The Fog of Sekigahara

I keep my camera with me all the time now.

Not because I plan every shot, but because I want to make it a habit — to film what catches my eye, what sparks my curiosity. Once I press record, things just start to flow naturally. It’s never scripted — just real moments unfolding as they are.

Today was one of those days.

My wife and I went back to Sekigahara, the place where one of Japan’s most important battles took place. It was rainy, foggy, and misty — the kind of weather that makes everything feel quiet and mysterious. My wife wanted to dive deeper into the history of the battle since she’s a certified tour guide in Gifu. I just wanted to capture it, to see if I could turn the experience into a story for one of my vlogs.

Last year, we only visited the newly built Battle Site Memorial Museum. This time, we joined a guided tour that took us through the actual encampments of the different clans. Our guide was an elderly local who had known these fields since his childhood. He spoke softly as he led us through narrow trails, explaining what had happened on this very ground centuries ago.

There was something hauntingly beautiful about standing in the mist, knowing this quiet land once echoed with the clash of swords. The rain blurred the horizon, and the sound of our footsteps mixed with the dripping of water from the trees. I kept my camera low, trying not to disturb the silence, focusing on the raindrops landing on the grass — the same fields where history was written.

The only problem — the guide spoke only Japanese.

My wife translated bits and pieces for me, but even for her, it wasn’t easy to follow. His words were slow and often hard to understand, fading into the sound of the rain. Between the unclear explanations and the layers of translation, I found myself lost in the fog — both around me and in my mind.

By the end of the tour, we didn’t feel like we had learned much more than before. The museum visit last year had been clearer and easier to grasp. This one felt more like scattered fragments of a story drifting in the mist. My wife wanted to get the facts right for her guiding work, while I was simply looking for a story — something I could weave into my video. But both of us walked away with more confusion than clarity.

And maybe that’s okay.

Not every vlog is going to come together in one shot, like today. It’s perfectly normal that not everything I capture turns into a complete story. Sometimes the footage doesn’t fit, or the moment just doesn’t click — and that’s part of the process. What matters is to keep practicing, to keep showing up, and to stay open to whatever unfolds.

As we wandered through the museum shop afterward, I noticed a thick book titled Sekigahara, produced by the Gifu Sekigahara Battlefield Memorial Museum. The cover alone felt like an invitation to understand what the fog had hidden from us. I thought we should have it — so we bought it. My wife can use it anytime she needs detailed information for her tours, and I can finally understand the full story behind this historical place. Maybe next time, I’ll be able to tell it properly — not just through the lens, but with a story that connects all the missing pieces.

Curiosity doesn’t always lead to clear answers right away.

Sometimes it takes walking through fog — literally and creatively — to start seeing things more clearly. Every imperfect outing, every unfinished vlog, is just another small step toward learning how to tell stories that truly connect. And I guess that’s what keeps me filming — the curiosity to see what today’s fog might reveal tomorrow.