The feelings I want to convey, and the passion behind them.

I was never good at expressing my feelings to others.
Because of that, I have failed time and time again.

There have been times when I hurt people more than necessary during minor arguments.
Apparently, my words could be quite harsh.

Conversely, there have been times when I was so worried about how the other person would react that I couldn't say anything back.
I was just left feeling frustrated.

When I was a child, I could talk to anyone from kids to adults, but as I got older, I became increasingly afraid of interacting with people.

In elementary school, everyone in my class was my friend, but once I entered junior high, I gradually spent more and more time hiding away in the library.

Nothing good ever happens when I speak up. So, it would be better if I just stayed silent. If it only means I end up feeling frustrated, that is much better.
That is what I thought.

The turning point for me came when I was a university student.

I was studying media-related subjects at university, and as part of that, I belonged to a group that produced radio programs.

We produced a 30-minute live broadcast program.
The basic style involved researching themes of interest and having students talk to each other based on the results of interviews.

Not long after I became a sophomore, during a meeting to propose project ideas, I said,“I want to make the theme about setbacks.”

The reason was that I had failed my university entrance exams and was experiencing a true setback in life. By that time, I had already moved past it, and I was even able to turn the story of my entrance exams into a joke.

Compared to everyone around me, I wasn't up on the latest trends and didn't have any particular areas of expertise, but I felt I could talk about my own experiences. That was the thought behind my proposal.

Everyone on the team was interested, and my project was approved, but while we were refining the structure, a member said to me,“Why don't you try talking about this theme by yourself?”

Huh? Me? By myself?
There is no way I can do that.

Even though that is what I should have thought, the next moment I said,“I'll do it.”I have no idea where that courage came from.

But.

If there is meaning in me speaking, I want to try. I feel like I can do it now. I want to do it.
I must have felt that intuitively somewhere.

I made up my mind.

The day of the broadcast arrived.

I had rehearsed a lot. My usual friends were watching, too. The one holding up the cue cards was a close colleague from my year.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.

Just as I was telling myself this while facing the microphone, the senior mixer gave me the cue.

The post-broadcast review meeting.

“That was a broadcast only you could have done. I think you have the power to convey things.”

That is what the advising professor told me.

Honestly, I don't remember anything about those 30 minutes of live broadcast other than being incredibly nervous.
No, I do remember my colleague holding up a cue card that said “Calm down.” Even objectively speaking, I must have been terribly nervous.

I couldn't believe that I, in such a state, had really been able to convey things properly, but the professor was not the type to offer empty flattery.
I gained just a little bit of confidence in my ability to convey things.

Even so, I didn't have the courage to listen to the recording from back then.

About 10 years have passed since then.
This morning, I steeled myself and listened to the recording from that time.

My voice was trembling, my speech was halting, and it was amateurish talk that couldn't be called good by any stretch of the imagination.
But it was certainly a voice trying desperately to convey my feelings.

After I finished listening, I was crying.

The version of me trying to convey something was so passionate and dazzling.
Perhaps this is what the professor meant by “having the power to convey.”

I can choose my words better than when I was a child, and I have become better at conveying my feelings. Along with that, I have become much better at socializing.

But, do I still have that same passion today?

After hearing my own desperate voice, I realize how half-hearted I am now.
If I want to convey something, I have to be this earnest. That is the voice that made me realize it.

Hearing my voice from back then makes me think again. I really do want to deliver my "voice."
That is why I want to face the act of conveying more directly, more doggedly, and more greedily than ever before.

The me from back then, who made me feel so passionate—not bad at all.