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This is a continuation from my childhood.

When I was in elementary school, especially in the upper grades,

I was a child who never laughed at home,

I had selective mutism,

I was a child who would not talk in certain places or situations.

At school, I played with my friends cheerfully,

but at the abacus class in the next town,

it was like it wasn't my world,

even if someone talked to me,

I would not talk to anyone except the teacher, who was an older man.

So, it's only natural,

but the other kids treated me like a weird kid,

and a group of boys a little older than me

chased me on their bikes all the way to my house and teased me.

But, I was just a loser by nature,

so when one of the boys in the group was alone,

I remember throwing a rock the size of a fist at his head to fight back.

I think people think that Dowa districts are not safe, and my neighborhood is no exception. Adults sell fake brands and lend their names. There are things I can't talk about here. In my neighborhood, an apartment complex exploded after a gas inhalation suicide attempt by an illegal drug addict went wrong. A senior driver hit someone while driving without a license and was put on the wanted list. Rapes occur frequently at night in the area where older people hang out. The martial arts instructor who gathers the neighborhood kids to teach them is a dealer of illegal drugs. A boy living one floor below me in the same apartment complex jumped off a nearby high-rise apartment complex twice and never returned. Such things were commonplace. When I became a junior high school student, I did whatever I wanted, as if I was venting the cold, helpless feelings I had toward my parents since I was a child and the anger I didn't really understand. Running away from home and fighting were commonplace. Motorcycles were running through the hallways of my middle school.

There was always broken glass around the school.

Cigarettes and paint thinner were common on campus.

Some kids even inhaled illegal substances.

The place to hide paint thinner was the air vent in the boys' bathroom.

It's a funny story now, but

I would buy cigarettes from a vending machine in front of the police station while wearing my uniform and get chased.

I would carve the name of someone I liked into my arm with a safety pin and make my own tattoos using ink.

My friends and I would pierce each other with safety pins at a local coffee shop.

We each owned the bikes we stole.

To get revenge on the police who suspected us of not doing it, I would take them to the police station with a Molotov cocktail.

Since I was in the second year of middle school, I was taken by a friend's aunt to work at a cabaret club.

I would go to casinos with another friend's uncle.

Once I was practicing riding a large bike, I got stuck between a telephone pole and a wall and couldn't get it out.

So when I was laughing with my friends without thinking about anything, I was able to feel the life I had long forgotten.

Friends who could empathize with the same frustrations

My middle school teachers who never gave up on us and stuck with us even when we complained or got violent

Knowing that there were people who understood me

little by little, I started to regain life in my heart.

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