To the me who was all alone in the corner of the classroom

I was never good with spring.

I couldn't adjust to new environments, and as a child, spring was just painful. Perhaps due to the mental exhaustion, I suffered from severe cold sores every year during this season.

Having to go to school with a messy, chapped mouth while trying to make a first impression on new classmates was also a source of gloom.

The distance spent testing each other and the break times,
the tense atmosphere,
and unfamiliar friends and new teachers.

Unable to adapt to the overstimulation, I cried every morning on my way to school.

I remember that in both first and second grade of elementary school, I had no friends during the spring field trip and ended up eating my lunch alone with my homeroom teacher.

I think I caused my parents a lot of worry, too.

When I got home from elementary school, I finally felt relieved. My daily routine was to watch the Doraemon 'Kingdom of Clouds' video after getting home.

It wasn't the story, but the insert song 'Kumo ga Yuku no wa' (Where the Clouds Go) sung by Tetsuya Takeda that healed me. It made me feel that in this vast world, I wasn't the only one suffering.

It was around this time that I started facing my own heart and writing down my feelings little by little. My words were clumsy, but writing them in a diary saved me.

July of my second year of elementary school.
There is an event I still cannot forget.

It happened when the ink from the felt-tip pen handed out during a 'penmanship' class got on my fingers. When I washed my hands at the sink, the water-based ink bled into the water and spread across my fingers.

Beautiful.

Having made a happy discovery, I started an experiment during the next break. I tore a pocket tissue in half, drew a line on it with a felt-tip pen, and tried wetting it with water.

The black ink caught the water and slowly spread across the tissue. It turned from black to purple. Over time, it became a gradient.

I was captivated by the sight.
I wanted to see more.
What kind of colors would it change into over time?

I filled a craft paper cup I kept in my locker with water. I dipped the tissues with the felt-tip pen lines into the water, adding one more each break time.

As time passed, the black ink moved across the tissue and the water's surface. The ink gradients and the ripples in the water changed their appearance with every passing moment.

I was completely enchanted. By the time of the end-of-day homeroom, there were five cups.

'What kind of colors will they be tomorrow?'

I left school feeling like I wanted to skip. The next day. It was the first time I had gone to school feeling bright.

However.

When I entered the classroom, all the paper cups that should have been in my locker were gone.

Morning assembly.

“Is there anyone who lined up paper cups filled with water on top of the lockers yesterday?” My heart raced at the teacher's words.

“Oh no, it was me.”

The classroom became a little noisy, and I couldn't say anything while keeping my head down.

“If anyone knows anything about this, please come see me later,” the teacher said, and then started the lesson as if nothing had happened.

“I did it.”
The teacher didn't get angry at me when I muttered that in front of the large gray desk.

“Why did you decide to do that?”
I couldn't answer that question.

I gave up because I didn't feel like my young self could properly express the emotions that welled up when I lined up the paper cups, or the heart-pounding feeling I had.

The teacher didn't blame me for not saying anything, and only cautioned me by saying, “It's getting to be a hot season and bugs will gather, so please don't do it from now on.”

My report card at the end of that term.
Only the “can keep things organized” section had a triangle mark, and I blamed myself more than necessary. I was sure that must have been the reason...

A change came to me.
In the third grade of elementary school, I made a best friend.

She was a child who, like me, struggled with spring. I found mornings difficult, but she would get exhausted and cry on the way home.

We hit it off immediately because we had a common struggle. It was the first time I had a friend in class I could confide in from the start of the new school year, and it was incredibly reassuring.

It's okay because she understands me. From here on, my social circle would expand all at once.

I was only in the same class as her for one year in the third grade, but the landscape of my school life changed completely after that.

Having just one person who understands you. That alone was enough and it was the strongest thing.

Gradually, I was able to talk to other kids naturally, and school became fun. People I met after third grade might even think I'm sociable.

Watching the TV shows everyone in class was talking about to join the conversation, or going to the bathroom in a big group during recess. Before I knew it, I was naturally able to do the things many female students do in group life.

Perhaps I had become able to adapt to the small society that is a school classroom.

Perhaps I had... but sometimes, I feel a gaze.
The gaze of the me who was all alone in the corner of the classroom.

The gaze of my past self, who was straightforward about what she loved, just completely absorbed in it. She didn't care about anyone's gaze, and in a way, she was the strongest.

Sometimes I think about it. If I could warp back to that time, I would want to meet my second-grade self on that day.

Even if I warped back as the adult I am now, the second-grade me probably wouldn't be able to talk well, so if possible, I'd want to become a child again.

If I did that, I'd want to line up paper cups together and get excited. We would share the joy of wondering what colors they would be tomorrow.

The next morning, the teacher would surely tell us, "Don't do this anymore," but at that time, we would honestly apologize together. After all, it isn't very hygienic.

But after we apologized, we would look at each other and laugh. Saying, "We got scolded, didn't we? But it was fun, wasn't it?"

This time, I participated in Mikumayutan-san's "Self-Narrative" project.

I am moved by Miku-san's spirit in hosting a project where many people can happily share their stories, saying "Self-narratives are the best!!"

The deadline is currently set for October 25th.

Why don't you all take this opportunity to forget about "the reader" for a moment and write an article that you personally enjoy writing?