I have several memories from when I was a baby.
The first time my parents took me to the beach, the shore was overflowing with people. My mother held me in her arms and carried me down to the water's edge.
The sound of so many voices filled my ears all at once. I remember thinking,
"I should cry,"
and so I did.
Years later, when I looked through our family photo album, I discovered I was only four months old.
That same summer, we went out with my cousins.
They placed me inside a toy baby stroller meant for dolls, laughing with delight as they said, "Sacchan fits inside!"
Everyone was smiling.
I remember thinking,
"Everyone is so happy. They're all having such a wonderful time."
Whenever my family played with me or tried to make me smile, I felt happy too, simply because they looked so happy. I remember thinking, "They're enjoying spending time with me," and that alone filled my heart with joy.
Because both of my parents worked, I spent most of my days with my grandparents.
One day, my grandmother carried me upstairs to my baby bed.
At that age, I often played by making little fists with my hands, stretching my arms out, and bringing my fists together in front of me over and over. I loved doing that by myself.
After she laid me down in bed, I started playing that little game again.
Watching me, she smiled and said,
"What a restless child you are."
Even though I was only a baby, I remember thinking,
"Grandma... you shouldn't say things like that about someone."
I also remember every detail of the house as she carried me upstairs.
I knew there was a milk can sitting on top of the sewing machine.
I knew where each chest of drawers stood.
I remember the colors and textures of the carpets and curtains.
Much later, when I began telling my parents about these memories, they found it hard to believe that I could remember so much from infancy.
When I described the layout of the house and everything I had seen, they were astonished because every detail was exactly as it had been.
Another day, I was in the living room while my grandmother was preparing dinner in the kitchen.
My aunt had come to visit.
My grandmother asked her to change my diaper.
She carried me into the tatami room next to the living room, laid me down on a cushion in front of the alcove, and began changing me.
As I bent one of my legs and moved, my diaper shifted out of place.
My aunt lightly slapped my leg and said,
"You're a bad girl!"
I remember feeling deeply shocked.
In that instant, I believed,
"I'm a bad girl."
That thought stayed somewhere inside me for many years.
Only much later in life did I finally understand where it had come from.
Adults often assume that babies don't understand what is happening around them.
Because of that, they sometimes say things without thinking.
Whether babies consciously remember those moments or not, I believe they understand far more than we imagine.
They absorb everything like little sponges.
Because this was simply my own experience, whenever I was with my sons—or with any baby—I always treated them as though they understood everything.
I believed,
"They simply can't speak yet. But they know."
Ever since I was a baby, I also remember something very clearly.
When the people around me were happy, I felt happy too.
When they were sad, I felt sad as well.
From the bottom of my heart, I wished for my family and everyone around me to live joyful, fulfilling lives.
I remember feeling that with complete clarity.
We are far more than we realize.