Beloved Cars, Dogs, Swords—and OshiWhy Japanese Puts “Love” Before the Things We Treasure

1. The Trunk Hinges

Years ago, I owned a Nissan Silvia.
I loved the way its curves flowed from front to rear: the sharp, purposeful look of its front end, the shape of the taillights when viewed from a slight angle, and the line running from the roof down to the trunk, changing character depending on where I stood.
Whenever I washed the car, I opened the hood, both doors, and the trunk lid, carefully wiping down every corner. I always followed the same routine and cleaned the same places.
There was one spot I loved more than any other.
With the trunk lid raised high, its hinges came into view. Opposite them, the bodywork formed an unusual interplay of straight lines and curves, as though the two sides were reflections of each other. I loved that shape. Even now, I often find myself thinking about it.
It was not the kind of detail that would ever appear in a car magazine. It was nothing I could show off to anyone, and it had nothing to do with how the car performed. Yet whenever I finished washing the Silvia, I would stand there for a while and simply look at it.
To anyone else, it might have been nothing more than part of the car’s structure. To me, it was a special expression of the Silvia—one I could discover only because it was mine.
Japanese has a short word for this kind of attachment:
Aisha—a beloved car.

2. Words That Begin with Ai

Japanese has a number of words in which the character ai—love—is placed before something to express a special attachment to it.
Aisha. A beloved car.
Aiken. A beloved dog.
Aibyō. A beloved cat.
Aitō. A cherished sword.
And aiyōhin—a treasured possession used and cared for over many years.
Although each of these words begins with the same character, the love it expresses is not always the same.
With a car, a sword, or a favorite possession, attachment grows through use, care, and the passage of time. A beloved dog or cat, however, is not simply something a person owns and values. The word reflects a bond closer to family—one formed by caring for a living being and sharing a life together.
Walking through town, I sometimes notice the many different ways dogs and people relate to one another.
A small dog cradled in its owner’s arms. A large dog walking close beside its owner, matching every step. A medium-sized dog waiting quietly outside a convenience store, its leash secured to a U-shaped metal barrier near the entrance.
The moment the dog realizes its owner has returned, its expression changes and its tail begins to move. The owner meets the dog’s eyes, and their own expression softens.
Watching them, I sometimes feel that I can glimpse the invisible bond between them.
This dog must be deeply cared for.
And as I look at the owner, I find myself thinking:
Perhaps this is what it means to be an aikenka—someone truly devoted to dogs.
A car cannot answer when spoken to. A sword or a tool will never move closer of its own accord. Dogs and cats, however, respond when called. They come to our side, and sometimes even change the rhythm of our lives. The love involved is not merely given in one direction; it is something that grows between two living beings.
Even so, aisha and aiken have something important in common.
Their meaning comes not only from the value or role that others assign to the car or the dog, but from the time shared between one particular person and one particular presence. Through that accumulated time, the other becomes irreplaceable.
Of course, Japanese speakers cannot freely attach ai to the beginning of any word they choose. Yet when people hear aisha or aiken, many of them naturally sense a relationship that goes beyond simple ownership or classification.
The ai in aisha does not necessarily describe a grand or dramatic emotion. It is closer to a quiet attachment—the kind that grows from driving a car each day, caring for it, and finding yourself drawn to details no one else would notice. The ai in aiken or aibyō carries the warmth of living alongside another creature: caring for it each day and being moved by its expressions and gestures.
The same character is used in each word, but the form that love takes changes with the one receiving it.
For me, the ai in aisha revealed itself in the trunk lid and its hinges—and in the part of the Silvia’s body that seemed to mirror them.

