Harvest Festival of the Invisible

The angle of the sun entering the room has changed.
Dusk is also coming earlier.
Winter is almost here in New Zealand.

At dinner last night, the topic of conversation in our house was the sun's trajectory.
My husband, eldest son, and eldest daughter were enthusiastically debating 'how much shorter the days have become compared to summer.'
I, who am shaky even on north, south, east, and west, couldn't join the conversation and quietly listened to them talk.

Was it east or west that the sun rose from...? While I was pondering at that level, I noticed that my second son, who is usually the loudest, was strangely quiet.

With his nose almost touching the table, he was staring intently at one spot.
I thought he must have dropped something, so I dismissed it. But even after a while, he didn't move an inch.

'What's wrong? Are you okay?'

When I asked him out of concern, my second son slowly looked up and said with a very serious face,

'I was trying to see the germs.'

Explosive laughter erupted at the dinner table.

'Without a microscope!?'
'There's no way you can see them!'

My husband and the older children were laughing hysterically.
I could only smile quietly to myself. In fact, I was genuinely surprised by their normal reaction.

I have memories of this too.
Long ago, just like my second son, I had a 'prior conviction' of staring desperately with the naked eye, trying to capture 'something invisible' lurking in the world.

I believed that if I kept staring directly at the sun, I could see its core. I felt the fluttering of fairy wings in the dancing dust. On snowy nights, I would look up at the sky while freezing on the balcony, falling into the illusion that I was ascending into the sky. I once seriously waited for someone to come pick me up, believing, 'I am Princess Kaguya, and one day I will return to the moon.' I also believed I could see cavities, and I would peer into my friends' mouths, which they hated.

The me from back then and my second son here now are definitely the same.

'So, how was it? Could you see the germs?'
I asked my second son with a straight face.

My second son answered with a hint of frustration.
'I couldn't see them. But the pattern on the table looks like a maze.'

My husband and the others are still laughing, holding their stomachs, but my second son is completely unfazed.

Recently, I often hear friends talk about 'memories with their parents.'
The kind where a parent's 'offhand remark I didn't mean that way' stays with them for years.
Memories are not the events themselves, but can change shape depending on 'what one was seeing at that time.'
I, too, have given meaning to my mother's casual remarks and have been trapped by them for a long time.
I probably ended up remembering what I thought I saw as reality later on. Like my second son, who tried to see germs but saw a maze instead.
Therefore, what I pour into my children might not reach them straight. I should be prepared that it is just that kind of thing.

And then I thought.

Humans rewrite memories as they please anyway. If so, I should just create an inescapable memory from the start. One that doesn't even leave room for interpretation.

I joined my second son.

'You know, Mom has actually caught a fart in a plastic bag and seen it before!'

That is a lie.

However, heat erupted at the frozen dining table. My eldest son, who had been cold until just a moment ago, leaned forward.

Wait, you can see farts?

Maybe. They are a momentary glimmer, you know.

Should we try to catch one?

At my suggestion, my sons' eyes gleamed as they ran to the kitchen to grab plastic bags. The icy gazes of my husband and eldest daughter, watching them go, were enough to freeze one's spine. Such ridiculous moments are impossible to process, and they are bound to remain in our flesh and blood as raw memories.

The harvest festival of the invisible had begun.

All that was left was to wait for the kale and cabbage from dinner to start moving.

My sons and I stood by, plastic bags in hand. My husband and eldest daughter stared at us with looks that felt like weapons.

A time spent entrusting everything to our intestines, desperately trying to confirm the invisible. A time that is utterly nonsensical and purely absurd, to which no meaning can be attached later. I don't know if it's useful or not. Even so, I hope that these kinds of helpless memories, at least, remain somewhere.

I cautioned my enthusiastic sons.

Timing is everything!

Also, make sure to pull your pants down properly, because if it diffuses, you won't be able to see it!

Surely, this memory alone cannot be distorted by anyone.
Olfactorily, it's impossible.

We prepared ourselves perfectly and stood by.

Come on, then. Fart!

What kind of story is this house.

Snow-san❤
I managed to dive in just in time. Thank you for having me.