When I was in elementary school, there was a classmate with a disability. He rarely spoke in class and often kept to himself. During lessons, whenever he struggled with something, our teacher would gently ask others to support him. One day, it was my turn.

I remember walking over to his desk, trying to smile and speak kindly. I explained the task slowly and clearly, pointing to things in his notebook and offering help wherever I could. He followed along silently. He didn’t nod, didn’t look me in the eye — just quietly did what I suggested. I tried to tell myself that maybe he was shy, or simply not used to this kind of interaction. But honestly, I was bothered. I had expected something — a small “thank you,” a smile, anything.

After I returned to my seat, I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye. Nothing changed. He didn’t acknowledge me once. I felt invisible, and maybe a little frustrated. I had done something kind — wasn’t I supposed to feel appreciated? That evening, I kept replaying the moment in my mind. I wasn’t angry at him, but I felt disappointed, and even confused. Maybe I had misunderstood the whole situation.

The next morning, I arrived at school as usual. When I got to my desk, I noticed something new on top of my books: a small card, neatly folded. Inside, written in careful letters, was a simple message: “Thank you.”

There was no name. But somehow, I knew exactly who had left it. His name didn’t need to be there — the message itself carried enough weight. I glanced across the room and saw him quietly preparing for class, just as always. No glance, no wave. Just a quiet presence. But everything felt different now.

That moment changed how I understood communication.

Until then, I had believed that gratitude should follow certain rules — that words or gestures like smiling, nodding, or saying “thank you” were necessary to complete the cycle of kindness. But now, I realized something far more important: gratitude is not about formality — it’s about sincerity. For my classmate, words may not have come easily. But he had taken the time to write a message, fold a card, and secretly leave it on my desk. It was a quiet act, but one filled with thought and care.

This experience made me rethink the very meaning of communication. We often define it in terms of language, tone, and body language. But in truth, communication is simply the effort to connect — to make our thoughts and feelings known, regardless of the method. For some, it’s through speech; for others, through writing, drawing, or action. What matters is not the form, but the heart behind it.

Since then, I’ve become more attentive to the silent ways people express themselves — the friend who sits beside you without saying a word when you’re feeling down, the stranger who holds the door a little longer than usual, the sibling who leaves your favorite snack on the table without a note. None of these things is spoken, but they are all forms of communication — and in many ways, they speak louder than words.

Looking back, I’m grateful that I was “bothered” by the silence. If I hadn’t felt that discomfort, I might never have noticed the beauty in that quiet gesture the next day. Sometimes, a gap or a silence is not a lack of connection — it is an invitation to listen more carefully.

The world is full of unspoken messages. We just have to be open enough — and quiet enough — to hear them.

Today, I believe that the most powerful connections are built not only through eloquent words or grand gestures, but through small, heartfelt acts that often go unnoticed. A folded piece of paper. A handwritten note. A silent “thank you.” These are the things that truly connect us.

If I could choose any superpower, I would choose to fly. The idea of weightlessness, of defying gravity and moving untethered through the air, had followed me since childhood. That’s how I found my wings not in the sky, but in the dance studio. There, surrendering to the onset of music, I discovered how to dissolve weight and time. With adrenaline coursing through me, each movement felt like an ascent, each beat like a gust of wind carrying me higher.

It was during one of our breakdance ciphers, those spontaneous circles where we each displayed our creativity to whatever song the speakers demanded, that I first noticed him. The smallest in the room, barely eight years old, and the only one dancing just slightly off-beat. At first, it barely registered. Every beginner stumbles. But over time, I noticed a few things. There was his silence, the way he never responded when the instructor called across the room. There were the hushed, frequent meetings between his mother and the teacher. And then there was the hand signal.

It happened during a water break, when I offered him a snack. He lifted one hand to his chest and moved the other in a sharp line from his forehead to his arm. The motion was deliberate, practiced, too precise to be meaningless. I returned his gesture with a smile, though inside questions began to gnaw at me.

What was that? Why had he done that? What did it mean?

