Margueritaria

This article may contain spoilers. Additionally, due to excessive descriptions of private domains, this article is probably unrelated to film reviews.

The Beginning#

Beach, sea and sky. Nothing else. It suddenly hit me that this was the world's biggest stage, a stage without end. As if it were only the two of us, alone on the whole planet.

Beach, sea, and sky. Nothing else. This is the world's most vast and boundless stage, without end—this realization suddenly struck me. But this stage seemed to consist of only the two of us, the loneliest two people on the entire planet.

from the official synopsis of "Kyrie", in English

About a year ago, I noticed a special report from director Iwai:

What caught my attention was not the names of the cast members appearing in the film, but the overlapping lines of "The world is nowhere, but I walk here now. There is no hope, but you are here."

In between, the characters and content of the film flashed by (later I learned that this video) was as fragmented as the film itself. What do they want to say? What do they want to tell? Kyrie? Who is she? What song is she singing? Can she become Glico and Lily Chou-chou?

At that time, this video undoubtedly seemed a bit mysterious. Director Iwai is indeed a person of such character.

A couple of months later, the song "Kyrie" (translated as "Song of Prayer") released its first trailer. At that time, I thought, why not translate the trailer for domestic audiences? After all, this is Iwai's new movie, and perhaps I could get a head start, allowing more people to know about Kyrie, or at least gain a bit of understanding about this story during the translation process.

Looking back from this point in time, I indeed got a head start. But in reality, like those who immediately talk about youthful pain when discussing Lily Chou-chou (also translated as "Youth Electric Fantasy"), I was completely indifferent to the story after Renmi stabbed the green apple. What disappointed me the most was probably the fact that nearly 70% of the audience composition I saw in the backend analysis were fans of the male lead, Hokuto Matsumura. Just like how the most viewed film since Shunji Iwai started posting on Chinese websites was only the first official announcement.

In such a small positive feedback loop, I continued to follow the upcoming trailers, music, and behind-the-scenes content. Until now, the amateur translation work surrounding the film "Kyrie" is about to reach a full year and is still ongoing.

Oh, by the way, the lines that appeared in the first special report are from the film's theme song "キリエ・憐れみの讃歌，" which is the Chorus part of the "Hymn of Compassion." My translation is "The world is nowhere to be found, but I am still walking here. Hope is nowhere to be found, but you are still here."

This story is a bit late to start from here, so let's move the clock forward a bit.

The True Beginning#

自分のトラウマを掘り下げていけば、つらい思いをしたこともあって、それが何ともいとおしいんでしょうね。忌まわしくもあり、いとおしくもあり、どっちもあるんでそしょうね。

If you delve into your own traumas, you will find that there were painful moments, but they evoke a kind of nostalgia that is hard to express. They are both detestable and precious, both feelings coexist.

from Shunji Iwai

I always thought that to walk here with a smile is to discover the meaning of the previous thorns, because people should not become animals that glorify suffering. While living, mutual harm is completely unavoidable; what we can do is create minimal suffering and smile at each other.

Two years ago, at this time, I stood at a seemingly insignificant crossroads from my perspective. What mattered was the people I met there, not the place itself. Two years later, I can finally calmly mention my experience with her, but her name can no longer be mentioned, because now everyone knows she appeared on Wuzhong Road after the Urumqi fire that year. These are all later stories.

At that time, I was in an ambiguous relationship with her, and after feeling the resonance of our souls and hearts, I, increasingly oppressed by my parents' pressure, expressed my love for her with all my might. According to her, this process felt like walking on a tightrope. "I could probably guess the competition between us at that time, but seeing a little bit of the process towards realization was incredibly wonderful. How should I put it? Ambiguity is a kind of mutually torturous pleasure; if one day the love is reciprocated, then the previous pain and anxiety will be sublimated into intense satisfaction in an instant, just like the final moment of asceticism. So this process is really unforgettable." "I really liked the feeling of our hearts beating in sync like we were walking on a tightrope."

I thought this feeling was like the South. Anyone can sprinkle salt on a wound, but no one speaks it out loud. ¹

Before this, I watched "Lily Chou-Chou" with her. After that, we watched "Hana and Alice: The Murder Case" together. These two works were my true introduction to director Iwai.

