I was born into a family of four — my father, mother, younger sister, and me, the eldest son.
On the surface, we looked like an ordinary Japanese family.
But in reality, we were a small world of pride, tension, and quiet chaos.
My Father
My father was a self-employed taxi driver.
During Japan’s bubble economy, business was good — so good that he even paid off our home loan completely.
He came from a wealthy family, and maybe because of that, he carried a strong sense of pride.
He was gentle toward his children, but with my mother, he often seemed tired — quietly accepting her strong opinions, even when they were unreasonable.
He always loved to drink.
Even before the bubble burst, alcohol was part of his daily routine — a small comfort at the end of a long day behind the wheel.
But after the economic collapse, that casual drink turned into dependence.
He began drinking more often, sometimes even before driving.
Looking back, it’s a miracle he never caused a serious accident.
Still, there was something good in him that never disappeared.
When my son — his first grandchild — was born, he suddenly stopped drinking as much.
Perhaps he didn’t want to meet his grandson while intoxicated.
When he saw my boy, his small eyes, once sharp and watchful, vanished into the light of his smile.
He adored his grandson — though he never held him in his arms.
Maybe his legs, weakened by an old injury, made it hard for him to lift a child.
Or maybe he simply no longer trusted his own strength.
I’ll never know now.
My Mother
My mother worked hard, but she had her own struggles — maybe a light gambling addiction, though we didn’t call it that back then.
When she was in a bad mood, no one could talk to her — not me, not my sister, and certainly not my father.
She wasn’t raised in wealth, so when my father was earning a lot during the bubble years, she tended to spend rather than save.
Even though we could have built a strong financial base, most of the money was gone.
My mother had a sharp tongue — but she also had a strong will.
In her own way, she was trying to survive, even if it meant arguing every day.
As I grew older, I realized she was fighting loneliness more than anything else.
My Sister
My younger sister inherited my mother’s fiery personality.
She was emotional, quick to argue, and full of energy.
She often clashed with my mother, but deep down, they were very much alike — both strong, both stubborn, both survivors.
Eventually, my sister married a man who turned out to be one of the kindest people I’ve ever known — patient, calm, and understanding.
To be honest, I think he’s the only kind of man who could have handled her.
Looking Back
My childhood was far from peaceful.
But even in that noisy house, there were moments of warmth — like the sound of my father’s taxi pulling into the driveway, or the smell of gasoline that lingered in the air.
Somehow, cars became my comfort — machines that never lied, never shouted, never judged.
They responded honestly to how you treated them.
And that simple truth would later save my life.
Next Episode → Episode 02: My Father’s Taxi and My Mother’s Gamble
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