I played Pokémon for the first time in a while, and I realized I could no longer return to being a child.
Last month, I bought Pokémon for the first time in a long while.
The reason is simple.
"I wonder how I'd feel if I played it now."
That's what I thought.
Pokémon isn't just a game to me.
When I was in elementary school, I used to lie on the tatami mats at my late great-grandmother's house, clutching my DS.
Whenever I caught a rare Pokémon, I'd go show it to her.
"That's amazing," she'd say.
I was so happy to hear her say that and see her smile, that I'd get absorbed in the game all over again.
Even now, when I look back on that time, it was truly happy.
That's why I still keep that DS at home.
During the summer break of my high school years, I played Pokémon again once.
But something was different from when I was in elementary school.
Of course, the game was fun.
But there were joys in reality that I didn't have back then.
I made more friends.
I learned how to ride a moped.
The places I could go expanded all at once, and I was hanging out with friends almost every day.
When I'd play the game and evening would come, I'd suddenly think,
"Ah, I haven't done anything today."
It wasn't that the game had become boring.
But the things I found fun had gradually changed.
And now, at 20 years old and working, I thought,
"I wonder what I'd feel if I played it one more time."
So, I bought Pokémon again.
At first, it felt nostalgic.
The music, the screen—everything was just as it was back then.
But as I played, I noticed something.
Back then, I was happy just catching cool or rare Pokémon.
It was fun to show them to my great-grandmother, too.
But now, it's different.
"This move set is stronger."
"This battle strategy is more efficient."
I found myself only thinking about things like that.
Even though clearing the game itself used to be fun, I didn't feel the same excitement I once did.
In that moment, I realized:
Those days are never coming back.
I still cherish those happy memories.
But I realized that they are precious precisely because they are memories.
Even if you play the same game, you can never see the same scenery twice.
My great-grandmother, that tatami room, and the elementary school version of me—I can never return to those days.
That is why,I think people have no choice but to move forward.
I am 20 years old now.
I've met many different adults so far.
"You're 20, so do what you love so you don't have regrets."
"You should save money."
"Buy a nice car."
I think all of these are words spoken because of their own experiences.
So, I don't want to deny them.
But I don't want to accept those words as the absolute truth.
I want to live a life where I struggle on my own, fail on my own, and can say to myself, 'This was the right path for me.'
Of course, that is also an experience.
I don't know yet if the 20 years I've lived were right or wrong.
But conversely, I'm still only 20.
I can take on as many challenges as I want from here on.
I can fail as many times as I need.
I can rewrite my life as much as I want.
That's why I will do what I want to do.
Writing this note is one of those things.
Among my generation,
"There are more efficient ways to earn money."
Some might say that.
Even so, I want to achieve results on this path.
I want to achieve results and prove to myself that the path I chose back then was not a mistake.
Playing Pokémon taught me something.
It wasn't the game I wanted to return to.
It was the memories of those days.
But memories aren't a place to return to.
I think they are something that becomes the strength to move forward from here.
That's why, rather than being nostalgic for the past, I want to use this irreplaceable time of being 20 for my own future.
And when I look back someday, I want to live a life where I can smile and remember this very moment as
"Those were fun days."
as well.