Translator: Ayana Ishiyama Reviewer: Yuki Urabe
Hello.
Thank you.
I wanted to join you guys; the exercise "You and I."
It looked really fun.
The story that's called "Me."
My "You and I" began with my family.
My father was selfish and violent,
my mother was always exhausted both mentally and physically
by fighting everyday matters,
my brother had a serious disease called mucopolysaccharidosis hunter syndrome,
and I - consisted of four of us.
No matter what "normal" actually means, I had never considered
that my family was not "normal" in my childhood.
For me, "mother" is a natural creature that's born to be a "mother"
and a brother should always be in a hospital with a mother.
When I was a child, I didn't have
any tactics to protect someone that means a lot to my life.
I could only beg my father, crying, to stop raising a chair at my mother,
and to love my brother with all my heart, knowing he was getting ever weaker
both mentally and physically, from the disease.
When I became the third year of elementary school,
my brother Kenji also entered the school.
At that time, there were no other siblings
going to a standard class
and a special care class of the same school.
It was almost impossible to make that choice,
considering various risks in the "common sense."
Not knowing such concerns of the adults,
being a little girl, I kept insisting on going to the same school with Kenji.
Being different from "normal" means that you are "unique."
From this time, I learned to value "uniqueness."
Meanwhile, a doctor identified Kanji's disease, and his life expectancy.
"He eventually will not be able to walk nor talk," the doctor said,
"will become bedridden, will become unable to breathe for himself,
and his life will come to a close.
"But there is one way that might prolong his life.
"Bone marrow transplant," the doctor told us.
White blood cells have types.
The types of a donor and the recipient must be the same.
Otherwise, the recipient’s body would reject the bone marrow.
The donor that matches your blood type, that causes little rejection,
can hardly be found.
Around Kenji, the only possible person who could have the same blood type
was me.
And fortunately, our blood type matched perfectly.
At that time, I was 9 years old.
My mother asked me if I was really willing to have the operation.
She had a fear that my life would also be put in danger
in addition to Kenji's.
However, I myself was eager to be the only one who could save Kenji.
I had been frustrated to be an elementary school student already,
and yet having no tactics to protect my precious family.
And finally, this was my first mission
to save my brother's life at the risk of my own life.
On the other hand, in fact,
I feel that Kenji gave me a chance
to realize the value of myself.
Having decided to be my brother's donor,
I needed to be hospitalized.
In my room, there were a few other girls,
each with a serious disease.
The girl on the left side of my bed was a year younger than me,
in the second year of elementary school.
But I found her using the same Japanese language textbook as mine
- the one for the third year.
So I asked her, "why are you using the third-year textbook?"
"Because I can become sick again at any time,
so I want to study in advance not to fall behind,"
she answered.
At that time, I was just impressed with her,
until I came to know that she never reached third year.
For the first time in my life,
I learned that a second year student
may not always become the third year in the next year.
That common sense in me was shattered.
I can go to school every day, I can eat anything I like,
I can play outside everyday, I can sleep in my bed every night.
Such usual things in my life were actually not so usual.
It was privilege gifted to me, I learned.
The time in the hospital
made me start thinking that my healthy body should be
able to do something unique.
It was the very experience that determined my way of life.
After the surgery,
I had a pain from the 6 holes on my back
but I was rather filled with a great satisfaction
and relief that Kenji would survive.
From then onwards, I started to take every opportunity for my future.
Meanwhile, I was fascinated with musicals.
It was my mom who gave me the key.
The story goes back to
the time when I was a little child.
I started talking at the age of 10 months,
and never stopped talking.
And when I was 2 years old, I fell in love
with the film "Alice in Wonderland."
I watched the 2-hour film over and over again,
until the video tape was literally wearing off.
Wherever I went,
I pretended to be Alice to repeat every word of her,
all day and every day.
So, my mom came to think that
I would love musical,
which had both acting and singing.
Here is a painting.
This is my brother Kenji's work.
It was also my mom who opened the door to the world of art for him.
Kenji used to throw out anything in his hand.
