My fateful day came. I think that it was the thirtieth of October. I had received the important messages from my Mexican friends. I do not think that it was pure coincidence. I truly believe that the angels of heaven could not watch my sufferings any more up there, and finally, they decided to send my guardian angels to rescue me from my helpless tribulations. Escape from Japan had become my top priority since the day of my resolution, and I still did not have any idea then.
I woke up with repugnance to realize that I was still in Japan and took a shower to ready to march on the streets to cheer myself up. It is my habit to check my e-mail inbox with hope to receive good news before sailing out. My eyes were captured: Mission in Mexico on Christmas.
It was from my good friend Jorgito, and it said: “I have been doing very well, my friend, but I feel something missing. I have started my own business, and I do not have any complaints right now, but still something missing. I realized that it is you, Shogo. I have been thinking that Shogo is my good friend, and he is a good person. Why is he living in Japan, which is very far away from here? I thought that he has to stay with us to enjoy life together. In conclusion, I have conceived of a great idea. Shogo, why don’t you come to Mexico to stay with us for a while? I will look for a job for you if you need some money. The main thing is that we can enjoy our lives together. I have been thinking that you have good friends in Mexico: Gerardo, Ramon, and me. Also, you have many Mexican friends here. I am wondering if you have any good friends in Japan. You should stay away from Japan. As you know, my house is yours, so you do not worry about anything. I want you to come to Mexico. Of course, I miss you so much; however, the main reason is that I want you to write your book without worrying about anything. Think about my proposal seriously, my brother. I really wish that you will decide to come to Mexico in order to start writing your book!”
One thing is transparent: Even if I am not able to write anything in the next ten years, I refuse to give it up because I know from the bottom of heart: I am in love with writing. No women ever give me pleasure like the first time I laid my eyes on Mysteries. After every intense session with Hamsun, Miller, Hesse, or Dostoevsky, I cannot control my intoxication, I feel so alive, and I take a long walk in order to cool down my excitement. It is a wonderful time that I have passionately read their books to be instructed and educated; I have studied them assiduously even line by line in order to figure out the magic of their writing; I have searched in them so that I can understand the meaning of life. I want to write like them, which is constantly in my mind. Even if I am not able to write like them, I know that I have something to say to the world. I have borne beautiful music inside me. Even if it takes me more ten years to express myself and even if nobody cares about my work, I must express myself. I do not care for anything anymore. If people say that I am bizarre because I hate my own country, I will just shrug my shoulders as if I defiantly said, “So what?” I am uncivilized and do not belong to any organizations. I belong to myself and work for myself: Solo performance is my virtue! I treasure my individuality to the heavens. I know that this is the right thing to pursue and know that I am right because my heart tells me so. I refuse to be finished until I sing my own song. I still have not had the slightest idea how to escape from my helpless tribulations, but let me sing my own song one more time: the last desperate effort!”