Through the Lens of Indirect Speech: Unraveling My Story

I have never faced racial discrimination in Japan, but during my adolescence, there were days when my classmates treated me similarly. It's a subjective viewpoint, though. People around me simply didn't like me. I was leading an unconventional lifestyle that made me unlikable, after all. I felt compelled to do so to protect my sense of self. However, I never drifted into delinquency. Being a delinquent requires a certain knack. I either lacked that talent, or perhaps I lacked the motivation to begin with. Some part of my mind had matured too quickly to venture down that path.

At present, I am diligently working on a particular manuscript. I've been working on it for several months, adding a little bit every day. There were days when my pen came to a halt. During those moments, I posted preliminary pieces on my blog each day. Those pieces became stepping stones, helping me to get back to writing the manuscript afterward. "Almost finished, just a little more," I thought yesterday, and I hold the same thought today. Tomorrow might bring the same thought, yet the task might remain unfinished. It's akin to the situation of a professional baseball team that is expected to become the champion. Even if they win a game, their magic number to secure the championship doesn't decrease due to mere technicalities. That's the kind of mood I'm experiencing.

As I work on this manuscript, I sometimes feel like I am narrating my upbringing using indirect speech. Readers might not notice it, but I approach this task every day with such sentiment. There's a thrill in revisiting where and how my personality began to twist and subsequently break down, from a certain distance. Is it an exaggeration to compare it to administering local anesthesia and then conducting self-surgery to examine one's own organs? It's not about feeling pain, but rather about experiencing a mild discomfort while making incisions—similar to the sensation of a scalpel piercing my body, all while maintaining a detached perspective.

Once I reach the summit, I will immediately descend to the base and ascend once again. What will I discover on the second climb?