I sometimes tell younger men that if they want to seduce someone, one of the fastest ways to close the deal, so to speak, is to inject a sense of coincidence into their meetings, popping up naturally, nonchalantly where the woman wouldn’t expect to find you. “This can border on stalking,” I warn them, “so be sure not to overdo it.”
After bumping into each other a few times, say to the woman, “It must be fate,” then ask her out for drinks. If she believes that two of you have en (縁がある、en ga aru), why half the work will have been done for you. If, on the other hand, the relationship doesn’t work out, you can say the two of you simply didn’t have en (縁がなかった、en ga nakatta). Couples who divorce or break up never to speak to one another again are said to have cut the en (縁を切った、en-o kitta). Relationships that are difficult to break off are called kusare’en (腐れ縁、lit. a rotten relationship).
When people learn that both my first and second wives hailed from Kagoshima prefecture, one from the Ôsumi peninsula, the other from Satsuma peninsula, they comment that I must have some kind of en with the prefecture. “Yes,” I reply, “in a past life I was Saigô Takamori’s pet dog.”[1]
In spite of my normal skepticism of “destiny”, there are times when the accumulation of coincidence is far too great to ignore. Take the Japanese princesses Masako and Kiko, wives of Crown Prince Naruhito and Prince Fumhito, respectively.
Princess Masako's maiden name was Owada Masako (小和田 雅子, おわだまさこ), Kiko's was Kawashima Kiko (川島紀子, かわしまきこ). Line the two princess's maiden names up side by side with Masako's maiden name on the left and Kiko's on the right and you get:
お o か ka
わ wa わ wa
だ da し shi
ま ma ま ma
さ sa き ki
こ ko こ ko
Now read the boldfaced hiragana.
お o か ka
わ wa わ wa
だ da し shi
ま ma ま ma
さ sa き ki
こ ko こ ko
→ お・わ・だ・ま・さ・こ おわだまさこ 小和田雅子 Owada Masako
お o か ka
わ wa わ wa
だ da し shi
ま ma ま ma
さ sa き ki
こ ko こ ko
→ か・わ・し・ま・き・こ かわしままさこ 川島紀子 Kawashima Kiko
Whaddya think? Have they got en?
