Bookmaking Afterword

A book for personal memory. The writings began in my early twenties and printed in my late twenties. 

I was thrilled to compile years of research into my first book. Selecting paper, designing layout, printing, washi-making, bookbinding were all new to me. I had an overflowing desire to craft every aspect with my own hands. Printing was devastating. I couldn’t hold my tears when the colours didn’t turn out as anticipated, and felt hopeless when my countless mistakes were printed. Despite all my efforts to achieve consistency and the generous help I received, I couldn’t produce a satisfactory result. Even two months later, a mere thought of the book triggered my tears. I don’t understand why, because I seldom cry. 

These explosions of emotions left me pondering why I was so attached. Some friends didn’t even know I was leaving Japan, yet my mind was occupied with bookmaking, up until Narita Airport. Throughout this process, I have realised the profound meaning these experiences hold for me. A myriad of emotions – happiness, warmth, fear, sadness, and a sense of being lost that I encountered along the journey rushed back to me. The weekdays of coping with distance between people at work, the weekends not seeing my friends for research, and the three years away from my family. The writing process commenced from the most fragile moment in my life, and receiving responses from people I admire has encouraged me to persist. 

My action recalled my youth memories of making collages, which led to a revelation that I am fond of creation after ten years. 

From sharing my personal writings, battling with the immense stress of an editor I respect being the second reader, to seeing the book flipped by people passing at an overseas book fair. It made me wonder – what would happen if we lay bare our flaws?