Excerpt from Yosogoto (unpublished, 2021)
『余所事』(未発表、2021) より抜粋。
原文英訳に続く
Yet another year has passed since I began writing.
I would like to believe that the weight has lessened with time.
Is it not of importance that my disconnected longing for the peace of the afterlife remains as I stare up at the white light bulb that I cannot comprehend is flickering at a pace invisible to my human eyes. I am blessed, loved, and gifted with experiences that light up my world.
It appears that there is no way to deny that I’ve detested my very being, that I’ve been aloof and nihilistic, lived with a lackluster attitude. Even now it seems to lurk in the shadows when the sun is shaded. To be frank, it did not occur to me that my journey would continue on to this point. And yet here I stand perfectly normally in this walk of life and none of the people I pass by knows about what is written here. Even when the logic and rationality fails to function, it appears it is not an indication of psychosis.
A strong gust of wind picks up the strands of black hair—straight as a needle, carrying the warmth of the autumn sunlight. I count the fallen leaves scattered over the wooden bridge built over the lake. The waters clouded with mist so delicate it may dissipate altogether. This garden bears the precious memories of the past. The trampled and faded grass, fireworks, children laughing. The gray branches in the shape of a canopy over the benches that once was occupied by families gathered to see the azaleas.
The younger version of myself, crouched down at the bridge watching the koi fishes gather to pieces of bread, never thought of this vast scenery as anything more than beautiful. It must have been determined that I return here and reminisce such days and let myself grow sentimental—stripped of the illusions of autonomy and made to face decisions made long ago by the law of nature. Now I sit here with acceptance that things come and go, but the nostalgia and longing will remain as long as time continues to slip through the fingers.
Would it be true if I said all life does not come without suffering? It may be conjecture, knowing I have only ever lived the life of one. However, it feels quite natural and truthful. I have accepted that I am incomplete. That I will never elude suffering.
I am young, I know nothing. Should I leave this world behind now, I couldn’t face myself from the past who was stranded, lost yet endured. I couldn’t face anybody else, knowing that each of you endured your own sufferings.
There’s nothing I can leave behind in this world. I can’t even prove whether I am truly alive right now. It’s alright if I’ve completely deceived myself.
If sharing this with you lightens the weight on your shoulders, even if only slightly.
書き始めてからまた一年経ちました。
今の自分は一年前ほど思い詰めていない様に思います。
一秒間に何度も点滅をしているとは思えない電球を見つめながらぼんやりと彼岸を想う根底は相変わらずですが。私は常に恵まれ、愛され、与えられてきたのですから。
生を憎み、希望を捨て、人間の営為を怠ってきたこと、それは事実として認める他ありません。未だにこの冷めた態度が治らなくて。本当は、成人する頃には亡き命だと思っていました。しかし私は現に普通に生きて道を歩いていて、通りすがりの人はこの文章の存在を知らない。おかしくなりそうな時だっておかしくはなっていないの、きっと。
ふと強く吹く風にひらひらと下ろした黒髪が舞う。今にも白み霞んで消えてしまいそうな湖に架けられた橋の真ん中で、水面に散らばる落ち葉を数える。この庭は大切な昔を覚えていてくれる。色褪せた芝生の上にいつかの夏祭り、笑い合う幼い子供達が見える。蕾を乗せた焦げ茶の枝が垂れるベンチ、かつての花見行事、視界に広がる藤の花の下に集まる家族。
はしゃぎながら鯉に餌を分け与え、団子をねだる幼い自分はこの壮大な景色を綺麗としか思わなかった。私は何回か此処へ戻って来ては懐かしい日々に浸り、感傷的になる。
態々こうするのはきっと、より正直になれたからでは無いか。過去が恋しいと。楽しかった日々を思い返すだけの時間は安らかだと。生きるとは地を這い戦うことが付き物だと受け入れられたのかもしれない。自分は不完全であると、一生この葛藤は消えることないと。
私は若く、何も知らない。早まって命を無下にしてしまう様では今迄彷徨い続けた過去の自分に顔が立たない。この世を同じく生き抜いている人にも。
私がこの世に残せるものなんてないけれど。今私が本当に生きているかなんて証明できないけれど。自分に騙されていてもいい。
聞いてくれた貴方の肩の荷が少しでも軽くなったなら。
Mila’s logs original
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
この作品はフィクションです。実在の人物･団体･事件とは一切関係がありません。
Mila's logs 
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