Canon's Diary

This week, I booked a hotel in Ibaraki, two stations away from Settsu-Tonda, the nearest station to my office. It’s more convenient than going through Shin-Osaka, giving me a little more breathing room in the mornings. I reserved the room for four consecutive nights, so I only needed to carry my business bag, leaving the suitcase at the hotel. After grabbing breakfast at the station, I filled my thermos with hot coffee. From the train window, I could still catch glimpses of cherry blossoms in full bloom.

The company headquarters is about an eight-minute walk from the nearest station. Walking northwest through a series of zigzagging alleys, the morning sun cast shadows alternately in front of me and to my left. It’s a path I’ve grown familiar with. Sitting at my desk, I took a sip of coffee and let out an involuntary sigh—“Phew.” The freshly ground beans gave the coffee a rich, deep flavor.

Today, a nearly all-day sales meeting was scheduled. I joined remotely via the web. With my earphones in, I focused once again on the directives from headquarters.

Last night, I was working on writing a diary entry in my hotel room. As I kept writing, fragmented memories of difficult times came flooding back. The monster that once raged inside me during my youth has been sleeping soundly for about ten years now.

Schizophrenia, a mental illness, is said to develop from a combination of genetic predisposition and environmental triggers. Looking back now, I realize I did indeed have the genetic predisposition. Several of my uncles on my father’s side had mental health disorders. Also, my mother often told me that when I was born, I didn’t cry. The doctor had to hold me upside down by the ankles and spank me before I let out my first cry.

Since childhood, there was always a hazy restlessness smoldering inside me. To distract myself from it, I needed something to obsess over. Building blocks, supercar erasers, Shonen Jump comics, model kits—I was always searching for something I could fully immerse myself in. I wasn’t good at listening to others. The monster within me interfered, leaving me no space to understand what people were trying to say. There were days when the intensity varied, but I think it took an immense amount of energy each day just to keep that monster from bursting out.

I remembered something the other day: when I was in elementary school, I apparently tried to leave the house in my sleep. I have no memory of it, but my mother told me about it the next day. “You tried to walk out the door in the middle of the night,” she said. When she asked where I was going, I replied, “To light fireworks with my cousin.” I’ve been told this happened multiple times.

Sleepwalking is said to be closely related to sleep quality and stress, and it’s possible that it may have had some indirect connection to the schizophrenia I carried.

Because of today’s meeting, I didn’t get much work done. I submitted an application to commute by motorcycle, which I brought from Tokyo, but it was rejected due to a company policy requiring a one-way distance of at least 2 kilometers. After moving into my new apartment, it looks like I’ll be walking about 1 kilometer each way every day. It’s healthy, at least, but I’ll need to make sure the motorcycle’s battery doesn’t die.