The first time I connected with Iwai's work was many years before that, probably a long time ago. It was around 2017, shortly after "Hana and Alice: The Murder Case" was released, when I accidentally heard "Fish in the Pool" performed by Hec & Pascal. It had appeared in "Hana and Alice" over a decade ago, and this time it finally had lyrics. Hec & Pascal is a six-member music group that includes Iwai himself.

This song has existed in my library for many years; I never discarded it and would often play it at unspecified times.

Regarding movies and various works, I am not someone easily attracted by titles. Therefore, I often miss many excellent works. In other words, if she hadn't introduced director Iwai to me, I might not have watched his films.

As for her and me, we first met on a flight to Shanghai, and in the two months after leaving Shanghai that summer, we only spent a short half year together, with nearly a month by her side. At that time, I stood at an inconspicuous crossroads, fearing the future, not knowing where to go. The wind was strong; it could carry me far away or blow me off balance and into the abyss. I had never faced such a passionate love, nor the intense separation anxiety and the bombardment from family, compounded by the overwhelming self-loathing that finally broke through due to mental illness. A series of complex emotions intertwined, and even I, who had the strongest ability to withstand pressure at that time, could not bear it. To control the impact on myself, I unilaterally stopped all contact. The consequence was that I suppressed all my emotions and part of my language, and for a long time, I found it difficult to feel romantic emotions again. Unfortunately, I did not know her feelings.

What I did not expect was that in me, the flowing life coexisted with the mundane daily routine, until today. The frozen body stayed in the frozen room; this state did not last long, just like after the wind stopped, I boarded a small boat in the slow stream, slowly sailing away. I am still on the road. But soon, after the incident following the Urumqi fire, I received the bad news; I understood that the surging tide of the times had swept her away to another place, and we had truly become lost and separated. What she suffered is something we can hardly imagine.

Two years later, she finally got to breathe after the storm of the times. I am on one side of the mainland, and she is on the other side. We are both lost and have come a long way. I can finally face the experiences of two years ago, put an end to them, and ask her how she is. But she can no longer return to Shanghai, nor can she watch "Kyrie" with me.

After watching "Lily Chou-Chou," and then "Hana and Alice: The Murder Case," I independently appreciated "Swallowtail Butterfly," "Hana and Alice," "Love Letter," "The Forgotten Bride," "Dream Traveler," and "The Last Love Letter," as if I were compensating for something. It is difficult for me to articulate the specific content of Iwai's works; his brushstrokes usually focus on small yet sufficiently diverse individuals and concrete, rich female emotions, while the stories are not simply linear or dualistic. Beyond the stories and characters, there is also the music of Takeshi Kobayashi and the visual art of the late Noboru Shinoda, which more easily bridge emotional connections through sensory experiences. These elements expand the boundaries of Iwai's language in seemingly elusive descriptions, allowing more people to empathize with the works. This is why Kobayashi and Shinoda are indispensable roles behind Iwai Shunji's peak period works.

Today, Iwai is already 61 years old. While producing "Kyrie," Shinoda is no longer by his side, leaving only Kobayashi. He certainly has memories that are unavoidable and unforgettable, and so do I. While watching and translating the trailer for "Kyrie" featuring Natsuhiko Shio, a line spoken by the not-so-competent fiancé played by Hokuto Matsumura deeply moved me.

自分のしてかしたことを、なかったことをしたい気持ちがあります。

I have a desire to make the mistakes I made not happen.

from Natsuhiko Shio, in "Kyrie"

311, The Forgotten Scar, and Behind the Scenes#

一ヶ月後、ひしゃげた桃子の自転車が見つかった。母のとく子は観念して、娘のために小さな葬儀を執り行った。夏彦は友人の一人として参列した。焼香を済ませ、帰ろうとした夏彦は、とく子に一礼した。とく子もただ黙って、夏彦に一礼で返した。

A month later, the crushed bicycle of Momoko was found. Her mother, Tokuko, finally accepted reality and held a small funeral for her daughter. Natsuhiko attended the funeral as one of Momoko's friends. After the incense was burned, as Natsuhiko was about to leave, he bowed to Tokuko. Tokuko silently returned the bow to Natsuhiko.

from Shunji Iwai's unpublished work "Full Marathon"

Before creating "Kyrie," Iwai wrote a short story called "Full Marathon." None of us know the complete picture of this short story, which is about 20 pages long; we only know it tells the story of a male high school student, Natsuhiko, living in Sendai, who runs 42 kilometers along the coast to find his lover who went missing in the tsunami disaster area. The 42 kilometers is roughly the distance of a full marathon. This Natsuhiko is the prototype of Natsuhiko Shio in "Kyrie."

