I Went to a Matchmaking Party and Became a Writer

500 yen.

This was the payment I received for my first article as a writer.

I wrote a matchmaking column, about 800 to 1,000 characters per article. Since it was my first job, I didn't even know if that was cheap or expensive.

However, the moment I received the money, I felt strangely happy. I still remember that day, when I traced the amount in my bankbook with my finger until it wore thin.

Before that, I wrote a blog as a hobby and submitted novels to public contests. Novels that didn't go anywhere didn't make money, and writing them alone felt empty. So, I occasionally published them as a 'break' from my matchmaking blog.

I wrote a story called 'The Delusional Child Born from a Lonely Woman,' where a lonely woman gives birth to a child through imaginary pregnancy, names him 'Lonely Taro,' and before the woman gets caught by a loser man, Lonely Taro goes to 'My Island' (a parody of Onigashima), where men with strong egos gather, to defeat the arrogant men—and it became somewhat popular. (*Since the blog was deleted, the novel was moved to 'Shousetsuka ni Narou'.)

At the same time, I was just writing my complaints about matchmaking as a one-person real-life matchmaking variety show.

The blog gained readers, and whenever I wrote, I got many comments. I was happy, but I wasn't getting paid. In the first place, I was just writing the blog to vent. I was writing for myself and had never even thought about the reader.

I just wanted someone to say, 'You're working hard at matchmaking.' I was desperate to escape the hell of matchmaking as soon as possible.

In the end, what I was always told was, 'Lower your standards.'

Every year, my standards rose moment by moment. Once you've raised your standards, it's extremely difficult to lower them.

Dazzlingly handsome men, gentlemanly and wonderful men. After seeing so many of them, these were the standards I had desperately built up. But none of those ideals bore fruit, and they were all as fragile as Jenga, ready to collapse with a single tap of a finger.

Yet, only my age kept going up. Even as we entered an era where giving birth isn't everything, men seeking children were barely remaining in the 35-year-old matchmaking market. In that selection process, I was one of the people who inevitably fell through the cracks.

My 'market value' in matchmaking was fading. It's painful. I hate it. I don't want to admit it. So, between my ideals and reality, I played Enya songs on a loop.

Reading the notes of today, many people are studying hard, thinking about what the reader will think or how to write something that hits home, and I bow down to their high level of awareness and seriousness. I wish I could make the me from those days, who was writing a dark matchmaking blog, drink even a little bit of their dedication.

Back then, I never once felt that the writing I used to vent my frustrations had any value.

In fact, it didn't need to have value. If I was saved, that was enough. That's what I thought.

I was selfish, and if I had ever had tea with someone working in the high-consciousness world of writing, they would surely have splashed their coffee on me, and my clothes would have been stained light brown.

I hadn't even considered wanting a job writing. More than that, anyway, I just wanted to get married quickly.

I didn't know the job of a writer existed, nor did I intend to become one. I learned about the industry, such as the existence of writing schools and courses, and that many people become writers through editorial production companies or publishers, long after I started doing this work.

Even for someone like me, the moment I received money for my writing was moving.

—My writing, it actually turns into money.

It was a different kind of emotion than being praised on a blog or receiving feedback. Words turned into cash, and that amount was recorded in my bankbook. I felt as if my history had been set in motion.

The joy I felt at that time became a great source of confidence for me, leading to a hope for living.

To get this job, I had to go to a singles event—and if I hadn't met 'him' there, nothing would have started. He taught me many things. Not about sex. About business.

◇

That was back when I was a 35-year-old office worker, like a leftover cake that had been boiled down to make it even sweeter. I was spending all my time on marriage hunting.

Worried that my marriage hunting wasn't going as well as I'd hoped, someone at work suggested, 'It's a barbecue singles event. Why don't you go?'

A barbecue singles event isn't a company union event or a company function. It's a singles event where men and women enjoy meeting each other while having a barbecue.

In this day and age, if someone at work were to say such a thing, wouldn't they be accused of sexual harassment, or told it's 'inappropriate to the extreme,' or labeled a 'futereho' case for short? Back then, it felt like a necessity, and my colleagues were genuinely worried about my future. Because I was already 35, long past the prime age for marriage.

The invitation to the singles event was love for me. And it was an act of kindness. They were saying, 'You should be happy.'

I had to accept those feelings—just as Hiroshi Abe once told his students, 'You go to Todai,' I took time off work without any hesitation and headed to the singles event.

◇

At the barbecue venue, I met a man with sun-kissed skin and handsome features.

He was grilling meat with practiced hands while letting out sounds that were almost like strange cries, 'Haaaaaay! Haaaaaaaay!'

He was cool. It was love at first sight for me.

I want to get to know him. Thinking that, I immediately approached him and said,

'You're very good at grilling meat.'

When I praised him, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, 'Actually, I hold a Barbecue Certification,' speaking proudly with a slightly shy smile. His tanned cheeks flushed slightly.

He was the president of a singles mixer company, and he wasn't attending the event to find a romantic partner, but rather to fulfill his mission of "grilling meat" at the barbecue.

He said he had opportunities to do barbecues for work, so he wanted to get certified. If he was going to grill meat for someone, he wanted to do it properly. He wanted them to eat something delicious. He looked radiant as he said this.

I see. That explains why he wasn't even looking at the opposite sex and was sweating profusely while desperately grilling meat, I realized. My heart fluttered at what a cool and dedicated person he was.

It might be hard to win over his stomach, but I figured I might have at least captured his heart. Once I decided that, I had to act fast. The next thing to ask for was his "contact information".

