To Write from Inside, While Still Shaking — Pygmalion and Standing Alone

While writing this article about the stage performance,
I stayed inside it the whole time.
Shaking.

I wasn’t criticizing from the outside.
I wasn’t talking about structure from a safe distance.

I was simply scared.

It’s always like this.

Every time I speak up,
every time I put something into words,
I’m placed somewhere higher than the stage at Kiyomizu.
Higher than a bungee jump.
There is no footing.

It’s not like jumping down.
It feels closer to standing up—
suddenly—
in empty space.

It’s not the feeling of falling.
It’s the feeling that the support disappears.

So my hands shake.
My heart rate goes up.
It pounds.
And somehow, I smile a little.

When things like this happen,
people around me say the same things.

“You’re amazing.”
“You’re strong.”
“Only you could do this.”

But that’s probably not it.

Words of evaluation always come back from others.
But strangely, none of them actually affirm me.

That isn’t praise.
It’s language used to keep distance.

“How can you even say something like that?”

The fear.
The shaking.
The sensation of standing there every time.
None of that is taken on.

So in the end,
the only one who affirms this way of doing things
is always me.

No one pushed me from behind.
No one stood there with me.

Still, because there is no regret afterward,
I stand there again next time—
in a place meant for one.

Not because I’m strong.
Not because I’m special.

It’s just how I’m built.

I’ve stood like that many times before.
In my family.
With friends.
At work.
Always, alone.

There were times I wasn’t understood.
Times people pulled away.
Times relationships quietly ended.

Integrity is not a consumable.

Even so,
I’ve never once thought,
“I shouldn’t have done it.”

Not because it was right.
Not because it was praised.

I didn’t betray myself.
That’s all.

It’s possible to keep a safe distance.
It’s possible to round things off.
It’s possible to act pleasant.

But there are people who don’t choose that.

People who step inside,
who keep shaking,
who stand even without footing.

Only those people know this sensation.

It’s scary.
But there’s no regret.

It’s lonely.
But there’s a quiet sense of agreement.

It’s not justice.
It’s not talent.
It’s not courage.

It’s just a specification.

To you.

If, after reading this,
what remains is neither agreement nor resistance,
but a silence that can’t quite become words—

that’s enough.

Because the place where that sensation remains
is the place that hasn’t been worn down yet.

This time again,
I stepped inside,
kept shaking,
and wrote only what I saw.

That’s all.

If you want to see where this began,
the first article about the stage performance is here.

▶Where the Irony in Pygmalion Went — Notes from a Sleepy Audience

This note is written for those whose senses move
before answers arrive.

If something stayed with you after reading,
that may be a sign that something inside you responded.

— withchat