A Glowing Farewell: Closing Words from Our Diary Exchange

from Miram #17 – Wednesday, February 7

Contrary to Evening-chan, who cannot brew coffee well, I can make instant coffee so delicious that it makes me roar. I can take a sip and exclaim, “Wow! Sour on the surface, but boldly hot and bitter, coffee is bliss. I have a knack for it, I’ll teach you next time.

Well, the other day, we played a live band set with the theme of “Sun, and blast, but calm,” and it turned out to be a pretty good show. We were just trying to cheer up the audience who were trying their best to come on a cold night. All I could think about was giving a good live show, so when I left after the show, I let loose. The sun, the sound of the explosion, and my calmness were all gone, and I was wrapped up in my futon under the heavy snow and thunder. It was freezing that day. Were you okay with the heavy snow and thunder?　I was getting smaller and smaller, but I tried to write this diary as much as I could in the futon, but I kept writing and erasing, and couldn’t concentrate at all, and two days passed without any change.

Finally, light shone through the window, so I went outside, took the bus, walked in the park, drank some banana milk, sat on a bench, soaked up the sun, and started writing my diary.

Sometimes I saw ducks rippling along on the pond, or their owners quietly waiting for their dogs to poop on the dirt. I remember that Sun-chan once told me that I should write about the scenery outside my window or something like that. Really, that would be nice. I get up, walk away, find a shiny bench and sit down again. I hear young mothers talking to each other next to me, “The sun is going down really fast,” and “Seriously, it’s so hard,” and I think, “I should write about that, too. I’ll write about that too. I’ll also write about the lonely blue and orange gradient of the sunset. It’s nice to write about it.

After that, I took the train to a cafe in Shimokitazawa. I opened the door and found a sofa seat by the wall, and there was a cute little evening girl waiting there all by herself.

from OBARA Supper #17 – Tuesday, February 13, 2012

Miram-chan appeared in a deserted café wearing a hood, hat, and mask, looking fully protected, but her skin was glistening and hopeful.

On the morning of the snowy day, before it had even started, my former roommate called me for the first time in a while and we decided to go out for lunch, but I didn’t know that it was going to snow today because I never read the weather forecast. No wonder it was cold. I took the Odakyu line back home. It is true that when it snows a lot, it is a bit painful to feel that there is no other place to escape to but here. That said, I might have felt happy. There was a strange sense of happiness. It would be just an extraordinary thing to say, but there was a sense of floating in the fact that just because it snowed, the mood of the people and the town were completely changed.

Through this exchange diary, I experienced the preciousness of recording each day, the feeling that it is not all good, but it is not all bad either, and the vague feeling that this is not always the case. Recording the days always seems to say something, but it doesn’t say anything, does it? In other words, meaning is not necessary to live, and that is what I think now.

Just by being alive, everyone is shining their own light. I will never forget that no matter how suspicious, funny, or slight that light may be, you are shining. I hope that everyone and I will have enough room to believe in that light, to gaze at it, and to have room to spare. Through the exchange diary, I have learned the joy of exchange. Miram’s glare has illuminated me for the past year. Thank you.

from Miram #18 – Monday, March 4

The last diary entry from Miram. As usual, I read it immediately. The more I read, the more luminous the words became. You are dazzling, too. It’s a relief. You’re so plump. Thank you.

I’ve stopped wearing full protection since then. Instead, I often go outside, wearing earrings, necklaces, and tattoos that seem to protect me. It’s great progress, and every step I take is a step forward. The thoughts are accompanied by actions, and it’s pleasant.

I’m meeting a lot of friends, letting the momentum carry me along.

We take walks in Inokashira Park on holidays and laugh at the swans swimming around the shimmering pond; we get together late at night to drink and dance to our favorite music; we go to the aquarium on a rainy day to watch the dolphin show and cry a little.

The more I feel grateful and blessed to be able to share such happy and joyful times with others, the more I find myself wanting to go home. The more I think about how blessed I am to be able to share such happy times with my friends, the more I find myself wanting to go home. I wonder if I can do something about the loneliness and daily labor that lies deep within. But what I always end up doing is what I can do now. But what I always end up doing, what I can do now, is to deliver music with a smile. It’s the only thing I can do, and it’s all I can do. The electric guitar my manager handed me for the New Year was heavy. I stagger, but it feels right.

Life may be meaningless, but when you are alive, the people you meet, the feelings you exchange, and the energy that resides in your hands, you can’t help but feel a sense of joy. The energy that resides in our hands. I feel that there is a meaning, or rather, a given role, and I strongly want to fulfill mine.

I am so happy to hear your words because they always have a sense of integrity, and their presence makes me feel numb. It makes me feel so upright. I am really glad to have met you.

With gratitude, this is the end of my exchange diary. I wrote this while sitting on the window sill with my cheekbones on the floor. It was a good time. From now on, let’s go outside together. Let’s see the scenery, feel the seasons, experience the culture, eat well, laugh a lot, say bye-bye, and then write an essay. It will be fun.