Why I Became Vegetarian

This article is an attempt to explain why I became vegetarian. However, I need to clarify something important from the start.

What’s written here is simply how I happened to think at the time of writing this article. My thoughts change from day to day, and I can’t claim to have articulated my feelings well.

Fundamentally, what underlies this choice isn’t something logical that can be explained in words—it’s something more intuitive, ambiguous, and unstable. Still, I felt it would be dishonest to have no answer when asked, so I wrote this as a practice in putting my thoughts into words for the sake of convenience.

Therefore, please don’t read what’s written here as “firm conviction” or “complete philosophy.” This is merely a snapshot of my attempt to somehow grasp my fluid and incomplete inner self at that moment in time.

1-1: My Dog’s Death and the Confrontation with “Life’s Absurdity”

The direct trigger for becoming vegetarian was my dog’s death two years ago. However, this isn’t the simple story of “I don’t eat them because they’re pitiful.”

Since childhood, I’ve been the type to think logically and abstractly about everything. Even when confronted with values considered “right” by society, somewhere in my heart I’ve harbored a cold sense that “these are just illusions humans arbitrarily created.” The seed that all values lack solid foundation and ultimately lead to emptiness—this nihilism had been rooted in me for a long time.

But what mercilessly pulled me back from such cold logic was the emotion of “sadness.”

When my dog died, beyond reason, I was simply sad.

Values are subjective, and there should be no absolute answers anywhere, yet the “sadness” of losing the life before my eyes existed as an undeniable, stern fact.

What tormented me further was my thinking patterns. From one death, my thoughts would spread to future anxieties: my father’s retirement, my grandfather’s aging, and the eventual absence of people dear to me… I would abstract even things that haven’t happened yet, spreading this immediate “sadness” to everything.

“Values supposedly don’t exist, yet losing something is this sad. And that sadness is already waiting everywhere in the future.”

This contradiction was the absurdity for me. No matter how much I armed myself with logic and tried to push away with “there’s no meaning,” I couldn’t deceive this pain squeezing my chest.

At that moment, I thought: In this incomprehensible, absurd world, I don’t want to betray at least this intuition of “sadness.” If logic doesn’t work, I must at least fix my “actions” and determine where I stand as I’m swept away.

And so, the day after my dog passed, I stopped eating meat and fish. Rather than a logical conclusion, it was perhaps my desperate resistance to hold together my crumbling self.

1-2: Distrust of Values and a Mind-Body at a Standstill

I’ve never once fully believed in the forms of “success” or “happiness” that society upholds.

From a young age, there’s been a detached part of me. Even when encountering values considered good by the world, I’d question, “Is that really so important?” But I didn’t have enough conviction to completely deny them and go a different path. I’ve lived with this floating sensation of “only half-believing.”

The problem was that while holding this half-hearted, detached feeling, I was good at “being logical.”

I had the ability to solve tasks logically, whether in exams or in my work as an engineer. But because I didn’t feel “value” in that competition itself, I couldn’t drive myself like people who genuinely believed in and charged ahead in that system.

“Can I really make it in this capitalist competition?” “Will I be used up while unable to find value in work?”

Such anxieties were always at my feet. The more I internalized the expectations of those around me and my parents, thinking “I have to do things properly,” the greater the gap with my true feelings became.

When I was in Japan, that conflict finally reached its limit. I was struck by intense apathy, my once-sharp mind stopped working, my health deteriorated, and I literally became “unable to move.” The anxiety about not being able to navigate this system well and my immobile body—the choice to move to Thailand was a desperate attempt to escape that dead-end situation.

No matter how much I utilized my forte of “logic,” I couldn’t find meaning in my future life, nor could I stop the overflowing anxiety and apathy. That impasse pushed me toward the decision to step off the “existing rails.”

1-3: Deepening Nihilism and the “Anchor” to Hold Myself

Life in Thailand freed me from the social pressure of Japan. My health recovered, and I’m not in as desperate a state as I was then. However, in this peaceful life, I began to feel a different kind of “wrongness.”

It’s the tendency toward nihilism that has been strengthening within me year by year.

The world is becoming increasingly unstable. Generative AI is rapidly spreading, and there’s a growing possibility of Trump gaining power again in America. Facing such unpredictable changes, my tendency to doubt and analyze everything inevitably flows toward “there’s no solid meaning to life.”

