. PEAK is no doubt an international
program. For the first time, international students who
cannot speak Japanese can attain a bachelor’s degree
at the University of Tokyo. However, its current internationalization is akin to, as one PEAK professor who
prefers to stay anonymous said, “tokenism.” Many students are already familiar with the Japanese language
and culture while foreign professors, already a minority, never stay. Let alone the sense of separation, unequal treatment or isolation that foreign professors andstudents face. Is the University of Tokyo, perhaps themost well-funded university in Japan, satisfied with justtokenized internationalization?7
Recently, the University of Tokyo announced the“College of Design,” a combined bachelor’s/master’s
degree program set to integrate PEAK in 2027.8 The
design of the new program is similar to PEAK in some
aspects: fall entry, English courses and foreign students.
On the other hand, the number of students in each cohort will be increased to 100, around half of whom will
be recruited from high schools in Japan. The details are
not clear yet, but some of PEAK’s challenges are expected to persist in the new program. For example, how toincrease the diversity of the student body, how to ensure the job security of foreign faculty members andhow to prevent the students from being sidelined by the
primarily Japanese community? The College of Design
deserves our careful watch.
6 読売新聞「【独自】国立大留学生の定員増、２２年度から容認…国際競争力の向上狙う」：https://www.yomiuri.co.jp/kyoiku/kyoiku/news/20201102-OYT1T50178/
7 国立大学法人運営費交付金の配分状況：https://www.mext.
go.jp/content/20210204-mxt_hojinka-000011436_3.pdf
8 College of Design（仮想）構想に関する報道について：https://www.u-tokyo.ac.jp/content/400233752.pdf

Disclosure of Possible Conflictsof Interests
The author of this article is a student in PEAK,
the program discussed in this article. However,
he is not under any influence from the sources
and strived to maintain a balanced attitude andindependence during the interviews, research
and writing of this article.

Photo by Alyssa | Edited by Will & Alyssa | Designed by Alyssa

17Belonging as “Knowing Others and Being Known”
Komaba Times in Conversation with Temple University Japan’s Student Leaders
On January 10th, 2024, Komaba Times (KT) members, Will and Alyssa, visited Temple University Japan(TUJ) in Sangenjaya. In our 11th Issue “Reality”, we collaborated with students of the “Polyphony”
magazine in Okayama University for a conversation about international student life and publication. This
time around, KT engages in yet another nuanced exchange and meaningful dialogue to strengthen crosscampus exchanges among Tokyoʼs international student community.
We were welcomed by the polyphonous sound of multilingual introductions, and many events instore for the incoming students that week. It was the start of TUJʼs spring semester, and the campus
was decorated with red banners, a captivating hint for the new students to the life of diverse and vibrantconnections they are soon to be a part of in this close-knit campus. As international students new to the
TUJ Campus ourselves, we blended into the crowd mesmerized by the unfamiliar architecture, signs, andfaces. When our prior liaison, Tomoko, spotted us, she led us up to the meeting room to meet Soren, Ume,
Stacey, Nona, Jiyeon and Yu, an amazing group of student leaders who were ready to explore the theme of“belonging” with us. This article overviews the highlights of our conversation.
KT Alyssa: What does “belonging” mean to you?
Soren: For me, it is “to know and be known”. Thismeans knowing people including the faculty at yourschool, what their lives are like, and to also be known
by them. You should also feel like you have a voice inthat space, among this community of speakers who acknowledge each other. It’s like you’re part of this bigger
community where everyone knows each other.
Jiyeon: It’s about how I feel. If I feel welcomed, I feellike I belong in that community.
Ume: It is being comfortable in your own skin. It
doesn’t matter where you are. Your cultural background might be different and you might dress differently, but as long as people are accepting of that, andinclusive of that, I think that is pretty good.
KT Alyssa: That’s really interesting. I’m not sure ifeveryone was here when we were talking about TUJ’sbuilding. But, it is clear that everyone is quite familiar
with the community, and most people can bump into
one another in the corridors and see each others’ faces.
This seems to be a core part of belonging here at TUJ.
Stacey and Nona, do you feel the same?
Stacey: Honestly, when I came to this school I did feel
welcomed. For universities that are larger than TUJ,
they don’t often experience inclusivity and belonging
because there are so many different departments. But
here, we seem to all understand what the different
majors are and what each one specializes in. Although
we all do take different classes, we still are able to getclose to one another, even though we’re under different majors. KT: Do you feel that helps with yourstudies? Yes, it does. Some students have different
majors and they have different study habits as a result.
18

When you get to know students in different majors,
you get to learn different things that help you in yourown chosen major.
KT Alyssa: I see! The two of us here today are from aninterdisciplinary program, so we don’t get to feel thestrict study habits of each discipline embodied by thestudents who major in them. Being interdisciplinary,
we feel “fluid”, but having the ideas compartmentalized
into fields and students in psychology, IR, or businessfor instance, would be really enlightening.
Nona: Yes, well, I’m a first year student. I take generalcourses and take classes with students who still havetheir majors undeclared. I also feel the diversity andfluidity. It is certainly different from universities wherestudents have declared and expect to rise towards
a certain major. Overall, being comfortable aroundother people is important.
Stacey: I think TUJ is pretty unique in the sense that
we have many group-based projects. In General Education courses, we do a lot of group projects, and stick
together with the teams according to the theme of the
project. You get to know one another easily throughout the semester because of these group projects in the
GenEd courses.
Ume: There are 36 credits dedicated to GenEd courses
which are science, history, math, and all the daily stuff
you need to know, so these are all required for all students. Transfer students also have to take an Intellectual Heritage course, even if they might already fulfill
the GenEd requirements with transfer credits for theirmajor. So, everyone ends up taking a course where
they talk to one another for group work, bringing theirown thoughts in, even with different ideologies andmajors.

Soren: There is also a required academic writing seminar. They are separated for those whose native language is English, and those who don’t have it as theirfirst language. Still, everyone has to take these courses
and they are not easy in any way. So, I’ve noticed abonding among friends, especially with Japanese
friends who think “Oh, this teacher’s tough! What am
I gonna write?” and we work together when they needhelp summarizing an article, or need help editing apaper. Through these, we get to know our community
because we all have to take these courses together, andusually early on in the program, they’re all tough!
Yu: How I define belonging is different in a way. Forme, it is not to be “displaced” meaning you feel safe in
the community that you are in, be it in TUJ, a company, somewhere you live, or other communities. It is to
not feel under threat if one is not the expected identity
in that community. I have a slightly different perspective to the other students, in a way, because I also went
to another American university in Tokyo. It was very
similar to TUJ but far smaller. There, even if you havethe different professors from different disciplines inthe same university, it’s all about whether you feel you
belong.
Belonging in that university really depends on how theuniversity functions. In my perspective, TUJ pushes
more into diversity and inclusion far more comparedto the other university I was in. When I was there, I
did not feel as if I belonged; I did not belong in theJapanese community, and I also didn’t belong in theAmerican community. They have completely different
cultures and the way they communicate is also different. I can communicate with both but I’m not partof both. So, this did not feel as if I belonged in that
university. At TUJ, however, I do feel like I belong at
the workplace. But, in my perspective it doesn’t reallymatter if you don’t belong in the larger community, as
long as you have a place somewhere that alleviates thestress of being outside everything else.
KT Alyssa: Great words. Following Soren’s word
“tough” and linking it to Yu’s response as a segue,
what things do you think challenge your definitions of“belonging”? Do you have experiences, at school or in
extra-curriculars, that made your ideas of belonging
falter?
Stacey: I think as a whole, for the full-semester students it was easier to connect with one another. I thinkin June of last year for instance, it was very popular
to post yourself in student accounts on Instagram.
There would be like “Class of ‘27” accounts and pages
for different universities, and TUJ has one for the fallsemester. This made it super easy for new students toconnect and know each other by name in that way.

