Then Is Now, Now Is Then | Kenji Kumasaka (Dean of the Faculty of Environment and Information Studies)
2005.05.13
Resigning myself to occasionally comply with a forceful request from the Okashira Nikki office to show them the contents of my bag, I emptied everything out onto my desk. My X40 is in good shape and still going strong. The sole reason I carry this bag is so I can use this computer anytime, anywhere. It has completely become an extension of myself, and I can't do anything without it. My cell phone and this laptop are clearly extensions of my physical self, the very corporeality that supports my identity as a social being today.
In contrast are the massive amounts of paper documents handed out at meetings. Today, I had several important meetings in Mita? so there's a stack of paper about four centimeters thick in my bag. By tomorrow, it will likely be out of my bag and disappear into a corner of my room as an object with no connection to me. That's just how it is.
I've been suffering from hay fever for more than half my life, so related medications are a necessity. Even now, the container of Flunase nasal spray in a small pocket of my bag, with its slightly pointed top peeking out, offers an affordance of "Use me?". It's a good one. And I can't forget the painkiller, Loxonin. With back pain and gout, my body is essentially a wreck, so when pain strikes, it transforms into a savior. A reliable companion.
There were also pocket tissues, a business card holder, a ballpoint pen, a 100-yen lighter, a USB memory stick, a pack of Kent cigarettes, a key case, and a small case I've arbitrarily named my "information box" for the past 20 years.
Its contents were a personal seal (inkan), scraps of now-useless memos, a pink crocodile, a note with contact information in case of a car accident, and a worn-out amulet for warding off evil. It seems the mission of the "information box" is indeed over.
The moment I thought that, I found a materialized and sealed-up version of myself lurking there. Having completely forgotten its existence, I felt as if a shameful part of me had been suddenly exposed. It was a ginkgo nut charm my mother gave me 50 years ago. Back then, I would replace it with a new one every year, but for the last 30 years or so, I couldn't be bothered and just left it somewhere in my bag. I don't know if three-sided ginkgo nuts even exist, but faced with the characters written on it and the dignified-looking ginkgo nut itself, I feel a sense of some overwhelming universe. But perhaps that's just a sign of getting older.
On May 16, a meeting of the "Personal Information Protection" department heads will be held in Mita from 9:30 a.m. Oh dear.
...Just when I thought this manuscript was good enough, "Kobushi" arrived. It's a book in memory of Mr. Magofuku. To my surprise, I'm not in it. The reason is obvious: I never sent my tribute to the office. But I had written it six months ago. So, with apologies to Mr. Magofuku, I've decided to forcibly and arbitrarily create my own solo memorial collection as a special edition of the Okashira Nikki.
My apologies to everyone involved.
(Posted on: 2005/05/13)