Meanwhile, my parents continue to direct “general expectations” toward me, like marriage and children. I’m getting older each year, but I don’t have values that allow me to wholeheartedly say yes to such expectations.

The problem is that I’m not making the choice to “not meet my parents’ expectations” based on my own clear values.

I don’t have a strong will saying “I live this way, so I can’t meet my parents’ expectations.” Instead, because I have no “value” within me, I’m swept away by waves of nihilism, drifting farther and farther from where my parents are. That sensation is strong.

At this rate, I’ll just drift endlessly with “nothing.”

That’s why I wanted an “anchor.” Among all things, I realized that “eating”—an act that occurs every day—is the most reliable domain to anchor myself.

Even without the absolute foundation of being “right,” a point where I decided with my will to “not move from here.” That, for me, was the choice to become vegetarian.

Neither swallowed by the emptiness of anything-goes, nor simply swept along by someone’s expectations. To confirm where I stand, I deliberately fix a part of my life to be “unfree.” I think I was driven by the internal necessity to somehow anchor my footing to the ground.

2-1: The “Absence of Meaning” at the End of Logic

I’ve always been the type to think things through thoroughly. But logic can be cruel—the more you pursue it, the more it ultimately arrives at “lack of foundation.”

“Why shouldn’t we kill people?” “Why must we work?” “Why must we continue living?”

It’s impossible to provide perfect, objective answers to these questions for everyone. Thinking logically, all values are just “conventions” humans arbitrarily created, and on a cosmic scale, my life doesn’t have an iota of meaning. That conclusion has always clung to the corner of my mind.

This understanding of “absence of meaning” through reason is the essence of my nihilism.

Especially in today’s era, I keep hearing news that strengthens that feeling. Generative AI is rapidly spreading, systematically replacing even “thinking” and “expression” that we thought were uniquely human. Watching the increasingly opaque world situation, logic increasingly led me toward “nothing matters anyway” and “ultimately, it’s all emptiness.”

Previously, I could only surrender to this floating sensation of “there’s no meaning.” But living in a state where you can’t believe or think anything is right consumes far more energy than imaginable and is mentally too difficult.

No matter how much I run logic, the answer “meaning of life” isn’t output.

When I reached that extreme of logic, I felt acutely the necessity to anchor myself with “something that isn’t reason.”

2-2: Kierkegaardian Leap: Self-Setting “Rightness” Without Foundation

Logic tells me “there’s no meaning.” But living that way is too difficult. Here, I felt the necessity to betray logic.

The philosopher Kierkegaard once called believing beyond logic a “leap” in the depths of despair. My vegetarianism is close to this “leap.”

If I ask myself “Is not eating meat truly logically correct?”, the answer is neither yes nor no. Plants are also alive, and the logic that eating meat as part of the ecosystem is natural also holds.

But I decided to stop getting caught in that logical loop seeking “the correct answer.”

Because there’s no objective correct answer, a subjective “leap” is necessary.

“I set not eating meat as the right thing for myself.”

Acknowledging the lack of foundation, yet deliberately deciding rules for myself. If I don’t forcibly create “meaning” this way, I can’t maintain my position in this fluid world.

Even if it’s temporary, I can’t walk through the long time called life without taking the step of “I believe this is right and proceed.” The vegetarian choice isn’t an “answer” logically derived, but the “will” I grasped by deliberately leaping beyond logic to stand up in the void.

2-3: Application of “Disciplining Spirit Through Action” from Religious Precepts

To maintain this “leap” in daily life, I referenced the mechanism of religious “precepts.”

I want to clarify—I’m not devoted to Islam or Judaism itself. Rather than believing in specific doctrines, I found interesting the “function of actions” like praying five times daily, wearing specific hats, or prohibiting certain foods.

They don’t just believe teachings intellectually; they create opportunities to reflect daily and reconfirm who they are by “framing their actions.”

“Why am I praying now?” “Why am I not eating this now?”

By embedding these questions into daily life, they brake the time that would otherwise pass aimlessly. Even for me, who doesn’t follow a specific religion, this “system of disciplining the inner self by fixing actions” seemed like a very rational tool for anchoring my existence.

Living normally in Japan, you rarely have opportunities to question your values daily. But if I set “constraints” on eating—something that occurs multiple times a day—it becomes a switch that reminds me “how am I trying to live?” each time. It’s close to the feeling of borrowing religious wisdom as my own “method for living.”

