I was born and raised in Tokyo, and my childhood was just like anyone else’s in Japan. Mornings were filled with school routines, summers had radio calisthenics and local festivals, and long weekends often meant visiting my grandmother’s house, where the smell of tatami always greeted me. It was a steady life, shaped by traditions and the rhythm of the city.
Things started to change when I was a teenager. That’s when I discovered Haruki Murakami’s books. They were strange, a bit lonely, but the people in them felt so cool. I was especially fascinated by the sex workers he wrote about. They seemed so mysterious, so independent, like they lived by their own rules. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them. Maybe that’s when I first started imagining a different kind of life for myself.
But imagining and doing are not the same thing. I grew up in a semi-conservative family, and at school, I was the kind of student teachers liked—polite, hardworking, never causing trouble. Everyone had expectations for me, and I felt I had to meet them. For years, I told myself those thoughts about a different life were just a fantasy, something impossible for someone like me.
Even so, the idea never really went away. It stayed quiet, like a whisper in the back of my mind. Now, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something new. It’s a strange place, full of questions and contradictions. But my life is so much more interesting now, and honestly, it’s fun. I can feel it—this year is going to bring something big, something different.
I’m nervous about what’s ahead, but it’s the good kind of nervous. It’s thrilling. It feels like sneaking out of the house at midnight—unsure of what might happen, but excited for the adventure waiting outside.