3. The Sense That Objects, Too, Can Have a Spirit

Why does Japanese use the word “love” even for inanimate objects?
Japan has an old tradition surrounding tsukumogami: tools and household objects that, after existing for many years, are believed to acquire spirits. According to these traditions, old objects may come to be inhabited by spirits and sometimes appear in the form of supernatural beings.
This tradition cannot be directly credited with creating words such as aisha or aiyōhin. Even so, there is a certain resonance between them. Both reflect a way of seeing objects not as entirely lifeless things, but as bearers of the time and relationships accumulated through their use.
That sensibility still survives in many forms today.
One example is hari kuyō, the memorial rite for used sewing needles. Needles that have broken, rusted, or reached the end of their usefulness are honored with gratitude. Customs vary among regions, temples, and shrines. In some places, the needles are gently placed into soft tofu or konnyaku. Elsewhere, they are purified and laid to rest in a needle mound. There are several theories about the rite’s origins, but it is closely associated with beliefs surrounding Awashima Shrine in Wakayama and is thought to have spread across Japan during the Edo period.
There are also memorial rites for eyeglasses.
These ceremonies, held at both Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, express gratitude to glasses that have reached the end of their useful lives. Katsuragi Shrine in Tokushima has a monument known as the Megane-zuka, or Eyeglasses Mound, where old glasses are honored.
At Ichibata Yakushi, a Buddhist temple in Shimane, usable glasses have also been given a new purpose after the memorial rite. With help from optical shops and others, the glasses are cleaned, measured and labeled according to their prescription strength, and then donated to people in India.
What is especially interesting is that the word ai does not appear in the names of these ceremonies. Instead, people use another concept—kuyō—to express gratitude toward objects that have served them for many years, as well as a reluctance to simply discard them once their role has ended.
Perhaps ai is only one of several doorways into this broader sensibility.
One person may see the inside of a trunk as nothing more than an empty space. Another may become absorbed in the particular meeting of lines and curves revealed there.
The difference lies not in the object itself, I think, but in the time one has spent with it.

4. A Similar Feeling Exists in English, Too

Of course, Japanese people are not the only ones who form deep attachments to objects.
In English, ships have traditionally been referred to as “she,” and some people give their cars names. Referring to a ship as “it” has become common today, but the impulse to treat a ship or car as more than a means of transportation—as a companion with a personality of its own—has not disappeared.
The first long journey. The hours spent carrying family and friends. The roads traveled after overcoming breakdowns and repairs. When memories like these accumulate around a car, it can begin to feel like a member of the family or a trusted companion of many years. That feeling is easy for Japanese people to understand.
English also has expressions such as “beloved car” and “trusted companion” to convey affection for a valued vehicle or tool. This is not a claim that people in English-speaking cultures lack such feelings, or that attachment to objects exists only in Japan.
The difference, if there is one, lies in how that feeling is expressed through language.
In Japanese, placing the single character ai—love—before the word for car creates aisha. Without any further explanation, the word can suggest that the owner has a special attachment to the car and has shared a long stretch of life with it.
Within those two Japanese characters, there is room for every hour spent washing the car, every road traveled, and every memory of gazing at a place no one else would notice.
It is not that what I felt for my Silvia cannot be expressed in English.
Japanese simply gave me a shorter way to say it:
Aisha.

5. A Modern Form of Devotion: Oshikatsu

Today, there is another word for the special place a person or character can hold in someone’s life—one that differs from aisha.
That word is oshi.
An oshi may be a performer, actor, fictional character, or creative work that someone especially loves and wants to support. Fans attend concerts and events, buy works and merchandise, celebrate birthdays, and sometimes travel great distances to see the person or character they care about. These activities are collectively known as oshikatsu.
Of course, aisha and oshi do not belong to the same linguistic tradition.
An aisha is something a person owns, drives, and cares for, deepening the attachment through direct experience. An oshi, by contrast, is usually admired and supported from a distance—someone or something whose presence and achievements can, in turn, give strength to the fan. The relationships are different.
Even so, the two may share something important: recognizing a value that is difficult for others to see.
To someone else, a trunk hinge may be nothing more than a car part. To another person, a performer may be someone worth traveling to see again and again, or a fictional character may be someone whose story they want to follow for years.
We cannot always explain in words why something matters to us so deeply.
We simply know what makes it special.
Aisha and oshi refer to different things and involve different ways of relating to them.
Yet perhaps they are closer than they first appear. Both involve turning one’s heart toward a special value discovered for oneself, rather than a value decided by someone else.

