Despair and Hope in a Small World (and a Little Course Information)

On the way home in winter, a print split in two, and a lump of frustration

I was carving with a blank mind.


I loved art class.

If I recall, it was the winter of fourth grade, and the theme for our woodblock prints was 'the local shrine'.
While everyone else finished theirs quickly, I was the only one obsessed with the 'precision of the dragon at the purification fountain,' gripping my carving knife tightly.

I was three millimeters away from finishing.
I put it away in my locker, thinking I would continue after school.

During the next break, some boys were messing around near the lockers.

My print got caught in the crossfire.

Just after I saw the backs of the boys crashing into each other out of the corner of my eye.

CRACK

…It was a relief that no one was hurt, but the print was snapped clean in two.
The dragon's face had also been perfectly center-cut.
I locked eyes with the dragon, who had an expression that seemed to say, 'You really messed up this time.'

The boys apologized on the spot, and the teacher gave me a new board.

Formally speaking, it was an incident that had been 'properly resolved'.

But my heart couldn't keep up at all.

I didn't really understand it myself.
But I definitely remember there was 'something' that remained heavy and dull deep in my chest.

The experience of having my feelings understood before I even realized them myself

I shoved the split-in-two woodblock print into my school bag,
and went home without being able to say a word.

The moment I showed the tattered print to my mother, who greeted me at the door with a 'Welcome home!'

Before I could even speak, tears came out.

You know, that thing. Once they start, for some reason, they just won't stop.

My mother stayed by my side without saying a word.
She just listened slowly, nodding along to my disorganized, incoherent explanation.

And when I finished talking, she stroked my head and said one thing.

'I see. You were sad because the print you worked so hard on was broken, weren't you? Because you really tried your best, didn't you?'

Thud.

In that moment, something just clicked and fell into place.

I think that with those words, I was able to understand my own feelings for the first time.


Oh, I was working hard.
And I was sad because it broke, I realized.

Perhaps children aren't actually 'unable to speak,' but rather just 'unable to put things into words.'

When you're a child, it's hard to put the subtle nuances of emotions like 'sadness,' 'frustration,' or 'emptiness' into words.

All that comes out is 'I just don't like it.'

That is precisely why it is such a relief when someone listens to that 'fuzziness' and gently provides the words for it.
It creates a place for things to land.

Perhaps that is what it finally means to 'have one's feelings settle.'

Come to think of it, I have believed in the existence of 'someone who listens' ever since that day.
Or perhaps, I just wanted to believe.

Since becoming an adult, I've been told more and more often, 'I was able to talk because it was you, Non-chan.'

It's not that I can give amazing advice.
In fact, I have no idea what the right answer is at all.

But I do want to know more about that person, their thoughts, and their ideas.

That is all.

Even so, there are moments when the face of the person who spoke to me suddenly softens.
At those times, I feel a warm, fuzzy sense of, 'Ah, I'm glad I could be here for this.'

The experience of 'being properly listened to.'

To put it dramatically, it can change someone's life,
or perhaps it might just be a 'hot water bottle for the moment.'

But just as having a hot water bottle on a cold day makes all the difference,
the time spent feeling like you 'were able to talk' is warm all on its own. Isn't it?

A course to nurture such 'listening adults' is beginning.

One of the organizations I have been involved with recently is mimamo.
Roughly speaking, it is an organization that creates online spaces where children can meet 'safe adults' they might feel like talking to.

Not a teacher, not a parent, not a friend,
a person in a 'slightly diagonal relationship' who simply listens to what the child has to say—
sometimes, that alone is enough to gently light a warm fire in a child's heart.

Starting in June, mimamo will be launching a course to increase the number of "adults who can listen to children with peace of mind."

It consists of three online sessions plus a dialogue meeting.
No experience is necessary, of course.

It's not just about "cultivating listening skills"; there's also time for self-reflection and mental care, making the content packed and bursting at the seams.

I will also be appearing briefly as an instructor🌱 (and I'll be popping in as a navigator as well).

"I want to become someone who can listen, too."
"I want to properly listen to what children are thinking."
"It's spring, it's gotten warmer, and I want to start something new!"

......If I could be the spark that gently sets those "little thoughts" of yours in motion, I would be very happy.

▶ Click here for an article about mimamo~
For those wondering what kind of organization it is, read this and you'll be a mimamo master too📗

▶ Click here for details on the dialogue course~
This is a three-part course packed with everything you need to know about how to raise "adults who can listen with peace of mind"🐣

It feels strange that I, who couldn't cry or talk when I was a child,
am now on the "listening side."

But perhaps—
that printmaking incident from back then might have been my own personal origin story for "properly listening to someone else's story." Or so I think.

On Mother's Day, I took a moment to remember my gratitude toward my mother as well.
The end.

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Thank you for reading this far🌱
I would be very happy if you could share your thoughts with me through a like, follow, or comment!