INDEX
The Presence of Family and a Close Friend: Mother, Father, Younger Sister, and a Trusted Companion
As mentioned in the book, your mother originally wanted to become a singer, right?
AiNA: Yes, that’s true. My mom grew up admiring singers like Akina Nakamori, Seiko Matsuda, and Pink Lady. She actually moved to Tokyo to pursue that dream, but she had some scary experiences and went through a lot of hardships in the city. Because of that, she ended up giving up on the entertainment world.
It kind of reminds me of Kirie from the movie “Kirie no Uta.”
AiNA: Exactly. I think my mom’s generation probably faced even harsher realities than today. There was a much clearer male dominance and discrimination against women back then. My mom didn’t want me to enter the entertainment industry because of her tough experiences, but at the same time, she didn’t want me to give up on my dreams either. Because of her wavering feelings, she wasn’t a strict “dance education mom,” and thanks to that, I feel like I’ve been able to become a free-spirited artist.
Do you feel like you inherited your mother’s dream in some way?
AiNA: Not really. The thing is, after raising two daughters, my mom is now pursuing her own dream of being a singer. So she still has her own dreams. Plus, my younger sister dances alongside her, and recently I even wrote a song for my mom. She came to our home in Tokyo and we recorded it together [laughs].
That’s wonderful.
AiNA: So no matter how much I achieve my own dreams, my mom has her own dreams too.
Your father, an art university graduate, strikes me as a quiet man who leads by example, teaching his daughter more through actions than words.
AiNA: My dad never directly taught me anything, and I didn’t really learn in a traditional sense. But because he’s such a kind person, when he does say something, it carries a strong impact.
I debated whether to include this in the book, but during a tough period after moving to Tokyo, I once returned to Osaka. My dad asked me, “What are you doing?” I honestly told him, “I’m working as a dancer, doing some demo singing, and I have a stage performance lined up.” The moment I mentioned the stage, he said, “If you don’t succeed at one thing, you won’t succeed at anything else.”
Those words hit me hard, and I ended up quitting the stage performance to focus fully on singing. My dad has a way of delivering these powerful, straightforward comments.
It sounds like your relationship with your younger sister REIKA, who now dances in your live shows, used to be pretty intense.
AiNA: Yeah, we fought so badly once she even threatened me with a kitchen knife (laughs). So having her dance beside me now still feels a bit surreal.
She’s genuinely a good person — honest and straightforward without any slyness. That comes through in her dancing too; she only knows how to dance with full effort and heart. So as we continue to be together, I want to protect that pure honesty in her.
I’m sure REIKA wants to support you strongly on stage as well.
AiNA: She’s truly devoted. Sometimes she even uses formal speech with me (laughs), calling me “Aina-san.” But I’m sure she’s gone through a lot of inner conflict. When you think about it, both our parents probably supported me more obviously since I was in BiSH, following my activities more clearly than hers.
My sister must have felt a lot of frustration because of that but kept dancing through it. Even now, she can express that frustration clearly, saying, “Because I was frustrated then, I am who I am now.” What’s amazing is that there’s no bitterness in her words. I really respect that.
The depiction of your relationship with your close friend, photographer Maho Kōrogi, who also worked on your first photo book was raw and striking. It showed how you sometimes clashed, sometimes kept distance, and through that dynamic gained new insights into what friendship really means.
AiNA: That’s true. There was a time when Maho and I got too close. Usually, friends don’t get that close, especially girls who spend every day together — it’s rare to be close enough that they literally bite each other.
Getting that close made me realize, “Ah, pain can’t really be given or taken from someone else.” Maho taught me how to share pain and how, as close friends, we can help each other release it.
Trying to share all the pain would lead to codependency, and if you don’t build a relationship on the premise that you are fundamentally separate individuals, you can’t truly understand or help the other person.
AiNA: Exactly. Back then, Maho was really sharp and spoke with strong words. She was like rock’n’roll, you know? Her words were like those of someone living moment to moment. I got annoyed by every strong word and we fought a lot.
But getting annoyed means her words hit me deeply. When I disagreed, I was stubborn and argued back hard. You don’t often meet people like that. Meeting her in my teens allowed us to have that kind of relationship. I don’t think I could clash with friends that much if I met them now.
Still, the fact that you “bit” each other is pretty intense.
AiNA: I used to get bitten a lot when I fought with my sister too [laughs]. Maho was probably just really clumsy in how she showed her feelings. When her mother passed away, she couldn’t express her loneliness well, so I think that’s why she bit me so much. A lot happened between us, but now Maho lives as a photographer, shooting for various media. I really admire her. She’s the one who created my photo book.