"Please give me your contact information."

When I asked that, he looked as surprised as if he'd been shot by a bean-firing toy gun.

"N-n-n-no way! I have a super, super cute girlfriend!! She's seriously so cute! So, no way!!"

He panicked.

"Am I not your type?"
"No, it's not about being my type. I have a girlfriend! And she's super cute!"

Not only was I rejected when asking to exchange contact info, but I also felt like my appearance had been slightly insulted. But if he has a girlfriend, it can't be helped. My love ended before even five seconds had passed since I truly fell in love.

"Ah, I can't do it. But if there are other events, I'll invite you again."

After he said that, we ended up exchanging contact information. A few days later, a post appeared on my LINE timeline saying, "We are looking for writers who can write love columns for our singles mixer site." The person who posted it was the guy I met at the mixer.

Around that time, I was writing a blog on Ameblo about my frustrations with marriage hunting. My blog was occasionally featured on the Ameba Topics, had decent page views, and when I got a boyfriend, I would get comments like "Congratulations" from about 50 readers, and several threads about me were even started on 2ch. At the time, breaking into 2ch in the marriage hunting blog community was proof of being a popular blogger, like a badge of honor or a seal of authority.

"I can write marriage hunting columns."

Even though I had never written a love column in my life, I confidently asserted it with all my might. I think I even went as far as to say that I was high up in the popularity rankings on Ameblo and could pull in the numbers.

Ignorance is strength. The Emperor's New Clothes is a case of "ignorance is bliss," which is why one can remain confident even in just their underwear.

"Can you really write them? If so, please show me an article you've written."

His message sounded somewhat anxious. And rightly so. I had just applied and, without any track record, said, "I can write marriage hunting columns. I can get the numbers." Isn't that as bold as the "female CEOs who rose from poverty" that occasionally infest social media?

I immediately took a screenshot of my Ameblo URL and the section showing my page views at the time and sent it. Immediately after, I received a reply from him saying, "Your writing is amazing! It's interesting! You're hired."

That was where my life as a writer began.

He told me that if I was going to work, I needed to make sure my finances were in order. He immediately introduced me to a tax accountant, and I received one-on-one guidance from him.

The tax accountant was a man with light, permed hair and a slender build. With his clearly defined double eyelids and long legs, he looked like a model.

When I said to him, "You look like a handsome actor, you're so cool. Do you have a girlfriend?"

I remember him giving me a wry smile. He taught me carefully about why a sole proprietor needs to be thorough with their finances, the necessity of filing a tax return, and how to submit it.

Regarding those matters, I had visited the tax office and the Chamber of Commerce several times for consultation, but it was reassuring to be able to consult with him as well.

Looking back on those days, I think: if there is a chance you want to take, if you are interested, you should dive in. It might be a matter of hindsight, but I'm glad I did.

You might get caught on a branch along the way and fail, but if you don't jump, you can't fly. If you just walk past, it will flow away. If you don't knock on the door, no one will open it for you.

Dive in, knock. Only then will the heavy door slowly open. Even if the door doesn't open, you can't afford to get discouraged. I hold onto the hope that by knocking with a bit of confidence, the other person might open the door for me.

And then, little by little, the door opens. You can move forward.

◇

At some point, our relationship changed to where I called him 'President'.

As soon as I started working with the President, I sent a message saying, "I'm a beginner, but I look forward to working with you."

Then, a reply came from the President: "We are not beginners. We are professionals." As long as you accept work, you must not call yourself a beginner. Have the self-awareness of a professional. Saying that, the President would sometimes say, "You worked hard, here's a reward," and introduce me to colleagues or treat me to a meal.

Since then, I have never once called myself a 'beginner'.

Some time later, I asked the President why I was hired.

Apparently, when my application arrived, he honestly thought, "Is this person going to be okay?"

But when he saw my writing, he thought I was a genius. He told me, "I think you can become an incredibly successful writer someday. From my perspective, it's absolutely impossible as a woman, but I want to work hard together with you as a colleague." That's why he hired me. That's what he told me.

What an exaggerated way to praise someone, I thought. But he was speaking his true feelings. His eyes, as he spoke while drinking at the seat next to me, were clear and straight.

Those words have remained in my heart for years, never fading, and they have become my support. Perhaps that is why, even now, when I see people or things I like, I end up praising them with my true feelings.

Sometimes I'm told that my way of complimenting people is exaggerated. It often makes people keep their distance, too.

That person, even though they compliment me quite candidly now, might eventually try to sell me some kind of information product. Is their goal to open a writing course and recruit me? Perhaps they might even start a membership program soon. Am I being targeted as a member... and is that why, right now, they are complimenting me so excessively?

I actually do sell paid articles for a few hundred yen on note, and since no one can predict what kind of career I will build in the future, I ultimately have no way to refute that.

I apologize if my exaggerated way of complimenting people has ever put anyone off. My sensibilities might be different from those of people today.

I was raised that way, so I'm just doing the same thing. Besides, I forget things as soon as I say them. That's why I convey them before I forget. That's just how words are. Once spoken, they don't stop. They drift, remaining in someone's heart, or perhaps they grow.

◇

I am 45 years old now. I, who once wrote articles from the LINE app on my mobile phone, now open a computer and use tools like WordPress and Google Docs to write.

My hands are much more accustomed to handling the keyboard than they were back then... but because of that, I spend my days spinning sentences while overthinking things, wondering, 'This isn't quite right,' or 'Maybe it would be better this way.'

[End]

⭐︎Click here for a detailed article on how I went from a singles mixer to becoming a writer