Ferdinand Marcos, cicm
"止まれ!"—Stop!
止まれ (Tomare) is one of the most recognizable signs in Japan. Its literal meaning is straightforward: stop immediately. You can see it at nearly every street corner, commanding both drivers and pedestrians to halt for safety.
However, there is more to this word than just a traffic sign. "止まれ!" carries a sense of urgency and discipline. It demands attention, awareness, and caution. It is firm yet not harsh, reminding us that moving forward without pause can have consequences.
For me, the idea of "Tomare" also appears to the small, everyday routines of life here. At the language school I attend, classes end at 1:10 p.m. By 1:05, I am already packing my things, so when the clock strikes 1:10, I can rush out. My classmates often joke about why I'm always in such a hurry. I jokingly respond, "Because I live in Himeji. I have to catch my train!" And it's true; almost every day, I need to run to catch the 1:30 train.
One afternoon, however, the universe seemed to test my patience. Our sensei (teacher) dismissed us late, so Nicolas and I had to sprint toward the station. At the first crossing, the light turned red, and we waited anxiously. "It's still okay. We can make it," we told ourselves. But at the next crossing, the same thing happened. Time was slipping away, and we ran harder.
At last, we jumped onto the platform, breathless, and managed to board just as the train doors closed. Relieved, we collapsed into our seats. I usually take that hour-long ride to nap, letting my exhausted brain recover from the intense class. So, I drifted off.
Halfway through my sleep, Nicolas shook me. "Something's wrong. These stations look unfamiliar." He was right. We were on the wrong train. Immediately, I was wide awake. Our usual trip takes just over an hour, but nearly two hours had passed, and Himeji was nowhere in sight. Panic arose because, at that time, our Japanese was so poor that we could hardly read the signs. By a miracle (and maybe a few random guesses), we got off at the right station, transferred trains, and safely returned to Himeji.
Looking back, it felt like a mini pilgrimage, except with more sweat and confusion than holiness. That day, "Tomare" took on a new meaning for me. Sometimes, life forces you to stop—not just at traffic lights, but in your habits and routines.
A year in Japan has changed me, especially on how I value time. Back in the Philippines, I was almost always late. My formators often scolded me for missing morning prayer because I couldn't get up early. Even when I woke up, I'd take a few extra minutes lying in bed, convincing myself I needed "internal preparation." Before I knew it, I was already ten minutes late.
But here in Japan, I had to leave that attitude behind. So far, I have not been late, not even once. My formators back home would be proud. Finally, I have followed their advice! At first, it was challenging to keep pace with the Japanese way of life, but I had to adapt. Here, time is as valuable as the water we drink.
Life in Japan has not only been about learning the language or catching trains; it is also about adjusting to a culture that is both beautiful and, at times, challenging. As someone who naturally struggles to start conversations, I quickly realized that making friends here would not be easy. Japanese people are generally kind and polite, but they also do not usually make the first move. Combined with the language barrier, this made my early days feel lonely and quiet.
But I keep reminding myself: it's okay. Friendship, just like language learning, is a process. I only need to be patient.
Missionary life here also has its share of trials. In Japan, Catholics are a small minority. Sometimes, it feels like we are just a few voices in a vast crowd. But that is precisely why the mission is so important: to reach out, to listen, and to walk alongside people, even if they do not share our faith. It is not about numbers; it is about presence.
And so, I continue to learn each day. To run when I must, but also to stop when I need to. To value time, but also to give time. To adapt to a culture that is not my own while also sharing the love that brought me here.
Whenever I feel overwhelmed or too caught up with the demands of life, I return to the word "Tomare." Stop. Pause. Breathe. In the end, "Tomare" is no longer just a red sign I see on Japanese streets. It's God's little reminder to me—sometimes to slow down, sometimes to look around, and sometimes to laugh at myself when I end up in the wrong train again.