6. Returning to That Place

For me, ai still resides in the place revealed whenever I opened the trunk of my Silvia.
The trunk lid raised high above me, its hinges in view. And opposite them, the straight lines and curves of the bodywork, mirroring their shapes.
It was not something I looked at to show anyone else or to earn anyone’s approval. I alone knew what made that shape beautiful. That was enough.
There is a form of love expressed outwardly, such as traveling a great distance to meet one’s oshi. There is also a quieter form: continuing to care for something while gazing at a detail no one else notices.
The ways of relating may differ, but I think the feeling beneath them is the same—a desire to cherish a value one has discovered for oneself.
Aisha, aiken, aibyō, aitō—and oshi.
The ai in Japanese does not always describe a grand or dramatic emotion. It can also quietly hold the time spent together and the small qualities visible only to one particular person.
For me, it was that place—visible only when I opened the trunk.
Even now, I often think about it.

Japanese Words, Names & Places

愛 (ai) ➠ love
The character placed at the beginning of words such as aisha and aiken. Depending on the subject, it can express affection, attachment, care, or devotion.
愛車 (aisha) ➠ beloved car
A car toward which its owner feels a deep personal attachment.
愛犬 (aiken) ➠ beloved dog
A cherished dog regarded not simply as a pet, but often as a member of the family.
愛猫 (aibyō) ➠ beloved cat
A cherished cat with whom a person shares a close bond.
愛刀 (aitō) ➠ cherished sword
A sword valued deeply by its owner or wielder.
愛用品 (aiyōhin) ➠ cherished personal item
An object used regularly and cared for over a long period of time.
愛犬家 (aikenka) ➠ devoted dog lover
Someone who deeply loves, cares for, and values dogs.
付喪神 (tsukumogami) ➠ old objects believed to acquire spirits
Supernatural beings in Japanese folklore said to emerge from tools and household objects that have existed for many years.
供養 (kuyō) ➠ a rite of remembrance, gratitude, and respect
A Buddhist-influenced practice of honoring the dead, living beings, or even objects that have completed their purpose.
針供養 (hari kuyō) ➠ memorial rite for sewing needles
A ceremony honoring broken or worn-out needles for their years of service.
眼鏡供養 (megane kuyō) ➠ memorial rite for eyeglasses
A ceremony expressing gratitude toward eyeglasses that are no longer used.
推し (oshi) ➠ a person, character, or work someone especially supports
A favorite toward whom a fan feels a strong personal attachment and desire to offer support.
推し活 (oshikatsu) ➠ activities devoted to supporting an oshi
This may include attending events, buying merchandise, celebrating birthdays, and traveling to see one’s oshi.
淡嶋神社（あわしまじんじゃ）➠ Awashima Shrine, Wakayama Prefecture
A Shinto shrine closely associated with the tradition of hari kuyō.
葛城神社（かつらぎじんじゃ）➠ Katsuragi Shrine, Tokushima Prefecture
A Shinto shrine with the Megane-zuka, or Eyeglasses Mound, where old eyeglasses are honored.
一畑薬師（いちばたやくし）➠ Ichibata Yakushi, Shimane Prefecture
A Buddhist temple known for its connection with eye health and for donating usable eyeglasses after memorial rites.

Sources

• Cultural Heritage Online — Hyakki Yagyō Emaki / Japanese cultural heritage materials — 付喪神・百鬼夜行絵巻関連

• Wakayama City — Hari Kuyō at Awashima Shrine — 淡嶋神社の針供養。針を祓った後、針塚に納め、塩をかけて土に返す神事。

• Wakayama Official Tourism — Hari Kuyō at Awashima Shrine — 淡嶋神社と針供養の補足確認。

• Japan Optometric Association — Eyeglasses and related shrines/temples — 徳島県・葛城神社の「めがね塚」「めがね供養」。

• Ichibata Yakushi — Memorial Services — 一畑薬師の眼鏡供養と、使用可能な眼鏡のインドへの寄贈。

Note: This article is based on the author's own experiences and memories. Generative AI was used to assist with parts of the structure, research, and editing, and the author reviewed and revised the final text. The header image was also created using generative AI.