2025 The Art Issue
C - The Art Issue
This issue was conceptualized as a means to display the varied talents of Japan’s international community. Members come from many different creative backgrounds and take on new artistic mediums while still in Japan. Enjoy their work and check out each contributor’s links for more.
Issue Concept and Design
Renee Stinson
Editors
Mike Taylor, Brooklyn Vander Wel, Dianne Yett, Sophia Maas, Kimberly Matsuno, Tori Bender, Joseph Hodgkinson, Chantal Gervais, Sabrina Greene, Kalista Pattison, Jon Solmundson, Maritza de la Peña, Kianna Shore, Allegra McCormack, Úna
O’Shea, Marco Cian, Abigayle Goldstein, Jenny Chang, Taylor Hamada, Jedidah Walcott, Taylor Sanders, Jessica Barton, Vaughn McDougall, Zoë Vincent, Katherine Winkleman, Kaitlin Stanton, Aidan Koch
Disclaimer
Neither National AJET nor AJET CONNECT magazine owns any of the work displayed here. Everything in the issue was published with the permission of each contributor and should not be used for any other purposes outside of the issue.
Contact information for each contributor has been provided at the beginning of their spread, so please address each contributor individually with inquiries.
Photographs and vectors used for written submissions are sourced from royaltyfree websites.
Cover Design
Renee Stinson
Letter from the Arts editor
To start, I’d like to thank all of our editors and contributors who have worked hard to make this Art Issue as you see it today. I've been on the CONNECT team for about three years now, and I'm always blown away by the amount of work and dedication that goes into making this magazine something we can all be proud of. I still think about the articles our contributors write years later.
Although we are primarily a journalistic magazine, every June CONNECT takes the time to create an exclusive art issue where our community can share their explicitly creative sides. From figurines to wonderfully shot photographs to evocative written pieces, we have a lot to present this year.
The creators and artists that have contributed to CONNECT magazine are only a small portion of the raw variety and diversity of the community of English speakers in Japan. Even so, we hope to highlight and give space to artists who are kind enough to allow us to publish their works, because there is always merit in creating and sharing art with your community. Every single person has their own story to tell.
Whatever your connection to this magazine is, please spend some time with the pieces that resonate with you. If you can, don't rush to the next thing or the next page. Give yourself the gift of taking it slow. Think about yourself, what you've made, and what you might want to make in response. Don't let the inspiration sit inert. Attempt to do and make something with it. Inspire and be inspired. That's what I hope our readers take from this edition of our magazine.
Oftentimes we may feel alone or cut off. However, we hope that this issue can inspire you to make connections to other people, or even to yourself. Joy, sadness, reflection. It doesn't all have to be so serious, there is legitimacy in the light.
As this is my last publication as the Arts Editor, I find myself looking back at all we've done, and I feel satisfied with what we've made. I hope the legacy of what we've worked on will carry forward for as long as CONNECT is still connecting people.
Well, that's all from me! Enjoy the art!
Sophia Maas
dAvid Anthony
MIYAGI
David Anthony is an artist who has had the great fortune of being able to travel to many different places due to the nature of his work. This has led to many experiences and the ability to observe and learn about a vast array of cultures our world has to offer. Keeping a sketchbook based on observations and surroundings is something that has greatly assisted him in recreating art that is often culturally relevant for a majority of his clients.
Iseyama Shrine
Map of Zuihoden
Guardians of Tstsjigaoka
Gateway to Tstsjigaoka
Nippon Whiskey
A Sendai Sunset
A Night Time Shrine
Sky Towers
Towatari Guardians
Iseyama Shrine
Map of Zuihoden
Guardians of Tstsjigaoka
Gateway to Tstsjigaoka
Nippon Whiskey
A Night Time Shrine
Sky Towers
Armand Aponte
TOKYO
I worked for JET as a high school teacher in Higashi-osaka for 3 years. After working at some other schools, I am now a public relations officer for Waseda University where I also run the Instagram and TikTok. The majority of the content is filmed and edited by me!
Bird Admiring Sakura
Shaped Reflections
Stoic Bird Plastic Plant
Stoic Bird
Shaped Reflections
Plastic Plant
Bird Admiring Sakura
Jay Bonardy
GFDC - Volume One
GFDC - Volume Two
GFDC - Volume Three
GFDC - Volume Four
Bright-Eyed Yute
GRAB THE CAN AND GET CREEPY
Chrome Burner
TRAINBOMB! thisyoutwin?
The Valley of Myogi Bounty of the Oigami Snake
The Valley of Myogi
Bounty of the Oigami Snake
GFDC - Volume Two
- Volume Three
GFDC - Volume Four
Bright-Eyed Yute
thisyoutwin?
GRAB THE CAN AND GET CREEPY
TRAINBOMB!
Chrome Burner
Gabrielle Bryant
GUNMA
Gabrielle began a career in writing when she was sixteen. Her short stories are published in various journals, including the YEW Journal, NOVA Literary Arts, and J.F. Oberlin University Press. Her work has also been represented at the 2022 Sigma Tau Delta conference in Atlanta, Georgia, and the 2024 Japan Studies Association conference in Honolulu, Hawaii. Along with her creative work, she works in Gunma, Japan, loves taking long walks, and enjoys a day out at her local coffee shop.
