Some Japanese words politely choose one meaning and stay there. 取り組み is not one of them. 取り組み shows up wearing three entirely different hats and insists they all fit perfectly.
Some Japanese words politely choose one meaning and stay there. 取り組み is not one of them. 取り組み shows up wearing three entirely different hats and insists they all fit perfectly.
涼 is the kanji equivalent of that one friend who always looks fresh, unbothered and faintly windswept, even in tropical humidity. Its structure says it all: water on the left, a lofty hilltop on the right.
涼 is the kanji equivalent of that one friend who always looks fresh, unbothered and faintly windswept, even in tropical humidity. Its structure says it all: water on the left, a lofty hilltop on the right.
Some Japanese words are polite. 胸腹部 (kyōfukubu) is not one of them. 胸腹部 marches in wearing a lab coat, points directly at your torso and declares: this entire metropolitan region of organs is now my jurisdiction.
Some Japanese words are polite. 胸腹部 (kyōfukubu) is not one of them. 胸腹部 marches in wearing a lab coat, points directly at your torso and declares: this entire metropolitan region of organs is now my jurisdiction.
Some kanji radiate tension. 便 is not one of them. 便 is the kanji equivalent of a person sinking into a comfy chair after a long day, sighing deeply, and declaring: let's make life easier, shall we?
Some kanji radiate tension. 便 is not one of them. 便 is the kanji equivalent of a person sinking into a comfy chair after a long day, sighing deeply, and declaring: let's make life easier, shall we?
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyNl...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyNl...
Some kanji whisper their meaning. 育 does not. 育 makes an entrance by dangling an upside‑down child from the ceiling like it is about to parachute into the world headfirst, calm as a cucumber.
Some kanji whisper their meaning. 育 does not. 育 makes an entrance by dangling an upside‑down child from the ceiling like it is about to parachute into the world headfirst, calm as a cucumber.
Some kanji have a simple life. 卷 is not one of them. 卷 is the linguistic embodiment of someone frantically gathering their scattered belongings with both hands while muttering: this is fine, everything is fine.
Some kanji have a simple life. 卷 is not one of them. 卷 is the linguistic embodiment of someone frantically gathering their scattered belongings with both hands while muttering: this is fine, everything is fine.
Some kanji stand tall. 伏 is not one of them. 伏 is the linguistic embodiment of crouching behind a bush with the dignity of a soaked spaniel.
Some kanji stand tall. 伏 is not one of them. 伏 is the linguistic embodiment of crouching behind a bush with the dignity of a soaked spaniel.
Some kanji just want a quiet life. 蔵 does not.
Some kanji just want a quiet life. 蔵 does not.
If kanji had their own reality show, 妻 would be the elegant contestant who arrives with perfect hair, a confident smile and, apparently, an entire household balanced on one hand.
If kanji had their own reality show, 妻 would be the elegant contestant who arrives with perfect hair, a confident smile and, apparently, an entire household balanced on one hand.
If you have ever wondered how a kanji can look harmless while secretly teaching an entire philosophy of compatibility, 配 is your case study.
If you have ever wondered how a kanji can look harmless while secretly teaching an entire philosophy of compatibility, 配 is your case study.
When you first meet the kanji 鹵, you expect something peaceful. Maybe a quiet mineral symbol, something that smells faintly of chemistry class and mild disappointment.
When you first meet the kanji 鹵, you expect something peaceful. Maybe a quiet mineral symbol, something that smells faintly of chemistry class and mild disappointment.
The kanji 裏 looks polite enough, but it's basically a fashion conspiracy. You take 衣, a kimono's back collar rising modestly, then you stuff 里 under it, a neat grid of partitioned fields.
The kanji 裏 looks polite enough, but it's basically a fashion conspiracy. You take 衣, a kimono's back collar rising modestly, then you stuff 里 under it, a neat grid of partitioned fields.
The kanji 黄 pretends to be a calm little square, but actually it is a firework rocket in disguise: simplified 炗 for light at the top, an oiled, swollen rocket body below, all of it ignited and ready to launch.
