Hello, the weather has gotten quite chilly, hasn’t it. It’s the season to bring a jacket. Are you taking good care of your health? Whenever the season changes drastically, I am reminded once again that a strong body and mind are more important than anything else. Most kinds of sadness can be carried through steady walks. If you have to walk for a long time, lower body strength really matters.
I’ve heard that it’s also important to live in rhythm with sunlight. They say it’s necessary for synthesizing vitamins. I wonder if it also has a positive effect on maintaining a bright state of mind—like how having good friends nearby brings a sense of reassurance. When I imagine little goblins in bright places inside the body working hard to synthesize vitamins and cheer on serotonin, it makes me feel happy. I like things that cannot be seen just as much as things that are clearly visible.
I heard that a friend’s eyesight and hearing have recently grown dim. Perhaps thanks to having paid attention to where he stepped early on, his knees are still fine, but neither he nor I expected that his beloved eyes and ears would fade first. If I were to ask again, we did know—but if I say it differently, we chose not to know all this time. Knowing that we could be sad at any moment, we once even formed an origami circle. There are quite a few kinds of flowers and animals we can confidently fold.
Still, is it really alright to treat those who are fading away as if handling perspective? Is it enough to glance back occasionally, like at a watermelon painting seen once before? Can we place a safe image beside us that does not demand mutual appeals, enjoy a sense of comfort while discussing refreshments that double as a seating fee, and simply watch the sun lie down as it sets, taking easy pride in that act? Is it acceptable to let go of the back and knees first, like that?
That friend’s particularly beautiful nose had already turned red, as if running after the eyes and ears that had faded away. Yet it was honestly stained, as though one could recite endlessly what kinds of bushes or blankets it had rubbed against. It looked so admirable that I, too, would search for similar stains on my nose, tongue, or palms.
Truly. Recently, I’ve noticed that even when I get injured, my body doesn’t heal quickly. Without enough sleep and exercise, something always goes wrong, and my food intake has decreased. I find myself worrying that it might become normal to fall ill every time the seasons change. I’ve developed a habit of calculating the total capacity of my body that I can use, and because of that, I’ve grown closer to myself. I ask often, and I encourage myself.
You know, I used to enjoy washing my face, going for walks, and solving puzzles. Drawing a satisfying outline and confirming responsibility gives a deeply rewarding feeling. If I ever had the chance to introduce myself, I could shape that introduction out of a few stories. And if it were a satisfying self-introduction, that too could become a good story to use again the next time.
Do you take any supplements? Have you had a check-up? Genetic testing? Did your procedures or surgeries go well? Have you recovered a lot now? We have to divide the day into three parts—one to eat, one to rest, and one to earn with—and it’s not an easy thing to do, is it.
I wanted to hear how you’ve been, but I ended up going on too long with stories to exchange. I didn’t even get to talk about the exhibition itself. As you know, I really like building hills. I sometimes think it might appear mischievous or foolish. Still, I thought I should build the best hill I can. Without even this hill, what I’ve made so far would be too easy. It would be nice if we could talk together while looking at this clumsy of wanting to get closer while also considering distance.
This time is good, or the next opportunity is also fine. We’ll have to set up a table again, but next time let’s choose an even better time and place. More. I’ll prepare a more wonderful mind, jokes, and facial muscles.
Thank you.