Try, Try Again
Try, Try Again
People at my job act like they like each other. I can’t tell if they do when they’re smiling at the coffee stand. I answer the phones while they pour a thin blend from the clouded tank. Today, they’re gossiping about a client who’s ticked off the legal team’s advisor after turning him down. They’ve all been working for almost eight hours, but they know they’ll be working four more unpaid. The phone rings. The printer runs dry. They’ve learned to feel good about churning out busyness like an old fax machine presses letters to paper.
I want to feel that way, too.
The sun smirks at me from my little desk by the heap of old tax records. Whenever everyone else is out at a meeting, I check my email. I know no one will be watching. This is just a temporary admin assistant job. It beefs up my resume. They’ve never minded me applying to new jobs on the clock. I do, because it takes everything in me not to cry at work.
Luckily, the only two in here are giggling behind the lip of their mugs. They don’t see me as I pull open my email. There are three new messages, highlighted like that one line that’s going to be on the test. I can finally tell my friends I found my dream job. I can finally show the world that I’m not lazy. I’m a go-getter, just like them.
Except when I open the email, it’s the same as the other thirty-nine I’ve applied to. We’ve found a candidate that’s better suited for this position.
I read the words like they’re a breakup text. A breakup that never even got to the first date. The sun hides behind a cloud, pretending not to notice the bad news. An ambulance siren outside reminds me I’m far from home. I want an email to tell me I’ll be okay, that I’ll feel the passion I did last summer when I was a student. When I wasn’t getting a loan email every month. When I woke up hearing my friend yapping away on a video call. When the rain didn’t keep me inside.
I just want a new job. I want to be as accomplished as those influencers on my feed. We’re sorry that this may not be the news you were expecting to hear.
The ladies are still gossiping across the office. I swear they steal a glance my way. They see my shiny eyes.
Please consider subscribing to our mailing list for future job listings.
I stand. My chair rolls back and bumps the shelf I organized last week. A paperweight hits the ground. I leave wondering if anyone will look for me.
I’ve never broken a rule like this before. Not even the little taboos hidden between a stranger’s quiet stare. I jaywalk across the street and pass a cafe. Maybe I’ll go there. I have the freedom to. I have the freedom to do anything, don’t I?
A feeling I’d long forgotten sets in my chest now. It guides me down the familiar blocks, past the bank I previously wanted to cry inside because they’re rude to “kids” like me who have no idea what being tax exempt means. It pulls me into stores with bright green dresses, along the riverbank where toddlers walk holding snow cones. I can’t help the guilty, liberated tug at my lips. The world is beautiful, and I didn’t notice until now.
How long do I have before my work calls me, I wonder? Will I be giving a reason to my next employer why I was let go from my previous job? I wander into a park, and there’s still no phone call. I pass between trees along the path by a stream crowded with lily pads. I want to hop across them the way the flies do. I want to do something I’ve never done.
It hardly takes me long to find a group of boys punctured with septum piercings, cool jeans and tanks framing sun-burned shoulders. They’re circling a slab of concrete on skateboards. I’ve never skateboarded before. I always thought that’s what people did when they cut class at university.
But I’m cutting work now, aren’t I?
“Hello,” I tell them.
They regard me like my coworkers do when I tell them good morning, the contract girl a third their age.
“You like our moves?” one of them asks. He wipes sweat off his gapped eyebrow.
“I do,” I say. “I want to try it.”
They eye one another, and the first one to bust out laughing is their ringleader. He sticks his cut-up board toward me. They must think I’m cute. I almost hope they do, even though I’m pitted through my button-down and burning up in my pencil skirt.
The sun flares as I start to run, throw the board onto the concrete, and hop on. I didn’t realize the hill we were on would feel so steep on this thing. And as my phone rings in my pocket, I think of how stupid I must seem trying to do an ollie.
Reality hits as the board flies down the concrete. I eat the grass. The guys come after me like I’ve been hit by a bus. They stop, breathless, and help me up. No one is laughing now.
Except me.
I laugh even as I peel dirt off my knees, even as my white shirt and collar are all stained with green and dew.
“Are you okay?” one of them asks.
I look at them and grin.
“Let me try that again.”
Baxter burchill
MIYAGI
Baxter Burchill is an ALT from small town America now living in equally small town Miyagi. When not working, he's probably posting about Japanese art on his blog, Tsundoku Diving, or feeding his video game addiction with reviews for PC Gamer.
Tripping Backwards into Heaven
Tripping Backwards into Heaven
Mom used to say all our furniture had a soul, or at least they could have one if they were treated right enough. “More people have sat in that chair than the leaves on the tree that made it,” she'd say, pointing to the family rocker. “It’s been used for longer than you kids have been alive. Look there, see? That scratch on the leg, that beautiful little scar? That was me. How about here, on the arm? Your dunce of a father. And what of this awful line running down the spine, do you know who’s responsible for that?” With a confused expression I’d say no and she’d smile and say, “you.”
She loved to tell us that all those dents and stains are a part of us, so like it or not that chair is, too. That's why she treated everything so nice, why she dusted and washed and shined our things every week even if you couldn't tell the difference when she was done. Her words always rang through my head, “After all, you wouldn't throw me away just because I got a few wrinkles on my face, would you?”
