Career Education on "How to End" and "Choosing a Path" Learned from the Candies' "Hohoemi Gaeshi" - A Conversation Between a Librarian and a Teacher-Librarian (Good Kids' Pop Songs Edition)
“I want to go back to being an ordinary girl”—isn't that a failure in life?
Evening at Tokiso.
As usual, an old radio cassette player sat in the manager's office of the wooden apartment building.
There were three teacups on the low table.
Toki Kusunoki was sipping her tea slowly.
Across from her, Keisuke Akao was squinting his eyes.
The music flowing from the radio was a bright, yet slightly bittersweet Showa-era pop song.
There, Mirai Yashima poked her head in.
“Good evening.”
“Welcome, Mirai-chan.”
Toki beckoned her with a smile.
“Come have some tea.”
“Thank you. Oh, is that music?”
“It's the Candies.”
“The Candies?”
Mirai tilted her head.
“A song about candy?”
Keisuke choked slightly while holding his teacup.
“Not candy, no.”
“It's not?”
“They were a three-member idol group.”
Toki laughed.
“Big stars of the Showa era.”
“Wow... the Candies.”
Mirai stared at the radio.
“This song, it's kind of bright, but a little sad, isn't it?”
“‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ (Returning a Smile).”
Keisuke said.
“It's a very important song that the Candies left behind at the end.”
“The end?”
“It's the song from before they disbanded.”
Toki narrowed her eyes nostalgically.
“The Candies, you see, they said ‘I want to go back to being an ordinary girl’ at the height of their popularity.”
Mirai's eyes went wide.
“I want to go back to being an ordinary girl?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean they wanted to quit being idols?”
“If you only look at the surface, yes.”
Toki said quietly.
“But, that wasn't just a resignation letter.”
“A resignation letter.”
“Mirai-chan, you suddenly brought it back to modern administrative procedures.”
Keisuke laughed.
“But, I am curious. Isn't it a waste to quit when you're popular?”
“A waste, huh?”
Keisuke looked as if he were staring into the distance.
“I'm sure some people thought so.”
“Then, is it a failure?”
Toki shook her head.
“I don't think so.”
“Why not?”
“A person's character shows in how they end things, too.”
Mirai fell silent upon hearing those words.
The bright melody continued to flow from the radio.
“This song,” Toki said, “isn't a song about saying goodbye while crying.”
“You don't cry?”
“Maybe they are crying. But, in the end, they return a smile.”
“Return a smile...”
“They finish by properly returning what they were given.”
Keisuke added.
“They were people who turned not just their songs, but even the way they ended things into a work of art.”
Mirai stared at the radio.
“Turning even the way you end things into a work of art...”
Those words remained strangely in her heart.
The next day after school.
The setting sun was shining into the school library.
A stack of returned books was piled up on the return counter.
As Keiko Kusunoki was checking the classification labels, Mirai approached with a more serious expression than usual.
“Keiko-san.”
“What's with that face?”
“Yesterday, Toki-san and Keisuke-san were listening to the Candies.”
“Ah, the Showa Pop Song Club again.”
“Is that a regular thing?”
“Quite.”
“And the song was ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’.”
Keiko stopped what she was doing.
“Oh. You encountered a good one.”
“Is it a good one?”
“Very.”
Mirai placed both hands on the counter.
“So, I was curious.”
“Yes?”
“Is ‘I want to go back to being an ordinary girl’ a failure in life?”
Keiko widened her eyes slightly, then chuckled.
“That's heavy all of a sudden.”
“But, they quit even though they were popular, right?”
“That's right.”
“They were successful in their work, but they said they wanted to go back to being ordinary, right?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean giving up on a dream?”
Keiko picked up one of the returned books.
“Is that how you felt, Mirai-san?”
“At first. But Toki-san said something.”
“What did she say?”
“That a person's character shows in how they end things.”
Keiko nodded quietly.
“That sounds like Grandma.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well then, let's use the Candies as teaching material today to think about career choices and the ‘aesthetics of how to quit’.”
“The aesthetics of how to quit.”
“Yes. The idea that continuing isn't the only beautiful thing.”
“Is quitting beautiful, too?”
“It depends on how you quit.”
Mirai immediately opened her notebook.
“First, what were the Candies?”
“A three-member idol group from the Showa era. Ran, Sue, and Miki. They could sing, dance, and do variety shows.”
“Three members.”
“And their three-part harmony was their charm.”
“Three-part harmony?”
“It's not just that the three of them sang the same melody; they layered different notes to create a single sound.”
“Like a choir?”
“Exactly. Even though they were idols, they were a group that could properly deliver musically.”
“Wow.”
“The era of television, the era of the living room, an era where everyone watched the same programs and knew the same songs. The Candies were at the center of that.”
“In today's terms, are they a national group?”
“Close.”
“And they said, ‘I want to go back to being an ordinary girl’.”
“Yes.”
“That's strong.”
“It is strong.”
Keiko returned a book to the shelf.
“But if that phrase is taken out of context, it can be misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood?”
“Going back to being ‘ordinary’ doesn't mean going back because you lost.”
