＊「ふたりでごはんを」というエッセイの英語版です
His body was thin, it looked as if it would break at any moment. His back seemed so fragile, as if a spring breeze could carry it away. His suit looked about to slip off his shoulders, and the hand holding his bag looked as though it might come off. His glasses caught the sunlight. That was my very first impression of him. He was a man four years older than me, and would later become my husband.
During the new employee training program, I did an activity called “talk with every colleague who joined the company at the same time as me.” Among us, six were Jimu-kei and sixty were Gijutsu-kei. The Jimu-kei, like me, typically had bachelor’s degrees in humanities or social sciences and were going to be assigned to product planning, sales, or administrative posts. The Gijutsu-kei, on the other hand, mostly held master’s degrees in engineering fields directly linked to their technical posts. In a manufacturing company, working with engineers was unavoidable. I clutched a booklet compiling everyone’s self-introductions and went around speaking to each person. His favorite book was same as mine—Sophie’s World. Perhaps as a courtesy in return for my positive approach, he gave me a peculiar compliment: “Your physical posture during training is excellent.”
The Jimu-kei members were assigned to departments earlier than the Gijutsu-kei members. I joined the Human Resources Development section in the Personnel Department. Following a senior colleague, I began observing technical training sessions. One of the newly hired female engineers, whom I already got to know, told me that the glasses-wearing man wrote beautiful code. From her comment, it sounded like he was intelligent, and probably competent. But without much weight. He was present there, but seemed absent.
In early summer, on the last day of training, senior staff members came from several departments to the training center to pick up their groups of new employees. But his department was different. Located far from the main factory area, they had not received a new employee in years, so there was no one to come for him. That’s why it became my task to escort him there. We walked the twenty-minute path slowly. He was stiff with tension, and I wanted to put him at ease, so I showed him the wallpaper on my cell phone: Rilakkuma lounging leisurely.¹
We began spending time together. We went to secondhand bookstores. He taught me how to use a film camera at a park. We soon started dating. He struggled to write love letters. Typing and deleting again and again, his battery draining rapidly. At last he completed a carefully chosen short message, pressed a “send” button, and exhaled. My reply arrived instantly. He said, “I’m in trouble. Because of you, I end each day only thinking of you.”
He could not eat in front of others. He skipped lunch at the office. On dates, he made me eat heartily and watched me with a gentle smile. He could at least drink tea and alcohol. He said that during the first three years of university, he never ate lunch at all. In the next three years, once he joined a research lab, in the daytime, he survived on two boxes of Choco-Ball peanut flavor every day.² If someone forgot their lunch, he would give them a box. He even gave away the collectible golden and silver beaks³ to his lab colleagues without hesitation.
It wasn’t just about meals—he seemed a little tense around everyone, not just me. A lack of body weight, as though he might vanish by himself. As a new HR worker, I worried that he might snap somewhere in his career. However, he was another person. I had no right to force him to change his way of eating, to gain weight, or to break the psychological wall with others. That change, if it were to happen, had to come from him.
The first time I cooked at his room, he ate a little. Gazing at the chicken rice which was my local cuisine, he said, “It’s delicious,” lifted his face, and smiled shyly. I realized he wanted to be able to eat. So I decided to do what I could. We chose private rooms when dining out. We created a few familiar restaurants. I divided dishes into small portions and asked, “Do you want to nibble?” If he ate, I did not rejoice too much. If he did not, I did not feel disappointed. I stayed calm. I ate my own meal without worrying.
He must have gathered great courage and effort. Little by little, the kinds and amounts of food we could share increased. During that time, I kept records of his eating: eggs must be thoroughly cooked; milk and cream were bad; cheese was fine; he liked noodles and lean meat; solid textures were easier to eat; fish required careful attention to avoid smell; alcohol increased his appetite. While he changed, I tried to remain a person who watched over him quietly and fondly. When he began finishing my small servings of meals, I wished that someday, as he had grown used to me, he would come to feel “safe” even around others. So I encouraged him with many kinds of food.
He began with “eating a bear”. Rilakkuma, the master of relaxation. At Lawson⁴ convenience stores, there was a campaign where you could collect stickers to receive a special Rilakkuma plate. I asked him casually, “If you shop at Lawson and get a sticker, could you give it to me?” But he took it as an important mission for his girlfriend. He visited Lawson constantly, buying the most cost-efficient sandwiches, and started eating them at the office. His boss, who had noticed he never ate lunch, helped with the sticker collecting with pleasure. At some point, my boyfriend became more of a Rilakkuma fan than I was. One day he returned from Tokyu Hands⁵ with a stuffed toy of Rilakkuma and declared, “This is mine.”