I never really got it much. It’s just furniture, yet it seemed she cared more for it than me. It‘s just furniture, yet I was feeling forgotten among a house of wooden siblings. When she finally died however, I didn't have much of a choice. All that furniture lived with me now, and I had to swallow that sinking feeling. Her brothers were already gone and so was Dad (“I hope he's not waiting,” she said on her deathbed. ”I hate how he always waits for me.”) My last hope was Judy, but she ran off to live a better life in some other country. Suppose that’s my reward for staying: living all alone in my little apartment for one, packed dense as a hoarder's den with furniture three times my age.
A month or so after the funeral, I brought my boyfriend over to look at everything. We've been together for nearly four years now, but he lives a bit away so we don’t see each other all that often. He's nice; I think I like him. Maybe he’ll know what to do.
"They're beautiful," he said, going around the place like a museum, staring close at the tables and chairs I resented. In her last months, Mom didn’t have the energy to clean much of anything, no matter how much she tried. The dust she hated finally won and took her place, but he didn’t seem to mind none.
He stopped at a stool placed so high up on top of a desk that you could see its underside. “Look, it’s you,” he pointed out as he gestured toward it. I came up behind him and sure enough, looked myself square in the face.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
“I’ve gotten uglier.”
On the bottom of the stool was the crudest drawing of a boy there ever was. He was smiling. “I think you drew your future,” he said, then went on to the next piece. He must know a different me.
My boyfriend always had a comment for everything. It was reassuring in a way. He asked about a little hole in a desk, laughed at a pile of glue stuck to a lamp, stared for too long at pockmarks in a mirror. I told him how Judy used to stay up till dawn studying and tapped her pencil straight through the desk. How when I was young I broke a lightbulb and thought I could fix it up with glue, how Dad and us kids would flick water on the mirror and have races with the droplets. He kept going and I kept answering, endlessly tripping backwards through time, until he came to that rocking chair Mom loved so much.
“And this?”
“Dad liked to pretend we were on a rollercoaster,“ I said. “Lean it so far back that we’d scream because we were sure we’d fall over and giggle because we knew he wouldn’t let us. And when she was younger, Judy would try to get enough momentum so she could jump off and clear the entire porch. We joked that one day she’d forget to come back down and wind up all the way among the stars.”
“What about your mom?”
I took a good look at the chair and all its scars settled with dust before answering.
“Mom would rock us slow and tell us stories until even she couldn’t keep her eyes open and we’d all fall asleep together. The night crickets were our alarm to wake up for bed. She’d tell us how as a child she was rocked in that very same chair on that very same porch while the crickets came calling. She’d tell us about how Grandma helped make it and met Grandpa while sitting on it. Sometimes she’d tell us something scary, like how the creaking of the legs wakes the spirit of a headless Indian who died on the land long ago. Other times she’d say something sweet, like that there was a family of badgers who used it when we weren’t. Man, she loved her stories. Real or fake, it didn’t matter, so long as she was telling them.”
My boyfriend stood there quiet for a minute. For once he didn’t have anything to say. I thought he might cry. But instead he dropped to his knees and started wiping the seat down with his hand, dust collecting on his palm. I watched his skin turn gray as he smacked to the floor great clumps of age off his fingers. I watched his back curl and the sun turn his hair golden. The color of the rocking chair returned and the scars reignited. My apartment for one was becoming a home for a dozen.
Then I wetted a kitchen rag, knelt down beside him, and got myself to work.
Mark Christensen
Shiratani Unsuikyo Gorge
Ibaraki Nemophilias
Azaleas on Onami-Ike
Kawachi Fuji-en Wisteria
Yakushima Yakushika
Slopes of Mt. Fuji
Hanabi Jellyfish
Shiratani Unsuikyo Gorge
Yakushima Yakushika
Ibaraki Nemophilias
Azaleas on Onami-Ike
Slopes of Mt. Fuji
Hanabi Jellyfish
Kawachi Fuji-en
Maritza de la pena ~
NARA
Maritza De La Peña is originally from Texas, USA and currently lives in Nara Prefecture, where she enjoys writing poetry and turtle watching by her favorite pond. You can find her works scattered about on her notes app, in unfinished notebooks, in her planner next to grocery lists, and slowly collecting into a manuscript.
CONVERSATION WITH MY PATH BUSINESS CLASS THE PRESENT
CONVERSATION WITH MY PATH
you can’t just tuck yourself underneath my pavement and fall asleep, you’re curious about what’s living under there, but you’ll only be stepped on and eventually erode
I had a dream, you were there, I could see the very end of you. I know it was a dream because nothing in life is this certain, but I knew this was it. There’s no way it can be as easy as just following you without losing breath, without the bristling neediness of moving forward, without the breeze and mysterious insectile legs moving foliage. I know it was a dream because I didn’t repeat myself like this. This second-guessing I cannot shake.
the pipits are scared of you scurrying into the grass and for every step closer, they’ll fly i hear them whisper, patter across my stones this is mine, this is mine, this is mine but i am no one’s, do not worry, you can always walk on my stones, the birds will come back when you are far away
Thank you because without your switchbacks and winding curvatures, how else could I travel. I am so scared of everything I cannot directly control. Even my own two feet. Fears of falling constantly threaten my mind. I will try to look up more, to trust myself. That even if I fall, you won’t abandon me, you’ll catch me and I will pick myself up.
the sun is strong in the day but at night i have no light by my side—the roots of the trees threaten my structure, their canopies stretch out as far as they can, i am sorry if it’s not enough please sit down, take a rest, drink some water and i’ll continue forth
I am tired, I’ll close my eyes just for a little bit. Please don’t leave. I wish I could just bury myself here, let you be my blanket.
