Chapter 4: Going Under – Hana Monologue (Part I)

When I was little, my father and mother were my whole world. For any child, parents were like heroes. Amazing beings who dazzle with their abilities, just like those we used to see on television shows. Yes, it's certainly a passing childhood illusion that slowly loses its charm as we approach adolescence.

And then that all-powerful hero who captivated us every day, became a middle-aged man in a suit who rides the subway from 7 a.m. and rarely returns home before 8 p.m.

But in my case, my father was an eternal hero; a being of fleeting presence who became only a beautiful memory in my thoughts, his existence manifested only through a camera.

My mother was a full-time housewife, while my father was a landscape photographer who traveled all over Japan documenting tourist destinations for various travel magazines. Perhaps for many, it might have seemed like a meaningless job, but behind that modest job, there was a backstory.

After graduating from college, long before I met Mom, my father was a photographer who traveled around the world with nothing but his backpack and camera. He was a pioneer with an adventurous spirit.

As a record of that liberal life, many of his photographs were published in important magazines translated into more than five languages. I happened to see them in the library shortly after his death.

After meeting my mother on a trip to the Okinawa region, like a romance novel, they fell madly in love with each other and decided to get married. After two years of living together on and off due to Dad's constant travels, my mother broke the news to him that a baby was on the way.

As if a switch had flipped inside him, Dad quit international photography and decided it was best to focus on an office job so he could be closer to us. Upon hearing my father's decision, my mother became angry with him and firmly reprimanded him not to abandon his passion. If it weren't for her, Dad wouldn't have taken the opportunity to pursue his career as a photographer.

Although we used to see him only 10 days out of every month, the time I spent with my father sitting on his lap watching the targets lined up on the floor as they were polished were the magical moments that marked a large part of my childhood.

But just like romance novels, while there were chapters filled with wonderful moments, there were also those framed by tragedy. I had just turned six, and just a few days ago, my parents held my hands as we walked through the aisles of the department store, choosing school supplies and a beautiful red backpack. I was completely excited that I would soon leave kindergarten behind and enter elementary school.

For me, that moment brought me closer and closer to what I thought in my poor, childish mind: this would be my path to adulthood. Counting down the remaining months that would slowly turn into years, until I would be a full-fledged adult and follow in my father's footsteps as a photographer.

On the day of the entrance ceremony, while the other children posed at the entrance with their parents for a photo, I held Mom's hand, looking for my father who would arrive any moment.

After a few minutes, parents and their children began filing into the auditorium where the commencement ceremony would take place. Meanwhile, my mother and I continued to wait for my father, without hearing from him.

Mom kept trying to call her phone, but each attempt ended with an automatic voicemail message. Her face was filled with concern, and the hand she was holding me with squeezed too tightly at times, even hurting me a little.

Without any other option, my mother escorted me to the auditorium, and we sat in the seats already reserved for us. Only my father's seat remained, and he kept staring, hoping that at any moment he would enter through the auditorium door, walk quietly by, and apologize with a smile to Mom's sullen face.

After the ceremony, the students were led away by their homeroom teachers while I resisted moving forward because I wanted to see my father.

"I don't want to, Mom! I want to see my dad!" My mother, who was always calm, tugged at my arm tightly, telling me I should behave like an elementary school student, not a kindergartener. The teacher in charge of my class approached her and, with a diplomatic smile, asked her to leave me in her care and that she would take care of me.

Mom could only apologize with a brief bow and look back at her cell phone, giving me only a sidelong glance as she told me I should behave; that she'd contact Dad soon and that they'd come for me after school. That was her promise, a promise she couldn't keep.

When the school clock announced the time to return home, my mother was waiting for me at the main entrance with her face soaked with tears, barely containing herself from crying out in pain at the news she was about to give me: Dad had died.

That day, I only had to go to the agency on an inbound and outbound basis; I wasn't supposed to have any special assignments or scheduled trips from the publisher. But one of the photographers assigned to landscaping skyscrapers called in sick, and my father was asked to cover for him.

It was just a panoramic photo from a rooftop, just capturing the city from an elevated perspective. There was no rain forecast, the sky was completely clear, and there was no threat of blizzards. But at high altitudes, the wind was treacherous; one false step and everything would turn dark. Dad was always careful to wear appropriate footwear for his work as a photographer, but that day he wore his formal shoes and suit to accompany us to school.