For his birthday in November, I gave him a whole cake with a message plate and candles. He ate it while tears streamed silently down his face. Later he said, “Let’s go to a restaurant on Christmas Eve.” By then, he was able to eat out only with me. I said, “I like Italian.” He proudly emailed me, “Reserved!” But on December 24th, he triumphantly led me to a girls’ bar⁶. It served Italian food. Because he had been feeling uneasy in dining with others, it was no wonder he was so unfamiliar with Hot Pepper⁷, a booking website that he couldn’t use well. He must have been so nervous about booking his first luxurious restaurant date with me that he simply clicked “Reserve” on the stylish but vacant Italian place he saw, completely missing the detail that it was a girls’ bar. I quickly found another restaurant and we went in.
His Christmas gift to me was a teacup and a saucer. When you poured tea into the teacup, a heart appeared. He also gave me a plain brown office envelope. Its corner was bent, and the flap was not sealed. Inside was a letter written with a fountain pen: “It might still be empty. But even drop by drop, I want to fill it for you from now on.” His straightforwardness saw through the sense of emptiness I kept hidden. And clumsily yet earnestly, he gave me what he could. I thought to myself, “I want to be a well-matched girlfriend to him. Can I do it?” A part of me thanked him. But another, more childish part of me, was still sulking about the girls’ bar incident. Seeing this plain office envelope, that childish part won. Pretending not to feel introspective, I grumbled “At least you should have bought a proper letter set.”
Though I stayed pouty until the end of the year, once January came, I was busy laughing at the memory. Perhaps it would have been fine to spend Christmas Eve at the girls’ bar. Between us, an atmosphere grew that allowed us to find amusement in whatever happened.
I think “kawaii-ness⁸” includes softness, humor, playfulness, and the ability to open one’s heart to others. I wanted to know more about the glimpses of charming kawaii-ness he occasionally showed. At that time, he only knew barbers where all customers got the same masculine hairstyle. I introduced him to my favorite beauty salon, so he could taste a professional’s touch. As soon as he sat down on a seat, he said, “I was told to say, ‘Please make me kawaii.’” The stylist was stunned and soon understood who was behind him. The resulting wavy, mash-short cut⁹ suited him perfectly, bringing out his inner kawaii-ness. Pleased by my wide-eyed praise, he got a taste of success and began visiting the salon regularly to explore his charm together with the stylist.
When we got engaged, I presented a voucher for a custom-made suit to him. Kawaii-ness needed handsomeness for balance. He usually tended to say “I don’t care what I wear.” Just as he had discovered with his hair, I wanted him to taste what it feels like to wear something truly made for him. A suit tailored to his body looked apparently different. He looked quite satisfied because in his heart he really longed to be an English gentleman. Through professionals, both his kawaii-ness and handsomeness were polished. He learned how to embrace himself by self-care.
He even “ate” LINE stickers¹⁰. He was originally a flip-phone user, but he liked LINE stickers so much that he bought a smartphone. Before long, he began behaving like the stickers themselves—saying things like “Grrr…” “Bowing” “Shock!” “Ta-da!” as if in a manga. Gazing at me with teary eyes, peeking out from behind doors. He delighted in witty responses and inventing stamp combinations. One day he laughed, “Today I almost said ‘Shoboon’¹¹ to my boss.” The emotions he expressed through stickers became nourishment for his humor.
After our marriage, we DIY-ed an outdoor wedding on a farm. “Our first joint project should be preparing our wedding, not cutting the cake.” From the concept to bus arrangements, we built it together as if managing a work project. My tasks: direction, searching business partners, website design, pamphlet design, material procurement, and making decorations. His: website coding, calculations, fabric cutting, printing, transport. We hired specialists for the attire, food, venue design, music, and photography. We did not adopt the usual first bite¹²—where the groom feeds the bride to symbolize he will never make her hungry, and the bride feeds the groom to symbolize she will cook delicious meals. Most couples use big spoons. We redefined it as “earn money together, cook together.” Instead of cake, we prepared a one-meter pan of paella made with the rice we ate daily. Under the full moon, we each fed the other a spoonful with small wooden spoons.
