Satoshi Kon's last words

Trans Makiko Itoh

Satoshi Kon, the director of anime movies Perfect Blue, Tokyo
Godfathers, Millenium Actress and Paprika, as well as the TV series
Paranoia Agent, died on Tuesday, August 24th, 2010 at the age of 46.
(NY Times obituary.) He left behind a rambling but extraordinary
document, which his family has posthumously posted on his blog.
They're the last words of a supremely talented artist who knows he is
dying very soon, with work left unfinished. It's been the talk of the
Japanese internet, and it struck me deeply.
There is no official translation into English of the text, so I have
translated it in its entirety, trying to keep the spirit and tone of the
original. It is indeed rather long and rambling - he wrote it like that. I'm
sure he didn't sit down to outline it before he wrote it. It's not
authorized in any way, and if I receive objections from interested
parties or see a formal translation up somewhere I'll take this down.
(Note: as of April 2012 this hasn't happened, so chances are this is the
only English version you'll ever see.) In any case, these are the words
of a dying artist, waiting for his flight to come and transport him away.
Soon after I posted this translation, it was linked to by many sites
worldwide. Several people translated it into other languages; you can
find a list of the versions I know of at the bottom.
Translation notes:
I've taken the liberty of translating the name of the film he was
working on, Yume Miru Kikai, as Dreaming Machine, since it has no
formal English title.
He often refers to himself in the third person, as Satoshi or Satoshi Kon.
I've left those in there. Otherwise I inserted 'I' 'we' where appropriate.
As you may know, Japanese people don't use pronouns much when
talking about themselves.
Tanabata is an annual event in Japan called the "star festival", normally
a day of joy. Tanabata on Wikipedia.
Madhouse is the name of the animation studio that produced Satoshi
Kon's movies. Official site.
The last sentence, his farewell, in Japanese is (o-saki ni). This is
something people say when they are leaving a place before other
people - if you're going home from the office while people are still
working for instance, you might say o-saki ni shitsurei shimasu (excuse
me for leaving before you). So, he is essentially saying to the reader, "I
have to go now, I'm leaving this world before you."
Added: Further language and cultural notes.
Added: 100 movies chosen by The Dreaming Machine team, one of the
last things he posted.

Added: If you do a translation into another language based on my

English text, please let me know so I can link to you on this page. Links
to versions in other languages are at the bottom of this page.
=====================================
Sayonara (Goodbye)
How could I forget, May 18th of this year.
I received the following pronouncement from a cardiovascular doctor at
Musashino Red Cross Hospital.
"It's the latter stages of pancreatic cancer. It's metastasized to several
bones. You have at the most half a year left to live."
My wife and I listened together. It was a fate so unexpected and
untenable, that the two of us together could barely take it.
I used to honestly think that "I can't help it if I die any day." Still, it was
so sudden.
To be sure, there were some signs. 2 to 3 months before that I'd had
strong pains in several places on my back and in the joints of my legs;
I'd lost strength in my right leg and found it hard to walk, and I'd been
going to an acupuncturist and a chiropractor, but I wasn't getting any
better. So after having been examined in an MRI and a PET-CT and
such advanced machinery, came the sudden pronouncement of the
time I had left.
It was as if death had positioned itself right behind me before I knew it,
and there was nothing I could do.
After the pronouncement, my wife and I researched ways to prolong
my life. It was literally a life or death situation. We received the support
of staunch friends and strong allies. I rejected anti-cancer medication,
and tried to live with a view of the world slightly different from the
norm. The fact that I rejected what was "expected (normal)" seemed to
me to be very much like me.
I've never really felt that I belonged with the majority. It was the same
for medical care, as with anything else. "Why not try to keep living
according to my own principles!" However, as is the case when I'm
trying to create a work [a film], ones willpower alone didn't do the job.
The illness kept progressing day by day.
On the other hand, as a member of society, I do accept at least half of
what society in general holds to be right. I do pay taxes. I'm far from
being an upstanding citizen, but I am a full member of Japanese
society. So, aside from the things I needed to do to prolong my life from
my own point of view, I also attempted to do all the things necessary
to "be ready to die properly". I don't think I managed to do it properly
though. (But) one of the things I did was, with the cooperation of 2
friends that I could trust, set up a company to take care of things like
the measly number of copyrights that I hold. Another thing that I did
was, to insure that my wife would take over any modest assets that I
had smoothly by writing a will. Of course, I didn't think there would be
any fighting over my legacy or anything, but I wanted to make sure