Now, however, for this wave of newcomers, they lack
this same advantage that we had. So, I think it is harder for them to connect. I don’t know what will happen
in the semester, I think it might be difficult for them
to become friends with students who were part of thefall-entry semester social media network. Especially if
one is an introvert, like me, and it’s hard for me to talkto people. But, when I’m forced to it’s fine.
I think it was an event that the student government
had where they invited different students from different universities. I honestly did not know what theevent was about until they told us, “You guys have to
get to know one another even though you are fromdifferent universities.” Although it was a challenge
at first, I was able to make new connections. Putting
yourself out there is what truly counts.
Jiyeon: For me, communication was challenging
because I am a non-native speaker. In order to figureout if this place is safe in the class or in any group, I
need to communicate that in spite of my fear. However, this proactive approach should also be conducted
not just by me but from outside of me: like professors,
or classmates. When I saw these efforts, I finally got toknow about others and the feeling that this was a safe
space. TUJ made me think I can speak up.
Soren: I was raised homeschooled so this is actually the first time I have ever been to a formal school.
Because of this, I felt like I didn’t belong because I was
different and I wasn’t appreciated. It’s like, “You’re too
different, you don’t know the same things we do”. I
think that’s the toughest thing about “belonging”: it’sfeeling like your differences are an obstacle rather thanan asset. My experience at TUJ has been the oppositeof what it was before. Everyone here has been different
so it’s been embraced that, “You’re different, we likethat you’re an individual.” You’re uncomfortable but
everyone here’s a bit uncomfortable: if you’re Japanese,
speaking a different language, from an international
school, moved to Tokyo, or if you’re from America
and you have to learn Japanese, everyone kind of is,I think, a little bit uncomfortable at the start but it
kind of forces you to embrace differences a lot morebecause you don’t have the room to be comfortable.
There’s no hierarchy in my opinion, at least in myexperience. But, you still can feel alone and come toanother country, especially if you don’t have family
coming with you and you haven’t been there before, it’s
overwhelming. It’s really hard to try new things when
you feel alone and you just try to survive. So, I have
tried to approach it like: making friends or going totalk to people or just doing something that scares you.
Lean into it. I think there’s a big barrier, not havinggroups or parents around, feeling isolated, alone, and19

like your difference is not appreciated.
Ume: The tough part for me was breaking the stereotypes. Japanese people only seem to have second-handinformation about how I look. They already have an
image of how I’m gonna behave and everything so thatwas the tough part. There’s not a lot of correct information, and I feel like Japan is already pretty closed offfrom international news and media. There is not a lotof information about the southern part of the world.
So, I’m half Pakistani and half Japanese, so there is a
lot of misinformation about that as well. It’s only when
you explain to them that “This is not how we work”,
then everybody’s super accepting.
KT Alyssa: Can you explain a little more about thosevisual aspects of belonging?
Ume (continued): Well, a lot of people look at me
weird because I wear the headscarf. There’s a lot of
people, especially the old people who just come up tome and ask, “Why do you wear this?” and I have to
explain in my broken Japanese why I wear it. So, at
first it was weird. For me it was a norm, but this isn’t anorm in Japan. I get things like “Oh, you’re here now.
You don’t need to wear it,” and I have to say it’s mychoice. It’s a stereotype to think I’m forced to wear thisin any capacity.
KT Alyssa: Interesting. I guess these barriers of
belonging happen both online and offline. Do you
have any feelings that your online and offline sense of
belonging differ?
Soren: One big difference is about actually feelingconnected. If it’s only an online connection, I don’t
really feel like there’s something that really bridges
us and it feels a bit more topical and actually kind of
distant and disconnected. So, what I like is an offline
connection that is enhanced by an online one, but not
the other way around.
KT Alyssa: I guess so! Are there any differences you
feel between connections that are student-led versus
university-led or otherwise?
Stacey: At the dorms especially, TUJ has students
connect on Discord accounts. It’s a way to bring newstudents to ask questions like “When’s your flight?”
or “What would you recommend around here?” and I
think that really helps build connections among us online. Nonetheless, I agree with Soren. Connections are
better offline, but sometimes when you’re coming to
a new country and you don’t know what you’re doing
and others are the same, then you work on it online,
and then finally eventually meet, you think: “Wow, we
finally did it”. It’s a way that social media helps withconnections.
20

KT Alyssa: Everyone seems to be in agreement so I
want to ask, how do you feel like international student
communities “belong” in Tokyo and broader communities or spaces?
Soren: I kind of think you belong because you don’t
belong! In Japan in a way, it’s either you’re Japanese or
you’re a foreigner. Everyone who falls outside of “Japanese” builds this bigger community of “not belonging”.
I thought about this: I don’t fit in my own country,
not in my own state, or not among my friends, so wellthen why not just be a foreigner? Why not embrace
the fact that I don’t fit in? I think it was somewhat
paradoxical but special in that way, especially here inTokyo.
Ume: I agree. Since everyone in Tokyo seems to beliving such a fast-paced life, every time you go to any
station, somebody’s like running and then you’re justwalking. You think: “Wait, what’s the rush?” That’s likethe distance between being a local and a foreigner:observing these differences in pace.
Soren: Yeah, everyone has these observations. No
matter where they’re from, you really want to befriends with them because you have a shared struggle
whereas if you’re back in America, there’s certain people you don’t want to associate with. So, it really kindof breaks down a lot of those stereotypes and you’re
all on the same boat. It feels a lot more “communal” insome sense.
Stacey: I noticed a difference living in America and inJapan. When you live in America, there aren’t many
stereotypes and you are not confronted with themin a harsh way. I think since Japan is such a closed
society, questions about difference became questionsof curiosity. When people ask “Why are you wearing ahijab?”, it is not necessarily exclusionary, but because
they haven’t seen it as much before.
KT Alyssa: Nona, you described yourself early on as“fully Japanese” so I wondered if you also felt thesedifferences in your own life in Tokyo or in TUJ.
Nona: I don’t feel there’s a wall between Japaneseand foreigners. In my experience living in Japan as aJapanese person, even though I spoke Japanese, it’ssometimes hard to understand Japanese thinking.
There was still something different. There are misconceptions and stereotypes about certain people, but asI spent time with more different people here at TUJ, I
learnt that we’re all the same as human beings.
KT Alyssa: Will, do you have anything to say about
how you might resonate or relate to these thoughts as
someone also relatively new to Japan as an international student?

KT Will: I think TUJ has a lot more going on for
university-led initiatives for inclusion, and I agree
that in Japan “being a foreigner is the only way to live”(referring to Soren’s points), and it is paradoxical. But,
it is a way to bond.

myself. With me, growing up in southern hospitality, I
love talking to people! “How’s your day going?”, “Howare you?” and these things are part of putting myself
out there and taking a risk. It helped me feel like I
belong, while making others feel like they belong too.

Ume: Maybe it’s still harder to make local friends
because people are busier making their life here? Most
locals are trying to get a full time job or part time job,
but as a foreigner you have that at home too and you
can talk about the same stuff. Kind of like trauma
bonding.

Nona: It’s easier for me to feel like I belong when I’mpart of a team. As a member of the student government, my role in that organization is to encourage
students to join clubs. I also volunteer for organizing
events for this town (Sangenjaya). We are trying to
make an online platform to connect people for special
activities.

KT Alyssa: Right, haha! Let’s move on to the last question: what are the few things you might want to say to
Komaba Times’ readers to share your different senses
and definitions of “belonging”?
Soren: Build a relationship with your local community. I have a restaurant and the owner speaks no
English, but I have gotten to know them quite well.
Just having the curiosity to ask people about what they
do is great. I can’t walk ten steps without running into
someone and having a side conversation! This is alljust about “knowing and getting to be known”.
Ume: On campus, I helped create a club called MSA(Muslim Students Association) and we have everyone
from different Muslim backgrounds come together,
freshmen and sophomores, to help them adjust tolife in Tokyo. We have lists of brands or products andJapanese terms to look out for on labels. That’s what I
do to share belonging.
Stacey: I found a job in Tokyo as a waitress, and at
first I didn’t think it was for me. But, getting to know
the owner and staff made me feel like I could just be

Jiyeon: I try to take action in daily life, in organizing events with people who have the same beliefs for
instance.
Yu: I tend to think of it from a student-worker perspective. My job is to be at the front desk and be thefirst person to help a student when they come in. It
could just be a “living in Japan” issue like bills or utilities, or even issues like medical help or mental health.
However, I want to focus on how I can speak for those
who can’t speak for themselves. Those who come tothe front desk already have the initiative to speak up,
so I wonder how I can reach other students who can’t
do the same yet. I have made several posters for this,and things that are in the student handbook.
KT Alyssa: Thank you everyone. I really hope that we
can foster the connections we’ve made today towards
a longer-lasting intercampus relationship! We lookforward to more collaborations and activities that canhelp us share our many versions of belonging, andshare knowledge and skills about doing these on theuniversity campus, and in Tokyo.

You have met (from left to right of photo): Yu, DEI Peer Mentor for the Office of Student Services and Engagement;
Alyssa, Editor-in-Chief of Komaba Times; Will, Headof Editing for Komaba Times; Nona, a Student Government member, career office member; Soren,
the Student Government President majoring inInternational Affairs; Stacey, a member of theEmerging Leaders program; Ume, a Success
Coach at TLC and Stress Management Peer
mentor for OSSE and member of the Muslim
Student Association; and Jiyeon, a TUJ LEAD
fellow. Photo taken by Tomoko Matsui.
Special thanks to Tomoko Matsui for helping
organize this exchange between Komaba Times,
and TUJ’s excellent students.
Edited by Vedant & Will | Writing & Design by Alyssa

21

Reclaiming time, place and belonging:
Fukushima 12 years on
Abigail Chua
The Great East Japan Earthquake occurred on 11
March 2011, on a cold winter day. The devastating
triple disaster of earthquake, tsunami and nuclear
accident resulted in over 19,700 deaths, over 6,000
injured and more than 2,500 still unaccountedfor. 12 years on, I had the chance to travel toFukushima with Professor Hattori Takahiro
from the Graduate School of Public Policy,
officers from the Ministry of Internal Affairs
and Communications and my classmates aspart of the CAMPUS Asia + course offered in
the Graduate School of Public Policy (GraSPP).
I witnessed the quiet beauty of the place, theresilience of the locals, and the steadfast
hopes for the future the residents holdclose to their hearts. I reflected on theplace, nature’s might and the role ofpolicy for its future.

