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#勉強 #英語 #化学 #物理
18
Ann
すっかり体が冷えちゃったので、牛骨風味のわかめスープ煮麺であったまりましたぁ🇰🇷
久しぶりに業スーにも寄ったら、KOPIKOのカプチーノ味を発見！🤭💕
つい手が伸びちゃいましたぁ。
おやつタイムは韓ドラ気分でまったりいただきまーす🍬✨
Went out in the rain to pick up some groceries and daily essentials.☔️
Got totally chilled, so I warmed up with a bowl of wakame noodle soup in a rich beef bone-style broth—so comforting!🇰🇷
Stopped by Gyomu Super for the first time in a while and found KOPIKO cappuccino flavor—had to grab it!🤭💕
Gonna enjoy it with some K-drama vibes for a cozy little snack time.🍬✨
おうちごはんの星
11Ann
✴︎ 春菊のサラダ 🥗
✴︎ もずくと豆腐の韓国風スープ
春菊って、生で食べる方がエグ味が少なくて美味しいの知ってますぅ？
今日はベーコンとしめじのガーリック炒めをのっけて、マスタードドレッシングでいただきましたぁ！めちゃ美味しかったっ✨
もずくとお豆腐のスープも、身体がぽかぽかに温まりまぁす🥣
ぜひ試してほしい、絶品マスタードドレッシングのレシピはこちら👇最近のお気に入りっw
✨ マスタード：大さじ1
✨ お酢：大さじ2
✨ オリーブオイル：大さじ2
✨ メープルシロップ：小さじ1
(はちみつでもOK）
✨ 塩＆コショウ：少々
ぜひお試しをっ😋
🌿 Tonight’s Dinner 🌿
✴︎ Shungiku (chrysanthemum greens) salad 🥗
✴︎ Mozuku seaweed & tofu Korean-style soup
Did you know shungiku tastes less bitter and more delicious when eaten raw?
Tonight, I topped it with garlic-sautéed bacon and shimeji mushrooms, and enjoyed it with a mustard dressing. So good!
The mozuku and tofu soup warmed me right up too! 🥣✨
If you’re looking for a tasty dressing, give this mustard sauce a try:
✨ Mustard: 1 tbsp
✨ Vinegar: 2 tbsp
✨ Olive oil: 2 tbsp
✨ Maple syrup: 1 tsp (or honey)
✨ Salt & pepper to taste
Hope you enjoy it as much as I did! 😋
5
サカナ王子
But knowing that there's an even more beautiful spot makes me feel warmer than anything.
You can keep the flower bed you make, or you don't have to inherit it.
It's a sincere gesture.
Flower beds last a long time, even if you leave them alone.
The farmer and the boy in the straw hat helped make a small, simple flower bed.
Farmer: I guess this kind of thing should be done by someone used to it. Thank you.
You look good, so you must be someone important.
We'd be in trouble if someone like you pushed yourself too hard and ruined your health.
The farmer says
It was good when she was queen.
I feel like she had praise from all over the world.
The king and the prince were somehow
like shadows in a great light.
We wanted something, something special.
What was as strong as a big tree yesterday
Now it feels like thin paper.
Road: After taking a breath,
Even thin paper is less likely to tear if you stack about three layers on top of each other.
There are these beautiful ducks, and cows grazing hungrily.
The grasslands have clean water, so is there anything else we need?
Farmer: Peace is the essence of this small world,
But the world around us doesn't wait.
I can't help but feel like it's getting slower than before.
Road: Really? It didn't seem like much before, though.
Nothing amazing ever happens from the start.
Lord :There's no point in feeling anxious. In those moments, let's eat some sweets and drink some tea.
The Boy in the Straw Hat
He serves the custard cream he made a while ago.
The custard cream contains about 3 tablespoons of honey, not sugar.
I hope Katsuyo doesn't get angry. ^_^
After eating, it warmed up, so we all fell asleep in the fluffy beds the farmer had prepared.
We talked about the day's events.
The End
とりあえず
考えたら公務じゃなくてふれあいなら良いんじゃない。
過剰な正義はいじめにも似てて
かけてるものを補おうとするのも、
家族の在り方なのかなって。
男の規律以外でも
女性の力というのか、なんなのか。
世間では褒められないけど、世の中には大事なのかもしれないって事はあるのかも。
もちろん
どうしようもない人は
無理しないことだけど。
告発本を読んでみると、大体最初の入りは似てて
僕は思うに、告白はした方もされた方も
その後の人生に悩むのじゃないかなと。
その後をどうするか
そんな物語かも。
ヘンリー王子も叔父さんの力を借りたら
良いような。
落ち着いたらね。
とにかく告白本読もう。
2
なな
A journey across lands, within a heart.