By the time class ended, my mind buzzed with restless curiosity. On the train ride home, a flood of questions began to overtake my search bar until, at last, the screen revealed the answer. It was JSL, Japanese Sign Language, for “thank you.”

The revelation unraveled the puzzle. The teacher’s careful enunciation. The boy’s delayed responses unless tapped on the shoulder. His uncanny habit of moving with the bass instead of the lyrics. He was deaf. What I had mistaken for “off beat” was simply a different rhythm altogether. Yet this clarity left me unsettled. One question remained, lodged stubbornly in my mind.

What was he doing in breakdance?

The thought embarrassed me even as it formed, but it was genuine. Breakdance is a style defined by headspins, freezes, and footwork intertwined with musical nuance. Even with my hearing intact, keeping time was a challenge. How could someone who could not hear the music possibly hope to master it?

Hoping for an answer, I resolved to watch him, to look closer. As the music thundered from the speakers, I noticed his ritual. Before stepping into the cipher, he crouched low, palms pressed flat against the wooden floor. The bass reverberated through the studio, vibrating the ground, and he seemed to absorb it through his hands, letting the vibrations overtake his body. He wasn’t following the same beat I heard; he was translating vibration into rhythm, silence into motion. He wasn’t off beat, he was attuned to something deeper. Then, he stretched his wings and took flight.

For the first time, I saw him not as the youngest student in the class, or as a mystery to decode, but as a dancer. Watching him ride the invisible currents of music that only he could feel, I understood him. In his dance, I recognized my own longing. This boy who, like me, had come here to fly.

I never knew his name, but he showed me that communication can transcend language, culture, and even silence. In a world where differences are shunned and discriminated upon, he taught me that our differences are not obstacles, they are wings, carrying us toward new ways of expression, new ways of connection.

To the boy who gave me this lesson, and reminded me of the power our wings hold: thank you.

While studying in the United States, I exchanged hugs with many Americans. It wasn’t just during special occasions—hugs happened when we first met, when saying goodbye, and in many everyday moments. Hugging is a natural part of American culture. At first, I couldn’t hide my confusion. I had never experienced such casual physical closeness. But over time, I got used to it and began to understand the quiet power of a hug.

Before I embraced this custom, I felt distant from others. I couldn’t speak English well, and I doubted whether I could truly connect with people. But as I grew more comfortable with hugging, I felt a sense of security begin to form between me and the Americans around me. It was as if the simple act of a hug allowed me to be seen and accepted, even without words.

As I became more familiar with hugs, I began to recall a powerful image from my childhood: the hug between former President Barack Obama and a Japanese man in Hiroshima. In May 2016, President Obama visited Hiroshima—the first sitting U.S. president to do so—and delivered a speech calling for a world without nuclear weapons.

During the event, a Japanese man invited by the American side approached Obama. He wanted to thank the president in his own words, without an interpreter. But overwhelmed by emotion, he became speechless. His body trembled, and tears ran down his cheeks. In that moment, President Obama embraced him.

Later, the man said, “I think the purpose was to calm me down. Since we couldn’t exchange words, the hug became our way of communicating. It gave me a sense of security.” That moment, brief but full of meaning, was reported widely in both Japan and the United States. It became a symbol of peace—a hug between two people from nations once divided by war.

A hug is the most peaceful weapon we can offer each other. Unlike conventional weapons that cause pain and division, a hug brings comfort, healing, and connection. Its silent touch speaks louder than words, melting anger and fear without a single blow. Whether between friends, strangers, or even former enemies, a hug has the power to restore trust and humanity. In a world often torn by conflict, this gentle gesture reminds us that peace begins with empathy.

Psychologists say hugs trigger oxytocin, the “love hormone.” It calms the body, lowers stress, and strengthens emotional bonds. But beyond science, hugs speak to the human heart. A friend I met in America once told me, “A hug shows love and gives comfort—not just to the person receiving it, but also to the one giving it.” I believe that hugs offer something even greater: a quiet kind of peace.

