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

Dormant memories suddenly come back to me. I can even remember the sound of the wind blowing at the time, and the scent. I feel that being able to have such an experience is one of the joys of appreciating a painting.

The other day, I went to a solo exhibition by an illustrator named Moriuo. The title was “Loneliness and Joy.” It was held at Platform3, a bookstore in Higashi-Nakano, Tokyo, which is like a secret base.

Many of the illustrations on display were done in soft colors and with a soft touch. The nearly 20 works told the story of a boy who hides the fact that he is gay after a certain incident, and then as a young man, is driven by love again, and the love bears fruit.

A love story and a coming-of-age story. Warm, fresh, and somewhat ephemeral. The style of the work makes you want to stay in that world forever.

And then, the moment I looked at one of them, I was taken back to an after-school day long ago. That was this piece.

Two young men sitting across from each other at desks in a classroom. I once came across this exact scene.

Thirty years ago, the high school I attended was an all-boys school.

M and I were trying to carry some lumber from the warehouse to the classroom in preparation for the school festival. We were carrying two lumber on each shoulder, and when we turned around, we accidentally bumped someone. We had a hard time turning in the hallway without bumping into other students.

When we finally arrived at the classroom, the door was closed. However, there was a hint of someone inside. It must be T and T-kun. M and I, clinging to wishful thinking, shouted, “T! T-kun! Open the door!”

T and T-kun were best friends recognized by the class. T was chubby and cheerful, while T-kun was gentle with round glasses. The two of them became close because they sat near each other in alphabetical order. They hung out together as if they were creating their own world, and they seemed distant from everyone else. They were unusually gifted students for our school, so they may have thought that they couldn’t be friends with us, whose deviation scores were only as high as Nomo’s jersey number. After school, the two of them would always stay in the classroom and do their homework, sitting next to each other. It was a daily scene in the class.

As expected, it was T who opened the poorly fitted door. T was looking over his shoulder at me. “Please, help me a bit. It’s heavy. It hurts. I can’t get it in.” “Oh. Oh.” With T and T-kun helping M and I carry each of our pieces of timber, we were finally able to carry it into the classroom. “You really saved me. Thank you. I thought I was going to break my collarbone.”

After unpacking, M took out some Pocky from his school bag, and the four of us reached into the box and ate it. It was the sweetest thing for us growing up. We talked about trivial things with T and T-kun. They knew everything from history to games and TV shows. And they had a unique sense of humor. For a moment, the four of us were laughing out loud.

Laughing, M and I realized. T and T were the only ones in the classroom. And the two of them were sitting by the wall, facing each other at their desks. Just like in the picture.

After M shot the empty Pocky box into the trash, he left the classroom saying, “Sorry for bothering you.” I followed him.

What did M think he had interrupted? I had no intention of assuming anything about their relationship. However, the tranquil atmosphere that surrounded the classroom made it clear that the moment when everyone had disappeared was a precious one for them.

The wind from the window rustled the curtains. The smell of something burning in the incinerator and the scent of osmanthus. As I headed towards the entrance, I imagined T and T sitting face to face at their desks, once again getting to work on their homework.

We, the classmates, always left T and T alone. Whether they were friends, lovers, both, or something else, I never saw anyone prying or making fun of them, at least, and never heard any rumors. The unspoken rule that it was uncool was the least we could do to show our friendship and pride, since we were all uncool, and inexperienced in love.

But. Was that enough? Honestly, thinking about it now, I feel uneasy. Were we just keeping them at a distance? It wasn’t that T and T-kun were keeping their distance from us, but rather that we were the ones who were hesitant.

Maybe We, or rather I, should have talked more with T and T-kun. We spent a moment in our teenage years together in the same place. When I become an adult, I really understand how destined it was. It was a time when discriminatory expressions on television were rampant, and words like LGBTQ+ and diversity had not reached high school students until then. I may not have been able to understand their relationship back then, but I might have been able to understand them.

Or was it just meddling to talk to them? Pushing the idea that “we’re classmates” out of my head.
I could hear the laughter of T and T-kun from the picture, and it never faded from my ears.

What happened to the two young men depicted in the book? What are T and T-kun doing now? Whoever they are with now, I hope they are doing well. I hope that growing older means having more happy encounters. I hope that notifications about class reunions won’t weigh on their hearts. We, as adults, have not yet been able to create such an era. I felt like I was being asked to grow up.