Losing My Sense of Purpose

MOYAMOYA — Prologue 1

Lately, I feel as though I’ve lost my sense of purpose in life.

To be honest, it’s not like I ever had a clear purpose to begin with.

Still, I think I always carried something that resembled one.

Maybe I simply never looked closely enough to realize there was nothing there.

Now, there isn’t even something small I can tell myself:

“I’ll just do this for now.”

And somehow, that makes me feel a little sad.

HiNA — Charcoal Drawing: Kazuya Fujita

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I’m 24 years old, from Obihiro in Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan.

Until recently, I ran a small coffee shop in Otaru, a quiet port town on the coast of Hokkaido.

But after my health worsened, I was hospitalized again.

This is the fourth time.

I had to close the shop.

When I leave the hospital, I want to start making a zine — a small, independently produced magazine.

This essay is the beginning of that attempt.

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Looking back, I’m not sure if I’ve ever truly lived while pursuing something I genuinely wanted.

When I decided to attend the commercial high school near my home, the reason was simple.

Going to high school was just what everyone did.

I didn’t feel any strong reason to resist that path.

My older sister had gone to the same school, so I already knew what it was like.

The academic level was one I could probably manage with a little effort.

It was also a public school, which meant it would cost less for my parents.

And once classes ended, I could go straight home.

It wasn’t that I strongly wanted to go there.

It was simply convenient.

It was the easiest way to avoid things I didn’t want to deal with.

At the entrance interview, I spoke confidently about my reasons for applying.

And I was accepted.

Thinking about it now,

the reason I went to university was probably similar.

The reason I started a coffee shop might have been the same too.

I had grown tired of living at my parents’ house.

At the same time, I couldn’t imagine what it meant to have a regular job.

Working with other people felt difficult to picture.

I didn’t like crowds.

And I never really had the opportunity — or the motivation — to overcome the things I wasn’t good at.

More than anything, I wanted to remain as I was.

Whenever I tried to begin something new, I needed the understanding of the people around me.

So I developed a habit.

I placed my answers in places where they would be easily accepted.

“I want to get a teaching license and become a high school teacher.”

“I want to run a coffee shop and create a place where people like me can feel comfortable.”

Now, I want to ask my past self:

Why did you want those things?

I think I know the answer.

Because if I believed I wanted them,

I could remain blindly convinced.

And that made life easier.

When I think about it now, I can only smile cynically.

And that smile offers no real comfort.

Yamame. I used to catch them often in the Obihiro River near my parents’ house.

Perhaps I am like a yamame, a type of trout found in Japanese rivers,

that happened to drift into a lake.

When it was born, it survived on the nutrients from the yolk sac attached to its body.

When rocks appeared in the current, it learned that it could steer with its tail.

When the current was weak, there was no need to rush forward.

It simply opened and closed its mouth, waiting for the next strong current.

Some of its companions eventually learned to swim and moved on.

But because there was never any real inconvenience in staying where I was,

I never did.

Before I knew it, I had drifted — almost by accident — into a calm lake.

Even now, I still don’t really know how to swim.

In the still water, I open and close my mouth.

My tail circles slowly.

And I wonder what I should do.

Those who were born without such fortunate nourishment,

or those who nearly died in the rapids along the way,

probably feel no sympathy for me.

Maybe they see me as lazy and pathetic.

Or perhaps they are simply too busy living in the lake themselves

to notice me at all.

I was given just enough nourishment to continue living lazily.

My friends never said,

“You’re just lucky.”

Nature never gave me the perfectly timed hardship I might have needed.

And society never insisted strongly enough

that being alone might eventually become a problem.

But strangely, I don’t hate any of these things.

There’s nothing there worth hating.

Right now, there isn’t anything in particular that I want to do.

Of course, I need to work in order to live.

But I don’t feel much motivation.

At the same time, I don’t want to die either.

Maybe I need to come a little closer to death once

in order to understand something.

For now, I simply open and close my mouth.

My tail circles slowly.

Everyone else seems to be living with far greater effort.

Meanwhile, I chew the occasional insect that happens to drift into my mouth.

I make a troubled face,

and somehow try to justify being alone.

Losing My Sense of Purpose - MOYAMOYA Prologue / End

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