1

Visit to the The Great East Japan
Earthquake and Nuclear Disaster
Memorial Museum in Futaba

Our trip brought us to the two towns of Namieand Futaba in Fukushima, both of which weredirectly impacted by the disaster, often referred
to as 3.11. As the radiation spread outwards fromthe Daiichi Nuclear Plant, residents were forced toevacuate and leave their homes in haste, many notknowing when they would return, if at all. Today,
many continue to reside outside of these towns,
as they do not want to be uprooted once again.
For others perhaps deep unspoken emotions
pertaining to the trauma of the tsunami linger.
22

Still, there are somewho chose to return, such as thehead of the local residents communityof Namie Town, Sato-san. Even though
Namie continues to lack secondary supporting
infrastructure, such as nursing homes, Sato-sanchose to come back to what he views as his home.
Speaking to us as CAMPUS Asia + students, hefirmly said that he welcomes newcomers to Namie
to create a new future for the place, and establish a
new community; a viewpoint which is rare to findamong small towns in Japan.

2

Ukedo Elementary School in Namie

It is this sense of a new creation which sparks
excitement and innovation in Fukushima. The
government has made efforts to revitalise the region
through building new plants and research outpostsin emerging industries such as renewable energy,
drone and robot technologies and entrepreneurial
incubation spaces. Driving through the towns, large
swathes of unused farm plots have been transformed
into solar panel plots, converting sunshine into clean
energy. Dedicated grant schemes and innovation
support have been set up to inject new forms ofindustry and kickstart the recovery of Fukushima’s
economy.

On the flip side, there were multiple learning points
which I personally took away, from a policymaking
perspective. There were various risk assessment
lapses done for the Daiichi Nuclear Plant,
including greatly underestimating the likelihood
Namie
of a tsunami impact on the plant. Further, theFutaba coordination between government level andthe operations on ground could be improved,
Fukushima
especially in the evacuation of residents, many ofwhom were kept in the dark about the actual extent
of the disaster and what course of action to take.
These remind me of the importance of scenario
planning and enhancing communication flows not
only within the government, but also externally to
key stakeholders. These are important policy-related
learnings which we as policy students should be
Still, even as progress is made, the past continues tocognisant of.
colour present-day life in Fukushima, and a senseof loneliness persists. Viewing the photographs andAs an international student studying at GraSPP, I am
exhibits at the Great East Japan Earthquake andexcited to see what the future holds for Fukushima,
Nuclear Disaster Memorial Museum, I witnessed
and I am grateful to have had the chance to visit.
the smallness of man against the great might ofI am also heartened that this trip allowed futurenature. In the wake of a tsunami, one struggles topolicymakers such as GraSPP students to see firstcomprehend what is left. Pictures showed metal
hand the implications of policy implementation, in
signages folded like paper and concrete structures
particular the need to drive innovation while being
crumbling like sand. The most mundane ofsensitive to the viewpoints of various stakeholders.
everyday items are the most affecting. A traffic light
May Fukushima continue to thrive and may thebent almost 30 degrees to the left, a timesheet punch
various hopes of residents continue to find space tocard soaked and dislodged from its case, a pair ofgrow and take root.
shoes adrift.
Coming from Singapore where there are nonatural disasters, I recognise I have no basis tounderstand the true depths of loss and pain thedisaster inflicted on the people of Fukushima. All I
could do was stare out at the vast ocean, imagining
the height of the wave that arrived at the shore all
those years ago, and be simultaneously amazed at
the peace and calm we experienced then on thatsunny December day.
While the sheer force of nature depicted in the
town’s archived history was certainly humbling, I
was nonetheless inspired by the human spirit. We
visited the Namie Town Ukedo Elementary School,
where we learnt how one of the students plucked
up enough courage to guide his teachers and otherstudents through a path upwards to the nearest
hill, saving all the students and teachers from thetsunami. Other reports spoke of the graciousness
and kindness extended between locals in looking
out for each other. The assistance offered by othercountries also spoke of the larger international
community and shared humanity we have.

One of the many
abandoned houses
in Futaba
3

Kozen-ji Temple
in Futaba
4

Edited by Suyeon & Alyssa | Designed by Pedro
Photo 1 by Nobue Nachi, Senior Program Manager at GrasPP
Photos 2-4 by Abigail

23

On whom will the lights i

Amid Tokyo's ceaseless rhythm, there lies
Kabukicho Square, a peculiar microcosm
cradled by the towering sentinels of high-risebuildings. Better known as the Toyoko ( トー横 ) area, it is located around the Shinjuku
Toho Building, a complex built on the siteof the old Shinjuku Koma Theater. It is aparadoxical haven, a canvas where light andshadow dance in a delicate, dangerous ballet.
The buildings, garbed in their neon armor,
stand as silent watchers over the stories
unfolding below. As modern-day gargoyles ofan urban cathedral, their flickering lights castan otherworldly glow on the faces of those
who traverse the square.
Here, pleasure seekers roam, their pockets
heavy with the promise of opulence, seeking
the ephemeral delights of the flesh. The air isthick with the scent of desires, each corner
whispering secrets of carnal escapades.
Beneath this veneer of indulgence, thereruns a dark undercurrent, a lurking danger
that preys on the unwary. It's a reminder thateven in a city as vibrant as Tokyo, shadows
linger close, ready to ensnare those who
tread without caution. Tourists flock to thisspectacle, standing on tiptoes as they gazewith a mix of awe and apprehension, theirforays into this realm are nothing more thana brief brush with the unknown. To them,
Toyoko is a fleeting glimpse into a side ofJapan seldom seen in postcards and travel
brochures.

24

In the midst of this urban jungle, thehomeless find their solace, their presence a
stark contrast to the city's otherwise pristine
image. They wander, often inebriated, theirminds clouded by medicines that mimic a

more potent escape, a desperate bid to dull
the edges of their harsh realities. They exist
in a perpetual twilight, voices often raisedin argument and revelry. Among them walkthe lost children of Tokyo, their young eyesreflecting a world that has pushed them tothe fringes. They are the runaways, outcasts,
misfits, their teenage years marred bydislocation. In Toyoko, they find a semblanceof kinship, a place where their stories find an
echo in the hearts of others.
It was into this mosaic of human experiencethat we, students working on an ethnographic
film, stepped into. We came as observers, ourcameras poised to capture snippets of the raw,
unvarnished moments of life in Toyoko.
On the first day, we observed from a distance,
maintaining a respectful, if somewhat
awkward, boundary. The kids congregated intheir corner, and we loitered, unsure, acrossfrom them.
For me, that gap was not borne of fear, butof a profound sense of being out of place,of standing on the edge of a world I did notcomprehend. We were outsiders, intruders
in a land that spoke a different language oflife and survival. Our attempts to bridge this
divide were clumsy at best. We hoped to catchone of the teens alone, following them to theconvenience store, hiding behind shelvesin a comical dance of cat and mouse. We
half-heartedly wished they would notice us,
confront us, and force us into the interaction
we were too apprehensive to initiate. But such
confrontations never came. To them, we were
just shadows against the backdrop of theirworld – unremarkable, unnoticeable, easily
forgotten. Our first foray into this realm wass in トー横 shine tonight?
Madeleine Shi
uneventful, a day marked more by what didn’t
happen than by what did.
Our second week was a series of tumultuous
highs and lows. Driven by a need for progress,
Ronnie, with a boldness I admire, raised her
camera and began to film.
The teens seemed unperturbed by ourpresence, and I released a breath I hadn’t
realized I was holding. A boy with foxlike,slanted eyes caught our gaze. He scrunchedhis face into a half-smile, his hand fluttering
up in a playful victory sign. This small
acknowledgment emboldened us, andwe approached them with our rehearsed
introduction: we were university students
working on a school project, and we would
be grateful if they allowed us to film theiractivities here. They listened with polite
indifference, their smiles brittle, plasteredon in an unnatural manner. The cracks werevisible beneath their facade.
As we asked each of them for permission tofilm, those who were half-heartedly willing totalk came up with immediate excuses: work
obligations, agency contracts, discomfort withcameras. Those less inclined to engage simply
melted away from us. Conversation among
themselves resumed, and they began to give
us a wide berth.
Debating our next move, I felt a sudden,rough tug at my arm. Turning, I was
confronted by a disheveled man reeking of
alcohol, his bloodshot eyes bearing down onme, his mustache unkempt, his baseball hat
skewed. He was one of the homeless who had
been lingering near the kids.

―お前ガキたち、なんでここにいる？カ
メラを持って俺らの写真撮ってる？
“Why are you kids here? Whatcha doing witha camera? Taking photos, are we?” He lunged
at Ronnie’s camera.

We stepped back, trying to ward him off. He
was uncomfortably close.
―カメラをよせ。
“Gimme that camera,” he demanded again
but was pulled away by another man who had
crept up unnoticed.
―落ち着けよ、子供たちに手を出すな。
“Easy there. Do not manhandle the children,”the newcomer said, his voice sleekly smoothbut more venomous than the first man’s
drunken slurs.

