Because this essay contains sensitive content, those who are feeling mentally unstable may wish to refrain from reading. Thank you.
It’s not that I dislike critical opinions about my essays. However, I do feel a secret spark of irritation at the specific sentiment: "I can't accept what someone as purely 'bright' as you says."
It’s true that I think of myself as an optimist. But I’m not just "bright" for the sake of it. It’s simply that no matter how many unpleasant or painful things happen, I refuse to give up on the choice to "stay bright anyway." Furthermore, I’ve decided not to use despair itself as a weapon, but to keep using it as a source of persuasive power. In fact, that’s exactly what I wrote in my book.
I’m well aware that some people treat me as if I’m just acting cheerful without thinking about anything. Precisely because I know that, I’ve become stubborn about staying bright, if only to resist that incredibly hollow trend. People say creativity belongs to the dark, the unpopular, and the "have-nots." It’s fine for that side to exist; many people are saved by it. Honestly, it’s a wonderful thing. But if you’re just following the atmosphere of the community you belong to, I can’t help but think that you are the one not thinking. I don’t trust people who can’t question such trends. It’s like the people who used to make fun of the "cool kids" in school just built a school in a different land and are reproducing that same exclusive atmosphere. I’m just the student who refused to attend that school, too.
Objectively, I might be blessed. I’ve been at the center of my social circles, I have a fair number of friends, and I could probably date or marry if I wanted to. Thankfully, I’ve been commercially published, I have many followers, and even though my resume is empty, I have enough social skills to say, "I used to write essays, I’ve published a book, I’m an influencer, hehe..." and find a job somewhere so I won’t starve.
Many people look down on those who obsess over things they can't obtain, but I believe there is a psychological safety that comes from being minimally integrated into society. When life isn't going well, it’s natural to set the things you couldn't get as your "El Dorado" or "Heaven." I understand that feeling a little bit—but I will never completely understand it. Just as you might understand me a little, but never completely.
I still live my life feeling like I’ve collected four silver angels (from Choco Ball) only to lose one, never quite reaching the prize box. Only I can truly know this pain. From an outsider's perspective, it probably looks like I’m just effortlessly collecting silver angels. As someone I respect said, "Everyone has their own hell," but there are times I seriously wonder, "Is there anyone else who could take all the hell I’ve experienced and still live life with a smile?"
In the first place, is my life really that blessed? I still can't fully trust my parents. In elementary school, I was so bad at reading the room that I cycled between being popular and being bullied. I lived in a bizarre house where books I bought would warp within 30 minutes and grow mold within a month. In middle school, I wrote something on my blog that wasn't even that bad, but it angered a teacher; I was kicked out of my club and ignored by everyone due to the teacher's pressure. The only friend I was close to back then committed suicide. In high school, I was so distrustful of people that I became unable to speak; I once spent eight hours with three seniors and only managed to say, "Please lend me a pen." One of those seniors is also dead now. When I was a cram school student, a relationship with a strange person hit me so hard I slept 17 hours a day. The dream I staked my whole life on never really came true. I’ve just been trying to twist all of that into shape through sheer force of will and spirit.
And while many people read my writing now, back in my hometown, my words never reached anyone. People just said, "I don't get it" or "You think about difficult things, don't you?" and that was it. I’m lucky to be surrounded by people I love now, but even today, I rarely feel that my words are understood in the exact way I intended. Another person I respect said, "If you think people don't understand, it's a lack of effort; you should use more words until they do." I agree, so I try to use as many words as possible, but there are still things that simply won't translate due to differences in sensibility. I often think of myself as an alien.
In the midst of all that, the first person I ever felt I could truly communicate with was my best friend from university (Details: https://x.com/natsui_tanoshi/status/2038127646299533597). We talked for an abnormal amount of time every day, cursed the world and its people, and remained thoroughly kind to each other. I kept writing blogs and letters seriously just to show them to my friend, and they did the same. I believe I have a career in writing now because of that friend; my writing and values are heavily influenced by them. Thank you for giving me a new dream, even if it came late. The love my friend gave me was overwhelmingly right and never wavered. I still hope I can hold that kind of love for others. Because of you, I can try to stay as bright and kind as possible today.