Nelson Mandela once said, “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” I believe hugs are powerful too—not in force, but in peace. A hug doesn’t destroy—it heals. It doesn’t divide—it connects. Just like education opens minds, hugs open hearts. And when minds and hearts are open, the world can truly change.

Through my experiences in America and the memory of Hiroshima, I’ve come to believe that hugs are more than gestures. They are symbols of hope, understanding, and grace. In Japan, where hugging isn’t part of our culture, I don’t wish to erase tradition—but I do hope people become curious. Even a small interest in the culture of hugging could lead to deeper connections across borders.

I dream of a society where people can meet across borders without fear—where cultural differences open doors, not close them. In such a world, even a simple hug can become the first step toward peace. Quietly and gently, a hug allows us to communicate compassion with each other, reminding us that true connection often begins without words.

I believe HUG stands for Healing Heart, Understanding Uniqueness, and Giving Goodwill. Let’s walk the path of healing and cross the bridge of understanding together. And let your “light of giving” shine. The world is waiting for us where our hearts unite.

When I think of the word communication, I imagine a passport. Without it, I would be stuck in a small nation called “my own thoughts.” By picking up a passport called communication, I’ve traveled the world, without ever leaving my room.

In the beginning, my mind was like a blank passport: full of potential, but without a single stamp. I spoke only my native language, interacted with people just like me, and saw the world through a narrow lens. But everything changed when I moved to an international school in fourth grade. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by classmates from different countries, cultures, and belief systems. This shift introduced me not only to new languages, but to new ways of thinking. That’s where my journey toward global awareness truly began.

I began speaking not only with my close friends, but also with students from other grades, different backgrounds, and even teachers I once found intimidating. At first, it felt awkward to approach unfamiliar people, especially in a second language. I used to hold a strong prejudice against foreign people when they try to get into someone’s hearts very forcibly. However, those moments of discomfort led to the deepest lessons about people. Some teachers, despite seeming strict, turned out to be incredibly supportive. Their kindness taught me that preconceptions often dissolve through open dialogue, even a word or phrase, like “excuse me” and that communication has the power to reshape the way we see others.

The most memorable day at my school was when I stood up for a girl in my class who was being teased because of her accent in speaking, shaped by her Indian background. At first, I hesitated, because I had always kept myself comfortable and did my best to not be involved in problems. Then I remembered how significant it is to use our voices when it is needed by someone. That small act felt like a moment of bravery, not only for her, but for myself. A few weeks later, she invited me to her house for her birthday. Her family welcomed me with warmth, and she served me traditional Indian food I had never tasted before. The food was delicious, but even more than that, the experience left a lasting emotional impression. Her quiet kindness and gratitude taught me that cross-cultural exchanges don’t always happen in classrooms; sometimes, they happen around the dinner table. I would never forget the day I spoke up, because we ended up being good friends until graduation.

Through these experiences, I gained something far greater than just language skills: I experienced perspective shifts that shaped my values. Through these shifts in perspectives, I learned the importance of empathy, the courage to speak up, and the strength found in communities that support one another. Communication became more than just a tool for conversation, it became a mirror that reflected who I was, and a window into how much more there was to understand, giving me much more chances to rethink about my all-day activities. For me, communication now holds more power than any subject, sport, or school event I’ve ever participated in.

Looking back, I now realize how communication has transformed my worldview and my identity. What started as an empty passport has slowly filled with invisible stamps: acts of kindness, shared stories, and emotional growth built through authentic connection. Communication has not just broadened my horizon. It has deepened it by layers, through every conversation, every challenge, and every new voice I’ve heard. Although I used to be timid and afraid to speak up, I had made a significant step forward to get excited about being aware of different perspectives and feelings. I still have many blank pages in my passport, but now, I’m excited to fill them: one conversation at a time.

