Gratitude is not just a feeling – it is a practice

Gratitude in Japanese culture is not a fleeting emotion but a ritual embedded in the structure of relationships and in the very calendar of the year. Oseibo — a seasonal gift given at the end of the year — is not meant to express a spontaneous “thank you” but is a practice of giri (義理), a moral obligation toward those to whom we are indebted. It is not a burden, but a form of attentiveness in relationships — an awareness that no favor, teaching, care, or support exists in a vacuum. In the bond between master and student — whether in calligraphy, martial arts, or life wisdom — there arises on (恩), a debt of gratitude that can never be fully repaid. Oseibo is not an attempt to settle that debt, but a regular reiteration: “I remember.” And that is precisely what makes it so profoundly human — for in a world where we often seek relationships based on balance and exchange, Japan teaches that the imbalance of gratitude is natural. That there are people to whom one cannot repay directly — and for that very reason, it is worth trying.

The words oseibo and ochūgen have no equivalents in European languages — not merely because there is no direct translation, but because there is no corresponding mental or cultural concept. The kanji in these expressions convey more than a date. Oseibo means “honorable end of the year,” while ochūgen means “honorable midsummer” or “middle of the cycle,” during which we remind those who matter to us that we remember them. These are forms of non-affective gratitude — not arising from a sudden stirring of the heart but from the discipline of memory. In a world where everything can be bought, but little is remembered (we outsource memory to apps and notifications), these practices take on an almost contemplative character: they resemble Japanese calligraphy — unhurried, requiring focus, conscious of every gesture.

Perhaps that is why Japan fascinates us so deeply — this land of extremes, where automation coexists with ritual, and modernity does not destroy the old but preserves it. Even though many people today order oseibo online, clicking on a ready-made coffee set and sending it off without personal contact, there are still those who include a handwritten letter, carefully select the contents of the package to suit the recipient’s taste, and buy hand-crafted tea, knowing that their former calligraphy or karate teacher still drinks it. These are gestures that may seem unnecessary — and yet they endure, like trees growing atop the rooftops of modern skyscrapers in Tokyo. It is a lesson for us as well — that memory is a gift that can and should be offered, no matter the latitude.

Let us first understand the characters

Words are not merely vessels of information — they are containers of meaning, emotion, and relationship. This is especially evident in expressions like 御歳暮 (oseibo) and 御中元 (ochūgen), whose kanji reveal not only the time of year in which they appear but also a profound connection to obligation, gratitude, and social structure. Every character in these expressions is full of history and cultural associations.

御歳暮 (oseibo) – “honorable end of the year”

This is a compound of three characters:

  -  御 (o) – an honorific prefix (keigo), used to express respect and politeness. The character 御 itself means “to govern” or “to control,” but in this context, it functions like a linguistic bow — somewhat archaic, yet conferring ceremonial dignity to the word.

  -  歳 (sei / toshi) – means “year” or “age.” It stems from the original form 歲, which includes the elements 止 (“to stop”) and 戈 (“spear”), originally referring to the cessation of warfare (the halting of weapons) at the year’s end — a time for peace and celebration.

  -  暮 (bo / kure) – means “twilight,” “end of the day,” but also the symbolic closing of a cycle. It contains the crucial element 日 (“sun”) and 莫, which can be interpreted as “to no longer be” — a metaphor for the setting sun and the year’s end.

Thus, 御歳暮 can be interpreted as a noble, respectful conclusion to the year — a moment of reflection and closure, sealed with a gesture of gratitude.

What then is Oseibo? It is a symbolic act of closing a relationship within the annual cycle — a cycle that for centuries has shaped the rhythm of social life in Japanese culture. Traditionally, at the year’s end, people felt obliged to express their thanks to those who supported them in various ways — superiors, teachers, doctors, clients, relatives. Oseibo served as a form of social acknowledgment but also as a subtle affirmation of bonds, dependencies, and mutual recognition. Although today it increasingly takes the form of a parcel delivered by courier from a department store, it still carries the echo of a profound idea: that no relationship is given once and for all, but requires care, remembrance, and a mindful gesture at the close of shared time.

御中元 (ochūgen) – “honorable midsummer”

As with oseibo, here we have the honorific prefix 御, followed by:

  -  中 (chū) – “middle,” “interior.” The character is simple yet deep: a vertical stroke piercing a square, signifying reaching the core — the literal center of something, but also a metaphor for the depth of relationship.

  -  元 (gen) – means “beginning,” “source,” but also connotes the idea of primal energy, as in the word 元気 (genki) — “vitality.” Etymologically, the character depicts a head (in its ancient form) — indicating the start of a cycle.

