When people are asked to visualize life in Japan, they tend to imagine the stereotypically shy, quiet Japanese person working sleeplessly from Monday through Friday in a small corner of an office. Or they imagine a stressed-out high school student pressured academically by their parents and teachers, sacrificing their social life as portrayed in films. In reality, life in Japan is so much more lively and exciting.
Every corner of Japan is illuminated in spring with the soft orange lanterns representing Hinamatsuri, or the Doll’s festival, which wishes good health and prosperity to all girls. This is followed by the flow of tears and happiness as the streets and parks are flooded with students celebrating their graduation. During these festive spring days, cool breezes brush against my skin and school gates welcoming children with cherry blossom petals, replacing melting snow piles with sprinkles of bright pink confetti and festivity.
Hours later, stepping out of the silence of the school hallway, my eyes shift to the bright lights, miles away: Shibuya, a city of rushing colors, technical advancements and the beating heart of multiculturalism in Japan. One alley may be filled with savory Japanese cuisines, while another may have rows of foreign cafés and eateries.
I recall a time when I visited Tokyo and stepped into the world-famous Shibuya Scramble Square. Just as its name implies, many people with different cultural backgrounds and beliefs are scrambled together to cross the four-way crossing. Getting to the other side wasn’t easy and, though I didn’t know anyone, I had a strange feeling that everyone present was moving around, helping each other to arrive at their destination.
Suddenly, from behind me, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. It is my osananajimi Karina-chan with her big round eyes staring at me with excitement and joy. In Japan, we call people who have been your friend since childhood an osananajimi, which directly translates to childhood friend in English.
“Are you ready?” Karina-chan asks while handing me her spare umbrella, still covered with plastic wrapping. I nod and take another glance at the bright lights and back to my classroom door.
Stepping out of the school gates today feels unusually quiet.
I think to myself.
To my surprise, a blizzard of cherry blossom petals flies rapidly across the empty suburban sky and flutters down to the concrete road, now smooth with the flower carpet. A yozakura (night sakura) carpet. I am mesmerised by the darkness of the night gently illuminating the presence of the small fragile sakura petals, while providing a sense of calmness to the everlasting droplets of rain.
Karina-chan looks at me and carefully whispers, “Have you ever imagined life without such beauty?” Every corner of Japan is different, and it seems like here we got the beauty of nature." I repeat her words: “The beauty of nature."
Mr. Katoh’s Dagashi-yasan (Sweets shop), Mr Saito’s Yaoya-san (Greengrocer’s shop), Mrs Tanaka’s Hon-yasan (Bookstore)... They are hardly recognisable with the bus speeding its way past them to our destinations.
The bus carries me and Karina-chan to our destination while reminding us about our town’s landscape and subtle history. Unlike other towns or villages, my town is simple and tied deeply to tradition. No tall buildings, shopping centres or café. Only traditional Japanese homes, shops with specific professions passed on from parent to child and chashitsus (Japanese tearooms). I know I am meant to be here, in this town left aside by time to stay in the past. But something inside of me tells me to go. To see the world and fly high. The damp farmland sinking into the soil and reuniting with earth. The flourishing bonsai garden softly swaying and gently whispering. My town is a part of me which I will always carry. I know there will be those, like my parents, who will not let me go easily. Leaving my family business is not easy, as it is a part of my identity. Our, or should I say my family’s, koto atelier has always provided the sound of peace and prosperity to all of Japan for the last 300 years of its existence.
As an only child I understand the responsibilities which I hold in my hands.
I watch. I listen.
My ears are overflowing with so many different unfamiliar noises and languages. But in such a confusing scene, I see a ray of sunlight filled with hopes and dreams. To my surprise, I let out a sign of exclamation.
Haneda International Airport, Terminal 2.
Tradition can be carried with me because in my hands, I have the ability to create the sound of beauty and love.
Maybe, the world can come to know the blood, sweat and tears of the past 300 years.
Perhaps my creations can be heard worldwide.
Iroha Nonaka is a writer and student residing in Tokyo, Japan. Growing up in an internationally minded household and community, she developed her love for cultural studies and communication at a very young age. This acted as a starting point for her long-term language studies in Japanese, English and French. This interest also encouraged Iroha to take the opportunity to write her first published flash-fiction piece, ‘Candlelights and Tears’. Other than writing, Iroha enjoys spending time with her family and traveling abroad, seeking new challenges and thrilling adventures.
"Japanese traditional style tea house / CHASHITSU / 茶室(ちゃしつ)" by TANAKA Juuyoh (田中十洋) is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
