The Reason for Running (#CreativeAwardImpressions)

When you write something on note every day, you read fewer works by others. This is especially true for people you don't usually interact with.

Even so, it is also a fact that among the things that appear in my recommendations or are introduced on social media, there are works that pique my interest.

Run Away.
A title of only four syllables. And a verb, at that. It's intriguing.
The opening I caught a glimpse of was, 'I am, by my own admission and others', terrible at sports, but I am fast on my feet. That is because I have been running away from my mother for a long time.' It's intriguing.

I read it.
As I read, I was enveloped in a strange sensation. It felt less like reading a text and more like listening to someone unfolding a story right in front of me. The writing, too, looks less like it was carefully crafted and more like it was dashed off in the heat of the moment.

The main axis of the episodes is the story of my student days when I (physically) ran away from my mother. And the relatively recent story of when I (physically) ran away from a suspicious man.

Why did the mother, the man, and the author run? The answer is not explicitly stated in this work.
However, though it might be unintentional on the author's part, I cannot help but feel that running became a form of communication. Is it a nuance close to 'speaking with one's fists,' as you might find in a fighting manga? (Although the relationship between the parties involved in this work cannot be called good.) I wonder if 'running' was chosen as a substitute for arguments or fistfights. Even if it is an incredibly difficult-to-convey and inefficient method.
Perhaps this strange sense of lingering uncertainty is what you call the aftertaste of an essay.

Also, this work has very detailed internal narration. The author has calmly and objectively written down what they were thinking in real-time. Sometimes humorously. Sometimes philosophically. It felt like it was digressing, yet the main point never strayed. It's amazing.

Laughing at the 'instant speed,' holding my breath during the running scenes, feeling sympathy for being bad at sports (I am truly hopeless, as I am bad at all sports and slow on my feet as well), and sending cheers and a standing ovation to Jil Sander—the reader is kept quite busy as well.
Even while being in such a torrent of text, it is surprisingly not uncomfortable; in fact, I even feel somewhat satisfied. I don't know why. This, too, is a lingering uncertainty.

However, I have a conviction that I am glad I read this essay.

If a good essay is one that draws out various emotions, shakes them up, and provides a moderate aftertaste, then this work is undoubtedly one of them. A sense of refreshment, like the one you feel after running, can be glimpsed from within that lingering uncertainty.

(The End)