Experiences – Life – Inspiration 🇨🇭🇯🇵

One month in the Netherlands.

Christmas. Family. Love. Tradition.

And apparently five to six kilos of additional memories stored directly on my body.

It all started harmlessly.

Just a cookie with coffee.

Just a piece of chocolate after dinner.

Just a bit of cheese because well we are in the Netherlands and not eating cheese would be almost rude.

Then things escalated.

My mother had a Lindt chocolate advent calendar and placed it on the dining table.

Not hidden. Not protected.

Just there.

Since my arrival, every day it stared at me.

The calendar officially starts on the first of December and ends on the twenty fourth of December.

Go figure.

I ate the whole thing.

By myself.

Not in one day. But also not in twenty four.

Somewhere along the way December decided that calendars are just suggestions.

Cheese also played a central role.

Not casual cheese. Serious cheese.

I had cheese fondue twice.

Both times extra large packages.

Six hundred grams each.

For clarity that means I personally committed to 1.2 kilograms of molten cheese.

Twice stirred. Zero regrets.

At that point the scale had already emotionally detached from the situation.

Fast forward thirty days and I am standing in my mother’s home packing my suitcase. Carefully. Strategically. With a scale.

Not because I am worried about souvenirs.

But because airlines are very strict and apparently chocolate and cheese are heavier than they look.

While I am weighing my suitcase my mom looks at me with a smile and says

Did you also weigh yourself?

Silence.

I knew the answer would hurt. But curiosity won.

So I stepped on the scale.

Five to six kilos.

Gone.

Or rather gained.

In one month.

December did not come to play.

To be fair this was not just random eating. This was festive eating. Cultural eating. Emotional eating. The kind of eating that starts with nostalgia and ends with “just one more slice”.

Cheeses that smell like commitment.

Sausages that demand respect.

Cookies that disappear faster than jet lag.

Chocolate that somehow fits after every meal no matter how full you are.

And cakes.

Christmas cakes do not ask questions. They just appear.

My body on the other hand kept quiet the whole time. No complaints. No warnings. No tight jeans until the very end. It politely waited until packing day to reveal the invoice.

The funny thing is that mentally I feel great.

Being back with family after more than two years in Japan was good for the soul. Long conversations. Laughter. Familiar places. Old stories that somehow never get old.

But my body clearly interpreted this as a long term bulk phase.

I am also very aware that my wife will notice the moment I walk through the door back home in Japan. Not because she is judgmental. But because she knows my body better than I do. She will hug me. Pause. And then probably smile in that way that says Europe treated you well.

And she will be right.

Am I worried? Not really.

A bit amused. Definitely.

Weight comes and goes. Family time does not.

And honestly five kilos of Christmas memories is a price I am willing to pay.

The good news is that Japan will undo most of this damage. Smaller portions. Less sugar. More walking. Daily routines. And no one randomly offering me cake at ten in the morning just because it is there.

December is a special month. It is not meant to be optimized. It is meant to be lived.

So yes. One month in the Netherlands was bad for my body.

But very good for my heart.

And now my suitcase is under the weight limit.

My body is not.

Both will be handled soon.