When I go on Japanese Airlines, I really love it because I like

The musician Phil Collins, though known for the rhythms of his songs, once spoke with simple delight: “When I go on Japanese Airlines, I really love it because I like Japanese food.” At first, these words may sound like casual praise, yet beneath them lies a lesson both profound and enduring. For they are not merely about a meal, nor about an airline, but about the deep human connection to culture, comfort, and the joy of finding oneself at home even in foreign skies. In these words is hidden the ancient truth: that the heart is nourished not only by sustenance, but by the familiar flavors of love and memory.

The mention of Japanese Airlines is not incidental. The journey of the traveler is often marked by discomfort, by the distance from home and the uncertainty of strange lands. Yet, in the midst of the voyage, when the body is weary and the heart unsettled, a small comfort—a warm bowl of rice, the savor of miso, the delicate taste of sushi—becomes a beacon of peace. To say “I really love it” is to proclaim that even amidst the vastness of the skies, a fragment of culture can restore joy. Thus, the airline becomes more than transport; it becomes sanctuary.

The joy of Japanese food is not simply in taste, but in its philosophy. The Japanese tradition of cooking honors balance, simplicity, and harmony with nature. To partake in such a meal is to partake in centuries of wisdom: the careful arrangement of flavors, the respect for the seasons, the reverence for what the earth provides. Collins’ words, though lighthearted, touch upon this truth. What he loves is not just the food itself, but the experience of being cared for through culture, of feeling human amidst the machinery of travel.

History gives us many echoes of this teaching. Consider the story of Marco Polo, who journeyed far from Venice into the lands of the East. Among the marvels he encountered, it was often the food that he remembered, for it carried the soul of each place he visited. Though he traveled for trade and knowledge, it was the meals, the flavors of strange lands, that became the bridge between worlds. In much the same way, Collins’ delight in Japanese food while traveling speaks to a universal truth: the table unites what distance divides.

The meaning of this quote, then, is larger than one man’s preference. It tells us that in every journey, it is the small things—the taste of food, the smile of a host, the familiar comfort amidst strangeness—that make us feel at home. Even as the traveler crosses oceans and nations, he finds belonging in these moments. And so the lesson is not only about Japanese Airlines or Japanese food, but about gratitude for the gifts that ease our passage through life.

The lesson for us all is clear: seek joy in the simple comforts that culture provides. When you travel, do not harden yourself against strangeness, but welcome the tastes and customs of others. Let food be your bridge to understanding, let the table be your meeting place. If you find what you love—whether it is the delicate artistry of Japanese cuisine or the hearty bread of another land—embrace it with gratitude. For in these joys, fleeting yet profound, lies the strength to continue your journey.

Practical action springs easily from this wisdom. When next you travel, partake of the food of the land not as a stranger, but as a guest. Honor the culture that feeds you, and allow yourself to delight in it, as Collins did. And even in your own home, remember to cherish the meals that bring you peace, for they too are sacraments of love. By savoring these gifts with mindfulness, you weave the fabric of belonging wherever you go.

Thus the teaching of Phil Collins, though cloaked in humor and simplicity, becomes timeless: “I really love it because I like Japanese food.” Love the food, and you love the culture. Love the culture, and you love the people. Love the people, and the world itself becomes home. And in such love, every journey, no matter how far, becomes a return.