My world is made of numbers.

Countless cells are lined up on the monitor in front of me.
I calmly type numbers into them. Budget, actual results, variance. If one number changes, other numbers change in tandem. Everything is connected by logic, to a cold and calculating degree.

My world is now made of these square cells and black-and-white numbers.
But, just a few years ago.

My world was made of something completely different.

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Once, my world was made of the scent of crayons, the laughter of children, and the word "fulfillment," which I could never count.

A childcare worker.

That was my first job.

There were numbers there, too.

The number of children I had to look after by myself.

The number representing the hours I had to take home and work unpaid overtime.

And the number representing the salary, which was far too small to be recorded in my bankbook, even after giving it my all.

In that exploitative work environment, my heart gradually wore down. I reached the limit of running on nothing but the fuel of passion. I reset everything, as if fleeing from that place.

The next place I stepped into was the slightly unstable world of being a "temporary employee."

It wasn't quite my place, but I wasn't entirely an outsider either. There were days when my heart stung a little at being called "the temp" instead of my name.

But because I had that time, I was able to learn.
That there are many "ways of working" in this world that I didn't know about yet.

And that I have the right to choose my life all over again.

And so, here I am now. As a full-time employee in financial administration.

In a quiet office where the hustle and bustle of those days feels like a lie.

Every day, I face clear numbers called evaluations, rather than the vague word of fulfillment.

What I am writing in this note is not a glamorous success story.

This is a record of my gritty, roundabout journey—how I, a former childcare worker with no office experience and an annual income in the two-million-yen range, managed to reach this place.

My world is made of numbers.

But these are no longer numbers that wear me down.

They are numbers of hope, representing the solid trail I have blazed for my own life with my own two hands.

I hope this story serves as a small guidepost for someone who, like I once was, is lost and standing still.