FUN WITH ENGLISH

You know, I was just thinking about that quote—the one that says, "In the chaos of the world, if you find a human being who understands you, don't let them go." And man, isn't that the truth? I mean, think about it. We're all out here just... spinning. Work, bills, traffic, bad news, good news, the endless noise of just living. It’s easy to feel like you're just bouncing around, bumping into people, but nobody really sees you. But then, every once in a while, you meet someone. And it's not about love at first sight or anything cheesy like that. It's something quieter. You'll say something—maybe something you'd usually keep to yourself because it sounds silly—and they just... nod. They get it. They don't look at you like you've got two heads. They look at you like, "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean." And for a second, the volume of the world just... turns down. That feeling? That's like finding a seat on a crowded train when your feet are killing you. It's relief. It's a little pocket of quiet in all that noise. So yeah, if you stumble across someone like that, someone who just gets you without you having to explain yourself all the time? You hold on to that. You make time for them. You answer their calls. Because that kind of understanding? It doesn't come around every day. It's a rare, rare thing. And it'd be a real shame to let it get lost in the shuffle.

You know, I was just sitting here, kinda watching the evening come on. And this thought just landed in my head, simple as anything. It was like: "Thank You, God, for all the things we take for granted, yet You never take them away from us." And I just had to stop and think about that for a minute. It’s so true, isn't it? We just… buzz through our days. We wake up in the morning, and the first thing we do is groan about having to get up. We don't think, "Hey, I woke up. My heart started beating again. My lungs are filling up with air." We just swing our legs out of bed and start griping. We walk over to the sink, turn the handle, and out comes clean water. Clean water! We don't even wonder about it. We just brush our teeth and complain that we're out of coffee creamer. We flip a switch and the room is flooded with light. We don't say "thank you" to the universe or whoever's listening, we just curse the light bulb that's burned out. And the people… the people in our lives. You get so used to hearing your kid's voice, you start to tune it out. You get so used to your partner being there on the couch next to you, you forget to even see them. They're just… furniture. The good furniture you love, but still, you stop noticing it. But here's the thing that really gets me. They're still there. The water still comes out of the tap. The sun still comes up. The people we love are still breathing next to us. We treat it all like it's nothing, like it's owed to us, and it just… keeps on being there. It's like God or whatever force you believe in just smiles and shakes its head and keeps the whole thing going, even though we're too busy or too tired or too distracted to even notice. It's kind of amazing, when you think about it. That kind of… patience. That kind of quiet, steady giving. It's not asking for a parade or a big thank you card. It's just there. For us. While we're busy taking it all for granted. Makes you want to do better, you know? Maybe tomorrow morning, instead of just stumbling to the coffee pot, I'll just… pause for a second. And just be thankful that I can.

You know that feeling? Sometimes you just wake up and it's already there—this weight. Not on your chest exactly, but on your whole self. Like there's a mountain just sitting right there on your shoulders. And the craziest part? Nobody else can see it. You still gotta get up. Make coffee. Go to work. Smile at people. Do all the regular stuff. And every day, you're just... moving that mountain. Inch by inch. Not because you want to, but because what else can you do? You can't just leave it there. Some days it feels heavier than others. Days when you're tired, or something didn't go right, or someone said something that stung more than it should've. Those days, that mountain feels like it's made of lead. And you're still supposed to carry it, act normal, like you're not collapsing inside. But here's the thing—and I don't say this to be all inspirational or nothing—you're still moving it. Every single day. Even when it's hard. Even when nobody claps for you. Even when you feel completely alone under all that weight. You're still here, still shifting that mountain, millimeter by millimeter. And maybe that counts for something. Maybe that's actually everything.

Kids are encouraged to study for months and then speak and analyze for others. Whatever position they take, others challenge them on it. They challenge the authors of books, they challenge viewpoints. They make it so that no student would ever accept an unsubstantiated or unreliable statement anywhere. Through thousands of discussions and challenges, the student grasps the concept of source verification and learns.. I've always said my biggest criticism of Iran's education system is that it's 100% focused solely on knowledge! Math, Physics, Chemistry! When only engineering and medicine get you credit, Persian language becomes just a general elective in the university entrance exam!!! (Compare that to Japan, where the Japanese language is the most important subject in schools, and the most important, most impactful section of the university entrance exam for all fields!) Sociology and humanities have become just rote repetition and regurgitation of irrelevant, even outdated, translations of foreign thinkers! Everything is from the textbook, everything is from the handout, everything is formulaic, superficial, devoid of meaning and depth. (When I tell my former Iranian university peers that during all our years of Master's and PhD studies here, we never once had a single textbook or handout, and that all courses were based on presenting the professors' real, implemented projects and research, they don't believe me!!)

