A symbol that greets you from afar – the beginning of a dream trip. Fujisan. Sometimes seen, sometimes hidden, Fuji is both destination and myth. It anchors the horizon – and the heart. Before we learned how to bow properly, before we could order without pointing at pictures, before we even began to understand the quiet codes of public spaces – there she was.

Approaching Haneda Airport in April 2025 did not feel like arriving. It felt like an unveiling. From the sky, Mount Fuji appeared like a brushstroke above the clouds – soft, deliberate, impossible. Not just a peak, but also a whisper of majesty. A mountain, yes, but also a lady of composure. 

They say she is shy – 恥ずかしがりや はずかしがりや hazukashigariya – a spirit who hides behind veils of cloud and sudden weather. But not for us.

She stayed near. 

From Haneda to Mishima, from Hakone to Shizuoka, whenever we were within her distance, she slipped into view – unexpectedly, wordlessly, without repetition. She never announced herself, never needed to. Always there, somewhere: in the corner of the eye, in the curve of a ridgeline, in the quiet hush that falls when someone simply says, "Look." And we did.

Some mornings, she stood crisp and clear, her white crown catching the light like something sacred. Other days, she hovered in partial silhouette – outlined in mist, reflected in windows, hinted at behind clouds, but even when half-seen, she was complete. People slowed for her. Even those who passed her daily. There was a reverence, unspoken but unmistakable. Fujisan does not seek attention.

気づくこと きづくこと kizuku koto – to notice. 

That is all she asks. To stop. To see. Any time I have been to Japan, Mount Fuji has been gently flirting with us from the very beginning. From the moment we landed, she offered clear skies, flawless vistas, even the occasional cheeky wink from above the clouds. The spirits of 富士山 Fuji-san were clearly on our side – we saw her in her full glory nearly every day we came close enough to hope for it. Usually a reserved mountain lady? Never with us.

During our autumn school journey in 2019, she revealed herself to us again and again. Whether glimpsed from the window of the shinkansen as we sped toward new adventures, or while sipping coffee high above the city in Yokohama's Sky Garden with classmates from our Japanese classes in Bratislava, Slovakia – there she was. Always present, always poised. And by our side was Gigi, our school mascot, quietly sharing the moment and symbolically keeping company with those who could not join us on this Japanese journey.

We did not climb her then, nor did we on later trips. 

There was no need. She was not a summit to conquer, but a stillness to meet. Not the destination, but the quiet thread running through everything – each train ride, each shrine path, each early morning when the light seemed softer than it should be.

And her enchantment continued. In 2023, during a winter trip with my brother, Fujisan revealed herself yet again – this time from the breathtaking Hakone National Park, a place known for its serene volcanic beauty. We sailed across the still waters of Lake Ashi, and with the conditions just right, there she was once more – poised on the horizon, just 40 kilometres away as the crow flies. Later that day, we wandered into the otherworldly valley of Ōwakudani, thick with steam and the earthy scent of sulphur, where volcanic forces still speak from the depths of the earth. And there she was again – unmistakable, unforgettable. We even dared to taste the local legend there: black eggs, boiled in the sulphuric hot springs, said to add seven years to your life. A poetic promise. Worth it? Absolutely.

You taught us, dear Fuji, that 存在 そんざい sonzai – presence – can be the deepest form of beauty. No spectacle. No soundtrack. Just form, breath, and space. Just the curve of your perfect slope holding up the sky. You reminded us that awe could be quiet. That true wonder, when met with patience, feels more like memory than surprise. And that some symbols are not meant to be explained – they are meant to stay.

Perhaps that is why your shape is so beloved, so profoundly woven into Japan's cultural soul. Your symmetry evokes the infinite, the eternal unfolding. In Japanese numerology, the number eight – 八 はちhachi – holds the meaning of prosperity, growth, and endless potential. The kanji itself 八 widens as it falls, echoing your broad, grounded base – steady, expansive, alive.

Eight has always been my lucky number – a quiet companion guiding me through life's twists and turns, whispering promises of renewal and growth. It feels almost like fate that your perfect 八 shape rises skyward, a sacred geometry that embodies not just ascent but the gentle art of becoming, of endless transformation. Mount Fuji, you are more than a mountain – you are poetry in form, presence with a soul, an eternal symbol of grace and possibility.