Write. Draw. Embrace. Dream, expand.

"Using pink for the color of the sky. I thought it was bold and really wonderful."

It was June of my eldest daughter's first year of elementary school.
During my first individual parent-teacher conference, I was told that her drawing had been selected as the grade-level representative for a certain competition.

On the way home that day, the drawing of hers I saw in the hallway had colors overflowing with hope. A yellow and red sun floating in a pink sky. Green trees stretching straight toward the sun. The pattern of the thick yellow paint dripping toward the sun looked like a single ray of light.

This is how the world looks to her. That's what I thought.

"I saw your drawing. It was really lovely. The colors were truly beautiful."

Right after the conference, I went to pick her up at the after-school kids' club and told her. While fixing the heel of her shoe, she smiled shyly, saying "Hehe."

When she became a third grader, she couldn't go into the classroom anymore.
She had gradually stopped being able to go starting in second grade, and eventually, she couldn't even pass through the school entrance.
She had barely managed to attend art class, which she loved so much. But the moment she was separated from the friends she had drawn together with in that picture, something inside her snapped.

"You can't go today either?"
"Tell me why..."

Even when I try not to let my words sound accusatory, they inevitably spill from my mouth with a certain coldness. By the time they have spilled out, it is already too late. My eldest daughter sinks into the sofa looking apologetic and plays a game. I send a message to my boss with a sigh, saying, "Please let me take another day off today."

I went to our family doctor.
I consulted with a psychologist.
I had many meetings with her homeroom teacher.
But she still couldn't go.

──Going to school is not the goal──

I knew that from the very beginning of her school refusal. Even so, I find myself noticing in sudden moments of daily life that there is still a part of me inside that feels so impatient. And in doing so, I end up hurting myself without meaning to.

Because we didn't want to hurt each other.
Because we wanted to remain in a relationship where we support one another.
I stopped 'focusing on what she couldn't do'.
I understood that I had to stop.

Unable to go to school, she immersed herself in the world of games.
Whenever she cleared a stage in a game, I would say,
'That's amazing, you're like a pro.'
When she drew a lovely design in the game 'Animal Crossing: New Horizons', I praised her by saying,
'You can draw something like this all by yourself.'
When she told me she had made friends online, I told her,
'It's because you're kind that your friends want to be with you.'
Little by little, she began to recover. She was able to stay at home with a smile and stopped saying, 'My chest feels tight somehow.'
Perhaps this way of being there for her isn't wrong. That's what I felt.

But I... as a parent, I still wanted to have a little bit of expectation for her.
I wanted to see her 'creating something' with those small palms, rather than playing games.

'If you play games too much, your brain will shrink. So, let's see, at least... four hours a day, I suppose.'

My eldest daughter, who was told this by her attending child psychiatrist,Dr. Shiro,began to consciously adjust her gaming time. Taking that as a cue, my husband and I bought her various children's literature and self-help books, saying, 'Why don't you read some books with that time?' She opened one slightly and cried.
It's boring.She said. I want to play games. She said.

Oh, I see... Well, fine then. Never mind.
I half-gave up and started putting the books I had bought back on the shelf.

Beside them, the art set that had never been opened once was quietly gathering dust. I had written her name on every single brush and every single paint tube. And just like that, without ever being used, it lay dormant.

'Hey. Let's draw a picture today.'

I want to see your drawings, my eldest daughter. Mom loves them.

Today, in the car on the way to a meeting with my eldest daughter's homeroom teacher.
As I turned the car to the right, I said to my eldest daughter.

Even when my eldest daughter couldn't go to school. Even when she was obsessed with games. She had always, always loved drawing illustrations.
When she got hooked on a game, she would draw the characters in her notebook. If she found a cute character on YouTube, she would say, "I'll try drawing a personified version," and run her pen across her notebook.
If she's interested, she tries drawing it.
I can't help but smile at how exactly that is the same way I used to get hooked on things.
That's great.
You have the makings of an otaku. You do.

