My name is Hideki Hoshino.

And this is the story of my life—

from the very first breath I took in this world.

A long journey, one that tested not just my steps,

but the strength of my heart.

This is my saga—

The Songs of My Heart.

I am just a newborn—Hideki Hoshino—gently swaddled in a quiet hospital room in Hachiōji, Tokyo. My mother smiles as she hums softly to me, while my father records a video of my first yawns.

I can’t speak yet, but I instinctively wriggle closer to the warmth of my mother's chest. My tiny fingers curl as I snuggle into her arms. Her heartbeat is steady and soothing. She wraps a soft blanket around me and whispers, “Welcome to the world, Hideki.”

My father leans in, gently strokes my head, and beams with pride. In this early moment of love and safety, I feel calm—cherished.

I stop moving and listen closely to the sounds around me. My mother’s voice is gentle, soft, and melodic—she’s speaking in Japanese, calling me "kawaii" (cute). My father’s voice is deeper, warm and playful, mimicking baby sounds to make me giggle.

Though I can’t understand the words, the tones wrap around me like sunlight. A subtle warmth spreads through my body, as my tiny heart begins forming its very first bonds with the people who love me most.

I feel the warmth of my mother’s arms and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. Her voice fades into a soft hum, wrapping around me like a lullaby. My eyelids grow heavy, and before I know it, I’m drifting peacefully into sleep.

My tiny body relaxes completely, a little smile curling on my lips. I sense my father leaning over me, tucking the blanket gently around my body. His voice is close, warm, and loving as he whispers, “Sweet dreams, little Hideki.”

Beyond the hospital window, I can almost feel the faint glow of the Tokyo skyline. But in this moment, my world is small—safe, calm, and wrapped in the love of the two people who mean everything to me.

I don’t know many things yet. The world is still big, bright, and confusing. But I’m starting to notice patterns—the gentle voice that hums when I cry, the warm hands that lift me, and the soft scent of something I now know means "home."

I’m lying on a soft blanket in the living room, the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me. There’s music playing somewhere—not loud, just soft notes drifting in from the kitchen. I wriggle my legs and stretch my arms, surprised by how far they move now. I can see them! They move when I want! …Sort of.

Mama—Aiko—walks past me and smiles. Her face is the safest thing I know. She leans down and gives me a kiss on the forehead. “Good morning, Hideki,” she says softly in Japanese, “How’s Mama’s little boy today?”

I answer her in the only way I know: a squeaky coo and a happy kick. She laughs, and it makes my chest feel funny—like a tiny flower blooming inside me.

Then I hear Papa’s voice—Kenji—coming from his work desk. He’s clicking on something again, but when he hears me babble, he turns around. “Oho, is someone practicing speeches for the United Nations already?” he teases.

I like Papa’s voice. It’s deeper than Mama’s, more playful. I can’t understand the words, but I recognize the sound of love in them.

Mama picks me up, holding me against her shoulder. I nuzzle into her soft shirt, listening to her heartbeat. It’s different from when I was in the hospital—quieter, more relaxed. Home has that effect, I think. Even if I can’t say it yet, I feel it.

From this high place in her arms, I look around the living room. There’s a bright mobile above my crib. There’s a photo of Mama and Papa on the shelf—smiling like they always do when they look at me.

I yawn, and Mama hums again. Her song is slow, steady. My tiny fists close. My eyes grow heavy.

The world is still new, but I’m not afraid of it. Not when I have Mama and Papa. Not when I have love.

I lie on a soft mat in my nursery, the air filled with the quiet peace of the afternoon. The walls are gentle colors, with pictures of pink flowers and little animals that don’t move, but somehow always smile back at me. I don’t know their names, but they feel like friends.

Mama is sitting beside me, humming something soft. Her voice is like a cloud—warm, light, and safe. I tilt my head toward the sound, eyes wide, trying to follow the melody.

Something stirs inside my chest. It tickles. It wants to come out.

And then—I do it. I make a sound. Not a cry, not a fuss, but… something else. A soft little coo. A bubbly sound, light and full of joy.

It surprises me. Did that come from me?

Mama gasps. Her eyes light up like the morning sun. “Did you just sing with me, Hideki?” she says, smiling as she leans down. She kisses my forehead, and I giggle—not because I understand, but because I feel her happiness.

Her joy becomes my joy. And for the first time in my tiny life, I realize something magical: When I make a sound—not just any sound, but one filled with peace—Mama smiles even brighter. The world smiles with her.

Papa sits cross-legged on the soft tatami floor beside my crib, but today he’s different. He’s facing the piano in the corner of the room—the one with the shiny black keys that I’ve only ever seen from afar.

He lifts the lid and places his hands gently on the keys. Then—music.