In this way, 御中元 signifies an honorable “checking in” at midyear, a gesture of the “middle” — both in terms of the calendar and the relationship. It is not a conclusion but a continuation and maintenance of the bond — a rhythmic complement to the annual cycle of gratitude.

Ochūgen is therefore the summer counterpart of oseibo — a gift that does not close, but sustains. Typically given in July, it expresses gratitude for the first half of the year and is simultaneously a subtle question: “Are you doing well?” Its roots trace back to both Chinese Taoist traditions and the Japanese Obon festival, during which ancestors are honored and family hometowns are visited. Ochūgen is a gift given during the hottest time of the year — often cool, light, and refreshing — like jellies, sōmen, or fruit — as if the gift itself were a wish for relief and care for body and spirit. It is a moment when a relationship need not be intense but should not be forgotten — and thus ochūgen is not so much a grand “thank you” as a quiet “I remember you.”

Language, Gratitude, Obligation

Japanese is a language that does not separate time from human relationships. Expressions such as osewa ni narimashita (“I have been under your care”) or yoroshiku onegaishimasu (“I count on your kind favor”) are not empty formulas — they are social anchors, expressing dependence and reciprocity.

In this context, oseibo and ochūgen are languages of gesture — transformed into tangible gifts. In a culture where emotions are not often spoken of directly, the offering of a package of high-quality tea or fruit is deeply expressive.

It is also an act of mindful presence in time. Japanese relational psychology teaches us: a person is not an island, and remembrance of one another — seasonal, cyclical — must be nurtured like a garden.

History of the Custom

To understand the depth of customs such as oseibo and ochūgen, it is not enough to see them as mere social conventions or gift-giving rituals. Their roots extend into the spiritual foundations of Japanese culture, interwoven with ancient rites, the philosophy of reciprocity, and the experience of life as a cyclical flow. Every gift is, in essence, a gesture of remembrance — not only of another person but of the very order of the world, which demands gratitude and balance.

Ancient Beliefs

Both ochūgen and oseibo have their spiritual origins in ancient Chinese celebrations connected to the Taoist calendar, known as 三元 (sangen). These consisted of three sacred days:

  -  上元 (jōgen) – “upper origin,” the beginning of the year (January 15)

  -  中元 (chūgen) – “middle origin,” July 15 — a day of purification, forgiveness of sins, and offerings to the gods

  -  下元 (kagen) – “lower origin,” October 15 — a day of thanksgiving for the expulsion of evil spirits

The custom of chūgen, which in China was associated with offerings to a divine judge who pardoned sins, was in Japan assimilated with the rituals of mitama matsuri — the offering of gifts to ancestral spirits. Oseibo, on the other hand, most likely derives from the practice of bonrei — ritual visits to family homes and the giving of presents during year-end festivals. These spiritual acts gradually transformed into social obligations, where the gift ceased to be a sacrifice to the deity and instead became a symbol of human relationships — equally sacred and equally in need of care.

Edo – The Golden Age of Japanese Culture

In the Edo period (1603–1868), the established social order led gestures of politeness to function within a strictly hierarchical structure of society. The phenomenon of 歳暮回り (seibo mawari) emerged — “year-end circling” — a practice where samurai and officials would visit their superiors, offering modest yet symbolic gifts.

Merchants soon adopted this tradition, presenting gifts at the year’s end to their regular clients and business partners (yes, even then the practice of tending to one’s clients existed) — and it was more than marketing: it was an expression of respect, care, and commitment to continued cooperation. Importantly, these gifts were not arbitrary — even then, they were selected with attention to the status, age, and taste of the recipient. In this way, the ritual gesture evolved into a social one, without losing its seriousness and gravity.

Oseibo and Ochūgen – What Are They Really?

They are not merely gifts — they are rituals of remembrance and care inscribed into the calendar year.

  -  Ochūgen falls in summer, during a time of spiritual purification and concern for health — it is a gift of relief, something that soothes the heat and says: “Thank you for the first half of the year. Are you doing well?”

  -  Oseibo, by contrast, is a gift of closure — a gesture sealing the shared year: “Thank you for being there. I want us to remain connected.”

Together, they form what could be called a cycle of social gratitude — founded on the awareness that relationships must be nurtured not only in dramatic moments, but also… without any particular reason.

What Kind of Gifts?

Traditionally, one gives to:

  -  Someone special, to whom one feels deep gratitude (this is the most important part of the celebration)

  -  Superiors and bosses (especially in the modern context)

  -  Doctors, teachers, mentors (outside of the parent-child bond, it was the teacher-student or master-disciple relationship that was the deepest and most important in traditional Edo-period Japan)

  -  Clients, business partners

  -  Relatives and elder family members (this is a celebration of gratitude offered not to children, but to those older than oneself)

  -  In some cases — neighbors, hosts, and close friends

What Is Given?

