[Wind-Blown Literature Club] Automatic | Essay

In the morning, when I walk on the asphalt,
I always feel like my feet are moving on "automatic."
Even when I'm lost in thought, they keep moving on their own,
and that feeling of arriving at my destination before I realize it.

It's as if my mind and body are operating on separate tracks.

Even though the asphalt is cold and hard,
the steps I take on it feel strangely soft.
I think I'm surely being pulled along by "something that makes up who I am."
Habits, responsibilities, pride.
Those invisible rails are what keep my daily life on "autopilot."

But—pride is a troublesome thing.

If you hold onto it too tightly because you want to protect it,
you feel a sudden tightness in your chest.
Conversely, if you let go of it too much, it feels like you might get swept away somewhere.
When I look at an aquarium of ornamental fish,
I understand that well.

Inside the transparent tank, the fish are just swimming slowly.
I, watching from the outside, am far more restless.

Those little ones don't fight the current.
But they don't get swallowed by it either.
They move their tails at a speed that suits them,
and they don't resist more than necessary.
Even so, their presence is never lost.

…I think that is a very natural kind of "pride."

When I stand in front of the aquarium,
I suddenly wish that I, too,
could walk as if I were swimming slowly.

If the day comes when I can take a step forward by my own will,
instead of moving automatically on the asphalt,
I feel like the world might change just a little.

The ornamental fish don't say anything, but
that silence resonates gently deep within my heart.

"You don't have to be in such a hurry."
It's as if they are saying that to me,
and today, I start walking again, slowing my pace by just one step.


End

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