Time of the child

When writing essays, as expected, it had better take background music. When the situation deviates from a subject intending to write it, it is serious. Inside of my head goes here and there and my sentences become chaotic. And I cause dizziness when keeping writing. 　
My concentration as I was young becomes decline. Any Children has powers that any boring rubbishes can change to something treasure. Believed the world has spread unlimitedly.
I felt scared no matter how soothe and humor the adult might be. It was hate. This and that I think about the child's time....
When I played the toy of the house with my niece, she told me
"I’m entering into this house!"
There were doors and windows on the wall of 30 centimeters every direction. My niece pressed the intercom. And I gave say "Ting-a-ling" because the toy did not make a sound. She thought of herself the resident of the house.
"Who is it?” Please enter.”
Then, she stood up and, got into the house of the telephone card size as if she was a dwarf. She was soaked in the world of the story to the full. There was not the size of the toy in her eyes.
“Ah!” I said, so she pulled herself together. We rolled laughingly together. That is she was three years.
By the way, it is coming a month of Christmas. At last ginkgo avenue of the Meiji-Jingu-Gaien turn red and yellow from last week. 　
I remember that I went with my niece last autumn. They like leaves and nuts, so walked around and picked them up. Therefore a day completely went down when we returned to the house.
The time of the child never run out.
Christmas comes soon! Christmas is not a thing only for the children. “Christmas Carols" of Dickens is the story that Scrooge of the chief character, is picked out his past crime.
In bustle of the December, we feel seem to be some him. Finally the thing left to him might be time of the child?

The Reconstruction of Kobe

I thought it would be a good chance to visit Kobe, so I got off the train there on my way to Kyushu and went to Nagata area.
I couldn’t imagine how bad the tragedy for the town had been after it was hit by the earthquake two years ago. The only old building which had been built before the earthquake was Nagata-Shinto shrine. Because it had been built far away from other buildings, it wasn’t burnt. There were only apartments there which had been built rapidly and easily－they were not designed well and built only to live in.
In front a long wall being built, a worker with a helmet was leading a truck. Looking at the barrack stores easy constructed after earthquake, I remembered the news of the earthquake.
But I thought the people who lived in Kobe when I rode with the subway looked normal. Most of people must be mentally injured, but I couldn’t seem any feeling so tragic and awful on their figures. I thought our mental injuries come up and heal under the disguise of ordinary life.
When I was walking in the center of the town for a few minutes, I couldn’t stop weeping because I felt that the little town Kobe was going to reconstruct for a new hopeful future. I had been confused about everything because I had been weary of the daily life in Tokyo and I had often felt negative. But I was encouraged by the town. I felt it said I wasn’t the only one who felt pain and it was great that I could come here.
“Why is a person born? What is the energy for living?”
I couldn’t get the answer, no matter how I kept thinking. But I could solve the questions as if the window of Kyushu-Nippo-main line.
“There is no answer. It is only important that you think about it.”
It seemed somebody answered this to me over the quiet Japanese mountains outside the train window.
“Yes, if you feel stressed you have to travel, don’t you?” I whispered to MOMO― the heroine of the nursery story written by Michael Ende．

My Music Trip

Are there many ways to sing? I can't understand either Japanese popular songs, or rock, when I watch them on television. It seems so different from the family chorus that I sang in at my mother' home and the vocal method, Tomatis and a classical singing method that I learned at the music school that I have been studying at since last autumn. It is best to have the most comfortable singing experience with oneself, but I’m confused now.
My persistent pursuit of music began in fifth grade. My teacher, Ms. Fumiko Matsuzaki, was in charge of the upper-grades music classes.
The level of the music class at my elementary school was high. And we finished weekly the assembly with the drum and fife marching band.
This drum and fife band was made up of students of the sixth grade. However, I’ve felt regret when Mrs.Matuszaki selected members of the percussion instrument group.
"You are good!" Though I was praised by some of my classmates, and I was confident I would to be chosen, I was not. I wondered if she might have had some kind of unstated reason for not choosing me.
My homeroom teacher sympathized with me and prepared the post of the vice-leader. However, I still wanted to play an instrument with musical sounds no matter what.
I couldn’t say so, though, and on the day of the ceremony I ran a fever and had to be put in bed for the whole morning.
Anyway, from next week, I began to play a recorder as a member of the main group.
Although it seemed that others were trying to degrade and look down on me, I ignored them. My recorder was my only small anchor through that time of my life. I entrusted myself completely to my dream of melody and music!
After school there was a special class, the Shibuya-ward’s boy and girl’s wind instrument music school, for 3 or 4 specially chosen students at my school. The special class is open to fifth and sixth graders. I really wanted to participate, so in the sixth grade I applied by myself and was accepted.
The clear tone of the flute to hear through my hearing aid was comfortable in my ear, despite the effort of filtering not only noise but people’s voices which were louder than required.
　 After graduation from elementary school, I entered the private junior high school in Yokohama, and continued going to the music school, until I was second year at high school, one way nearly 2 hours.
There was a misunderstanding in my junior high school and high school, because I had difficulty hearing. Though I was in favor with the teacher of the music class, I was removed from the chorus just before a chorus festival of senior high school because of the prejudice of some of my classmates.
I acted as if I didn’t mind it too much, because I felt responsibility about myself “I cannot hear so well." But in fact, I was considerably hurt.
Afterwards, when it came time to enter university, I came to feel a kind of fear at the standard way of thinking which equates deafness with art school.
　On one day while silently painting my art works, I thought "I won’t be able to do music any more…” and became discouraged about taking the entrance examination for a university of arts. The idea that I wanted to continue music became my motivation for escaping from the route for an examination for university of arts.
I always want to maintain my concern with "hearing”. Therefore, it was quite natural that I chose as the theme of my graduation thesis “music workshop and musical therapy” when I was a Women’s University student.
Playing music with hearing handicapped children for ten years was enough to heal those inner hurts which had come from various misunderstanding that I received doing music.
I’ll write about these activities again, but the knowledge of music and the musical therapy that I learned through my graduation thesis opened a new way on a life trip with music. Even now I study vocal music, and through my study I hope to newly discover my own special music center within.
As a substitute for sleeping pills when my insomnia was terrible, I sang songs from my elementary school music textbook and "Catholic hymns" (Komei-sha). 　But I recently I have realized that the human body seems to change with age. 　I’ve gradually came to not sing when I stick to my former style.
　The music is the same as a prayer. I sing again and again, and sing newly every day, dedicate new song for only that day. The temporary work of singing, because I don’t need to drag it out to the next day, gives me another kind of enjoyment, being different from drawing paintings.
Because I can hear only my own voice well and I can’t hear television and the music of CD’s too clearly, anyway, I keep singing out aloud by myself. Because I can never do mimicry, I sing in my original style. Frankly, I feel it is a little sad and lonely. But, anyway, because there is nothing to disturb or block it, I can soak myself in my own rich world of imagination.
"Music, music", somebody murmurs in the depths of my ears and my heart.
Would that be I, myself who was young when I lost my hearing ability on that far-off day?