It was only a slight slip, he could have easily regained his balance, but the wind at that height made him stumble even more until his body fell into the void and hit the sidewalk in front of the building.

It was an instant death; he didn't suffer at all; but my mother and I cried until our hearts were breaking in the funeral home, clutching Dad's coffin.

After Dad's death, my mother packed everything related to photography into cardboard boxes and locked them in the attic. Every time she saw them, she couldn't bear the pain and cursed herself for having lost her husband.

My elementary school years passed very slowly, as if time were purposely moving forward wearily to frighten my heart. Mom had to go to work as a secretary in an office, and I spent my time at home waiting for her to arrive. I never got to play with other children or stay for extracurricular activities; I had to go home and help with the housework, sometimes asking neighbors for help with cooking.

I knew Mom was suffering a lot, but I was suffering too; I longed for her to comfort me, to tell me stories about Dad so I could remember him. But whenever I came home, all I could see was her tired body, dragging her body to the table where she sat while I served her dinner.

When it was time for sports festivals, Mom couldn't join me because of her job. While the other children enjoyed snacks with their parents, I would wander off to a distant tree and open a lunch tray from the supermarket.

Watching the children smile next to their parents, the dry rice stuck in my throat and the egg roll tasted like dirt. I envied them; in my little heart, I longed for that feeling of closeness and affection. At times, I wished they were like me; I wished at least one of them suffered the same hardships so I wouldn't feel so alone.

It was a petty thought, I know perfectly well, but whoever has had everything and lost it, covets that which once made them happy.

During my freshman year of high school, Mom broke the news to me that she'd met a man at work and that they'd been dating for about six months. The moment she told me this, I threw a tantrum and locked myself in my room.

I didn't want to see her; in my mind, that was a betrayal of my father's memory. How could she even dare let go of the man she'd fallen in love with? How could she turn her back on all those years we'd spent together? For days, I didn't speak to her. I went to high school and ignored her completely. To me, she was a dirty woman, not my mother.

It angered me to see her smile, showing that gradual change from a taciturn woman to one as bright as the sun. All the years I searched for that in her, all I could receive was the grim treatment of someone resigned to what they've lost. Those years of indifference, when I sought her embrace and all I found were a thousand yen on the table to buy the lunch I would take to school. I couldn't forgive her, I didn't want to; I wanted her to beg my forgiveness, to tell me through tears that she had been wrong and that she would undo all the harm she had done to me. But that catharsis never came.

Instead, one afternoon when I was returning from high school, she was waiting for me in the cafeteria accompanied by a man and an obese girl.

- "You must be Hana-chan! Nice to meet you, your mother has told me a lot about you. She says you are a very intelligent girl and that you are the representative of your class." – The man was Matsumoto Gendo ; dressed in a navy blue suit and a light blue shirt, he wore a black tie, and a subtle lavender fragrance emanated from his body.

His partially graying black hair was slicked back, emphasizing his square features. Seeing him was like contemplating the classic stereotype of a salaryman, but the aura that emanated from his presence denoted that he was someone who had the ability to lead others, yet remained as free as the wind. And in a way, that reminded me a little of my father.

- " Mariko , stand up and say hello to your new sister." Unlike the kind treatment he had with me, Mr. Matsumoto's tone of voice was too harsh with that chubby girl, as if he was angry with her for simply being present.

"Hello, my name is Mariko , mat in your care." I could never forget my first impression of my stepsister. Dressed in a blouse that looked like it had been bought in the supermarket clearance section and sweatpants that were clearly part of her school uniform, she was plain and plain, with a withdrawn demeanor that invited one to unconsciously look down on her. Even if she was a senior in elementary school, how could she let her appearance be so despicable?

After formally marrying, we left the house where we had lived all those years with my biological father and moved into our new family's home. Mr. Matsumoto, being kind to me, wanted to allow me to keep the Yamada surname ; but in return, I renounced it in exchange for my mother allowing me to keep my late father's belongings.

With such a condescending stepfather, I took up photography despite my mother's disapproval. She could only sigh in annoyance at how my new father was taking sides more with me than with her. In itself, it was a way for me to get revenge for the years of neglect my mother had inflicted on me, but at the same time, I enjoyed the warmth of a father figure I thought I'd never have again.

For her part, Mariko didn't hide her annoyance with my mother, but at the same time, that little pig followed me everywhere as if she were a hatched chick.

When the winter of my senior year of high school arrived, I took the entrance exams for two high schools: one close to our house, just two stations away, and another a little farther away, but with a scholarship program for communication sciences.

