Just for Being Alive

I think this child was being filial even before they were born.
It was a long time later that I realized that.

I still vividly remember the day I found out I was pregnant.
The moment I saw the faint line appear in the small window of the test, my heart tightened deep inside. Joy, anxiety, and emotions I couldn't put into words rushed over me all at once, and I couldn't stand, so I crouched down right there.
“Really?”
I checked again and again, rubbed my eyes repeatedly, and only when I saw the line still there did the reality finally sink in.

From that day on, my life began to change quietly.
I didn't know their face yet. I hadn't heard their voice. I hadn't even touched them.
And yet, a being I definitely wanted to protect had been born.
Honestly, I was even a little scared by the fact that something more important than myself had appeared in this world.

I wonder when it was that I started placing my hand on my belly and talking to them.
Even though there was no reply, I would say “Good morning” when I woke up, and “Thank you for today” before I went to sleep at night.
No matter what I did or where I was, this child was somewhere in my consciousness.
Just that alone changed the way I saw the world.

The day they were born was the moment in my life when all sound disappeared.
The bustle of the delivery room, the voices of the doctors—I couldn't hear anything.
All I could hear was a faint cry that nevertheless resonated clearly in this world.

“They are alive.”

The moment that thought crossed my mind, all the values I had built up until then crumbled.
Success, failure, reputation, the future—those things no longer mattered.
This child is alive.
That alone was enough for a lifetime.

I will never forget the weight of holding them for the first time.
It was small and light, yet it felt like a weight that contained the entire world.
When I held them to my chest, I could feel their heartbeat, and I confirmed over and over, “Oh, they are really here.”

The time from birth to age three is surprisingly intense and surprisingly short.
I was woken up many times in the middle of the night, and sleepless days continued.
There were times they would cry without me knowing why.
There were nights when they wouldn't stop crying, no matter how much I held them, walked them, or sang to them.

Honestly, it was hard.
There were many days when I felt I had reached my limit, both physically and mentally.
“Am I being a proper parent?”
“Can I make this child happy?”
Such anxieties swelled in the silence of the night.

Even so, every time I felt their chest rising and falling in my arms, I felt like crying.
They are alive.
They are truly here.
That alone was enough to make me feel rewarded.

This child couldn't do anything.
They couldn't speak, couldn't walk, couldn't even feed themselves.
But just by existing, they changed the atmosphere of the house.
I felt as if the room had become brighter.
With just one smile, the world became brighter.

The day they first smiled, the day they first rolled over, the day they first stood up.
Each one was a major event.
To anyone else, these might be trivial occurrences.
But to me, they were the highlights of my life.

There was a day when things didn't go well at work and I lost sight of my own worth.
A night when everything I did went wrong, and I thought, “Maybe it wouldn't matter if I weren't here.”
When I returned home exhausted, this child toddled toward me at the entrance.
They tripped, and just as I thought they might cry, they looked at me and gave me a beaming smile.

That alone saved me.
They didn't say anything.
They didn't encourage me.
Even so, I felt as if I had been told, “It's okay to be alive.”

This child knows nothing.
They don't know what kind of day I had or what worries I am carrying.
Even so, just by living, they affirmed my life.

A child from zero to three is nothing yet.
They have no track record. No title. No guarantee of the future.
And yet, they are overwhelmingly valuable.
Because their very existence is a miracle.

It's okay to cry.
It's not a fault to fail.
Even if they produce nothing, it's okay for them to be there.
Parents get to see that kind of time up close.

It is a time that a human being can never experience again in their life.

As they approached age three, this child began to have their own world little by little.
Their vocabulary increased, their intentions became clear, and they started saying, “I'll do it myself.”
Even though I should have been happy, I felt a little lonely deep in my heart.

That time when they would unconditionally entrust their whole body to me will never return.
But, at that moment, I realized it clearly.

I had already received everything.

The fact that this child survived from age zero to three.
The fact that they cried, laughed, slept, and woke up.
With just that, I had already received all the happiness a parent could possibly receive.

If this child gets lost, fails, or stops in their tracks in the future, I will think this:
"Thank you for being alive."
No words beyond that are needed.

Filial piety is not about achieving something.
It is not about becoming someone great or being successful.
The fact that they lived from age zero to three.
That alone is already enough.

Tonight, too, this child is sleeping.
Their small chest is rising and falling rhythmically.
Watching that scene, I am quietly convinced.

I cannot wish for a life better than this.
Because this child has already completed my life just by being alive.

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⭐️Recommended Next: Self-Introduction
This is the reason why I started writing on note.
"Even though I should be living properly, why is it so painful?"
I wrote this for those who have felt that way.

📝A final word
Thank you for reading this far.
Comments are always welcome.
A word from a reader is the greatest encouragement for me.