The things I end up liking usually become hits

“The artists I end up liking always become hits.”

There was a time when I would say that without a hint of shame. Mr. Children’s massive hits, PUFFY’s explosive popularity, Spitz, Gen Hoshino, and King Gnu—they became hits because I started liking them. They sold like crazy.

Thinking about it seriously, this is probably a lie. They had already started to become hits, which is why they reached my ears, and I simply fell for them. I think it’s just that I also happened to like the artists who were destined to become massive hits—the ones everyone likes.

When I was in art school, I thought being in the “minority” was the only way to be right. How eccentric could I be? How much music could I listen to that others didn’t know? How different could my sensibilities be from everyone else’s? Am I the only one who felt like we were unconsciously competing in a “weirdo ranking”?

People who always wore hakama, people whose hair turned green from homemade bleach, people who decorated their homes with pretty creepy dolls, people who created strange legends at their strange part-time jobs.

In reality, there were tons of weirdos at school, and the rumor that “that person is seriously strange” sounded like the highest form of praise. For university students aspiring to art, being a universally acknowledged “weirdo” was proof of a one-of-a-kind sensibility. I thought that a personality incomprehensible to ordinary people was a prerequisite for talent.

Everyone tries to be unique. Thinking about it now, I smile bitterly, realizing that that behavior itself is the behavior of the “majority,” but I, being young and naive, jumped on that bandwagon too. I feared being “normal.” I searched for a version of myself that was different from others and felt disappointed when I was the same as everyone else. The individuality I wanted so badly to obtain. My individuality.

I am probably a very ordinary person. I watch the WBC because everyone else is watching, I am invariably depressed on Monday mornings, I put hit songs on repeat because I think, “That’s a good song,” and I cry while reading books with blurbs that say “It’ll make you cry!” while thinking, “Oh, stop it already.” Of course, I cry at movies that “made all of America cry.” I mean, all of America cried, didn’t they? I’m probably not a clear-cut “weirdo.” I’m just a normal, serious office worker.

So, am I devoid of personality?
I’d like to say, “I don’t think so.”

On the way to my office, there is a special view. I’m sad because my favorite ramune, which I loved dearly, is no longer sold. There are people I love so much that just remembering them brings tears to my eyes. There are plenty of other things, too, so I want you to listen. My own unique personality that no one else knows about. The many aspects of my individuality that I have cultivated bit by bit over my forty-something years of life.

This world is full of individuality, and at the same time, everyone is ordinary.

That is why we can share our feelings with others.
That is why other people’s obsessions are so endearing.

I want the true nature of something like individuality to be just that—a treasure that isn’t particularly special.

You know, on the way to my office, there is a park with beautiful cherry blossoms. In a little while, the buds will swell, and in the blink of an eye, they will be in full bloom.

When spring comes, I’m sure everyone will come here,
and look up at the cherry blossoms just like I do.

Why, you ask?
Because the things I end up liking usually become hits.