We often place great value on gaining things. More knowledge. More possessions. More memories. More things we are able to do. But sometimes, removing something can be just as important as adding something new. Sweep away the dust, and the color of the wood returns. Clean a clouded window, and the landscape beyond becomes visible again. Clear a crowded space, and there is room for something new to enter. Perhaps the heart is a little like that too. An old resentment we continue to carry. A worry we no longer need. The habit of comparing ourselves with someone else. An idea we once created about how things “must” be. We do not have to carry everything forever. Letting something go does not erase the time that came before it. Sometimes, only after something has been removed do we notice what it had been hiding. Nothing new was added to the floor the girl polished. The dust was simply taken away. And yet the sunlight reflected there more beautifully than it had that morning. 除 is not merely a kanji about making things disappear. Perhaps it is also about gently removing what is no longer needed, so that there is space once again for what we truly wish to keep.

One spring morning, the shoji screens throughout the house were opened wide. “Today, we’re all going to give the house a thorough cleaning.” At her grandmother’s words, the little girl rolled up her sleeves. Grandmother wiped the shoji, Grandfather swept with a broom, and a boy dusted the places too high for the others to reach. The girl’s job was to wipe the wooden floor. She soaked a cloth in water, squeezed it tightly, placed both hands upon it, and pushed forward. Swoosh. With one pass, the thin layer of dust disappeared. She wiped again. This time, the morning sunlight shone clearly upon the polished wood. “I only took away the dirt, but the room looks brighter.” Her grandmother smiled. “Sometimes, when something is removed, something else becomes visible.” The girl did not quite understand what she meant. But as the cleaning continued, the room slowly began to change. When clutter was put away, a wide floor appeared beneath it. When the windows were cleaned, the flowers outside became clearer. When the dust was removed, the beautiful color of the old wood returned. By midday, a spring breeze passed through the freshly cleaned room. The girl sat on the wooden floor and looked around at the house, which somehow seemed different from that morning. Perhaps removing something was not simply about having less. Perhaps it could also mean rediscovering what had been there all along. The girl washed her cloth one last time. Then she sat quietly for a while, watching the spring sunlight fall across the clean, empty floor.

Collecting this kanji brings these jukugo closer ✨