母は韓国から20歳の時に日本へ来ました。父は在日２世です。彼女は韓国で高校までの教育は受けてきました。しかし、当時の教育に人権理解、社会との繋がり、個人の幸せなどが入る余地はなかったのでしょう。もしあったとしてもそれは数限られた、安定し、高いレベルの教育を受けた者たちの特権だったのではないでしょうか。彼女が全く異なる文化・社会・言語を持つ日本に来て、どのように彼女自身を自覚していったのでしょうか。その時に助け、導いてくれる人は一人でもいたのでしょうか。傷はどんどん広がり、深まり、人格を変え、そしてその思いは娘３人たちへと引き継がれます。彼女は豊かな言語表現を通してではなく眼差しで、行動で、表情で、そして数少ない語彙を使ってどうにかしてコトバにしようとしたり、伝えることを諦めたりしながら時が過ぎていったのです。3人の娘は小さい頃は無意識に、しかし歳を重ねるにつれじわじわと悩み、考えるのです。 私は認識し始めました。知ること、学ぶこと、話すこと、経験すること、それらを使って何かが手遅れにならないように努力する意味があるのではないかと。〜押し寄せる様々な力が個人に圧力をかけます。しかしその力を吸収し異なる力に変えていくことができるかもしれない。〜

My mother came to Japan from Korea when she was 20 years old. My father is a second generation zainichi. She received her education up to high school in Korea. However, there was no room for understanding of human rights, connection with society, and individual happiness in the education at that time. If there was, it was the privilege of a limited number of people with a stable and high level of education. 　How did she come to Japan, a completely different culture, society, and language, and how did she come to realize who she was? Was there even one person who could help and guide her at that time? The wounds spread, deepened, and changed her personality, and her feelings were passed on to her three daughters. The three daughters are slowly and unknowingly troubled and thinking, not through the richness of language, but through their eyes, actions, facial expressions, and the few words they have in their vocabulary. 　As the years went by, I began to recognize that, in the end, it is the children who are the most important. Isn't there a point in striving to know, to learn, to speak, to experience, so that it is not too late to use them? Isn't there something we can do to make each person feel happy? We can absorb the various forces that come at us and sometimes run away from them. Isn't identity to speak in a person's own words about what makes them happy?