{"id":13104,"date":"2025-12-24T19:33:59","date_gmt":"2025-12-24T10:33:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kota-yoshida.com\/?p=13104"},"modified":"2026-05-21T17:37:36","modified_gmt":"2026-05-21T08:37:36","slug":"trip-notes-14","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kota-yoshida.com\/en\/trip-notes-14\/","title":{"rendered":"Running in the dark night | Trip Notes | Kota"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n\t

Mid-December. Early evening, 5:30 PM.
\nThe winter sky over the Netherlands is already pitch black.
\nOvercast \u2014 not even a star or the moon in sight.
\nLately, jogging at this hour had become
\na quiet pleasure of mine.<\/p>\n

I take my time with the bong,
\ndrawing slowly from the homegrown ganja
\nso as not to irritate my throat.
\nGlug, glug, glug, glug...
\nI invite the white smoke gently into my lungs.
\nHold it for a moment,
\nthen release it long and thin and slow.
\nAlmost immediately, my consciousness shifts
\ninto something different from its sober self.<\/p>\n

A strange sensation \u2014 as if being pulled upward,
\nor sinking slowly down.
\nEach time I feel this unmistakable shift,
\nit washes over me like remembering:
\noh yes, this world exists too.<\/em><\/p>\n

Here in the Netherlands,
\nall of it is permitted.
\nThe scent drifts through the streets,
\npeople wander high and unbothered.
\nThat is simply how things are here.<\/p>\n

Wrapped in a soft, floating feeling,
\nI step out into the dark.
\nThe moment I do,
\nthe fresh scent of trees fills my lungs deeply.
\nOr rather \u2014 I pull it in, deliberately, with everything I have.<\/p>\n

Ah, what air. What air.<\/em>
\nI stretch both arms wide open.<\/p>\n

Moved by how beautiful it is,
\nand at the same time, quietly regretful \u2014
\nall this open, fresh world had been out here,
\nand I had spent the day shut inside,
\nsurrounded by four walls.<\/p>\n

I open my phone
\nand put on a playlist called Blossom on Apple Music.
\nThe gentle sounds play in random order,
\npassing through my ears and flowing into my body.<\/p>\n

At this time of year, the houses are dressed in glittering lights.
\nSome of them are truly stunning.
\nWith the music playing, the contrast against the darkness is beautiful.
\nIt is of course a Christian observance,
\nbut I imagine there is something in it too
\nabout deterring crime, or keeping the winter darkness from pressing too hard on the mind.<\/p>\n

As for me \u2014
\nthese lights soften something in my chest, just a little.<\/p>\n

In this country, I am a foreigner. An immigrant.
\nThe culture, the language, the people \u2014
\neverything is different.
\nAnd now it is a Dutch winter.
\nLong, dark, cold.
\nSince coming here, I have accumulated many new experiences \u2014
\nthings I could never have imagined when I was still in Japan.
\nSo much has moved me. So much to be grateful for.<\/p>\n

And yet, at the same time,
\nthere has been a feeling of pressing on
\nthrough something long and dark and cold \u2014
\nlike this country's winter itself.
\nI kept believing that if I just kept moving, the light would be there ahead.
\nBut somewhere along the way,
\nI began to feel the walls \u2014 in the discrimination, in the particular grain of European culture \u2014
\nand at some point I stopped knowing
\nwhether I was moving forward
\nor simply standing still.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\"\"\n\t<\/div>\n\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

I exhaled sharply,<\/p>\n

then drew in a long, slow breath.<\/p>\n

This time, the scent of burning firewood reached me.
\nOf all the scents in the world,
\nburning wood is the one I love most.
\nIt carries something that loosens the brain in an instant \u2014
\nas if a switch buried deep in my DNA,
\nwired for relief, is finally turned on.
\nHow grateful I am...<\/p>\n

Then, quietly, I began to jog alone.<\/p>\n

When it comes to running,
\nmost people fall into short, quick mouth-breathing.
\nBut I had made it my practice to run with deliberate nasal breathing \u2014
\ndeep, steady, rhythmic.
\nI had come to realize this suited me far better.<\/p>\n

With each inhale,
\nI focused on drawing the air all the way to the deepest part of my lungs.
\nLike lifting a bedsheet with both hands and letting it billow down \u2014
\nthe wave traveling from edge to edge before settling softly \u2014
\nI breathed to pull the oxygen and energy from the air
\ndeep into my lungs, into every corner of my body.<\/p>\n

With each exhale,
\nI released at an even, unhurried pace.
\nBreathing out the old, the unnecessary \u2014
\npurifying as I went.<\/p>\n

I gave myself fully to keeping that rhythm intact.<\/p>\n

After about ten minutes of running,
\na wide park opens up \u2014 one you could almost call a forest.
\nStepping inside, I was wrapped in the dense scent of trees.
\nA narrow asphalt path wound its way between countless tall trunks,
\nbut days of continuous rain had laid down a carpet
\nof mud, dead leaves, and scattered horse manure.<\/p>\n

I turned on my phone's flashlight
\nand ran through it alone.
\nNo trace of other people, no lights anywhere around me.
\nI kept my attention on my breathing,
\ncareful not to trip.
\nNow and then I stepped into a patch of mud,
\nand cold flecks of it splattered up to my shins.<\/p>\n

