02.2025
An astonishing thing is that it can happen at any time. The moment I changed my environment, I fell ill. Before I could even open up about myself, I had to leave that place. My face and body swelled grotesquely as if poisoned, to the point where I couldn’t even bear to look in the mirror. A stabbing pain in my abdomen left me breathless, and naturally, I had no appetite. More than that, I would throw up whatever I managed to eat. I visited several hospitals, but no matter who I asked or what tests they ran, no one could identify the cause. To my surprise, each doctor informed me that I had visited before with the same symptoms. After returning home, I lay in bed with my body bruised and discolored from internal bleeding, unable to sleep. The only thing I could do was repeatedly apologize to myself. I must have been screaming for a long time about how unbearable it was, and yet, I had ignored myself all along. My swollen, drooping eyelids, already heavy, became so soaked with tears that they finally refused to open. Ironically, this meant I no longer had to see my own ugly reflection.
I started to think that all I could do was stay still in my room. But thankfully, we live in an era overflowing with works that are neither poison nor cure. Like a herbivore, I chewed on them, using them to distract myself from my fluctuating emotions. I couldn’t even begin to think about what to do next. For now, I just needed to escape—literally, I couldn’t breathe. Before I realized it, my body had begun to prepare for departure even before my mind caught up. Countless possibilities about what might happen next flashed through my mind and then vanished—but I no longer cared. The quick decision-making skills I had acquired over the past few years to protect myself had saved me once again. The moment I decided to leave this place, things began to unfold like a stone rolling down a hill as if to confirm that it was the right choice.
When I counted back through my memory, I realized I had moved over ten times in the past decade. As I carefully packed my possessions—fewer and more refined with each move—into boxes, I felt a sense of affection for them. I’ve always prided myself on my lack of attachment, but I feel deep love for the things that have supported me through every day. I will never stop being grateful to these loyal companions who have endured their tempestuous owner without complaint.
It’s not just my belongings that have become more refined. Without meaning to, my packing skills have improved as well. Since I started early, I even found myself with extra time. Unable to sleep due to my lack of physical activity, I decided to go for a walk to clear my head. At night, I stepped outside, clutching my medication almost like a charm. As expected, the city was dazzling with light. Walking through the crowds of tourists, the violent aroma of beautifully prepared food—waiting to be savored—teased my senses. A flood of languages from all directions reached my ears, and I couldn’t help but smile. Here, no one cares about me. That indifference to the city has saved me time and time again. I felt comforted by the city’s consistent detachment.
In this manner, I visited a few memorable cities over several days. Every day was unbelievably clear as if the weather itself was inviting me to walk. I let go, completely and mercilessly, of the few lingering regrets I might have still carried. This is unlikely to be a farewell forever, but it’s a goodbye for now. At some point, I realized my desires toward the world had changed completely. I’m grateful for that realization. And just like that, my life in the city came to an unexpectedly quiet and abrupt close.
01.2025
Thanks to spending the New Year’s holiday alone, the beginning of this year feels like its contours have melted away. The boundaries of the seasons have been vague to begin with, leaving both my mind and body confused for some time. The ginkgo leaves are only now starting to change color, and I have no idea when they will finally fall. Ever since I arrived here, it has been difficult to take a deep breath. Perhaps my nerves are on edge; there are many nights when I can’t sleep well. I sometimes find myself blaming my inability to adjust—but then I stop myself. No, I think. As a living being, I can’t be wrong about this.
Still, I wanted to walk outside, so I visited a few sacred places in the spirit of the New Year. Winter doesn’t feel quite real, but when I set out early in the morning, the wind that stings my cheeks carries a sharp, painful chill, while the sunlight remains gentle and delicate. And for the brief moment when I clasp my hands in prayer before the “gods,” I feel as though I’ve been separated from the secular world. Even if it’s only an illusion, it’s better than having no comfort at all.
Suddenly, I recall spending New Year’s Day five years ago in a place I loved. That experience was a festival so far removed from the environment and culture I was raised that it completely overturned the small sense of normalcy I had within me. To the locals, it may have seemed like a foolish display repeated every year for the benefit of tourists. If that’s the case, perhaps next time, I can observe a more locally rooted tradition from the perspective of an outsider.
It hasn’t been long since I last took a long break, but I’ve once again secured another socially sanctioned period of extended leave. I’ve grown far too accustomed to leaving established environments without leaving so much as a trace of resentment behind. Even when the sun is out, I remain half-asleep. I read a book for the first time in a while, marveling at the fact that I’m still getting paid even during this time. Otherwise, I’ll watch a movie, go for a walk to do some shopping, prepare my meals, and then sleep again. No matter how far I go, I’m alone. Alone—and content.
Still, I wonder when I started to perceive this kind of routine as the ultimate form of happiness. There was a time when I couldn’t get through the days without meeting people in a scattered way, drinking until I lost my memory. So what was that all about? It would be easy to dismiss it as the recklessness of youth, but that explanation feels off the mark. There must have been complex reasons behind it, but it’s hard to sum them up in a single word.
…Well, it’s fine. After mulling it over for a while, I give up. At times like this, I go to the kitchen. I roll up my sleeves, crack an egg into a bowl, and whisk it. I heat oil in a pan, fry some meat, and chop vegetables in the meantime. My field of vision suddenly becomes cluttered, and various sounds erupt from every direction. When the water I’ve set to boil comes to a full rolling boil, I’ll brew some coffee. I structure the tasks logically in my mind, handling them all at once. And as the space temporarily descends into complete chaos, I gradually restore order to it. That’s why I like doing housework. It’s almost like meditation. Perhaps I don’t need a clear reason after all—I simply love the life I’ve built for myself.