The story of how a shut-in gained something important by writing haiku for a year

I am a shut-in.

I do not have a job yet.

Even so, if there is something you can dedicate yourself to,

miracles can happen.

A haiku beginner who was invited to a haiku competition after posting poems on note.

At first, I was posting poems on note.

The poems I had been writing since I was in junior high school

were an outlet for my various thoughts,

and I continued writing them in a small way even after I became a shut-in due to mental illness,

but it was only after I started using note that I began publishing them online.

Among those poems, there was one written in a 7-5 syllable structure.

The organizer of the haiku competition at the time saw it,

and invited me to participate.

I was so happy to be personally invited

by someone with a long history of haiku and great talent,

that I decided to participate on the spot.

I had no idea that would change my destiny.

I never imagined it at the time.

An unexpected award at a competition, and then, into the haiku swamp.

That haiku competition was held for the first time last summer.

Although it was an unofficial project on note,

it ultimately gathered nearly 100 participants and over 300 haiku.

In the midst of that, my haiku won a double award: Best Newcomer and Silver Prize.

Being a beginner and having my haiku evaluated,

and being able to connect with so many people through haiku.

For me, a lonely shut-in, this was truly a happy thing,

so I think it was only natural that I would dive into the haiku swamp.

Inside the swamp, I coined the term "haiku high."

It is the haiku version of what is known as a "runner's high."

It is only logical that someone who has soaked in the swamp would try to drag others into it as well.

To get many people into a haiku-high state, I came up with a haiku project.

A project to collect haiku in the comment section of note and aim for 100 haiku together,

called "Everyone's 100 Haiku Knock."

Branching off from that, others connected articles in a relay format

to aim for a total of 1,000 haiku with 100 haiku by 10 people across 10 articles,

The "Everyone's 1,000 Haiku Knock Relay".

I composed at least one haiku per ward, incorporating place names and famous spots from Tokyo's 23 wards,

a project to turn all 23 wards into haiku,

the "23 Autumn Haiku in Tokyo's 23 Wards".

I came up with these projects and achieved them.

By the way, the "Everyone's 1,000 Haiku Knock Relay"

gained speed as more people got involved,

and it was actually completed in about two weeks.

This project grew like a monster,

and since it became more than I could handle, I let it go early on,

so even though I came up with the idea, I can't really act like I'm in charge.

I participated in subsequent autumn haiku competitions and other haiku projects,

and because I received a response that exceeded my imagination there,

I sank deeper and deeper into the haiku swamp.

I applied to Itsuki Natsui's haiku website.

Having completely immersed myself in the haiku swamp,

I finally stepped out into a world beyond note.

The haiku poet familiar from the TV show "Pre-Bato!!",

I started submitting to a haiku website where Itsuki Natsui serves as the judge.

The submission form allows you to choose between a beginner level and an intermediate-or-above level,

and since I had gained experience on note and thought I had achieved decent results,

I naturally submitted to the intermediate-or-above level.

However, that was where I experienced a setback so severe that it completely broke

the pride I hadn't realized had grown so high.

No matter how long I waited, my haiku were never published.

The intermediate-or-above level has a strict system where they publish selected works—ranging from special selection, excellent work, honorable mention, to standard selection—

as well as common ideas and phrases, but if you aren't selected, your work isn't published at all.

Every time the results were announced, I would scan the page with wide eyes, but my haiku were never there.

This was quite painful.

Since I started haiku, I had only ever been praised,

and I thought I had talent.

I was made to realize that, in the eyes of a professional, my work was not good at all.

Many of the assigned topics given each time involved seasonal words I didn't know or wasn't familiar with.

For someone like me who had only been doing haiku for about half a year,

I struggled first just to grasp the imagery of the words.

Even when I managed to complete a haiku and submit it, it would not be published on the site.

I would report my rejections on note and receive encouragement,

and while getting advice on what was wrong,

(sometimes having my spirit gouged by harsh advice),

I somehow managed to keep posting.

My first selection on my fifth attempt.

About half a year after I kept posting without giving up,

I achieved my first selection in the general category on my fifth attempt.

When I first found my haiku on the results page,

I couldn't help but pump my fist in the air.

That long-awaited selection brought my confidence, which had fallen to the depths, back up all at once.

When I reported it on note, my friends were as happy as if it were their own,

and I was moved by that as well.

I was able to get selected because I kept at it without giving up, no matter how many times I was rejected.

However, I think the reason I was able to keep posting

was because I had friends on note who would sometimes encourage me,

sometimes give me strict advice, and celebrate with me when I was selected.

What I gained through haiku was confidence and...

As a result of me, a shut-in, continuing haiku for a year,

I gained the confidence that I could compose haiku that professionals would select,

and I gained friends with whom I could share various emotions regarding haiku composition.

That I, a shut-in, could gain such wonderful things,

was something I could never have imagined before I started haiku.

This is a miracle that visited me.

Finally, in a way befitting me, a haiku-obsessed person deep in the haiku swamp,

I would like to conclude with some autumn haiku.

Connections are the pride of a haiku, a starry night

In a world that asks not of one's circumstances, the moon of dawn