About me, you ask? Well, then you ought to specify what, then. One can have a million stories to tell. It isn't good practice to make such a broad statement such as "Tell me more about yourself," is it? Goodness, you make this sound like a business interview! Ah, if you'd humor a story from my childhood, then I shall undertake in telling it to you, with whatever remains in my mind that I can recall, after such a long time, burying it in the recesses of my memory.
As a ten-year-old then, I was quite the social brat. A talent—you could say— that I've been gifted since the day I could talk was the ability to socialize with people regardless of my opinion of them. I could form a troop of little boys and girls to fight for what we wanted in under a week. Only after acquiring a few more years of experience and knowledge, have I realized that such a tendency provides an apt environment for a depersonalization and a degradation of the self. I would have gone into that path, but I've been saved by my friend; my first "friend" in the way that I see friendship now. I don't remember her name, and scarcely did I call her by her name back then. Instead, I just called her "you" in all of our conversations. Do you see, now, that I always call my friends and acquaintances by their names? It is so that I do not forget them. I forgot my friend's face too; I could only recall my sentiments. Ha! You might say that I am a terrible friend! To that I must give my agreement, and sometimes I even regret my habits back then. But this is this, and that is that, you see, for what worth is there in wallowing amidst misery! Still, I should describe what I remember of her to you, in any case. Not only for your knowledge, but also to see how my memory has faded (and when it shall all dissolve like salt to the sea). She was a tall girl, well, taller than me back then (how endlessly my personage is defined by my eternal lack of height) and she had her hair down to the neck, perhaps, for I cannot tell you for sure. She was a good friend, and until now I must say that I've never had, and I doubt I will ever have, a pure friendship such as that. She was quite popular, owing to the fact that she also had a flair for connecting with people, though I will say that she does it much better and authentically than I do. Well, I sat in the cafeteria one day, and she walked up to me. "Hi! We're in the same class right? Will you excuse me if I sit here?" she asked. "Sure, I don't mind," I replied. Thus she took a seat next to me. Ah… I don't remember how I became friends with her, but we did, notwithstanding, over 3 years or so. She was busy, but she made time for me in my last year with her. We ran around a lot to places that I never went with anyone by then: to churches, little clusters of gardens and flowers, convenience stores (I've never been allowed to go into them before middle school, but I sneaked in nonetheless). She taught me about cooking, cakes, and chocolate, though until now I've never understood why she made such delicious chocolate. She also did flower arrangement—alone, for that fact. I tried it, and though with spectacular failure, I was still congratulated. I've been meaning to learn it again, as a sort of… nevermind; you ought to forget about that. In any case, we talked well together and enjoyed any time I could spend with her. We sometimes stayed silent with each other, but I never found my time with her awkward or ever tried to rush a conversation with her. Perhaps it was because I genuinely liked her, or it was because of my childish rose-tinted glasses that I saw the world in. In any case, I hardly come across anyone like that, now; but maybe I'm just a bit reclusive, so take my thoughts with a grain of salt and let it dissolve into the back of your mind like it would in water.
