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A junior high school student from a poor family who had nowhere to belong, neither at school nor at home. The reason I regained myself was writing essays at school. What do today’s controversialists think about the power of words? > He studied on his own with a “second-hand 1-yen” reference book he bought on Amazon, and went on to college after a lot of hard work. There is a controversialist in his 20s who has continued to send out information while repaying scholarships after entering society. Mr. Hioka is a writer who has been in the limelight with his first book “I’m dying but I’m alive” (CCC Media House).[Related article]When he writes about poverty, he receives a lot of vicious DMs. He couldn’t buy a uniform in this Japanese society. What I couldn’t attend to my limit and cram school. I couldn’t buy a computer to write reports at university… Based on this experience, he positively calls out, “Let’s pay attention to the pain of someone who may be right next to you, and let’s all make society easier to live.” When I was in junior high school, I had no place to live. Mr. Hioka, who says that he was saved by organizing and expressing his thoughts with words, what do you think about words now that SNS is at its peak? Excerpt from “I feel like I’m dying but I’m alive” Essay written in the counseling room I wanted to go to a soft place. A world where you can feel at ease, where you can’t look at me with ridicule and contempt. In a warm place where there is no hatred or animosity. Exercise, events, and casual chatter in the classroom. A junior high school life that gives up all such youth and focuses only on survival ends in a repetition of lukewarm days. that’s what I thought. One day in the third year of junior high school, an essay assignment came up. It was written by all the students in the prefecture, and it was said that the students in the counseling room must also submit it (Editor’s note: the counseling room was the place I used to go to instead of school). Why would only the teacher read it anyway? With that in mind, I wrote candidly about the process from being bullied to not attending school, the days at the free school, and the interaction with the friends who supported my life in the counseling room. After a while, the homeroom teacher came. “Your essay has been selected. You will enter the prefectural competition.” I was selected as a representative to participate in the prefectural speech contest. He told me to practice in preparation for the upcoming competition. The city where the speech contest is held changes every year. That year, the venue was in the city next to my junior high school. If it is held in this area, students from the same school will come to hear it. But it’s held in the city next door, so no one I know will come. Then let’s get out. I thought so for some reason. At that time, I was not particularly aware that I liked writing. Once, I was asked to imitate a poem in a textbook and compare myself to something to express my feelings. I compared myself to the sky. “I feel like I’m dying but I’m alive” by Hioka CCC Media House (*Click the image to jump to Amazon) ===== I’m empty. Change your facial expression. What I see is only a part of the vast sky. I wrote that. Ever since I was bullied, I’ve been living a life of deceit, pushing myself down and pushing myself down like a changed person. But I’m not what everyone thinks I am. I have more emotions and more abilities. “A disgusting guy who was bullied and stopped going to school”. That’s not the real me. I think I put a small cry that never comes out into the poem. The poem was posted on the wall of the classroom, but no one would have noticed it. Her third-year homeroom teacher, who expressed herself in words and regained her place, did not give me special treatment because I was a “counseling room child”. When I entered the classroom, I was scolded for shortening her skirt length. Instead of treating her like a boil, she felt that she was treating her like any other child. When the poem was posted, it was the homeroom teacher who said, “You wrote it properly, so be proud. It’s okay to have it posted.” The teacher only knew me, a feeble me since I stopped going to school and lived out of sight. Despite this, I didn’t worry at all about suddenly appearing in the prefectural speech contest. My teacher trusts me that everything will be fine. I felt like that. As soon as she was selected to participate in the speech contest, she memorized the entire manuscript. And I repeated the training to put my emotions into it. Reproduce yourself on the stage in your head. For the performance, an audience of 500 gathered in the hall. The only acquaintance I have is the homeroom teacher who accompanied me. The tension that made her stomach hurt disappeared five minutes before her turn and turned into excitement. get on stage. Keep an eye on your audience. Power surges from the depths of your body. On stage, I let out the emotions that I had suppressed for three years and hit everything. There was no trace of me hiding my breath, avoiding people’s eyes. Words vibrate. I could feel my words swell like waves and reach the audience. You can clearly see that the mass of energy that is invisible but definitely exists swims through the venue with words. The daily routine of going to school was taken away. But this moment, this space, this word. No one can take this away. mine only. He spoke as if possessed by something. Even after I got off the stage, my body was hot inside and my hands were trembling with excitement. ===== Oh, I’ve been pushing myself down and pretending for 3 years. Because I couldn’t live without it. Every move he made was ridiculed, he was despised, and his existence was shunned. “I want more. Eventually, he forgot to even show it, and became dull in expressing his emotions. The shell that I intentionally made to suppress myself and not get hurt was thick and hard. But I definitely had the words. I have endless feelings. Now that I finally got it out, “Ah, I’m alive.” Yes, I felt it from the bottom of my heart. The homeroom teacher ran up and said. “I didn’t know you had such expressiveness. Some people were crying. Also, your parents are here to see you.” was During this period when I was bullied and didn’t go to school, I thought I was able to give back to my parents, who must have continued to bear indescribable suffering. This event left a deep impression on me of the power and joy of “expressing in words.” * Vol.2: Turning the sorrow and pain of others into a beautiful story, to disposable media[The danger of consuming emo: Part 2]”I’m dying but I’m alive” by Hioka CCC Media House (* Click the image to see Amazon.com) jump to) .

An essay that brought me out into the outside world as I was born in poverty and suffered from “bullying”[The danger of consuming emo: Part 1]

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