"Full Marathon" is unfinished and has not been officially published, but this story has been incorporated into "Kyrie." This creative secret comes from the NHK ETV documentary "Ima Koko o Aruku ~ Film Director Shunji Iwai," which aired at the end of October last year. At that time, "Kyrie" had just been released in Japan, and the Busan International Film Festival had just concluded (where "Kyrie" was screened in the A Window on Asian Cinema section). The news of "Kyrie" soon to be released in Hong Kong, which is closest to me, also emerged, but both the theatrical version and the version screened at the Hong Kong Asian Film Festival had an hour of content cut. I gave up on the idea of watching "Kyrie" in Hong Kong, feeling that it was hopeless to see it in the short term, so I asked a friend to help record that documentary, preparing to find time to watch and translate it myself. Little did I know, this documentary lay in my computer for seven months without being touched. Moreover, the main trailers and viewing guides for "Kyrie" had mostly been translated and released, so I fell into laziness.

It wasn't until early June this year that I completed the translation of this documentary. The title of the documentary "Ima Koko o Aruku" is derived from the lyric of the hymn "But I walk here now." This documentary is, of course, also about the behind-the-scenes of the creation of "Kyrie." I pondered for half an hour on how to translate the title so that people could know it was related to "Kyrie" just by seeing the title. I had long translated the original neta but had no credibility; how to resolve this contradiction? When I realized that "Kyrie" had no recognition in the Chinese-speaking community, I threw these two questions aside and creatively used my translated lyrics to translate the title as "Walking Here and Now."

Looking back at this documentary now, I find that it is much more effective than my previous translation of the trailer, which only allowed me to "understand this story a little bit." My understanding of Shunji Iwai is also much more three-dimensional and substantial than just from various articles, reviews, or the film itself. Iwai possesses the qualities that a director should have; he is meticulous in expression and presentation, even respecting reality to the greatest extent at the intersection of fiction and non-fiction, and directly facing the impact his creations bring to reality. His personal characteristics are also prominent; he appears to be an old man but is still a young person at heart, with his own deep emotions, such as the scar of 311, or various others. If I were to use a mocking phrase, it would probably be that classic line, "I feel you have a sense of alienation." But clearly, while Iwai may be elusive, his emotions are grounded; he continuously expands the boundaries of expression with his uniqueness, allowing as many people as possible to feel humanistic care and empathize with more people, rather than being self-righteous like a young long-haired artistic man.

As an expresser, Iwai first respects his own emotions; he directly faces the trauma of the 311 earthquake, even though he was not in Japan at the time of the earthquake. Secondly, he respects the emotions of others; he cares for his staff and his compatriots in his hometown. During the production of "Kyrie," he carefully avoided triggering the traumatic memories of the people in the disaster area, trying to get closer to their feelings. At the beginning of this year, a strong earthquake occurred again in the Noto Peninsula, and perhaps to avoid causing secondary trauma to the audience, the "Kyrie" official website almost immediately published a letter to the audience at the top of the page after the earthquake. In today's society, where contradictions are intensifying and people refuse to understand each other, such qualities are truly rare.

For Iwai, the trauma of 311 is not only present at that time but also has lasting effects afterward. When Iwai returned to Japan and saw the ruins in the disaster area, he could not think or imagine the situation at that time; his language was blocked, and he could only pick up the camera to record. He could not find a way to cope, and a sense of nihilism filled his entire being.

Indeed, there are somewhat similar situations.

In terms of music related to 311, my memories, aside from AKB48, who were touring around Japan to cheer people up at that time, are left with the support song "Hana wa Saku." This song was requested by NHK at that time, with Yoko Kanno and Shunji Iwai composing and writing the lyrics respectively, and has since been performed by many people, in many languages, and in many adaptations.

花は 花は 花は咲く

いつか生まれる君に

花は 花は 花は咲く

わたしは何を残しただろう

Flowers bloom, flowers bloom, flowers bloom

For you who will be born someday

Flowers bloom, flowers bloom, flowers bloom

What will I leave behind?

from "Hana wa Saku"

In 2018, Hec & Pascal released their first album "Deja Vu and Unseen," which is the first album of the music group that includes Iwai himself, and it also includes this song. In the album title, "Deja Vu" represents songs that have been heard somewhere before, while "Unseen" represents songs that are actually heard for the first time, meaning this is a cover album. The version of "Hana wa Saku" in this album is my personal favorite.

