The Boundary Line at Dawn in Komaba

Komaba, once my sanctuary at the University of Tokyo campus. In those days, I spent my youth in this esteemed academic bastion. But as time shifted, a different atmosphere now pervades. Of course, legendary Classroom 900, where Yukio Mishima once engaged in heated debates with the student protest movement, is no more. The Komaba Dormitory, once a symbol of the tradition of student self-governance, has long been demolished as well. Despite the conscientious resistance of those with genuine concern, including a friend of mine who claimed to be the last member of the radical faction, the Komaba Dormitory, and the student autonomy were cruelly demolished, thank you, professors.
Late at night, I found myself back on campus for a certain volunteer activity. Alongside the current assistant professors, we were responsible for nighttime duty. Like me, they were in unstable positions, with a mixture of hope and apprehension filling their eyes.
The night watch post was a modern, glass-encased building. Gazing outside, I saw high school girls engaged in compensated dating, wandering about like zombies. Their eyes were hollow, devoid of the hope we once had, just glaring with greed.
During conversations with the assistant professors, I unintentionally grumbled about the opacity of Komaba's personnel affairs. I even mentioned that "Komaba might be swallowed up by Shibuya." These words reflected my apprehensions and fears about the changes.
A peculiar sense of acceptance began to sprout within me. Conversely, there was a strong sense that I shouldn't accept it. I felt torn between the Komaba of the past and the present.
As the night deepened, our conversations with the assistant professors grew more profound, and we shared our fears and dreams. Our problems transcended time, remaining consistent. As dawn approached, each of us became determined to walk our own paths.
At daybreak, as the sun rose, the zombie-like high school girls vanished. A new day began, and we resolved to face the changes head-on.
At the boundary between the past, present, and future, I confronted my own existence. Komaba might have changed, but our anxieties and expectations remain constant. Accepting this fact, we decided to move forward.
Our lives progress on a boundary line, akin to dawn, where light and darkness intersect. Swaying between past attachments and present realities, we seize opportunities to reexamine ourselves.
With the volunteer activities over, we left the campus behind. Komaba remains an irreplaceable memory in our hearts. And with this experience as our sustenance, we each began to walk our separate paths.
On the boundary line at dawn, we took a new step forward. Embracing our past attachments and present realities, we toil our paths toward the future. Komaba, as a symbol of our growth and transformation, will be eternally etched in our hearts.