by Wonsuh Song
When discussing Japanese pop music of the 1970s, the phrase “Showa romance” often comes up as a convenient label. Yet the 1975 release “Momen no Hankachiifu” (literally “Cotton Handkerchief”) goes beyond such a simple description, offering a depth that resonates even today. Rather than being just another breakup song or a mere snapshot of that era’s atmosphere, it subtly captures the realities and emotional currents of those who left Japan’s rural areas for the bustling metropolis—particularly Tokyo.
Looking back, the story of a young person leaving a hometown in search of work in the capital and the partner remaining behind might seem commonplace. However, the lyrics of “Momen no Hankachiifu” do not resort to the direct language of “hardship” or “tears.” Instead, they follow the man boarding a train eastward to a bright, glittering city, narrated through the gentle format of a letter. The woman left behind hints that she needs no fancy gifts—she just wants him to return home. In the end, he confesses he cannot come back, and she, overcome with sadness, asks for a cotton handkerchief for her tears. The restrained sorrow and the symbol of the handkerchief leave a profound aftertaste that feels quintessentially Japanese: delicate, indirect expression conveying deep nostalgia and heartbreak.
Not long ago, I watched a live performance by an actress who covered the song, streaming the video on my phone during a crowded morning commute. She sang about being unable to return, her voice almost catching—but she never actually cried. Meanwhile, I found myself tearing up, overcome by emotions I could not contain. It struck me as an ironically “Japanese” moment: by softening her display of grief, she somehow amplified its impact on the viewer.
South Korea, for its part, restricted certain aspects of Japanese culture until 1998. Ongoing historical and political complexities left their mark on the cultural relationship between the two nations. But today, attitudes have shifted considerably. Where anti-Japanese sentiment once ran high, we now see an eagerness to explore the intricate flavors of Japanese cuisine, the refined cityscapes, and the country’s overall meticulous hospitality. The same dynamic applies on the Japanese side: even if some hesitate to openly declare “I love Korea,” Korean dramas, music, and cuisine have woven themselves into many people’s daily lives.
This year marks 60 years of normalized diplomatic relations between Japan and South Korea. Despite the history that weighs heavily on both sides, it may be time to be more forthright about the present. Recognizing and respecting each other’s differences—while engaging in cultural exchange and finding common ground—could open new paths for the two countries. After all, music has a surprisingly far-reaching influence. Just as “Momen no Hankachiifu” still finds new audiences decades later, perhaps one day a Korean song, laden with its own cultural nuances and sentiments, will move Japanese listeners to tears.
One can only hope that Japan and South Korea continue to strengthen their ties, sharing the “deeper flavors” and “rich emotions” each culture has to offer. With mutual understanding and respect, a brighter future for both nations surely awaits.
Wonsuh Song (Ph.D.)
Lecturer at Shumei University / NKNGO Forum Representative
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