Yuna-chan is such a good girl, she doesn’t cause any trouble.

Those words became a kind of curse. Born as the eldest daughter in a rural family, my reputation was tied to the reputation of the house. My education-focused parents took me to cram school before I even started elementary school.
Because I started things earlier than others, I was able to do decently in both sports and academics.
Getting good test scores and winning awards in club competitions were just normal for me.
That’s how I defined myself.
In contrast to my sociable younger sister, my conversations with my parents ended up being about “achievements” all the time.
But I couldn’t keep doing everything perfectly forever.
Every time I accomplished something, I felt the need to achieve more, so I kept taking on new things.
As I continued doing this, I broke down.

I became a school refuser.
I couldn’t sleep every night because I was anxious about going to school the next day.
Even when I woke up in the morning and put on my uniform, I couldn’t bring myself to step out the door.
It was painful to see my mother watching me with concern.
Every time she said, “It’s okay to rest,” I felt like I was betraying her trust.
I felt like I was no longer her proud daughter.
Seeing my father act as if nothing had changed, pretending everything was fine at the dinner table, made me anxious.

I took out my frustration on objects.
Even in those times, my parents never gave up on me.
When I started spending more time alone, with my day and night flipped around, my mother stayed up with me and watched Korean dramas. On days when I managed to wake up in the morning, she took me on drives.
My father, wanting me to pursue what I truly wanted, started watching over me from a distance.
When I said, “I want to go to a correspondence high school,” he nodded without saying a word.
Even when I couldn’t do anything, they stayed by my side without changing.
Through the time I spent not attending school, I feel like I got to know my mother and father better.
They knew more about me than I imagined, and they loved me.
Now that I fully understand that, I can love the imperfect version of myself too.

Dad, Mom, I think raising me was a lot of work.
I’m sure there were many unexpected things, but with that, we also made many memories.
Thank you.

by FU / age: 19 / Abiko City, Chiba

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The Home to Which the Noise Returns

There came a day when I stopped going on family trips.
I had been glued to my desk preparing for university entrance exams… or perhaps, I had just come up with that excuse.
The truth was, I simply couldn’t find a reason to go to noisy places with my family anymore.

— In other words, I longed for silence.

My family silently accepted it. Gradually, the number of trips they took without me increased.
They must have sensed that I was yearning for “serenity.”

In my house, silence never truly existed.
The TV was always on, laughter shook the walls, the ventilation fan hummed, and the air conditioner groaned.
Even if I curled up in the furthest corner of the house, the noise would follow me.

— However, when my family was gone, silence would unexpectedly arrive.
A silence so empty it felt almost unnatural.
The body left behind in the stillness experienced a strange sense of liberation.
The air spreading from corner to corner of the room didn’t clear with a “shh” but instead carried a tension, as if it were on the verge of snapping. I tried to merge with it.

I wanted to live in that stillness forever.

…That was my feeling for the first three hours.

Soon, the silence turned into a ringing in my ears, summoning phantom sounds that gnawed at my mind.
I started feeling ill, and in the end, I turned on the TV and played music…

— Ah, please come back.

When the door opened, the noise rushed in.
Laughter bounced through the air, the clinking of dishes echoed, and the TV blared noisily.
I frowned, but deep inside, I felt relieved.

The stillness certainly comforted me.
But it was the noise that connected me to something.

I hear there is something called “OYAKO Day.”
I want to celebrate that day not as a day to give flowers or exchange special words, but simply—
as a day to truly appreciate the value of the noise.

The discomfort of being alone.
The disharmony born from the interactions between parent and child.
That disharmony is my life, my comfort,
— and the place to which I belong.

by Nao Sasaki / age: 22 / Ebina City, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan

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