Is cross-cultural understanding really just about understanding differences? People often think that cross-cultural communication is to find big differences in values, customs, and ways of thinking, and that learning about these differences is the most important thing. It is true that we can learn a lot from differences. However, my experience has been just as valuable—and even more surprising. It has told me that even people from completely different countries and backgrounds can discover unexpected commonalities that bring them closer together. I’ll talk about common ground with one foreigner, and common ground with people around the world.

First, I realized that sharing the same interests can connect hearts across cultural differences while discussing movies with my British friend. I met him through a language exchange app Hello Talk which allows people around the world to practice languages, make friends, and learn about other cultures. One day, while having a casual chat on HelloTalk, I asked my friend, “Do you have any movie recommendations?” Without hesitation, he recommended two movies to me: “Shutter Island” and “Fight Club”. I had never seen either of them before, but just listening to his description made me excited to watch them. Feeling curious, excited, and a little nervous, I decided to watch both movies on my day off, hoping they would be as good as he said. Both movies had surprising twists at the end. I was completely absorbed, and even after watching them, I felt joy knowing I shared the same sensibilities with people from different cultures. From my friend’s perspective, he was simply sharing a movie he liked and wanted me to enjoy it too, without being conscious of cultural differences. However, this simple act led to the discovery of commonalities across national borders.

Secondly, I realized that I share the same feelings not only with one foreigner but with people all over the world. I kept thinking about “Shutter Island” and “Fight Club” for a long time and looked at various people’s interpretations of the stories. I thought these movies might only be popular overseas, and that my friend’s taste in movies would be very different from Japanese taste in movies. However, after doing some research, I realized that I wasn’t the only one shocked by the twists in both movies. People around the world wrote about watching the entire movie again to catch every detail they had missed the first time. Just like me, they were stunned by how everything they thought they knew flipped in an instant. This shared astonishment made me realize that despite different cultures and languages, we all responded to those shocking scenes in the same visceral way. I thought I would find completely different opinions and values, but in fact, we discovered that we already shared meaningful and enjoyable things, and this gave us an unexpected sense of excitement and closeness.

My experience made me realize that sometimes we focus too much on differences. What truly connects people may be simple things, such as enjoying the same stories, feeling the same excitement, and sharing the same joys. Through this experience, I realized that cross-cultural communication is not just about discovering differences. True communication is discovering that sharing joy and interest, and the simple connections that come from them, can bring people closer together than learning about cultural differences. This experience taught me that cross-cultural communication is not about creating barriers between differences, but rather about building bridges of understanding, connection, and shared enjoyment around the world.

In conclusion, intercultural communication is not about finding differences or pointing out what divides us. It is more important to share moments, discover commonalities, and realize that we can connect with each other through the things we love, no matter where we are in the world. Cross-cultural communication is not a barrier but a bridge that connects hearts and minds across distances, cultures, and even language differences.

At first, the phrase “Let’s build a multicultural society” sounds simple, even obvious. However, behind it lie many challenges. In Kyoto, an overflow of tourists has caused serious problems for local communities. In Kawaguchi, Saitama, tensions toward the Kurdish community escalated into large-scale protests. As globalization advances in Japan, we face a profound question—should we welcome immigrants or turn them away? Simultaneously, we must consider how to truly understand and connect with different cultures and live together in harmony.

Seeking a way to protect Japan’s traditions and values while opening our hearts to the world, I applied for the Tobitate! Study Abroad Initiative and traveled to Malta, a small island in the Mediterranean Sea. Throughout its long history, Malta has been ruled by many nations, but it has consistently embraced new cultures while carefully preserving its own. It was the perfect place to learn the delicate balance between coexistence and tradition.

At language school, I studied alongside classmates from Europe, Africa, and South America. Initially, I felt isolated and struggled with English, yet over time my confidence grew. After class, we would sit by the sea at sunset, sharing stories about our homes. I spoke about Japan’s samurai spirit, Hafed from Libya described the beauty of his desert, and Zoé from Belgium shared photos of traditional sweets. We laughed, sometimes grew serious, and discussed the challenges facing our countries. In those conversations, I felt the quiet still profound power of dialogue.