Instinctively, I grabbed Ronnie’s arm, seeking
safety in proximity. This man was taller, hisbulk accentuated by a fur coat. Long whiteblonde hair framed a hard, angular face, andhis icy blue eyes looked down on us withunconcealed disdain.
―さっき、俺らの写真、撮ったのか？
“Did you take photos of us?” he asked.
I struggled to keep my voice steady,―撮ってない、子供たちに動画を取る許可を求めます。君たちの動画ではありません。
“We didn’t. We were trying to film thechildren over there, not you.” I stood a little
taller, bolstered by the truth of my words.
―じゃ、カメラ俺に見せて。
“Then lemme have the camera!” the first man
interjected.

25

―手を出すな !
“Don’t touch them,” he was blocked again.
―あそこの子たち、「撮っていい」と言ったか？
“And did the children agree to be filmed?” the taller manpressed.
―えっと…言わなかったけど、聞く途中なので…
“Well… No,” I deflated. “But we were asking…”

He cut me off, stepping menacingly closer.
―偉そうな言い方だね。でもさ、なんで撮らせてくれると思ったの？
“You spoke of high-and-mighty things. But did you stop to
think why they would allow you to film them?”―それは…ちょっとわからないけど…
“I don’t know, but…”―ノーメリット。全然ノーメリット。お前、彼らが何を経験したか知っている？
“No merit for them. No merit at all! Do you know what
they have been through?”
―えっと…
“I…”
―何も知らねーじゃん。それでここに来て友達になろうと思ってるのか。
“You know nothing. And yet you come here expecting to befriends?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
―誰にも無理に話したり撮影したりしていません。だから許可を求めたんです。
Anger flared within me. “We are not forcing anyone totalk to us or be filmed. That’s why we were asking for
permission.”―じゃあ、もう一度聞いてみてなよ。答えが変わるか
どうかなんて、知ったことか。
His mouth curled into a mocking sneer. “Well, go on then.
Ask again. See if their response will be any different.” Hegestured flamboyantly towards the group of kids, who wereobserving our exchange.

We didn’t move.
His tsk-tsk and dismissive shake of his head sealed ourdefeat.

Ed

ite
De d bysig Vedned b ant &yRW
ong ill26
rong―聞いてない？やっぱな。俺が聞いてやるよ。おい、
お前ら、この人たちに撮影されたい奴いるのか。
“Not asking? Thought so. I can ask for you. Oi! You kids,
you want to be filmed by these people?” No one responded.
He smirked as if his point was proven.
―ほら、だれもてめえなんか要らねんだよ。さっさと帰れ。
“See? No one wants you here. Why don’t you get out ofhere? Leave, right now.”

I tightened my grip on Ronnie’s arm, standing my ground.
―ここは誰でも出入りする場所なのに、どうして私た
ちはあなたの言うことを聞かなければならないのか。
“Everyone comes and goes around here. Why should we
listen to you?”―残ってもいいけど、お前たちはここに居場所なんかない。なにがいいかわかってるなら、さっさと消えろ。
“Stay then. But you don’t belong here. If you know
what’s good for you, you should hurry up and leave.” Hishumorless laugh echoed in our ears as he left us witha chilling reminder – we were in a world that did not
welcome us, a world where belonging was a currency we
did not possess.

His words hung heavily in the air, a palpable reminder ofthe chasm between our worlds. Despite the intimidationand the clear message that we didn’t belong, a resolve
solidified within us. We were not there to unravel mysteries
or claim understanding but to simply bear witness to thelife unfolding in this corner of Tokyo.
I looked at Ronnie, whose determination mirrored my own.
“We stay,” I said quietly, my voice firm.
Ronnie nodded, her grip on the camera unwavering. “Let’s
keep trying,” she said. “Maybe not today, but we’ll find away to connect, to see their world.”
We watched as the man, his fur coat trailing behind him,
disappeared into the crowd. The homeless man, now calmer,
retreated to his spot. The teens, still huddled together, castcurious glances at us but remained distant.
“We respect your space,” I called out gently to them. “We’re
not here to intrude. We just want to talk a bit if you’ll let us.”
There was no immediate response, just the bustling soundof Toyoko around us. But in their glances, I sensed a flicker
of curiosity, a possible opening for the days to come.
As the night deepened, we made our way out of the square,
the neon lights casting our silhouettes on the pavement.
Our journey in Toyoko was far from over. It was a pathfraught with challenges, but it was one we were committed
to walking.

Basso Continuo
Mizuki Igata

The heat concealing pain
Invinsible
Only three seconds until it
Colonizes
The northern side of myMiddle finger
My index anger
Touching the ash
Lotus gas explosion
Only the eyes of a child
Stuck in the pale LED
Caught the pillar of fire
Find the basso continuo
With bare hands
You know when you touch it
Never let it go
A high-class courtesan
Stuck in the pale LCD
Nambu Line Totsuka Station
In the moment I looked away
The a-little-bit-insane lady
Tumbled into a second-class river
Above the red emergency stop button
Only the eyes of a
Security camera
Caught the ripples of nipples
Find the basso continuo
It leaks
Becoming black, jelly-likeHold onto it

Hold onto it
Hold out it
You see
One broken musical scale appears
Scale each sound and sound andSound
Do not breathe
Do not ask questions
From the topmost step you see theArcs
Undulating lotus pillar of fireResonating ripples of nipples
Each drawing their own
Arc

The next morning, Shinobazu Pond is silent
Because to the muddy bottom
The oil floating settles with
The sound of rain and rain andRain
The next morning, Tokyo Bay is bustling
Because to the clear sky
The milk floating sends backThe sound of rain and rain and
Rain

Designed by Alyssa
27

亜哀挨愛曖悪握圧扱宛嵐安案暗以衣位囲医依委威為畏胃尉異移萎偉椅彙意違
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Editedby 刀Rongrong
徒途
都 by
渡Will
塗&
賭Alyssa
土 奴| Designed
努度怒
冬 灯 &当Yang
投豆東到逃倒凍唐島桃討透党悼盗陶塔搭棟

湯痘登答等筒統稲踏糖頭謄藤闘騰同洞胴動堂童道働銅導瞳峠匿特得督徳篤毒

違

永

縁

仮

雅

蓋

葛

勧

Sing Kan

Ji ,

Sing!

Yang Xu

岐

偽

宮

脅

区

経

券

原

誤

荒

拷

挫

策

止

嗣

叱

主

週

旬

肖

障

心

甚

疎

遭

孫

第

断

昼

直

偵

妬

棟

毒

My relationship with kanji ( 漢字 ) is a silent one. It’san immediate conversation, a tacit agreement, anda blink whenever we bump into each other on thestreets and in bookstores. We have a friendship oftwenty years, and after all that time, we still have not
become estranged. Walking through neighborhoodsin Tokyo, it’s easy to pretend that I am just in another
Chinese city with signs of neon characters embracing
me. The sense of belonging never goes away.
Nonetheless, relying on kanji makes me illiterate inJapan. To me, I am illiterate when I am unable to utter
the pronunciation, to “read” it out, and to share its
cultural richness with others through conversations.
Don’t get me wrong – the onyomi ( 音読み ), whichis the Chinese pronunciation, is bearable and even
ideal if there isn’t an inconvenient Japanese kunyomi( 訓読み ), counterpart to add a sense of ambiguity.
When a kanji character has more than one possible
pronunciation, the sense of loss feels so poignant. It
is enough to shatter the bricks of Mandarin Chinese,
my mother tongue, that shelters me from ambiguity
and timidity.
My hostility to the sound of kanji has grown so strongthat I have kept my kanji name a secret ever since I
landed in Tokyo. I hid the actual kanji characters of
my name from everyone, including the kuyakusho( 区役所 , ward office), so that they would notcompromise my identity with strange onyomi or
kunyomi combinations of consonants and vowels
to which I would never turn my head with a smile. I
still find my sense of belonging in kanji, but it can be
hurtful when my obsession with uniformity preventsme from speaking it, and learning the breadth of itstrue identity. I am revenged on as well: my name has
to be written in katakana ( 片仮名 ) so that nobody
would corrupt my kanji name with an incompatible
pronunciation. With the heavy cost of foreverconcealing who I truly am, my relationship with kanji
becomes a battle with no winners.

Complicated as my affinity with kanji may be, it isstill a privilege for me as someone with a culturally
Chinese upbringing to learn Japanese, althoughprivilege often becomes “invisible” to those who haveit. While Japanese learners from other cultures findlearning kanji one of the most formidable processes,
my sentimental struggle seems excessive and evenbrutal. Isn’t it unfortunate that I fail to appreciate theexcitement and novelty of a new culture? Isn’t mynostalgia a form of arrogance, shunning the beautyof the unexplored? Kanji builds me a cocoon, abelonging that feels so secure. But maybe my silenceabuses it, turning it into a trap of self-isolation.
Unmute kanji. Let it sing. While pronouncing mykanji name with kunyomi still feels estranged, andmy cringing expression always makes my sister laughover video calls, I am starting to become more active
in my kanji lessons and vocabulary quizzes. Unlike
the way I speak Chinese, my voice turns thicker anddeeper with a slower pace when I read kanji, as if
the process of learning kanji unlocks the access toa new personality invulnerable and unperturbed byunfamiliarity and discomfort. Linguistic learningcomplements personality growth – what a surprise!
While relishing my “Japanese voice” is a narcissistic
secret I would only wish to keep to myself, I wantto unmask the truth of belonging: stop alienatingothers, and you will feel less alienated. Here it goes:sing kanji, sing.

