Hatsuike: 'I Am Nothing But Barren’' & 'No One To Hear Me'

For a moment, Kaho wanted to leave. In her mind, she’d imagined being the only person in the class. That would have made learning a little easier and less vulnerable. She didn’t want to sign. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Signing always seemed to bring focus onto her, simultaneously making her the center of attention and the object that stood out the most. Still, without fully knowing why, Kaho found herself approaching the seat beside the young man.

Thankfully, a few of the other patients had aides or attendants as well, so hers did not stand out too terribly. The young man seemed to be by himself. Kaho softly slid her chair back and sat at the table.

Darting glances from her eyes and an inhale through parted lips told Shuhei she was uncomfortable in some manner. Maybe she was embarrassed that everyone looked at her when she entered. Maybe she was overwhelmed being around others. No matter what it was, Shuhei didn’t mind sharing the table with her and set his mind to not bothering her as they worked. Just because they were beside one another didn’t mean they had to speak.

As she scooted her chair closer to the table, her aide approached the instructor and whispered something. The instructor nodded and bowed without a word to Kaho, who sheepishly returned the bow.

Then the aide betrayed her by signing that “They had just started…”

Sign language is a fascinating thing. Even though it doesn’t make a sound, it has the ability to detonate the stillness of a room and cast a spotlight onto those using it. Kaho wanted to scream when her aide began to move her hands into the appropriate gestures. As soon as it began, nearly every eye in the room turned to her.

Every eye, except his.

Shuhei saw the aide beginning her hand movements and realized what was happening. In his mind, it piqued a slight curiosity towards the girl. Now her silence thus far made a little more sense. But beyond that, the only feedback he betrayed was the slightest narrowing of his eyes between a few thoughtful blinks.

He never looked at her.

She appreciated that.

Mercifully, the instructor began to speak again, and everyone directed their inquisitive gazes from Kaho and back to their designated task leader. Kaho forgave her aide in her mind and tried to refocus, but embarrassment was still lingering.

This was why she didn’t like crowds. This was why she wasn’t social. No matter what she did to fit in and be normal, there would still always be that first burst of not belonging. Day in and day out. After a lifetime of those moments, she was exhausted. It was easier to avoid them entirely.

Her aide was signing, but Kaho wasn’t listening to the words being conjured in the motions.

Suddenly, she wanted to leave. She wanted to leave this whole goddamn facility. To her absolute confusion, the sting of tears rose in her eyes once more. After so many years of rarely appearing, even in her most intimate, isolated moments, now they decided to rise in her eyes for everyone to potentially see?

“Are you kidding me right now?” Kaho asked her emotions as she blinked the drops away.

But then a simple black container was placed in front of her by a large hand. Kaho blinked once more and realized the young man was giving her the materials she needed.

He’d noticed she was crying. Or at least about to. So Shuhei kept his head down. In a place like this, crying was probably going to happen pretty consistently. It wasn’t his place to interrupt. But she was still there, so he assumed she wanted to participate. Every participant was given a small black container that was about ten inches wide and two inches deep. They were also given two round kenzans, which were circular and lined with dozens of nail-like teeth. Lastly, they were all given a pair of pruning scissors.

Koha’s embarrassment subsided as she watched the hand setting the materials in front of her. Small scars were on his knuckles. Subtle rises showed the veins that overlapped tendons as they flexed and grasped and released. His nails were short, clean, and manicured. He only used his right hand. The bandaged left arm stayed hidden by his side.

Once Shuhei had set out the supplies, he returned to his chair. The instructor was still in her introduction.

“Within ikebana, there are three major schools of thought. Our program follows the Sogetsu school, which embraces creative freedom. It is the youngest major school and has become quite popular for its avant-garde concepts. Since this is an introductory class, we will not be heavily focused on adhering to rules or requirements. This is simply an exercise in learning basic fundamentals…”

That was a lot to sign. Even though Shuhei was focused on his own efforts, the swaying hands beside him were hard to fully ignore. He wondered if it was a one to one translation, or if certain words were omitted for efficiency.

For Kaho, her mind was now calming and she was trying to pay attention.

