I think about what human relationships are.
No matter how hateful and bothersome it feels, I still find myself wanting to make them happy. Is that what human relationships are? Or maybe it's just because I know that the ultimate purpose of life is to gather small pieces of happiness.
Spring has come. People laugh beneath the cherry blossoms, and the sight feels strangely distant.
I like seeing others smile, but I’m not sure where to place my own feelings as I watch them.
Is the boundary between morning and dawn the end or the beginning of the day? If I were to die, I would want it to be in this time frame. Standing in this ambiguous space, too delicate to describe, I would gift someone a delicious meal. Maybe a bowl of miso soup. After sharing the warm soup, we would take a walk together. I’d walk that person home and, on my way back, take in the last scenery. I haven't yet thought about how I would die. If I attempt it in fear, vaguely, I might just end up living forever as a patient.
I’ve read in a psychology paper before that it’s more dangerous when someone is 80 - 90% depressed than when they’re 100% depressed. If you have the energy to get up and move, you might start planning or even carrying out the end of your life. But these days, I don’t have any thoughts like that. I am just too zoned out.
But one thing is certain, I’m less afraid. When I look at the vast river, I’m not as scared anymore. I imagine the final moment. What should I say to the others? Should I write a letter? Would I have the strength to? Would I have anything to say? "Take care, be happy"? Who would even like such a cliché.
I only imagine, under the sky stretching between morning and dawn, blowing out breath, buying warm food for my friends. That’s the meaning of the life left for me.
A slice of strawberry cake I can give to a friend. That’s the meaning of my remaining life. Nothing more than that.
I had a dream. I was in a small room, singing a song. I had become a boy, holding a microphone, leaning back as I sang, and the sound that came out was so refreshing. Even though it was just a dream, it felt like my heart was pounding wildly. I had to share this thrill, and suddenly, my song went live.
I sang "敗北の少年". I even added ad-libs that weren’t in the song, holding my chest as I sang. The feeling was truly exhilarating. It was like feeling the thrill I used to experience when watching someone pour immense emotion into a song, but now, it was coming from myself.
When someone is praised for being really good at something, and I feel the urge to compliment them, it’s said to be not my calling. But if I feel jealousy or desire, that’s when it becomes my calling. When it comes to singing, I feel a deep yearning. I get the thought that I want to catch up. I might have to sing until the day I die.
I often think that I never want to wake up from my dreams. A few days ago, I passed a golden dragon and shared pieces of stars with people, running across the temple. I cheered everyone on, helped them, and fought alongside them. I became a hero, holding someone and running, and I took a picture of the moon over a deep blue lake where red goldfish bloomed. It seems like dragons often appear in my dreams.
My friend told me the world needs more people like me. I was surprised. To be honest, I couldn't hide my smile because I really liked that phrase. It was a bit embarrassing to have everything laid bare, but what can I do.
I think I’m terribly selfish. I’m not as kind as I wish to be. Perhaps I just like the kind version of myself. I’ve always believed that to be a hero, I must be both admirable and kind. Is that why I take pride in helping others? Do I live seeking recognition for my goodness?
I am not kind. I am as selfish as everyone else.
I suppose I simply yearned to be a hero, and perhaps I was just playing at being one.
When I was young, if asked to think about a goal before death, I imagined becoming someone’s hero, leaving a lasting memory. But looking back, I suppose I only became a slightly odd friend. The kindness I offer has always seemed too vague, hasn’t it.
I thought, rather than dying in an ambiguous way, I’d prefer to make a sacrifice for someone. Donating organs to a hospital feels too terrifying, so I imagined something more intense, more fleeting. Like taking the place of someone in a car accident, saving them.
Which I don't think will happen realistically.
Whenever I go to new places or discover somewhere I really like, my first thought is always to bring others who would enjoy it too. It feels stupid to me because people don’t really care about others, they’re more focused on themselves. But still I can’t help it. I just can’t stop thinking that way.