  -  In the case of a deep relationship or a desire to express heartfelt gratitude, the most important thing is that the gift be highly personalized — referring to the life of the recipient and perhaps even connected to the very act or gesture for which we are grateful.

  -  It is essential that the gift is not a “burden” — its reception should not be troublesome (for instance, it should not be too expensive).

For more casual relationships or when the gratitude is not as deeply personal, the gift can be something very modest, yet still a clear sign that we thought of this person. For example:

  -  In summer: sōmen, beer, fruit, fruit jellies, cooling beverages

  -  In winter: cold cuts, seafood, sake, vegetable oils, rice, sweets (especially wagashi)

  -  But also: cosmetics, tea, coffee, towels, regional products

  -  Each of these gifts speaks to the nature of the relationship.
  -  Fruit — delicacy and seasonality.
  -  Beer — equality and sociability.
  -  Oil — care for the everyday.
  -  Wagashi — tradition and respect.

On the other hand, the following are not given:

  -  Knives (a symbol of “severing bonds”)

  -  White chrysanthemums (associated with funerals)

  -  Money (except in specific contexts, such as weddings)

  -  Combs (kushi in Japanese, which can be phonetically interpreted as “ku” [苦 – suffering] and “shi” [死 – death]). A comb as a gift is a bad omen and may imply hostile intent.

  -  Sets of four items (e.g., cups, bowls) — the number four (四, shi) is pronounced the same as “death” (死), so only even-numbered sets such as two or six are given. Four is unlucky.

  -  White towels — often distributed at temples or funerals, they carry a mourning connotation. Color and form matter.

  -  Shoes, socks, slippers — items worn on the feet can be interpreted as symbols of humiliation — suggesting that someone “stands lower” in the social hierarchy.

Giri and On

A Japanese gesture of giving is never random. Behind every offering — whether it’s a box of summer yōkan jellies or a humble packet of green tea — lies not just courtesy, but an entire world of values that is difficult to capture in direct translation. Two Japanese words: 義理 (giri) and 恩 (on) form the foundation of the philosophy of the gift, deeply rooted in the psychology of relationships and social consciousness. It is these concepts that make oseibo and ochūgen so much more than just gift-buying traditions.

Giri (義理) – Politeness as Obligation

The character 義 means “justice,” “moral principle” — and carries a powerful cultural weight. It combines the elements for “sheep” (⺷) and “self” (我), which in ancient times were linked to ritual sacrifices and the necessity of maintaining order. 理 means “logic,” “order,” and also “reason.” Together, they form the concept of giri: a social duty arising from a moral relationship.

In practice, giri is the inner voice that says, “because this person did something for me — I must also respond.” Not as a transaction or compulsion, but as the ethical consequence of being part of a community. In Japan, people do not ask: “Was it worth helping?” but rather: “Did I respond in the right way?” That is precisely why oseibo and ochūgen endure — they are the material form of invisible obligations.

On (恩) – Gratitude That Cannot Be Repaid

By contrast, 恩 (on) is a much more delicate word — harder to define with logic, closer to the heart than to the intellect. Its kanji contains the characters for “heart” (心) and “covering” (因), which metaphorically can be interpreted as “a feeling wrapped in a profound weight.” On is a debt of gratitude that — significantly — can never be fully repaid.

It is the feeling that remains when someone has done something great for us — raised us, saved us, sacrificed for us. And even if we respond with hundreds of gestures, we feel that our gratitude cannot repay that debt. On does not seek balance, nor expect symmetry — it is an expression of remembrance and continuity.

In familial and student-master relationships, on is crucial. A teacher who guided a student through difficult years does not expect a reward, but the student knows that they carry on within themselves for life, and that they should express it — through oseibo, through remembrance, through readiness to help.

Can a Gift Be Free of Expectation?

This is a question one might ask not only in the context of Japan but also in one's own life. Is it possible to give something to someone without the slightest expectation of gratitude, recognition, or reciprocation? In the Japanese philosophy of giving, the answer is: not quite — and it is precisely this that gives the gift its depth.

Because the point is not to give without a trace of expectation — but to be aware that a gift does not end at the moment it is handed over. It endures — as a relationship and an obligation. Giri and on teach us that every relationship is a structure of memory and responsibility. That even if someone does not ask, we feel it is worth responding — not out of duty, but from an internal sense of order, from care for the bond.

