The Soul of Summer - Fujirock Festival 2025

Where mountains sing, strangers become family, and music melts into mist

The Naeba Ski Resort in July is a study in alchemical transformation. By winter, it’s a snow-laden wonderland; by summer, it becomes Japan’s sacred ground for music pilgrims. 

As I stepped off at the Echigo-Yuzawa Station—the 90-minute Shinkansen ride from Tokyo already feeling like a ritual—I felt it again: that  tingling sense of homecoming . This wasn’t just a festival. It was a reunion with a valley that breathes music.  

The Stage Is Set: Mountains, Music, and Mist    

Fuji Rock’s irony is legendary: it hasn’t been near Mount Fuji since 1997. After a typhoon-battered debut, it found its forever home in Naeba’s emerald embrace. Here, the Dragondola gondola; the world’s longest) soars over forests, stages nestle between rivers, and the air hums with anticipation. With 12 stages hosting 200+ artists, the 2025 lineup was a masterclass in curation:  

-   Fred Again (Green Stage, Friday) opened with seismic waves of electronic soul  

-   Vampire Weekend   (Green Stage, Sunday) closed with sun-drenched indie anthems  

-   RADWIMPS   (Green Stage, Saturday) fused rock with orchestral grandeur  

-   Field of Heaven, my sanctuary, hosted  Ezra Collective’s  jazz explosions and   Ego-Wrappin'  ’s smoky reveries  

💡  Pro Tip: The Red Marquee hosts secret raves until 5 AM. Follow the neon glow.   

The Real Magic: The Fuji Rock “Tribe”    

I’ve traveled to festivals worldwide, but  nowhere breeds connection like Fuji Rock. This year, our ragtag crew—forged via Jimmy’s legendary WhatsApp group—became a microcosm of the festival’s spirit:  

-   David, (a LA Dad): Our “den father,” handing out anecdotes and dad jokes in equal measure with his ready helping hand and a camera 

-   Amman & Sam (Malaysia/Spain BAs): Masters of crowd navigation. Sam’s “conquest chronicles” (a la Jimmy Olsen) fueled late-night laughs, while Amman cracked us up with quips. 

-   Sooyeon & Ashley (California Design/Dentistry Duo):  drew our crew and kept our smiles bright—literally.  

-   Mai (Tokyo): Our “Golden Ticket” guru. She’s stayed at Naeba Prince Hotel for 8 years straight via lottery wins. Her genuineness was priceless.  

-   Mark (Canadian Teacher): A fellow music nerd, kept the conversation alive with meditation and etymology and NewDay supply runs 

- Evan (British Exchange student) : Another kindred spirit and a festivals nomad, with a cute smile and kind eyes, happily regaled with music stories and helpfully lent me his power bank

- Iresha (an Australian startup techie) : a fellow boarder at the mountain cabin, with whom i shared stories on kangaroo fights and dating perils. Very kindly tagged my teen along on a shuttle 

-   Jimmy (Festival Patriarch): Admin of the 100+ member Reddit/WhatsApp community. His 15-year Fuji Rock streak is a masterclass in joyful curation.  

We were architects, dentists, students, nomads, bankers - united by Naeba’s pulse.   

 A Mother’s Moment:

As a solo parent, am always bracing for teenage eye-rolls. Instead, my 15- year-old was absorbed into the fold with breathtaking grace . Sam and Clara hung around with him.  When crowd packed the White Stage on Saturday, David materialized to get him to the group, “Dads instincts”. At 2 AM, as the Red Marquee throbbed and I was catching a shut eye in the car, the group just took care of him, treated him as one, ribbed him for being tallest and youngest with a kid’s wristband.  No ask, just instinct.  

This is Fuji Rock’s secret sauce: communal care.   It’s why 17,000+ camp on golf-course-turned-campsites, ship tents ahead, or book lodges years early. You’re never truly alone here.  

Survival Secrets & Spiritual Sustenance    

Logistics  matter in this mountain paradise:  

-   Sleep  : Camp (¥5,000) for camaraderie, or book  now  for 2026 lodges (Mitsumata/Shuttle Stop 3 is quieter).  