Back then, I didn't have a dream and didn't really care about work, but I wanted to keep my life in order just to stay with my friend. That led to the company I’ve written about before—a place like the worst "Champion Road" where four middle-aged women who were already furious the moment they clocked in were stationed. It was an objectively abnormal environment, but since it was my first job, I just thought, "Wow, society is tough!" I doubt I could find a company that bad again if I rolled the dice 100 times. Having endured that, I want to be as kind as possible to younger workers.
Even though I should have quit, I swallowed the common saying: "You shouldn't quit your first company for three years, or it'll be hard to find another job." I braced myself to stay for three years. (By the way, I quit before three years and found a new job easily, as did everyone else, so if you're gritting your teeth at a terrible company, you can quit right now.) Since it was a regional branch, I saw fewer people and barely spoke at work; my friend's LINE messages were my only emotional support.
Still, my mind started to break. Even though I lived in a quiet area, I would sing loudly on the street out of stress. On my days off, I’d buy a six-pack of incredibly cheap beer from Aeon and drink in the park all day. I even drank before work once and almost collapsed. Looking back, I should have just collapsed and gotten fired sooner.
Toward the end, I wasn't even maintaining a human shape. I had no mental space to reflect on what I was thinking or doing, and I repeated behaviors that seem impossible now. If I believe that "personality is easily changed by environment and isn't something hard like metal," it's because I'm remembering myself from that time.
The falling dominoes had reached a point where I couldn't stop them. Finally, I had a huge fight with my best friend. We deleted each other's contact info and haven't spoken since. It’s about 92% my fault. The other 8% of me wants to scream, "You put too much on me, assuming I was something absolute and unbreakable!" But still, it’s 92% my fault. I just wish they knew I was trying my hardest to protect the things I wanted to protect.
Every time I woke up, I felt despair thinking, "My best friend isn't in my life anymore." Because we were always together, their absence was stark. My friend vanished from every mental photo of us, leaving an unnatural void. I can think of all the logical advice like "You should be able to live happily alone" or "You shouldn't depend on others," and I usually agree with those things, but I didn't care about logic because that friend was so important to me. Even now, when I hear Kenji Ozawa's 'Sayonara Nante Ienai Yo' and the line "I feel like I'll never know someone so well that it becomes painful ever again," I think of them.
It would have been easier to forget, but I felt that if I forgot my friend, I would lose those days and the self that was influenced by them. I gripped those memories with bloodied hands. If I forgot, I would no longer be me.
Broken by work and loss, I cried from morning to night. I killed my emotions or drank strong canned cocktails just to go outside, muttering "I want to die" about 100 times a day. I’m glad it wasn't the era of TikTok, or I might have become a meme. In that state, I’d go to the pachinko parlor and, strangely, I won every time. Maybe God was trying to keep me alive. Even so, I’d still be saying "I want to die" inside the parlor. To the staff, I must have been incomprehensible. I even told people, "If I ever end it, I'll get a hunting license, kill the person I hate most, and then do it." Why was I so intent on following licensing laws while planning a major crime? It was clearly insane. I even reached the point of putting my leg over the balcony railing. If I’d had one more drink, I wouldn't be here. But I don't think alcohol was entirely the villain; I absolutely needed it to survive back then.
By somehow surviving, I met friends who understood my situation and encountered writing and entertainment that moved my heart. Little by little, I regained my humanity. In the end, I suppose I am blessed.
I can't say I've fully recovered from the wounds of all those events. But because I am supported by the sincerity and love of so many people, I want to stay bright no matter what. I believe that is the only way to pay back what I received from everyone and from my friend. The opinion that "I can't accept what such a bright person says" is just a lack of imagination and a way of looking down on people. Bright people aren't "not thinking."
I want to keep believing in myself, in others, and in life. I want to live without losing sight of the light, even if I'm rolling on the ground. I know the feeling of wanting to run away because you get betrayed while trying to believe, and your heart bleeds every time. But letting go of the things that matter will only make things more painful later. So today, I face reality, even if I'm covered in blood.
I could never say that "good things happen if you live long enough." I sometimes think people who say that are just speaking from their own privilege. I’m sure people think that about me, too. But I can say, "I’m not giving up on myself or my life, so I want you to not give up yet either." Believing and searching for light is truly, truly painful. Still, today, let’s head toward the light together.
https://x.com/natsui_tanoshi/status/2010292617377153348
I’ve released a collection of essays! It’s been reprinted ✌ Please check it out! I really want you to buy the book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
