My name is Noriko, and I’m 52 years old. I live in a small city in Japan and meet with my friends every month at a cozy restaurant for dinner. We’re a group of six, all in our 50s, and we love talking about life, memories, and fun ideas. Last night, June 23, 2025, at 7:11 p.m., we were eating sushi and tempura when our friend Kenji asked a big question: “If you had a time machine, when would you go?” The conversation was so exciting, full of laughter and dreams. There were six of us: me, Kenji, our friend Yoko, Kenji’s coworker Tetsuo, Yoko’s neighbor Miki, and Tetsuo’s sister Hana. Let me share what happened, so you can feel like you were there with us.
The restaurant was warm, with soft lights and the smell of soy sauce. We sat around a round table, chopsticks in hand, passing plates of sushi. Kenji, who’s 54 and a history teacher, started it. “I’d go to the Sengoku period, around 1500 Japan,” he said. “It was a time of samurai and battles. I want to see Oda Nobunaga, the famous warlord. I’d watch how he led his army and maybe learn about honor. But I’d stay safe—no fighting for me!”
Yoko, a 51-year-old nurse, laughed. “Samurai? That’s too dangerous, Kenji! I’d go to the 1980s in Japan. It was the bubble economy—everyone was happy, music was fun, and cities were bright. I was a teenager then, and I miss the energy. I’d dance to pop music and wear those big shoulder pads again!” We all giggled, imagining Yoko in 80s fashion.
Tetsuo, who’s 53 and runs a small shop, sipped his tea. “The 1980s sound fun, but I’d go further back, to ancient Egypt, around 2500 BC. I want to see the pyramids being built. How did they move those huge stones? I’d talk to the workers and maybe see the pharaohs. It’s like a mystery, and I love solving puzzles.”
Miki, a 50-year-old artist, shook her head. “Egypt sounds hot and dusty! I’d go to Paris in the 1920s. It was a time of artists like Picasso and writers like Hemingway. I’d sit in cafés, paint with them, and talk about art. Paris was so alive then, full of new ideas. I’d wear a long dress and feel like I’m in a painting.”
Hana, Tetsuo’s 55-year-old sister and a librarian, smiled. “That’s beautiful, Miki. I’d go to the future, maybe 2100. I want to see how the world changes. Are there flying cars? Do we live on Mars? I’d check if libraries still exist or if everyone reads on screens. I hope books stay forever!”
I thought about it, eating a piece of tempura. “You all have great ideas. I’d go to the Edo period, around 1700 Japan. It was peaceful, with beautiful art and kimonos. I’d walk in Kyoto, see geishas, and eat traditional food. My grandma told me stories about that time, and I want to feel it for myself.”
Kenji nodded. “The Edo period sounds calm, Noriko. But why not the future like Hana? Don’t you want to see what’s next?” I shrugged. “The future sounds exciting, but I love history. The Edo period feels like a slower, simpler time. I’d learn how people lived without phones or cars. But I’d bring modern medicine—no getting sick!”
Yoko laughed. “Smart, Noriko! The 1980s had good music, but no internet. I’d bring my smartphone to take pictures of everyone in those crazy outfits. What about you, Tetsuo? Why Egypt?”
Tetsuo leaned forward. “I’ve always loved history shows about pyramids. I want to see how they did it—maybe aliens helped!” We all laughed. “No, really,” he said. “I’d ask the workers about their lives. Were they happy? Did they believe in gods? I’d also try their food, like bread and beer.”
Miki smiled. “Food in Paris in the 1920s would be better—croissants and coffee! I’d paint with artists and ask them how they create. I want to feel their passion. But I’d be careful not to change history, like telling them about modern art.”
Hana nodded. “That’s important. In 2100, I’d just watch, not change anything. I want to see if we solve big problems, like climate change. I’d ask people what they read and how they live. Maybe I’d bring back a future book to show you all!”
Kenji grinned. “I’d bring back a samurai sword from 1500, but I’d hide it so nobody fights me! I also want to see how people really lived then. Books say samurai were brave, but were they scared too? I’d ask Nobunaga about his dreams.”
Yoko sipped her soda. “I’d ask 1980s people why they loved big hair! But seriously, I’d talk to my teenage self. I’d say, ‘Don’t worry so much, Yoko. Life gets better.’ I miss that time, but I was so shy then. A time machine would let me enjoy it again.”
I looked at her. “That’s sweet, Yoko. Would you change anything in the 1980s?” She thought for a moment. “Maybe I’d study harder or make more friends. But I wouldn’t change too much—I like who I am now.”
Tetsuo nodded. “I wouldn’t change Egypt either. I just want to see it. But I’d tell the workers to take a break—they worked so hard! What about you, Miki? Would you paint with Picasso?”
Miki laughed. “I’d try, but he might not like me! I’d just listen to artists talk about life. I think the 1920s were free and creative, but also hard. I’d learn how they stayed hopeful. I’d bring back a sketch to show my students.”
Hana said, “In the future, I’d look for hope too. Are people happy in 2100? Do they care about each other? I’d tell my kids to keep reading, no matter what. What about you, Noriko? What would you do in the Edo period?”
I smiled. “I’d walk through markets, see craftsmen making pottery, and watch a kabuki play. I’d talk to women about their lives—were they happy? I’d bring back a kimono to wear now. But I’d miss my family, so I wouldn’t stay long.”
Kenji asked, “What’s the one thing you’d want to learn from your time?” Yoko said, “How to be fearless like I was in the 1980s.” Tetsuo said, “How ancient people built such big things.” Miki said, “How to create art with passion.” Hana said, “How the future solves problems.” Kenji said, “What made samurai strong.” I said, “How people found joy in a simple life.”
We kept talking, and the restaurant got quieter. Yumi asked, “What if we could only go to one time together?” We thought about it. Kenji suggested, “Let’s all go to the Edo period for Noriko’s kabuki play!” Yoko said, “No, the 1980s for a big party!” We laughed and couldn’t decide, but it was fun to imagine.
As we finished our sushi, the lights dimmed, and the restaurant felt cozy. We paid the bill and promised to talk again next month, maybe about space or dreams. Walking home under the stars, I thought about our time machine talk. It wasn’t just about the past or future—it was about who we are now, our memories, and our hopes. A time machine would be fun, but I’m happy with my friends, right here in 2025.