that my wife, who would remain behind in this world, would have
nothing to worry about - and besides, I wanted to remove any anxiety
from myself, the one who was going to take a little hop over there,
before I had to leave.
The paperwork and research necessary for these tasks, which neither
my wife nor I were good at doing, were taken care of speedily by
wonderful friends. Later on, when I developed pneumonia and was at
death's door, and put my final signature on the will, I thought that if I
died right then and there, it couldn't be helped.
"Ah...I can die at last."
After all, I'd been brought by ambulance to the Musashino Red Cross
Hospital 2 days before that; then brought back again to the same
hospital by ambulance the day after. Even I had to be hospitalized and
undergo many examinations. The result of those examinations:
pneumonia, water in my chest, and when I asked the doctor [straight
out], the answer I received was very businesslike, and I was in a way
grateful for that.
"You may last 1 or 2 days...even if you survive this, you probably have
until the end of the month."
As I listened, I thought "It's like he's telling me the weather forecast",
but still the situation was dire.
That was July the 7th. It was a rather brutal Tanabata for sure.
So, I decided right there and then.
I wanted to die at home.
I might inconvenience the people around me, but I asked them to see
how I could escape and go back home. [I was able to do so] thanks to
my wife's efforts, the hospital's cooperation despite their position of
having given up on me, the tremendous help of other medical facilities,
and the coincidences that were so numerous that they only seemed to
be gifts from heaven. I've never seen so many coincidences and events
falling into place so neatly in real life, I could barely believe it. This
wasn't Tokyo Godfathers after all.
While my wife was running around getting things in place for my
escape, I was pleading with doctors "If I can go home for even half a
day, there are things I can still do!", then waiting alone in the
depressing hospital room for death. I was lonely, but this was what I
was thinking.
"Maybe dying won't be so bad."
I didn't have any reasons for it, and perhaps I needed to think like that,
but I was surprisingly calm and relaxed.
However, there was just one thought that was gnawing away at me.
"I don't want to die here..."
As I thought that, something moved out from the calendar on the wall
and started to spread around the room.
"Oh dear, a line marching out from the calendar. Myhallucinations
aren't at all original."

I had to smile at the fact at my professional instincts were working

even at times like this, but in any case I was probably the nearest to
the land of the dead that I'd ever been at that point. I really felt death
very close to me. [But] with the help of many people, I miraculously
escaped Musashino Red Cross and came back home, wrapped up in the
land of the dead and bedsheets.
I should emphasize that I have no criticism of or hatred for Musashino
Red Cross Hospital, so don't misconstrue me.
I just wanted to go home to my own house. The house where I live.
I was a little surprised that, when I was being carried into my living
room, as a bonus, I experienced that deathbed experience everyone is
familiar with of "looking down on your body being carried into the room
from a place high above". I was looking down on myself and the scene
around me from a position several meters above ground, through a
wide-angle-ish lens and flash lighting. The square of the bed in the
middle of the room seemed very large and prominent, and my sheetwrapped body was being lowered into the middle of the square. None
too gently it seemed, but I'm not complaining.
So, all I had to do was to wait for death in my own home.
However.
It seems that I was able to overcome the pneumonia.
Eh?
I did think like this, in a way.
"I didn't manage to die! (laugh)"
Afterwards, when I could think of nothing else but death, I thought that
I did indeed die once then. In the back of my mind, the word "reborn"
wavered several times.
Amazingly, after then my life-force was rejuvenated. From the bottom
of my heart, I believe this is due to the people who helped me; first and
foremost my wife, and my supportive friends, the doctors and nurses,
and the care managers.
Now that my life-force had been restarted, I couldn't waste my time. I
told myself that I'd been given an extra life, and that I had to spend it
carefully. So I thought that I wanted to erase at least one of the
irresponsibilities that I'd left behind in this world.
To be truthful, I'd only told the people closest to me about the cancer. I
hadn't even told my parents. In particular, because of various workrelated complications, I couldn't say anything (to people) even if I
wanted to. I wanted to announce my cancer on the internet and report
on my remaining life, but if Satoshi's death was scheduled, there might
be some waves made, however small. For these reasons, I acted very
irresponsibly towards some people I know. I am so sorry.
There were so many people that I wanted to see before I died, to say
even one word of greeting to. Family and relatives, old friends and
classmates from elementary and middle and high school, the mates I
met in college, the people I met in the manga world, with whom I

