Cycle I: Coming on Strong
The Hidden Voice
Record ~ Kawaii · 05 (v1.00)
THE HOUSE OF ZAN — Zan
♡ DAOKO — ShibuyaK
OPENING: 今の私でいい？
I think I’ve found myself!
…
Again.
This is becoming a rather frequent discovery.
You’d think after finding myself once, I’d know where to look the next time.
Perhaps I should leave a note.
Dear Me,
If you’re reading this, congratulations! You’ve wandered off again.
Please return yourself to the appropriate location.
Thank you.
There.
That should solve everything.
(=^･ω･^=)
Except I’m not entirely sure where the appropriate location is.
Or whether I still want to be there.
Hmm.
This might be more complicated than I thought.
People talk about finding yourself as though it’s something that happens eventually.
You grow older.
You learn things.
You become more confident.
And one day, presumably, you wake up knowing exactly who you are.
Wonderful!
Do I receive a certificate?
A little flag?
Perhaps somebody could ring a bell.
Congratulations! You are now officially yourself.
ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ
I’d quite like that.
Although I suspect I’d immediately have questions about what I’m supposed to do next.
Because growing older is rather peculiar.
You can spend years believing something about yourself, only to discover that you’ve changed your mind.
Maybe an opinion you once defended with extraordinary confidence has become one you can barely remember agreeing with.
Or perhaps you’ve finally found the courage to say something you’ve been thinking for ages.
No, thank you.
…
Oh!
There it is.
My voice.
That was easier than expected.
Except finding your voice isn’t always about knowing what to say.
Sometimes it’s discovering that you have something worth saying.
Other times, it’s learning when you don’t need to explain yourself.
And occasionally, it’s realizing you’ve been talking so much that somebody else hasn’t had a chance.
Oops.
Experience helps.
Not automatically, of course.
Some people have years of practice doing exactly the wrong thing.
With remarkable consistency!
…
I suppose I should check whether I still believe what I’m saying before I become one of them.
And even when I know what to say, I might not know where I belong.
Imagine finding people who appreciate you.
A conversation you don’t have to struggle to join.
Somewhere you can settle in without wondering whether you’re behaving correctly.
Maybe even somebody who notices when you’re missing.
I’d like that.
But finding your place can be surprisingly difficult when you’re still figuring out who you are.
You might meet somebody wonderful and discover an interest you never knew you had.
They introduce you to something unfamiliar, challenge an old opinion, or understand something you’ve always struggled to explain.
Suddenly, there’s somewhere you feel comfortable.
Somewhere you want to return.
I’ve found my place!
Excellent.
Now I can stop looking.
…
Can I?
What if I change?
What if they do?
What if the things that brought us together aren’t quite enough to keep us together?
I don’t particularly like those questions.
They make the nice, comfortable feeling seem less permanent.
And I was enjoying it.
Even if we eventually go our separate ways, knowing them might still help me discover what I want.
And perhaps they’ve learned something from me, too.
I’d hope so.
It would be nice to know I mattered to them, too.
But that raises another question.
If we learn so much about ourselves through other people, how do we know which parts are really ours?
Because people influence each other.
You might pick up somebody’s favorite expression.
Develop an interest because they introduced you to it.
Or discover that you’ve started agreeing with something simply because everybody around you agrees.
Then one day, you’re somewhere else.
Different people.
Different expectations.
And suddenly you’re wondering whether you still believe half the things you’ve been saying.
…
Oh dear.
Was I being myself?
Or was I just getting very good at fitting in?
I don’t think the answer is always obvious.
And I certainly don’t think learning from other people is a problem.
I’d be terribly disappointed if I went through life without discovering anything I hadn’t thought of myself.
But there’s a difference between changing because you’ve learned something and changing because you’re afraid you won’t be welcome otherwise.
Those can look remarkably similar.
Especially when you’re the one doing the changing.
I might not recognize which one I was doing until afterward.
How convenient!
All that useful information arriving just a little too late.
Could somebody please improve the delivery system?
