In 23 minutes and 32 seconds, I took the train from Kyoto to Uji, listening to Echoes by Pink Floyd.
The first place I visited in Kyoto was a record shop. I was drawn to the Pulse (Live) album and was eager to see if I could find a copy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t. Maybe next time. Later, I stopped by a bookstore where everything was in Japanese. That moment hit me as a real culture shock, especially after walking through streets and restaurants that were multilingual. Even though I couldn’t read the language, I could still tell from the covers that many books were about art, design, and music history. Something about that moved me. It felt like people around the world are more connected than we tend to believe—but only when we’re physically present. Online interactions sometimes default to anger or distance.
This trip made me reflect on my general reliance on human connection. Maybe we all crave echoes from one another, as in responses, reflections, or some kind of recognition. But maybe those echoes don’t always need to be direct. They can transcend time and space, come from nature, or beauty. On some random morning, if I wake up at 4 a.m. and see the sky glowing in pink and purple, I feel quietly happy, even lucky. I’ve realized I don’t want to depend too much on conversation or communication, since it’s too exhausting to decode background context, fill in subtext, or guess what lies beneath the surface. It has also made me reconsider my relationship with my intuition and emotions. These things are valuable. They deserve serious care. Like muscles, they should be practiced and strengthened.
What does transportation mean for modern people? It’s supposed to represent convenience and efficiency. But why does everything need to be efficient in the first place? And what do we actually do with the time that efficiency buys us? When I watched Westworld, I found it strange, people in a futuristic, high-tech world still paid to kill and have sex. Does that mean even with advanced technology, we still have no idea how to truly use our free time? That’s part of why I hate taking the subway in major cities. Everyone is rushing, and I often feel lost and alone. And there’s something strange about the neat suits people wear, they become symbols more than individuals.
“Zen” has been an intriguing idea for me. When I face problems I can’t solve, I sometimes turn to meditation or mindfulness. But I’ve learned these practices aren’t medicine to be used only in moments of pain. They’re more like mindsets, or at least routines. Lately, I’ve come to recognize what might be symptoms of learned helplessness, the result of too little positive feedback and too few reliable support systems. This time, when I walked into temples, I wanted to see them less as spiritual vending machines for blessings and more as natural spaces, places to simply be and walk around.
I’ve gradually stopped planning surprises or doing things intentionally for others. I’ve learned instead to manage expectations. Expectations can be heavy. They can even become a kind of emotional self-indulgence. Like shooting film, you don’t care too much about the outcome, just stay present in the experience. I’m not doing great, but I’m still working on it.
When I got off the train, I heard the sound of a train again,
in Echoes.
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