Lines from the story<br /><br />I once worked for a major trading company and <br />lived a flashy life.<br /><br />I bragged to my mother, Mitsuko, on the phone <br />almost every night.<br /><br />“Mom, I'll make your life comfortable. I'll <br />take care of you in your old age, so don't <br />worry,” I boasted.<br /><br />But the gears of the times began to go haywire <br />a few years ago.<br /><br />A sudden global recession struck, stock prices <br />plummeted, and companies went bankrupt one after <br />another.<br /><br />Japan was swallowed up in the vortex, <br />unemployment hitting record highs.<br /><br />The streets grew deserted, people walking with <br />eyes that had lost their future.<br /><br />I lost my job. I couldn't find another one, my <br />savings ran dry, and I got kicked out of my <br />apartment.<br /><br />Enduring hunger and cold, I finally resolved to <br />return to my parents' home.<br /><br /><br />Clutching a single tattered bag, I headed for <br />home as if fleeing.<br /><br />“...I'm home,” I announced in a barely audible <br />voice.<br /><br />My mother emerged from the old house. Her hair <br />seemed grayer, and she looked a little smaller <br />somehow.<br /><br />The room was unchanged from before. The worn low <br />table, the sun-faded family photo, and that <br />somehow nostalgic smell.<br /><br />But my heart was filled not with peace, but with <br />guilt.<br /><br />I expected to be scolded. I braced myself for <br />cold words like, “What nerve you have to show <br />your face back here now.”<br /><br />In this recession, an unemployed son moving back <br />in could only be a nuisance.<br /><br />Yet, my mother asked nothing about my failures, <br />my setbacks, or the gap in my life.<br /><br /><br />She just looked at my filthy shoes, said simply, <br />“Welcome home,” and smiled quietly.<br /><br />That evening's dinner. On the old wooden table <br />sat steaming miso soup and slightly charred <br />grilled fish.<br /><br />And in front of me lay a pair of unfamiliar <br />“new chopsticks.”<br /><br />She must have gone out of her way to buy them...<br /><br />Looking at those chopsticks... I could barely hold <br />back my tears...<br /><br />I couldn't even say “Let's eat” or “Thank you <br />for the meal.”<br /><br />I ate, savoring each and every bit of my mother's <br />kindness.<br /><br />It felt like she was saying, “You can stay here <br />forever”...<br /><br />And the moment my mother went into the kitchen to <br />clean up,<br /><br />the tears I'd been holding back until just then <br />poured out like a waterfall.