Grabbing my jacket and scarf, I left home early that morning to get to the subway station, unwittingly accompanied by my stepsister, who moved as quickly as she could to keep up with me.

As I was about to enter the train car, that fat girl slipped a few steps away from me and started shouting my name.

"Hana-chan, please wait for me." The laughable sight caught the attention of the people waiting on the platform, provoking murmurs and a few malicious laughs as the girl tried to get up.

" Mariko , I told you to be careful. Here, take my hand." Bending down to help her up, the malicious whispers soon shifted to me in a positive direction. The cute, popular girl with a heart of gold helping the gloomy girl. Those were our roles in the little play I'd built around myself. Building a reputation for myself at the expense of someone who was a complete social outcast. That was Mariko 's role , to be a spotlight to enhance my assets.

Arriving at the high school esplanade, a large number of young people were crowded in front of the results boards, desperate to find out if their names were among the lucky ones accepted. Watching them from afar, I could barely hide my mockery; their behavior seemed pathetic to me. We were almost entering adulthood, but they continued to behave like brats.

"Hana-chan, I'm going to get your paper!" Grinning like an idiot, Mariko hurried through the crowd as if she were the one about to enter the school. Seeing her act like that confirmed once again that she was a character meant solely to make me stand out.

- " Kya !"

- "I'm so sorry, I wasn't careful!" – A few steps away, I could see my obese stepsister lying on the ground in pain, so I quickly ran over to make sure she was okay so I wouldn't have to listen to another lecture from my mother.

It was at that moment that my eyes fell upon that young man, a tall, athletic build with slightly sun-tanned skin. Despite wearing a rather heavy jacket, his physique stood out despite his clothing. During my high school years, many boys proposed to me, and I politely rejected them all; none of them seemed attractive or desirable to me. But that young man—I couldn't tear my gaze away, as if he possessed a magnetism that unconsciously drew me to him.

Shaking my head a little to get rid of my daze, I saw my stepsister's face slightly flushed with an expression in her eyes as if she had found something she had long considered lost.

Inside, I felt the urge to push her out of the way, how dare she covet someone who was clearly not in her league. So I subtly played the innocent maiden role and smiled at the boy, apologizing for my stepsister's clumsiness.

It was a given that my mannerisms had swayed more than a few people. I hadn't met a single boy who had resisted my charms before, and he was no exception. But the one who found himself caught in the flow of conversation was none other than me.

That slight nervousness and his shy demeanor, despite being a burly man, was like seeing a charming yet ferocious teddy bear. But with that simplicity and charisma, my heart couldn't resist, and it leaped so fast that for a moment I couldn't breathe. Years after my tender childhood, a lost memory resurfaced in my thoughts in the form of the image of my father sitting at the table apologizing to my mother for coming home late from work.

No, it couldn't be true. I was just imagining nonsense, that's what I kept telling myself while my mind denied what my heart was beginning to feel. Could that boy be the one I'd been unknowingly searching for?

As the months of our freshman year of high school passed, we slowly got to know each other through casual conversation, and with each passing day, my mind became more convinced that he was the man I wanted in my life.

Orphaned by his father and with a distant mother, he had a difficult childhood, but unlike me, his character hadn't changed. Telling me his dreams, I felt like he was pulling me like the waves of the sea, ever closer to the point where I could no longer deny what I felt. If I was like the night, he was undoubtedly like the bright morning sun. I wanted him, I wanted him to be mine and mine alone, no one else's.

But my pride kept me from confessing my feelings. Even though I already knew how I felt about him, I didn't want to take the first step and waited patiently for him to seek me out. I wanted him to be the one to choose me, to be aware of how much he desired me, and for me to gently reciprocate.

After that long wait, December arrived, and Christmas was approaching. While Mariko locked herself in her room, afraid to check the results of the entrance exams, I sat anxiously looking at my cell phone, waiting for a message from Jinta .

"Damn, what's taking him so long?" Biting my nails, consumed by an anxiety that made me pace around the room, I occasionally threw myself onto the bed and punched my pillow, silently throwing tantrums like a little girl. I, who boasted of being a mature woman approaching adulthood, saw myself as a fool, dancing in the hands of a guy who had me hanging by a thread.

As I was about to go to sleep, a call roused me from sleep and I answered the phone, hearing a timid voice on the other end of the speaker.