2-4: Anchoring the Fluid Self by Constraining Food

Becoming vegetarian certainly made my life less convenient. I struggle with restaurant choices and must be more careful with friends than before.

But that “lack of freedom” itself was the anchor I sought.

A state where you can freely choose anything seems happy, but for someone prone to nihilism like me, it’s like a “bottomless sea” where I’d drift endlessly. By imposing the physical restriction of “not eating meat,” each meal or explanation to someone forces the question “Why am I doing this?” to arise within me.

Deliberately constraining “physical actions” related to eating—something unavoidable in living.

Through that, I’m somehow anchoring myself “here, now” against being swallowed by unstable world situations, internalized parental expectations, or my own sense of emptiness.

Living normally, there are no opportunities to reflect on your values daily. But thanks to this lack of freedom, I can hold the feeling of steering my own life every day.

Vegetarianism is my spiritual self-defense art and the “daily ritual” for maintaining my fluid outline.

3-1: Dealing with Internalized Expectations

Even choosing this free life in Thailand, “expectations from parents and society” haven’t completely vanished from within me. Rather, they’re deeply rooted as patterns in my thinking.

Previously, I would excessively detect surrounding expectations and internalize (copy) them as if they were my own will. Models of “general happiness” like the stability, success, or marriage my parents hoped for. I didn’t believe them from my heart, yet I didn’t have strong enough motivation to completely deny them and cut ties.

This in-between state of “half-believing but unable to ignore” exhausted me the most.

If I swallow all expectations, my individuality disappears. But I don’t want to reject everything and become isolated. What I seek is an “appropriate relationship” with society and parents. An exquisite distance where I understand others’ expectations without surrendering myself to them. The vegetarian choice began functioning as a tool to find that balance.

Being vegetarian allows me to show the fact that “I operate by different rules than you” in concrete situations like meals—not causing too many waves, yet clearly.

This is an attempt to secure my own “territory (sanctuary)” in daily life—neither accepting 100% of parental expectations nor rejecting them 100%. By having the firm constraint of “not eating” within me that no one can copy, I feel I’ve become able to properly filter expectations flowing in from outside.

3-2: Creating Situations Where I Must Assert Myself

Originally, I’m not the type to strongly push my opinions or confront others. Because I can logically understand others’ arguments, I often blur my outline and accommodate them, thinking “Well, if that’s what they say…”

However, the vegetarian choice puts a “forced brake” on that tendency of mine.

For example, when eating with someone. Previously, if I accommodated where they wanted to go and ate what they recommended, no waves arose. But now, I must say “I don’t eat meat, so I can’t go to that restaurant” or “I can’t eat this.”

For me, this is a kind of self-restraint—putting myself in a situation with no escape.

Presenting the fact of “not eating” isn’t just expressing likes and dislikes, but concretely drawing my boundary. By repeating this, I feel my vague outline becoming gradually harder and clearer through friction with others.

To maintain the “anchor against nihilism” inside me, I definitely need a wall to prevent invasion from the external world. By deliberately pushing myself into “unfree situations where I must assert myself,” I protect my territory and prevent myself from being too swept away by others’ expectations.

3-3: Accepting Misunderstanding and Categorization

When I declare being vegetarian, people often categorize me with existing labels: “You’re so conscious,” “Are you passionate about environmental issues?”, or “You care about health.” Sometimes, they might think I’m a bit troublesome.

The old me would have extremely avoided being misunderstood or seen strangely. Because I would unconsciously color myself to match others’ expectations, trying to control “my image” in others’ minds.

But now, I rather actively accept such misunderstandings and labels.

Being seen as “a strange person” means, conversely, I’ve blocked the expectations or projections they had about me—that “I should go as they think.” A clear line is drawn between the “me” they arbitrarily created and the real me. That friction protects my outline.

Of course, I don’t need everyone to understand my true intention (being an anchor against nihilism). Rather, staying in a “distanced state” while being misunderstood is more comfortable for me.

By accepting the constraint of being categorized, I protect my inner freedom. Using being seen strangely as a “barrier separating myself from the external world.” By doing so, I feel I’m securing a quiet place of my own that doesn’t belong to anyone’s expectations.

4-1: “Preference (Attachment)” as Suffering from a Buddhist Perspective

Shifting perspective slightly, my “vegetarian choice” is actually a form of “attachment” from a Buddhist values perspective.