At a certain point, the darkness deepens.
\nThe trees close in,
\nand almost no light reaches through.
\nI felt as though I had slipped into a different world entirely.
\nGradually, everything was swallowed by darkness,
\nand the faint light of my phone became the only light left.
\nEven that small flame was barely enough to matter.<\/p>\n

I switched off the flashlight.
\nI took out my earphones.<\/p>\n

In the dark forest, stripped of light and music,
\nonly the sharp chatter of birds,
\nthe sound of my own breathing,
\nand the rhythm of my footsteps filled the air.<\/p>\n

I kept running. I kept my focus on the breath.<\/p>\n

With that much darkness around me,
\nI lost any sense of how fast I was moving,
\nor even where I was.<\/p>\n

Still, I kept running.
\nBreath. Just the breath.<\/p>\n

At some point, the birds \u2014 whose voices had filled the air \u2014 fell silent.<\/p>\n

My own body dissolved,
\nbecoming part of the darkness itself.<\/p>\n

A dense mix of fear and exhilaration
\ncame creeping up from behind,
\nhand in hand.<\/p>\n

They wrapped their arms around me from the back.
\nBut I did what I could not to let them take hold of my heart.
\nSomehow, I kept from turning around.<\/p>\n

Still, I ran.
\nBreath. Just the breath.<\/p>\n

By now,
\nI could no longer tell
\nwhether I was moving forward
\nor simply running in place.<\/p>\n

Eventually,
\nthe only thing that remained of me
\nwas the steady vibration of feet striking ground \u2014
\nthe rhythm of running itself.<\/p>\n

It was something like the beating of a heart \u2014
\nthat quiet, constant force
\nthat keeps you alive without ever asking to be noticed.<\/p>\n

Thump, thump, thump, thump.<\/p>\n

Yes.<\/p>\n

I am not living.
\nI am being kept alive.<\/p>\n

Here, now \u2014
\nheld up by an astronomical convergence of miracles and connections.<\/p>\n

What if my parents had never met?
\nWhat if I had been in an accident somewhere along the way?
\nThis body that can run,
\nthis room that keeps out the wind and rain \u2014
\nnot one single thing about any of it is guaranteed.<\/p>\n

And yet, in the middle of everyday life,
\nI forget.<\/p>\n

I believe the light is somewhere out there,
\nand I move toward it,
\nand when it doesn't come,
\nI grieve.
\nSuffering, sorrow, anger, tears.
\nWhy?<\/p>\n

But when things go even a little right,
\nHappiness, joy, delight, laughter.
\nWhy?<\/p>\n

My focus was on my breathing,
\nyet somewhere inside, a conversation was carrying on by itself.
\nAll I had was a faint sense of watching it from a distance,
\nas if it had nothing to do with me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\"\"\n\t<\/div>\n\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

Then, faintly, a light appeared deep ahead.
\nThe path leading out of the dark forest.<\/p>\n

Stepping out of the trees,
\nthe surroundings brightened with streetlamps and the warm glow of houses.
\nIt felt like being pulled back to reality all at once.<\/p>\n

I gradually slowed from a run
\nand shifted into a walk.
\nBut my breathing held steady,
\nkeeping its same rhythm.
\nMy feet were caked in mud.<\/p>\n

Each exhaled breath appeared briefly as white mist,
\nthen vanished into the night wind.<\/p>\n

I placed my hand over my heart.<\/p>\n

Thump, thump, thump, thump.<\/p>\n

It felt like the vibrations of running still moving through me.
\nSweat poured from my heated body.<\/p>\n

Ah... I see...<\/p>\n

Dark emotions and bright emotions \u2014
\nthey simply overflow as long as we live as human beings.
\nRun, and the body heats; sweat pours out.
\nThat is the natural order of things.<\/p>\n

And so these feelings that naturally rise within us
\nare neither meant to be suppressed nor ignored.
\nIf suppressed too long, they smolder inside, and in time wear down both body and mind.
\nIf ignored too long, the voice of your own heart becomes impossible to hear.<\/p>\n

Shadow and light alike \u2014 everything that overflows through this body and this heart,
\nto taste it, embrace it, and give it form \u2014
\nis that not why I came to this universe, to this earth:
\nto experience what it means to be human, as myself?<\/p>\n

It is okay to grieve. It is okay to rejoice.
\nEvery bit of it becomes a memory that belongs only to me.
\nA miraculous path walked by no one but me.<\/p>\n

The light is not waiting somewhere ahead.
\nThe *walking itself* is the light.<\/p>\n

So it is fine.
\nThis is enough, just as I am.
\nThis is exactly as it should be.<\/p>\n

Surely every moment arrives with its own necessity, at its own perfect time.<\/p>\n

Just then, a cold night wind swept past me.
\nMy heart was slowly, gradually, returning to calm.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I no longer knew if I was moving forward or merely treading water. Eventually, nothing remained of my existence except for the “vibration” the steady, rhythmic strike of my feet against the earth.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":13088,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_locale":"en_US","_original_post":"https:\/\/kota-yoshida.com\/?p=13072","footnotes":""},"categories":[38,39],"tags":[67],"class_list":["post-13104","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-trip-notes","category-works","tag-trip-notes","en-US"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t