“Today will be a special ceremony for all of you. Within ikebana, there is a special ritual called ‘hatsuike’, which celebrates the first ikebana arrangement for the year. For many of you, I assume that not only will this be your first arrangement for the year, but for your lives, correct?”

Everyone nodded or agreed. There was a brief delay as the words caught up for Kaho. The instructor politely waited for her to answer. When Kaho received the question, she looked to the instructor and nodded.

With that, the instructor motioned to the myriad plants, flowers, and branches that waited behind her.

“Ikebana prioritizes focusing on the seasonality of existence. Just as wabi-sabi philosophies focus on imperfection and impermanence, so does ikebana. All of these options behind me are from the surrounding region, and are winter blooms or winter reactions. Whatever speaks to you, you may use. Please, stand and come observe what is available.”

Everyone stood, and Kaho followed suit as she finished watching the aide’s translation.

Shuhei stepped behind her and made his way to the display. Dozens of different options awaited them, ranging from thin, dead branches, wisps of tall grass, berries, evergreen leaves, and the occasional red blossom of plants that neither Shuhei nor Kaho recognized.

After a minute of studying the options, everyone was instructed to pick a starting piece.

“Start with just one choice. Ikebana celebrates the Ma of things. That negative space is as equally crucial as what fills it. By embracing that emptiness, we appreciate what is there, and accept what isn’t.”

When the aide had finished signing the summary, Kaho selected a thin plant stem that was almost as long as her forearm. At its end was a single yellowish fruit with four separated leaves jutting from its end.

Beside her, Shuhei sat down holding an elegant, empty branch. All of its color was gone, save for a few pine needles jutting from one solitary extension.

“Ikebana celebrates imperfection. These perceived flaws or shortcomings are the truth of nature. Nothing is perfect. Nothing is always balanced. A branch without leaves and a flower missing petals are part of that truth.”

No one was speaking besides the instructor. Several were observing their choices with sincere introspection. Such intensity did not reach Kaho, who was thus far focused on the artistic composition of her design more than the meaning of the universe it might be conveying. Still, the sensation of the stem in her fingertips was nice. Each leaf at the end was rougher than she expected them to be, and the fruit was extremely light but full of vibrance.

Shuhei was listening to the instructor with moderate interest. He’d never been religious, and spirituality felt more like a cultural norm than a connection to the beyond. Shinto shrine visits were simply something he did because that’s what everyone did. Buddhist temples were welcoming and pleasant, with grand architecture, but that was all. Yet he did find himself wanting to be present with his process, offering the appropriate amount of understanding to the lessons of the leaves and petals.

Without realizing it, his right hand came to rest on the bandage of his left arm as the instructor lifted a pair of scissors from the table.

“Now, with your pruning scissors, please trim whatever you wish from your first selection. There is no right or wrong. And if you feel like you messed up, that is okay. Once you are happy with your cuts, you are ready to place your selection into its kenzan stand.”

Kaho noticed the aide paused ever-so-slightly at this section, especially the word ‘cut’. In truth, she was a little surprised that she was being given a blade of any sort, even if it was scissors. She doubted she was the only self-harmer in the facility, maybe even in this room. Yet at that moment, it seemed like the only red on the tables would be the berries of the selected branches.

Shuhei cut the smallest edge from the end of his branch so that it was the angle he wanted. As he worked, the instructor approached him.

“A branch like that sometimes struggles to stand in the kenzan. If you want, you can select another branch to place as a brace for support, or I can help you press it into your kenzan.”

Kaho’s aide did not translate that portion of dialogue, but Kaho was able to piece together what the muffled discussion was about. The young man replied something, and the instructor bowed then stepped away. As she left, he cautiously pressed the branch into its stand. Only then did he finally raise his left arm so that he could stabilize the branch. Extending his arm fully exposed the inches of bandages, which ran halfway up his forearm. Kaho didn’t mean to look, and she wondered if he’d noticed.

Shuhei hadn’t noticed, but he did assume that by then everyone had seen the wraps so he was unbothered by their exposure. Just like tears, bandages were probably pretty common here.

For Kaho’s cut, she decided to remove a few inches from the end of the stem. Once it was shortened, she realized it was not exactly how she had wanted it to look, but she decided to accept that this wouldn’t be a perfect first composition. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Kaho decided to angle her stem.

