When my son was in high school, my father saw him wandering around listlessly and told him to get out.
"That makes sense," I said, and so I left home as soon as I graduated.
Although he was excited to be living alone for the first time, he soon ran out of money and began to fall behind on his rent.
He worked part-time jobs on road construction sites and in factories late at night, but the electricity, gas, and water all started to go out one after the other, so he had to go to the park to get water. He was always hungry.
My landlord, who lived next door to my apartment, was concerned about me and would often come to my room to share some of his food with me.
Each time, he would preach at me, saying things like, "Keep your room cleaner" or "You're young, why are you lounging around in the middle of the day?"
That day, I casually started a conversation to avoid such nagging.
"Oh, by the way! What is this stain on the ceiling?"
The wooden ceiling had sun-damaged marks that looked like something had been stuck on it and then peeled off.
"Your previous tenant was an art student, and she had her artwork hanging all over the room."
The moment I heard that, I felt as if a spotlight had shone on a corner of a memory I had long forgotten.
I also loved drawing as a child. In fact, I was the kind of kid who would often win awards and have my work exhibited at local art museums, drawing with art supplies sent to me by the ward.
Anyway, I was engrossed in drawing and crafting all day long. When did I forget about it?
I couldn't sit still any longer, so I thanked the landlord and quickly ran out of the room.
I headed to the art prep school that my friend said he was attending.
It happened to coincide with the start of summer classes, so I managed to fit in nicely, casually placing an easel and stool in the middle of a group of about 15 people drawing around a subject, and taking the class using borrowed art supplies.
There was no way someone who couldn't even pay his water bill could afford tuition, but I continued attending school the next day and the day after that as if it were the most natural thing in the world for about a month.
Unaware of this, the young instructor carefully taught me and praised me, saying, "You have a good sense of art."
"Drawing is fun, but what will it be in the future?"
When asked this question, the young lecturer
"Every man-made object has been designed by someone."
"???" I tilted my head.
"That's why. This! This! That!" she said, pointing at my clothes, the pencil in her hand, the fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling, and the world outside the window. "That! That! Everything! Everything in the world! It all started with someone drawing a picture!" she said, laughing.
"I'd be so happy if I could make a living by making things." It was a fresh and stimulating realization.
This is my starting point.