Finding Shinrin-Yoku

25 June, 2026

I learned about a new Japanese concept today—shinrin-yoku. It was originally coined by Japan’s Ministry of Agriculture in the 1980s to describe the practice of healing through immersion in nature, often called “forest bathing.”

This morning, I woke up feeling tired and didn’t feel like going for a walk. Instead, I thought about taking the dogs to the dog park for a quick run by car. Even then, I hesitated, unsure whether I should go at all. But in the end, I decided to go, reminding myself not to fall into the habit of thinking, “I’ll have time later,” because often, that time never comes.

When we arrived at the dog park, only a few dogs were there. A quiet, abundant feeling came over me. I suddenly felt calm, especially when I noticed the lake across from the park. The sky, the trees, the houses—there was a peacefulness that gently settled into me and began to heal my mind.

I think that was shinrin-yoku—what I experienced in that moment. Everything happens for a reason. When I followed my feelings this morning, it led me to this experience, and later in the day, to discovering a word that describes it so perfectly. It brought me a sense of clarity and a quiet satisfaction in simply living.

I am grateful for everything I have—both the happy and the difficult. I know each piece is part of the puzzle, shaping the life I am living now.

We Are Not Alone in Trying

19 June 2026

I had to get up early today, around 5 a.m., to drop my son off at camp. We needed to arrive at school by 6 a.m., so we were on our way before then.

The traffic was light and easy, but surprisingly, there were still quite a few cars on the road—it didn’t feel like it was that early.

I told my son that there are many people who start their day early and work hard. Often, we don’t realize this because we assume others live a life similar to ours.

But in reality, everyone carries different responsibilities. Just like today, we had to be well organized to make sure we arrived at school on time.

I made a list of things to do in the morning so I wouldn’t forget anything, especially since I planned to go straight to work afterward, as my office is close to the school.

My son was also very organized. He had been preparing all week and packed everything the night before. He even went to bed early to make sure he could wake up on time. It wasn’t easy for him—he’s not used to getting up that early—but we managed.

The drive to school took much less time than usual at that hour. Still, seeing cars on the road reminded us that the busyness of life begins long before we usually wake up. It gave us a sense of appreciation, and a quiet comfort in knowing that we are not alone in working hard toward our goals.

Like a Garden Hoe That Never Rusts

19 June 2026

I recently came across a book written by a Japanese woman who is already 102 years old.

The book is about her daily life. It is not focused on health or how to live longer, but rather on her mindset and the way she approaches each day.

I found it deeply inspiring to see someone over 100 still living independently—healthy, active, and content. Her “secret,” as she shares, is simple: enjoy daily routines and appreciate each small moment.

At the beginning of the book, she introduces eight habits that she has consistently practiced and enjoyed over the years. The first is folding away her quilt and making her bed every morning after waking up. She stores the quilt in a cabinet in the corridor, and she takes pleasure in this small ritual, even viewing it as a form of gentle exercise. Most importantly, she feels grateful that she can still wake up and carry out this simple task. To her, that is true happiness.

I find this idea very true—that each day feels like the beginning of a new life. Folding away the blankets gives us a sense of readiness, as if we are preparing ourselves with a clear and organized mind.

Beyond this, the lady enjoys a variety of simple pleasures—different foods, gardening, puzzles, daily stretching, and remembering her late husband by offering him a small cup of Japanese wine. She never feels lonely. The richness of her inner world seems to grow alongside her age.

We cannot avoid getting older, but along the way, we can cultivate this kind of richness within ourselves—so that we may experience genuine happiness.

As she beautifully puts it: “I want to be a rust-resistant garden hoe.”  

To live well is to appreciate the small things, enjoy them fully, and continue doing them every day.

The Life of a Vine

 8 June 2026

We had plenty of passion fruits this summer, and the vine didn’t stop fruiting even as winter arrived. A few days ago, my son took away the hut that the vine relied on, and I don’t think it will survive much longer. So I asked him to cut it back on the weekend.

The passion fruit vine was planted by my mother-in-law toward the end of last year. It came from a few leftover seeds from our previous plant. No one expected those seeds to grow and fruit like this.

When the vine first flowered and produced its first round of fruit, cockatoos came and ate them quite recklessly. They tried to pull the fruits off with force, and in doing so, many unripe ones fell to the ground. Sometimes they would peck a small hole, taste a little, and then leave it behind. They never returned to the fallen ones either. So many fruits were wasted this way.

