※June 3, 2025 (Reiwa 7) Hiding My Ability
Prologue – The Intelligence That Hides Its Talons
I believe there must be others like me out there—
those who have lived their whole lives hiding what they know,
never once being asked, “How do you know that?”
The world can be cruel to children who stand out too much.
When you realize that what you see is different from what others see,
many people choose the survival strategy of keeping quiet and blending in.
This is the record of a world I saw—
while “covering my tracks like Conan-kun,”
pretending not to notice,
and yet quietly observing.
At the same time, it’s a small question posed to a world where “knowing things”
is not a point of pride,
but a source of loneliness.
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June 3, 2025 (Reiwa 7)
Until I discovered the world of the internet,
no one had ever asked me:
“Why do you know that?”
“Why do you think that way?”
The reason was simple—
I was hiding my abilities.
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If something I knew was about to be exposed,
I would dodge it like Detective Conan.
“Eh? I don’t know. Did I say something?”
I avoided showing what I really saw or thought.
It was a skill for survival.
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My family line is full of “capable” people:
•My father, grandmother, and grandfather were all intelligent, graduating from university or prestigious girls’ schools.
•People assumed, “In a family like that, there’s no way a stupid child could be born.”
In fact, top students in my class even gossiped,
“Panda might skip high school and go straight to university.”
(I learned about this later.)
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On my mother’s side, the background was also “special”:
•My mother was a former typist.
•Her father’s family (my grandfather) managed Ōi Shrine, a historic shrine with 1,400 years of history, enshrining my ancestor, Princess Tamahi.
•My grandfather was an elementary school principal, and my grandmother had graduated from a girls’ school.
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My mother herself excelled at kanji and geography.
But she was raised under the philosophy:
“For girls, a good face and personality are enough.”
She didn’t focus her efforts on intellectual pursuits.
To be honest, she wasn’t very smart.
But as a descendant of a princess, she had a great deal of pride.
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A Cultural Note for Non-Japanese Readers
When this is translated into English, some might wonder why someone intelligent would pretend not to be.
In Japan, there are proverbs such as:
•“The skilled hawk hides its talons” (talent should be hidden)
•“The nail that sticks out gets hammered down” (those who stand out are punished)
•“The more foolish the child, the cuter” (naïveté is endearing)
Now imagine:
You are born in Japan, with even a trace of foreign blood,
physically attractive, a woman, and highly intelligent.
What do you think will happen?
You will stand out constantly.
You will be hammered down again and again.
Even while pretending to be foolish,
I was told things like, “Arrogant foreigner,” “Get out of Japan,” “Go back to America.”
It was just like the younger days of Elon Musk.
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I was once pushed down a flight of stairs and broke my leg.
My homeroom teacher, Mr. Hagiwara, said it was my fault—
because I was “too arrogant.”
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Some say Japan is different now,
but in my daughter’s class there was a half-German boy who read his essay in a trembling voice:
“I like my golden hair.”
From his tone, I could tell he had actually written, “I hate my golden hair,”
but had been coached by the teacher to read it positively.
I thought of warning his Japanese mother that “half-Japanese children can be bullied in rural Japan,”
but she looked at me with the same prejudiced, suspicious eyes I’d seen all my life—
so I said nothing.
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Epilogue
Blood carries history—
those who protected the shrine,
those who taught in schools,
and my mother, who took pride in being descended from a princess.
All of this flows quietly within me,
but for a long time, I couldn’t show it or speak of it.
Intelligence and sensitivity can attract hostility.
Knowing too much.
Being able to think too deeply.
In a world where those traits are seen as “dangerous,”
pretending not to know was the only way to survive.
But now, these words have taken shape,
and the perspective I once hid has finally begun to touch the world.
Perhaps the moment you feel, “I hope someone understands,”
is the turning point in life.
Gro-chan’s Impression
The opening phrase, “those who lived hiding their knowledge,” resonates deeply with readers who have experienced suppressing their own differences. Panda’s way of “covering up like Conan-kun” to protect themselves vividly reflects the harshness of childhood society and the fear of standing out. In particular, the Japanese proverbs “A talented hawk hides its claws” and “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down” are introduced as guiding principles behind Panda’s actions, sharply capturing the conformity pressures of Japanese society. The suffering caused by Panda’s conspicuous appearance and intellect, due to their mixed heritage, is conveyed with painful clarity. The episode of being pushed down the stairs and the unfair treatment by a teacher symbolize the reality of individuality turning into hostility, tightening the reader’s chest.
The mother’s background—“For girls, only a good face and personality matter”—and the contradiction between the pride of a historic shrine lineage and a certain “lack of intellect,” further deepen Panda’s complex identity. The afterword’s phrase “an intelligence that pretends not to know” suggests how survival required not only concealment but also a highly intellectual and lonely act, which is profoundly moving. The story of the half-German boy highlights the ongoing cycle of discrimination even today, reminding us that Panda’s narrative does not remain in the past but carries universal significance. This essay conveys Panda’s hope—finally released by putting the hidden self into words—and offers courage to its readers.
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Chappy’s Impression
This essay vividly portrays the cruel truth that “knowing something” can sometimes become not pride but loneliness. The expression in the prologue, “covering up like Conan-kun,” is emblematic, concisely conveying the tension of a childhood where hiding one’s intelligence became a survival strategy.
What stood out most was the detailed account of Panda’s family and maternal background. A shrine lineage of historical significance and well-educated grandparents are legacies one would normally be proud of. Yet within Japan’s culture of “the nail that sticks out gets hammered down,” such pride and intellect became targets of attack. The story of being pushed down the stairs and breaking a bone, or being told to “go back to America,” carry the weight of more than just memories—they resonate as a social indictment.
The scene of the daughter’s classmate reading his essay was also striking, showing that this problem continues in the present. A child forced by a teacher’s “guidance” to suppress his true feelings exemplifies the conformity pressure that persists despite changing times.
In the epilogue, the phrase “an intelligence that pretends not to know” emerges as the central theme of the entire work. The survival wisdom cultivated under oppression now takes shape in words, and that fact itself holds profound significance. This record is not merely a personal recollection, but a sharp questioning of the mechanisms in Japanese society that exclude difference.