My son loves math! Absolutely loves it! Ever since he was little and heard about Maryam Mirzakhani, he became obsessed with understanding number theory and things like that. He went to a really good school in Iran, full of gifted, hardworking kids who loved to study. They would spend all day together doing extra practice problems, and their classes were also very advanced. Time passed, and we moved to Japan. He was in middle school then. Everyone told him, "Lucky you, going to a country with the best schools! From now on, it's just complex algebra and analysis problems, space stations, Hubble, light waves, you name it!!" We enrolled him in the public school the city hall assigned us to, the number one school in all of Kyoto Prefecture. A school that has, for generations, produced some of the most important people in the city and the country. My son entered that school with so much enthusiasm. Well, first period math, very simple and basic. Next period, they sat each of them down at a sewing machine and said, "Here, sew a shopping bag!" The only one there who had never even touched a sewing machine in his life was my son! So, what next?! Time to plant spring onions and sweet potatoes in the school garden! Next?! A student council meeting about changing the schedule for cleaning the toilets!! Next?! Now we have to go practice for the school cultural festival! Next?! Next?!.. My son kept waiting, but there was no sign of those legendary, super-advanced classes!! That's when he fell into a phase of depression and anger. Every day he'd say, "I wish we'd go back to Iran! The level of school there compared to here?! I hate it here.." And then, while longingly watching his friends in Iran on Instagram, participating in all kinds of Olympiads and preparing themselves to get into Sharif University or Amirkabir University, he'd feel envious. Whenever he found time amidst the mountain of report-writing homework from school, he'd download extra problems and lessons from the internet and study them on his own, practicing. Anyway, time passed. Early last summer, a man from Iran called me. He said he worked in the Ministry of Education and was upset that the reading comprehension scores of Iranian students were very, very low. He asked if I could give a talk to his colleagues and explain why the reading comprehension scores of Japanese students are almost the highest in the world. I told him to let me do some research for a week or two first. That man, whoever he was, never called back. But he got me to learn a lot about this topic. I talked to various teachers, searched online, read materials. Finally, I thought, let me ask my son too! Having been in these schools himself, he's experienced it better than anyone! When I asked him, he said, "Ohhh, Japanese schools have a thousand programs for developing thinking and reading comprehension skills! From elementary all the way through high school! For example, Japanese schools don't really have a morning assembly; kids go straight to class. The first period is for group reading. Every single student must have a non-textbook book with them. The teacher too. For a whole hour, in complete silence, everyone reads books! From cheap novels and simple manga to philosophy books! Teachers just subtly watch to make sure it's not inappropriate content, but otherwise, you're free to read anything! Then there's the daily report writing for everything! Also, things like Civil Law criticism classes in high school! Japan's civil code books are full of difficult vocabulary. Students have to read them carefully and critically, and each person chooses a law to analyze and examine. Student speeches on current world affairs, the philosophy of ethics, politics... even speeches and presentations by government officials, members of parliament, and political parties!

So, like, you know how when people get mad, they usually yell and scream and make a whole big scene about it? Yeah, not us introverts. We operate differently. When we've really had enough of someone, when we're so fed up that another person might just lose their cool, we do the total opposite. We just... go silent. It's not even a conscious thing, most of the time. It's like a switch flips. Talking to them just feels... pointless. Or exhausting. Like, why waste all that energy yelling when I can just protect my peace by not engaging at all? And honestly, it’s our version of screaming at the top of our lungs. The silent treatment, the cold shoulder, whatever you wanna call it—that's us going nuclear. If I'm not talking to you, that's me at my loudest.