BUSINESS CLASS
Wake up wake up when you board the train, the businessmen take off their coats,drink coffee, and take out printed presentation pages, despite all the Sunday specials stocked neatly on convenience store shelves this morning, I used to be afraid of tomorrow but have lived long enough that it feels like the todays and yesterdays left unrecognized. Now I’ve extraordinarily seen more tomorrows than my brother, so I savor
when I stare out at the fog, mountaintops like floating islands, when it dissipates the peaks peering out are accomplishments for weary legs. The conductor sticks out his neck through the window, signals the okay.
Heavy machinery carries us forward and I don’t always get to appreciate gentle wind at sun up, the slight glare of the glass and even the man across the aisle, cradling his salted onigiri. After I reapply my sunscreen, the rays leave behind gentle memories with freckles lingering on my skin, I'll go down a canal, count floating leaves, and imagine changing seasons where the painters and cameras point at the paddle boats gently rocking down the same waters traversed by ancient merchants.
That's how all paths begin—perseverance and necessity. The clawing dirt and grime underneath nails, TNT forming tunnels through giants, all for canals and railways. When tomorrow comes, the alarm rings, I’ll quickly devour bread and caffeine, then commute, won’t even miss the kilometers of stretched out landscapes. When the doors open on the left, we exit onto the platform
THE PRESENT
Every morning, I bike down an unpaved path while the dragonflies pass from the creek into the rice fields. They hover perfectly balanced in the sky, dragged along on invisible strings. How easy, they never approach but I still wait.
I enjoy watching, even if for a moment. Some mornings, I ready myself for the high humid heat, leave a little earlier, walk 20 minutes for a simple silent change to my day, to my routines, to the inevitable pulse welling inside my heart. Life is continuous—to be alive—I have been alive for 31 years and still
I am alive right now. Every day, I recognize all the voices of self-doubt, pulling on my own invisible strings wrapped tightly around my limbs, entangled from all the failed attempts of cutting it. These days, I tug back, curiously and controlled.
My movements are not graceful in my uncomfortable body. They often twist up, contort into some unapproachable figure but I remain diligent—and smile often and smile earnestly, since I am alive.
Last night, I followed twin mountains accompanied by symphonies of cicadas.
As mild breeze spread cedar pollen, a chime rang from the nearby station. I passed by a child walking circles with his father, discovering new curiosities in the dirt.
This is the kind of ordinary I used to fear, would even pretend it never existed for me. Even imagining would make me empty. In the end, it’s the kind of everyday that kept my mind away from any here and now.
Yet it is my dreaming and ability to keep doing so, I wanted badly— not new settings, not failing to be present, or any misconstrued ideas of selfishness.
It’s just wanting, because we all want.
My dad wanted to be loved. My brother wanted to be heard. They both told me before they died that they wanted to live.
I wasted years veering away from that kind of human feeling.
Now I like to fall asleep to train sounds. There is a strange trust in the lull of faint announcements, clicking tracks, moving mechanics, to be brought exactly where you wanted to go (to happiness, to be content)
I’ll let myself dream in the haze of routine, be comforted by the ordinary that collects into itself. In the long drawl of healing, I’ll walk even if it’s slower, and listen to the train.
Chantal Gervais
TOKYO
Chantal Gervais is a Canadian multimedia creative currently living and working in Tokyo. She walks like she is late for everything and very often is. Her days are filled with searching for moments that make her smile.
Platform 10
Platform 10
My pockets are too heavy. It’s 7:32 AM.
I drive my hand in, pulling out more than I anticipate. A used cigarette. Four hundred yen worth of change. An elastic band.
It describes my current life.
Used, but holding on. Smatterings that add up to something less than substantial.
I watch another train pull close against mine. Windows pressed full of people. Temporary intimacy.
Another day in, another day out. I spend more hours on the train every day than I do alone.
A tall old man with tactile age spots is drinking a Tropicana juice box.
The car doors open and another body presses itself in. All I can smell is cat food now.
Bodies compress against mine, we are all just trying to start our day. In these moments, with these people, I learn a little more about what it is to be human.
I tuck my arm in closer, shuffle my foot to make room for someone else to have a bit of balance.
We are all holding on. Most without a handle, but held up by the weight of each other.
The used cigarette. A night out with friends, laughing and remembering the small moments that brought joy.
A handful of coins. Leftovers from a meal shared, bellies filled and hearts nourished.
Days of hard work, only to be let go with a feeling of accomplishment.
Moments shared with strangers. Some I see everyday. When I am running late and see a man with long greying hair pulled into a ponytail, I wonder—why is he late today, too? What moments did he create the night before?
What is in his pockets?