When talking about contemporary Japan, one cannot avoid discussing 311. And when I talk about 311, I cannot avoid mentioning this song. This song indeed possesses considerable "Japanese-ness." The lyrics are filled with nostalgia, concern, and a slight expectation for the future, evoking a sense of melancholy reminiscent of picking flowers in the morning and evening.

This is how they treat the memory of 311: placing 311 in a blue container, remembering the words of the survivors, using the boundaries of imagination to speculate on the words of the deceased, and preserving them well to combat forgetting.

This song is also written from the perspective of the deceased. Iwai heard a survivor from Ishinomaki say, "The stories we can hear are the stories of the survivors, not the experiences of the deceased." Thus, Iwai decided to yield to his imagination, attempting to empathize with lives that do not exist, trying to write down feelings that cannot be depicted, and trying to give a voice to those who cannot speak. ²

I believe that the humanistic care surrounding 311 is the cornerstone of "Kyrie." Over ten years have passed since 311, and Japanese creators have been expressing their memories of this disaster in their own ways. On the other side in China, many people have grown tired of this collective memory over the years. After three years of pandemic control, many people disdain the official guidance of emotion and mourning, refusing to be swept into non-spontaneous collective emotions. Regarding the three years of pandemic control, people only think about forgetting, casting aside those days as if they never happened, treating this three-year collective catastrophe as if it did not exist. Due to various absurd realities, people reject all collective memories from a distance, even refusing to connect with each other, and atomization continues to accelerate. Therefore, many people may feel aesthetic fatigue or even instinctive rejection towards works with the background of 311. Last year, I watched Makoto Shinkai's "Suzume's Door Locking," and this year I watched "Kyrie," and upon seeing the 311 theme again, I excluded myself from the experience. In fact, everyone does not care whether this emotion is spontaneous or non-spontaneous, especially since many Chinese people have not experienced 311. These emotions of the people from both countries should be understood, as there is indeed commonality between them. After all, Iwai's films are combating the forgetfulness of 311 in Japan, while many Chinese speakers are also fighting against the forgetting of those three years. Unfortunately, the latter's voices are indeed difficult to hear, at least difficult to be written into stories and brought to the screen without interference.

Thus, in terms of results, if viewed solely from the perspective of 311 or from the perspective of collective trauma, the expanded boundaries of language in "Kyrie" ultimately failed to cross national borders.

忘れたい。忘れなくない。

I want to forget. I cannot bear to forget.

from "Kyrie" promotion "Natsuhiko Shio"

映画とは、記録ではなく、記憶を伝える、風化しないジャーナリズムだ。

Film is not merely a record; it is a journalism that conveys memory, an everlasting spirit of the reporter.

from Nobuhiko Obayashi

Youth Road Story: Everything About Kyrie#

Similarly, as a rootless outsider, my understanding of 311 will always be limited.

Kyrie, played by AiNA THE END, is the female lead of this film, named Ruka Kozuka. Her stage name Kyrie comes from her sister's name, Nozomi Kozuka. Kyrie lost her family in the tsunami caused by the 311 earthquake and gradually grew up in displacement, becoming a street singer. The part I resonate with the most in this film is the concept of displacement.

In my childhood, I was taken to a new city by my parents, changed my registered residence, and was educated with a new identity by them. But I often feel confused about my place of origin because whenever it is mentioned, my parents always speak vaguely for various reasons, whether for school registration or other matters. I do not know where my hometown truly is. During my growth period, I rarely actively approached the culture of the Chinese language, but drifted between the underground and ground cultures of Japan. This did not add any closeness to Japan for me. The consequence is that I became trapped in an East Asian bubble, finding it difficult to escape, struggling to identify with Euro-American cultural centrism, and also finding it hard to identify with things from my native China. While I have long been immersed in Japanese culture, my cultural orientation is caught between East Asia and the West, yet I have uprooted all related aspects of Confucianism and hegemony. As a queer person, I find no place for myself in these cultures.

Later, I left the place where I grew up, traveled to many places in China, living a life full of mobility, freely choosing family, and remaining independent. I have no mother tongue; if I had to say I have one, it has already faded away. Among the major accents of Chinese, I only speak standard Mandarin, with a Taiwanese accent. My English pronunciation is even more inclined towards Japanese. In many places, I am regarded as a foreigner, and when people ask me where I am from, I cannot answer. I have no identification with my own belonging or ethnicity.

