Prologue: The Night Before the Conference, Restless Calm
The night before a conference always carries a unique kind of tension. It’s somewhat like the night before exams back in university, but this tension feels more mature — the kind that definitely disrupts a good night’s sleep.
This time, it was the 67th Annual Meeting of the Japan Society of Gynecologic Oncology, held at the familiar Tokyo International Forum. Although this wasn’t my first time presenting at a conference, every time the night before arrives, a wave of doubt creeps in: “Am I really prepared?”
On my laptop screen were the final versions of my slides. Backup copies were safely stored on a USB drive and uploaded to the cloud. On my desk lay my business card holder, watch, wallet, and the suit with a belt placed carefully. Near the entrance, I left a folding umbrella with a mental note: “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, don’t forget this.”
Everything should have been perfect.
Chapter 1: Life in the Countryside and the Morning Air
The next morning, I woke up slightly before my alarm. Opening the curtains, the sky was a dull gray, the air heavy and moist. On the news, the announcer warned of an approaching linear rain front.
Living in the countryside means a 20-minute drive to the nearest station. My wife was driving me today. “Did you bring your umbrella?” she asked. “Yes, I’m good,” I answered, and we set off.
I had prepared the umbrella — but I hadn’t actually taken it with me.
Chapter 2: The First Forgotten Item — The Umbrella
About ten minutes into the drive, stopped at a red light, I glanced down and realized:
“…No umbrella.”
I hesitated whether to admit it, but confessed honestly. My wife sighed, but turned the car around without complaint.
As we drove back, I sat in the passenger seat, feeling both apologetic and sheepish, staring out at the rural scenery. It was “just” an umbrella, but avoiding the possibility of arriving soaked in my conference suit was a relief.
Chapter 3: The Second Forgotten Item — The Belt
Back at the station, just as the ticket gates came into view, I noticed a slight looseness around my waist. My suit pants were subtly slipping down.
“Oh no, I forgot my belt.”
It was supposed to be hanging on the hanger just last night. Once one item is forgotten, it somehow triggers a chain reaction of lost things.
I called my wife, who said she could bring it after our daughter’s lesson finished — in about two hours.
A long wait lay ahead.
Chapter 4: Café Time and Haruki Murakami
To pass the time, I entered a café near the station, ordered a coffee, and pulled out the latest Haruki Murakami novel I had with me — The City and Its Uncertain Walls.
Opening the book brought a strange sense of comfort, a brief escape from the chaos. In the story, the protagonist quietly walks the streets, encountering strangers and small happenings. The gentle flow of time within those pages slowly absorbed my anxiety.
Two hours later, my wife arrived with the belt. “Anything else you forgot?” she asked. “Hopefully not…” I answered, though that “hopefully” lingered in the back of my mind.
Finally, we departed for Tokyo.
Chapter 5: The Maze of Tokyo International Forum
After arriving at Tokyo Station, I walked to the Tokyo International Forum — a building I never seem to get along with.
Despite having scouted the venue the day before to avoid getting lost, just minutes after arrival I found myself standing still, thinking, “Wait, is this the right way?”
The vast open lobby, sunlight pouring from the ceiling, endless similar corridors — it felt like a labyrinth.
I asked the reception desk for directions and got an answer in five seconds flat. What had the rehearsal been for?
Chapter 6: Presentation and a Small Sense of Accomplishment
My presentation was scheduled for the afternoon. My palms were slightly sweaty with nerves. I displayed my slides, took a deep breath, and began.
Gradually, the atmosphere relaxed. Unexpected questions came up during the Q&A, but I answered calmly. A quiet sense of achievement lit up inside me.
Afterwards, I visited other sessions and poster displays. Despite the different research topics, everyone shared a passion for advancing knowledge.
Chapter 7: Clear Skies and an Unopened Umbrella
The final day of the conference dawned clear and sunny. The umbrella I’d carried the whole time stayed tucked away in my bag, never opened.
Surprisingly, I felt no regret. Perhaps the mere knowledge that I had it gave me peace of mind, even if it went unused.
Epilogue: What I Learned From Forgetting
This trip taught me more than just how to avoid forgetting things.
To say items out loud as you check them.
That forgetting one thing can lead to a chain of other misses.
That building buffer time into your schedule is crucial.
Most importantly, it reminded me to find moments of calm amid chaos — my little refuge was reading Haruki Murakami in that café.
Life’s journey will always include forgotten items and detours. Yet those small upheavals become the stories we smile about later.
This conference trip reaffirmed that for me.
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