“Then what is it?”
“It means choosing your own life for yourself all over again.”
Mirai stopped her pen.
“Choosing again.”
“Yes. Career choices aren't over once you decide, right?”
“High school, university, employment, changing jobs, retirement...”
“Exactly. Life is a continuous series of career choices.”
“But isn't quitting often talked about as if it's a bad thing?”
“It is, isn't it?”
“Like running away, or having no guts.”
“But if continuing is the only correct answer, people will have no choice but to run until they break.”
Mirai was silent for a moment.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“That's why what's important isn't just whether you quit or continue.”
“What is important?”
“How you end it.”
“How you end it.”
“Yes.”
Mirai remembered Toki's words from yesterday.
“A person's character shows in how they end things.”
“Exactly.”
Keiko nodded.
“And ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ is a song that turned that way of ending into music.”
“The title itself is already returning something, isn't it?”
“That's right.”
“What are they returning?”
“Thinking about that is today's Japanese language lesson.”
“There it is. A lesson all of a sudden.”
“This is a school library, after all.”
Mirai laughed.
“‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ includes the titles of their past songs in the lyrics, right?”
“You remember well.”
“Keisuke-san said, ‘It's a song that folds their own history into the music’.”
“Keisuke-san is poetic.”
“Sometimes I don't know what he's talking about, though.”
“That's part of who Keisuke-san is.”
Keiko chuckled slightly.
“‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ is scattered with words that remind you of the Candies' past songs.”
“Self-referencing.”
“Yes. Citing their own past in their final song.”
“That's like a graduation album.”
“Good expression.”
“Each song was a separate memory, but in the end, they all come together into one album.”
“Yes.”
“And the fans notice it, too.”
“That's what's important.”
Keiko returned to the counter and peeked at Mirai's notebook.
“Songs aren't just for listening. The memories of the listener overlap.”
“The fans remember their own youth along with it.”
“Yes. That's why ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ is both a Candies song and a sorting out of the fans' memories.”
“Sorting out...”
Mirai looked at the bookshelf.
“It's like they're returning their own history to the shelves themselves.”
Keiko narrowed her eyes.
“That's a metaphor worthy of a school librarian.”
“They're returning it at the end.”
“What?”
“The time they were given, the smiles, the youth.”
“A good way to read it.”
“Is it correct?”
“In Japanese class, what's important isn't just whether it's correct.”
“It's not?”
“It's whether you can read it richly with a basis for your interpretation.”
“So there isn't just one answer?”
“Yes. Not limiting it to one answer is also an important way to read in Japanese class.”
Mirai nodded.
“But it's strange.”
“What is?”
“It's a farewell song, but it's bright.”
“That's what's so like the Candies.”
“Usually, don't they try to make you cry more?”
“Sometimes they do.”
“With a ballad, the lights dim, and everyone cries.”
“That's one way to say goodbye.”
“But ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ is bright, light, and yet it makes you cry.”
“They don't show the sadness as just sadness.”
“What do you mean?”
“They wrap the farewell in seasons, daily life, and smiles.”
Mirai let her pen run across the paper.
“Expressing sadness without saying it's sad.”
“Yes.”
“That's very ‘Japanese class’.”
“It is Japanese class.”
“Yesterday, Toki-san was smiling even though she looked like she was about to cry.”
“For Grandma, it might be a return of a smile to her own era.”
“To her own era?”
“Herself when she was listening to the Candies. Herself in front of the TV. Herself singing with friends. Her current self is returning a smile to that past self.”
Mirai went quiet.
“Songs turn back time, don't they?”
“Maybe it's not turning back, but connecting.”
“Connecting.”
“The past self and the current self.”
Mirai suddenly looked up.
“Doesn't that resemble career choices?”
“How is it similar?”
“I thought career choices were about choosing the future.”
“Yes.”
“But it's also about how you accept your past self, isn't it?”
Keiko nodded happily.
“You've hit on something quite good.”
“Oh, I was praised.”
“Once in a while.”
“I'll record that.”
“No need.”
The two laughed.
“Career choices aren't things you decide by looking only at the future.”
Keiko continued.
“What you've valued, what you've been hurt by, what you've found fun. You read back over that past self and decide on the next page.”
“Life is like a book, too.”
“Yes. There's a concept called narrative.”
“Narrative?”
“A way of thinking that views life as a story. People don't just experience events; they attach meaning to them and re-edit them into their own story.”
“Re-edit.”
“The Candies re-edited their own story with ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’.”
“Not just ending it.”
“They sorted out their history, returned it to the fans, and moved on to the next.”
“That's what ‘I want to go back to being an ordinary girl’ is.”
“That's one way to read it.”
Mirai pondered for a bit.
“But if I were to talk to students, what should I say?”
“For example?”
“Kids who want to quit a club, or want to change their career path, or are worried about dropping out of university.”
“First, don't blame them for wanting to quit.”
“Yes.”
“Then, pose a question.”
“A question?”
“What do you want to escape from? What do you want to protect? What do you want to choose next?”
Mirai took notes.
