A rich imagination can sometimes kill you.
For over twenty years, I've been told, "You're so sensitive." I found joy in putting my rich sensitivity into words and never doubted that it was my identity. Recently, I've started to feel that things that don't matter don't matter, so I'm becoming a bit less sensitive, which makes me a little sad. On the other hand, it's also true that my emotional swings have decreased, so I'm relieved that I'm not building up stress. It's a complicated time for me.
Yes, in everything, I prefer non-fiction to fiction. Even if it's a made-up story, I like things that are based on being real. That's why I can't get into things like "actually, I could use magic" or "defeating monsters and becoming friends." I was the ultimate picky eater when it came to Harry Potter and had never seen it at all. I finally watched it a year ago. I haven't experienced Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, or Pokémon.
At the root of that is an inability to empathize feeling. The habit of wanting to be cynical, thinking, "It's all made up anyway, right?" is ingrained in me. Yet, I've always been more interested in politics and social news than most people. I'm more interested in what's actually happening in the world right now than in dream stories. I really think my childhood self's way of thinking wasn't cute. It was detestable.
I'm too empathetic to reality and am incredibly weak to it. My tear ducts loosen easily. First, I want you to watch this video.
I cried my eyes out the first time I saw it.
It's a work that focused on "going to see someone" during a time when the end of the COVID-19 pandemic was finally in sight. Just thinking that the nameless people who appeared also had families, friends, and loved ones made me cry. I empathize with it so much. You should go see the people you want to see when you want to see them.
My favorite TV program is NHK's "Document 72 Hours." It involves observing a street corner for 72 hours and listening to the stories of the people who visit. The people who appear are truly ordinary people. But each of them has their own circumstances, their own joys and sorrows. Still, the backs of people living their daily lives are unbearably dazzling and dear to me.
Yes, in the end, I think I just love "human-ness."
During my job hunt, I participated in an internship at a certain company. In the final Q&A session, I asked a mid-level employee, "What is your dream?" The answer was, "I guess it's to live a stable life."
At the time, I swore to myself that they were such a boring employee, that I hated such dreamless working adults, and that I would never join this company.I was so naive back then.
A stable life is built upon tireless effort.
Somehow, I've started to understand that.
Daily life continues with cruel persistence.
No matter how many good things happen.
No matter how many terrible things happen.
Even so, when I'm hungry, I eat,
and I earn money to live.
The food I eat with money I earned working myself is the best, and the alcohol I drink is incredibly delicious.
I feel that the emotions of each and every person are very precious.
The other day, I saw a housewife wearing the uniform of a nursing care facility looking for half-price side dishes at a supermarket at night, and
I couldn't stop imagining things like, "It's so hard to work this late... I wonder if she has children at home, she's caught between her work self and her home self..." People living their daily lives are equally precious.
But, sometimes, because I care too much about others, I end up sacrificing myself, so
"A rich imagination can sometimes kill you."
Let's keep that in mind.