By: Ali Syarief
“Ali-San, you are so busy,” Tanaka-San once said to me with a tone of surprise. “You have just returned home from such a long journey, and yet you open your laptop right away to write.”
At first, his words made me smile. To him, it must have looked like a restless routine—coming back from hours on the road, only to plunge straight into work. But to me, it was never about being busy. It was about answering a call within.
That day, I had just returned from Odawara after a six-hour journey. My body was weary, but my mind was alive. Along the way, countless ideas had gathered inside me, shimmering like uncut diamonds. And I knew well: if I didn’t write them down soon, those diamonds would dissolve into thin air, leaving nothing but regret.
So I opened my laptop, not out of obligation, but out of devotion. Writing is not a task to me—it is a release, a joy, a homecoming. Where others might rest with music or tea, I find rest in sentences and paragraphs. Each word I write is not another burden added to the day, but a weight lifted off my chest.
Many people celebrate Fridays with the familiar phrase “Thank God it’s Friday!” because the weekend promises escape from the toil of their weekdays. But I do not wait for Friday to feel free. When one’s work is also one’s joy, every day is a day to be thankful for. Even after a long journey, even in fatigue, writing renews me.
To outsiders, it may appear as busyness. But to me, it is simply happiness. Writing is how I guard the fleeting diamonds of thought, how I keep my mind alive and my spirit full. It is not a demand from the world—it is a gift I give myself.