“Escape, protect, choose.”
“Quitting isn't all bad. But there's a difference between throwing something away without thinking and ending it after thinking for yourself.”
“The aesthetics of how to quit.”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean to quit cleanly?”
“Returning gratitude. Not denying your own time. Passing the place on to the next person or your next self.”
“That's the Candies.”
“Yes.”
“Returning a smile at the end.”
“That's it.”
Mirai looked out the window.
The setting sun was dyeing the schoolyard red.
“If you were to have high school students discuss this, what question would you ask?”
“Good question.”
Keiko thought for a moment.
“For example, ‘What do you want to return to the school on the day you graduate?’”
“Thank you?”
“Yes.”
“A smile?”
“Yes.”
“A letter?”
“That's good too.”
“The future?”
“That's nice.”
“Then, how about ‘What is a clean way to quit for you?’”
“That's quite good.”
“Which is harder, the courage to continue or the courage to quit?”
“That would be a debate, too.”
“It seems like the answers would be split.”
“It's fine if they split.”
“Is it?”
“Because career education isn't a class where you guess the correct answer.”
“I felt like there was a correct answer for career paths.”
“Deviation scores, stability, income, qualifications. Of course, there is important information. But life isn't decided by that alone.”
“How I want to live.”
“Yes.”
“But that's the hardest part.”
“That's why there's a library.”
Mirai looked up.
“A library?”
“In a library, there are many lives.”
“Novels, biographies, essays, career books.”
“Songs, movies, newspapers, magazines, too.”
“In other words.”
Mirai held up a finger.
“The library is a sample storage for life.”
“The way you put that.”
“A life trade fair.”
“That sounds a bit like a shopping street.”
“A fitting room for life.”
“That might be good.”
Keiko laughed.
“Reading a book is also like trying on someone else's life.”
“The Candies' ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ is also a fitting for how to end things, isn't it?”
“Yes. Knowing that there is such a way to end.”
“Not just ending by crying.”
“Not just ending by getting angry.”
“Not just ending by running away.”
“Ending by smiling and returning.”
Mirai let out a small breath.
“That's adult.”
“It is adult.”
“I might be bad at how to end things.”
“Everyone is.”
“Is that so?”
“Because you don't really learn how to end things in school.”
“True. You learn how to start. Entrance ceremonies, opening ceremonies, self-introductions.”
“But how to end is surprisingly difficult. Graduation, retirement, parting, retiring, changing jobs. Even though all of those exist in life.”
“Then, ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ becomes teaching material for how to end.”
“It does.”
“Showa pop songs are amazing.”
“Not just Showa pop songs, songs preserve the feelings of the era.”
“Preserve.”
“In library terms, it's a record.”
“Then Toki-san and Keisuke-san were playing back the records of the Showa era in the manager's office.”
“And they were playing back their own memories along with it.”
Mirai remembered the scene from yesterday.
The old radio cassette player.
The low table.
The teacups.
Toki's gentle smile.
Keisuke's profile as he looked into the distance.
The melody that was bright, yet somehow bittersweet.
“I think I'm starting to understand.”
“What?”
“ ‘I want to go back to being an ordinary girl’ isn't a phrase for throwing away a dream.”
“Yes.”
“It's a phrase for reclaiming your own life after you've finished your dream.”
“That's one way to read it.”
“Then, what about ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’?”
“How do you read it, Mirai-san?”
Mirai thought for a moment.
“A song that returns the dream you were given with a smile.”
Keiko nodded quietly.
“A good way to read it.”
“But it makes me cry a little.”
“It will make you cry.”
“Even though it's bright.”
“Sometimes you cry because it's bright.”
Mirai wrote in big letters in her notebook.
A bright farewell.
An ending where you return with a smile.
The next page of life.
“Keiko-san.”
“Yes?”
“Can I say today's conclusion?”
“Go ahead.”
Mirai held up one finger.
“The Candies didn't just end by singing.”
“Yes.”
“They turned the next page of their lives themselves.”
“That's it.”
“‘I want to go back to being an ordinary girl’ wasn't a phrase for giving up on a dream.”
“Yes.”
“It was a declaration of choosing their own future.”
Keiko smiled.
“That's why in a school library, you can learn not just how to read books, but how to end and how to start the story of your own life.”
Mirai remembered Tokiso from yesterday.
The old radio cassette player.
The low table.
Toki Kusunoki's smile.
Keisuke Akao's profile as he looked into the distance.
And the ‘Hohoemi Gaeshi’ that was playing.
“I think I understand a little why Toki-san and Keisuke-san were listening to that song so carefully.”
“What do you think they were returning?”
“Probably.”
Mirai thought for a moment.
“I think they were returning a smile to their own Showa era.”
Keiko nodded quietly.
The setting sun gently illuminated the bookshelves.
The spines of the returned books were shining gold.
Mirai picked up one of them.
“Books, songs, and life.”
“Yes.”
“If you return them properly, you can move on to the next.”
Keiko smiled slightly in front of the shelf.
“That's right.”
The two of them walked quietly toward the next after-school session while returning the book to the shelf.