July 7, 1996. In the evening of Tanabata.
At a café in a bookstore on Broadway.
The only empty seat in the crowded store.
“May I take this seat?”
26 years have passed since I asked him.
Recently, I have come to realize that it was not my choice.
Everything is on a predetermined rail.
I will solemnly fulfil the role I have been given.
1996幎ãäžå€ã®å€ã
ãããŒããŠã§ã€æ²¿ãã®ãæžåºã®ã«ãã§ã
蟌ã¿åãåºå
ã§ãå¯äžèŠã€ãã空åžã
ãããã«åº§ã£ãŠãããã§ããïŒã
ãšã声ããããŠãã26幎ã
ãã®ããã¯ãæãã®ã ãããããéžãã ã®ã§ã¯ãªãã
ãã¹ãŠã¯ãå®ããããã¬ãŒã«ã®äžã
ãããã¯äžãããã圹å²ãç²ã
ãšæãããŠããã
ïŒãïŒãïŒ
äºäººæã£ãŠCOVID-19ãå埩äžã
åºäŒãã®æ¥ãåã«ããŠã®ãããããåèœãšãã ã£ããã
è±å±ã«å±ããŠããã£ãã¢ã¬ã³ãžã¡ã³ããèŠããªãã
ããããïŒããããåãã¡ã®å¿«æ°ç¥ãïŒã
ãšã倫ããã£ããããããããšã§ãããããã©ãã
äžå€ã«ã¡ãªãã§ãçåã«æåãæžãã
äºäººã®æªæ¥ã«ãéããïŒã€ã®ããšã°ã
ã©ããã®ä¿¡çšé庫ã®ã¹ããŒã¬ã³ã¿ããã ã
ãŸã ãŸã ããããããªã®ã ããããããããããã¡ãã
æ»ã¬ãŸã§ç¶ããæ
è·¯ã®éäžã
è¬èãªåéºè
ã§ããããã
ïŒãïŒãïŒ
ä¹
ãã¶ãã«ã倫ã®å¥œç©ã®ãã¢ããã«ã¯ã©ã³ãã«ãçŒããã倫ã¯åãã§é£ã¹ãŠããã
ãããã¯ãŸã ãå³èŠäžå
šã ããã©ãçé
žã£ã±ãããããã¯äŒãã£ãã

ã³ã¡ã³ããæ®ã