Canon's Diary

During my lunch break, I have a habit of taking a photo of my meal and sending it to my mother on LINE, along with a brief description.

“Today’s lunch is barley rice, fried squid and chicken tender, spicy penne arrabbiata, and stir-fried garlic chives.”

More often than not, she replies with what she has eaten. Osaka and Tokyo are five hundred kilometers apart, yet these small exchanges continue. But since she is in the hospital recovering from knee surgery, her messages are a little different now.

“That looks delicious. The hospital food is so bland it’s awful. I want to go home.”

My younger sister, who is in the same group chat, sends her words of encouragement. I simply string together the details of my day; I’m not one to say such things.

When the lunch break ends, the office lights, which had been dimmed, flicker back on. My coworkers, who had been napping at their desks, hurriedly return to their tasks. The sound of keyboards fills the room, along with voices from web meetings starting all at once. Then another message from my mother appears.

“I have a favor to ask. Could you take some time off and buy batteries for my hearing aid? Without it, I can’t hear anything. I don’t know what to do.”

After a brief pause, my sister replies.

“I’ve asked my sister-in-law. She said she can come on June 25, since she’ll be off work.”

As I work through the pile of emails in front of me, I let out a small sigh. Living alone in Osaka has always been easy; I’ve never really felt lonely. But thinking of all the ways I’ve failed my mother, I wonder if it’s already too late for anything I do now to make amends. Job listings near Tokyo arrive from time to time, but I still haven’t found one that feels right.