Watching them progress quickly filled me with envy. While I sat on the bench, cheering them on, I couldn’t help but feel frustrated. I practiced diligently, even more than they did, yet progress eluded me. I started to question if I should give it up since I wasn’t seeing any results. But despite my doubts, my love for soccer persisted. I was torn between my passion and desire to be a good kid. I felt unable to confide in my mother, friends, or teacher about my worries. They kept growing inside me, consuming my thoughts during class, breaks, and even holidays. My heart felt on the verge of exploding.
I yearned for someone to notice my struggles, but it seemed no one could see through my facade. The only person who recognized my distress was my grandmother. During a summer visit to Kyoto, she’d approached me quietly and asked, “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry.”
Finding solace in her presence, I’d poured out my worries about soccer. Despite my effort, I couldn’t improve. Thoughts of quitting plagued my mind, but my love for the game kept me entangled in indecision.
Then, my grandmother imparted her wisdom, saying, “Keiichi, worries are like tomato plants.”
“A tomato plant?” I’d asked Grandma, intrigued.
“Yes. Have you ever grown tomatoes, Keiichi?”
“Tomatoes? Yes, I have. We grew them in my second-year life science class.”
“How did it go? If you simply watered them, they would grow easily, right?”
“Indeed.”
“But the more you worry, the more you water the tomato plant within you. It thrives on your worries, growing larger and larger, while the space in your heart diminishes, leading to suffering.”
Silence lingered as I absorbed her words.
“Kids like you, Keiichi, who try their best, often overthink and dwell on these matters. As a result, the worry tree receives an abundance of water, expanding relentlessly, and the space in their heart shrinks, causing them pain.”
Puzzled, I’d asked, “So, what should I do?”
“You should allocate worry time only once a day,” she advised. “And you shouldn’t bear the burden alone. Share your worries with someone who will eat tomatoes with you.”
“Like… Grandma?”
“I’m glad you thought of that. I’m honored to be the one you chose as someone who can worry with you. Please let me consume the tomatoes grown from that worry tree.”
Her words had brought me immense relief.
Every night, my grandmother had devoured the tomatoes nourished by the worry tree within me. I no longer had to dwell on my concerns except during those precious moments I shared with her. The mere thought of this process brought me immense comfort.
I had realized then that reducing the time I spent dwelling on my worries made me feel less burdened. Furthermore, even if my worries multiplied, I began to trust that it would be alright since Grandma would devour them. This newfound conviction empowered me to persevere, even if I couldn’t excel immediately, hoping to eventually become a regular player.
And then, it had dawned on me that I had been taking things too seriously.
“When I return to Tokyo, I’ll find someone else who can eat the tomatoes instead of you, okay?”
And so, I found him — Yuuya, my best friend, the one I could confide in about anything. Without him, I often wondered what would have become of me. Perhaps I would have remained trapped in suffering, unable to forge friendships or open up to my parents, leading a life of solitude. But thanks to Yuuya, my outlook changed, and I found the support I needed to navigate life’s challenges.
I recounted the tale of the tomato plant to Saki, and her eyes welled up with tears. She asked, her voice trembling, “Will you eat it with me?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I replied, “Of course.” And together, we savored the big, ripe tomatoes, their sweetness filling our mouths.
“No one has ever said anything like that to me before about a tomato plant,” Saki whispered, her voice filled with gratitude.
“You’re trying too hard, Saki. It’s okay to rely on others more,” I assured her gently.
Tears continued to stream down her face, and I reached out to wipe them away with my finger. As the tears glistened with a faint blue light, resembling precious gems, I said softly, “We’re still children, you know.”
We had both grown up too quickly, striving to meet the expectations of adults while neglecting the aspects of growth that truly mattered. Perhaps it was our shared immaturity that drew us together that summer. Maybe Saki needed me, and I needed her.
“You know, I really…” Saki began, taking a deep breath before sharing her true feelings. “I don’t want to go to the new facility. I want to go to the foster family who has been waiting for me. The Suzukis. That’s their name. They’ve been patiently waiting for me ever since I first entered the facility. Even though I refused to go, they didn’t accept any other children and insisted on waiting for me.”
It was because Saki was Saki. I understood Suzuki-san’s sentiments all too well. Saki’s transparent nature and her remarkable intelligence left a lasting impression on me. Her strength and fragility intertwined, forming the very core of her kindness. She was a truly special presence in my life.
“I sometimes eat and stay over at Suzuki-san’s house. They waited for me so long that they’ve become like grandparents to me, but I love Suzuki-san…” Saki’s voice quivered as tears rolled down her brown, cat-like eyes. The weight of her emotions overwhelmed her, and this was the most she had ever cried.
“It seems like you’ve already found your answer,” I whispered softly. Saki had just found the courage to put her feelings into words, a significant step for someone who rarely expressed their true emotions, especially a child.
Surprised by her newfound voice, she continued to cry, her tears flowing even more freely. “But… if I were to have a family, wouldn’t my mother be sad? It doesn’t seem right to be the only one happy… does it?”
“I don’t know…” I responded, following her gaze to the starry night sky. A full blue moon hung in the center, surrounded by sparkling stars. It felt as though there were a silhouette of a person within the moon. Saki’s mother on the moon must have possessed the same gentleness, cheerfulness, and captivating smile as Saki. Their smiles must have resembled each other greatly.
“Is Suzuki-san someone who will eat tomatoes with you?” I inquired gently.
“Um… yes, definitely,” she replied, her voice filled with conviction.
“Would Saki’s mother truly be unhappy about her child’s happiness?” I asked, probing further.
“No, that wouldn’t be right,” she murmured, tears flowing.
“Your mother wishes for your happiness,” I affirmed.
Silence enveloped us as Saki processed my words. “It would be the greatest happiness to have two mothers,” she said, tears streaming.
“Saki, please be honest with me as well,” I implored, my heart yearning for her true happiness.
Please, I silently prayed.
“Be happy.”
My wish was not for my own feelings to be fulfilled. It was for Saki’s radiant smile to blossom from deep within her heart.
Life can be cruel sometimes, and we all have to navigate our paths through its unpredictable terrain. We have to embrace everything that came our way and keep moving forward. But I firmly believed that light awaited us, even in the darkest moments.
“Keiichi-kun, thank you.” Saki looked up at me, tears still clinging to her face.
I gently tousled her hair and let out a soft laugh, trying to hide the turmoil within. No, it wasn’t good. This was the end. Today marked the last day I could spend with Saki.
As that realization struck me, I instinctively pulled Saki, her eyes red from crying, closer to me and embraced her tightly. I felt her bury her face in my chest, seeking solace and comfort.
My fingers found their way into her hair, which swayed gently as I cradled her delicate head and whispered, “I’m the one who should be thanking you. I’m so grateful that we crossed paths.”
The ethereal blue light of the moon stretched thin, eventually fading away from the moonlit water’s surface. The shimmering reflection of the moon on the water dissipated as the once-in-a-few-years blue moon approached its end.
In this blue-tinged world, I decided to leave my love for her. It would remain a faint love, nurtured alongside the blue moon and find its closure on this night.