At the end of my fourth year in grade school, we went to a bench beside a large lake, and as it was near the end of April, there were food stands that sold those little floating rice cakes with partly melted sugar cubes inside. Do you know of them? Ah, yes, you do. That's quite nice. I brought a small tray of them with my friend to sit overlooking the lake. It was the late afternoon, and of quite a windy day, and hence there were only sparse salarymen coming home from overtime, for the students have come home from their after-school touring entourages. I didn't like being in places with few people when I was a child, you know? They frightened me. I've grown to like them now, though. Ah, maybe it's just a queerness in mental development, head no mind to it. My friend ate a rice cake from my tray, and turned to me. "I'm leaving this school," she said, to which I faced her with a start "Already?" "Yeah, my parents told me to." "Oh, that's difficult…" my voice lowered with a bit of disappointment then, and I turned to the lake. Being a cloudy day, the sunset wasn't directly visible, but it cast orange-purple ribbons of light on the clouds, almost like auroras. "Yeah. My parents are a bit strict with me." "Really? I thought your parents were relaxed?" She broke into a laugh then, "Definitely not! My parents are really strict, they want me to change to a preparatory school." I've only heard scary things about preparatory schools, so I was quite concerned, and admittedly, scared for her, "Whoa, aren't they really hard?" "I'll be okay." She said, and again I was taken unawares. I've never heard a child not complain. Thinking for a long while, I asked her, "Do you… not like your parents?" It was a foolish, tactless question, looking back, and if I had asked it any sooner I would have certainly given her awful memories of her primary school. But she answered me, "Yeah," in a sort of somber tone that I've only heard sulking adults make, "They force me to do really hard things." I didn't know how to reply to her. How would I know what being forced to learn and do so many things well felt like? "I'm… sorry," so I apologized to her. She looked down onto her lap, and after a minute, stopped with her silent wallowing, and dragged me up by the wrist to the railing of the lake. She took a toothpick to take one of the rice cakes and offered it to me. I ate it. One by one, we ate our rice cakes until the last one. I took my toothpick and offered the last rice cake to her. She ate it. We broke into an uncontrollable chuckle when she made such a silly face when she got offered the last rice cake. We stood and looked down to the far end of the lake. When the public address speakers sounded the bell for seven pm, we startled and checked our watches—we were supposed to be home by half-past-six, and surely we would be scolded to Hades and back. When I turned away to run home, my friend roughly grabbed my wrist, and when I turned back, she dragged me into a hug—my first since I started primary school. When she released me, I was positively stunned. "Thank you." She said, and turned her back to me, running away, her back shrinking, shrinking, and fading into the distant spring mist. I walked home that day rather slowly, and indeed I did get scolded severely, but it was worth it.
The next day my friend didn't come to school, and it puzzled me then why her friends talked about her disappearance for the better part of a day, before almost completely forgetting about her afterwards. When I asked about her on my last day of school, in fifth grade, all of the people I talked with—which I wouldn't be shocked if I talked to over three quarters of the students in my grade and lower grade students—either referred to her as "that girl who left," forgot about her existence, or talked about how much they disliked her; I was beyond perplexed. Why was this girl, who might as well be friends with the entire school (and it is my belief that she genuinely did think of her friends as good friends), was suddenly forgotten like a wisp of dust in a storm? Why was she forgotten, when nobody heard of her struggles, offered her empty reassurances, and how hard she tried everyday? Now, I think of not only her, but the millions of people that are like her, who go on their entire lives dismissed as "that person" or not even recognized at all. I had discovered then, how heartless, inconsiderate and emotionless children can be. Is it because of the fact that they are children? Or is it the general cruelty of humanity that is most purely reflected in childhood, before adulthood cloaks us with iron to protect our self-interests? Then, do difficult circumstances commodify noble human characteristics, or do they just make them clearer—publicize them, perhaps. Walking past "good" or 'bad" people everyday, we make up arguments to defend our indifference. To "make our lives easier," we say when faced with dilemmas and choices. Always is a choice of inaction more undemanding than contemplative thought; while praising comes as straightforwardly as a breath, the choice to look deep into every person we pass is appalling. Hence, we let tonnes of suffering breeze past our faces everyday, turning with a blind eye to when it is shown to us, as clear as light through glass.
In my week of coming in 8th grade, I came home from my extracurricular classes underneath a gentle winter mist, and I passed a person that wore a hoodie and wide, concealing trousers. For some reason, she reminded me of the way my first friend walked, but a little quicker and with her head slightly lowered. By some lapse in my judgement I decided to call out to her, who had every right to be a stranger. She sped up her walking and didn't turn back. At that moment, as I turned, seeing her figure, retreating into the winter mist, I recalled a Haiku by Taneda Santōka.
「後ろ姿 の しぐれてゆくか」
ushiro-sugata no shigurete yuku ka
"Your back in winter shower you go, I see"