I don’t like it when people worry about me because it makes me feel guilty. I don’t want to be helped, but I want to help others. It’s like the same, I only know how to love, but not how to be loved. However, people always worry about me because I have problems I can’t hide. I feel like if I don’t express them, I might never get to do something great for them before it’s too late. That’s why they worry. They send texts saying they’re concerned, and I don’t have the energy to reply. I can’t even speak. I can’t open my mouth. And they worry more. So then I reply. Now I have to continue the conversation. But if I don't reply I feel guilty. Don't really have a solution for this because it's my problem after all. I do feel thankful at the same time. But I feel guilty.
Wouldn’t people eventually grow tired of me if this continues? People tend to look after themselves before they care for others. Because humans are selfish. They have to be selfish in order to live and survive. Humans can never be truly selfless. We make sacrifices because we see the other as a part of ourselves. There is no one who lives purely for the sake of others. Maybe there is but I haven't seen that kind of person yet. Anyway, I often think about pushing them away on purpose, so they’ll hate me and I’ll be left alone, with no one left to care about.
People are strange. When I try to live, they tell me to die, and when I try to die, they tell me to live. Now, there’s no one telling me to die, so I’m in trouble. I’ve been told to die so many times that I might not be able to get out anymore. Now, with no one telling me to die, I’ve become someone who wants to die alone. How stupid I must look.
I don’t know why the word forever exists when nothing truly lasts forever.
Sentences like “I love you forever” seems stupid. People don’t love one person forever. They change who they love. It feels like a bluff, an empty promise. Forever is a word far too heavy. I don't say it because there’s too much weight in saying it.
M texted me. She asked why I kept avoiding her messages, said she’d call me soon. The moment I saw that, I got nervous and rushed out for a walk. I came back holding a bubble tea. I needed the sugar. Then we talked on the phone, and two hours flew by like nothing.
- Hey, should I tell you when I first started being self-conscious around others back in kindergarten?
- No, don’t tell me. It hurts too much. I’m not ready for it.
Hearing that made me feel strange. I know M loves me, but I didn’t realize that love could make him so fragile. So I decided to keep that story just for myself. Still, M, I really did grow up strong. Even under all those watching eyes, I think I smiled bravely, only thinking of myself.
For a brief moment, I thought about reaching a place where no one knows me. In a world where no one worries about me, I would wander aimlessly, quietly imprinting the surroundings in my mind. I would let it sink in slowly, deeply into my retina. I might live like a jellyfish. A jellyfish doesn’t have much strength to swim, so it drifts through life. If you’re weak, you don’t have to die, you just drift.
If I had a body that could live freely, without surveillance, I would probably live only for others. I am too tired to live my own life. Around me, people are graduating and preparing to live their own lives, but for me, this feels like the final chapter. My life is dull. I will laugh, and I will cry, and then laugh again, and this cycle will repeat. Rather than extending this life, I would rather make others smile. Can I not give them small moments of happiness? The world is a cruel place. If I were given the choice in life, I would have to live my own. Because there are those who are waiting for me to live my life.
I’ve written a lot of letters to say goodbye. I wrote one in 2019, another one in winter, recorded a bunch, and last week I wrote a letter too. I didn’t have the energy to write to my friends, so I just wrote short ones to M and dad. I told them I wish they could have gotten along better though I don't really have a right to say that, that it wasn’t their fault, just things like that. Then a few days later, when I had a little more energy, I wrote a letter to the friends I’d be parting with after graduation. I’ve written only one so far, but I had so much to say that it ended up being four pages. For the sake of my wrist, maybe it’s better to just send the rest as text messages.
The wind no longer carries the scent of winter. Only the damp smell of dawn lingers.
Life has been extended too much.
Tomorrow, I will probably buy another strawberry cake.
Suddenly, I wish it would rain. I want to put an umbrella over a stray cat and quietly listen to the sound of the rain.
When I list it all out like this, it seems like what I really want isn’t so much after all.