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Izumi doesn't like the feeling of not doing anything.
When she once mentioned it to the adults during a drink session in one of the bars in Veludo Way, a lot of them seemed to disagree. Choruses of "You should rest!" and a couple more of "No"s were sent on her way and Izumi merely laughs, brushing off the matter easily. She didn't want to tell the actors why she loved being busy, why she loved to spend her days doing anything and everything with the time that she has on her hands.
Only because she needed a distraction.
Izumi still remembers why she came to Veludo Way in the first place — hell, as if she would come there if she knew she had to form and direct a four-troupe company. It's not like she hated what she was doing right now, don't get her wrong — it's just that she really wasn't expecting to do exactly that and literally save a dying theater from its extinction. She came there for a purpose: to find someone precious to her, to maybe bring him back home, where he belongs.
She wants her dad back.
But then, her goals changed — she has not forgotten her original goal though, her reason for coming to Mankai, but becoming close and caring for her actors has become one of her priorities now. Her heart told her to focus on what she has now, and to give her best and support them in any way she possibly can. Izumi, thankfully, is able to do that, more than she openly admits. But sometimes the thoughts of her dad appear in her mind, and she has to swallow a bitter pill from her ideas.
If she was able to stay in Mankai for people that she's only known for a year or two, why couldn't her dad do the same for her? Why did he leave? Why hasn't he come back? Why did he not tell her anything? She feels lost, confused, and sometimes grieving even. She doesn't even know if the father she's looking for is even alive.
It's infuriating, really. But more than infuriating, it's sad. And she doesn't want to feel that way — not when she had twenty-four actors leaning on her, for her support, for her capabilities, and for everything she can give. She'll choose to set aside herself for her actors and not wallow in her emotions, and if it meant distracting herself from all thoughts of her father that she does not have any closure with, then so be it.
Right now though, is one of the days that she dreads the most. It was just that day where she had nothing to do. Absolutely nothing, to her horror (Not horror, honestly. Shock? And maybe the feeling of confusion, who knows?). She doesn't like the feeling of doing nothing, to not have her mind focus on something that isn't her dad.
But boy, oh boy, fate really said to not cooperate with her. With the boys missing from the dorm, and the drizzle starting from outside, she had no other choice but to take shelter from the rain and step inside the quiet dorm.
Izumi figures to watch TV instead, or do something on her phone, and yet despite these, her mind doesn't let her settle, and she gives up, closing her electronics. Sighing, she stands up, eyes darting around the living room, hoping for something that can ease her mind from all her thoughts. She finds something unfamiliar placed on the coffee table.
Curious, Izumi picks up the book (so it seemed), enamored with it. It was the size of a small notebook, designed with borders of gold, and the words 'For you' embossed on the cover. With closer inspection, she finds out that she was holding a photo album — she just isn't sure who the owner was.
Tears well up in her eyes as she opens the album, seeing someone so familiar in the first photo. It was the very same man she wanted to find and to avoid — the man whose existence brought love, happiness, pain, and bitterness into her life.
Dad.
In that photo was Yukio holding a baby close to his chest, eyes more than fond, and happiness radiating from the way he's looking at the child. His child. Izumi.
She fights back the urge to sob then and there, hardening her resolve. She was not going to cry, she was going to be strong and she's gonna make sure that she makes it through the last page without shedding a tear.
It was a challenge. With every flip of an album page, her heart clenches as she continues. She sees herself in all those memories again. She remembers how Yukio carried her behind his back when she got sleepy after her first play, her mom taking photos with her disposable camera. She remembers the day that her father first brought her to Mankai, telling her that it was his pride and joy, right after having her as his daughter. Izumi remembers her elementary graduation with her parents, and how they both told her how proud of her they were.
Those were the days that brought her immense joy. She knew that she wasn't the best, and she wasn't perfect, yet those moments made her feel like she was enough.
She continues to look through the photos, finding photos that she has no memories of, and shrugs it off. On the very last page of the album was an old letter she once wrote to him. It was the work of a young ten-year-old Izumi that asked about feelings for an assignment back in elementary. Her eyes widen when she realizes that her dad answered on the paper — she's never seen his response. She thought that this assignment of hers will be lost along with the others they've disposed of, yet it finds itself here in the photo album. Here, in her hands.
She quickly scans her letter, holding the paper gently, and careful to not damage it. It had nothing much important — a couple of how her classes went that day when she wrote the letter, how she finished her beef curry before the lunch bell rang, and how she didn't know how letters sent from the post offices work. At the very end had the question she's asked her dad before.
What do I do if I start to feel bad feelings, dad? I don't know what to do...
She closed her letter with a thank you, and her bunny signature at the very end. Her teacher gave her perfect marks for letter writing that day, and she figured that she wouldn't come across that paper again. Seems like she was wrong.
On the blank space behind the paper, she found an answer she's never seen or heard before from her recipient, but this... this was what she needed right now. She lets the tears fall, laughing as she reads his message in his Yukio-brand of handwriting.
Well, my dear curry princess, you cannot live in just happiness. We'll always at some point be sad, or angry, or just nothing. It's okay to get mad or sad, especially if it's something important to you.
But my baby, dad wants you to know that if you feel sad, you shouldn't keep it all to yourself. I know that my Izumi is strong... she always hides it whenever she's hurt so she doesn't worry Mama, her friends, or me. Izumi-chan, it's okay to lean on me too, or to anyone, really.
It's okay if my little princess doesn't automatically become happy again if she feels sad. Sometimes, it's better if we fully accept what we really feel before we move on from what makes us feel upset. It's okay to not be perfectly happy, my baby. It's okay to just be okay.
Whenever you feel sad, or mad, don't hide yourself, and be comfortable showing what you really feel. It's hard, dad knows, but I believe that my little princess will understand all these someday.
Izumi bites her lip as she finishes, laughing sadly as she folds the paper and puts it back to its proper space. It's funny how all it took for her to break was a piece of paper. She would've scolded her own father for writing such words to a fourth-grader, but she laughs instead, letting her heart bare itself from what she's read from her dad.
She cries, and cries, and gets mad at Yukio for leaving her suddenly, clutching the throw pillow on the couch as she continues to sob. She's not used to openly crying about her dad, and it felt freeing to finally be honest about her feelings. She breathes in, calming herself as she comes down from her thoughts.
I might be mad at you but I can never hate you. She inwardly thinks, and she closes her eyes as she feels her heart weigh lighter, the burden of her own feelings finally letting itself free.
Today, for the first time, she's honest with herself. Today, she lets herself show weakness. Today, she allows herself to not hide and be strong for anyone else. Today, she learns that it's fine for her to not shoulder everything she's carrying on her own. Today, she remembers that it's perfectly fine to cry, to laugh, to love, and to experience pain all at the same time. Today, she learns that it's okay to just be okay — for her own sake.
As the rain stops and the sun shows itself again, Izumi knows that someday she'll find herself smiling wholeheartedly again, with no grudge, or loneliness hiding behind her eyes. For now, she'll allow herself to just be okay.
Izumi is okay. She will be okay.