Failure of control
Ling Tosite Sigure took its current lineup in 2004, when I was in my fourth year of university.
During that time, most people around me were supposed to be focusing on concrete future goals such as finding employment or acquiring qualifications. However, I was dedicating most of my time to band activities and part-time jobs. Having completed all the credits possible in one or two years, I didn't spend much time at university during my third and fourth years, except for the minimum required lectures. The memories of the new school building, which began in my third year, were much fainter compared to those of my first and second years. Gradually, the pace of my future within me and that of my friends started to diverge, and even not choosing to pursue employment was met with envy.
By the time I finished my third year of university, my mother started contacting me frequently about finding a job. Looking back, my evasive responses must have made it clear that I had no intention of actively pursuing employment. I received numerous messages saying, "You can't make a living with music, reconsider about that." My mother had always been strict, and at that time, she probably resented the fact that she had let me take piano lessons and that my father had kept an acoustic guitar in the house.
When I entered university, I started living alone in Saitama. The apartment I chose, being newly built, was constantly shaking. The walls were thin, and periodically, a student from the neighboring room would appear requesting to borrow a full-length mirror, saying, "I want to have a fashion show." It was a mysterious place.
After leaving my parents' house and living there, I rarely talked to them about my university life or music activities. If we had lived together, they might have sensed the atmosphere, but unlike my unconventional sister, I had never really said "NO" to my parents before, so the words I spoke came as a surprise to my mother.
"I will continue with music only. I won't engage in job hunting."
Of course, my mother objected. I knew that she wanted me to have a secure occupation or become a civil servant, so her response was only natural. While I could understand that it came from a parent's concern, it was frustrating to be categorically dismissed with "Music should remain a hobby." I wonder what was the source of the energy burning within me at that time.
On the other hand, my father was more understanding. He himself had dabbled in folk music in his youth and probably had a period when he aspired to be a singer. That's why he took a stance of "It will work out somehow, and if it doesn't, we can think about it then." For me, it was a source of comfort.
"How are you going to make a living? What do you want to become in the future?"
Even if my mother asked me that, at this time, I didn't have any specific goals or dreams regarding my music activities (and even now, it hasn't changed much). I was still in a state where I hadn't grounded myself, contemplating what it meant to pursue music as a profession, something I loved, without having any solid footing.
"It's not good to turn your hobbies into a job."
My mother said that. It's a story that everyone has heard. I have also heard stories of celebrities who know firsthand the difficulties saying, "I don't want my children to aim for the entertainment industry."
Even so, I myself didn't know what would happen if I turned my passion into a profession. Setting aside the difficulty of making music a career, I could easily imagine the precariousness of turning something I loved into a job.
However, no matter how much I imagined, I couldn't see any other path for my life outside of music. Whatever profession I would end up in, I knew I would face barriers and moments of being crushed. If that were the case, if there was something that could push myself to the limit, I strongly wished it would be something I could dedicate myself to completely. There was no option to not seize the future of music that would continue to resonate from here, nor the vividness of my own that I had yet to experience. I, who had lived a life like gentle waves that were not shattered by anything, made a commitment to bet everything on what I could create.
When my mother, who had heard such dream-like dreams as "I want to immerse myself in music only," sent my sister to me, she thought that my sister might have more influence on me.
My dry and employed-spy sister, disregarding the client's intentions with a preamble saying, "I was told to convey this, so…." began talking about my mother's wishes. However, my sister herself had no interest in my future. In fact, she had even dropped out of the affiliated university she went to, skipping the opportunity to graduate and suddenly went to study abroad in England despite not being able to speak English fluently(I truly think it's amazing that she later acquired English and enrolled in a local university). She was more like "my side" than anything.
My mind wasn't shaken by the words of the unenthusiastic spy, and in response to my sister, without much confidence, I apparently blurted out an impudent phrase "I don't feel like I'll fail." Among the forgettable words and actions of my younger self, that seemed to be the only thing I remembered. It's possible that there was a significantly different line of thinking harbored within me, deviating considerably from the existence of "me." Pure thoughts, when seen from the opposing side, are always labeled as "rebellion," even if it's not a rebellious phase or anything.
During the time when I made an outrageous declaration in front of my sister, I would listen to music flowing through the streets and think, "If it were me, I might be able to make this melody into something even better." Maybe, in order to make me step on the accelerator, God had given me the gift of "overconfidence." It was a truly frightening gift that could change my life, which hadn't even reached "zero" yet.
God, occasionally, could you lend me that overconfidence I had back then again?
To my former self at that time, I had yet to reach success or failure.
In the corner of my mind, I am still searching for the continuation of that "melody."
Original content in japanese from ddnavi (Japan IP only)
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