The first note rings out, soft and low, like a raindrop landing on a still pond. Then another, and another—each one echoing through the room like a lullaby the walls remember.

The sound is warm. Deep. Beautiful. It flows through the air and finds me, crawling into my tiny chest like sunlight under a blanket.

I turn toward it, eyes wide and quiet. My arms twitch. My legs wiggle. Something in me wants to respond. And then, without thinking, I let out a little gurgle—high and cheerful. Then another.

I’m trying to sing along.

Papa glances back at me and laughs—a sound that makes my heart flutter. “Hideki’s got rhythm already!”

Mama smiles from nearby. I feel her gaze, warm like her hugs. They look at each other, eyes sparkling. Even though I don’t understand words, I feel it in my bones: They’re proud. Of me.

Papa plays the piano again, his fingers dancing across the keys like they know a secret. Each note feels like a bubble in the air—floating, glowing, making my chest tingle.

Mama starts to sing beside him, her voice soft and smooth, blending perfectly with the music. Their sounds fill the room like a warm blanket, and I can’t stop staring.

I don’t know why, but I need to join them.

My mouth opens a little. Something stirs deep in my throat. And then…

“Guu… gahh… gaa…”

The sounds tumble out, wobbly and strange, but mine. I don’t even know what they mean, but they feel good—like they belong in the music.

Papa suddenly stops mid-note. He turns, raising his eyebrow. “Wait… is he trying to sing along?”

I try again—longer this time. “Aaahh…”

It stretches out like one of Mama’s notes, just softer. Sloppier.

Mama gasps with joy and claps her hands. “He’s singing with us!”

They both look at me with such amazement, like I’ve done something magical. Their eyes shine, and I feel their happiness pouring over me like sunlight.

I don’t know the words, and I don’t know the tune, but something in me has begun to wake up.

A voice. A song. A way to be part of the world.

And it all started here— with Papa’s piano, Mama’s voice, and the first brave little notes from me.

I'm six months old now.

I lie on my back, looking up at Mama as she leans over me with that familiar smile—the one that always makes me feel safe. I reach out, slowly, my hands still shaky and unsure. One of them brushes against her cheek.

It's soft... warm... and somehow feels like home.

Mama gasps quietly.

"Oh... Hideki," she whispers, her voice like a melody I've heard since my first breath.

I reach up again, more certain this time. My tiny fingers rest on her face, and she leans in close, gently rubbing her nose against mine.

A quiet nuzzle. A shared breath.

I don't have the words for it yet, but I feel it in my chest—this moment means something.

I hear a soft click.

Papa's standing in the doorway, holding his camera. He doesn't say a word, just smiles like he's witnessing something precious.

And maybe he is.

Because even if I'm too little to speak, my heart already knows:

This is love.

And I'm safe here.

I'm lying on my soft futon mattress, the faint scent of fresh tatami mingling with the sunlight slipping through the shoji screens around me. The world feels warm and gentle.

Mama kneels beside me, her smile soft as spring, and begins to sing:

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star..."

Her voice wraps around me like a blanket. I freeze—not from fear, but from wonder. My eyes widen. My breath slows. Every part of me listens.

And then, slowly, I begin to coo again. Not randomly this time—but slower... steadier... like I'm trying to follow her.

I don't know what this is, not fully. But I feel something.

A rhythm. A connection.

A song that means something more than just sound.

Mama smiles wider, brushing a hand gently through my hair.

"You really love music, don't you, Hideki?" she whispers.

I don't have words yet—but if I did, I'd tell her:

Yes.

With all of me—yes.

Another month has passed.

I'm lying on the soft floor mat in our home. The light from the window is warm, and just in front of me—almost close enough to touch—is my favorite plush shiba inu toy.

It's... just out of reach.

I grunt softly. My muscles tighten. My arms push. My hips twist.

And then—

I move.

I roll!

Suddenly, I'm on my tummy. The world looks different from here. I blink, surprised by what just happened. Did I... do that?

Before I can figure it out, I hear them.

"He did it! Hideki rolled over!"

Mama's clapping, laughing with her whole heart. Papa's rushing to grab the camera again, his voice full of amazement.

"You're getting stronger every day!" Mama says, her hands gently patting the mat beside me.

I don't quite know what I did—but I know I liked it.

Something inside me glows.

I smile.

I beam.

Because even if I don't understand the words yet... I feel them.

They're proud of me.

And I'm proud of me too.

I'm sitting on my soft play mat, still full of energy from my earlier singing adventure. My heart feels light—like a song still bouncing inside me.

Mama kneels beside me, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Clap, clap, clap! Yay, Hideki!" she says, clapping her hands slowly.

I watch her hands carefully. Up... down... together.

My own hands twitch. I lift them.

Slap!

They hit my belly.

I blink. That's not quite it.

