Who Should I Thank for This? The Gratitude Art Story Born from the MIRAI Coloring Contest

Who, I wonder, gifted me this “miracle”?

One morning,

I suddenly felt a stirring deep within my chest.

Something that hadn’t existed in me until yesterday

began to quietly expand the moment I awoke.

Outside the window, the scenery was the same as always.

Soft morning light shone in,

and quiet air filled the room.

Yet only on that morning,

my heart was trembling just a little, for no reason at all.

Suddenly,

my eyes fell upon a blank white sheet of paper on the table.

Why, I wondered.

That sheet of paper I’d never paid any attention to

seemed to be calling out, asking me to “draw something.”

Without realizing it, I picked up a pen.

Before I could think,

my hand quietly began to move.

The first line was awkward.

“Does this even mean anything?”

“I’m not the kind of person who can draw.”

Those voices of self-doubt

were quietly swallowed up by a small wave of curiosity.

It was mysterious.

With no plan,

just tracing lines as my heart desired,

before I knew it,

something “new” had come into being there.

Deep inside me,

yet unmistakably, a “creative force” had begun to stir.

Where did this power come from?

Was it a gift from someone?

Or had something sleeping deep within me

simply awakened at last?

As I pondered this,

I just kept drawing, lost in the moment.

Anxiety, confusion,

and a hint of excitement.

With each stroke, my heart felt purified,

and it seemed as though the world’s colors grew more vivid, little by little.

Gazing at my very first finished drawing,

my chest grew warm.

The words “thank you”

rose up from within, addressed to no one in particular.

I didn’t yet know what I should be grateful for,

or who I should thank.

But—

“To the ‘something’ that gave me the power to draw.”

“To the ‘invisible someone’ who brought me this miraculous moment.”

…To such a presence,

I wanted to bow my head in heartfelt thanks.

From that day,

my life quietly,

but certainly, began to change.

The beginning

of a “story” I’d never even imagined for myself.

Who should I thank

for that miraculous morning?—

Such thoughts

are still quietly alive within me, even now.

The Days When Art Was Born Within Me

That spring.

A season when the world quietly began to change—

The storm called “corona”

suddenly swallowed up our everyday lives.

In March 2020,

the city’s bustle grew distant,

and the space between people turned into invisible walls.

Only the sound of my own breathing

echoed in the quiet of my room.

Anxiety.

Loneliness.

But,

it was not only those feelings—

there was also a certain clear, transparent stillness,

spreading outside the window,

and deep inside my heart.

At that time,

I felt something quietly rising from deep within my chest.

Something I couldn’t tell anyone,

couldn’t put into words,

but that was definitely trying to be “born here, now.”

I sat down at my desk.

Without thinking about what to draw,

or why I was drawing,

letting my hand move as it wished,

letting my heart guide me,

I let lines run across the blank paper, layering on color.

In that moment,

from the very bottom of my small vessel,

a gentle spring of creative energy began to overflow.

I didn’t need plans, or the right answer, or even a goal.

I simply

traced messages that quietly descended from somewhere in the world

directly into my drawings.

Before I knew it,

every one of my works

quietly included the single character “施 (hodokosu, to bestow).”

It wasn’t my own will,

but rather as if I was gently being guided

by an invisible voice from the universe saying, “Always write this character.”

To bestow—

to share, to circulate,

wishing that light and prayer would reach someone, somewhere.

Into that one character,

I quietly poured my wishes.

From those who viewed my art,

I began to receive quiet words like:

“I don’t know why, but tears came to my eyes.”

“My heart was healed.”

“I felt courage and inspiration well up.”

Gently, little by little,

these voices began to reach me.

From those who placed my art in their homes,

I heard things like,

“My chronic illness eased.”

“The atmosphere at home or work changed.”

“Our company’s fortunes improved.”

Even experiences that words can’t fully explain.

When I think about it,

it all started

on that spring morning when the world stopped—

in the stillness,

when “color” and “prayer” awakened within me.

Even now,

I sometimes look up at the sky,

and softly whisper “thank you” for this mysterious gift.

And again today,

listening to the invisible voice flowing into my heart,

I quietly paint new colors.

To Share Color

As drawing took root within me,

a quiet wish began to bud deep in my heart.

“If only I could share the joy of these colors

with someone else—

surely, the world would become a kinder place.”

How much have I been saved

by the act of drawing?

With every line drawn in the quiet,

every color I laid down,

my heart gently loosened, little by little.