exchanged so much inspiration, the people in the anime world whose

desks I sat next to, went drinking with, with whom I competed on on
the same works, the mates with whom I shared good and bad times.
The countless people I was able to know because of my position as a
film director, the people who call themselves my fans not only in Japan
but around the world, the friends I'd made via the web.
There are so many people that I want to see at least once (well there
are some I don't want to see too), but if I see them I'm afraid that that
the thought that "I can never see this person again" will take me over,
and that I wouldn't be able to greet death gracefully. Even if I had
recovered, I had very little life force left, and it took a lot of effort to
see people. The more people wanted to see me, the harder it was for
me to see them. What irony. In addition, my lower body was paralyzed
due to the cancer spreading to my bones, and I was prone on my bed,
and I didn't want people to see my emaciated body. I wanted most of
the people I knew to remember me as the Satoshi that was full of life.
I'd like to use this space to apologize to my relatives, friends and
acquaintances, for not telling you about my cancer, for my
irresponsibility. Please understand that this was Satoshi's selfish desire.
I mean, Satoshi Kon was "that kind of guy". When I envision your faces,
I only have good memories and remember (your) great smiles.
Everyone, thank you for all the truly great memories. I loved the world
I lived in. Just the fact that I can think that makes me happy.
The many people that I met throughout my lifetime, whether they were
positive or negative, have helped to shape the human being that is
Satoshi Kon, and I am grateful for all of those encounters. Even if the
end result is an early death in my mid 40s, I've accepted this as my
own unique destiny. I've had so many positive things happen to me
after all.
The thing I think about death now. "I can only say, it's too bad." Really.
However, even though I can let go of many of my irresponsible actions
[by not telling people], I cannot help regretting two things. About my
parents, and about Madhouse [founder] Maruyama-san.
Even though it was rather late, there was no choice but to come clean
with the whole truth. I wanted to beg them for forgiveness.
As soon as I saw Maruyama-san's face when he came to see me at
home, I couldn't stop the flow of tears or my feeling of shame. "I'm so
sorry, for ending up like this..." Maruyama-san said nothing, and just
shook his head and gripped both my hands. I was filled with
thankfulness. Feelings of gratitude and joy, that I'd been lucky enough
to work with this person, came over me like a landslide. It may be
selfish, but I felt as though I had been forgiven in that instant.
My biggest regret is the film "Dreaming Machine". I'm worried not only
about the film itself, but about the staff with whom I was able to work
with on the film. After all, there's a strong possibility that the
storyboards that were created with (our) blood, sweat and tears will

never be seen. This is because Satoshi Kon put his arms around the
original story, the script, the characters and the settings, the sketches,
the music...every single image. Of course there are things that I shared
with the animation director, the art director and other staff [members],
but basically most of the work can only be understood by Satoshi Kon.
It's easy to say that it was my fault for arranging things this way, but
from my point of view I made every effort to share my vision with
others. However, in my current state I can only feel deep remorse for
my inadequacies in these areas. I am really sorry to all of the staff.
However, I want them to understand, if only a little bit. Satoshi Kon was
"that kind of guy", and, that's why he was able to make rather weird
anime that was a bit different. I know this is a selfish excuse, but think
of my cancer and please forgive me.
I haven't been idly waiting for death, even now I'm thinking with my
weak brain of ways to let the work live even after I am gone. But they
are all shallow ideas. When I told Maruyama-san about my concerns
about "Dreaming Machine", he just said "Don't worry. We'll figure out
something, so don't worry."
I wept.
I wept uncontrollably.
Even with my previous movies, I've been so irresponsible with the
productions and the budgets, but I always had Maruyama-san figure it
out for me in the end.
This time is no different. I really haven't changed.
I was able to talk to my heart's content with Maruyama-san. Thanks to
this, I was able to feel, at least a little, that Satoshi Kon's talents and
skills were of some value in our industry.
"I regret losing your talent. I wish that you were able to leave it for us."
If Madhouse's Maruyama-san says that, I can go to the netherworld
with a little bit of self-pride after all. And of course, even without
anyone else telling me this, I do feel regret that my weird visions and
ability to draw things in minute detail will be lost, but that can't be
helped. I am grateful from the bottom of my heart that Maruyama-san
gave me the opportunity to show the world these things. Thank you, so
very much. Satoshi Kon was happy as an animation director.
It was so heartbreaking to tell my parents.
I'd really intended to go up to Sapporo, where my parents live, while I
was still able to, but my illness progressed so unexpectedly and
annoyingly fast that I ended up calling them on the telephone from the
hospital room as I was closest to death.
"I'm in the late stages of cancer and will die soon. I was so happy being
born as a child to you, Father and Mother. Thank you."
They must have been devastated to hear this out of the blue, but I was
certain I was going to die right then.
But then I came back home and survived the pneumonia. I made the
big decision to see my parents. They wanted to see me too. But it was

