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).
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
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。
November 10, 2025 at 9:01 AM
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."
November 10, 2025 at 9:01 AM
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."
November 10, 2025 at 9:01 AM
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.
November 10, 2025 at 9:01 AM
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).
November 10, 2025 at 9:01 AM
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.
November 9, 2025 at 8:25 AM
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。
November 9, 2025 at 8:25 AM
In Japanese, 斯 lives on mostly in classical expressions where it's pronounced kaku, and often understood today as kō: the same "thus/so" that shows up in many formal or literary contexts. 斯くして (kaku shite) : "and thus." かくして私はますます仕事に精を出し、輝也は甲斐甲斐しい主夫となった。
November 9, 2025 at 8:25 AM
So much so that when people needed to write "to rip" again, they had to create a new character (撕) by sticking a "hand" radical on 斯, dragging it back to its violent, tactile roots.
November 9, 2025 at 8:25 AM
That's not the axe-sieve character talking: it's just riding on its pronunciation. The original meaning got buried under this new grammatical glam.
November 9, 2025 at 8:25 AM
And with that phonetic shortcut, 斯 picked up a whole new day job: pointing at things ("this"), making logical transitions ("thus"), and acting as a kind of classical literary duct tape. The elegant little word that now means "this" or "so"?
November 9, 2025 at 8:25 AM
It's all about separation, whether by brawn or by precision. It was never subtle: it was effective. But then came a linguistic sleight of hand. At some point in the pre-Qin period, Chinese scribes began borrowing 斯 not for its meaning, but for its sound: sī.
November 9, 2025 at 8:25 AM
Together, they form a character that screams: "Let's break this down." Literally. In its original form, 斯 meant to divide, to rip, to tear apart: depending on whether you were swinging that axe or shaking that sieve. The Erya said it meant "to divide." The Guangya doubled down with "to rip."
November 9, 2025 at 8:25 AM
It's about where you let the drop fall. And sometimes, that single drop can shift the fate of kingdoms. NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.
November 8, 2025 at 7:45 AM