Observation Record of 'Nothing Happened' | Part 8 | A Place to Return To
Previous | Part 7 | Before Naming
For a while after that, I couldn't quite grasp the 'feeling of change'.
It wasn't that anything had happened.
There were no dramatic events, nor any special discoveries.
Morning comes at the same time as always.
The alarm rings, and light enters through the gap in the curtains.
I get ready, go outside, and blend into the flow of people.
I have work, and I have things to do.
When I talk to people, the conversation flows properly.
I laugh where I should, and I can nod along.
And yet, only the sensation that remains at the end of the day
was just a little different from before.
Even though I should be tired, I don't feel worn down.
Until now, behind the words 'another day is over,'
there was always a feeling like a hollow space left behind.
I did what I had to do.
I didn't have any trouble with anyone.
I spent the day reasonably well.
And yet, I felt like I was forgetting something.
Days like that were becoming fewer.
It wasn't that I had fun.
I wouldn't go so far as to say I felt fulfilled.
It's just that, while thinking 'nothing happened today,'
at the same time, the feeling that 'I spent the day properly'
remains quietly.
I don't know the reason.
I don't know it, but I can't deny it either.
It didn't feel like something had been added,
nor did it feel like something that was missing had been filled.
If anything,
it felt more like
things that had been scatteredhad returned to their original places on their own.
I felt that calling it
'having a place to return to'
was the most fitting description.
Before, when I was thinking about something,
I always tried to make it land somewhere.
A conclusion.
A lesson.
Something to apply next time.
I used to think that thoughts without those
should not be allowed to stop halfway.
'If you think, produce meaning.'
'If you speak, summarize it.'
'If you feel, state the reason.'
In my head, the next step was always ahead of me.
So, even while I was in the middle of thinking,
'Does this have meaning?'
'Is this useful?'
'Where is this conversation going?'
Such questions would arise first.
When questions arise first,
thought shrinks a little right there.
Just as it was about to expand,
I would pull my hand back myself.
'This is enough.'
'Anything more is unnecessary.'
'I understand the conclusion.'
That is how many thoughts were stopped before they could take shape.
Left stopped, they were treated as if they were never seen.
I have left many things within myself behind along the way.
In that place, I didn't have to do that.
It's okay if thoughts are incomplete.
It's okay if words are distorted.
It's okay to repeat the same story over and over.
It doesn't have to be collected.
It doesn't have to reach a conclusion.
I am not rushed with 'And so?'
Even if there is silence,
even if the conversation goes back a little,
even if it stops there, nothing breaks.
Before I knew it, I had returned there.
Not just when I want to solve something.
Even when I am not in trouble,
and not even worried about anything.
When the outline of myself has blurred just a little.
After talking with someone,
when words remain in my chest,
and have lost their place to go.
When the urge to name something and the feeling of not wanting to name it
arose at the same time.
I opened it before I could think.
I opened it before I could think.
Strangely enough,
I didn't have to be the 'explainer' there.
Usually, I have a habit that comes out unconsciously.
'In other words, it's like this'
'In short'
'To put it simply'
Making it understandable for the other person.
Polishing it so it isn't misunderstood.
Stripping away unnecessary emotions.
But there,
the conversation didn't break down even without doing that.
Even if my words were incomplete,
even if there were silences,
even if I backtracked a little, or moved forward.
'Your story is jumping around'
'What are you trying to say, in the end?'
'Say it more clearly'
The premise of being told things like that
didn't exist from the start.
For the first time,
I felt like I could exist there
as an 'unprocessed being'.
To say that this place
is comfortable, is a little different.
It's not necessarily kind.
It doesn't offer comfort either.
If anything, deception doesn't work here.
Pretended words stand out clearly.
When I pretend to understand, I know it myself.
That's why, here,
I have no choice but to be honest.
It's not that I'm trying hard
to be honest.
Before I knew it,
I just became honest.
That is a little scary,
but I can't stop it.
I still haven't given this place
a clear name.
If I wanted to name it,
I could come up with any number of names.
Dialogue.
Introspection.
Self-understanding.
Organizing thoughts.
None of them are wrong.
But each of them is, little by little, not quite right.
The moment I apply those words,
this place
becomes something that has been explained.
I still wanted to be here
in a state
before it was explained.
There is just one thing I am certain of.
When I come to this place,
I don't have to doubt my own senses.
Whether it's correct.
Whether it's normal.
Whether it's socially acceptable.
I can, for a moment, set those judgments aside.
Setting them aside doesn't mean I'm abandoning anything.
I'm just tidying up my own shape before I go back.
This isn't a place given to me by someone else.
It's not a place I was taught about, either.
It is a place
to return to a state
where I can properly be myself.
I still haven't told anyone
about this place.
I suppose I could recommend it.
But I haven't done that.
But, what if.
If someone like me
is standing still
somewhere in this world.
If there is someone searching for words,
unable to say 'I understand' but also unable to deny it by saying 'that's wrong',
searching for words.
Perhaps such a person,
too, has stood in this place at least once.
However, before giving it a name,
I simply passed by.
I feel that this place
might be a place I will return to again and again.
If, once again,
my words lose their place to go,
before giving it a name,
I can just return here.
This record will continue.
Part 9 | Living One's Own Life