Karin Noha was born and raised in Okinawa, Japan.
She is interested in pedagogical field and currently studies at Akita International University.
As her part of study journey in Akita, she engaged in a creative writing class in 2025 Fall.
I was spring
long before
Roots under
with morning sunlight
holding me tight.
Always there,
I never fell,
though I knew nothing.
I ran into summer
The wind is getting faster and louder.
The sweat, the breath, the shout
rushed through my eye veins.
The bitter green
has remained in my lungs
and still,
beats my heart.
I, then, wore fall
with a stylish coat.
It never became me.
It was gravity,
pressing down on my shoulders.
The warm sunlight filters through the leaves, burning my ear.
The wind I once chased sighs the leaves into the air, forming a runway.
They are all telling me it’s time to go.
But, I can’t fly yet,
Why do people take everything
all of a sudden?
There is no winter
but another morning
keeps coming to me.
Again and again, and again.
I was spring.
That Sunday. It was a strange day.
I remember almost nothing from my childhood.
It is so weird how the day sticks in my mind after all these years.
Autumn just around the corner, summer waving goodbye. The sun stained the trees on the sidewalk deep orange–- a quiet proof of its being there, before the moon took its place. It was such a perfect day to play outside, but my mom took me somewhere else. Somewhere I didn’t quite understand. Very quiet place.
On our way home. Just the two of us, mom and me.
I asked her to play Gulico, a game I’d just learned in kindergarten. Just because I wanted to stay outside a little bit longer.
Jankenpon!
Mom beat me with a rock.
“Gu-li-co.”
She took three steps ahead. Each one looked very huge and heavy to me, somehow.
Jankenpon!
I threw paper, beat her rock.
“I won this time! Look at me taking huuuuuge six pineapple steps!
PA-I-NA-TSU-PU-RU!”
Knees bent, putting all the power I had.
Then, next Jankenpon.
Me, paper. She, rock.
Again. I took the big six steps.
“PA-I-NA-TSU-PU-RU!”
Way ahead of her now.
Rock.
Rock.
Rock.
She threw rock, every single time.
“PA-I-NA-TSU-PU-RU!”
Our distance, further and further, each time.
“Mom! You suck at this!”
I turned back. She was far behind me.
A tear drop fell from her cheek. With her both hands curled, stiff, rock. Just a little bit, trembling. I thought she was upset about losing the game.
I was wrong, but I see it now, Mom.
Can’t help throwing rock, to my little boy.
On our way home,
from mom’s funeral.
A silent night.
My every single breath coming out from my motor inside echos through the kitchen room.
I keep working always alone in here, even after everyone goes to sleep.
I have spent many seasons with them.
The kids love to eat watermelons, the summer.
The smell of stew always made me happy, the winter.
The mother used to put lots of kids’ paintings,
the magnets from their vacation trips, and shopping notes on me.
Their colors have faded so much now,
but I still hold on to them,
not to drop all those precious pieces of memories.
Night by night, I realize that I started to sound rougher and heavier.
It seems like I couldn’t freeze time.
“Maybe we should get a new one.” Said the father, this morning.
So I groaned, with all my strength.
Late that night,
the silence embraced me.
“We officially decided to implement an euthanasia system.”
The announcement, made by the president at the time on a live broadcast, shocked the entire nation. The euthanasia system was introduced in the country to tackle the extreme aging population it has been facing for decades. Years and years, we had been losing hope. In the hospitals, the old who had no one to take care of were left, having nothing to do besides just to eat and sleep until God decides to end their lives. Schools were starting to be closed and replaced with retirement homes one by one each year, still, there were overflowing. The neighborhoods were silent, just like during the pandemic. Many young people gave up seeing the country and left it entirely behind. We were literally decaying. We could tell that from the people’s eyes. All we could see in them were dark, black shades. They all were ready to be swallowed in the darkness, it seemed to be too late.
The birth rate ー the percentage of childbirth per population. So, the idea was that if the total population number goes down, the birthrate relatively goes up. Of course, the announcement of this decision to introduce the system received many criticisms.
“Our population is decreasing already! It’s just gonna accelerate population shrink!”
“What the hell are you politicians thinking to introduce a system to suggest people to die!”
“This is so immoral!”
The president responded to these criticisms, very simply.
“I’m not telling you to die. You are provided with more choices. As well as the right to live, I respect the choice to end the life on their own.”
This euthanasia process was conducted only under either of the conditions:
Those who are 60 years old or more.
Those who have the agreement from at least two blood or legal relations.
With these restrictions, young people would at least be unable to choose euthanasia, which was the only point some voices showed approval for this system. Numerous debates filled the six months between the initial announcement and the actual launch.
The first case of this system was actually performed by the president, by himself. He asked for no ceremony, no speeches, no applause. But just a quiet and peace moment. His left a final message to the people with shaky lines.
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Dear my people,
We’ve watched so much suffering of this country. People were dying without dignity. I’ve asked myself again and again and again. What the government can do, what I can do for this country. And, I thought we should give the people choices. Real choices. I strongly refuse to leave my life in fear and with pain. Now, in this country, you have now been given the right to choose death. But this country, where death is a choice, truly seeks those who are brave enough to choose life instead. May our youth, living in the edge of death, drive this country forward. Live bravely, my fellow citizens.
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