I try again.

This time—smack!

My hands meet in the middle. A sound! A real sound!

A baby clap.

Mama gasps. "He's clapping! He's really clapping!"

Papa laughs from across the room, fumbling with his phone.

"He's gonna be a performer!"

Their joy spills over me like sunlight.

I giggle—then clap again. And again. And again.

Every sound feels like magic. Every cheer feels like love.

I don't understand it all yet,

but I've just found a new way to speak...

and it might be my favorite so far.

I'm playing on my mat near the low wooden table in our home. My plush shiba inu sits right at the edge—just far enough to taunt me.

I want it.

I reach out, grab the table leg with both hands, and pull.

My arms shake. My knees wobble.

The floor feels far away all of a sudden.

Then—with one final grunt—I push off the ground...

And I stand!

Wobbly. Bowlegged. Wide-eyed.

But I'm standing!

"Mama!" I want to shout, but all that comes out is a delighted squeal.

Mama does it for me.

"Hideki! You're standing! He's standing!"

Papa appears like magic, camera already in hand. I glance at him proudly, swaying a little.

Then—plop! I land back on my diapered bottom, giggling like the world just gave me a medal.

And maybe it did.

Because I stood. I stood.

And everyone saw it.

And everyone felt it.

Another note added to the song of my heart.

I'm eleven months old now.

I sit on my play mat, legs tucked beneath me, my plush Shiba Inu toy resting in my lap. Its little embroidered smile always makes me feel calm.

Mama sits close, her eyes filled with warmth and something else—hope. That soft, familiar tone returns in her voice.

"Ma... ma..."

"Can you say it, Hideki? Ma-ma?"

I blink at her.

Her lips move slowly, and the sound echoes in my ears. I open my mouth, unsure if it'll come out right.

"...Ma... ma..."

And then, something deep inside me rises—like a light turning on.

"Ma... MAMA!"

The whole room seems to stop.

Mama gasps. Her hands fly to her mouth, and her eyes fill with tears.

"Hideki! You said Mama! That was Mama!"

Before I can take another breath, she scoops me into her arms, holding me tight. I feel her heartbeat thudding against my chest—fast and full.

From the kitchen, I hear Papa yell, "Wait—did I miss it?!"

He rushes in, still holding a spoon, wide-eyed. I laugh, loud and giddy.

Because they're laughing.

Because Mama's crying happy tears.

Because I said something—and it mattered.

It may just be one word... but it feels like a whole song bursting out of me.

And I sang it for her.

"Mama.

Not long after, I try again.

This time, Papa is in front of me. He's crouched low, grinning like always.

"Da-da," he says slowly, tapping his chest. "Can you try that, bud? Pa-pa?"

I tilt my head. My mouth opens.

"Ba... ba... Pa-pa!"

Papa freezes.

Mama, who's nearby, gasps. "Did he just say Pa-pa?"

Papa's eyes go wide. "Hideki... that was it. That was your first real sound for me."

I babble again, louder and more confident now.

"Ba-ba-Pa-pa!"

They both burst into laughter, clapping and cheering.

Papa grabs his phone. Mama rushes to kneel beside me.

I giggle. I clap. I say it again—over and over—because the joy in their eyes feels like sunlight on my skin.

These aren't just baby noises anymore.

They're mine.

They're my voice.

Little notes in the growing song of my heart.

The room is quiet, filled with the soft light of late morning and the kind of anticipation you can feel in your bones. Papa kneels across the tatami mat, his arms open wide, his eyes shining with hope. Behind me, Mama steadies my tiny frame with both hands.

"Go on, Hideki," she whispers. "Walk to Papa."

I look at him — at that warm, familiar smile — and something inside me says try.

I lift one foot. It wobbles. My knees shake. But I take a step.

Then another.

And then... a third.

But before I can take a fourth, my balance gives out, and I plop down onto my padded bottom with a soft thud. For a second, I just sit there, blinking at the world. A little stunned.

Then I hear it — laughter, clapping, cheers.

"He walked! Hideki, you WALKED!"

Papa's already scooping me into his arms, spinning me gently. Mama is laughing with happy tears in her eyes, her phone still recording. She says this video will be a treasure — something we'll keep forever.

I don't know what all the fuss is about... but I feel it.

I feel their joy.

I feel their pride.

And I feel something else inside me, something new — like wings spreading just beneath the skin.

Today, I walked.

It's a warm spring morning in our quiet Tokyo neighborhood. Outside, the air smells sweet, and cherry blossom petals drift lazily through the breeze, catching the sunlight like tiny pink feathers.

I toddle beside Mama and Papa on the soft pavement, my steps uneven but determined. My hands wave at everything — at leaves, at passing bicycles, at the clouds themselves.

And then, I see it.

