"To write." "Not to write."

I once wrote a story called "Tegami-sama."
The God of Letters. Tegami-sama.
I turned the idea that a god dwells in a letter written with care into a short story.
When you open an envelope and unfold the letter paper, a god in the form of a little girl with a bob cut appears right there. That is Tegami-sama.

It has been quite a long time since I wrote that story.
Back then, sending letters to someone was much more common than it is now, so I had a habit of writing thank-you notes and the like quite often.
When writing a letter, I always did so with all my heart.
When using an envelope, I imagined Tegami-sama entering the envelope.
When using a postcard, I asked her to stay close to the characters themselves.

Although it never reached the point of being published as a book, the feelings I entrusted to "Tegami-sama" back then still live on within me today.
When writing, I always do so with all my heart.
Times have changed, and correspondence by letter is no longer a daily occurrence, but even though the medium has changed, when I write an article on note or post a comment, I quietly entrust my wishes to "Tegami-sama."
May my words be carried in a bright and gentle way.
And may they reach the other person's heart at the appropriate time...

Click.

Since both the post button and the send button are things you press with your fingertips, I feel no discomfort with the term Tegami-sama.
Tegami-sama is "Hand-God."
A god overflowing from the fingertips.
I feel that such a definition is appropriate now.

The act of "writing" used to be mostly done by marking paper with a pencil or pen, but now, typing one's thoughts and information into a keyboard is the mainstream. Or, if using a smartphone, writing is done solely through finger operations.

What is mysterious is that whether it is paper, a computer, or a smartphone, when we "write," information flows from our bodies to the outside through our "hands."
The act of "releasing words from the hands," perhaps that is what we call "writing"... I feel that way as well.

When I ponder about "writing," there is something else that comes to mind at the same time.
That is the existence of a "non-writing" culture.
A "non-writing" culture. In other words, a culture that does not possess a written language.

We are prone to falling into the illusion that having a written language is a given. But in reality, cultures called "oral languages" that do not possess writing exist here and there in the world.
According to the language database "Ethnologue," out of 7,151 languages in the world, 2,982 are said to have no writing system, which is actually 42% of the world's languages (as of 2022. Data from the book below).

It is difficult to gain knowledge about all of the nearly 3,000 oral languages in the world, but from the information I can obtain, and from the history of the oral cultures of Native Americans, the Hawaiian monarchy, and the Aboriginal people that have been lost along with "Westernization," I have formed a hypothesis about "writing" and "not writing."

Although I call it a hypothesis, it is merely a personal thought, so I would be happy if you would listen to it as one perspective—peoples who do not possess writing are "peoples who cherish living in the 'now'."
While enjoying the blessings of nature, they cherish their daily lives. They do not desire much, do not hoard, and do not determine things for the future more than necessary.

In a book I have at hand, there is a passage that reminds me of this, so I will quote it a little.
A masterpiece written about the "Mlabri," a minority group without a written language living in the mountainous regions of Thailand and Laos. In the following quoted section, the author's frank impressions from his field research are written down.

Tomorrow's self will decide tomorrow's matters.
This is a sense that we do not possess.

Making plans. Restricting oneself by worrying about them.
How meaningless that is to them... I was struck by this, and my heart felt clear.

Also, in the description of "expressions related to time" in the Mlabri language, a small confusion occurred in my mind.
It is said that in the Mlabri language, "what has already happened" and "what will happen in the future" are expressed with the same words.
The past and the future are expressed with the same words.
In other words, in Mlabri time, only "now" and "everything else" exist.
Here too, the Mlabri way of living in the "now" is thorough.

I feel that this way of perceiving time is impossible in a language that possesses writing.
This is because it can be said that "writing itself" contains time.

Here, let us think a little about "written languages," including Japanese.

If a culture with an oral language like the Mlabri is a "culture that cherishes the 'here and now'," then the written language we use can be described as a "culture that expands space-time."

I think it is easy to understand if you compare spoken language and written language simply.
Spoken language, where the voice itself is the essence, is language used to convey intentions to "people around you who can hear your voice." Sounds disappear as soon as they are uttered, and unless they are recorded, they will not reach far or be passed on to the future.
In contrast, written language, or text, moves freely through time and space.
This is because text has the property of being able to be "saved."
Because it can be saved, it can also be carried. To far-off places. And to the future.

That is reflected directly in their respective societies.
A society without writing that places value on enjoying this very moment.
A society with writing that seeks value in looking far ahead and expanding the world in which it lives.
People who "live in the here and now" and people who "expand the world."
Both are important, and of course, there is no superiority or inferiority between them.

That is as precious as the fact that there are men and women in the world.
It is as natural as the fact that we have a right hand and a left hand.
It cannot function without both.
It works well because both exist.
I believe that is the true nature of the relationship between written language and non-written language.

However, for some reason, we tend to forget that "both are important." At the very least, we have a history of having lived while forgetting that.
There are indeed eras where men have dominated women, or societies with writing have oppressed peoples without it...

To "possess" something is a double-edged sword.
With the same blade, you can threaten people, or you can prepare a delicious meal.
In the same way, you can hurt people with words, or you can heal them.
You can take away, or you can give.
I think we who possess writing must use it with care.
"Written language" is carried far away.
"Written language" becomes the language of the future.
"Written language" influences many people.
As time progresses, text will be carried further, across more time, and to more people.
What kind of world those words will depict at that time... depends on "what we choose to write."

By some twist of fate, I was born into this society that has writing.
Ever since I was old enough to know better, I have loved to write.
So, while enjoying the power of writing, I let my thoughts wander to "what I should write."
And suddenly, I think of the bob-haired "Tegami-sama" (Letter Deity).
I will weave words that would make "Tegami-sama" smile...

Tegami-sama is the deity of letters.

Both hands pressed together when praying.
Both hands offered to someone important.
My own hands, gently hugging myself.
Placing those hands on the keyboard.

I depict the world with both hands.
The world of light that I desire.
Because the words I have written, my words—they create the future.

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