A day full of purpose. I feel that women are rising.
Wednesday, July 16, 2025
The store is silent except for the soft creak of floorboards and the papery scent of old pages. I love this atmosphere. Then an elderly gentleman comes in searching for a classic novel called „The tale of Genji“ (buy on Amazon) by Murasaki Shikibu, and I guide him through the aisles of worn wooden shelves until we find it. He tells me that this book is considered the first novel ever written. It dates back to 12th century in the Heian era (books about japanese history on Amazon). We end up chatting at the counter as I ring up his purchase—he tells me it was a favorite of his late wife, and I’m touched that I could help him reconnect with that memory. He thanks me with a gracious bow before leaving, and I feel a quiet sense of fulfillment at having brightened someone’s morning.
As I dust off a stack of books after he leaves, I reflect on why I’m here. My parents work tirelessly yet remain barely afloat, so this part-time job is my lifeline to support myself through university. Balancing work and classes can be exhausting, but I don’t resent it—in fact, every hour amid these shelves strengthens my resolve. Surrounded by so many stories, I’m reminded of my own dream: to write boldly against injustice and give voice to the voiceless. In a way, this little bookstore feels like a stepping stone toward that future; I’m earning my way forward one morning at a time, and that thought fills me with pride.
The power of press
The lecture hall is enormous, humming with whispers and the tapping of fingers on keyboards as our professor’s voice echoes from the front. I sit in the middle row, surrounded by hundreds of other students, yet I feel a personal spark when he speaks about the power of the press. Today’s lesson is on investigative reporting that brought injustices to light; as he recounts one journalist’s exposé of corporate corruption, my heart swells with admiration. I scribble notes furiously—capturing not just facts but also my feelings of inspiration, determination, and a hint of fear at the responsibility that journalists carry. In moments like this, in a sea of future reporters, I realize I’m not alone in wanting to make a difference through words.
After class, I linger in the now-empty hall, thinking about the long road ahead. Becoming a journalist who can truly challenge injustice feels like climbing a mountain—there will be long nights, hard research, maybe doors slammed in my face. Sometimes I wonder if a small-town girl like me can really make an impact in Japan’s media landscape, which is still often dominated by older men. But then I remember why I started: that spark of outrage I felt the first time I read about an unfair trial or a silenced voice. I know I have so much to learn, but I’m eager for every step of this journey; each lecture and each article I write for the campus paper is training me to wield the pen for what’s right.
Afternoon Protest – fighting for our rights
The afternoon sun beats down on us as I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of others in the city plaza. I’m clutching a poster I painted last night, emblazoned with 「女性の権利 = 人権」 (“Women’s rights = Human rights”) in bold strokes. There’s electricity in the air: we chant in unison, fists raised high, our voices echoing off the glass buildings around us. When a young woman takes the megaphone to share how sexism has impacted her life, I feel tears sting my eyes and an overwhelming rush of solidarity. The crowd cheers and claps for her. As I scan the people around me, I even spot a few older bystanders nodding along—small signs that minds can change.
In the midst of the chanting, I remind myself why gatherings like this matter. Change comes slowly in Japan, a society where sexism can run deep—I still recall my anger at the 2018 scandal of a university that rigged its exam scores to keep women out (see article in the Guardian), and at how our parliament remains overwhelmingly male even today. But seeing so many people here, united in purpose, gives me hope that progress is possible. I remember how just a few years ago the #MeToo- and #WithYou- movements brought women into the streets to protest injustices long swept under the rug; now it’s our voices filling the air. I am more determined than ever to do my part—not only as a protester today, but as a writer tomorrow. The injustice we shout against in the streets, I will one day help expose with my pen.
Evening Dinner
By dusk I’m back home, greeted by the savory aroma of dinner wafting through the hallway. My landlords invited me to join them for supper and soon we gather on cushions around a low table set with steaming bowls of miso soup, grilled fish, and pickled vegetables from their garden. I so grateful that I found this place, my small flat with just one room, kitchen and sleeping place separated by a cupboard from the living space. I am even more grateful to have these gentle people as my landlords. One of the men cracks a gentle joke about how I’m “always off changing the world,” and we all laugh as the tension of the day melts away. Outside, a summer rain begins to patter on the roof, but inside there is warmth, acceptance, and a comforting sense of belonging.
As we talk over tea, I’m struck by how courageous they have been to live openly as a couple in this conservative society. They share stories of when they were young—how meeting each other was their greatest happiness, even though decades ago they had to keep their love hidden. Hearing this, I can’t help but think about how Japan is still the only G7 country that hasn’t legalized same-sex marriage (see article on bbc), and it hurts to know they still lack rights that other families have. Yet here they are, two kind souls who built a life together and welcomed me into their home like family. Their resilience and warmth remind me that the fight for justice isn’t abstract—it lives in personal stories like theirs.
No more fighting – good night world
Late at night, before I sleep, I think about how each part of today—from the bookstore’s quiet aisles to the lively lecture hall, from the chanting streets to this gentle dinner—has reaffirmed my purpose. It’s not easy to juggle work, study, and activism, but my heart is full and I feel more determined than ever to use my voice to stand up against injustice.