going to be so hard to see them, and I didn't have the will to. But I
wanted to see my parents' faces one last time. I wanted to tell them
how grateful I was that they brought me into this world.
I've been a happy person. Even though I must apologize to my wife,
my parents and all the people that I love, that lived out my life a bit too
faster than most.
My parents followed my selfish wishes, and came the next day from
Sapporo to my house. I can never forget the first words out of my
mother's mouth when she saw me lying there.
"I'm so sorry, for not bringing you into this world with a stronger body!"
I was completely speechless.
I could only spend a short time with my parents, but that was enough. I
had felt that if I saw their faces, that it would be enough, and it really
turned out that way.
Thank you, Father, Mother. I am so happy that I was born into this
world as the child of the both of you. My heart is full of memories and
gratitude. Happiness itself is important, but I am so grateful that you
taught me to appreciate happiness. Thank you, so very much .
It's so disrespectful to to die before ones parents, but in the last 10
plus years, I've been able to do what I want as an anime director,
achieve my goals, and get some good reviews. I do feel regret that my
films didn't make a lot of money, but I think they got what they
deserved. In these last 10 plus years in particular I've felt as though
I've lived more intensively than other people, and I think that my
parents understood what was in my heart.
Because of the visits by Maruyama-san and my parents, I feel as
though I've taken a big burden off my shoulders.
Lastly, to my wife, about whom I worry the most, but who has been my
support until the end.
Since that time-left pronouncement, we drowned ourselves in tears
together so many times. Every day was brutal for both of us, physically
and mentally. There are almost no words for it. But the reason why I
was able to survive those difficult days was because of the words that
you said to me right after we received the news.
"I'll be at your side [run with you] until the end."
True to those words, as though you were leaving my worries in the
dust, you skillfully directed the demands and requests that came
rushing towards us like a landslide, and quickly learned how to take
care of your husband. I was so moved, watching you deal with things
so efficiently.
"My wife is awesome."
No need to keep saying that now, you say? No no. You are even more
awesome now than you ever were - I truly feel this. Even after I have
died, I believe that you will send Satoshi Kon to the next world with
grace. Ever since we got married, I was so wrapped up in "Work, work"

that I was only able to spend some time at home after the cancer such a shame.
But you stood close to me, you always understood that I needed to
immerse myself in my work, that my talent was there. I was happy.
Truly happy. During my life, and as I wait for death, I just can't express
my gratitude to you enough. Thank you.
There are so many things, countless things, that I worry about, but
everything needs an end. Lastly, to Doctor H who agreed to see me to
the end in my home, even though it's something not done these days,
and his wife and nurse, K-san, I would like to express my deepest
gratitude. Medical care in a private home is very inconvenient, but you
patiently dealt with the numerous aches and pains that cancer brings
on, and endeavored to make my time until the final goal called death
be as comfortable as possible. I can't say how much you helped me.
And you didn't just deal with this difficult and arrogant patient as if it
were just your jobs, but communicated with me as human beings. I
cannot say how much of a support you were to me, and how much you
saved me. I was encouraged by your qualities as human beings several
times. I am deeply deeply grateful.
And, this is really the last thing, but from shortly after I received that
pronouncement in mid-May until now, I've been lucky to have the
cooperation, help and mental support, both personally and in business,
from 2 friends. My friend T, who has been a friend since high school
and is a member of KON'Stone Inc, and producer H, I thank you both
from the bottom of my heart. Thank you so much. It's hard for me with
my measly vocabulary to express my gratitude adequately to you both.
My wife and I have both received so much from you.
If you two hadn't been there for us, I am sure that I'd be anticipating
death while looking at my wife here as she sits by my side with
considerably more trepidation and worry. I am really in your debt.
And, if I may ask you for one more thing - could you help my wife send
me over to the other side after my death? I'd be able to get on that
flight with my mind at rest if you could do that for me. I ask this from
my heart.
So, to everyone who stuck with me through this long document, thank
you. With my heart full of gratitude for everything good in the world, I'll
put down my pen.
Now excuse me, I have to go.
Satoshi Kon