I set off on a quiet journey, alone.
A soul in search—
for something unseen,
something lost within.
In Japan,
the soft chorus of autumn insects
followed the footsteps
of evening walks with my dog.
The air was clear,
crisp as glass,
and the rice fields whispered—
leaves rustling like distant waves,
waiting patiently
for harvest time to come.
Golden stalks, heavy with life,
bowed low,
as if listening
for the right moment to be released.
In the Philippines,
the sea shimmered in endless blue.
From Cebu to Malapascua,
then El Nido—
I chased the edge of the horizon.
I dove beneath the surface,
hoping the depths might answer me.
But what I was searching for
remained quiet,
somewhere beyond coral and salt.
Kalanggaman—
an uninhabited island
shaped like a kiss
between two drifting shores.
I whispered to the wind,
“One day,
I want to camp here with you.”
In Thailand,
on Khaosan Road,
I followed the map scribbled
in Lonely Planet’s margins.
Pad Thai sizzled,
foreign voices filled the air—
it hardly felt like Asia at all.
Or perhaps,
a Western village
planted in Southeast soil.
Like a scene from The Beach,
neon and nostalgia intertwined.
From Bangkok’s alleys,
I drifted south
toward Phuket’s waiting coast.
In Vietnam,
ao dai whispered through humid air,
pho steamed in quiet bowls,
and sudden rain
washed away even the noise.
I quarreled with a motorbike driver,
then laughed,
alone on a borrowed scooter
chasing the perfect bánh mì
through night markets
alive with spice and neon.
From Da Nang to Hoi An,
the road curled like smoke—
and the noodles I ate alone
tasted like courage.
In Bali,
the night chanted with fire.
Kecak dancers circled flame,
and I lay beneath a net,
dreaming in whispers.
I met my mother,
shared mint cucumber water,
and let time soften
what silence could not.
Spa hands pressed memory into skin.
Coconut paths led to Ubud,
where an amaryllis bloomed
quietly in a rice terrace—
as if it, too,
had been waiting.
In the Maldives,
spices clung to the air—
saffron, cumin, memory.
I wandered the morning market,
and in the mosque’s quiet breath,
wrapped myself in stillness
and modesty.
Malé felt too small
for the loneliness I carried.
Even land seemed to shrink
beneath the weight in my chest.
On Maafushi,
romance shimmered
just out of reach.
Stingrays in the shallows
played near my feet—
but the rendezvous
never reached my soul.
In Istanbul,
gulls cried over the Bosphorus,
and the wind tasted like salt and scripture.
At Hagia Sophia,
bells echoed in my ribs,
and a cup of tea
warmed something
colder than skin.
The bazaar twisted like a dream,
each alley a whisper
of spice and silk.
I felt both lost and found,
held in the hum of ancient prayers.
In Paris,
light fell gently
on bowls of pho
and broken mornings.
A stranger—madame—
offered me kindness.
When she said au revoir,
my eyes betrayed me.
Her kiss on my cheek
was the kind of goodbye
that aches for a lifetime.
At Sacré-Cœur,
I surrendered
to a grief I hadn’t named—
let it spill like stained glass
onto the quiet hill.
In Italy,
a single rose bloomed
on the table beside my risotto.
I watched pizza spin
in the hands of artisans
who touched the dough
like a living thing.
Warm laughter filled the streets—
a kindness without question.
In Spain,
tapas flickered beneath golden lights.
Gaudí’s stones reached for the sky,
and I coughed quietly
into thyme tea
as the sun dipped behind
Barcelona’s silhouette.
In Hungary,
steam curled from bathhouse tiles,
and friendship stirred
like the first warmth
after a long frost.
But fever came.
And so did silence.
I lay still in a guesthouse bed,
feeling eyes that saw me
as something other.
Even kindness
had a border that day.
In Morocco and Jordan,
I followed the scent of saffron
through souks that twisted like vines.
Tajine reminded me of home.
The kindness of strangers,
rooted in the Qur’an,
wrapped around me like linen.
In mountain towns dyed blue,
I shrank into myself—
then slowly breathed again
in the calm of dry air
and starlit nights.
What I searched for—
I never found.
Not in the oceans,
not in the prayers,
not in the heat or the hunger.
But in every step,
something remained.
The scent of mint and sea,
the rhythm of unknown tongues,
the silence after parting—
they live inside me now.
I returned
with nothing in my hands,
but everything
in my heart.
What was missing
was never meant
to be found—
It was meant
to be felt.
And now,
it blooms quietly
inside me—
like a flower
no one else sees.
3