29

Lost in Tokyo,
Found in Japan:
Snow-covered Discoveries on Belonging
Andrew Lee

Belonging is about being in a place where I am happy,
engaging freely in activities I enjoy, and behaving
naturally. This is what I imagined I would feel livingin Tokyo and studying in a master’s program at The
University of Tokyo, a long-held dream that led me
to leave my life and career plans in Taiwan behind.
Yet, lately, I’ve found myself wondering, “Am I really
where I belong?”
When I first arrived in Tokyo last September, my
joy knew no bounds: I was ecstatic to start anew inJapan, traveling extensively from Tohoku to Kyushu,
savoring the best ramen and konbini (コンビニ,
convenience store) delicacies. Each day was a slice ofheaven, marked by the repeated thrill of declaring,“This ramen is the best I’ve ever had!” Before thesemester began, I forged new friendships and eagerly anticipated the diverse courses offered. I looked
forward to joining a zemi (ゼミ, research lab) andcollaborating with my advisor on my thesis. These experiences filled me with a sense of rightness, a feelingof belonging.

30

However, as time passed, doubts crept in. The initialthrill of class days morphed into routine Tuesdaynight seminars. The excitement of commuting toschool by subway turned into concerns about crowded trains. The pleasure of learning was overshadowedby the relentless pursuit of deadlines. My dream life
– once so vibrant and desirable – gradually lost its
sheen, becoming just another mundane existence. I
would reassure myself that this was normal, a typicalresponse to the monotony of daily life. But the more
I delved into my master’s thesis and term papers, themore I felt disconnected. I questioned, “Am I still
myself ? Do I truly belong here?” My once dreamt-oflife in Tokyo began to feel like a challenge to my senseof belonging and purpose.
My last Christmas trip to the Tohoku region transformed what “belonging” really means to me. When
traveling across Japan, I cherish the moments spentgazing out train windows, absorbed in the ever-shifting landscape. Whether arriving at an onsen ryokan(温泉旅館, Japanese hot-spring hotel) or just after

soaking in the onsen, I take time to admire the view.
I still remember clearly what my emotions were thefirst time I caught a glimpse of the snow from the
Shinkansen (新幹線, bullet train). As we passed Morioka Station, I was left in awe, and excited by this firstopportunity to enjoy the stunning snow view from aryokan in Misawa City. Aomori Prefecture was simply
breathtaking. I often feel as if I am entering a different
world, as my inner world settles into a state of serenity as the scenery unfolds. In these moments, a profound sense of belonging envelops me, affirming that
I am exactly where I should be. I then ask myself thiswhen I am facing the changing views outside: “Since I
am now at a different place, I can truly become what I
want to be, right?” The act of looking out the window
becomes a meditative dialogue with myself, reinforcing my reasons for being here. It strengthens my bondwith the natural world, offering a retreat from daily
life and fostering a deep conversation with my inner
self about identity.

The pivotal event that ultimately crystallized mysense of belonging was going snowshoeing on Mount
Hakkoda. Stepping outside my comfort zone for the
first time in Japan, this experience opened up newhorizons, allowing me to rediscover myself and findbelonging. I was initially hesitant, but I now realizethat refusing my friend’s invitation at that time would
later haunt me as a lifelong regret. The sensationof walking through snow, the stunning silver thaw
(ice-covered trees) along the trail, and the view of
Aomori Bay from the mountain’s summit were unforgettable. “This is truly something I’ve never thought
about trying before; thank you,” I told my friend. The
encouragement from the tour guide – a Taiwanese national who encourages youth to engage in snowshoeing – was also enlightening. I learned that embracing
new activities and forging connections energizes me
and allows me to be my authentic self in Japan. Suchexperiences and relationships deepen my understanding of my identity and purpose.

Traveling past Misawa to Aomori City, I was struckby the amazing sense of excitement brought by myfirst experience with Aomori snow outside Aomori Station. Despite numerous visits to Japan, I had
never witnessed Aomori snow firsthand. Ecstatic andoverwhelmed with curiosity, I joyfully tread on the
fresh snow, my laughter becoming uncontrollable.
Even as I fell into an unexpected tumble, I foundmyself laughing even more heartily, telling my friend,“This feeling is so delightful!” Her bemused smilein response deepened my wonderment as a sense ofrefreshment washed over me. It was as if these happy
tumbles in the snow and the first experiences of Japan
I’ve held close to my heart since middle school wereconverging to remind me of my purpose here andthe true self I am striving to become. From learning
Japanese to majoring in international relations inundergraduate studies to eventually enrolling in The
University of Tokyo for my master’s, Japan has been
the compass guiding my journey. That moment, withmy head in the snow, novelty and joy transformed
into belonging.

My experiences in the Tohoku region last Christmas
did more than just bring me back to my roots; theyclarified the person I aspire to be and the objectives
I aim to fulfill. These journeys highlight the importance of exploration and embracing new experiencesin my quest for a sense of belonging. Such momentsof clarity are rare yet profound, marking not just thepassage of time but the growth of the self. As I continue to weave through the fabric of diverse cultures andlandscapes, each step, each discovery becomes a stitch
in the tapestry of my identity. Travel serves as theloom on which I find and define myself. It is in theseadventures that I realize belonging is not a destination
but a journey – one that I am crafting with each newdawn, each mountain traversed, and each snowflakethat settles silently in the palm of my hand.

Edited by Jihyun & Will | Illustrations & Design by Joanna

31

Did we grow up online?
Lucia Stallard & Jenna Stallard

This piece is based on a text conversation about online personas
between sisters: Lucia (19) who lives in New Zealand, and Jenna(21) who lives in Japan.

I think the extent to which we are perceived is
crazylike I’m so happy rn sitting in the cafe but
if I were to take a photo and put it onto
instagram it could be perceived so many
diﬀerent ways and I am so aware of that andhave to cater to that!!!!
literally steals your ability to look at
yourself in a simple matterlike am I now the perception others have ofme?
I really look at some people and feel jealous
who seem to just act without this complex

and I feel so critical of other people
like I have an unlocked ability to really criticise people and so dating men is diﬃcult because if they lack that then they’re an extension of me I can’t curate in the same way I
curate myself
is this… ‘the ick?’32

I’m currently
unraveling the factthat everyone isn’t
just an online
account.

X
X

like I think this has a couple
aspects but
When people would say that there areso many people out there like you I
didn’t really feel the magnitude ofthat
as someone who has grown up with
online presence being EVERYTHING,
it’s incredible to realise how thathas aﬀected who I associate withand how much I respect theirintellectual and social ability –based on captions andit is a realisation for me thatlike someone can have an ugly
instagramand they’re still as complex andvalid as me HAHHAHAA

Illustrations by Lucia & Jenna | Designed by Jenna, Rongrong & Alyssa

33

Between the Illusions of Home & th
Priya Mu

Do you remember your first existential thought?
For me, it happened when I was four. I was sitting in my kindergarten
classroom. It was during the lunch break, and I vaguely remember
the classroom surroundings. Other kids were actively playing andgiggling. The shape of the window rails and the height of the coconut
sapling outside the window were a bit clearer than the inside of theclassroom. I am not sure if it was because the room was darker. But one
vivid memory from that day unfolded in the space of my own mind. I
was lost in thoughts of my mother, wondering what she was doing at
home. I thought about how my mother was always with me whenever I
ate something and was surprised at the crushing realization that I wasable to eat lunch on my own. I had always imagined my mother and I as
one single entity; our bodies extensions of each other. In that moment,
though, I realized that we were separate people. She – her own, and I –my own.
It was probably from that day onwards that, as soon as I reached homefrom school, I would run to her and hug her, pressing my face against
her stomach gently covered by the drapes of her sari. Every night
when I went to sleep I would crawl into her arms like a fetus. I’ve readthat children find a sense of home by being close to the womb, theplace that nurtured and protected us before we came into this world.
As I grew older, the distance between me and my mother grew both
physically and emotionally. Home, I thought, should be a place where
I felt not only safe but also free. Living with my family, oftentimes,
did not feel like home. I felt suffocated from the constant expectation
to become someone I did not want to be. The need for freedom took
my feet to places further and further away from my home. While I didtaste freedom from time to time, my search for home was in vain, as
no place felt safe enough to be called a home. Eventually, I gave up on
idealizng the notions of home, for it felt nothing more than an illusion
to me. Home was left behind in the innocence of the four-year-old,that the world was a safe place as long as her skin was in touch with hermother’s.
34

the Ephemeral Sense of Belonging
But ‘belongingness’ was different;
it was real.
I felt belongingness in moments shared,
whether they were mundane everyday
events or intense moments of joy or grief.
Particularly grief, as the only way I found
any trace of salvation was through belonging with someone who walked with me
through the silence.
Grief is a silent path because words aresuperfluous. We could tell what the otherperson is thinking about, as it doesn’t forgive distractions.
But everything fades away with time.
Grief does. So does the momentary senseof belonging. It fades away quickly for
those brief moments, and as for thoselonger and intense moments, it fades
away much more slowly. But it definitely
fades away.
The slow fade – that’s the tricky one. It
happens without any forewarning, andby the time I notice something is off, theothers and I are already walking on different paths, having chosen different means
to move forward. Yet, we find each otheronce again, longing for that nostalgic
sense of belonging, or we seek out new
people in anticipation of a new sense of
belonging, while being well aware of theephemerality of it all.

