In October 2025, five arts management students from Singapore stepped onto Yumeshima, the "Island of Dreams," and were immediately enveloped by the scale and energy of the 2025 Osaka World Expo. The main vision of the Expo, "Designing Future Society for Our Lives," was emblazoned everywhere, serving as a guiding principle for the spectacle around them. The mission was ambitious: to create a global collaborative platform where nations and corporations could come together to tackle humanity's greatest challenges, from sustainability and aging populations to digital disconnect. The agenda was to move beyond simply displaying technological marvels; it was to foster a dialogue on how to build a society where technology and nature could coexist in harmony, and where every individual's well-being was the ultimate goal.

As they navigated the eight thematic zones—each focusing on areas like "Connecting Lives" and "Empowering Lives"—the students saw this vision come to life in different ways. They witnessed soaring architectural wonders and humble, thoughtful exhibits, all contributing to a collective conversation about the future. The air was electric with a mix of different languages, the sounds of multimedia displays, and the shared excitement of thousands of visitors. For the students, this Expo visit was about immersion. They were not just passive observers; they were gathering firsthand insight into how a mega-event of this scale operates, how nations choose to brand themselves on this global stage, and how the grand themes of the Expo were being translated into tangible, and sometimes contradictory, experiences. It was an overwhelming but exhilarating start to their journey, setting the stage for their deeper investigations to come.

The story of the Expo's public reception was perfectly captured by its official mascot, Myaku-Myaku. This alien-like, five-eyed creature, described as a fluid amalgamation of cells and water, was initially met with skepticism by both local and international audiences. Before the Expo, public surveys showed that a majority of Osaka's residents were doubtful about the event, concerned about its enormous cost, its environmental impact, and whether it would truly benefit them or simply lead to overtourism. The initial slow ticket sales seemed to confirm these doubts.

But Myaku-Myaku, whose name comes from the Japanese word for "pulse," began a remarkable campaign of charm. Its design, symbolizing the continuous flow and ever-changing form of life, started appearing everywhere. It was on airplanes, metro trains, public posters, and in small local shops. The Expo organized pop-up booths in city centers like Umeda, and Myaku-Myaku was even featured in collaborations with popular Sanrio characters. This constant, friendly presence slowly began to turn public opinion. What was once a symbol of a contested project became a beloved icon of civic pride. By the time the Expo opened, visitors were greeted by a sea of Myaku-Myaku plushies, keychains, and even adults cosplaying the character. The mascot had successfully built a bridge between the Expo's grand global ambitions and the hearts of the local community, transforming skepticism into a city-wide celebration.

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A uniquely engaging aspect of the Expo experience was the Stamp Rally, a tradition deeply rooted in Japanese culture. What began centuries ago as a practice in temples, where pilgrims received a "goshuin" seal to record their visit, has evolved into a popular modern pastime. At the Expo, this was transformed into a global treasure hunt. Each national pavilion designed its own unique rubber stamp, and visitors could purchase a special passport book to collect them all, turning their journey into a physical, colorful record.

The design of each stamp was a masterclass in micro-branding. The France stamp was an elegant, abstract motif of two hands intertwining, reflecting the "Hymn to Love" theme and the heartbeat of life. Indonesia's stamp featured its official mascot, inspired by the Truntum batik pattern, which symbolizes guidance and enduring love in Javanese culture. Singapore’s stamp took a more direct approach, depicting the pavilion's distinctive circular architecture made of recycled discs, alongside its friendly Merlion mascot, Merli. The act of collecting was an adventure in itself. The students found themselves exploring every nook of each pavilion, searching for the stamp station, which was often cleverly placed to encourage engagement with the entire exhibit. This simple, interactive game added a layer of fun and discovery, and the completed stamp book served as a deeply personal and tactile souvenir, a passport not just to countries, but to the dreams and identities they presented.

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One pavilion that sparked deep analysis was the France Pavilion, titled "A Hymn to Love." In a sea of exhibits promoting technological innovation and sustainability roadmaps, France presented a deeply sensory and emotional journey. The pavilion was an atmospheric masterpiece, filled with soft lighting, curated scents, and crafted materials that invited visitors to feel rather than just see. It was a testament to the power of cultural soft power, leaning into France's global associations with art, romance, and luxury.

However, a closer look revealed the sophisticated machinery behind the poetry. A long list of corporate sponsors at the entrance provided the key to understanding this national branding effort. Each beautifully designed room within the pavilion was subtly powered by a French corporate partner. The wine-tasting experience was sponsored by Vins d’Alsace, transforming a sensory pleasure into a showcase of regional heritage and export identity. The rooms dedicated to fragrance and exquisite materials featured contributions from luxury giant LVMH, whose products became metaphors for elegance and care. Even the architectural spaces, supported by companies like Saint-Gobain, hid their technological innovations behind a veil of aesthetic beauty. The entire experience was a carefully engineered product, demonstrating how state and private industry can collaborate. The pavilion wasn't just about love between people; it was about the symbiotic relationship between the French nation and its world-leading industries, working in concert to present an irresistible and emotionally resonant vision of Frenchness to the world.

While the grand, independent pavilions commanded attention with their spectacular architecture, some of the most profound storytelling was found in the quieter, shared spaces known as the Commons Pavilions. Here, around 80 countries, many with smaller budgets, were housed in single rooms no larger than a classroom. This constraint, however, sparked incredible creativity and proved that narrative power is not determined by square footage. Walking through these pavilions was like discovering a world of hidden treasures, where each door opened to a uniquely crafted story.

The Kenya Pavilion, for instance, engaged all the senses from the moment one approached. The rich aroma of coffee beckoned visitors inside, where they could not only learn about Kenyan innovations but also taste its coffee and tea and use VR goggles for an immersive 4D experience of the country's landscapes. In stark contrast, the Ukraine Pavilion used a minimalist and powerful approach. Its room, painted in the national colors, bore the bold statement "Not for Sale." Inside, visitors could scan barcodes on everyday objects to watch short videos about the lives and resilience of the Ukrainian people. One display featured a checkerboard used by a 10-year-old champion to raise funds for the armed forces. These pavilions demonstrated that with clever, adaptive scenography and a clear, heartfelt story, a small space could create a deep and memorable connection, ensuring that every nation, regardless of its size or budget, had a voice in the global conversation.

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The students' final reflection on the Expo framed it as a giant conversation between two competing visions of the future. On one side was the top-down, technologically-driven utopia. Pavilions like Spain and Thailand showcased national innovations in wind energy, biofuels, and AI-driven medical robots. The Expo's own "The Future of Life" pavilion presented a post-human vision where consciousness could be uploaded into androids to conquer death. This future was impressive, polished, and presented as a finished solution to be delivered to humanity.

Juxtaposed against this was a more humble, bottom-up approach: the co-created future. In the Netherlands Pavilion, visitors were given a "dream sphere" to touch to a digital wall, where their personal hope joined hundreds of others to create a collective "new dawn." Similarly, at the Singapore Pavilion, visitors wrote their dreams on paper, which then floated up to fill a giant sphere. The most poignant example was the 'Dialogue Theater,' a pavilion built from the reclaimed timber and glass of real schools that had closed due to Japan's declining birthrate. On the "Island of Dreams," this structure stood not as a symbol of high-tech triumph, but as a quiet space for conversation about real-world problems like aging and community. It asked visitors not to escape reality, but to engage with it creatively. The Expo, therefore, did not provide a single answer. Instead, it placed these two futures side-by-side, challenging everyone to consider the most important question: what kind of future do we truly want, and who gets to design it?

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