- "Good night, Hana-chan. Sorry for calling you at this hour, but I was barely able to get off work. Didn't I wake you up?"

- "Yes, Jinta -kun. You're very mean, I was already fast asleep."

- "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry." That nervous stutter made me feel relieved to see that Jinta couldn't get the joke; he was so serious that I found him charming.

- "It's just a joke, Jinta -kun. I haven't fallen asleep yet, so don't worry."

- "Oh, that's good. Hey, hey, hey. Oh, that's right. I was calling to ask if you're free for a date tomorrow. I know it's Christmas Eve and you're very popular, so if you say you don't have time, we could do it another day."

- "Of course I have time, Jinta . I always have free time for you." By saying that phrase in a flirtatious tone, I made Jinta feel a small panic attack as he tried to regain his composure.

- "So tomorrow I'll pick you up at the station near Akihabara. I want us to meet near the Christmas tree. There's something important I have to tell you, but I want to do it in person. Is that okay?" – Like a game of tug-of-war, Jinta was now making me nervous and my heart pound. If my intuition was right, he would propose to me on Christmas Eve. The long-awaited confession I wanted to hear from his lips was so close, separated by only a few hours.

- "Hana-chan?"

- "Yes, sorry for the delay in responding. That last bit took me by surprise. It's okay, Jinta -kun. I'll be waiting for you at the station tomorrow at 6 p.m. "

- "Yes, it's okay, Hana-chan. I should be there before then." After hanging up, I couldn't sleep that night because I was so anxious about the time we would meet up.

Just as promised, Jinta -kun was waiting for me to get off the train at the station. Dressed in jeans and a sports jacket with our school crest, his flushed cheeks struck me as charming.

After a little chat, we went to a small family restaurant and had dinner accompanied by seasonal music. Every second I spent with him seemed like a magical moment I wanted to capture with my camera.

Finishing our intimate dinner, we walked down the street under the incandescent lights of the Christmas decorations as a light snowfall descended upon us like something out of a romantic comedy.

Jinta 's steps stopped suddenly, causing me to turn around to look at it, trembling as if it were a branch swaying in the wind.

- "Hana-chan. We've known each other for almost a year, and in that time, I've grown to like every part of you. I like your smile, the way you laugh, the way you treat your friends, and most of all, I like how you pursue your childhood dream with such determination. Seeing you every day, I can't help but feel awe; no, that's not the word I want to say." Almost betrayed by his nerves, Jinta bit his tongue, nearly causing a laugh to escape my lips. But I held back with all my might, for he was standing there in front of me, resisting and pouring out his heart.

"Hana-chan, what I mean is, I can't see a future without you in it. I can't consider another girl to take your place in my life, and I don't want my cowardice to make me lose the chance to be by your side. I like you, please go out with me!" Bowing and holding out his hands, holding a small gift box, Jinta had said the words I'd wanted to hear all those months. No, he had even gone beyond my expectations.

Yes, I want a future with you there too. That was what I wanted to say, but now it was me who was overcome by fear, not him. Looking at his trembling hands, my heart pounded at the small gift box Jinta had prepared for me. The words wouldn't come out of my mouth, increasing Jinta 's anxiety .

If I didn't say something right then, he'd probably interpret that as me rejecting him, and I didn't want that to happen. My lips wouldn't part, and frustration was setting in. I, who'd boasted of being perfect, was a complete idiot, hopelessly in love with the boy before my eyes.

When he raised his face, my body moved instinctively and I took his cheeks in my hands, staring into his eyes and then kissed him on his right cheek very close to his lips.

"Yes, I want to be your girlfriend too. Let's go out." The words finally came out forcefully, making Jinta 's eyes light up in the glow of the Christmas tree lights. We had finally begun our relationship, and I couldn't have been happier than I had ever been in my life.

Suddenly, a memory came back to me from the time when my father was still alive, from a time when I asked him how he proposed to my mother. With a smile on his face, he told me that one sunny afternoon, while walking along the coast of Okinawa, he had given my mother a small gift, completely nervous about proposing to her.

Jinta -kun had done something very similar to what my father had done; it was for that reason that my head unconsciously spun, making it impossible for me to react quickly. Realizing this, a pair of tears sprang to my eyes, causing me to tightly hug the man who had now become my boyfriend.

Just like the romance novels my mother used to read, once again a love story was beginning to be written, but for just the two of us. Little did I know that, like those romance novels, darkness would cover our beautiful blue sky.