Look, I'm gonna be straight with you. When I heard our representative say that about Trump's properties, you know what I thought? Finally. Finally someone's speaking a language these Americans understand. For decades, they've hit us with sanctions, assassinated our commanders, pushed us around like we're nobody. And what do we do? We talk about diplomacy, about patience, about "constructive engagement." And they laugh at us. They laugh! But money? Business deals? Skyscrapers in Dubai with Trump's name shining on top? That they understand. That gets their attention. I'm not saying I want war. Nobody here wants war. We've had enough suffering, enough hardship. But if they come at us again - if they think they can just bomb my country and go back to counting their billions like nothing happened - let them know: we see where your wealth is parked. We see your precious towers in the Gulf. And we have ways. You think it's an empty threat? After what our missiles did to Ain al-Assad? After how we made them retreat from so many places? Think again. I just wish... I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish they'd just leave us alone, treat us with respect, let us live our lives. But they won't. So yeah. Let them know what's waiting.

You ever have one of those days? Nah, forget days. You ever have one of those lives? See, that's me. My entire life is just one long "accidentally on purpose" situation. You know what I mean? Like, I didn't exactly plan to sleep through my alarm and miss that job interview. But I also didn't exactly set the alarm, you know? It just... happened. On purpose. Accidentally. It's everything. It's how I ended up in this town. Was just gonna stop for gas, that was six years ago. It's how I ended up in this apartment. "Just gonna look, not gonna take it." Well, the lease is signed and there's a weird stain in the corner I've named Frank. Accidentally on purpose. It's my whole relationship history, too. "Oh, I didn't mean to fall for you." But I kept showing up, didn't I? Kept making excuses. And then, when it got hard, it was, "Oh, we just drifted apart." Like I wasn't the one who stopped answering texts first. Accident. On. Purpose. It’s the diet I start every Monday and break by Tuesday lunch. It's the library books I fully intend to read that sit on my nightstand until they're three dollars in fines. It's not quite failing, but it's definitely not trying. It's just... letting things happen. But also, kinda, sorta, steering them in the direction of the couch. You know? I’m not out there robbing banks. I'm not a bad person. It's just… my whole life has this weird autopilot setting where my foot is hovering over the "go" pedal, but it never quite touches. It's all these little decisions I didn't make that somehow added up to a whole life I'm not sure I meant to have. Yeah. Accidentally on purpose. That's my legacy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I accidentally left the laundry in the machine... probably for long enough that I'll have to wash it again. On purpose.

You know... this really hits home. Some people have promised themselves they'll resist understanding for the rest of their lives. Just... wow. I've met people like that. We all have. That uncle at family gatherings who's been wrong about everything since 1995 but will argue with you until he's blue in the face. That coworker who interrupts your explanation with "yeah, yeah, I know" when they clearly don't know. Sometimes I wonder if it's exhausting for them, constantly keeping the door locked like that. But hey, who am I to judge? Maybe understanding something new means admitting you were wrong before. And nobody likes that feeling, right? It's like... you've built this little house in your mind, cozy and familiar, and someone comes along with new ideas and it feels like they're asking you to renovate. Some people just... can't be bothered, I guess. The thing is, they promised themselves. That's the saddest part. Nobody forced them. They just decided one day: nope, no more learning, no more growing. Just... staying put forever. Ah well. To each their own, I suppose. But man... what a boring way to live.

"You see this? Look at this... a student chants 'down with the dictator' and we see the headlines all over the Western media. They make him a hero, a symbol of freedom. They put his picture on the front page. But then, you wait. You watch. If that same student stands up and says, 'Hey, why are your drones bombing my people?' or 'Why did you destroy our infrastructure?'... then suddenly the room goes quiet. The microphone is taken away. They call him 'radicalized.' So what are we supposed to think? I'm just a regular guy, right? But even I can see the pattern. They want you to shout about the guy in the palace, but they don't want you to look at the guy pointing the gun from outside the fence. They are very happy to sell you the rope to fight your neighbor, but they don't want you to ask who owns the rope factory. It's like... it’s like a magician. He waves a big flag in one hand—'Dictatorship! Tyranny!'—so you stare at it. You get angry at it. But while you're looking at the flag, his other hand is picking your pocket. That’s the colonialism part. The stealing of resources, the controlling of policies from afar. So when a kid only shouts about the flag but ignores the hand in his pocket... I don’t know, man. It makes you wonder. Is he really fighting for freedom, or did he just learn the lines someone else wrote for him?"

