Tales of the Past: Introspection

Today, I will continue with my "Tales of the Past."
I am writing this in a dialogue format for readability, but in reality, it was mostly written communication.
I hope you will keep that in mind as you read.

7. Suggestion

The smiles of those two had a kindness that gently brought back the 'heart' that had slipped away from me.

Even so, inside me, there still remained something heavy and bitter that stained everything it touched black.

Even smiles that emerged naturally were swallowed by that blackness the next moment, and I was plagued by a pain that made the depths of my chest ache.

Henrik told me I could use his son's room and that I should help him with his work for a while.
He said that whether I continued my travels or returned to Japan, I would need money, so I should work.

I thought it was quite unreasonable to tell me to work when we couldn't even speak the same language, but
Henrik just told me to "follow him" and headed to the garage outside the house.

In the garage, there was a row of rakes, lawnmowers, and gardening tools and machines I had never seen before.
Henrik worked as a gardener, making his living by maintaining various places such as homes, parks, and public facilities.

Then, he picked up a straw hat hanging on the wall, gently placed it on my head, and said,
"With this work, you can keep your hands moving even while thinking about various things."
"There is no set duration. It's surely better than just wandering around aimlessly."

From that day on, I became a gardener's apprentice and began maintaining gardens and parks with Henrik.

At times, when I was mowing the lawn in a park and gathering the clippings, passersby and people resting in the park would greet me with smiles.

At first, I could only return completely fake smiles, but eventually, I was able to naturally return basic Swedish greetings like "God morgon" (Good morning) and "God kväll" (Good evening).
Even so, my smile remained artificial no matter what.
Perhaps because of that, some people looked a bit puzzled, and at those times, Henrik would cover for me, saying, "He's an Oriental, and since he can't speak Swedish, that's why he makes that face."

I would work while sweating profusely, eat the sandwich (I think it was) that Karin made for me, and then go back to work.
Such days continued.

Henrik would tell me, "I heard that Japanese people are diligent, and you work just as seriously."
Well, I thought to myself, if you are in a foreign country with nowhere to run (unemployed and zero money) and have no choice but to work, wouldn't anyone work seriously?

Henrik himself was a very serious and particular craftsman.
Each task was done with care, and by the time the work was finished, the clients would naturally smile and praise the work with big gestures.

8. Introspection

A week, then two weeks passed, and that day we were maintaining a park near Henrik's house.
Although it was called a park, it wasn't lined with playground equipment like in Japan; it was a quiet space, more like a place to just sit and rest.
Because it was on slightly higher ground, one could look out over the port of Nynäshamn from a bench.

When the work was finished, I told Henrik, "I want to think about some things," and asked him to leave me alone.
I sat down on a bench overlooking the port and gently closed my eyes.

In the days of being helped by Henrik and Karin and working while sweating with a blank mind, that black thing had quietly subsided before I knew it.
When I realized it, a flat space had been created, just like the horizon in front of me.

There, for the first time, I faced her death, not in a negative sense.

"Sad," "lonely," "painful."

That these things are only natural, and—what could I do to make her smile?

Surely, she would not approve of me choosing death.
That would only make her sadder, wouldn't it?
Then, what should I do?

Introspection—it was a process of self-questioning.

I could not find an answer.
But I am alive.
And so, I thought at that moment, that means I can still think.

I probably won't ever be able to forget this heavy, bitter, and suffocating feeling for the rest of my life.
Perhaps that is what it means to be "human," I thought at that moment.

But precisely because of that, I must keep looking forward and living on, so that the version of her within me can keep smiling.

Is it not okay to run away?
By running away, I was able to encounter this feeling.
If I had chosen death back then, I would have ended my life still bound by those feelings.
Let me try to keep walking. Down this path.

Realizing this, I opened my eyes to find that it had grown completely dark around me.
I stood up from the bench and, with a somewhat shaky sense of direction, headed back to Henrik's house.

Finally, the heavy and dark part of the story has come to an end.
The next installment will be the conclusion of the Sweden arc.
In the end, a certain "incident" will occur.
…That said, I think it will lean a bit more toward comedy.

Thank you for sticking with such a dark story up to this point.

People can look forward precisely because they are alive.
If you want, you don't even have to look forward. Whether you look down, look up, or look away, as long as you are alive, you can do anything.
Even if you think your life is nothing but a downhill slope, it can change drastically with just a shift in perspective.