The kanji 黄 pretends to be a calm little square, but actually it is a firework rocket in disguise: simplified 炗 for light at the top, an oiled, swollen rocket body below, all of it ignited and ready to launch.
Meet 碍, the kanji for blocking, hindering, throwing a metaphorical stone in your well-planned path. Its left side is the literal 石, while the right side traces back to a phonetic element once written like 疑 in the old form 礙.
Meet 碍, the kanji for blocking, hindering, throwing a metaphorical stone in your well-planned path. Its left side is the literal 石, while the right side traces back to a phonetic element once written like 疑 in the old form 礙.
The kanji 比 began life as two figures standing so uncomfortably close you wonder if ancient scribes invented personal space or immediately compared theirs to someone else's and realized they came up short.
The kanji 比 began life as two figures standing so uncomfortably close you wonder if ancient scribes invented personal space or immediately compared theirs to someone else's and realized they came up short.
If terror had a logo, 恐 would be a minimalist masterpiece: neat lines, a hollow center, and the unsettling suggestion that someone has politely but firmly drilled a hole straight through your chest.
If terror had a logo, 恐 would be a minimalist masterpiece: neat lines, a hollow center, and the unsettling suggestion that someone has politely but firmly drilled a hole straight through your chest.
隙 (suki) is the kanji equivalent of that one friend who shows up uninvited and finds the only crack in your plans, your wall, or your emotional defenses. It means "gap," "opening," or "lapse": basically, anything that lets in cold air or crushing defeat.
隙 (suki) is the kanji equivalent of that one friend who shows up uninvited and finds the only crack in your plans, your wall, or your emotional defenses. It means "gap," "opening," or "lapse": basically, anything that lets in cold air or crushing defeat.
Let's talk about 作 (tsukuru): the kanji that practically rolls up its sleeves and gets to work.
Let's talk about 作 (tsukuru): the kanji that practically rolls up its sleeves and gets to work.
一瞬で大金を手に入れるって、夢ありますよね?でも、それって…グレーじゃない?今回の主役は「荒稼ぎ」。漢字を分解していくと、草もない、川も干上がった、豚が屋根の下で眠ってる…?なんじゃそりゃ。でも見終わるころには、あなたも合法的に稼げそうな気がしてくるかも?
www.youtube.com/shorts/P4lis...
#漢字の世界 #言葉の裏側 #日常に潜む哲学 #稼ぐって何 #ワードにツッコミ
Ever wanted to get rich without jail time? Meet 荒稼ぎ (arakasegi): a Japanese word so powerful, it could've been Jordan Belfort's battle cry.
www.youtube.com/shorts/P4lis...
Ever wanted to get rich without jail time? Meet 荒稼ぎ (arakasegi): a Japanese word so powerful, it could've been Jordan Belfort's battle cry.
www.youtube.com/shorts/P4lis...
Today's kanji is 痛. Tsū or itai, meaning pain, sorrow, or just a good old-fashioned "ow." And this one doesn't just mean pain: it looks like it hurts.
Today's kanji is 痛. Tsū or itai, meaning pain, sorrow, or just a good old-fashioned "ow." And this one doesn't just mean pain: it looks like it hurts.
快 (kai) is the kanji equivalent of that feeling when your phone battery jumps from 1% to 80% in five minutes. Relief. Lightness. A breezy "I got this" energy. And all of it, believe it or not, thanks to a tiny radical with slicing ambitions.
快 (kai) is the kanji equivalent of that feeling when your phone battery jumps from 1% to 80% in five minutes. Relief. Lightness. A breezy "I got this" energy. And all of it, believe it or not, thanks to a tiny radical with slicing ambitions.
Say hello to 話 (hanashi or wa), the kanji for speech, conversation, language: or as I like to call it, "when your tongue refuses to shut up." Let's dissect this chatty character. First up: 言, the radical for "to speak."
Say hello to 話 (hanashi or wa), the kanji for speech, conversation, language: or as I like to call it, "when your tongue refuses to shut up." Let's dissect this chatty character. First up: 言, the radical for "to speak."