Roam for Hope

I’ve Returned…

Returned to a place that still doesn't seem real. To a place that was annihilated by conflict, and yet that very same place was able to flourish once the bright ash subsided. A place that many would call mythical. However, that is not what is important, as the only question that remains for myself is: why am I still here? I've already settled my affairs in Tokyo, but for some reason I continue to explore this place. Perhaps there is something that I cannot avoid, no matter how much I try. A bond? An oath? Or something metaphysical that isn’t even able to be comprehended? All of which cannot be summarized into words, as it is ultimately a sensation.

“That Shinkansen is quite impressive, isn’t it?” As I walked off the train, the voice beside me was from a man suited to be prim and proper as they are likely on their way to the workplace. He made a small announcement between the two of us, and was full of reserved delight at the ingenuity of the train’s speed.

I took a moment to respond, looking beyond the abled man at the new sights of this city. All new captivating skylines and buildings, as well as to admire the stunning river of well crafted seasonally inspired kimonos entering the train station. With my banal composition, I figured I should respond, since I am still bound to this land of customs and culture.

“Yes…” I remarked simplistically, dull faced, as there was little else to converse in the subject.

“Well, um, take care, ma’am.” The abled man somewhat stumbled over his words as he walked off to his life, seemingly intimidated by my presence.

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Carrying on with my meandering into this mythical land that was once my home, onto the next train ride. A flood of sensations continued to grow within me, a likeness for humanity, a desire for a quiet existence, to feel the land of its simple pleasures… Yet I refuse to smile. There are more sensations within me that are stifling the actions that I know are for the pure. Bitterness, regret, pity, grief, melancholy, disgust. Why am I grasping onto these mind-altering emotions? Some semblance of shame? Self-pity? Am I a fraud? I knew from the start that my involvement would be a pale drop in a sea of violence. There was no reason for me to get involved in such an unwarranted skirmish. Just as there is no reason for me to travel back this far into this land. What I’ve done is a lie, I bring no salvation, My purpose is for that Priestess.

I don’t want these feelings.

“Irasshaimase!” The teashop host promptly announced to me the moment I entered the establishment, bowing with delight. The thankless humility of the people of this place will never fail to bring a sense of belonging. Time and time again, I’ll scoff when other nations lack the same culture of respect and honor for one another.

A remarkably old building. I don’t recall the specifics, but I believe the person that founded this teashop was a samurai from the Heian period. It certainly shows: overly rustic wooden flooring that creaks with nearly every step. The air that can only be described as dense history, with the thick aroma of changeless Bancha. The irony of this tea shop being so old, is how can it be called the same tea shop? When it has been refurbished several times throughout the decades. I digress… I’m somewhat at ease that it hasn’t yet been touched by modernity. Hopefully it will stay that way for a long while.

‘Quite empty.’ I first thought to myself before I took my seat by the window. Once I sat down, I soon hovered my fingers over the handle for the window. Refusing some form of motivation to open the window. A curious urge to want access to the outside air, in spite of the fact that I was just outside. Perhaps it's the weather that’s making me feel this way? Or maybe I just want to smoke.

“Okaerinasai.” Walking to my table was the Hostess of the tea shop, welcoming me back in a calming manner. A middle aged woman that is employed, still able to have a spry and peppy personality in such a tranquil fashion.

“Forgive me, this is my first time at the shop.” I soon corrected her. With a fact that isn’t true, but what’s impressive is that she can recall a face like mine. I’ve been here hundreds of times over the decades, and she’d been here for at least 40 years… I think the last time I visited this place was about 25 or 30 years ago. But she will never need to know that.

“Oh, my apologies.” The Hostess followed with a polite bow. “Your face just looked so familiar.” She added. “Anyhow, what will you have?” She continued.

“Roasted green tea, please… And may I open the window? I’d like to smoke.” I promptly communicated.

“Yes, of course… But a young gal like yourself smokes?” The Hostess remarked, with a slight grin. “I heard that smoking ages your skin faster, you know.” She leaned a little closer to me.

“I can see that being true, but in the meantime, they help me relax.” I remarked, lighting my cigarette. “I might as well make use of them, anyway, I got them when I was overseas. They were handing these out like sweet Senbei.” I mentioned.

“If you ask me, it definitely smells like Gaijin!” One of the other patrons of the tea shop spoke up with their opinion. A mild codger of a man, delicately reading the newspaper.

“Ojiisan! Please, don’t spout your harsh thoughts to the guests.” The Hostess groaned at the elderly man, with almost routine disappointment.