That’s why, this time,

I wanted to quietly offer

the joy of expression and the healing of color

to someone else.

Pushed forward by that feeling,

in December 2023,

I made a small decision.

—to start the MIRAI Coloring Contest

in Japan and Malaysia.

Everything was new to me.

“Will anyone actually participate?”

“Can coloring really connect people in this era?”

Amidst a mix of hope and anxiety,

there was only one thing I truly believed in: The power of color goes beyond words.

As I drew the line art for the coloring pages,

I quietly prayed,

“May someone, somewhere, be able to color their own future with their own colors.”

Before long,

one entry arrived, and then another.

Children from Japan,

families from Malaysia,

even adults who usually stayed far from art—

Works colored by each of their own hands

floated into my world.

Those colors

were more diverse than I could have ever imagined,

and each quietly carried “a story unique to that person.”

And as the seasons turned,

in 2024 we welcomed participants from Indonesia,

and by the third contest in 2025, four countries—

Japan, Malaysia, Indonesia, and India—

Each person colored their own future,

making the contest even wider and warmer.

Across invisible distances,

across countries and languages,

on just a single piece of paper, colors held hands.

That sight

was a miracle far beyond what I had ever imagined.

To share color

is to make small “springs” bloom in the world.

Even now,

I hold close in my heart

all the colors and prayers that reached me during the contest.

Colors Traveling the World

Each time I held in my hands

a work sent from a distant city or country,

I felt a small light kindling deep in my heart.

Colors born from the heart of someone I do not know

crossed seas, crossed time,

and quietly arrived in the palm of my hand.

The coloring contest

was not merely an event.

The joy of choosing colors,

the quiet healing of facing your own heart,

each reflected a person’s “now” just as it was.

It was a time

like a quiet prayer.

Among the works that arrived,

there were colors overflowing with brightness,

gentle pale shades softly layered,

unexpectedly free ideas,

fragments of hope drawn by tiny hands—

Each and every one was utterly unique,

a treasure reflecting that person’s “now.”

The children and families who participated,

friends and strangers who cheered us on via social media,

the team members who helped run things—

Every encounter, one by one,

became a new “connection” woven into my heart.

Sometimes, through art,

I received messages like:

“I found courage.”

“I had so much fun drawing with my family.”

“I couldn’t go outside because of illness, but my heart felt warm.”

Someone’s colors

light up someone else’s heart,

and quietly pass the baton to yet another person.

It was a quiet chain of miracles

that could neither be planned nor intended.

Perhaps this chain

was a “small gift to the world”

disguised as art.

Even today,

as I send my thoughts toward distant skies,

I watch over new colors and new stories

as they journey through the world,

almost as if in prayer.

Daily Prayers and Thanks for the Future

When I wake up in the morning.

When I pick up my paintbrush.

At night,

when I look up at the stars outside my window before falling asleep.

Without even realizing it,

I softly say “thank you” in my heart,

addressed to no one in particular.

That “thank you”

is for someone I have not yet met.

For someone in the future who has not yet been born.

And also,

for the mysterious gifts that have flowed through my own hands—

For inspiration and encounters,

for the “colors” that are born anew each day.

To pray for someone else,

to take joy in small changes within myself,

to simply feel alive on a quiet dawn—

All of these

are forms of “gratitude”

that transcend both past and future and bind us together.

To everyone I will meet from now on,

to the connections yet to be made,

I want to express my thanks in advance.

No matter how modest the day,

even on days when I could only paint with a single color—

Within those days,

there is surely a hidden seed of thanks for someone.

My life is a succession of gratitude.

With a small light of “thank you” shining in my heart,

I greet each new morning.

Epilogue

Thank you so much

for quietly following along with this story up to now.

The colors and prayers I have received,

the baton of “thank you” passed along

by unseen hands—

Perhaps all of these

have quietly reached you,

reading this NOTE now.

If, at this very moment,

you feel like expressing your gratitude to someone—

Then surely,

somewhere in the world,

that feeling is already beginning to spread quietly

as a gentle light.

Even if we can’t see each other’s faces,

even if we cannot put it into words,

the feeling of “thank you” will always reach its destination.

That is the small miracle

I have felt again and again

through my art and through the coloring contest.

For you to be part of this story.

For you to remember it

on a quiet morning.

I hope that

a drop of gentle color

will quietly shine into your life.

Once again today—

thank you.

With that light in my heart,

I begin to paint a new day.