Musuta Kusaka's Everyday Journey with Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion in Japan

My wife was watching a dark movie early in the morning.
A woman who lost both her child and her husband. A man who supports her life, but has a secret.

The TV screen showed the happy daily life of the two of them, quietly and ephemerally. “He’s so handsome, even if he drives a light truck, he’s still handsome,” my wife praised the actor with abusive words.

It was the first time I’d met someone who found a connection between the type of car and the driver’s face. Watching a movie with her is always a fresh experience.
That being said, this movie is too heavy for an early morning movie. I couldn’t stand the realistic acting, so I decided to go for a walk in the nearby park.

In spring, the park is bustling as a famous cherry blossom viewing spot. Passing through the trees that surround the grounds, a vast expanse of grass emerges. I saw people in uniforms heading to school. A man in a suit raced by on a bicycle. I could hear saxophone practice. I passed people walking their dog and was overtaken by a runner. Everyone seemed to have something to do. Being on paid leave, I felt a comfortable sense of being left behind by the rest of the world.

Ah. There he was. He was there on weekdays, too. A grey cap. A navy blue blouson. Grey slacks. Black sneakers. He was so plain that he actually stood out in the park in the morning.

There is a famous man in this park. Although I say famous, he is only famous in my family. He is commonly known as the “Paper Plane Man”. As his name suggests, he always flies paper airplanes. Whenever we visit the park on the weekend, he is always there. Oh, he is there on weekdays too. And even at this early hour. Every time

I see him, he flies a different type of paper airplane, but on this day, he was flying a type of airplane for the enjoyment of distance. The man stared at the airplane in his hands for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the sky. Then he swung his arms in a javelin-throwing form, taking one, two, three steps as he ran up. His feet rose high behind him, and his heels pointed to the sky. In return, his follow-through, using his entire upper body, was large and deep. It was more like his head was plunging into the ground than his arms. The man immediately raised his torso and looked for the airplane in the sky. The series of movements was sophisticated.

After the airplane reached its highest altitude, it lost its strength and descended. Just as I thought that, the nose of the plane lifted and the wings caught the wind. The trajectory changed to horizontal. It looked like it would continue flying until it crashed into the trees. A steep ascent followed by a stable trajectory. I want to draw a beautiful sales graph like that for our new product.
The sky was so blue that it looked like it would dye the paper airplane. I realized that it had been a long time since I had looked up at the sky.

The man held the brim of his cap between his fingers and jogged off after the plane. Impressive. I left his heroic figure behind and continued my walk. I wonder what his job is. Playing with paper airplanes in the morning is surely a rich life. A hobby that plays with the sky and wind. Good taste.

Wait a sec. Maybe it’s not play. It’s part of the job. What if it’s practice, or a test of a prototype or something?
If so, it’s a job that you can devote yourself to on weekdays and weekends. The tools of the trade are the sky and the wind. Isn’t that even more wonderful? A paper pilot. No, is there a market for such a thing in Japan? The world is large. His field of activity may be overseas. In that case, his job title is also in English. He is a paper pilot. Somehow, he suddenly became unreliable. I don’t have the courage to ask him “What do you do for a living?” But maybe he is actually a professional in something. Even so, the sky is beautiful.

People say “empty your mind,” but can people really not think about anything? I can’t. Whatever I do, work-related worries, problems, and resentment all come into my head. The best way to change my mind is to think differently from usual, with a different thought process. This morning I was on the old man’s channel. It took 50 minutes to go around the park. That’s too long for an old man like me to think about a paper airplane old man I don’t even know. Before I knew it, I was back at the starting point.

The movie must be at the end of its run by now. It must be getting close to a good part. This blue sky and that climax. I don’t think my heart can keep up with the difference.
Above all, my wife will be angry if I get distracted. “Think about the timing,” she said. So I decided to go around the park again.

The man was still at it. In the same place as before. This time he was using a launcher that looked like a rubber band attached to the end of a chopstick. It was similar to what we would call a slingshot today, but what the Showa generation would call pachinko. He hooked the plane onto the rubber band and pulled as hard as he could. The angle of fire was nearly 90 degrees, in other words, straight up. Like drawing a bow at the sun. Then it stopped. In that moment of tension, knowing that if he didn’t let go quickly, it would snap, when… whoosh. The man flew the plane. More than flying it, he launched it.

The plane rose vertically and then turned around from the stratosphere. It made a large spiral as if it was about to land, and then it glide leisurely. A man in a gray cap was watching the plane. His navy blue jacket was puffing up in the wind. It was in the air for a long time. I see. That plane is the type that enjoys the strangeness of its trajectory.

A straight line cut across the spiral of the plane. It wasn’t a bird. It was another paper plane. “Huh?” I blurted out. I looked around. I was looking for the takeoff point for the second plane.

“Huh? Huh?” I asked, standing at the base of a tree a short distance away. There was an old man there. A grey cap. A navy blue blouson. Grey slacks. He came running up to us, chasing the plane. His shoes were black. And these? Ah. Brown. The old men were wearing twin outfits. Their shoes made them stand out.

An old man stands watching over the plane. An old man chases after the plane. The multiverses intersect. “How is it?” “Yes.” It was a short greeting, reminiscent of a pilot’s salute.

From there, the two of them read the wind, reported the condition of the aircraft to each other, praised each other for their dexterity, were humble, and adjusted the folding of the paper, while flying the plane again and again. The May wind continues to blow. Waves of light run across the grass. I cut off the second lap and headed for home.

The same hobby, the same place, the same time. And almost the same clothes. What kind of relationship do they have? Teammates. Paper airplane buddies. Local friends. Neighbors. Just acquaintances. Lovers. Maybe it’s none of these. Maybe it’s a combination of both. I know it’s just a nasty guess, but I can’t help thinking about it as I walk along.

I have never seen them together in the park on weekends.
It’s not just the old men. There are families enjoying themselves. Lively groups of friends. Couples kissing. I don’t remember seeing a couple of men enjoying their day off in a park crowded with many people. I’ve heard that
this park is famous for its cherry blossoms, but also for gay people at night. If that’s true, it would be natural
for there to be gay couples enjoying the blue sky, or rather, for there to be many other people, not just gays.

I don’t know about the relationship between the old men. There’s no reason to know. Other people’s assumptions and categorizations are violence, and giving names to people without permission is out of the question.

But. I’m sure a park where relationships like theirs can be seen everywhere would be comfortable. Especially for me, who has dismissed the richness of unnamed relationships as irrational.
Many people are spending their time with their loved ones in their own way. I would like to take my loved ones to such a place.

As expected, when I got home, the movie was just about to reveal the man’s secret.
And my wife was sleeping. Her surprise was even more than the movie’s.
The lace curtains were fluttering in the wind. When I put the blanket on my stomach, my wife snored loudly.