Once More, to That Place

When I was in elementary school, I often brought home overseas travel brochures from the travel agency at the station.

As soon as I got home, I would dash to my room on the second floor.
I ran up the stairs, careful not to drop the Bikkuriman chocolate I had bought at the candy store or the brochures.

When I sat with my knees pulled to my chest in the narrow nook in the corner of my room, it became my own secret base.

I would open a brochure with a slight sense of excitement.
Page by page.
I turned them carefully, staring at them as if I could devour them.

A new, beautiful world I had yet to see was spread out before me.

I longed for it.

I was moved by the multi-layered gradient of the sunset I saw from my house window.
I would look up at the stars at night and tear up.
I have been that kind of person since I was small.

If I were to see the world inside those brochures,
how much would my heart tremble?

Someday, with my own eyes.

When I became a student, I headed to America with the passion I had held since I was a child in my heart.

The vast scenery I saw for the first time.
I was thrilled by everything I saw and everything I ate.

However, those memories were painted black in an instant.

The terrorist attacks.

I was in America that day.

It was the final leg of my trip.
With the Grand Canyon right before me, I was waiting for the small plane that would take me there.

That was one of my dreams.

The place I had strongly wished to go to first when I grew up.

"The planes won't be flying anymore."

Even though I was still studying English, I understood the meaning of those words immediately.
That scene still clearly comes to mind even now.

I didn't know what had happened.

By the time I regained my composure, a deep, profound sadness had been etched into my heart, so much so that I could no longer even think about my own dreams.
Along with the images playing repeatedly on the television.

At that time, I locked my dreams away in my heart as well.

And as time passed, I got married and became a mother.

I told my children to dream big, and I wished for that for them. At the same time, when I asked my heart what my own dreams were,
“As long as you are happy, that is enough.”

“So-and-so’s mom.”

That title might be a curse that makes me lose sight of myself, not just in the world of other moms, but sometimes even to myself.

I must have had important dreams, too.
I locked them away someday.

In the spring, I visited a Claude Monet exhibition with my husband.
The real thing was so wonderful, it left me speechless.
The Monet painting right before my eyes.
When I looked at the collection, it was from the Musée d'Orsay.

“This will surely be the last time in my life I see this painting.”

To me, who muttered that,

“Why don't you just go see it?”

My husband said that.

So naturally.

In that moment, along with the surprise, something that had been stuck in my chest for a long time suddenly came undone.

I want to chase the dream I held as a child, the one I felt I shouldn't touch, once more.

My husband knew that I had a chronic illness and that a long-haul flight might no longer be possible for me.
Even so, he said it without hesitation.

The Monet painting blurred with my tears.

Why shouldn't I hold onto overflowing dreams—about myself, my children, my family, and the people I hold dear?

The things I want to see with my own eyes,
I want to fulfill them one by one.

That night, I downloaded an English learning app.

There are many places I want to go.

Let's go see the Monet, too.

And once more.

To the Grand Canyon.

Without fail, let's go to that place.