Loek van Kooten, MA
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loekalization.bsky.social
Loek van Kooten, MA
@loekalization.bsky.social
190 followers 120 following 4.1K posts
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).
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(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.
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."
Be not fooled: a child may be 5 才, but it doesn't mean they're a musical genius. Yet.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Raw Talent, Dam Good: The Tale of 才

Meet 才 (sai). It means "talent," but before you imagine a tap-dancing prodigy or violin-playing toddler, let's rewind: because this character's original gig was a little... wetter. Originally, 才 was a pictogram of a dam.
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.
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."
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。
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?
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.
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.
When a Tree Becomes a Mochi Wrapper, and a Kanji Misunderstanding

Meet 柏 (kashiwa or haku, depending on who you ask), a kanji that's having a bit of an identity crisis. Officially, it refers to the oriental arborvitae: a stately tree that sounds like it should come with a temple and a wise monk.
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.
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!
Translation: He hit them with the full gallery exhibit and zero shame. And then there's 披露宴 (hirōen): literally, "the banquet of baring it all," better known as your wedding reception. Where you publicly debut your new life partner and the seating chart from hell. 披露宴の招待状をお送りします。
Whether it's art, announcements, or your opinions at 2am, 披露 has you covered (or, well, uncovered). 彼は自信を持って自作の絵画を友人たちに披露した。 Kare wa jishin o motte jisaku no kaiga o yūjin-tachi ni hirō shita. "He confidently showed his self-made paintings to his friends."
Over time, it picked up some delightful metaphorical meanings too, like "to tear," "to crack," or just plain "to overshare." Enter 披露 (hirō): a word that means "unveiling," "revealing," or "laying it all bare."
The hand does the action; the hide does the... hiding (or not, depending on how drafty it is). Originally, this kanji meant "to open up" or "to spread": as in opening a leather cloak like you're about to reveal the secret map to buried treasure.
You've just skinned a deer (congrats), and now you're not just opening the hide: no no, you're 披-ing it. Which means flinging it open and dramatically draping it over yourself like the world's first fashion statement. Function meets flair. Caveman couture. Because 披 = hand (扌) + hide (皮).
披: When Leather Met Weather and TMI

Let's talk about 披 (hi): the kanji that starts with a simple act: grabbing a floppy piece of animal skin and doing something very prehistorically fabulous with it. Picture this: it's the Jōmon era. It's freezing.
Kaku iu boku mo, jitsu wa yūrei wo mite naita koto ga arun da. I must admit I once cried because I thought I saw a ghost. So don't be fooled by the polished tone: 斯 was once all edge and no elegance. NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.
Kaku shite watashi wa masumasu shigoto ni sei wo dashi, Teruya wa kaigaishii shufu to natta. "And thus, I threw myself even more into work, while Teruya became a diligent househusband." 斯く言う (kaku iu) : "even I, who say this..." 斯く言う僕も、実は幽霊を見て泣いたことがあるんだ。