Another early film by Iwai, "Swallowtail Butterfly," also depicts people with somewhat similar backgrounds—illegal residents who smuggled from China to Japan after the reform and opening up. At that time, Japan's economy was booming, something unimaginable in today's era of yen depreciation. They came to Japan to earn yen and were referred to as "yen thieves" by the Japanese, while the places they gathered were called "Yentou." They could not find their place as Chinese people and could not integrate into Japanese society, so they identified themselves as "Yentou people." In the film, an American character, unable to speak standard English, could only speak Japanese but was treated as a foreigner by the Japanese. He pulled the Yentou people together and called himself a "Third Culture Kid." I find this term carries a hint of the coppery smell of post-colonial researchers ³, and I cannot identify with it. However, the Yentou people and Yentou rats evoke a natural sense of closeness for me.

Kyrie was forced to lose her family, toyed with by natural disasters and fate, and thus became displaced. I was rejected by existing cultures, actively avoided my biological family, and inevitably moved towards a life severed from the past, which is also a form of displacement. Although the reasons for our displacements differ, Kyrie and I both face a difficult question: Where is home?

Another point of resonance is connection.

Kyrie cannot speak; she can only sing loudly. But Kyrie is not unable to speak; it’s just that whenever she tries, she ends up crying uncontrollably. The 311 earthquake not only took away her family but also robbed her of the ability to speak to others. Aside from writing, singing is Kyrie's only way to express herself. Through her singing, she connects and gets to know people along her journey of displacement.

As I write this text, I clearly feel that I have barriers in my ability to express myself. I do not type slowly on the computer, but it seems I can only input forty to fifty characters in a minute. When I type, it feels like speaking with a lump in my throat during a panic attack; sometimes I even find it hard to speak Chinese. But at any time, I strive to express myself clearly and simply so that others can understand what I am saying. On social media and in life, I cautiously use my fragmented expressions to get closer to others.

This year, I started learning how to sing properly. After getting an unexpected opportunity to perform, I stepped onto my first stage. That was at the beginning of this year. At that time, I hesitated for a while in choosing a song and ultimately chose "キリエ・憐れみの讃歌，" which was the first song I officially sang. I lack confidence in my voice, but I encountered a musician who appreciated me and was willing to provide me with the opportunity to learn vocal techniques. Later, a friend told me that my singing voice for this song resembled that of the original singer, AiNA THE END. I still do not understand whether I can become a singer, but I am well aware that I do not have the ability to sing in Chinese.

What does Kyrie really mean?

Kyrie is the phonetic reading of her sister Nozomi's name and also the stage name of her younger sister Ruka. The translation of Kyrie in Hong Kong is "祈怜" (Prayer), not "垂怜" (Compassion). "祈怜" represents equal blessings, prayers, and wishes; it is a friendly quality that connects people. "垂怜" is a symbol of religion, a gift from a higher power; it is unequal and relies on an empty wish, hoping that some so-called god will look down at you, but there is no god, 这是无处可寻的世界（世界はどこにもない）.

Kyrie represents countless displaced people, the you and me who cannot take shape after atomization yet have slight connections, the 人类的脆弱无能（人間の無力さ）, the countless shells lying silently by the sea, the distant sounds that can be heard by closely listening to these shells, and the dim stars.

Kyrie 是垂怜颂歌（キリエ・憐れみの讃歌）, 是燃心成灰的夜晚（心　燃え尽きてしまった夜）, 是泪痕断流的早晨（涙が枯れていた朝）, 是任命运捉弄却只能忍耐（それすらも　受け入れて）, 是畏惧时代低头躲闪（あの時は　目を伏せて）, 是一声若不是这样就好了吧（こんなはずじゃなかったよね）的叹息，是反复折磨的痛苦（繰り返す　痛みにも）, 是终将枯萎的未来（朽ちて果てていく）, 也是在悲伤的尽头（悲しみの先の方で）, 此地此刻走在路上（いまここを歩くんだ）, 也是在未知的明天里涅槃重生（知ることのない明日に　生まれ変わっていたんだ）, 也是我珍视的每一个人和走过的路（大切な人　大切な日々）, 还是「共同經歷沉澱下來的部分變成理解彼此的詞典（何度でも　何度だっていく　すべてが重なってくために）」。

In addition, she also said: "Love is the sum of all emotions, a strong gratitude towards a person, intense hatred, strong envy, strong dislike, and strong desire... all of these together." Love, or the carrier of all emotions, is also Kyrie.

