Kyoto
There's a certain scene I always come
up with when I try to look back the days in Kyoto.
Last
Sunday, when the sky was beautiful blue, I was again with the
scene, walking and walking.
It's a tunnel short enough to see light
coming in from the other end
which
exists in a town where I lived with my parents and brother.
At that time I was a high school student, who took
seriously what I was told by other girls.
On the
other hand I may have been somehow satisfied with myself
finding difficulty in getting along with myself and
others,
since I exchanged diaries with a friend
of mine and joined theatrical activity at school.
I used to walk down and up hills to school
only for five minutes,
wearing a dark blue suit
uniform and carrying a dark blue leather bag.
I
had almost no chance to meet boys and so there's no wonder I didn't
know 'How to go out with boys.'
Naturally I got
tense with my hands, legs and even eyes moving like those of a
robot,
when I occasionally
went downtown to do some shopping or see films and see a boy walking
toward me.
There's only myself in 'my' world.
As night came on, in my room I waited
for and listened to trains with whistle blowing,
chasing
the last bit of sound before it faded away into darkness.
"Some day I'll definitely go through that tunnel."
This imaginary scene became clearer and clearer in
'my' world.
Fallen leaves were rustling under sneakers.
I walked up a steep slope between bamboo trees and
breathed a deep breath.
I said to myself, 'I'm
here the way I am.'
I must have had a lot of other ways to
go.
What if I continued my college and dormitory
life?
What if I didn't get a chance to look at
U.S. military bases
through wire nettings in Iwakuni
and Okinawa during the Vietnam War?
What if I didn't
meet women and men in California who were seeking for a communal
life with flexible role division?
At every junction,
I chose the fork which I then believed was the only right road.
Now I feel in some occasions I was too much self-centered
and didn't care about my relationships with others
or about their consideration for me.
The willow basket and the blue suitcase,
in which my mother packed up my things
when
I finally got out of that tunnel, have always been watching me
without any words.
Hey, can I ask you two a question?
Do you see many cheerful faces in 'my' world?
A page from 37 years old