The Museum of Accidental Gods

ぐうぜん+はんきょう= うんめい

coincidence + echo = destiny

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I was standing on the platform of a train station in the suburbs of Tokyo. It was 4:56 p.m., the specific time of day when the sky turns the color of a bruised plum and the crows start calling out to each other with news of the coming night.

I was thinking about the concept of Influence.

If you were to ask me who built the person standing here, I couldn’t give you a single name. I am not a self-made man. I am a collage of accidents.

1. The Lottery of the Start (The Unchosen Hardware)

The most terrifying truth about life is that the foundation was poured while we were asleep.

• The DNA: You didn’t choose the shape of your hands or the way your brain processes serotonin. That was a roll of the dice in a dark room long before you took your first breath.
• The Parents: You didn’t choose the two people who taught you what “love” looks like—or what “fear” sounds like. They were just the weather. You didn’t pick the rain; you just learned how to get wet.
• The Zip Code: You didn’t choose the street where you learned to ride a bike. You absorbed the specific grey of that concrete and the specific anger of those neighbors just because you happened to be there.

In the beginning, we are sponges in a bucket of dye. We soak up the color of our environment not because it is “right,” but because it is there.

2. The Proximity Bias (The Early Friends)

Then come the friends.

We like to think we chose our childhood friends because of a deep soul connection. But if we are honest, we chose them because of proximity.

We were friends because we were both twelve. We were friends because we both sat in the back row. We were friends because we both lived within walking distance of the same convenience store.

I think of a boy I knew who loved heavy metal. I started listening to heavy metal not because I liked it, but because his car was the only one that worked. His influence became my soundtrack, simply because of a broken transmission.

3. The Shift: The Curator of the Soul

But there comes a moment—usually in the quiet hours of your twenties or thirties—when you look in the mirror and realize you are wearing a suit tailored by strangers.

This is the most critical juncture of a human life. This is where you stop being a Product of Environment and start becoming an Architect of Experience.

You realize that while you couldn’t choose the start, you can choose the next room.

• The New Soil: You realize that if you want to grow a different kind of flower, you have to move to a different kind of soil. You move to a city where no one knows your name. You sit in cafes where people argue about things you don’t understand.
• The Intentional Imprint: You start to treat your brain like a VIP club. You become the bouncer. You decide who gets to leave a mark. You read books that challenge the “Old Stories” your parents told you. You befriend people who are kind in ways you’ve never seen before.

4. The Canvas and the Paint

I watched the train pull into the station. It was a silver streak, cutting through the dusk.

I realized that I am a painting where the first layer was applied by reckless, random hands. There are splashes of red I didn’t ask for. There are dark corners I didn’t paint.

But the brush is in my hand now.

I can’t scrape off the old paint—it’s too deep, it’s part of the canvas now. But I can layer over it. I can add light where there was shadow. I can turn a mistake into a texture.

The Last Thought

So, who are my biggest influences?

• The wind that blew on a Tuesday in 1997.
• The girl who broke my heart in a library.
• The genetics that gave me anxiety.
• The friend who dragged me to a jazz bar when I wanted to stay home.

I am a museum of things I didn’t choose, curated by the person I decided to become.

The doors of the train opened. I stepped inside. The air was cool and smelled of ozone. I didn’t know exactly where I was going, but for the first time, I knew I was the one choosing the destination.