“When you are done placing your anchor piece, please return to the table and pick up to five more options. It can be more of the same, or something new, or both.”

Shuhei peeked at his neighbor’s work as he stood. Kaho reached the table and looked at the other options. Several ideas danced in her mind as she debated on what she wanted her final composition to be. It was a nice surprise to find herself legitimately interested in the final product. It was soft, but it was there. Universal truth and inner peace were definitely not going to come to her in that room, but the mere sensation of being even remotely excited about anything was a nice change of pace. For now, that was enough.

Once everyone had made their choices, the workshop continued.

Forty minutes later, their time was up, and it was time to set the scissors down. Through it all, Shuhei had never looked up from his work. Occasionally, Kaho had noticed him pausing to simply sit with his project. Both of them had rotated their bases to get the full perspective of the layout, and now it was done. Kaho rotated her work counter-clockwise to move the main focal point closer to her. Shuhei was still as he sat upright in his chair.

Across the room, six different arrangements told six different stories. Even though the same materials were used throughout, every one of the arrangements was a world apart from its neighbor. Some were vibrant. Some were subdued. Some were heavy at the base. One had only used two choices.

The instructor asked if anyone would like to present their work to the group. Three of the patients volunteered. As they spoke about their concepts and inspiration, Kaho focused on the actual final product, while Shuhei watched their faces as they talked. Neither of them shared.

The hour came to an end, and it was back to the last hour of free time before lunch and counseling. Scissors were returned to their secured locations. Each new arrangement was set to be placed in the hall for this week’s new display. As the others began to shuffle out, Kaho found herself still observing her final project. Her aide paused at the door, waiting.

“I’d like to sit here a little longer, if that’s okay,” Kaho signed.

“Certainly,” the aide signed before bowing and exiting, leaving Kaho alone.

In the end, she had placed the stem at an angle, bending away from the rest of the chosen pieces. All of the other accents were on a separate kenzan. Even though they were all in the same container, the stem with the fruit was by itself, facing away from everything.

When she finally looked up, she realized she was not actually alone. The young man was still sitting beside her. His dark gaze was still on his work, and there was a melancholy heaviness to him now. A soft noise from the instructor loading up containers shook Shuhei from his focus. When he realized the girl was still beside him, he decided to offer a subtle affirmation. Their eyes met once more, and he held up his right thumb in approval.

It seemed genuine.

Kaho smiled and looked at his arrangement. The pine branch was the only tall structure within the container. Everything else was congregated low around the base of the branch. There was no color in his, merely greys and browns of wintry rigidity. It felt lonely.

Kaho dared to engage. Removing her phone, she typed a few words into a note and held it out to him to read.

“Yours is the only one that didn’t use any red or yellow,” Kaho typed.

He smirked his tired smirk once again and extended his hands in a request to respond. When Kaho extended the phone, he made sure to not touch her fingertips.

“Thank you. I feel very colorless this winter. Yours is nice. I like the asymmetrical aspect.”

Kaho read and nodded.

“Does yours have a name? Or, can ikebana have names?” she typed.

His teeth broke through the thinned hint of a smile.

“Well, the Sogetsu school of ikebana embraces creative freedom, so I think they’d be okay with names,” he wrote.

Kaho actually laughed slightly, and Shuhei heard the softest, nearly silent expulsion of air as her lips parted.

“What’s yours called?” Kaho asked.

She noticed he hesitated, almost as though he was embarrassed. Fearing she’d overstepped, Kaho started to type an apology. But his hands raised for the phone.

When he received it, he paused slightly as though thinking, then typed his answer.

“‘I Am Nothing But Barren’”

Though her eyes were lowered to read the screen, Kaho couldn’t stop her gaze from briefly darting to the bandage on his arm as she responded.

“Mine is ‘No One To Hear Me’”

His eyebrows turned upwards and an understanding smile pulled the left side of his mouth up as he returned her phone to her.

She smelled like lavender.

He smelled like trees and fresh linen.

The table seemed smaller now that they were facing one another.

Beside them, the instructor finished repacking their materials.

Both of them remembered there were other souls in the world, and the moment came to an end. Their first ikebana lesson was finished.