Mother and Child by the Pond
Photo & Design by Priya | Edited by James & Will35

Breathing In
Belonging is a place. Belonging is a haven. Belonging is spendingtime with you. Belonging is having a meal together. Belonging issharing our days. Belonging is smelling my favorite food, which
you’ve made on the stove. Belonging is listening to you because
you know what is best for me. Belonging is doing what you
tell me to. Belonging is living out your anxieties and regrets.
Belonging is achieving your definition of success. Belonging
is breaking down in the middle of the night when the worldis asleep. Belonging is hearing the yelling and screaming
across the room. Belonging is carrying the burden of yourfailures. Belonging is a mistake. Belonging is not wanting
to exist in the first place. Belonging is guilt. Belonging isfear. Belonging is a wound that never heals.
Belonging is gasping for air.

Belonging are nights of insomnia fearing the doctor’s call. Belonging
is seeing the last breath drawn and letting go. Belonging is knowing
there is no going back. Belonging is the gorgeously sunny weather
on that day you left me forever. Belonging is feeling a part of me
wasting away. Belonging is a void. Belonging is the feeling of
numbness. Belonging is this innermost fear of seeing anything that reminds me of you.
Belonging is drowning out the sorrows.
Belonging is feeling utterly helpless.
Belonging is desperately trying to grab onto you.
Belonging is grabbing nothing but air. Belonging is
accepting that you are gone. Belonging is replaying that moment in my head over and overagain. Belonging is a deafening silence.
Belonging is suffocating.

36

Belonging is you. Belonging is being by your side. Belonging
is waking up next to you as the sun shines through thecurtains. Belonging is watching the light bounce off yourhair. Belonging is listening to your heartbeat. Belonging
is running my fingers across your skin. Belonging isbreathing you in. Belonging is feeling all the happinessin the world rushing through my veins. Belonging ishearing your voice. Belonging is feeling your presence. Belonging is wanting to melt my body intoyours. Belonging is wanting to spend every waking
moment drowning in your eyes.
Belonging is wanting this to last forever.
Belonging is giving you my heart and soul.
Belonging is making myself vulnerable.
Belonging is the fear of losing you. Belonging issacrificing myself to make you feel whole.
Belonging is holding my breath.

Belonging is finding out I am not the only one.
Belonging is seeing traces of her. Belonging is hearing all of your excuses.
Belonging is seeing you for you. Belonging is the rose color fading. Belonging is the blurring of
my vision and the uncontrollable trembling. Belonging is your handwritten letter. Belonging
is my whole world shattering and you not having a clue. Belonging is all the times I thought ofyou. Belonging is feeling like the worst person in the world. Belonging is the smoke in my lungs.
Belonging is wanting to rip myself apart from the inside out. Belonging is wanting to scream at the
top of my lungs and explode into the tiniest pieces. Belonging is a high pitched ringing. Belonging
is denial. Belonging is falling into the abyss. Belonging is absolutely overwhelming, swallowing me
whole. Belonging is detachment. Belonging is closure.
Belonging is forgetting the sound of your voice and forgetting what you look like. Belonging is
thinking of you and feeling nothing.
Belonging is breathing out.

Belonging is the other shoe dropping. Belonging is not having any expectations. Belonging is the
sheer happiness of a fluffy puppy with floppy ears as it runs towards you. Belonging is picking
up a perfectly shaped golden gingko leaf. Belonging is knowing that the sun will rise tomorrow.
Belonging is everything. Belonging is nothing. Belonging is this moment. Here and now. Foreverand never.
Belonging is taking a deep breath in, and breathing out.

S.
Edited by Will & Alyssa | Illustrations & Design by Joanna

37

客厅

Living Room

撰文 Text /诸葛蓉蓉 Rongrong Zhuge

现在是晚上 10 点 39 分，我在家，东京。

如果会有一个更像家的地方，那么我们现在拥有的是什么呢？

妈妈打来电话，问我在哪。在家，我说。很难不
留意到妈妈的犹豫，她总是在寻找合适的词汇来

其实我能明白。在东京的这个家里，我一直想养指代这个我称之为“家”的地方。大多数时候她

一株植物，龟背竹或者棕榈之类的什么。它会在

把这个地方叫做“住处”，有时她也说“寝室”，

我看不见的地方悄悄呼吸、生长，伸出枝蔓温柔

尽管清楚知道我已经一个人在这住了一年多了。

地拥抱我。但我没有。在这个十几平米的小空间

当她问“你什么时候回家”的时候，我知道，她里，我的椅子上长满了衣服，伸手抽一张纸就会

指的只是她和爸爸、奶奶住的那个地方。

打翻水杯。不知为何，我打扫的速度总是跟不上房间变乱的速度。家有自己的自由意志，却尚未

去年夏天我回了趟家，中国南方的一个小县城。

有我的气息。

从中学开始，关于家的记忆就是断断续续的，由一个个以回来开头，以离开结尾的周末拼接而成。

最近这些日子，我每天窝在家里玩好几个小时的家总是敞开的，爸妈在一楼开的彩票店就像客厅，动森，在岛上建造并装饰一个房子。这感觉就像

每次回家我见到的都是不一样的客人。偶尔也会

我刚来东京时一样，兴致勃勃地购置家具，慢慢

有一些熟悉的面孔，见到我，他们就像招待自己填满一个空房间，在这片异国的土地上成为一个人一样用家乡的方言说，女儿回来啦。

空间的主人。有趣的是，这款游戏发布并蔚为流
行的 2020 年，也是很多人因为疫情被困在家里

他们也是我的家人吗？这些赤裸着上半身的男人，的一年。不断寻找家的人们，追求的不仅是一个

在一面墙努力制造意义的随机数字前叫嚷，把还

供人居住的空间，也是在逃离的过程中重建人与没熄灭的烟头掷在瓷砖地面上，打电话给妻子说

人、物、空间之间的联结，拼凑零碎的自我。

要晚点回家。这个客厅总是这样拥挤，人来人往，或者我也是其中的一个客人。

今年春天妈妈来东京的时候，我们一起去买一株植物。

妈妈总是说，等以后搬进更大更好的房子里，要在真正的客厅茶几上插上鲜花。
现在就可以，我说。
现在家里乱糟糟的，四楼的客厅也没人用。每次
她都这样回答。

38

It’s 10:38 pm. I’m at home. Tokyo.
Mom calls, asking me where I am. I tell her I’m at home. I can’t help but
notice her hesitation on the phone when choosing a word to refer to theplace I call “home”. Most of the time she calls it a residence. Sometimes shecalls it a dorm, even though she knows that I’ve been here all by myself for
more than a year. When she asks, “When will you come home?”, I know she
only refers to the place where she, my dad, and my grandma live.
Last summer, I went home to a small town in the southern part of China.
Since junior high school, my memory of home has been fragmented, stitched
together by weekends that start with returning and end with leaving. Homeis always wide open – the lottery ticket store my parents run on the first floor
feels like a living room where I constantly meet new guests. Sometimes there
are familiar faces. Every time they see me, they greet me like one of theirfamily members, calling in the hometown dialect, “The daughter is back!”
Are they my family too? These half-naked men, who yell at a wall of random
numbers – the winning lottery numbers of past weeks, which strive to
cobble themselves into an array that makes sense. The men toss their stilllit cigarette butts on the tile floor, calling their wives to say they will be homelate. The living room is always crowded like this. People come and go, and I
sometimes feel that maybe I’m one of the guests too.
Mom said, “When we move into a bigger and better house in the future, I’m
going to put flowers on the tea table, in the real living room.”“You can do it right now.” I told her.
Our home right now is a mess. Nobody uses the living room on the fourth
floor. This is how my mom always responds.
If there is gonna be a place more like home, then what do we have now?
These days, though, I have begun to understand her feelings. I’ve always
wanted to have a plant – a turtleback bamboo or a small palm tree – in myTokyo home. Something that will quietly breathe and grow, reach out its
arms and gently hug me. But, I haven’t bought the plant. In this small spaceof a dozen square meters, clothes grow over my chair, and my cup always
leaps off the table when I reach for a napkin. For some reason, I can neverclean fast enough to keep up with the speed at which my room becomes a
mess. My home has its own free will, not yet imbued with my smell.
These days I have spent hours at home in the Nintendo game Animal
Crossing, building and decorating my virtual house on the island. It reminds
me of when I first moved to Tokyo. I selected furniture with excitement,
slowly filled up the empty room, and gradually became the owner of a spacein this foreign land. Interestingly, the year when the game was released
and went viral, 2020, was also the year that a lot of people were stuck intheir homes due to the pandemic. Those who constantly seek a home look
for more than just a room for living. They struggle to rebuild connections
between people, objects, and space all in the process of running away…
piecing together bits and pieces of self.
When mom comes to Tokyo this spring, we’ll go buy a plant together.