Our life changed quietly and gently. Recently, we had a pizza party. When I called “It’s ready!” he bounded into the living room. Straight for the Margherita. His pace of eating pizza outstripped his drinking speed. After finishing his portion, he stared longingly at mine. He said persuasively, “I love a pizza. It’s delicious, right? We should eat more pizza.” I put my last piece on his plate. It disappeared quickly. We ended up baking a second one: mayonnaise, whitebait, and aonori seaweed. It also disappeared quickly. Afterward, he sprawled on the bed, tipsy and happy. When I sat beside him, he immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and fell asleep. I couldn’t move.
We love to develop our family lexicon. The original words and phrases are not official in Japanese dictionary. One of them is “kotene.” It means falling asleep before a bath when several conditions happen together—being mentally satisfied by success or fun, pleasantly tired, having eaten delicious food, and having drunk a certain amount of alcohol. Until the very end, he insists, “I’ll take a bath”, “I’m just lying down”, “I’m not asleep,” and then finally tells me a lie. His soft and warm presence makes me forgive it, as long as it’s occasional. Sometimes he half-wakes, jokes “supi—”¹³, and dozes again. Precious.
Compared with when we first met, he has gained weight. He is now at a healthy standard. Handsomeness, intelligence, sincerity. Kawaii-ness, softness, humor. Technical skills, professional achievements, confidence. All in good balance. He eats the bento lunch I make. Even if I cut corners and repeat the same menu, he cheers as if it were a series, saying, “Spaghetti Bolognese Chapter Three!” On nights when he goes to drinking parties, I no longer prepare late-night food in case he could eat nothing. When he returns, he tells me about the dishes he ate and the lively conversations. When business partners visit at the company, he chooses restaurants for lunch and even offers souvenirs. He enjoys work while cooperating with others.
Back then, my wish for him was simple: that he would gradually find people in his life who made him feel it was okay to be himself. Since I had never been able to picture myself living long, I never imagined I would become one of them. However, before I knew it, by his side, I also had become someone different. Each time his appetite grew, it was as if he quietly shared nourishment with me.
An empty teacup is filled with tea. Steam rises. We sip slowly. Some days we spill. Sometimes it overflows. Once emptied, it is filled again. I want us to keep changing together, to keep being together.
Twelve years of marriage. May our days of saying “Itadakimasu” and “Gochisosama”¹⁴ together last as long as possible.
Notes:
1 Rilakkuma (リラックマ) : A Japanese character meaning “Relaxed Bear,” extremely popular in merchandise and mascots.
2. Choco-Ball (チョコボール) : A long-selling Japanese candy. Bite-sized chocolate-coated peanuts or caramel.
3. Golden and silver beaks (金のくちばし／銀のくちばし) : Special prize tokens attached to Choco-Ball boxes; collecting them can be exchanged for toys.
4. Lawson (ローソン) : A major Japanese convenience store chain.
5. Tokyu Hands (東急ハンズ) : A large Japanese variety store selling lifestyle goods, crafts, and hobbies.
6. Girls’ bar (ガールズバー) : A Japanese nightlife establishment where female staff serve drinks and chat with customers, but it is not a hostess club.
7. Hot Pepper (ホットペッパー) : A Japanese coupon and restaurant reservation magazine/website.
8 Kawaii（かわいい）：A Japanese word for a quality that inspires affection. While similar to “cute,” kawaii is not limited to the small or childlike. It can describe the endearing inner self that shines through, even in a mature adult. It can also describe the gentle side of a person who is otherwise intellectually or emotionally strong, creating a charming and deeply human contrast.
9. Mash-short (マッシュショート) : A haircut style similar to a mushroom cut, but styled loosely.
10. LINE stickers (LINEスタンプ) : Emoticon-like images used in the messaging app LINE; highly popular, often character-based.
11. “Shoboon” (しょぼーん) : Japanese onomatopoeia for feeling down or crestfallen.
12. First bite (ファーストバイト) : A Japanese wedding custom where bride and groom feed each other cake as a symbolic gesture.
13 “supi—”（すぴー）：Japanese onomatopoeia of sleeping breath.
14 “Itadakimasu”（いただきます）and “Gochisosama”（ごちそうさま）：Japanese phrases said before/after meals, expressing gratitude for food.