Loek van Kooten, MA
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loekalization.bsky.social
Loek van Kooten, MA
@loekalization.bsky.social
Loekalizing your games from and to Japanese, Chinese, Korean, English and Dutch. Portfolio: Shadow Gambit: The Cursed Crew, F1® 2023, Syberia: The World Before, Arma 3. Owner of www.loekalization.com Developer of www.c4ttitude.com (a CAT tool).
It's ancient coordination, sacred offering, and deeply committed group projects: sometimes with dragons. NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.
November 13, 2025 at 6:44 AM
Or 倶利伽羅紋々 (kurikara-monmon): an intimidating dragon tattoo, worn to show you mean business: and maybe that you've offered a few metaphorical kettles in your time. So, 倶 isn't your average "let's hang out."
November 13, 2025 at 6:44 AM
Even fun clubs can't escape the power of a well-organized offering. Then there's 倶に天を戴かず (tomo ni ten wo itadakazu): "We can't share the same sky." A poetic way to say, "I hate you so much, the universe isn't big enough for both of us." Think Hamlet with better kanji.
November 13, 2025 at 6:44 AM
Literally "together-fun-place." ちなみにサイゴン倶楽部は今年閉鎖されましたが、これは政府からの圧力があったからだといわれています。 Chinami ni Saigon kurabu wa kotoshi heisa saremashita ga, kore wa seifu kara no atsuryoku ga atta kara da to iwarete imasu. "Apparently the Saigon Club was shut down this year: thank the government pressure cooker."
November 13, 2025 at 6:44 AM
Mash them together and 倶 becomes: "people who come together, in unity, solemnly offering their metaphorical soup to the gods or each other or just to get things done." That's not community: that's a squad. Modern usage? Oh, it went rogue. Exhibit A: 倶楽部 (kurabu), the kanji Frankenstein for "club."
November 13, 2025 at 6:44 AM
Not just giving: ceremonial-level offering. Like, "Here, I brought you this artisanal, spiritually aligned hot pot." It's not a snack. It's a gesture.
November 13, 2025 at 6:44 AM
On the left: 人 (person). Straightforward. You, me, some dudes. On the right: 具 (gu), which looks innocent enough, but hold up. This baby comes from 鼎 (a three-legged ritual pot) and two hands underneath it. So, 具 means "arranging things properly to offer them up with both hands." That's right.
November 13, 2025 at 6:44 AM
(From Arma) From river-stopper to wunderkind whisperer, 才 proves that talent is all about shaping the flow. NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.
November 12, 2025 at 6:42 AM
Sample time: テレーザちゃんは何才ですか? Terēza-chan wa nan-sai desu ka? "How old is little Theresa?" アレクシスは戦闘工兵としての才があったようでな。 Arekushisu wa sentō kōhei to shite no sai ga atta yō de na. "Alexis, it seems, had a knack for combat engineering."
November 12, 2025 at 6:42 AM
Be not fooled: a child may be 5 才, but it doesn't mean they're a musical genius. Yet.
November 12, 2025 at 6:42 AM
Talent, in this family, is less sparkle and more scalpel. Now, curveball: 才 is also used as a shorthand for 歳 (age), purely because they share the same pronunciation: sai. This is what we call a semantic hitchhiker.
November 12, 2025 at 6:42 AM
Talent, then, isn't just some divine spark. It's the ability to carve something meaningful out of the unformed. And speaking of carving, 才 also shares DNA with 宰 (to cut meat) and 裁 (to tailor). All very precise, hands-on, let-me-just-trim-this-excess types of kanji.
November 12, 2025 at 6:42 AM
Control. Precision. From this humble hydrological beginning, 才 took a poetic career turn. Just as a dam shapes water, so too does talent shape potential. The idea evolved: raw, unshaped material (like lumber: see also 材) becomes valuable through natural ability and refinement.
November 12, 2025 at 6:42 AM
Yes, a literal wooden barricade stopping water dead in its tracks. Before it was dazzling anyone with raw aptitude, 才 was out there cutting off rivers and managing floods. The shape of the kanji itself represents this early meaning: a horizontal stroke blocking a vertical flow. Water, halted. Boom.
November 12, 2025 at 6:42 AM
So next time you eat a kashiwa mochi, remember: you're not just biting into a seasonal sweet: you're chewing on a delightful kanji mix-up wrapped in symbolic leaves. NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.
November 11, 2025 at 3:54 PM
Mata, Edo ni wa atotsugi o daiji ni kangaeru buke ga ōku sonzai shite ita koto kara, kashiwamochi o taberu fūshū wa Kantō o chūshin ni Higashi Nihon he hirogarimashita. "Because so many samurai families in Edo valued their heirs, the custom of eating kashiwa mochi spread throughout eastern Japan."
November 11, 2025 at 3:54 PM
Because the leaves stay put until the new buds show up, symbolizing the samurai ideal of generational continuity. In Edo, where family succession was serious business, this dessert became a hit and spread across eastern Japan. Example time: また、江戸には跡継を大事に考える武家が多く存在していたことから、柏餅を食べる風習は関東を中心に東日本へ広がりました。
November 11, 2025 at 3:54 PM
The correct kanji for the Japanese emperor oak? 槲. But 柏 just wouldn't leaf the stage. This leafy misunderstanding became deliciously entrenched thanks to 柏餅 (kashiwa mochi): a traditional mochi stuffed with sweet red bean paste, wrapped in a kashiwa leaf. Why?
November 11, 2025 at 3:54 PM
Let's break it down: 柏 is made of 木 (tree) and 白, which originally depicted a small acorn-like fruit. So etymologically, it's a "tree with little fruits." But thanks to phonetic borrowing (and a bit of botanical confusion), the Japanese associated it with their beloved kashiwa.
November 11, 2025 at 3:54 PM
But in Japanese? It's famously misread as the Japanese emperor oak, aka kashiwa, a broad-leaved oak with leaves as stubborn as a boomer uncle: they refuse to fall off the tree until the new ones push them out in spring.
November 11, 2025 at 3:54 PM
Because whether it's a Picasso or a poncho, if it's worth seeing, it's worth披-ing. 披: from primitive cloak to full-blown public spectacle. Honestly, what a glow-up. NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.
November 10, 2025 at 9:01 AM
Hirōen no shōtaijō o okuri shimasu. "We'll be sending out the invitations to our wedding reception." Translation: RSVP now or forever hold your side dish complaints. Even new museums get their moment with an お披露目 (ohirōme): the grand public ta-da!
November 10, 2025 at 9:01 AM