Alicia Goh
GIFU
Alicia Goh is a Chinese Malaysian Australian working in tourism marketing and promotion for places off the beaten track in Gifu, revelling especially in copywriting and transcreating. Among the things she enjoys are singing, jogging (after, not necessarily during), boxing, and crossstitching. Unwitting subjects of her burgeoning interest in photography include insects, flowers, and adorably round wild birds. She also likes making lists.
Absolute Determination
Indignant Demands
Seasonal Anticipation
Pensive Yearning
Absolute Determination
The sudden rain cleared. This lofty throne, it shows me threats, food — survival. I won't bend, nor will I yield. No, I refuse to concede.
Indignant Demands
You want us to pose yet without payment in full? You must be dreaming. Come with otoro servings! Only then will you have us.
Seasonal Anticipation
They have yet to sprout their verdant spring foliage. Soon to come, I know. Shall I wish my days away? Said I aloud, "Nevermore."
Time away is good.
I can't help but wonder, still.
This gaping distance.
This longing for belonging. How much can I deny this?
Brandon Gosens
Brandon is an ALT in Gifu Prefecture. He moved to Japan from Australia in 2024. He likes to write and record music in his spare time.
GIFU
Landslide
Landslide
Taylor Hamada
KYOTO
Taylor is a Kyoto-based content creator and photographer with a deep love for storytelling, both on the page and through the lens. A lifelong bookworm, she dreams of becoming a published author, finding inspiration in the quiet rhythm of the countryside. When she's not writing or reading, she enjoys experimenting with recipes, often using seasonal ingredients to cook for friends and family.
Mt. Fuji Summer Camping
Strawberry Picking in the Countryside
Homemade Umeboshi
The First Snowfall
A Very Cold Buddha
Mt. Fuji Summer Camping
Strawberry Picking in the Countryside
Homemade Umeboshi
The First Snowfall
A Very Cold Buddha
hana
IBARAKI
Hana is from the Philippines. She was a JET ALT in Sakuragawa City, Ibaraki Prefecture from 2021-2023. She is still living in Japan, enjoying its culture one dish at a time!
11:11
11:11
It all began in 2009. I arrived here in Japan with my parents, and was a 5th grader when they enrolled me at Iwase Elementary School. Everything was all new and strange to me. I did not like anything or anyone. I missed my teachers and friends in the Philippines and wished I could just stay there as long as I wanted. Sometimes, I would find myself crying in the playground while others were playing because I wanted to go home so badly.
“Hello, Hana! Do you want to play tag? Come, play with us!” Grinning from ear to ear, a playful and friendly classmate called out to me from the distance. He never failed to cheer me up. After just a few days, he became my best friend—actually, my one and only friend. He helped me get along with everything and everyone. Being the only child in the family, I did not feel alone anymore. I found a brother in a boy who was once so strange to me. His name became so familiar; I would never ever forget him. He’s called Takeshi.
Junior high school came like a breeze. Going to school and coming back home with my best friend was always filled with laughter and bliss. My parents loved him too. He was invited to every birthday celebration at our home and always remarked how delicious adobo, pancit and mais con yelo are. I taught him to do mano po to my parents whenever he would see them as a sign of deep respect. I would say, “It’s easy! The way to do it is to reach for the elder’s right hand and press it gently on your forehead.” Deep in my heart, I prayed and hoped that wherever fate may take us after high school, we would never be far apart. I saw so much hope in his eyes, felt warmth in his laughter and took safety in his presence.
Not long after, things began to change, just like the seasons. The two of us then became three. I hated it so much. It was annoying. I was mad and jealous. I was not prepared to see the reason behind his sweet smile. Takeshi had finally fallen deeply in love, not with me but with someone else. One summer while biking along Tsukuba Rin-Rin Road, I saw them together enjoying their snacks on top of a hill. It overlooked a golden wheat field. I felt like my heart leaped out and got crushed all at once. I knew from the sound of their laughter that they were having a grand time. I pedaled as fast as I could to never see them again. Tired, I removed my helmet and sobbed.
Even in the cold winter months, I couldn’t seem to get away from them. While inside the bus, I spotted them together, looking at a beautiful display of dolls in one of the traditional shops at Makabe Old Town. He was wearing a blue coat and scarf while she was glowing in her beige cardigan and pink scarf. My best friend looked so happy, so dearly happy. I started to wonder if I ever came to his mind at all, if he missed me as much as I did him. If only I was brave enough to tell him that I liked him while I had the chance. Then I was flushed with sudden guilt for feeling down at Takeshi’s happiness. My teenage heart realized that to truly love brings pain.
‘Five missed calls.’ After a few months of distancing myself from Takeshi, I still couldn’t help but worry about him from time to time. I called him back right away and all I heard was sadness in his voice. We decided to go for a walk and spend some precious time together near Masugi Minogaike Pond. An hour later, he broke down in tears saying, “I miss her so much.” It had been over a month since they had broken up. I was also moved to tears, not because they broke up but because of how miserable it must have been and I was not there for him. We cried together until we realized how difficult it was to breathe with our tears exposed in the harsh winter.
“I have a song for you.” I whispered. Before he could give his response I started to sing. ♫ Can I hug my friend with a broken heart? Just like what he did when I felt so bad? Please cry no more, let me embrace you. Let me keep you warm and safe. Please cry no more, I will never ever leave you. Let me hug you tightly with love. ♫
Now, in 2022 it is spring time. I am back in Sakuragawa City after spending my university years in the Philippines. I have not heard from Takeshi for a couple of years and presume we have moved on with our individual adult lives. I am completely content and wish nothing but happiness for him.