One moment that stands out in my memory is during a “cultural presentation” class, where I introduced Japanese calligraphy, explaining that it embodies a calm heart and focused mind—the very spirit of wa, or harmony. Hafed confidently brushed the word Peace and said, “This is what my country needs.” In that instant, I felt a spark of hope. I realized that cultural exchange does not diminish tradition but deepens understanding and strengthens our desire to protect it.

As part of my research, I interviewed my host mother, Grace. When I asked how she felt about the growing number of immigrants and students in Malta, she paused thoughtfully and said, “Of course, differences can make us uneasy, but Malta has always grown together with many cultures. We don’t push people away; we welcome them while preserving our own heritage. The important thing is not to fear differences, but to talk and discover how to live together.” Her words moved me deeply. Malta’s coexistence is not just a slogan—it is wisdom shaped by history. Japan may need time, yet we have much to learn from this approach.

After returning home, Hafed and I organized an online meeting connecting Libyan youth with Japanese high school students on the theme “Our Peace.” At first, everyone was shy, but gradually the conversation grew warm as we listened, empathized, and tried to understand each other. Through this cross-border exchange, I once again felt the powerful force of dialogue. One scene remains particularly poignant: a Japanese student spoke to a Libyan friend who had lost his parents in war, saying, “This exchange reminded me how precious peace is; Japan needs more talks like this if we want to walk with the world.” Hafed nodded softly, his eyes full of quiet understanding.

In the years ahead, tourism and immigration will surely increase, and a multicultural society will inevitably arrive in Japan. To protect our traditions and people’s hopes, we need the courage to connect hearts and the strength of dialogue: to confront misunderstandings, learn about differences, and build a future grounded in respect. Japanese people are often described as reserved, and silence can sometimes allow misunderstandings to grow—yet if we dare to speak and explore our differences together, we may find a way to live as true neighbors.

My journey has only just begun. I want to continue creating spaces in Japan where diverse cultures and values can meet and resonate, as my friends in Malta taught me this truth: the answer to Japan’s future lies within those conversations. It is through these conversations where hearts truly meet across cultures that we can shape a Japan that honors both its traditions and its openness to the world.

The judge’s final word echoed in the silent room: “The winner is… the affirmative side.” We lost. The match that would have sent us to the tournament was over. Yet, in that moment of defeat, I felt not the sting of disappointment, but an electrifying connection to the very rivals who had just bested us. We had thrown every ounce of our logic and passion at each other, and in the aftermath, what remained was not bitterness, but a profound, shared respect. This was not a quarrel. This was debate.

Many people imagine debate as a civilized form of fighting, but they often aren’t right. It is not about fighting at all; it is about a desperate attempt to understand. To debate a topic like ‘green energy’ for instance, is not merely to list facts and figures. It is to force yourself into the shoes of an environmental activist watching glaciers melt, and simultaneously into the worn-out boots of a coal miner whose job is the only thing feeding his family. I remember arguing fiercely for carbon taxes, and as my logic cornered my opponent, I felt a surge of victory. But that night, I thought of the imaginary miner I had rendered jobless.

My argument was sound, my logic impeccable, but my heart ached with a strange sense of guilt. The world, I realized, was not a clean syllogism of right and wrong. It was a messy, complex, and also beautiful tapestry of conflicting truths. Truth is not only one. My world didn’t just expand with new knowledge; it deepened with the weight of human complexity.

This lesson was hard-won. When I first started debate, I was a child wielding words and evidence like knives. I saw opponents not as people, but as arguments to be dismantled. My goal was just to listen only for their weaknesses, to find the cracks in their logic and devastate them. I was often successful, but I was never connecting. When I lost a match, I often blamed opponents or even judges.

The turning point came in a devastating loss against a team from another high school. I was selfish and naive. They didn’t just refute my points; they respectfully took them and gently showed me a much larger picture I hadn’t seen. I was silenced not by aggression, but by their profound understanding. In that humbling defeat, I learned the true art of listening: not as a tool for rebuttal, but as a bridge to another’s reality. Connecting our hearts doesn’t begin with speaking; it begins with the courageous act of truly wanting to understand.

