Today is February 13th.
From the radio I listen to every morning, there has been a lot of talk about Valentine’s Day specials. Apparently, men are starting to use Valentine’s Day to confess their feelings, and the trend of buying chocolate for oneself is gaining popularity. There are all kinds of topics, but to me, they mostly sound like promotional campaigns by the candy industry.
Personally, I love chocolate, so I wish we could make the 14th of every month Valentine’s Day.
When I was a student, Valentine’s Day was mainly a day for women to give chocolates to men or confess their love. But now it seems to have been expanded to a broader context.
Valentine’s Day during my school days was filled with strange tension. My friends would nervously wonder, “Will I get chocolate?”
Amidst this, some brave women would go to other classrooms and call out, “Hey, [name], can you come here?”
Looking back, this was such a courageous act.
When the boy was called out, there would be a wave of awe and cheers.
It was like when an Olympic gold medalist is called to the podium or when someone wins the lottery—such an overwhelming cheer.
I, too, had been called out a few times by women during my high school days.
It happened during a break before a music class, when I was chatting with my friends in the music room.
Then, a girl from the neighboring class called me out.
My friends cheered me on, saying, “Wow, you did it!”
I felt a mix of embarrassment, pride, and happiness as I walked down the hall.
There, a chocolate-giving ceremony took place.
The girl handed me the chocolate, saying, “I know you have a girlfriend, but I wanted you to know how I feel today.”
Dozens of classmates were peeking from the classroom.
I was in a state of confusion, not knowing whether to feel embarrassed or happy.
I just said, “Thank you!”
But that moment was truly a brave and wonderful action on her part. I still respect her courage even today.
During my school days, I usually received three or so chocolates each year, and of course, my mother also gave me chocolates.
She would always ask me, “How many chocolates did you get?” in a very cheerful and affectionate tone.
She used to say, “Boys your age probably don’t need chocolates from their mother,” but every year, I was happy to receive them.
I never went through a rebellious phase because I thought rebellion was uncool, so I rebelled against rebellion.
In middle school, it was considered embarrassing to go shopping with your mom, but I did it willingly to go against that trend.
In reality, it was fun shopping with my mom. She would carefully select even the cheapest clothes and, when shopping for groceries, I would come to understand how difficult it was to prepare dinner every day. Ultimately, my mom and I got along very well. We would fight sometimes, but overall, we were on the same page.
I’m the middle child of three siblings, but both my older and younger brothers don’t get along with my mom as well as I do.
Though my mom is fun and interesting, my brothers, who are more rigid and self-centered, often find her difficult to deal with.
Now, about 30 years later, I still enjoy going out and shopping with my mom.
She often talks about the casual conversations of people around her. “I said this at the time, but the other person must have interpreted it differently.” “That person’s words were so kind, they must be a great person.” My mom truly values emotions. Of course, she sometimes holds grudges, but she generally enjoys talking about happy things.
I’ve thought about what would happen if my mom were no longer with me. This thought came to me suddenly in December 2018. At the time, I was traveling to an island between Japan and Korea for Akoya pearl harvesting. During the nights there, I often found myself thinking about various things. One of those thoughts was this. I imagined losing my mother and broke down in tears alone in the middle of the night.
I then imagined what I would say at her grave. “Mom, I wanted to take you on a trip.”
That thought stayed with me.
The next year, in May, I took my mom on a two-night, three-day trip.
When I first told her about the trip, she was overjoyed. “It feels like a dream. I’m so happy. I’ll go anywhere.”
However, there was one moment when she was upset.
“Why did you decide to take me on a trip?”
When I said, “Because I would regret it if I didn’t, after you’re gone,” she clearly got upset.
I invited my father, but he declined, saying, “I’m not going.”
My father, a quiet and stiff man, is the rare type who would never want to be involved in his children’s affairs.
We’re from near Himeji in Hyogo Prefecture.
From there, we traveled to Nagano Prefecture, to a beautiful place known as the Alps of Japan, often compared to Switzerland.
From my hometown, we took a 1.5-hour highway bus to Osaka, then traveled by Shinkansen to Nagoya in Aichi Prefecture, and then by train for several hours to Azumino in Nagano.
We went to a museum of a painter my mother liked and visited wasabi farms, coffee shops, and leisurely explored the plains of Azumino with views of the towering mountains.
My mom looked so happy, like a high school girl, though she was in her 70s.
The next day, we headed north to Kanazawa, a city often called “Little Kyoto,” where we strolled, drank, and visited more museums.
My mom seems to have a deep love for literature and art.
She always says, “I’m bored with the local library. I’ve been going to the library in the neighboring town. I can’t sleep without a book.”
Afterward, we returned to Osaka and enjoyed our final dinner there before heading back home.
This was my first trip with my mother, and even now, thinking about it brings me to tears—it was such a wonderful time.
Though I traveled a lot with my ex-wife, it was never as enjoyable as this.
It was a trip I decided to take after imagining life without my mom, but when my mom returned, she said to me, “Take me on another trip, this won’t be the last one, right?”
Hearing that, I realized, “Indeed, this wasn’t meant to be the last trip.”
Now, onto a different topic. Last week, I called my former boss, the farm manager from the Akoya pearl farm. We had a long conversation—2 hours and 7 minutes.
The short version is that last year, due to high water temperatures, many Akoya oysters died. However, the ones that survived have been very healthy and have been secreting pearl layers. Unfortunately, the layers have been too thick, causing the pearls to become baroque in shape.
As a trend in recent years, pearl farmers are now preparing about four to five times the number of oysters they need for nucleation, compared to the previous three times.
The company I used to work for, being a corporation, finds it hard to respond flexibly. But independent pearl farmers have been compensating for the high mortality rate by purchasing many more oysters.
When technicians nucleate the oysters, they often decide not to insert the nucleus if the oyster’s condition isn’t good. But if a farm doesn’t have enough oysters, they have to nucleate even the poor ones because they have daily quotas to meet.
In contrast, farms with sufficient oysters can select them carefully, resulting in better quality pearls.
This is all basic logic, but my previous company’s headquarters hesitated to invest in sufficient oysters, wanting only the minimum necessary.
This is a common scenario in many industries.
Independent pearl farms, however, have been able to manage better by preparing more oysters, which leads to a higher probability of producing good pearls.
Lastly, the rest of the conversation with my former boss revolved around the emotional and physical reasons for a longtime colleague’s resignation and the decision to bring in Indonesian technical interns due to the shortage of workers.
I also started a new job last year and had a tough year, but my boss has had it much harder. We ended the conversation with mutual encouragement: “Let’s keep moving forward.” It may sound cliché, but that’s really all we can do—keep moving forward.
Today is Thursday, and by tomorrow evening, I’ll be back in Kobe, the pearl town. I also plan to visit my family this weekend.
My mom bought a new smartphone but doesn’t know how to reset it before trading it in, so I’ll help her. Also, she’s made a lot of pouches from kimono fabric, which I plan to pick up. I give these pouches to customers who purchase pearls from me. If you want a pouch, feel free to buy some pearls.
It’s already 10:34 PM.
I returned home at 7 PM, quickly prepared dinner and tomorrow’s lunch, took a bath, and then had dinner. Afterward, I found some free time, so I decided to write, though this article turned out very different from what I intended to write.
It’s the usual story, though.
I try to include pearl-related stories within everyday conversations, so that more people can feel closer to pearls.
Until next time.
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