-   Eat  : Follow the curry bread scent to “Oasis”—30+ global food stalls. The Hokkaido crab soup revived me daily.  

-   Move  : Shinkansen + shuttle bus (¥6,790 + ¥2,000) beats traffic. Parking is ¥5,000/day.  

-   Pack  : Waterproof boots (mud is biblical), reusable bottle (free water stations), and an open heart.  

But beyond practicality lies  something sacred  :  

- Soak your feet in   Kaikake Onsen’s   hot springs as the sun sets.  

- Wander the  “Crystal Palace”   woods for impromptu DJ sets.  

- Dance barefoot in the creek near   Field of Heaven   while Galactic’s horns echo.  

Why Fuji Rock, Indeed?    

In a world of hyper-curated festivals, Fuji Rock remains  wild, organic, defiantly human. It’s where:  

-   Sustainability   isn’t buzzword—it’s policy (“cleanest festival” ethos).  

-   Kids under 15 enter free because music is birthright.  

-   Rain becomes a bonding agent, mud a badge of honour.  

As T.S. Eliot wrote, “To make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”

As I hugged Jimmy and the others goodbye at 3:30 am on 28th Jul,  under the red and green of Crystal Palace; already plotting 2026—I realized this valley doesn’t just host music. It weaves temporary families  from Tokyo commuters, Malaysian analysts, Spanish ‘chick magnets’; California dentists and Graphic Designers and Canadian teachers. 

We arrived strangers. We left as keepers of a shared story, written in guitar riffs, downpours, and the stubborn belief that  joy is best multiplied 

Fuji Rock doesn’t just rock. It reverberates in your bones.   

Copyright©Neer 

Lacrimora

Lacrimora

In the heart of an ancient forest, where the trees whispered secrets to the wind and the stars seemed to weep silver light, there lay a mystical lake called Lacrimora. Its waters were said to hold the tears of the heavens, a shimmering, ever-shifting mirror that could heal the deepest sorrows. But the lake itself was alive, bound to a spirit named Aqualis, a being of liquid starlight and flowing shadows. She was the guardian of the waters, the keeper of sorrows, but her own was heavy with the weight of centuries of grief.

One moonlit night, as the forest hummed with the song of crickets and the air was thick with the scent of pine, a young wanderer named Eryn stumbled upon Lacrimora. He was a dreamer, his heart as wild and untamed as the forest itself, and he had been drawn to the lake by a whisper on the wind—a plea he could not ignore. When he reached the shore, he saw Aqualis rising from the depths, her form shimmering like moonlight on water, her eyes deep and endless, filled with a sorrow that made Eryn’s breath catch.

“Who are you?” Eryn asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes locked on hers.

Aqualis smiled softly, her voice echoing like the distant roar of the sea. “Am surprised you can see me! I am the spirit of this lake. Healer of the hearts"

Eryn stepped closer, his boots sinking into the soft earth at the water’s edge. “But, you look... sad,” he said softly. 

Aqualis laughed, her laughter a tinkle carried on the wind in the leaves, and it hummed through Eryn

“Oh no, don't worry about that, you clearly are looking for something, tell me your story!" 

"But you seem like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders! Please let me help you!" 

Aqualis’s gaze drifted away, her form shimmering with a hint of sadness. “I’ve seen so many souls come and go. They leave their tears behind, and I carry them with me. Sometimes I wish someone could see me, not just the lake, but me—my heart, my desires.”

Before she could stop herself, Aqualis seemed to be confiding in this mortal being, there was something about him, that made her forget herself

"Shall I tell you a happy story, instead?", Eryn stepped into the water, like a child and playfully asked her

No one had done that before! 

