On March 28, 2022, my mother passed away.

 

While it's said that everything is impermanent, the pain is indescribable.

 

The tank top I was wearing on that day can never be washed.

 

This game of heaven and hell, how long will it continue?

 

The DNA of KONMASA wouldn't exist without my mother.

 

The car she left behind was painted pure white for the exterior, its market value reduced to zero.

 

Naming it KONMAMA and riding it until it becomes scrap is my own way of mourning.

 

And when the components of the scrapped car are combined with the tank top I wore on the day she passed, KONMAMA will be complete.

 

By reflecting on the past, we gain new insights; everything is impermanent.

 

Even if this body ceases to exist and breaks free from the cycle of birth, aging, illness, and death, only the empty tank top will carry forward these daily feelings.

 

Even if that continuity is severed, it's still a profoundly beautiful and natural occurrence.