"Yeah, that's fine."
"Hey. Since we're at it, why don't you get some drawing paper from the teacher again? Let's try drawing all over the paper with that paint set you haven't used yet."
"──Yeah. Okay."

Whenever I suggest something, my eldest daughter usually accepts it at first. Then, depending on the situation, she often starts to look like she's thinking, "Actually, this isn't quite right."
But she can't say, "I want to quit," either. That's the kind of child she is.

But this time was different.
After returning home, she went straight to the living room table and took out her paint set.

Brand new brushes. Lots of unused colors. A stark white palette.
Now, what shall we create?
I could see that the colors about to be created were already overflowing onto the canvas of her mind.

"Maybe I'll try drawing with you, too. Can I decide on a theme for my drawing?"
"A theme?"
"Yeah. I'll make the theme'Dreams'!"

Saying that, I thought it might be a good reference, so I showed her a contest and told her about it.

It's a painting contest that elementary school students in Kanagawa Prefecture can participate in.

The Kanagawa Dream Picture Contest gathers many works depicting "futures" and "dreams." Every year, you can see many dynamic, colorful works filled with hope for the future. The winners for this year were announced the other day, and they were all wonderful. I hope you will take a look.

"Wow," "That's right."
My eldest daughter and I gazed at them, letting out exclamations of wonder.

In the futures that children draw,
"feasibility," "composition of the drawing," "color balance"
they show absolutely no concern for things like that.
That is precisely why everything is overflowing with hope.

"I wish the world were like this."

Such colorful pictures, packed with pure ideals, have something that speaks directly to us now that we have become adults.

Since this is a contest, the works will ultimately be given results, such as an "Excellence Award." But I don't think these results are what's important.

While the children are still children, right now.
A place to let the "dreams" and "ideals" they imagine in their heads explode.
I feel that the existence of such a place is what matters.

Looking at the Excellence Award-winning work, my eldest daughter says,
"I don't care if I don't win an award. If Mom says I'm amazing, that's enough for me."

My eldest daughter.
You are already a guaranteed winner in my heart.
You're a repeat champion, a repeat champion.

My eldest daughter has started talking about her dreams.
That started after she became unable to go to school.

Every time she drew a picture, I, my husband, her grandmother, her younger sister, and her younger brother would tell her, "You're so good at this."
Her homeroom teacher would even turn the pictures she drew at home into coloring pages and distribute them to the class.

Drawing pictures strengthened the foundation of her self-esteem.

What kind of jobs involve drawing?

Eventually, my eldest daughter started asking me that. From the several options I suggested, she chose "illustrator."

"Well then. I have to practice if I want to become an illustrator."

Saying that, she draws many pictures in her notebook in the corner of the stairs during the gaps between her games.
And so, my eldest daughter continues to build a bridge toward her dream.

To make a dream come true,
do you have to be able to attend school without any issues?
There is surely no rule that says you "must."
However, depending on what you are aiming for, it might be "better."
But I don't think you have to walk that conventional path.
And, it's okay if you don't become an illustrator in the future.

The fact that you are holding onto such a big dream.
The fact that we live in a world where you can declare it out loud.
That is what matters most of all.

Around June of this year, applications for the 30th Dream Art Contest will begin.
I don't know if she will still be drawing pictures and dreaming dreams by then.

But let's try saying it.
Let's try asking.
Let's try drawing together.

"What is your dream?"

Let's ask again and again.
I want you to tell me that answer, over and over.

That's why.
Mom wants to take on all sorts of challenges, too.
I want to keep drawing many dreams.

I'd like to write and write, and someday publish a book.
What do you think? How does that sound? Do you think Mom can do it?

Mom wants to try writing a book about you.
Is that okay?
It's because I love you so much.
I want to tell many people about all your wonderful qualities.

My eldest daughter.
Even when you grow up, you can still draw dreams.
There is nothing to fear.
Come on.
Let's keep drawing many dreams together again.