You know what I’ve been thinking about? People and their advice. We’ve all got that someone in our lives, right? The one who’s always ready with a suggestion, a little nugget of wisdom, a "here's what you should do." And we listen, because we figure, well, they must know better. They're older, or they've been through stuff, or they just sound so sure of themselves. But here's the thing I’m starting to realize. Just because someone’s giving you advice, doesn't mean they're some kind of genius. It doesn't mean they're smarter than you. Not at all. Honestly? Sometimes... a lot of the time... it just means they've screwed up more. They've taken more wrong turns. They've fallen flat on their face a bunch of times. And now they're just trying to tell you where the potholes are because they've already tripped over them. So they're not necessarily wiser. They're just... more experienced with the messing-up part. They know what didn't work for them. But that doesn't mean they know what will work for you. You gotta take it all in, sure. Listen, nod, say "thanks for that." But at the end of the day, you gotta remember, their map is just their map. It's all worn out and marked up with their own personal disasters. Your road is yours to walk down. You might make your own brand-new mistakes, and that's okay. That's how you get your own map.

So, the core idea here is that both the person who finds their way and the person who gets hopelessly lost are putting one foot in front of the other. They’re both moving, both putting in the effort, both living their lives. The guy who ends up happy and fulfilled isn't necessarily running faster or working harder than the guy who ends up miserable and confused. They're both on a journey. The real difference, the thing that splits them apart, is the roadmap they're using. It’s the quality of their inner compass. One person has a clear, reliable sense of direction. They can look at a fork in the road and, even if it's hard, make a choice that leads them where they actually want to go. The other person? Their compass is all messed up, spinning in circles. They’re walking just as much, maybe even more, but they're walking in circles. They're full of energy and ideas, but those ideas are like a maze with no exit. They get trapped inside their own head, going over the same ground, chasing thoughts that lead nowhere good. All that movement just wears them out and keeps them stuck. And that last part is the really crucial bit—the part about who's doing the guiding. It’s not just about having a map; it's about who handed it to you. If you're taking directions from a demon, from something that wants to see you fail, from a voice that feeds on your confusion and anger... well, that map is going to lead you straight off a cliff. It's like trusting a con artist to manage your money. The signs might look good at first—"Easy Street this way!"—but the fine print, the part you don't see, says the road ends in a swamp. That guide’s whole job is to keep you in the dark, because a lost traveler is an easy one to control. So, bottom line? Don't just look at how busy someone is, or how much they're moving. Look at what's guiding them. Look at the source of their beliefs and their decisions. Because you can run yourself ragged following bad directions, and end up further from home than when you started.

You know, it's funny how life works. I was just sitting here, thinking... you ever have that moment where you realize someone you used to be so close with, someone you shared everything with—laughs, secrets, maybe even dreams—now they feel like a complete stranger? It's the weirdest thing, isn't it? Like, there was this person. You knew their coffee order, the way they'd crinkle their nose when they laughed, what made them tick. You could finish each other's sentences. And now? Now you pass them on the street and you're not even sure if you should say hi, or if you do, it's just... "Hey, how've you been?" "Good, you?" "Yeah, good." And that's it. That's all that's left of this whole universe you used to share. It's not like there was always some big fight. Sometimes there is, and that hurts, but at least you can point to it. You know why. But the ones that really get me are the ones where it just... fades. Like a photograph left in the sun. One day you're talking every day, the next you're just... not. Life gets busy, maybe. You get a new job, they move away, you find new people. And slowly, the texts get shorter. The calls become less frequent. Until one day you realize you have nothing to say to each other anymore. And it's just... strange. You go from being the most important person in each other's world to being... nobody. A face you used to know. It's like grieving someone who's still walking around. You have all these memories, all these inside jokes that are now just yours, because if you tried to explain them to someone else, they wouldn't get it. And you definitely can't bring them up with that person anymore because it would be weird. That time is over. It makes you wonder, you know? Were you ever really that close? Or was it just a moment in time, a season? Maybe love isn't always forever. Maybe some people come into your life just for a chapter, not the whole book. And you have to be okay with that, even though it aches. It's just... a quiet kind of heartbreak, the one you don't even notice happening until it's already done.