This is all my understanding of Kyrie, which I call "On the Road Ideology."

In Shanghai, Kyrie, Encounters and Farewells, The Last Piece of the Puzzle#

When I first started translating the trailer for "Kyrie" a year ago, I was wondering when I would have the chance to see it in theaters. At that time, I thought, maybe I could see it at the Shanghai International Film Festival next year; it would definitely be screened.

That year's Shanghai International Film Festival screened "Everything Everywhere All at Once," which was hard to get tickets for. One of the lesbian characters was seen as a hot potato by the authorities, while the female lead, Michelle Yeoh, was self-deprecatingly regarded as the light of the Chinese people, making the official media coverage quite awkward. A few months later, the bad news came: perhaps due to this film, the Shanghai International Film Festival lost its autonomy in selecting films, and the films to be screened needed approval from the film bureau. This incident was referred to as the "510 Incident." According to the current film review standards, even if "Kyrie" passes, the complex political nerves of these years still make hope seem bleak. ⁴

A month and a half ago, the film list for this year's Shanghai International Film Festival was gradually announced. After half a month, I finally saw Shunji Iwai's name, but the titles were "Hana and Alice" and "Hana and Alice: The Murder Case."

A few days later, on May 23, I saw Iwai's name and the title "Kyrie" in the new works section. The Chinese translation was confirmed. I finally felt relieved.

Without this film, I would have made a wasted trip and would have to activate a backup plan. On May 29, the physical disc of "Kyrie" was released, and it was also launched on the Japanese streaming platform U-Next, which meant that pirate versions would be released that day. Within two or three days, a rough Chinese translation appeared online, using the version that had leaked from U-Next. Finally, "Kyrie" entered the sight of Chinese audiences, and discussions about it quickly increased compared to before. This was something I had not achieved in the months I spent translating the trailer last year. At that time, I was still working on the Chinese subtitles for the NHK documentary mentioned earlier. But then I thought, this would reduce the difficulty of getting movie tickets significantly.

It wasn't until the day before ticket sales opened that I received the news that Shunji Iwai himself would be appearing in Shanghai, participating in the Q&A session after the screening of "Kyrie," which meant this would be the closest I had ever been to Iwai. I stayed up all night to prepare for ticket sales, learning from last year's failed experience, organizing the best schedule, and silently elevating the priority of the Kyrie meet-and-greet to the top. I scoured multiple social media platforms like Weibo, Douban, and Xiaohongshu, only to find that no one mentioned this matter, making me wonder whether the locals truly did not know or were pretending not to know.

Fortunately, the ticket-grabbing process was smooth, and with a lot of experience, I managed to get tickets for all the films on the list. By chance, I got to know a small group of Iwai's fans and received more information that was not available on social media. Before Iwai tweeted, we learned that he would publicly appear at a luxurious hotel behind the Shanghai Film City before the Kyrie meet-and-greet. That was a masterclass hosted by the Shanghai International Film Festival, which general audiences could not enter; only credentialed individuals could pass through freely. Even so, we agreed to meet at the hotel entrance that day.

On the day of the event, I was the first to arrive at the hotel entrance. Even though I wore my most expensive mass-produced outfit and put on a slightly more elaborate makeup, I still felt out of place in the surrounding environment. Fundamentally, I lived like a mouse, while they lived like humans. So I tried to engage with those around me in a down-to-earth manner, taking out my last pack of white box soft Seven Stars and targeting anyone who was smoking, whether they were fans or staff, attempting to strike up a conversation. Soon, I received useful information: after the masterclass, Iwai would hold a signing session right there, welcoming anyone regardless of identity. I immediately shared this unpublished news in our group.

Everyone quickly gathered; some brought the "Love Letter" program and a letter for Iwai, while others brought a beautifully made support fan, and some brought the physical disc of "Kyrie" that had just arrived in China, along with the OST of "Love Letter." I only had a poster of "Kyrie" and a CD and large poster of Lily Chou-chou lying in a distant rental room, which felt a bit shabby. There was a long line at the scene, but Iwai signed quickly. He had indeed been quite tired these days.

