After taking a month and a half off from writing, I missed several messages along the way.
“I’m truly sorry.”
One of those messages was from someone facing indictment, much like I once did.
I initially began writing to share my experiences with others. However, I’ve never tried to force anyone to read them. In fact, my Notion account is set to private, so it’s not searchable. I find little value in sharing my experiences with the general public in Japan, where sensitivity toward gambling ethics, risk awareness, and anti-money laundering is virtually absent. I simply don’t have the fortitude to try to plant seeds in unprepared soil.
There’s a part of me that pretends not to care if I’m read, claiming a kind of noble independence. And yet, getting messages from readers reminds me that I do care—I am grateful, in fact, to know my words reach others. Imagining the people reading my words makes it easier to keep going, and my fingers start dancing over the keys again.
Sometimes, I think words are a kind of magic.
Even a small whisper can become a spark, driving conversations and spreading outwards.
Even a common person like me, even one selfish remark, can get picked up and read by someone.
I’ve declared before that I’d write daily, only to falter and stop—especially this time, with a break that stretched to a month and a half. Writing articles that might never find readers is exhausting, like stumbling in the dark.
But it seems a bit of magic has been at work after all. I didn’t realize people were reading and responding.
For those facing similar hardships, for the police continuing their investigations, and for the prosecutors and judges who approach their roles with pride, I want to convey my story with fairness.
I’ll admit, it’s been incredibly tough adjusting back to normal life outside of jail, which I’ve discussed in other articles for those interested.
If there’s one reason I keep writing, it’s a singular, distilled purpose.
It’s for my beloved son. When he grows up and learns of his father’s past, I want him to understand this chapter of my life accurately. I want him to know what happened, what I thought, and how I acted.
I don’t want to be remembered as just a disappointing father.
One day, when he learns of these events, he might criticize me, now or decades from now.
But if he can learn from what happened, then I’ve done something right.
Today, I realize I didn’t even use the Notion AI subscription I paid for to write this article. Maybe those who truly love to write don’t need it.
Recorded on November 10, 2024
Comments