But over time, they came less and less, even though the vine continued to produce plenty of fruit. After a while, I realised why. The vine had grown and wrapped itself around our old Bali hut. The fruits at the top were easy for the birds to reach, but those tucked around the structure were not. From that point on, it was mostly us who enjoyed the harvest.

I took many passion fruits to the office, and everyone loved them. Their home-grown freshness and natural sweetness brought a simple, lingering joy.

Today, I told them we had cut back the vine. Many felt a little sad. But we still have plenty of fruit to share this week.

Everything has its own cycle—from nothing to something, from young to mature, and eventually to its end. We cannot stop this from happening. We can only appreciate it, and try our best to enjoy what is given to us, as a quiet return of gratitude.

Thank you, and farewell, passion fruit vine. See you next summer.

And perhaps that is how life gently reminds us—what we are given is not meant to last forever, but to be noticed, shared, and remembered. 💗

Where a Mother’s Love Lives

5 June, 2026

During a parenting talk today, the teacher spoke about what it means to be a mum. Being a mum is not just about taking care of the kids or doing housework. It is so much more than that. A mum often becomes the centre of communication in the family, caring for each person and helping every relationship grow in the right way.

The family is like a moving vehicle. The father may be the driver, the kids are the passengers, and the mum is the fuel. Sometimes, when the father is absent for some reason, mum has to be the driver as well.

I was reminded of something my late grandmother once told me. After her husband passed away early, my father, being the eldest, had to start working at a young age to take on his father’s role and support the family. My grandmother said she used to look towards the road not far from home, especially around the time my father would return. She would stand there, waiting and hoping to see him coming back.

She continued this habit even after my father had moved out. I was not there to witness it, yet the image has never faded from my mind. It carries so much within it—her love for her son, her anxiety, her hope, her longing. Each time I think of it, these feelings quietly rise in my heart.

A mother’s love never fades. It is for her children, her family—and it is something that should always be respected.

And perhaps, in all the quiet waiting, the unseen worrying, and the endless giving, this is where a mother’s love lives—not in what is said, but in everything that is silently held.

Beyond Perfect Words

4 June, 2026

I recently came across an article talking about the internet’s new insult: “Did AI write that?” Many online writers felt attacked and upset. Some even started deliberately adding typos to prove their work was not generated by AI.

I can understand their unhappiness. But at the same time, I found myself wondering—how would I feel if someone said that about my writing?

Perhaps it helps to go back to the basics. Language is simply a tool for communication. Writing is one way we use that tool to express our thoughts and feelings. Of course, writing skills can shape how clearly or beautifully we express ourselves. But at the end of the day, what matters most are the ideas and reflections we are trying to share.

When someone asks, “Did AI write that?”, it may not always come from a place of deep thought. It could be a passing comment, something said quickly before moving on. In a fast-moving online world, not every reaction carries much weight, even if it feels personal in the moment.

For me, AI has become a helpful companion in writing. It allows me to polish my words and bring more clarity to what I want to say. Because of that, I feel more confident sharing my thoughts. It does not replace my ideas—it helps me express them more clearly. Even the ability to generate images adds another layer to how a piece can be felt.

At the same time, I believe there is value in pausing if we rely entirely on AI to write for us. The heart of any piece still comes from within. Our experiences, thoughts, and feelings are what give writing its meaning. Without them, there would be little reason to write at all.

Perhaps it is not about whether AI was involved or not. What truly matters is whether something genuine was shared—and whether it reached someone, even quietly.

Where Childhood Lives

2 Jun 2026

I once heard a teacher say that there is a truth we cannot avoid: our childhood memories are deeply tied to the place where we grew up. The culture and environment of that place shape the way we live and see the world. Unfortunately, this is often not connected to our parents’ origins, but rather to where we ourselves are raised—whether that is another city or even another country.

In this way, a sense of family tradition can gradually fade, as each generation is influenced more by the environment they grow up in.

This made me think that perhaps we are born into this world on a kind of journey. Yet within one lifetime, we cannot experience everything or go everywhere. There are things we can only have once—childhood being one of them. It becomes the seed of our life’s direction.

Sometimes, we may feel a sense of regret that our children will not experience the same childhood we had, especially when they grow up in a different place. We may even find ourselves having different perspectives from them, shaped by the environments we each experienced.

But perhaps the deeper truth is that the feeling of belonging remains the same.

So, rather than holding on to what cannot be repeated, what we can do is create meaningful and memorable childhoods for our children—wherever we are.