Dear whomever it may concern, it is a pleasure to meet you. Are you doing well? I am the same as always.
I had spent a long time thinking of living by myself, and therefore started writing novels. For about three years, I’d been to Hokkaidou’s Jinguu Shrine and prayed to the ancestors, “if I am able to become a novelist, I do not mind if I am never again loved by anyone from here on” as a form of equivalent exchange. Somehow, I wanted for myself something certain, unyielding, to that extent.
I continued to do this, and on the first days of the third year, during Hatsumoude, the fortune slip I took was one of ‘great luck’. Its contents filled my body with a sense akin to a déjà-vu. “For some reason… I feel I will get an award this year,” is what I remember saying back then. A few months later, I received a prestigious first prize from Kyoto Animation. “Finally, I have sold my soul,” I had said as I moored under the weight of an equivalent exchange, but upon standing still for once after only running forward and looking back on everything that happened until that point, I realized this was not really the case.
Violet Evergarden bestowed several forms of ‘love’ onto the hands of someone like me, who had thought that I should live alone and did not need any of it. There were also many people who helped me out miraculously on the way to publication. I then became helplessly ashamed of my previous resolve.
Basically, I had been an idiotic fool.
I fail and cry often. I had thought I would wail less once I grew up, yet I only became even more of a crybaby. The only difference in the way I cry now from how I used to cry as a child is that my current self wipes the mud off her knees on her own, stands on her feet again with a tearstained face and resumes running at full speed, using her suffering as fuel. The fact I did not slow down, the fact I took notice of the people who were watching over me as I ran on and remembered to show them my gratitude… everything I felt was poured into Violet Evergarden. It’s not a very happy story, because life is hard.
I don’t want tomorrow to come. Still, in this cruel word, I am moved to tears whenever occasional moments of wonder happen. I believe that’s beautiful. If a story like that was ever allowed, I wanted to write more of it. If there is anyone who has read up to this point that does not wish for tomorrow to come, please don’t give in. I’m cheering for you. I also really want to be cheered on, so let’s both make things work out somehow and do our best.
Now then, may everyone who found this relatable have wonderful moments as well. Best regards.
Dear whomever it may concern, it is a pleasure to meet you. Are you doing well? I am the same as always.
I had spent a long time thinking of living by myself, and therefore started writing novels. For about three years, I’d been to Hokkaidou’s Jinguu Shrine and prayed to the ancestors, “if I am able to become a novelist, I do not mind if I am never again loved by anyone from here on” as a form of equivalent exchange. Somehow, I wanted for myself something certain, unyielding, to that extent.
I continued to do this, and on the first days of the third year, during Hatsumoude, the fortune slip I took was one of ‘great luck’. Its contents filled my body with a sense akin to a déjà-vu. “For some reason… I feel I will get an award this year,” is what I remember saying back then. A few months later, I received a prestigious first prize from Kyoto Animation. “Finally, I have sold my soul,” I had said as I moored under the weight of an equivalent exchange, but upon standing still for once after only running forward and looking back on everything that happened until that point, I realized this was not really the case.
Violet Evergarden bestowed several forms of ‘love’ onto the hands of someone like me, who had thought that I should live alone and did not need any of it. There were also many people who helped me out miraculously on the way to publication. I then became helplessly ashamed of my previous resolve.
Basically, I had been an idiotic fool.
I fail and cry often. I had thought I would wail less once I grew up, yet I only became even more of a crybaby. The only difference in the way I cry now from how I used to cry as a child is that my current self wipes the mud off her knees on her own, stands on her feet again with a tearstained face and resumes running at full speed, using her suffering as fuel. The fact I did not slow down, the fact I took notice of the people who were watching over me as I ran on and remembered to show them my gratitude… everything I felt was poured into Violet Evergarden. It’s not a very happy story, because life is hard.
I don’t want tomorrow to come. Still, in this cruel word, I am moved to tears whenever occasional moments of wonder happen. I believe that’s beautiful. If a story like that was ever allowed, I wanted to write more of it. If there is anyone who has read up to this point that does not wish for tomorrow to come, please don’t give in. I’m cheering for you. I also really want to be cheered on, so let’s both make things work out somehow and do our best.
Now then, may everyone who found this relatable have wonderful moments as well. Best regards.
