Halfway Through June, with Rain and Reflections
It’s already mid-June of 2025, and with the arrival of the rainy season this week, each day has been either rainy or overcast.
Lately, my weekday job has been so demanding that I come home completely exhausted every night. On my table sit a few pearls I brought from Kobe. They still radiate their usual gentle presence, but I haven’t had the energy to engage with them beyond a passing glance.
Today is Thursday, and I’ve started preparing a bit for my return to Kobe tomorrow. It’s a weekly ritual, but just knowing I’ll be back in Kobe soon lifts my spirits.
They say illness begins in the mind, and I’ve come to believe that one’s state of mind can truly affect physical well-being.
In the midst of all this, I received a message from a customer who purchased a pendant I had handcrafted through metalwork.
They called it an “artistic piece.”
This pendant is part of the Hold Series, inspired by a motif that weaves together an Akoya oyster nurturing a pearl, the sea nurturing the oyster, the mountains that send rain and nutrients into the sea, and the leaves that receive that rain in the mountains. Among these elements, the leaf and the pearl became the central motif.
During the process of crafting it, I saw the leaf embracing the pearl and naturally began to think of the relationship between mother and child. That feeling found its way into the pendant without me consciously planning it.
I remember thinking:
“I was probably held like this by my mother when I was little. I don’t remember it, but now I’m the one offering emotional support to my mother.”
The customer had previously read my article that spoke about this.
And now, wearing the pendant, they said they held their daughter in their arms and were reminded of being held by their own mother years ago.
Their small daughter, too, was captivated by the pendant, asking,
“Is the pearl sealed in silver by magic?”
I’m usually the type who feels skeptical about the tear-jerking stories found in polished advertising copy. When I see those emotional tales on TV, I instinctively think, “They’re just fishing for ratings.”
That attitude, I suppose, comes from growing up with parents who always said such things about television.
But this message from the customer almost brought me to tears.
I’m just an amateur at metalwork. There’s no guarantee my attempts will turn out well. Yet I’ve poured a large portion of my free time into creating these pieces. The motif of the pearl, the leaf, the mother and child—none of it was planned from the beginning. These themes emerged naturally as I worked.
In a sense, it was an unplanned creation that followed the direction of my heart.
And to receive such a heartfelt message in response—it was an honor beyond words.
As a business, the amount of time I spend on one pendant makes no financial sense.
So when there’s no financial return and no recognition, it can feel disheartening.
Maybe what moved me so deeply was that all of it was finally acknowledged.
And perhaps what struck me most was being able to convey my thoughts—like “I must’ve been held like that by my mother too…”—so directly to someone who truly understood.
Even though I was deeply touched, when I try to put it into words, it somehow doesn’t sound as dramatic.
I always include a handwritten letter with each pearl purchase.
Sometimes it’s two pages, and at times even eight.
Even writing a short letter by hand takes over thirty minutes.
In my twenties, I found myself wanting to receive handwritten letters.
So I started writing to my family and friends.
My mother and brother picked up on my intention and wrote back to me.
We exchanged letters several times, and I was always filled with joy when I received them.
One friend, however, mistook my sudden, casual letter for a suicide note, asking,
“Are you okay? Was that your will?”
That’s how rare handwritten letters already were, even twenty years ago. And now, they’re even rarer.
That experience is why I write to my customers.
I want them to feel the same joy I felt from receiving a handwritten letter.
If I suddenly wrote letters to friends or acquaintances again, they might once again think, “Is this a farewell?”
But writing to customers who’ve purchased pearls feels completely natural.
In a way, crafting these time-consuming pendants and writing handwritten letters seem to share something in common.
A mass-produced pendant fitting is more polished and takes far less time.
Typing a letter and printing it is quicker and easier.
But I choose metalwork and handwriting because of who I am.
These days, AI can do so many things beautifully with ease.
Yet it seems I want to express something invisible—the human spirit.
For example, an origami crane folded by a friend’s six-year-old daughter—
I’ll probably treasure it for life.
And even a Post-it note with a quick scribbled message for me at work—
I find it hard to throw away for a while.
From the handwriting, I imagine so many things.
Neat handwriting, messy handwriting, a rushed note, or one written with care…
From a detailed memo, I feel someone’s kindness.
From a vague note, I sense a hurried personality.
In the broadest sense, I think I just love things touched by human hands.
Even if invisible, these handmade things carry emotions and stories.
A store-bought bento and a homemade one may look similar, sometimes the store-bought version even looks nicer.
But when it’s made by yourself or someone close, it somehow tastes better—more than just the flavor of the ingredients.
I want to continue honoring these handmade efforts while also improving quality.
I’m not a six-year-old girl anymore.
I must reflect those invisible feelings in the final quality of my work at a high level.
And one of my goals is to hear the stories from those who receive my pearl pieces.
What they felt, what happened while wearing them—even if they’re from distant countries I may never visit.
Even if we live in different cultures, I believe our hearts feel the same in many ways.
I remember hearing someone yell at the Hong Kong Jewelry Show:
“It’s my carrrrr!!”
I can’t quite capture it in writing, but they rolled the R so dramatically that I was stunned.
The Western person standing next to me reacted exactly the same—and we both smiled.
Even though we came from different backgrounds, we shared the same feeling in that moment.
Strange as it may sound, I love that kind of thing.
In fact, when I exchange messages with people around the world about pearls,
I rarely come across ideas that feel completely “foreign” or “uniquely non-Japanese.”
My old school’s motto was Pax mundi per linguas—peace through languages.
For me, it might be peace through pearls.
Despite our differences in culture, country, religion, or age, when it comes to pearls, we often speak a common language.
Beautiful things are beautiful—wherever you are.
Now, I’ll pause this article to head to the laundromat.
It was supposed to finish at 9:30 p.m., but I kept writing until 10.
On my way back through the streets of Izumiotsu, I passed many students returning from cram school.
This area is packed with houses and apartment buildings.
There are no mountains nearby like in Kobe—just a plain filled with homes.
There are supermarkets and a few restaurants, but it feels more like a place simply for living.
It’s been a year since I moved here, but I’ve never once felt like going out to explore.
When I lived in Kyoto, I used to ride my bicycle everywhere.
Temples, rivers, narrow alleys, old towns… everything felt rich with history.
And wherever I went, the scent of incense lingered in the air.
Tonight, though it’s rainy season, the air was cool and dry, so I took a slight detour home on my motorcycle.
Back at my apartment building, I ran into an elderly man near the elevator.
He looked about 70.
When we got in together, he said, “You’re on the 4th floor, right?”
It made me happy that he remembered.
In Japan today, it’s rare to even greet people living in the same building.
But I always say hello to everyone—maybe that’s why he remembered me.
Some might say being moved by such a small thing means I have a high “misery index,”
but I think I’ve come full circle—I feel genuinely happy.
Well, this has become another collection of random thoughts,
but I wanted to share how deeply moved I was to receive such a meaningful message about a pendant filled only with my own thoughts.
From Japan, where we’re currently caught up in a nationwide rice panic—
Pearl bless you.
These are the trees planted by the nonprofit organization Hitotsubu no Shinju (“A Single Pearl”) in a region with many pearl farms.
The nutrients from this mountain will eventually flow into the sea, where they will one day be embraced by Akoya oysters, nurturing the growth of beautiful pearls.
Hello?