After half an hour of walking among some thirty varieties of cherry blossom trees in Isobe Sakuragawa Park, I find a hill for my hanami. Beyond is a vast rice field and an endless view of the northeastern horizon. I lay my pastel pink blanket down on the ground, sit, and take out a slice of strawberry cake and a cup of warm coffee I got from a nearby convenience store.
The warm, gentle breeze carries a familiar scent to me. I look up just as the cherry petals fall like little pink angels fluttering down from the heavens. Amidst their dance I see him, standing and glowing, still grinning from ear to ear.
Inspiration behind the title: Hana and Takeshi were both 11 years old when they met in 2009 (2+0+0+9=11). Adding the letters of their names together also equals 11. In numerology 11:11 is believed to be an angel’s message, signaling a new beginning or being on the right path. It seems the pair has been destined to be together at the right time and in the right place.
Matthew Li
HYOGO
Matthew is an Australian first-year JET living in Yabu, Hyogo. With a growing passion in photography, he is constantly on the lookout to capture meaningful stories in everyday moments. Through the lens, he showcases the stories of rural life and travel across Japan, inviting others to reflect and admire.
Snowy Journey Home
Sakura behind School
Traversing with the Mikoshi
Afternoon Glow of Kurashiki
The Afternoon View
Memories amongst the Tulips
Lonesome Crow
Snowy Journey Home
Afternoon Glow of Kurashiki
Traversing with the Mikoshi
Sakura behind School
Memories amongst the Tulips
The Lonesome Crow
The Afternoon View
Sophia Maas
SAGA
Sophia Maas is a multi-hobby writer who is currently moving out of Saga Prefecture. They can often be found drinking tea and thinking about words at home, at work, or while traveling. Reaching them requires semaphore and quite a lot of luck, so just hope for the best.
Ham and Cheese Panini
Ham and Cheese panini
The other day, I went to sit at that cafe you and I both happened to like. I’d been trapped living in my apartment for the past two and a half years, and it was getting to be just a bit too small.
I ordered food that always comforts me in the throes of culture shock, and while waiting, you appeared. “I thought about asking you to lunch,” you confessed, then trailed off. To be honest, I had thought the same, but hadn’t reached out until now. It’s a bit of a miracle we’re both here. We then discussed what was on everyone’s mind: this job. Are you staying? Or are you going?
The thing is, I'm still trying to come to terms with things always ending in this life. I can run away, delay, or ignore it, but things will end. And sometimes delaying that ending will cost more in the long run. It seemed you felt the same way, saying, "I said I would, but I'm not so sure now.”
You talked about your unhappiness. Of sitting in an uncomfortable chair for hours because that’s what you were assigned to do. Yet every so often, something happened that seemed to make it all worth it. Just that weekend you’d taken a soba class to learn to make your own noodles. Afterwards, you'd been carted around to look at autumn leaves, and slid down a grassy hill with a plastic sled. You told me it was called grass skiing in Japanese. We’re both trying to figure it out. Do these moments make the rest of it worth it?
I thought about my aunt, who passed away while I was living here, and how I couldn't go to her funeral or her wake. How I told her, “I want to know more of you,” then proceeded to promise, “I'll come visit you when I'm back in the States. I want to see one of your dances.” My aunt’s not even the only one I’ve felt guilty about. My father gained hearing aids while I’d been gone and my sister moved across the country. While I turned away, everything changed. I had thought, perhaps, that it would all stay still.
It’s reasons like those that helped me realize what I’ve been missing. It all moves, including us. “The world doesn't wait, and you shouldn't too if you can help it,” I started telling you in earnest. “Do what you're thinking about doing. Never pass something and think, ‘I'll get it next time,’ because next time might not come.” I brought up my trip to Hong Kong, and the regret I felt when I told my friend we can eat dim sum later and it never happened. Despite us having a whole week together, we just never made the time. I didn’t say it aloud, but that whole time I was thinking, sometime a plane could crash and I might never see the people I love again. Maybe that’s why I felt the need to share what I could with you.
It felt earth-shattering, to discuss what was on everyone’s mind. But honestly it might’ve set me free, because I decided I would leave this place and stop waiting. Just then you break into my thoughts, saying, “The future is scary, I don't know what's going to happen." I summon up every ounce of courage I have and just let out what I’ve been feeling: “Whether together or apart, we shouldn’t be afraid to jump into the unknown.”
I imagine we'll eat dim sum in another city, and make sure to meet our relatives before they die. We’ll learn to live with fear and hope for better things.
Next time, I’ll be sure to ask you out to lunch. In another city, at another time. Whatever it takes, I won’t wait any longer.
Kalista Pattison
Kalista Pattison is an artist living and working in Oita, Japan. Her roots are in Arita porcelain and stoneware, but this year she has been experimenting with polymer clay. Her ongoing collection of snakes is inspired by the Chinese Zodiac and Japan's seasonal fruits (and beans).
strawb
kagami mochi blueb bean
OITA
strawb
kagami mochi
blueb
bean
Silje Ree
TOKYO
Silje Ree is a bilingual visual poet, artist and the founder of Mellom Press. Currently living in Tokyo, she holds an MA from University of the Arts London. Through visual poetry and the medium of the book, she explores the interplay between words, languages and imagery, and finds understanding within the untranslatable. She has published two poetry pamphlets with Sampson Low: Melodilaust tone fall (2019) and E∩N (2018).
