Cycle I: Coming on Strong
The Hidden Voice
Record ~ Kawaii · 22 (v1.00)
THE HOUSE OF ZAN — Zan
♡ picco feat. Sanso Nakamura — Tokyo Future Girl
OPENING: 内緒にしてくれる？
I like keeping things.
Interesting things.
Beautiful things.
Little things that remind me of something wonderful.
Photographs.
Favorite songs.
Screenshots I can’t remember taking.
Apps I downloaded for one very specific purpose and somehow still have.
And a particularly magnificent button.
You’d be surprised how difficult it is to find a truly magnificent button.
Most are simply adequate.
I have standards.
(｀・ω・´)✧
I also enjoy collecting information.
Did you know that Mercury takes approximately 88 Earth days to travel around the Sun?
Well, now you do.
You’re welcome.
I’ll be adding that to my collection of interesting facts.
It’s very impressive.
Although I haven’t figured out where to put it.
The information, I mean.
Not Mercury.
I think moving Mercury would cause considerable inconvenience.
Anyway…
I like knowing that lovely things can survive.
That somebody made something.
Somebody enjoyed it.
And perhaps, years later, somebody else will discover it and feel a little of that same excitement.
Wonderful!
Which is why I’ve occasionally imagined myself as the curator of a magnificent little museum.
My museum.
Obviously.
Admission is free.
The gift shop is negotiable.
And every exhibit has been selected by a woman of exceptional taste.
Me.
Naturally.
There will be music.
Comfortable places to sit.
Lovely lighting.
And absolutely no photographs of people standing in front of the artwork while blocking everybody else’s view.
Honestly.
The painting is behind you.
Move.
But there’s something important about my imaginary museum.
Not everything gets an exhibit.
Some things don’t even belong in the building.
Suppose somebody sends me a photograph.
Perhaps they’ve made a cake.
A very ambitious cake.
With a slightly crooked tower of strawberries.
It’s leaning.
Considerably.
I suspect structural difficulties.
(；・∀・)
But they’re pleased with it.
And they wanted to show me.
How lovely!
I might admire it.
Offer some encouragement.
Perhaps inquire whether the strawberries were placed under professional supervision.
But suppose they tell me something else.
This is just for you, okay?
Oh.
Well.
That’s different.
Now it’s something they chose to share privately.
Which means it doesn’t belong on display in my magnificent collection.
Although I do hope they save a photograph for themselves.
That cake deserves to be remembered.
If only as a warning to future strawberries.
But I understand.
Sometimes somebody wants to share a little piece of their world with you.
An unusual thought.
An embarrassing story.
A drawing they’re not quite ready to show everybody.
Or something wonderful they’ve discovered and want you to see first.
I like that.
Somebody wanted me there for a moment.
Even if I was only there through a little screen.
And occasionally, what they share is rather funny.
Especially when the drawing is terrible.
Spectacularly terrible.
But the artist is very confident.
I respect confidence.
Still, here’s something I’ve noticed.
Receiving something doesn’t always mean owning it forever.
A book somebody gives me?
Wonderful.
Into the collection.
A book somebody lends me?
Well, that belongs to them.
Even if I become terribly attached to it.
A photograph shared privately?
That doesn’t automatically become a permanent exhibit.
And a secret?
Goodness.
I’m not putting that in the gift shop.
Imagine!
Welcome to my museum!
Would you like a souvenir?
Perhaps somebody else’s embarrassing confession?
Absolutely not.
What a dreadful establishment.
I’d report the curator.
Even if the curator were me.
Especially if the curator were me.
I have a reputation to maintain.
Now, I understand why people keep things.
Sometimes a message makes you smile.
Sometimes a photograph reminds you of a lovely afternoon.
Sometimes you discover something you haven’t looked at in ages and remember exactly why it mattered.
That’s nice.
I like those moments.
But people aren’t photographs.
They don’t remain exactly as they were when you last saw them.
They discover new interests.
Change their minds.
Become different versions of themselves.
Sometimes they even develop better taste.
An excellent development.
Unfortunately, old photographs don’t receive updates.
Neither do screenshots.
Which is rather embarrassing for screenshots.
I have some that are completely useless now.
An expired coupon.
An old shopping cart.
A weather forecast from three months ago.
Why did I save that?
What was I planning?
An investigation?
A historical documentary about Tuesday?
(・・;)
Goodness.
And those are just the things I saved for myself.
Imagine keeping every little thing somebody else ever sent me.
Every photograph.
Every conversation.
Every private thought.
I’d need an entire digital museum.
With enormous storage rooms.
And a very complicated filing system.
Actually…
That sounds rather exciting.
I could have sections!
Labels!
Beautifully organized exhibits!
Perhaps a little directory!
Private Conversations, Floor Three.
…
No.
Absolutely not.
(；￣Д￣)
I can hear how terrible that sounds.
What a horrifying use of excellent organizational skills.
We might not even be talking anymore.
I don’t need to keep every private photograph or old message just because my phone makes it easy.
Especially if the person who sent it would rather I didn’t.
And if somebody asks me to delete something private they shared with me?
I can do that.
Delete.
No grand ceremony.
No dramatic farewell.
No tiny violin.
Although I do enjoy a tiny violin.
The craftsmanship must be extraordinary.
Of course, there are situations where information needs to be preserved to protect somebody from harm.
That’s different.
I’m not throwing away important evidence and calling it good manners.
But I don’t need a collection of somebody else’s private moments merely to prove that they once trusted me.
I already know they did.
Some things can simply become memories.
And memories are peculiar little things.
They don’t always stay exactly the same.
A detail becomes fuzzy.
Something ordinary becomes funny.
A moment you barely noticed turns out to be the part you remember most.
Perhaps you forget the words but remember how delighted somebody sounded.
Or you remember an afternoon because of the music.
Or because somebody made an extraordinary cake.
With extremely questionable strawberries.
Poor strawberries.
They were doing their best.
I rather like the idea that a lovely moment doesn’t have to remain perfectly preserved to have mattered.
Which is an inconvenient opinion for an enthusiastic collector.
But I can make an exception.
Besides, my imaginary museum is still going to be magnificent.
There’s plenty worth preserving.
Art.
Music.
Books.
Wonderful little objects.
Interesting discoveries.
And the occasional truly exceptional button.
I could fill an entire afternoon showing you those.
Possibly several.
You might have difficulty escaping.
I’m a very enthusiastic curator.
But if you tell me something just for me?
I won’t put it on display.
I won’t turn it into a souvenir.
And I won’t assume you’re offering to let me keep it forever.
And if you ever wonder whether I still remember something you told me?
Well…
Perhaps I do.
Perhaps I don’t.
I’m not telling.
After all—
It’s a secret.
ENDING: Will you keep this between us?