(¬_¬)
I’d appreciate knowing these things before I make a complete fool of myself.
Although I suppose that wouldn’t teach me quite the same lesson.
Annoying.
Still, there’s something that bothers me more.
What happens when you’ve finally become comfortable with yourself, but the place where you belonged isn’t yours anymore?
Perhaps somebody moves away.
A friendship changes.
A familiar group becomes unfamiliar.
Or you discover that staying would mean pretending to be somebody you’ve already learned you aren’t.
That last one sounds particularly unpleasant.
Because now you have a choice.
You can try to become the person who used to fit.
Or accept that something has changed.
Neither sounds especially easy.
And I don’t think I’d enjoy having to start over.
…
Again?!
ʕ；ᴥ；ʔ
But wait.
Would I really be starting over?
I’d still remember the things I’ve learned.
I’d still have opinions.
I’d know a little more about what makes me comfortable.
What I’m willing to compromise on.
And which compromises leave me wondering why I agreed in the first place.
I might not know where I belong next.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten everything about myself.
Losing your place isn’t the same as losing yourself.
Although I suppose it can feel that way.
Especially when you’ve become accustomed to seeing yourself through the people around you.
It’s easy to wonder who you are when nobody familiar is there to recognize you.
And knowing yourself doesn’t necessarily make losing something important any easier.
I might miss them and wish things had worked out differently.
Or I might simply be tired of finding somewhere else.
I wouldn’t want to pretend any of that is secretly wonderful.
But I wouldn’t want to throw away everything I’ve learned, either.
Not after all that effort!
Which brings me to a rather troublesome question.
Haven’t I learned enough already?
Seriously.
How many lessons does one person need?
Is there a maximum?
Could somebody check?
Because I’ve been doing this for quite a while, and I was rather hoping there would eventually be a point where I could put my feet up and enjoy knowing who I am.
Without another surprise.
Without another change of plans.
And preferably without somebody announcing that I’ve entered an exciting new period of personal growth.
No, thank you!
I’ve had plenty.
…
Although I suppose I wouldn’t actually want to stop learning.
That sounds dreadfully boring.
I’d still want to discover new things.
Meet interesting people.
Change my mind when I have a good reason.
Perhaps even find another place that feels like mine.
I just don’t want to spend every moment wondering whether I’ve finally become the person I’m supposed to be.
What if there isn’t a final version?
Would that mean I never really found myself?
I don’t think so.
I was still me when I believed things I no longer believe.
I was still me when I belonged somewhere I don’t belong anymore.
And I’ll still be me if I discover tomorrow that something important has changed.
I just won’t know everything about that version of myself yet.
Which is inconvenient.
But also rather interesting.
Maybe I don’t need to treat every change as proof that I haven’t figured myself out.
I can be confident about what matters to me.
I can enjoy where I am.
And I can appreciate the people who make that place feel worthwhile.
Without demanding a guarantee that nothing will ever change.
That seems reasonable.
For now.
…
Oh!
There’s that phrase again.
For now.
It used to sound so uncertain.
As though anything that might change couldn’t possibly be real.
But something can matter without lasting forever.
I can be glad I know somebody without knowing how long we’ll stay in each other’s lives.
I can also say what I think today without promising I’ll always agree.
Which brings me back to the question I was hoping somebody could answer.
When will it be enough?
I don’t know.
Perhaps there’s a difference between having enough experience to feel comfortable with who you are and believing you’ve experienced everything you ever need to.
I’d like to reach the first one.
I’m not particularly interested in the second.
After all, I haven’t heard every wonderful song.
I haven’t met everybody worth knowing.
And I’m fairly certain there are still a few opinions I’ll change my mind about.
Not all of them.
Don’t get carried away.
(｀・ω・´)
I don’t have to pass another examination before I’m allowed to enjoy being myself.
I’m here. I know a few things. There are people and places I’d like to know better.
I think that’s enough for today.
…
Although if somebody does eventually start handing out those certificates, I’d still like one.
Preferably with a little flag.
(｀･ω･´)ゞ
ENDING: Am I enough as I am?