One day, my mom gave him a brush filled with paint,
and spread a white paper in front of him.
The colors sprinkled over the paper
overlapped and merged together, to form a fantastic artwork.
Now Kenji has become
so much weaker physically and mentally.
He cannot walk nor talk anymore,
and has been under 24-hour care for many years.
Nevertheless, he still keeps painting with his hands and fingers.
His works always inspire us,
encourage us, and comfort us.
After I came to know musical, I met my singing teacher.
She was a very attractive lady.
She said I was too young, but I was eager to have her lessons.
At the age of 9 or 10, our vocal cords are not fully matured yet.
So she usually did not take such a young student.
So I was the only one
ever in the teacher's lifetime
who learned from her at that age.
The teacher passed away this year.
If I hadn't met her, I wouldn't be who I am today.
Coming across with her was my destiny, if not a miracle.
When I entered high school, I determined to take the entrance examination
to the Arts Educational Schools, UK.
And I was accepted successfully to the Musical Theater Course,
exactly when my parents decided to get divorced.
My father abandoned the parental authority.
I could not have reached England
without the warm support from my mom,
my grandparents and my brother.
I was not sure if I should really leave Japan,
leave my mom to do everything for my brother,
to chase my insecure dream.
My mom, however, pushed me to challenge myself for my own future,
rather than being caught short-sighted.
Fortunately, my high school agreed
to arrange a scholarship to develop my talent of singing.
During my seven years in England,
I faced a lot of difficulties,
but also had even more exciting and happy experiences.
In 2011, when I was to graduate from the university,
my friend recommended me a competition for the Miss Universe Japan.
I had two homelands with different cultures.
They were different, but both were wonderful in different ways.
"There is something that only I can tell."
With this in mind, I was set to the competition.
After going through all the training,
on the day before the final stage for the Hokkaido championship,
my mom brought me a perplexing news.
My father passed away.
He was 49 years old.
Since he left our place,
I didn't see nor contact him for nearly eight years.
It might be my turning point to make this decision.
Should I take my own stage for my career that my father always denied,
or should I take the funeral of nonetheless my own father?
The next day, I was on the final stage of the competition.
One of the reasons is that he already had a new family,
but it was my answer to what I should do now
to step forward in my life.
I still do not know whether I made the right choice.
But I think that a decision is not about right or wrong.
It's about whether or not you can take a responsibility.
As I love Kenji truly from my heart,
I have never thought that his handicap is anything bad.
The pain and distress that Kenji is fighting are
much more severe than mere "suffering."
If I have a choice, I don't want to see
my dearests suffer,
but from him I learned that to live is amazing in itself.
Thus, being disabled, being healthy, being male or female,
being a child or an adult, means nothing to me.
My perspective originates here.
This is my first time
to talk about myself as a person called Yuka Watanabe,
not as a singer or an actress.
Every person is struggling with his/her own background every day.
If we look back, our concept of "normality"
might have hurt someone unwittingly.
Not all the disabled feel unhappy.
Not all the young ladies can get married and have a baby.
Not all the respectable people have a respectable father.
And not all the relatives can understand each other because they are related.
If every one of us give up forcing
our own "normality" on others,
we can be more considerate,
and can bring a more wonderful "You and I."
Mom, Kenji, and I always had to cooperate with each other,
to be united with each other, to live our own life.
But I guess the time has come for us to go on to the next stage.
Anyone can make a decision for their own lives,
without being tied down by anyone else.
I feel the time has finally allowed us to do so.
It's okay to experience failure when we pursue our own happiness.
While you enjoy your chance for a challenge,
when you get tired or get hurt,
family is the place to rest and relax.
I hope we become such a family.
I hope to live 200% of my own unique life
from now to the future.
I'm so glad I met all of you
and had a new "You and I" experiences today.
Lastly, I would like to give you my soprano voice quartet
together with Kenji's paintings,
to express my gratitude to everyone.
I wish you all a great happiness in your lives.
(Music)
Thank you very much.
(Applause)