Running Through Tokyo
Running through tokyo
I wake up from the bright morning light, I can never get out of bed fast enough. There’s always something to do somewhere in Tokyo to be.
Each morning, I put on my running shoes. Open the door to the break of day run after the sunrise, never catch it. I catch my breath by the traffic light. Up ahead the white snow-hooded Fuji contrasts against the bright blue sky.
I turn right—run into the trees. Run past people moving slowly, continuous unison facing every direction.
(No telling) who is the leader?
The trees around me change. Fuji less and less visible. For a long time, hiding, nowhere to be seen.
Running.
Trying to shake the sleep off my back, my head heavy, my legs still tired. A cup of tea in front of the window waits.
On my bed, the sky still blue a friend messages asking me to share my thoughts with strangers. A moment of hesitation,
Recording my answers without a thought. The mattress is different, bathing in white light. Declaring my feelings out loud feels warm and effortless, peaceful and content. I press stop, the room resumes to silence while I send my words away.
In my inbox, gratitude floods in for sharing unfiltered, for being so vulnerable. Wondering what have I done? I listen to the intelligent words of others and try not to feel too embarrassed. I (can) never listen to myself.
I’m forever conflicted by the want to eat slowly to finish my lunch fast enough to write. I write page after page, one notebook at a time. Sometimes I allow my thoughts to spill out. It’s hard to write down everything.
One hour isn’t enough to describe how I feel. Unable to capture myself on the page, I write lists and fill in trackers to make sense of myself, gauge whether or not I’m having a good day. How am I different from what I was before? When did it all change? I don’t remember who I was.
I walk differently. I don’t talk anymore. It’s hard to sense the world around me. I have no time to listen, to see what’s around me. Annoyed when someone is in my way.
I always rush from corner to corner as fast as possible. I always struggle—to do and to do and to do. When I sit down, I get back up again.
I’m somewhere I want to be, but I don't want to be here. There. Somewhere.
I want to be able to relax and not feel guilty about it. I know I need to stop. But it feels like jumping off a train, and I don’t know if I’ll survive the fall.
Shad Schwarck
OSAKA
Shad Schwarck is a 3rd year JET in Osaka with an interest in all types of art from digital illustration to pixel art to cross stitching. He has a love for character design, and he finds inspiration in collaborative storytelling through tabletop roleplaying games. He owns too many dice, and he will yet own more.
Spotlight
Death of Naberius
How to Beat the Devil Night Swim Lab
Death of Naberius
How to Beat the Devil
Night Swim
Lab
Jon Solmundson
HOKKAIDO
Jón Solmundson is a 5th year JET who will be sad to say goodbye to his sleepy cabbage-farming town of Nanporo, Hokkaido in August. You can catch more of his work over on his blog.
Crowbars and Cat Food
One Year Inaka
Crowbars and Cat Food
Time and nature had weathered the mountainside home, but its walls remained solid. Though she’d tried all week, Raccoon said she couldn’t find a single ingress that wasn’t blocked off by rusty rebar or wooden boards.
“But I reckon,” she explained, “if you transform, you could jam this crowbar into the doorframe, put some weight on it, and pop it open, right?”
Tanuki shook his head. “Even transformed, I’m not very strong.”
“Nah, it’s about leverage. That’s how these things work. I saw an old man use one to break open a wooden box once.”
“You saw a human? What, when you were a pup?”
“Yeah, ’course. I remember the sound. He jammed the bar into the box, leaned down, then crack!” she clapped her hands together for added effect, showing off a dexterity Tanuki’s dog-like paws did not naturally afford. “You could do the same!”
“I don’t know.”
“Teach me to transform then! I can try it!”
Tanuki shifted uncomfortably. “Magic isn’t for that.”
“Right,” Raccoon sighed. “But what is it for, then? You don’t really think the humans’ll come back, do you? The best thing you can do now is enjoy the stuff they left behind. I mean, it’s either going to us or the bugs.”
“It was their space,” Tanuki said. “There’s nothing for us in there.”
“Those are the words of someone who’s never tried cat food.” Raccoon lifted the crowbar once again with her tiny arms, and pushed in vain.
Tanuki considered halting Raccoon’s banditry, but she was right. The humans weren’t coming back. Never again would he fool or delight them with his sudden transformations, nor would he make them scream or giggle by echoing his voice off the trees in the forest. Years of bake-danuki transformation magics honed and passed down through generations, all to make jokes that, now, would never land. The punchlines were dead.
“Alright then,” Tanuki conceded, taking human shape and grabbing the crowbar. One firm push cracked the latch, and the door swung away.
Immediately, Raccoon slinked inside, wove through the discarded shoes piled in the entryway, and climbed atop the counter to survey the kitchen. Tanuki followed behind, announcing himself before pairing and lining up the mess of footwear.
“Human words?” Raccoon looked at Tanuki, confused.
“To warn the owners I’m coming in,” Tanuki said, trying to conceal the little heartbreak that crept up on him. The hard-learned pleasantries were useless now, even moreso than the magics.