When the line reached me, I found Iwai sitting right in front of me, with long hair, dressed simply, and a gentle yet inscrutable expression. I handed him the "Kyrie" poster, bowed, and said to him: "いつもありがとうございました（一直以来都谢谢你了）."

Iwai replied, "ありがとうございます（谢谢你）." His voice was very soft; the scene was not particularly noisy, but it was indeed hard to hear what he said. Then I parted ways with Iwai, and our brief encounter came to an end.

I had thought about what to say when meeting Iwai, and I would recall countless nights pouring out emotions on Lilyholic, wanting to say many things, even fantasizing about chatting with him on the road. But when the person was right in front of me, the only words that came to my lips were "thank you," and there was nothing more to say.

Then, at the Meiqi Grand Theatre, I finally met the long-awaited "Little Town Abbi Sisters." We smoked at the theater entrance, discussing the past and various topics. As someone who grew up in a small town, I found many common languages and overlapping pasts with her. But we both had our own screenings to catch, and this meeting was also brief. "Kyrie" was about to start, and we had to embrace each other, then kiss, and then say goodbye. But we could look forward to the next meeting.

Finally, I sat in the theater seat and met "Kyrie." I listened to the songs Kyrie sang, the songs sung by the people around Kyrie, the medieval hymns, watching her gradually heal herself through song, seeing her slowly find her voice, watching her grow on the road, witnessing the uncomfortable earthquake, the frowning bed scene, the terrifying rape scene, watching Aki being swept away by the tsunami as the screen turned gray, watching Natsuhiko run a full marathon with nothing to show for it, watching Natsuhiko atone for his sins through Kyrie, watching public officials mechanically do what they thought was right, watching Kyrie grow into a musician in these cracks, watching Kyrie fly into the sky at the Road Ideology Music Festival, confronting the police, watching Kyrie walk through the coast and snow, returning to the road, watching these fragmented film shots and stories that are as torn as Kyrie's fate and life, and finally understanding this story that requires a price to comprehend.

The three-hour film ended, and Iwai came on stage to meet the fans, answering their questions. However, that night, no one could approach Iwai to talk to him. He was too tired and needed to rest. When the fans rushed to the back door where Iwai hurriedly left, I recalled the incident that happened at Lily Chou-chou's concert. ⁵

However, the fans' attitudes towards this film were starkly different from their enthusiasm for Iwai himself; many people were not buying into "Kyrie." But that was okay; a life that does not require paying a price, or only pays a little price, is their blessing, even though it comes at the cost of shrinking the boundaries of emotional sensitivity.

A day earlier, I and my companion, the one who was willing to accompany me, spent an entire afternoon watching "Hana and Alice" and "Hana and Alice: The Murder Case." On the way back to the hotel, we passed by her, the door of my ex-girlfriend's house. I tried hard to imagine what emotions she was facing upstairs at that moment, trying to envision how she was driven out of here, trying to picture how fearlessly she accepted her surroundings turning into hell. This was my second time returning to this place since she sent me off here two years ago. Since half a year ago, after she went to the other side of the mainland, she could no longer return to this place. We ultimately passed through the same place. Then I laughed and scolded, damn it, Shanghai.

That day, my companion and I, on the way back to the hotel, involuntarily sang the song 祈怜（Kyrie）. This transcended the cruel scars because it was the flowing life and the moving journey. I realized I was still on the road, singing, and as I walked, I heard the sound of chains falling, as if something was melting. I felt that within my body, from my abdomen to my throat, there was a transparent yet sparkling substance, as if it were going to lift me and my song into the sky; perhaps this was the ether.

Then I felt there was something I needed to do immediately, right now; I wanted to tell that scarred sister lying in the hotel room that I love her.

優しい夜　きみはどこまでも歩いていく　大人になるまで

悲しい夜　きみはどこまでも歩いていく　大人になるまで

もしも歌えたら　きみのこと　歌にするよ

歌えたら　いつか歌えたら　だけどまだ音痴だな

In the gentle night, you walk endlessly until you become an adult.

In the sad night, you walk endlessly until you become an adult.

If I could sing, I would turn everything about you into a song.

If I could sing, if one day I could sing, but I still can't sing well.

from "The Anthem of the Tone-Deaf"

The copyright of the media cited in this article belongs to the following groups or organizations:
©2023 Kyrie Film Band
℗2023 Avex Music Creative Inc.
℗2015 Rockwell Eyes Inc.
©2023 NHK