Photo by Rongrong | Edited by James & Will | Designed by Sanchuan

39

SakuraBicycleSinugdanan nga kasaysayan,
Sa mga baybayon nga bulawan, sa kaulohan nga mahayag,
Sa gugma sa katawhan, nagdala'g kasadya'g kahamugawayPag-usbong ng kabataan, sa pagsilay ng hamon,
Mga hakbang sa karera, sa unang lihim ng tagumpay,
Hamon ng pagtanda, naglalakbay ang pangarap,
Mga pagkakamali'y guro, mga tagumpay ay ganti,
Sa paglipad ng oras, ang puso'y laging handang wasiwas
A splash of color, a kaleidoscope of hues,
Diverse voices echoing, each a unique muse
Independence met culture in a vWibrant collaboration
In the mosaic of experiences, a tapestry unfurls,
Each thread a lesson, as the world spins and twirls
新たな章、かけがえのない瞬間へ
柔らかな風が語る、かつてない始まり
カキツバタとオナガ、心の中で鳴り響く
居場所を求めて、遠くへと懐かしさが募る

40

Art and Poetry - Lian Sabella Castillo

The beginning of history,
On the golden shores, in the vibrant city,
Carrying joy and harmony in the love of the people(Bisaya) This first about my birthplace,
Davao City, where I spent the formative
years of my life.

The bloom of youth, in the dawn of challenges,
Steps in the career, in the first secrets of success,
Challenges of aging, dreams journeying afar,
Mistakes as teachers, successes as rewards,
As time flies, the heart is always ready to flutter(Tagalog) I moved to Makati/Manila
in my heyday and spent a good amountof time working through regrets anddeveloping my weaknesses.
dd

A splash of color, a kaleidoscope of hues,
Diverse voices echoing, each a unique muse
Independence met culture in a vibrant collaboration
In the mosaic of experiences, a tapestry unfurls,
Each thread a lesson, as the world spins and twirls(English) In my mid 20s, I moved toJapan for the first time in Mitaka, andspent summers in Europe and the East
Coast of the US. It was my first time living
alone.

A new chapter, to an irreplaceable moment
An unprecedented beginning, told by a soft windIris and magpie, ringing in my heart
In search of a place to stay, nostalgia grows far away

(Japanese) I went back to Japan throughKashiwa (magpie) and Katsushika (Iris)
for the long-term this time around. Withage, I struggle and long for community.

Edited by Alyssa | Designed by Anna

41

Edited by Will | Illustration by Joanna | Graphics & Layout by Alyssa
42

Three Bleached Corals Talking About Politics
Alyssa Castillo Yap
I am a coral; caregiver, companion, creator of homes for living and breathing things.
I was born in tropical weather, but now in order to live I yearn for the distant calm and cool.
Bleached by the world tick-tock-turning, everyone whitens around me – paler and ever-so forgetful.
I am forced to dream of foreign shores. Extractive communities displace us; forlorn bodies into tools.
I contort as metaphors for the young, making waters bearable. Positive to save
Others like me, tirelessly working for security in one form or another. Until…
We are taught we are only spectacular when we are colorful, exploitable, and immobile.
We are soft bodies with hard exoskeletons; bare and sensitive to waves.
Sporadically, we cry and weep over how far and large the innocent things we house will grow,To swim and travel more than we are allowed.
To those living in such comfort, you may not want to let it go:
Do you stop to think about it as something endowed?
Once you and I were superfluous gametes with nothing and yet everything to show.
No X or Y now, only XOXO.
Who do you owe, who do I owe, who do we owe?
With tender tentacles stowed away to kill, little will the thieving powers ever know of my own will:
I am already a sister, and I am already a brother.
I have everything to be a mother, as much as I have everything to be a father.
I was destined to be a friendly shelter for vagabonds in the water.
Body, money, sex, politics, colonial territories: it is so hard to feel under the weather.
Stressed and expelling the historical warmth of mutually beneficial others, we try so hard not to shatter.
We hope our offspring remembers these matters. This is our love letter.
Us polyps evolved to thrive in colonies.
To be more than memories,
To be more than things.
In December 2023 at a cafe in Shibuya, I was lucky to reunite with two exceptional women, “M” from Malaysia and “D”
from Indonesia, both of whom I (from the Philippines and Vietnam) met at the November 13th demonstration in Hachiko
Square where we dried our lungs and banged our hearts demanding a ceasefire in Gaza. In that cafe, we explored the issueof activism in Japan as international students, as prospective mothers and as activists for the next generations. M and D
were already planning futures for their future sons and daughters, I sat wondering why hope for children is as everlasting
as it is fleeting.
At the time of the protest where we met, I thought the local organizers of the demonstration deliberately and perfectly timed
the event – it had to overlap with a cute dog’s “100-year birthday celebration.” I left the demonstration desperately hopingthat passers-by in Shibuya Crossing might feel the violent irony of furnishing a bedroom as a gift to a century-old Imperial
University dog statue, and the erased history of hundreds of homeless citizens evicted from Mitake Park during the construction of now-Miyashita-Park’s superfluous high fashion stores, plastic rock-climbing facades, and concrete skateparks.
Hachikō, the dog who the open-air space we were screaming on and fictitious queen-sized bed is named after, has been deadfor nearly a century. Could these commuters stop to think whether we will make beds and furnished rooms honoring thedead children in Gaza 100 years on?
43KT Issue 13: Digital Exclusiveby MAX“We all change when you think about it.
We’re all different all through our lives.
And that’s okay, that’s good. You’ve got tokeep moving. As long as you remember
all the people that you used to be.” This isa quote from Doctor Who, in the Eleventh
Doctor’s last episode. I believe that this is abrilliant quote to remind yourself why andhow you are in the place that you are rightnow, and what brought you here. Or, you
may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?”.
As a person who was born to live with two
different nationalities, I was asked by many
people: what my identity is, if I ever have an
identity crisis, and how I get along with suchcrises if I do have to face them. To be honest,
I never thought about it deeply, or at all forthat matter. I was born and raised in Japan, so
although I may have some Westernized tastes,
I’ve always considered myself Japanese.This
question about identity was mostly asked
by my half-Japanese or other foreign peers,
where the biggest difference lies in the factthat I’m ethnically Japanese, but existing in asimilar environment. So, I took my time andsaw this as a reminder to myself of how I think
about my own identity, and perhaps help those
who are having identity issues of their own.
I won’t get into speciﬁc personal details forthis essay. Although I was born and raisedin the environment of two different countries, I am not strictly half-Japanese, basedon technical deﬁnitions. But, I would say I am
someone living between Japanese and Western… But, ethnically or racially, I am Japanese.
When I was a kid, due to my grandfather’s
health condition, I needed to get in the carfor an 8 hour trip, without doing anything…
which is probably how I learned the meaning of patience. While we were in the car, myparents used to play several CDs, and one ofthem was “The Music of Millennium”. It wasan omnibus album of pop artists from the
1950s to 1990s, including Queen, Eric Clapton, David Bowie, and The Rolling Stones.
That signiﬁcantly served as my ﬁrst andmajor musical inﬂuence. So, while I do listen to modern music, it’s not as often. Also,
my mother was a big fan of movies and TV
shows, so she used to play Back to the Future, Star Wars, and the Star Trek series. Backthen, Star Wars or Star Trek wasn’t popularfor kids in Japan. So whenever I said “Maythe Force be with you” or “Live long andprosper”, most of my classmates didn’t get it.
I did watch Doraemon, or Dragonball like theother kids did, so I would say the pop culture inﬂuences that I grew up with weremixed. I believe this kind of childhood experience contributed to the formationof a quite unique personality, I would say.
To be honest, I could feel that some people
were confused and couldn’t understand mybackground, which I suppose was because
they were trying to categorize people as being Japanese or not. The reason for the confusion could be my personality, or the factthat I was able to understand and communicate in English as a second language, thanks tothe cram school I went to for over a decade.
But it didn’t bother me, because it was simply
a different way of thinking from theirs. How?
My core identity in terms of my nationality
is Japanese, but the culture or experiences
I have had are not only Japanese but also inﬂuenced by Western culture. Speaking English as a second language could be a factor,
the language itself creates its persona, so
mixing it while speaking Japanese probably
resulted in a few reactions – both internallyand externally. This whole chemical reaction
contributed to my identity, something not
only at the nation level, something bigger, but
unique as in the saying “the one and only”.
This is probably why I never thought about
my identity, or these questions as a part ofhaving an identity crisis. I was just me. The
ﬁrst time I was asked “What is your identity?”, I was not sure how I should answer, but
now I do. Back to quoting my favorite show:“Iam MAX. The deﬁnite article, you might say.”Edited by Suyeon Bae | Design by Alyssa

