Loek van Kooten, MA

NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.

As in this line from the drama series Rikokatsu: 勝手に撮られるのは不愉快だ。 Katte ni torareru no wa fuyukai da. I hate it when people take pictures without asking. 快 doesn't just mean comfort: it's the line between calm and cringe, between smooth sailing and social turbulence.

Omaetachi ga kaiteki ni hatarakeru yō ni. This desk? This chair? I picked them! So you all could work in comfort. Here, 快適 (kaiteki) delivers workplace harmony: aka a chair that doesn't sabotage your spine. Contrast that with 不愉快 (fuyukai), the unpleasant cousin of 快.

In Chinese, the same kanji shifted toward speed: because once your inner clutter's gone, you move fast. Let's look at this line of pure managerial benevolence from the drama series Rich Man Poor Woman: この机は？椅子は？僕が選んだ！お前たちが快適に働けるように。 Kono tsukue wa? Isu wa? Boku ga eranda!

Not exactly subtle, but hey, emotional clarity rarely is. So what happens when you carve out the mess from your heart? You get 快: a state of being pleasantly unburdened. In Japanese, that's comfort, cheerfulness, and ease.

This character combines 心 (kokoro, heart) with 夬 (kai), a phonetic component that literally shows a hand decisively cutting something in the shape of コ. One finger, one mission: hollow out the bad vibes. The same 夬 even inspired kanji like 抉 (ketsu, "to gouge out").

快: The Joy of Cutting Emotional Baggage with One Finger

快 (kai) is the kanji equivalent of that feeling when your phone battery jumps from 1% to 80% in five minutes. Relief. Lightness. A breezy "I got this" energy. And all of it, believe it or not, thanks to a tiny radical with slicing ambitions.

In short: 話 is the kanji for when your tongue becomes a broadcast network. Use responsibly. NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.

Translation: "Brace yourself, I will be calling. A lot." Even the polite 電話をかける (denwa o kakeru) (to make a call) features our chatty kanji doing what it does best: leaping out of the mouth, into the phone, and into someone else's day.

The "speak" part stays, but now it's traveling through electric wires. Behold: 電話はどこですか。 Denwa wa doko desu ka. "Where is the phone?" (Said every protagonist in a horror movie, ever.) Or in full social survival mode: これからお世話になります。 Kore kara osewa ni narimasu. "Thanks in advance for your help."

Combine 言 (speak) with the phonetic booster 舌, and what do you get? 話. It's not just talking. It's animated, flowing, caffeinated conversation. It's "Let me tell you what happened," not "Yes" or "No." You'll meet 話 all over modern life: especially in 電話 (denwa), the humble telephone.

And let's clear up a modern myth: 言 has nothing to do with a mouth emitting sound waves. Ancient Chinese didn't know sound waves existed. They just noticed that speech comes out when the tongue gets busy inside the mouth. Now, take that literal tongue-wagging and double down.

Built from 舌 (tongue) plus 口 (mouth), it's already doing all the heavy linguistic lifting. But what is 舌, really? Picture a stick (干) that slides in and out of your mouth (口) like a rogue popsicle. That's your tongue: loose, agile, and fully capable of starting arguments.

When Your Tongue Becomes a Talk Show Host

Say hello to 話 (hanashi or wa), the kanji for speech, conversation, language: or as I like to call it, "when your tongue refuses to shut up." Let's dissect this chatty character. First up: 言, the radical for "to speak."

NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.

From 耐久 (taikyū) for durability (your watch survives a volcano), to 耐性 (taisei) for antibiotic resistance (those bacteria that refuse to die): this kanji is your one-stop shop for the art of not giving up. So next time you're barely hanging on, just channel your inner floppy beard and 耐えろ.

Like this gem: 1週間のお勤めに耐え抜けば潤子さんを花嫁候補として認めると。 Isshūkan no otsutome ni taenukeba Junko-san o hanayome kōho to shite mitomeru to. "If Junko could hold out for one week, they'd accept her as a bride candidate." Nothing says romance like a trial of endurance, right?

Kare kore ijō jibun no karada ga mushibamarete iku koto ni taerarenai tte. "He said he couldn't bear his body rotting away any further." Now that's peak un-bearable. Or consider 耐え抜く (taenuku), which adds a splash of heroic drama: "to endure till the bitter end."

It's about flexible, frustratingly gentle persistence: the kind of resilience you need when your commute's two hours, your coffee's cold, and your boss just scheduled a Friday 6 p.m. meeting. Let's see it in action: 彼これ以上自分の体がむしばまれていくことに耐えられないって。

Below that, 寸, a symbol often linked to action or verbs. Put them together and you get... the image of soft hair that somehow never snaps, no matter what life throws at it. A metaphorical beard that just. Keeps. Going. 耐 isn't about brute strength.

How a Floppy Beard Became the Symbol of Ultimate Endurance

Meet 耐 (taeru), the kanji that turns "suffering in silence" into a full-body sport. This stoic little square is built from two parts: on top, we have 而, representing soft, drooping hairs: yes, think grandpa's wispy beard on a humid day.

"Lately, Grandpa's getting more and more forgetful..." So yes, 碌 began life as a solid, rocky character. But somewhere along the way, it cracked: not unlike your dreams of early retirement. NOTE: All our stories are grounded in true etymology, not in invented mnemonics.

"Maybe I'm just tired of living in poverty with a good-for-nothing who only thinks about himself." (From the game Someday You'll Return, translated to Japanese by us) If all that wasn't enough, 碌 also sneaks into 耄碌 (mōroku): the dignified slide into senility. As in: 最近、祖父はますますもうろくしてきて...

The human equivalent of a software bug: useless, unfixable, and somehow still present. 私はただ自分のことしか考えないろくでなしと貧乏暮らしするのが疲れただけよ。 Watashi wa tada jibun no koto shika kangaenai roku de nashi to binbōgurashi suru no ga tsukareta dake yo.

"If we just wait for the government to act, we'll be unfairly exploited, live inconvenient lives, and die like that: without even receiving a proper pension." (Also from the drama series Rich Man Poor Woman) And then there's the emotional gut-punch that is 碌で無し (roku de nashi).

(From the drama series Rich Man Poor Woman) Or the tragically relatable: 国が作るのを待ってたら僕らは不当に搾取されて不便な思いをしたまま死ぬぞ。碌に年金ももらえずに。 Kuni ga tsukuru no o mattetara bokura wa futō ni sakushu sarete, fuben na omoi o shita mama shinu zo. Roku ni nenkin mo moraezu ni.

You'll almost never see them without a negative verb trailing behind. Like in: 最近かみさんに碌なもん食べさせてもらってないんで。 Saikin kamisan ni roku na mon tabesasete morattenainde. "Lately, my wife hasn't been feeding me anything decent."

But here's the twist: in Japanese, 碌 is rarely used to talk about rugged terrain or ancient geology. Instead, it's doing full-time duty as an ateji, moonlighting as the sound "roku" in expressions that (brace yourself) often mean the exact opposite of decent. Take 碌な (roku na) and 碌に (roku ni).

Picture a timeworn rock (石), chipped and battered by the elements, slowly peeling away (录) like the flaky crust of a croissant left too long in the sun. That's the original image: raw, uneven, and thoroughly unimpressed by polish.

Roku You Like a Hurricane: The Curious Case of 碌

Meet 碌 (roku), a kanji that looks like it's been through some stuff, and has the etymology to prove it.