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Perfect score, 100 points. I listened to Tamaki-san's song a lot earlier. When singing a song, I always try to imagine the situation for myself. It’s always like that. I’ve liked this song by Tamaki-san for a long time, and long ago I looked into the background of it, though I’m a bit fuzzy on it now. Back then, the band Safety Zone had been formed, and I think they lived together. Because of the times, they were very poor and had nothing but their songs. Still, it seems like they had fun in their own way. It's a song sung for old friends, the band members, and family from that time.

For me, I've never created a song together with anyone. The common point is just that there was music. But when I think, "For Noah, what was that time like, when there was nothing else but we still had fun?"... to say that I don't really have memories of having that kind of fun might sound a bit dark. Wait, is that too deep? It was an era and an environment where, even with nothing, things were fun. Amazing. So, wondering what that would be for me, I thought about it. I'm not the type to show off or talk much about myself, but there was one child who knew everything—my way of thinking, my family, my environment. A child who knew lived nearby, and I always went home with that child.

But I didn't want to go home, and that child was the same. That child, too, would say things like, "Yeah, I don't really want to go home." Even though we were right in front of the house, I had to be inside before the evening bell finished ringing, or I'd be scolded terribly. The moment that bell ended, it was over. It was a despairing kind of anger, enough to make me think, "It's over, my life is over." It was because of worry. Yes, because of being worried.

This is because of knowing what it's like overseas; the fear that getting dark meant being taken away. That kind of meaning. Being told things like, "You are blessed. But in that world, there are scary things, and you never know when something could happen." There was such intense worry, so that rule was set in stone. That's why, until the bell finished ringing, I would sit on the stairs in front of the house with that friend. In front of us were rice paddies, and while watching the sun go down, we would just talk. I don't really remember the content of our conversations. We had pointless talks, but we also talked about things like, "What's an easy way to die without bothering people?" until the bell rang. We talked about heavy topics like that, but also about the bento that day, or how a certain teacher was funny, or about a teacher with a strange habit. I would tally their weird habits in a notebook. We talked broadly like that, the two of us, before the sunset-dyed rice fields.

That was so much fun. Yes, it was a release. At school, I was the perfect honor student, the type who always thought about my position in a group and acted accordingly. Like, "Here, Noah is the ditzy one who gets teased, and that’s how things work," or, "Here, I’m the straight man." "This is how I act in front of teachers, and this is how I act in front of my parents." But in that place, and only in that place, was it possible to talk my heart out. So that was incredibly fun. That’s a memory from when I was little. Around third or fourth grade. The conversations with no substance are what I remember.

Yes, it’s a matter of the country. If you don't have a Japanese sensibility, that's how it is. In Japan, you might think, "Isn't that a little too strict?" but over there, that's how it is. As I think I mentioned a little while ago when talking about Mama Pola, when the sun went down, it was a place where guerrilla fighters would fire on houses with their lights on. Because Mama Pola and Papa Pola lived in a place like that. Of course, when it gets dark, being anxious that a cute daughter isn't home… that makes sense. I have only seen peaceful Japan, so I used to feel a certain way about it. But now, understanding that it was for my own sake... that kind of pressure existed. And that's what that time was for me. Imagining "those days" for myself brings me back to when I was small.