Disclaimer:
This is a program arrangement of “Ikanaide,” with a fabricated history—not as an endorsement of the past, but as a fictional tribute to forbidden love, Abrahamic peace, pluralism, and tolerance.
A letter to Diana
My dearest Diana,
I hope you are landing safely in Greece with your boyfriend.
How have you been?
We are living in chaotic times—
Some say, “Sometimes one butterfly can do what a whole army cannot.”
Others say, “With the power of intel, we can protect our community.”
But I believe this:
Sometimes one cat can do what a whole forest of butterfly effects cannot.
My worldview began to change the moment I met you.
When I learned that some people were helping Siberian Poles and abandoned Polish children flee hard times—forgotten by the great wars—I became drawn to a community that wasn’t labeled by the world’s binary of good or bad.
Instead, it was defined by those doing the work of God—
Promoting Abrahamic peace, pluralism, and tolerance in a time that tests every soul.
Then, as if by divine accident, I met you—
just as you were preparing to flee this sorrowful place to see your Greek boyfriend.
I miss you so much.
Do you remember Katya Rahab, also known as Lolita Koroleva from Zeleny Klyn?
She’s probably the sharpest mind in her group.
I’d say she’s a chapter 3 plus, compared to those ignorant new-rich chapter 1s.
Our relationship was twisted…
but my feelings—my admiration toward her—were genuine, even professional.
Out of that feeling, I developed my Mirage concept.
Yes, that mirage revival idea.
And life… life has only grown more twisted since.
Later, I met Rikouran, and for a moment, I was pulled toward music theatre culture.
But in the end, it brought disappointment.
I came to understand:
Music is not a universal language.
It is a bridge to different universes.
Sadly, many try to impose their own musical tongues onto theatre culture
and then declare it “universal.”
At times, a shallow kind of new-rich behavior creeps through music, art, and tech.
All performative.
All for audience counts.
All without purpose.
And in this emptiness, I found only a few people truly special.
For some reason, I thought one of them—someone I met after Lolita—might also have a Greek boyfriend.
You know what I mean. Haha.
A while ago, I found some photos in your abandoned home.
I felt like a thief, trespassing on memory.
I didn’t know that Kusudama was part of your life.
I knew it from childhood, but never gave it the reverence it deserved.
Now, it feels like I stumbled upon something sacred—
a symbol without a clear cultural center,
a spiritual center,
a moral center—
and yet… it felt like all three.
I’ve held onto something secret,
something I no longer know how to return to you.
So may it become our token of promise
for the day we meet again.
Until then, I’ll keep doing the work that is good in God’s eyes.
Do you remember that story of Oz?
I think the scarecrows who have a heart
will always find their way there.
In that case,
we are allies.
And as for those who don’t have a heart—
well, it isn’t our job to understand
who put them there.
As a descendant of black shamans,
I have no fear of scarecrows.
I would rather play barefoot with a cat
than wear a straw sole converted from scrambled scarecrows.
Wherever you are—
I hope you’ve found peace in your place,
and I believe we shall meet again someday
in a world of peace and tolerance.
Until then,
Yours always,Yoshiko