A Lesson for Us: Kindness as the Rhythm of Life

In a world where gifts are increasingly used as tools of PR, manipulation, or obligatory formality, the Japanese approach can be refreshing. It teaches us that giving something to someone is not merely the transfer of an object, but also an acknowledgment of that person’s place in our life.

Sometimes a small gesture is enough: a tea leaf, a homemade cookie, a short message written with care — to say: “you are important. I remember.” Perhaps we don’t need to speak of giri or on in daily conversation — but sometimes we feel them, even if we name them differently in Polish — it is a rhythm of relationships worth nurturing.

And although our society lacks exact words for such things, perhaps we still need to make more of an effort to cultivate them — even under different names — so that gratitude becomes something more than a polite “thank you,” and turns into a constant presence in relationships, reminding us that life is a web of gifts — not always equal, but always meaningful.

Modern Times: Preserved Form, Changing Meaning

At first glance, oseibo and ochūgen seem to be doing quite well in Japan (or at least oseibo; ochūgen is already somewhat fading). Department stores in December bend under the weight of gift boxes filled with yuzu marmalade, bottles of sake from local breweries, tea assortments, and towels in ornate boxes. On aesthetically wrapped cartons, the names of senders and recipients appear, and meticulously calligraphed stickers speak of gratitude and respect. Everything looks just as it used to. But something has changed — and what matters most is not always visible at first sight.

The Younger Generation: Is It Still an Inner Obligation or Just an Empty Convention?

Among younger Japanese — especially those living in cities, detached from their hometown communities — the oseibo tradition is increasingly becoming a mere shadow of its former ritual. Some no longer know whom, when, or why one should give anything. Others perform the gesture “out of habit” — sending prepackaged gift sets from an online store because it’s the expected thing to do for a boss or in-laws. The form has survived, but the meaning is fading.

This is not so much a collapse as it is a transformation. The sense of obligation is dissolving, but conscious gratitude does not always take its place. Or perhaps — a different form of gratitude emerges, one less tied to the calendar and more to an emotional moment, a personal impulse. In a culture that still deeply values harmony in relationships, this shift may be quiet, but significant.

Oseibo in the World of Companies and Corporations

In many public institutions and corporations, formal bans on accepting gifts have been introduced. What was once a natural element of professional relationships — a box of fruit or a coffee set for a doctor, lawyer, or civil servant — is now often seen as a potential conflict of interest. As a result, traditional oseibo in institutional settings has often been replaced with symbols: a company calendar, a New Year’s card, a small branded gadget. We know this from Poland as well — nothing unusual.

It is more economical, safer, but also… colder. Can a calendar carry as much meaning as a carefully selected tea set chosen to match someone’s taste, wrapped by hand, presented with a bow and a warm word?

Couriers, Clicks, Screens – A Gift Without a Meeting

Modern oseibo increasingly resembles a transaction: the customer selects a gift in an app, enters the recipient’s address, adds a ready-made label with a polite phrase and… clicks. The courier delivers the package, and the recipient replies with a thank-you message. Convenient and quick.

But has something been lost? Is a gift that contains no glance, no voice, no scent of tea brewed while handing it over, still the same kind of gift? Can we still speak of oseibo if there was no meeting — no short, ceremonial moment of being together, even for a minute?

In Japanese culture of relationships, the concept of ma 間 — interpersonal space, a moment of pause, of mindful presence — is of enormous importance. Oseibo was never just a gift — it was an act of ma, a space of silence and mutual understanding. Can a phone screen, despite all its technology, generate the same kind of presence?

Perhaps it is precisely today, when a gift can arrive without a word, without presence, that we need more than ever to recall the spirit of giving. To remember that the most important thing is not what we give, but how and why. Japanese oseibo and ochūgen, even if losing their classical form, can still teach us something priceless: that relationships require care, gratitude requires expression, and ritual requires presence.

Because maybe it’s not the tea set that is the gift — but the very attentiveness with which we thought of someone. And that is something no courier can deliver.

So, What Is It Really? Is Oseibo a Living Tradition, or Has It Slipped into the Abyss of Commercialism Like Western Christmas?

Does Oseibo Still Live?

In an era of quick purchases and automation, it’s easy to believe that oseibo is nothing more than the shadow of an old custom — that over time, it has slipped into thoughtless buying of coffee gift sets via an app, into the routine click of “add to cart.” But that would be an oversimplification. Japan, though in many ways a country living in the future, simultaneously tends to its traditions with remarkable strength — quiet, deep, and unassuming. That is why it fascinates so many people from abroad.

