Captain J: Navigating the Language Seas

 In the End, Language is Always About People I once read an article about the issue of addressing ranks between officers and non-commissioned officers (NCOs). The core argument was this: During a video conference with NCOs, the Army Chief of Staff made a statement that led to a petition being filed with the Human Rights Commission. His remark was: "If a young officer gives an order to an older NCO in informal speech and is questioned about it, that should not happen in military culture. NCOs should be grateful that officers use honorifics when speaking to them." The context in which this statement was made is unclear, but it sparked controversy. Many, including politicians, defended the Chief of Staff, arguing that in the military, rank takes precedence above all else. Reflecting on my own military experience, most officers I worked with over my six years of service used honorifics when addressing older NCOs. For newly commissioned officers, speaking informally to someone...

Seeing Myself Through Others "The very essence of my being is the continuous movement of incorporating 'what is not me' into myself." — Uchida Tatsuru My father grew up in a household that was far from wealthy. As the eldest son, sandwiched between six older sisters and a younger brother, he was likely burdened with responsibilities from an early age. His way out was through education—studying diligently in the hopes of escaping his circumstances. Though he was academically gifted, he likely chose a university that fit within the family’s means, making the most pragmatic choice rather than the most ambitious one. Independence came swiftly—by the age of 20, he had completely separated from financial dependence on his family. Shortly after graduating, he secured a job and was just beginning to adjust to the working world when an even greater responsibility fell upon him: fatherhood. At just 24, the weight of becoming a parent must have felt overwhelming. But societal ex...

Staying in the Comfort Zone There was a time, about four years into my career as an anesthesia nurse, when everything felt perfectly in order. I would start my day by quickly reviewing the anesthesia type for the first surgery on my chart. Like a robot programmed with a fixed route, I headed straight to the supply room, efficiently filling my basket with all the necessary equipment. Setting up the anesthesia station took me less than five minutes. As the surgery time approached, I would receive a handover in the recovery room, confirm the patient’s details, and escort them into the operating room. Once the anesthesia was administered without any issues, I carefully positioned the patient for optimal comfort during the procedure. All required medications were neatly arranged on the cart, and I was always alert—my mind and hands as ready as a foot poised to hit the brake on a downhill slope. In moments like these, I couldn’t help but think, "I really know what I'm doing." B...