KT Issue 13: Digital Exclusive

Nippon Connection:
Connecting Japan to theworld, in a filmy way!
Written by Suyog Garg (UTokyo Physics D1)
Frankfurt-am-Maine is a large urban conglomeration, along the river Maine in the centre ofGermany. This quintessentially German city takes on a Japanese vibe every year in latespring. This year too, at Frankfurt-am-Maine, spring is going to end with a downpour ofJapanese cinema and art, colouring the skies with pinkish hue towards the end of May andearly June. The reason for this transformation as usual is the arrival of Nippon Connection- a film festival like no other!
This year marks the 24th edition of Nippon Connection. Since its inception in 2000 thefest has grown itself to be the largest gathering of its kind anywhere in the world. It has
become a major cultural phenomenon transcending political borders and bringing together
the east and the west in its unique way. The festival is not just about films, although they
are a huge part of it. It’s also about music, arts and crafts, and food, and more importantly,
it’s also about the human connection. This is enthusiastically supported by the increasing
frequency of footfalls at Nippon Connection year on year. In fact, a record number of
18,500 participants attended the event last year alone.

History
Back in its infancy, Nippon Connection wasa small affair. The story starts one quiet
summer when Marion Klomfaß and Holger
Ziegler, two film studies students at the
Goethe Institute of Films, thought about
putting up a Japanese film symposium.
They were fuelled by a mutual interestin Japan, its culture, people, and films.
Their conviction that the excellent cinema

being done in Japan is going unnoticed
in Europe, had held a steady increasing
pace. With this amateur idea, their intent
was to introduce not only the avant-garde
Japanese films to a wider, yet untouched
audience, but to also have a platform to
distribute works by lesser-known artists.
This idea resulted in the first Nippon
Connection, during which only about 13
films were screened, the whole fest lasting
four days.

Event: The 24th Nippon Connection
Event:
Film Festival
Dates:: 2024 May 28 ~ June 02
Dates
Place:: Frankfurt-am-Maine, Germany
Place
Venue:: Artists’ House Mousonturm
Venue
and Production House NAXOS (main)and six other film screening centres
Website:: nipponconnection.com/en/
WebsiteKT Issue 13: Digital Exclusive

On films, short and longThis year, a total of around 100 films of
all genres will be screened, which is anevidence of the festival’s remarkable
growth over the years. More than 50
Japanese filmmakers and artists
will be showcasing their creations inthis edition of Nippon Connection.
Nippon Connection features the German,
European or International premier for
many of these films screened.
Up on the line for the films to be screened
are some tantalising works by thestalwarts of the Japanese film industry.
To name a few, the list includes Takeshi
Kitano’s samurai film KUBI (2023), Shunji
Iwai’s musical drama Kyrie [top right] andNobuhiro Yamashita’s heart-warming
comedy Let’s Go Karaoke! (2023) [bottom
left]. Many of these films are inspired
from or refer to actual events in Japanesepolitical and social history. Another great
work being showcased is Fly me to the
Saitama: From Biwa Lake with Love
(2019) by Hideki Takeuchi that hints ontosome regional peculiarities of Japan in a
comedy.

Cultural extravaganza
The theme of the 24th Nippon Connection
Film Festival has been chosen as“Crossing Borders”. Exploring therelationship between Japanese andinternational film landscapes. The
festival will bring together old and new
co-productions, Japanese noir films andwill host several discussions and talks
aligning with the theme.
Given its origins in a university campus,
it would also be natural for the festival to
be inclined towards film studies. Indeed,
lectures and talks by university professors
also often take place as part of Nippon
Connection. For instance, this year
Dr. Iris Haukamp will be talking about
the intriguing history of the somewhat
controversial 1937 film The Samurai’s
Daughter by Arnold Fanck, which will also
be shown at the festival as one of the first
German Japanese co-productions.
Once preventative measures for the
COVID-19 pandemic settled down, the inperson held events in Nippon Connection
rejuvenated with a new vigour last year.
This year too, the festival continues its
legacy of cultural programs organised
in-lieu with the main film festival. A richselection of more than 50 Japanesecultural events, art workshops andvenues for culinary delights are slated tobe part of the overall program. Visitors
to the festival will not only be greetedwith world-class Japanese cinema, butthey will also get to enjoy various
traditional Japanese experiences,from arts & crafts to sake tasting andcooking lessons (pictured left). For the
kids accompanying their older attendees,
the venues will have special kids-only
programs like aikido workshops andtraditional Japanese paper theatre calledkamishibai.

KT Issue 13: Digital Exclusive

AwardsSince 2023, the organising committee of
Nippon Connection has been awarding the
Nippon Rising Star Award to promising young
talents from the Japanese film industry. This
year the coveted prize will be accepted by thetalented Ms Kotone Furukawa (pictured on
the right). Furukawa-san is also the guest of
honour at this year’s film festival. She gainedinternational acclaim for her outstanding rolein Ryusake Hamaguchi’s romantic drama
Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, which won
the Silver Bear at the 2021 Berlinale. A
highlight of this year’s festival will be theworld premiere of Kotone Furukawa starring
romantic mystery Secret: A Hidden Score.
Additionally, for the first time this year,
the Nippon Storytelling Award will also bepresented for the best screenplay.

©Ittetsu Matsuoka

A lasting charm
A major distinctive characteristic of Nippon Connection is that a majority ofthe organising committee members are students and other locals volunteering
their time for the festival. Every year hundreds of these professionals and nonprofessionals join hands in managing all aspects of the event, from sending out
the invitations, to monitoring the queues at the food stalls. Further, all editions of
the festivals have been organised by the eponymous non-for-profit association.
For such a volunteer driven non-profit festival to be able to garner widespreadfame and reach record-breaking heights year-on-year, speaks volumes about thehard work and dedication that goes into its making.
Much like a film itself, Nippon Connection also seems to have a lasting charm.
“Every time I return to the Mousonturm, it feels like both forever and no timeat all since I last left.”, wrote Noah Franc on the Nippon Connection blog after
attending last year’s edition. For sure as usual the festivities at the 24th Nippon
Festival will also be magnificent, and Frankfurt-am-Maine will once again take on
a Japanese turn.

So, auf Wiedersehen (as they say in Germany) and see you at the fest!
Edits and Graphics by Alyssa | Official logos, photos and media used with permission from Nippon Connection
Special thanks to Amira Hajredini

Komaba Times Issue 13 “Belonging” Team
Alyssa Castillo Yap, ITASIA M2, Hongo, Editor-in-Chief
William Patrick Guzman, ITASIA M2, Hongo, Head of Editing
Rongrong Zhuge, ITASIA M2, Hongo, Head of Design
Priya Mu, ITASIA D1, Hongo, Design and Printing Liaison
Yang Xu, ITASIA M2, Hongo, Head of Social Media
Chiu Chien-Cheng (James), PEAK JEA Y4, Komaba, Editing
Vedant Agrawal, PEAK ES Y4, Komaba, Editing
Jihyun Lee, PEAK JEA Y3, Komaba, Editing
Suyeon Bae, PEAK JEA Y1, Komaba, Editing
Pedro Marinho, Chinese Literature Y3, Hongo, Design
Joanna Marie Dodson Ang, PEAK JEA Y3, Komaba, Design
Ohyun Kwon, PEAK ES Y3, Komaba, Design
Anna Cui, PEAK ES Y2, Komaba, Design
Contributors
Lian Sabella Castillo, ITASIA ‘17/GPSS-GLI RS ‘23, Hongo/Kashiwa
Chiu Chien-Cheng (James), PEAK JEA Y4, Komaba
Abigail Chua, GrASPP M2, Hongo
Michael Facius, Associate Professor, Tokyo College
Zihan (Martin) Huang, PEAK JEA Y2, Komaba
Mizuki Igata, Anthropology Y4, Komaba
Andrew Lee, ITASIA M2, Hongo
Priya Mu, ITASIA D1, Hongo
Mahi Patki, GPES M1, Komaba
Madeleine Shi, ITASIA M2, Hongo
S.Lett, ITASIA M3, Hongo
Jenna Stallard, PEAK JEA Y4, Komaba
Lucia Stallard, BSc, Y3, University of Otago
Yang Xu, ITASIA M2, Hongo
Alyssa Castillo Yap, ITASIA M2, Hongo
Rongrong Zhuge, ITASIA M2, Hongo
Digital Contributors
MAX, Cultural and Human Information Studies M2, Hongo
Suyog Garg, Physics (RESCEU) D1, Hongo
Faculty Advisor
Prof. Yuko Itatsu, Graduate School of Interdisciplinary Information Studies, Hongo
Special thanks to Asai-san, who has worked tirelessly with Komaba Times for our print issues.

Thank you to everyone who worked on Belonging!

KOMABA TIMES
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Tokyo, 153-8902, JAPAN
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