Summertime in Japan is tinged with sadness, not just because we have to drag ourselves through this kirokutekina mōsho (記録的な猛暑, record-breaking heat), but because we must deal with the annual arrival of the "shūsenkinenbi (終戦記念日, the anniversary of the end of the Pacific War)," which comes around in mid-August.

On that day, we are reminded of how the Japanese screwed up so badly the rest of the world deemed the nation broken and irreparable. Whole cities were wiped out, orphans died from malnutrition. The Japanese have lived with haisen no kioku (敗戦の記憶, memory of defeat) for the past 70 years, and while the country rose from the ashes to become an economic superpower and all that, every summer, some pundit or another appears on TV to tell us that, in the process, the Japanese have trashed their spiritual identity.

Mukashi wa konna ningen-wa inakatta (昔はこんな人間はいなかった, in the old days, these people didn't exist) was my grandfather's favorite refrain, as he grimaced in disgust at school kids squatting in front of conbini (コンビニ, convenience stores); at the sight of otaku (おたく, obsessive) fans gleefully lining up to buy bishōjo guzzu (美少女グッズ, girlie merchandise) in Akihabara; at children who had no idea how to amuse themselves unless presented with a Nintendo product or tickets to Tokyo Disneyland.