📙 A Holiday Reflecting on 'Demon Slayer' and 'Man's Search for Meaning'

🎬 Hanako Holiday

July 13, Reiwa 7, Sunny
※ This series is a record of the real holidays where I, Hanako, an active franchisee, take a deep breath for my own sake.

Sunday mornings begin with the sound of the robot vacuum.
The hard worker with the timer set starts moving today earlier than anyone else.
I wake up to that small mechanical sound and,
thinking, 'Ah, it's Sunday,' I go back to sleep.

No one is in a rush.
I don't have to make lunch boxes,
and it's not a crime if the laundry doesn't get folded.

Time and space flowing so gently like that
somehow bring about conversations with my family.

'A new Demon Slayer movie is coming out,'
my son told me, and I replied with a smile, 'Is that so?'
It seems the person he's going to see that movie with isn't me, but 'her'.

I remembered the 'Mugen Train Arc' that I watched on TV with my children some years ago.
I didn't have high expectations at the time,
but by the time the end credits rolled, I was crying more than anyone else.

Even now, when the theme song 'Homura' plays, the emotions of that night come back to me.
It's as if my body remembers the story along with the song, and the tears just flow.

I watched the 'Entertainment District Arc' that my husband recorded for me, saying, 'They were showing it on TV to commemorate the release.'

What caught my attention was the moment of 'recollection.'
Whenever Tanjiro is backed into a corner,
a scene is always inserted where memories of his family save him.

It's not just Tanjiro.
Every major character who appears in Demon Slayer has a moment where they reclaim themselves through 'memories.'

Even the demons, who are the enemies, always return to someone's love or gentle memories from the past in their final moments.

The story of Demon Slayer may seem to be built on fierce battles and displays of power,
but at its core, it is actually about 'memory.'
Maintaining oneself through memories and connecting with the world—that might be the quiet pillar of this story.

I suddenly remembered my favorite book, 'Man's Search for Meaning'.

The author, psychiatrist Viktor Frankl, deeply contemplated 'what it means to be human' and 'where hope is born' while imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp.

It is said that what sustained him in that extreme situation was 'the memory and love of his wife.'

Even though he didn't even know if she was alive,
he endured every single moment of that extreme state with that 'memory' in his heart.
And it is said that not only he, but everyone who survived that harsh environment, felt the same way.

Memory is not something that belongs to the past,
but a quiet power that continues to act upon my living present, isn't it?

I, too, have memories that stir my heart just by recalling them.

It happened one day when I was in the second grade of elementary school.
I felt something strange on my knee and looked down to see a hornet sitting perfectly still.
Seeing me frozen and unable to speak, my older sister rushed to call our mother.

Without a moment's hesitation, my mother brushed the hornet away with her bare hand.
Then she pulled my hand firmly and took me out of the room.
She trapped only the hornet inside and I was in a safe place.
My mother's desperate expression at that moment, the warmth of her hand, the sound of the door closing—
everything is etched in my mind even now, like slow motion.

And, one more person.
6:00 AM. The back view of my great-grandmother pressing her hands together in front of the Buddhist altar in the quiet house.
Her voice as she chanted the sutras, while aged, had a certain rhythm,
and a depth that seemed to soak into the air.

Every morning without fail, she would change the water for the flowers, offer rice, and pray quietly for about 20 minutes.
I am not devoted to religion.
But that one phrase my great-grandmother would say, 'I pray every day, so it will be alright,' felt to me as a child like a spell that protected the world.

And, my father.

My father was expressive with his affection, at least for a Japanese man. Whenever he bought me something, he would always ask,
"Did you feel the love?" with a mischievous smile.

That one line felt like a joke, yet somehow it was also sincere,
and I would answer "Yes" with a laugh.
He was a person who could properly deliver love while wrapping his shyness in words.

However, deep beneath that playfulness,
he possessed a sense of chivalry he showed to no one else.

One day, when I was on the verge of being crushed by anxiety,
my father said to me directly:

"It's okay. No matter what happens, I will protect you. Rest assured."

It was a phrase that reached deep into my heart.
That one line supported me again and again.

My father is no longer in this world.
But his voice remains within me forever.
As a memory that rises up within me time and time again—
he is certainly alive.

I wonder—if I can go to the movie theater.
I think about that while opening my schedule app.

If I watch it in the theater, by the time the end credits roll,
I might just end up sobbing.

I'm a little afraid I might cause a scene for those around me.

A haiku by Hanako

Memories
grow stronger
every time they return

💬 At this time when the new Demon Slayer movie is starting, I've felt the 'power of memory' once again.
Are there any 'scenes that remain in your heart' or 'words that have supported you'?

If you'd like, please share your thoughts in the comments.
(Even a single word would make me happy♪)

📚 Turning field voices into culture—From the KIBISHII Magazine Editorial Office
Soyokaze 3-chome Classroom, Hanako