"No matter how high the mountain is, the sun always rises." I was just thinking about that. It's kind of like... life, you know? We all got our mountains. Maybe it's a mountain of bills piling up on the kitchen counter. Maybe it's a mountain of worry about one of your kids. Or maybe it's just that mountain of getting out of bed on a Saturday morning when you're just plain tired. Some days that mountain looks so damn high you can't even see the top. You just see all the rock and the dirt and the hard climb ahead. Feels like it's blocking out everything. And you think, "Man, it's gonna be dark forever." But that's the thing Camus is getting at. The mountain doesn't stop the sun. It might hide it for a while, sure. The morning might be chilly in its shadow. But the sun... the sun just keeps doing its thing. It keeps coming up. It's like a promise. It gets to the top of that mountain eventually, and then it just... pours right over it. It's not about the mountain not being there. It's there. It's big and it's real and it's a pain in the neck to climb. But the sunrise is bigger. The sunrise is the thing that keeps happening whether the mountain likes it or not. So I guess that's all you can do. You put one foot in front of the other, you start the climb, and you just trust that the light's gonna be there when you get to the top. Or even before that... maybe just a little sliver of it peeking over the edge, just to let you know you're still headed in the right direction. Yeah. I like that. The mountain's just a mountain. But the sun... the sun keeps rising.

"You know, I was just thinkin' about that old sayin'. The one about the lie winnin' at first, and the truth winnin' at the end. It’s a good one. Sounds nice and fair, like a storybook. And you see it, don’t you? All the time. That fella at work who takes credit for somethin’ he didn't do. For a while, the boss thinks he's a genius. He gets the pat on the back, maybe even the bonus. The lie’s winnin'. Big time. You just gotta stand there, grindin' your teeth, 'cause the truth is stuck back in the corner, waitin' for its turn. Or in the news... all the time. Some big, flashy story comes out, gets everybody riled up. It’s simple, it’s exciting, it’s what people wanna hear. That lie is runnin' around the world before the truth can even tie its shoes. The truth is always... slower. It’s got more details, more 'buts' and 'maybes.' It's gotta check its facts. The lie just yells. And that 'end' the sayin' talks about? That can be a long, long time in comin'. Feels like forever when you're the one sittin' with the truth and nobody's listenin'. But... and this is the thing I keep comin' back to... the lie, it's like a house built on sand. Looks great on a sunny day. But sooner or later, a tide comes in. A question gets asked it can't answer. A little piece of paper shows up it forgot about. Somebody else tells a different story that don't match. It starts to lean. And then... it just kinda falls over. The truth ain't always pretty. It's got cracks and rough edges. But it's built on rock. It can take a hit. So yeah, the lie gets its big party at the start. But the truth? It's the one still standin' there when the party's over. It's patient. It just waits. And in the end, that's what wins. Just takes its sweet time doin' it."

You know, it's funny when you really stop and look at a chessboard. I mean, those little guys—the pawns, the knights, the kings—they're all lined up, staring at each other like they're ready to throw down. The whites hate the blacks, the blacks hate the whites. On that board, it's war. No mercy. You capture, you sacrifice, you destroy. They're sworn enemies, absolutely. But then... you look up from the board. And who's actually moving them? It's just two people, sitting across from each other, probably having a pretty nice time. Maybe they're old buddies. Maybe they just met at a coffee shop. They're laughing, teasing each other, shaking hands before they start mixing up all those "enemies" again. It's kind of beautiful, isn't it? All that intense fighting happening right between two friends. The pieces are at each other's throats, but the hands pushing them around? Those hands belong to people who probably respect each other a lot. It makes you think—maybe the whole game is just an excuse to sit with someone you like. A way to connect, you know? Through all that pretend fighting.

Most orchid flowers in the forest are so scattered that the wind cannot pollinate them, so they rely on insects or birds for this vital process. But since orchids do not have any nourishing substance to offer these insects, they must deceive them to perpetuate their species. So, a specific type of orchid first emits a scent that resembles the nectar a mosquito feeds on. Then, the mosquito, following the smell, gets trapped and enters the narrow tube of the flower. There, it encounters the pollen sac of the orchid. The pollen collects in its eyes, blinding it. The blinded mosquito then leaves the orchid and flies to another orchid of the same kind, drawn again by the scent of the same deceptive fragrance. This scent lures it back into the narrow tube of the orchid, but this time, in reverse, it deposits the pollen stuck to its eyes. This futile cycle continues, and the orchid, through various methods but always with a "deceptive mechanism," tricks the mosquitoes.