From Above, Bangkok
That day, the sky over Bangkok felt unusually high and clear. From where I was, I could see far across the city, layers of buildings, highways, river, and distant movements like I was somewhere outside of everyday life. People and cars, and many motorbikes were moving constantly below, but from above, it all felt slightly unreal.
I recently watched the Congress and that's why I think about it. It's a film where reality and digital existence blur big time, where people can choose to escape into utopia versions of the world and themselves. It’s not exactly our present, but it doesn’t feel far away either. The idea that identity, choice, and even reality itself could be coordinated by systems and big companies all tuned by technology felt uncomfortably close.
Looking down at Bangkok, I felt that structure reflected in reality already. Not in a judgmental way. If anything, I felt closer to the street than to the height I was standing at. Still, the view felt like a glimpse of the near future—a city expanding outward, layered, more efficient, and dysfunctional at the same time.
People there come here from everywhere. Some settle comfortably, others just pass through. The city changes its face depending on tha area. With remote work and the internet, borders feel softer, but the gap between layers feels clearer. It made me wonder where cities like this are heading—and what that means for my homecountry Japan, too.
Politics is full of confident words, but none of them really stay with me. From high above, without familiar landmarks, I could have been anywhere. The highways, the buildings, the shopping malls with exact same brands... all of it felt interchangeable.
Coming back down felt just as mechanical. Elevators, filtered air, glass corridors, the perfect view. The moment I stepped outside, I was back in old Bangkok. Motorbikes, streetfood smell, heat and humidity.
The time that followed was genuinely good. Still, the thought stayed in head—maybe we’re already living inside systems that quietly shape our lives.
I get to live in a time where technology shapes how we connect, and I actually get to feel it in real ways.Through OF, I talk to my fans all over the world.I genuinely care about those connections.They remind me to slow down and stay human.Having something this intimate, even online, feels like a privilege.
Over papaya salad and stir-flied morning glory, looking out at the city, I said quietly, “It really is a time when human relationships still matter most.”
I recently watched the Congress and that's why I think about it. It's a film where reality and digital existence blur big time, where people can choose to escape into utopia versions of the world and themselves. It’s not exactly our present, but it doesn’t feel far away either. The idea that identity, choice, and even reality itself could be coordinated by systems and big companies all tuned by technology felt uncomfortably close.
Looking down at Bangkok, I felt that structure reflected in reality already. Not in a judgmental way. If anything, I felt closer to the street than to the height I was standing at. Still, the view felt like a glimpse of the near future—a city expanding outward, layered, more efficient, and dysfunctional at the same time.
People there come here from everywhere. Some settle comfortably, others just pass through. The city changes its face depending on tha area. With remote work and the internet, borders feel softer, but the gap between layers feels clearer. It made me wonder where cities like this are heading—and what that means for my homecountry Japan, too.
Politics is full of confident words, but none of them really stay with me. From high above, without familiar landmarks, I could have been anywhere. The highways, the buildings, the shopping malls with exact same brands... all of it felt interchangeable.
Coming back down felt just as mechanical. Elevators, filtered air, glass corridors, the perfect view. The moment I stepped outside, I was back in old Bangkok. Motorbikes, streetfood smell, heat and humidity.
The time that followed was genuinely good. Still, the thought stayed in head—maybe we’re already living inside systems that quietly shape our lives.
I get to live in a time where technology shapes how we connect, and I actually get to feel it in real ways.Through OF, I talk to my fans all over the world.I genuinely care about those connections.They remind me to slow down and stay human.Having something this intimate, even online, feels like a privilege.
Over papaya salad and stir-flied morning glory, looking out at the city, I said quietly, “It really is a time when human relationships still matter most.”
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