“But no one’s here?”
“It’s just good manners.”
“Weird.” Raccoon rifled through a kitchen drawer. “Why bother being polite if you’re just going to prank them?”
“Half of a good joke is the surprise. You have to know what your audience expects first.” Tanuki wandered into the living room, opposite where Raccoon was busily ransacking. Two large, full bookcases dominated the space, cracked and bowed by years of neglect, falling against one another for support. He ran a hand over the spines, clearing away dust to read the titles, until he reached a grime-covered photo frame. A smiling couple looked back.
“Did you know these humans?” Raccoon asked.
“People like them, maybe. I think I could’ve made them laugh. Entertained their children too, if they had them. Children are always the best audience.”
“You did all that, and they never once gave you cat food?”
“They usually thought I was one of them.” Tanuki placed the photo back down.
Raccoon laughed. “Sounds like tricking humans was easy. Huh... Maybe that’s how cats got them to make their food?”
“Maybe,” Tanuki whispered, his mind submerged in memories of smiling children and summer barbecues.
“Good news. I’m a much more generous friend.” Raccoon declared, triumphantly raising a purple can. As she pried it open with her tiny fingers, the ripe smell of the ocean pushed aside Tanuki’s melancholy.
By the time the pair were done feasting, the sun glowed orange over the horizon.
“It’s nice here. Let’s stay until tomorrow,” Raccoon said. Tanuki nodded, feeling he might well make a burrow of blankets and books, and never leave. Raccoon searched the rest of the house with hungry curiosity, turning up tins and packages from every drawer and corner, while Tanuki sifted through more relics. He was considering a set of animal models when a crash came from the hallway, and Raccoon’s cry along with it. Bounding around the corner, he found his friend in a heap, and beside her a long ladder leading up to a loft.
Raccoon’s eyes gleamed. “What d’ya reckon they hide up there?”
The loft remained remarkably intact, a grand skylight framing the heavens while keeping out the cold night air. Tanuki took human shape once more and helped Raccoon up the ladder. When they were both up, he balanced her on his stomach,
and together they watched the night sky. Clouds hid the moon, causing each point of starlight to burn all the brighter against the cloying inky black around it. Far in the distance, some foxes screamed in unintelligible longing accompanied by the chatter of owls.
The still night swallowed up time so that neither of them could really feel it passing, until the clouds drifted, and the bright moonlight spilled into the little room where they were huddled.
“If you teach me magic, then I can carry you around, too, when you get tired,” Raccoon said.
“No. I don’t think I’ll ever teach you.”
“Why not? I learnt your language. I can learn your magic, too.”
“Oh, I know. That’s why I won’t. If I teach you, you’ll run off on your own adventures. Then who will teach me about crowbars and cat food?”
Tanuki saw that Raccoon was no longer looking at the stars, but at the wispy swirls that flickered around him, the bright moonlight betraying his human shape as little more than a projection. No true body, just a little magic meant for tricks.
“That’s a bad joke, and I don’t know why humans ever put up with you,” Raccoon muttered, as she curled up on the belly of Tanuki’s false body, and promptly fell asleep.
Year
One
Daisy Thor-Poet
HYOGO
Daisy Thor-Poet is a photographer and videographer from New Zealand, living in Kobe, Japan. Her body of work focuses on interactions between people, capturing emotions, atmospheres and cultures. The Kobe Mikage Danjiri is a powerful example of a living heritage in motion. Her photographs honor this moment, capturing the energy, reverence, and enduring beauty of tradition still alive today.
Mikage Danjiri
Mikage Danjiri 1
Mikage Danjiri 2
Mikage Danjiri 4
Mikage Danjiri 5
Mikage Danjiri 6
Mikage Danjiri 7
Mikage Danjiri 8
Mikage Danjiri 9
Mikage Danjiri 10
John Tran
YAMANASHI
John Tran is a photography enthusiast, based in Yamanashi. As an avid traveler, John has traveled more than half of the 47 prefectures taking his camera along the road. Whether it is an otherworldly landscape or festival going ablaze, he aims to capture the stories and emotions in front of the lens.
Inner Zen Into the Depths Breath of Fire
Livening the Night
One Amongst the Crowd
Braving the Waters
Carrying Traditions Facing the Beast
Inner Zen
Into the Depths
One Amongst the Crowd
Carrying Traditions
Yuka Amy vogenthaler
TOKYO
Yuka is a self-described hāfu from Colorado, USA and currently a 4th year JET based in Tokyo. Yuka decided to return to their motherland, Japan, to reconnect with apart of themself that was growing increasingly distant over time. Photography and haiku have been two important mediums for rediscovering the journey to Yuka's roots. Spending time with family in Japan and traveling have both had the most profound impact on deepening Yuka's love for their heritage.
Autumn Views of Kegon no Taki
Winter Gaze of Fuji-san
River Beneath the Nikko Shinkyo
Shirakawago in Frozen Wonder
Where Moss Meets Gold in Toshugu
Waterwheel in the Frozen Village
Autumn Views of Kegon no Taki
River Beneath the Nikkō Shinkyō
Where Moss Meets Gold in Tōshogū
Shirakawago in Frozen Winter
Waterwheel in the Frigid Village
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