In the end, I believe the most meaningful journeys are not measured in kilometers. While a plane ticket can show you a different part of the world, a willingness to engage in structured, respectful dialogue can show you a different world within another person. Emotional arguments build walls that imprison us in our own perspectives. But debate, in its ideal form, provides the tools to build a bridge—a bridge built of logic, empathy, and a shared set of rules.

To truly connect our hearts and expand our world, we don’t need to cross oceans. We just need the courage to cross the space between ourselves and another, to listen, and to see the world, for a moment, through someone else’s eyes. This journey of understanding has no final destination; it is a path I have only just begun to walk. If you’re looking to take a similar first step—to build your own bridges—I can definitely recommend a place to start.

Now, did I win this debate?

“I HATE MASKS!!!” Oh no, not again. That was the thought I had every time I heard someone shouting those words. When the COVID-19 pandemic occurred, I was living in America for my father’s job. During that period, many countries mandated people to wear masks to prevent the virus from spreading. However, many people in America did not like wearing them.

Growing up in Japan, wearing masks was nothing special. I had often worn them when I got sick or just to prevent myself from getting sick. Because of this, I did not understand why Americans hated masks so much. To be honest, I grew so tired of and annoyed by hearing those three words— “I hate masks.” I kept wondering, “Why can’t they just get used to wearing them?”

One time, I asked my friend why he hated wearing masks. He told me, “First of all, masks are just uncomfortable. Plus, they make it hard to communicate with each other. You can’t read people’s facial expressions when they’re wearing one.” His first reason was quite understandable, but his second reason puzzled me. I had never felt that way before. His point intrigued me, so I decided to think about it more deeply on my own. It was then that I realized that Japanese and Americans value different things in communication.

Japanese are known to express their thoughts and ideas indirectly. We often imply our honest thoughts in conversation, so we tend to try to understand people’s true feelings from small details like eye movements. Americans, on the other hand, value conveying their opinions clearly in words. This difference led me to the idea that during a conversation, Japanese tend to focus on a person’s eyes, while Americans focus on their mouth. Americans feel they cannot read other people’s facial expressions when their mouths are covered by things like masks. In contrast, Japanese often feel a sense of unease when a person’s eyes are covered by sunglasses, as it becomes difficult to read their expressions. In fact, I have often heard Japanese people say that wearing sunglasses makes people look “scary” for that exact reason. I also found another fascinating difference when I compared Japanese and American emojis. For example, the Japanese emoji (Kaomoji) (^_^) indicates happiness, while (>_<) indicates struggle. These two emojis convey completely different emotions, yet the shape of the mouth remains the same—just a line. In contrast, American emojis such as :) and :( express smile and sadness, respectively. They convey two different emotions, but the shape of its eye stays the same—just two dots. Taken together, these examples clearly show our contrasting communication style. While Japanese rely on the eyes to convey emotions, Americans use the mouth as the primary indicator of feeling. It shows how deeply rooted these different ways of communicating are in our respective cultures, even in something as modern and casual as digital communication.

Through these discoveries, I realized that Japanese and Americans value different aspects of communication. At the same time, I was struck by the danger of judging people based solely on their behavior. I used to be annoyed by people shouting, “I hate masks!” I viewed them as people who simply complained without putting in much effort. Now, however, I understand that there was a reason behind their view: a reason rooted in their cultural background. This experience taught me a profound lesson that when we encounter behavior or ideas that are unfamiliar or difficult to understand, we should choose to accept them with an open mind. We must look beyond the surface and seek to understand the reason behind someone’s actions. I believe that this willingness to understand is the essence of true communication. By learning to see beyond our own cultural lens, we take our first step toward building bridges instead of walls. These bridges allow us not only to connect with people from different backgrounds, but also to discover new perspectives, ideas, and values, turning differences into opportunities for deeper understanding and mutual respect.