In fleeting moments, I live by instinct

On my birthday, I was eating a strawberry candy in Yokohama Chinatown. All my friends were at work on a weekday.
The rain from the day before had cleared up as if it were a lie, and I looked up at the cherry blossoms from Yokohama Station before making my way to Chinatown.
I burned the scenery, both the parts that hadn't changed in four years and the parts that had, into my eyes with affection.

It was a whirlwind tour where I would head straight back to Ikebukuro as soon as I ate the strawberry candy I was craving, but having come all this way from Hiroshima, I realized something I hadn't noticed until this age: I am not good at eating while walking.

With the strawberry candy in hand, I moved to the corner of a parking lot and sent a LINE message to my friend, saying, "It's cold and delicious!"
You can eat them in Harajuku too, but it has to be Chinatown, doesn't it?
It's packed with so many memories.

As I exposed the sparkling, starch syrup-coated strawberry candy to the sun, I suddenly thought,
"Why am I sitting down?"
From there, I entered a thinking phase while chewing.

If I eat while moving, I can't taste the food.
Because I can't chew properly, the memory of what I ate doesn't stick.
Oh my, aren't I delicate?
No, that's not it.

I am a human, but a peculiar creature closer to an animal.
Animals stay in one place to eat, don't they?
Giraffes and farm animals don't just have fixed food sources; they don't move from the spot.
Even monkeys snatch their food and sit down to eat it.

Eating while walking is just a term of convenience.
Even the fried Momiji Manju I ate at Itsukushima Shrine in Hiroshima,
I moved to a place where I could sit down to eat it.

I live more by instinct than by reason... that is what I thought
in Chinatown, which was bustling with the voices of children on spring break.