Night after night, Eryn returned to the lake. He brought stories and songs, laughter and light, and with each visit, Aqualis’s heart grew lighter. The spirit began to look forward to Eryn’s arrival, his presence like a balm to the centuries of loneliness. And Eryn, in turn, found himself drawn to Aqualis, to the haunting beauty of her form, the depth of her sorrow, the way her laughter sounded like the gentle lapping of waves.  Their nights were filled with whispered promises and shared dreams, their days with the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

But their love was not without its shadows. Aqualis was bound to the lake, her essence tied to its waters, and Eryn was mortal, his life fleeting compared to the eternity of the spirit’s existence. They both knew their time together was borrowed, a fragile thing that could not last.

One night, as the moon hung low and the stars seemed to hold their breath, Eryn knelt by the shore and took Aqualis’s hand. Her touch was cool and fluid, like water slipping through his fingers. “I don’t want to leave you,” Eryn whispered, his voice breaking. “But I know I can’t stay forever.”

Aqualis’s eyes filled with tears, though none fell. “You don’t have to,” she replied, her voice soft as the ripples on the lake. “Love isn’t about how long we have, these moments with you have been the brightest of my existence.”

Tears streamed down Eryn’s face, and as they fell into the lake, they shimmered like stars. Aqualis cupped Eryn’s face in her hands, her touch gentle yet filled with longing. “Tomorrow you will go and live your life filled our love and I will wait for you when you are ready,” she whispered. 

And the silence filled their hearts and they held each other—hauntingly, desperately, knowing their time was fleeting.

And Eryn bade his goodbye in the morning and went and lived his life as Aqualis wanted him to. The years passed, Eryn grew older, his hair turning silver, his steps slowing, while Aqualis remained unchanged, eternal.

When Eryn’s time came, he returned to the lake one last time. He knelt by the shore, his breath shallow, his heart heavy with the weight of goodbye. Aqualis rose from the depths, her form shimmering with tears she could not shed. “You are here,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I never left,” Eryn replied, his voice soft but steady. “My blood in my veins was made of you...”

And as Eryn closed his eyes for the last time, Aqualis gathered him in her arms, her form enveloping Eryn like the gentle embrace of the lake. And when the morning came, Eryn was gone, but the waters of Lacrimora shimmered with a new light, one that danced like fireflies on a summer’s eve.

And if you ever come upon Lacrimora yourself and listen closely, you might hear two voices intertwined, one mortal and one eternal, singing a love story that transcends time itself

Copyright©Neer

Whispers of Resurrection

​

Alchemizing

my hunger into holiness

my sanity into sinfulness

What if the answer

isn’t in endings,

but in the quiet bloom of beginnings?

Not in tearing apart,

but weaving together—

a tapestry

where all the gods meet,

their love spilling

into the soil of our souls,

birthing myths

we’ve yet to imagine

Do you feel the stars

holding their breath,

as we dare to wish upon them?

Do they wait,

trembling in their brilliance,

to see if we’ll rise

to meet our own dreams?

Do you think the universe

leans closer,

its vastness folding

into our fragile hearts?

Copyright©Neer

Cinnamon Memories

We drift into memories,  

even as we weave them,  

threads of stardust  … 

Listen to this, and this one here ,

I love them, and I know you would too 

And this one is a definite must

Playlists hum on shuffle,  

songs spilling like secrets,  

vibes whispered in texts,  

melodies floating like petals  

caught in the amber sunset

Stars blink awake,  

their laughter

Soft as snowflake

filling up the night 

And the world feels 

just right 

It Shuffles again 

With a mind without a rein

Run on algorithm,  

the LED pulses blue

like a heartbeat in the dark 

Every note, a sepia tinted hue 

Riding the constellation in an ark 

The air grows heavy, with unsung dream,  

Laughter spilling like a summer stream,  

Squeals of wonder, of silly delight,  

Caught in the halo of magic headlight 

We fall back on memories, without a break,

Of our fingers tracing constellations

maps, we never meant to make 

Hand in hand,  

we traipse through unnamed skies  

Days of conversations 

Only with our eyes 

Lifetimes wrapped 

in sparkling moments,  

Tiny treasures in my palm,  

Fireflies 

glowing in the midnight’s calm

Copyright©Neer