Mono no aware, Komorebi

From the journey: Japan by Shinkansen

by Mirko

Japan, to me, has never been just a country.

It is a feeling that returns.

There wasn’t a precise moment when I told myself: okay, let’s go.No epiphany, no dramatic turning point. Just the slow and silent certainty that this journey had to happen.

I understood it was the right trip at the very moment I booked it.And that feeling has never left me, even now as I sit here writing to you.

I love Japan for its history, for its culture, for the way it has embraced change without losing its identity.A country capable of transforming itself without ever ceasing to be who it is.

I love its relationship with nature, the respect with which it seeks to preserve it — as if every tree, every temple, every silence were something sacred to be protected.

It wasn’t my first time there. And yet, as my departure drew closer, it felt as though it were. Before leaving, I wasn’t searching for a destination or some radical inner transformation, as people often say before big journeys. I was looking for something that, even now, I wouldn’t know how to define.

In my city, I often felt weighed down. The noise, the habits, time passing in the same way over and over again.

I needed lightness. A place where I could feel free.

Japan, to me, is this: a space where the world seems to slow down, where peace is not an idea but a real presence.

During that trip, everything was intense. There isn’t a single episode I carry with me; I carry all of it. Every place I visited. Every detail I observed. The spiritual side. The natural one.

Everything seemed to whisper: you are in the right place.

In the temples, I found something I wasn’t looking for, yet deeply needed. Silence.

Calm.

And then there were the cities, crowded, luminous, alive. I walked among people and, instead of feeling overwhelmed, I felt relief.

As if, in the midst of that constant movement, there was space for me too.

When I return there in my thoughts, I see myself among vibrant, colorful buildings that slowly, almost in a dissolve, give way to nature. The red and yellow neon lights fade. Green takes over. Light filters through the leaves of the trees, blending with the scent of incense. In those moments, time seemed to stand still. The world spoke more softly. And I listened.

Perhaps, reading these words, it may seem as though I was alone in those places.

But I wasn’t.

Japan does this: it gives back what the frantic world takes from you, restoring the most authentic part of yourself, and your natural ability to connect, to share, to be convivial as we truly are.

On that journey, I was traveling with a group of strangers with whom I crossed this wonderful land for sixteen days. People I wish everyone could meet at least once in a lifetime.

With them, I didn’t just share places, but something deeper: glances, silences, laughter, stumbles (in every sense of the word).

With them, I had the feeling of living something that would never happen in the same way again. But perhaps that is precisely the beauty of travel — and what, in the end, Japan teaches you.

If I had to enclose this journey in a title, a single phrase would be too limiting, but I would choose two Japanese words:

Mono no aware: the awareness that everything is destined to pass. That gentle melancholy that arises when you realize that everything is fragile, and precisely for that reason, precious.

Komorebi: the sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees. A fleeting, unrepeatable moment of beauty and stillness, existing only for those who know how to pause and look.

Returning home, something within me has certainly changed.

Not in a dramatic way. But inevitably.

A journey so full of emotion cannot leave you the same as before.

I have begun to look at the world differently. To notice beauty even when everything seems “ugly,” even when what surrounds me is not as I wish it to be.

Well, if you have read this far and you’ve thought about leaving, do it.

Don’t be afraid of the distance.

Japan may seem far away, but it is a place capable of welcoming you, of making you feel safe, of offering you a peace you didn’t even know you were seeking.

And if along the way you are fortunate enough to meet the right people — travel companions and coordinators able to make everything easier — you will understand one thing:

You won’t just be traveling.

You will be writing a new chapter of your story.

— Mirko

Chureito pagoda Mount Fuji - pic di Mirko

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