We see this paradox everywhere: the land of ultra-fast Shinkansen trains is also the homeland of artisans who spend their lives perfecting a single type of knife or crafting brushes from horsehair, their works sold in shops that offer hand-made washi paper. People order sushi via apps, and at the same time are willing to wait for hours to sit at the counter of a master who turns a slice of fish into an act of art with a single movement of the knife.

The same applies to oseibo. Yes, on one hand we see commercialization — catalogs, couriers, bulk corporate gift orders. But on the other, there are still spaces where this gesture remains profound, personal, and full of meaning.

Student and Master – The Heart of an Unbroken Tradition

One of these spaces is the student–master relationship, which in Japan has retained an almost sacred dimension. Whether in martial arts (such as kendo, karate, or kyūdō), calligraphy, nō theater, craftsmanship, the tea ceremony, or ikebana — a student who has received instruction never ceases to be a debtor filled with gratitude. And even though that debt (on) cannot be fully repaid (because it is immeasurable), it can be nurtured. In this relationship, oseibo is not an obligation but a quiet gesture: “I remember.”

A calligraphy master from Kyoto once said in an interview that each year he receives packages from his former students — tea from Uji, hand-crafted yuzu-scented carps, cards with personal words. Some of these students he hasn’t seen in decades — but oseibo is the thread that still connects them. There is nothing forced about it. There is respect, remembrance, and a relationship that does not need daily contact to exist.

A Rhythm of Life That Does Not Fade

Many people — especially those of middle and older generations — still treat oseibo as part of the annual rhythm, no less important than viewing cherry blossoms or eating zōni on New Year’s Day. It is a moment when we sit down, think of those to whom we owe something, and seek a way to express that gratitude. It might be a tea set, a towel from Wakayama Prefecture, or homemade cookies sent to an old teacher who no longer uses a smartphone.

In Japanese homes, envelopes with thank-you letters can still be found carefully stored in drawers, scented with ink and paper. For some, this may be the last space where memory and relationship are recorded not in the cloud, but in calligraphy.

Not Everything Must Be New to Be Alive

Of course — the world changes. But Japan possesses an extraordinary ability to reshape modernity so that old values can survive within it. Even if a gift is sent through an online store, if it is accompanied by a carefully written letter, selected with the recipient’s taste in mind, and thoughtfully wrapped, it can still carry what matters most — gratitude, remembrance, and relationship.

It is not about resisting change. Rather, it is about — as in a Japanese garden — tending to what is enduring, even if its form evolves. Oseibo is alive. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes in the shadow of towering Western Christmas trees and commercials. But within it, one can still feel genuine emotion.

Small Gifts – Great Remembrance

What distinguishes what we give from what we truly offer? Is a package of sōmen or tea from Uji just a thing — or is it a sign that someone remembers us? This is perhaps the most important distinction by which we can judge whether a tradition is dead or alive. In Japan, gifts are understood with extraordinary subtlety: even the most modest present carries with it attentiveness, memory, and presence. It is not about material value, but about the gesture of being with someone — inscribed into the cycle of the seasons. It is something increasingly lacking in a world of immediacy and constant busyness.

Modern Poland knows various forms of gratitude, yet they are less and less seasonal, ritualized, or predictable in their order. Oseibo and ochūgen teach us that a ritual of gratitude does not have to be forced, even when it is part of the calendar. By giving something once a year — we do not forget about someone during the remaining days, but create symbolic anchors of connection that hold the community together through time.

Food as a gift is no accident — it is a return to what is basic, everyday, shared, and communal. When we give someone fruit, rice, tea, or a homemade treat, we are saying: “I wish to share with you what is simple and essential.” It is a small gesture, not expecting reciprocation, but expressing care — not for display. In the age of digital communication, perhaps the most precious gift we can offer each other is time and attention. And also, the continuity of a relationship that does not fade with the end of a conversation or the closing of a window.

If we were to bring even a little of the oseibo philosophy into our lives — this seasonal reminder of gratitude — would our relationships not become deeper, warmer, more stable? Perhaps it would be enough to write a letter once every six months, send a card, give someone fruit, or invite them for coffee — just to say: “I’m grateful to you.” Without a reason. Without an occasion. Without expectations.

Because gratitude is not an emotion, but a practice. It is the choice to be together — even across distance. Japan reminds us that a gift can be a form of presence in a world that increasingly forgets what presence truly means. So perhaps it is worth — in the middle of summer or at the end of the year — offering someone a small gift. A quiet sign that the bond endures. And maybe even… to make it a regular practice, just like in Japan?

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"Strong Japanese Women"

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    未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

  Mike Soray

   (aka Michał Sobieraj)

未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

Mike Soray

(aka Michał Sobieraj)

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