Tama — the neighbor's gray tabby cat — lounging confidently near the wooden gate, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking lazily. To me, she looks like a majestic beast. Untouchable. Mysterious. Magical.

"Kyaa!" I squeal, pointing with excitement.

Our eyes meet. For a moment, it's just me and her.

And then she bolts.

Without thinking, I chase.

My legs wobble, my arms flail, but I'm moving. I bounce forward with wild determination. Papa calls out behind me, laughing. Mama's voice is close too — gentle, but ready to catch me if I fall.

I chase Tama past the gravel path, almost catching her — but with perfect feline grace, she slips under a low garden bench and vanishes.

I stumble forward and land on my hands.

There's a moment of silence...

And then I burst into giggles, clapping like I've just conquered the world.

Papa lifts me up high in the air. "We've got an explorer on our hands," he says, beaming.

Mama kisses my cheek and brushes a petal from my hair.

The wind carries another flurry of blossoms around us.

And as I rest in their arms, breathless and smiling, I feel it again:

That the world is big and full of wonder.

And that every step — every fall, every chase, every giggle —

is another note in the growing song of my heart.

The evening air in Tokyo is cool and still. The window near my bed is cracked open just enough to let the world whisper in — the gentle rattle of a distant train, the soft chirp of a cricket, the faint ring of a bicycle bell somewhere down the street.

I'm tucked into my little futon, my plush shiba inu curled beneath my arm, its fur worn smooth from all the times I've held it close. The scent of freshly washed blankets and tatami fills the room, and I feel warm. Safe.

Mama sits beside me, her legs folded neatly under her, a picture book resting in her lap. I know this one. I love this one. The cover is bright, and the title makes me smile every time:

Peek-a-Boo.

She opens the first page and leans in close, her voice light and playful.

"Peek-a... BOO!"

I burst into a giggle, squealing with joy as she makes a funny face and gives my tummy the tiniest tickle. It's our game — the same one every night — but somehow, it never gets old. I know what's coming, but it still surprises me in the best way.

With each turn of the page, she reads the same familiar rhythm. Her voice becomes a melody, soft and steady. My eyes start to blink slower. My breathing follows the flow of her words.

"Peek-a... BOO!"

I laugh again, but it's quieter now, smaller. My body's growing heavy, sinking deeper into the comfort of my bed. The pictures blur gently, the words stretching like lullabies in the air.

I feel her hand brushing gently through my hair, moving in time with the turning pages. I don't understand every word she says, but I understand how they feel.

Like a warm bath for my heart.

The last page turns. Her voice lowers into a whisper.

"Oyasumi, Hideki..."

She leans down and kisses my forehead — a kiss I swear I can feel even in my dreams. My eyes drift closed, my breathing slows, and I slip quietly into sleep.

And even as I drift away, I carry her voice with me...

Like a song that promises:

I am loved.

I am safe.

I am home.

Sunday morning came with sunlight spilling softly across the floor, golden and quiet. The smell of warm rice and miso soup drifted from the kitchen, where Mama moved gracefully between chores — humming, always humming.

Papa sat at the piano, his back straight, his fingers dancing across the keys. Each note drifted through the air like petals in the wind, filling our small Tokyo home with warmth.

I sat on the tatami mat, clutching my plush shiba inu, watching them.

Mama sang along softly as she folded towels. Papa smiled without even turning, like the sound of her voice guided his hands. They were in sync — like two parts of the same song.

I felt something tug inside me. Like a little string pulling at my chest. So I stood up — still a little wobbly — and toddled across the room, one foot after another, until I reached Papa's lap.

He looked down and chuckled, still playing. "Hideki... are you curious about what Papa's playing, hmm?"

I nodded.

He scooted over a little and gently lifted me onto the bench beside him. The piano looked so big up close. Endless white rows, with mysterious black tabs poking up in between.

"This is called a piano," he said, his voice soft in my ear. "You can touch it."

I reached out, pointing at a white key with my small finger and pressed down—gently. Nothing happened.

Papa laughed a little. "Try a little harder, bud."

Then he took my hand in his — large and warm — and guided my finger down again, pressing firmly this time.

Ding.

A sound.

A real sound.

I gasped.

"That's it!" he said with a grin. "That's music."

He kept holding my hand, helping me press another key. Another note danced into the air.

"You know," he said, smiling over his shoulder, "Mama fell in love with Papa because I used to play this piano for her."

From the kitchen, Mama laughed. "Ahh, don't say it like that, honey!"

Papa laughed too, but kept playing. I looked from his face to the keys. The music. The magic.

I didn't understand what love really meant yet.

But in that moment — sitting between the people who gave me my name, my laughter, and now, my very first note —

I felt it.

A sound that belonged to me.

A song beginning to bloom.