In Buddhism, drawing boundaries of “like/dislike” or “right/wrong” itself is considered the cause of suffering (attachment). Originally, the world exists as it is, and it’s the human mind that gives it meaning. Stubbornly insisting “I won’t eat meat” could be seen as “strong preference,” seemingly contradicting the teaching of becoming free by letting go of attachment.

Logically, “accepting everything without attachment” might be closer to complete freedom.

However, for the current me, that “freedom without attachment” was the most dangerous thing. Not clinging to anything, accepting everything—for someone like me, it’s the same as diving back into that “bottomless sea of nihilism.”

Discarding attachments to become “empty.” That’s ideal, but I’m not yet strong enough to reach that state. That’s why I deliberately grasp “attachment (the form of vegetarianism)” to anchor my individual existence to this world. Still, deliberately choosing attachment. Acknowledging that imperfection itself is the honesty for me.

4-2: Maintaining Awareness That This Isn’t the “Absolute Correct Answer”

While imposing the “form” of vegetarianism on myself, I don’t consider this a “universally common correct answer.” Fundamentally, human core values are like “axioms” in mathematics—not something whose correctness can be logically determined.

To the question “Why don’t you eat meat?”, no matter how much logic I pile up, it ultimately arrives at the problem of which “axiom (premise)” I adopt. That’s why I try not to absolutize my choice as “the one and only truth.”

For me, vegetarianism is merely a “personal stake” to maintain my balance.

• Values are like mathematical axioms—seeking objective validity for them itself is unreasonable.
• Contradictions like taking plant lives remain—questions that can’t be resolved even when logically pursued.
• Emotionally, the intense sadness when I lost my dog has gradually faded with time.

Especially, I feel a kind of crisis about that certain sadness fading. It’s true that forgetting might make things easier, and maybe that’s okay. However, the core emotion disappearing feels frightening, as if I’m being swallowed again by “the emptiness of anything-goes.”

That’s why I deliberately continue maintaining the “form.”

Not blindly believing “this is absolute,” but continuing to take responsibility for “I live by this rule now” while acknowledging the lack of foundation in my values and the imperfection of fading emotions. That awareness of standing on thin ice—that’s what I feel distances me from both thought-stopping fanaticism and nihilism that renders everything meaningless.

4-3: Treating Wavering and Continuing Doubt as Reconfirmation of Values

Continuing vegetarianism, moments inevitably come when I waver: “Is this really okay?” Feeling inconvenience during meals with friends, or my own logic whispering “there’s no meaning to such things.”

But I don’t consider that “wavering” or “doubt” as negative. Rather, that conflict means I’m “re-choosing this value with my own will” right now.

If I could mechanically reject meat without any doubt, it would be mere habit, or a thought-stopped “program.” That would be no different from following rules someone else set.

• The logical cynicism of “there’s no meaning.”
• The personal memory of “sadness.”

Each time these collide within me and wavering occurs, I pause. And in the sparks of that collision, I reconfirm “Still, I make this choice today.” This process is the most effective resistance against nihilism—the wave that “flattens” everything.

Doubting means there’s still a “self” there.

Not eliminating conflict, but continuing to struggle. By accepting that wavering itself as a ritual to reconfirm my values, I can maintain my outline without dissolving into the sea of nihilism.

A Ritual to Preserve My Form and Live Honestly in Opaque Times

Ultimately, what I entrusted to the vegetarian choice wasn’t major social reform or noble self-sacrifice. It’s an extremely personal and desperate “ritual” to maintain my human “form” in this opaque era where all meanings are being stripped away.

Generative AI provides answers, world situations change rapidly, and expectations from parents and society flow in like noise. Without doing anything, my heart would quickly dissolve into the sea of nihilism, becoming an empty existence belonging to no one.

Logically, it might be meaningless. No one says it’s the correct answer. Still, deciding “I won’t choose this” in the small daily moment of eating.

That unfree line serves as both the boundary separating the world and myself, and simultaneously, the anchor tying me to this place.

The wordless sadness when I lost my dog, the lethargic sensation when I was stuck in Japan. Not forgetting them, yet not being dominated by them either, weaving them into my life as one “form.” I think that’s the minimum honesty I can show to this world.

From here on, I’ll continue doubting and wavering. I might never have absolute confidence in my choice. But that conflict itself is proof I’m alive, the sensation of the “stake” I drove in myself.

A constraint for no one else, the unfree discipline to reclaim myself.

For me, vegetarianism is the “quiet prayer” to continue walking on my own feet in this empty world.