Birthday Ritual: Tokyo
Anko no Ohana – the art of Japanese wagashi
There’s something sacred about rituals.
Mine? A yearly birthday trip.
It started as a quiet act of rebellion – against burnout, against routine, against the idea that growing older meant growing duller. Over the years, it’s grown into something more deliberate – a soft container for exploration, reflection, and learning. A space I gift myself to remember who I am, who I’ve been, and who I want to become.
Last June, Tokyo called. (a little overdued, I know)
It felt like the perfect place to celebrate another trip around the sun. I split my days between wandering the city and slowing down to learn something delicate and cultural – the art of wagashi.
More specifically, a style called Anko no Ohana – an intricate Japanese dessert where sweet bean paste is sculpted into impossibly perfect, floral confections.
Yes, flowers. Made of beans. Edible blooms so detailed they look like they belong in a glass case at a botanical museum.
I signed up for a private 2-day class with Junko-san, a seasoned wagashi artist known for her featherlight hands and calming presence. I didn’t know exactly what I was walking into – but that’s the magic of learning something new, right? You enter humbly, like a beginner. You leave a little changed.
The First Day: Patience in Paste
Practicing the piping of flowers.
The first thing Junko-san taught me was how to feel the bean paste.
Not roll it. Not mix it. Feel it.
“It must be soft like your heart, but steady like your breath,” she said with a smile, placing a small scoop in my palm. We worked in near silence that morning, save for the soft hum of the kitchen fan and the occasional birdsong outside the studio window.
I watched as she piped petal after petal with what looked like zero effort, but I knew better. It was years of practice compacted into every swirl of her wrist.
My first attempts looked like… blobs. Lopsided carnations at best. But she never once corrected me harshly. She guided. She encouraged. “Don’t force the flower,” she said. “Let it bloom.”
That stayed with me.
Isn’t that the lesson we forget so easily? That growth isn’t forced. That beauty isn’t rushed. That the process itself is the art.
Feeling so proud of my creations on Day-2, with Junko-san.
The Second Day: Slay and Chill, Indeed
By Day Two, my piping was smoother. My hands steadier. The flowers? Still imperfect, but mine.
We crafted chrysanthemums and hydrangeas – each petal a breath of meditation. I was astonished at how much I’d learned in such a short span. There’s something deeply satisfying about using your hands to make something that disappears in a bite. No permanence. Just beauty, and then gone.
At the end of class, Junko-san handed me a boxed tray of my finished creations. I held it like it was a sacred relic, half-afraid they’d collapse in my hands. But I also knew… I made these. I made these!
Talk about making your cake and eating it.
We brewed matcha, sat together in stillness, and tasted the flowers. Delicate. Sweet without shouting. I was reminded that you don’t need to scream to make an impression.
And in that moment, I realised—this is the very spirit of WorkSlayChill.
To create. To savour. To learn new ways of being. Who says you can’t slay and chill at the same time?
Why I Do This Every Year
Some people celebrate birthdays with parties. I celebrate mine with presence.
Each birthday trip is like a mirror. The places I choose, the things I choose to learn – they all reflect what I need most in that chapter of my life. This year, I needed something slow. Something grounding. Something gentle, yet quietly powerful.
Wagashi gave me all that.
It wasn’t about “mastering” a new skill. It was about giving myself the gift of wonder. Of surprise. Of being taught again.
Now back to exploring the city – Ciao!
And Tokyo? It met me where I was. This city, like the desserts I made, felt curated with care.
To You, Reader
If you’ve read this far, maybe you’re someone who feels things deeply, too. Maybe you’re craving a soft ritual to call your own. Maybe you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be a beginner again.
My wish for you is simple – Find your version of wagashi.
Maybe it’s a pottery class.
Maybe it’s dancing in your living room.
Or simply taking yourself out for a solo coffee, just because.
Whatever it is – make it yours. Savour it.
Until next year’s ritual.
Love always,
Ira 💮