The Life Written by a 'Boring Person'

If the act of 'writing' were only permitted with paper and pencil, I don't think I would have ever written anything.

Since I was a child, I was told, 'Your handwriting is messy, unreadable, and sloppy,' and even the number '8' would have one of its loops crushed. I think my handwriting was about as messy as the boys my age, but what was popular among the girls back then was rounded handwriting.

Letters where the dot of an 'o' was stabbed into the curved part.
Letters where a 'he' slope was stabbed with a double-dot mark.
Blacked-out mistakes that were scribbled over were given eyes and turned into caterpillars.
In that era of decorative lettering, my maiden heart and the number 8 were equally flattened.

'Writing by hand' was one of my complexes.

Even so, all the various things floating in my head wanted to get out and were making a huge racket.

At first, they would fly out of my mouth, but then I was told, 'You're noisy, be quiet, if you don't shut up right now, I'll tape your mouth shut,' and they lost their place to go.

The destination for my 'Hey, listen?' was narrowed down to two options.

1. To stay silent. Stuff everything I wanted to say into my stomach and wait for it to digest.

2. To talk about things in a way funny enough that people would want to listen.

As a teenager, I went all-in on option 2. I tried acting the fool on the teacher's podium, wearing short skirts, and telling funny stories about my family.

Thanks to that, I was barely able to get people to listen, but the cool, overly mature girls were cold.

'Honda, you only ever talk about yourself, don't you?'
'Isn't it boring to be someone who can only talk about yourself and your family?'

Even now, remembering the merciless jabs of those junior high girls makes me tremble because they hurt so much.

Cool girls talk about Johnny's idols, and since I read 'Subaru Shibutani' as 'Shibuya,' I was uncool and boring. 'Talking about myself' is boring. I was terrified of wasting someone else's time with my boring stories. Like being carved directly into my brain with a wood-cutting chisel, these words were imprinted on me.

My complexes increased to two: 'handwriting' and 'talking.' I couldn't become an interesting person, and the talkative me disappeared. All that remained was the option to 'stay silent'.

I, who used to be told, 'Weren't you born mouth-first?', turned into a quiet person. I don't meet people. Even if I do, I can't talk. When I try to speak, my mind goes blank. The things I want to say don't come out of my mouth, and the letters I write by hand are messy and I hate them.

I got my first mobile phone in my first year of high school.

Click, click—the words connected as I pressed the buttons. Click, click, click. The thoughts in my head were converted into text at the same speed as my thoughts. When I typed on a computer, the words came out even faster.

There was a gatekeeper deep in my throat, but words that would never come out of my mouth would slip right through my fingertips when I was in front of a screen. I could hide my phone under my desk during class and type without even looking at the screen, relying solely on the sensation in my fingertips.

mixi, Maho no i-land, Star Beach, 2channel, Hamster Sokuho, Facebook, and creating a public exchange diary with my boyfriend (*a dark history).

I chased the flowing text and typed back, refusing to lose. Stories about 'my mom,' stories about family, right? They were incredibly interesting.


My words, which 'could not be written,' were transformed into 'can be written' by civilization.

Things I had actually wanted to talk about for a long time. The TV shows I watched, things I laughed at, things I cried over, things that made me angry, things about my mom, even just a chopstick rolling over, and telling my boyfriend I love him—all of it.
Even if I couldn't speak them, I could convey them by 'writing (typing)'.

'Hey, listen?'
The options for that changed to three.

1. Stay silent
2. Talk about it in a funny, entertaining way
3. Write (type)

I had always wanted to talk.

'Isn't someone who can only talk about themselves and their family boring?'
Even though those words continue to act as a gatekeeper deep in my throat, what I still want to talk about is what I've seen with my own eyes, what I've heard, what I've thought, things about myself, and things about my family.

Even 30 years later, I am still only writing about myself and my family. I've just changed the output method and the location; I still can't talk about trendy idols or music.

I am a boring person, just as that junior high student said.
I'm a boring person who can't stay silent or talk in an entertaining way, someone who is quiet in person but talkative on the internet.

But I know that there are tons of people who are interesting because of the stories they tell about themselves and their families.

The life I write will continue in order to reclaim that day when I was told, 'Isn't someone who can only talk about themselves and their family boring?'

▽ This article won the 'Moment a Life of Writing Began' award for moving hearts.

▽ Miku Mayutan's book

I am reading it thoroughly. I'm still in the middle of it because I'm highlighting as I go, but from the very beginning, it is overflowing with sentences that strike deep into the heart of anyone who writes.

I want to open this and reread it many times whenever I stop and wonder, 'Why am I writing again...?'

▽ Why I write: The answer from two years ago

──── P R ────

In my note membership, I mumble and shout about things that are hard to say in public.

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