“What? I’m just saying that it’s no Onshi no tabako.” The elderly man opinionated, then flicking his paper to adjust it, with the Hostess went to create my order.

Gaijin… An outsider…? An alien…? A word that describes me, but meant for the non-Japanese. And Onshi no tabako, that really shows his age, not to mention his potential status. I wonder how much he remembers of the Great War? I certainly remember too much.

“Your tea.” The Hostess announced, delicately placing a simply designed tea cup and pot on the table. To then bow with a joyous smile.

The warm scent of the tea quickly took over my senses. A simple, yet undervalued art form. Taking the time to craft the pottery to hold the tea, growing the tea with perfect soil, happily sharing the recipes from generation to generation. It brings a small smile to my face, ever so slightly. I couldn’t help but close my eyes while raising the cup of tea to my nose, for a more intimate test of flavor. What a timeless flavor, as it is a perfect rush for my nostalgic high. This will be the closest thing to time travel that I will ever have. I truly hope that this flavor will remain this way. As long as cultivation stays consistent, and traditions continue to be in the culture. I’m sure it will be fine.

“Hmm, it smells like rain… Likely a calm rainfall.” I mutter to myself, finishing the last drops of tea with the little ember of my cigarette fading in color. A gentle, almost sweet, breeze captured by senses, another timeless scent of the approaching rain. That’s something I’ll never have to worry about changing. As humanity will never have the power to control nature’s force. Manipulate, and abuse, sure, but never control.

Releasing the relaxing flow of tobacco smoke from my lungs, I paid for the tea and a small treat for later, a few Dango. Now, outside of the tea shop, looking over the land, I feel that I should still be smiling. Unfortunately, this bitterness still gnaws within me. Almost forcing me to ignore the little things that can bring me any form of joy, like opening a window for the breeze to usher in that yearly sensation, a charming smoke, or changeless tea.

I want to love it here.

But…

I’ve been reduced to Torment, Tobacco, and Tea. Succinctly a life of mine.

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‘There are dead bodies buried under the cherry trees.’

An excerpt from a rather odd poem often comes to mind around this time of the year, and one that I somehow relate to. Be that as it may, it is a bit of a challenge to pinpoint the exact meaning of the poem. As to why this poem often comes to mind, is from the peak essense of the season, these damned unavoidable flowery trees. For some odd reason, an undeniable, yet brief sigh will escape my mouth, the moment these flowers are in my sight. I’d say that if I had a secure direction to go on, I could have avoided the flower viewing fever. However, I aimlessly wandered my way into the local park in the area that often draws attention for the blooming of the flowers. It was an inevitability I suppose, luckily it is later in the evening so there isn’t a heavy crowd.

My meandering eventually came to another stop. I found a subtle bench to rest on, and at least try to enjoy the sights. Because I do not dislike these flowers… It's just difficult to accurately identify my emotions towards them. A form of gatekeeping perhaps? As their sheer popularity with others who do not appreciate their existence. Or they are purely symbolic reasons.

There’s still so much new here, even the way it all smells. New, but not improved. Likely because of the latest necessary plague on the world, motor vehicles. The smell has changed greatly, there used to be so much forest around this city. Now, hundreds of buildings that morph the movement of the wind, creating a new way of experiencing daily life. No longer will I have the indescribable touch of nature's wind to welcome my lungs with a refined purity while I’m in this city. What’s worse, is that this change is continual throughout the year; as the seasons change so does the originality of what they were.

A silver lining is that the sights have improved in some aspects. The most obvious is the people. So many smiles, so much peace of mind of bright colorful faces. A gift for the eyes to see so many Geisha wandering about, dazzled in their perfectly crafted Kimonos, almost gliding across the sidewalks. Curious and awestriken children running around. The loving beginnings of new families and newborn babies with ruddy cheeks… In all honesty, it somewhat frustrates me as to why seeing these people is such a delight. As to why may be quite apparent for someone like me. This sight may just come from the self-relief that what I was used to was far, far from what is normal. A normality that I hopefully won’t have to experience for a long while. It's hard to ignore how different the world looks when no one is screaming in utter painful suffering, or shouting at the height of their lungs in clear horrors they’ve witnessed… Far from normal. Yet, it was my normal, as for many others, for longer than it should have been.

I am beyond the in between of the young and old. With this magical land that was once my home has clouded my mind with nostalgia, and at the same time, struck me with a strangely misplaced anxiety that is refusing to slow my heart beat. Perhaps it's the weather? Or, the environment I had to return from. Or, the human need for even the faintest connection, so one can be given vague hope of sympathy. Or, the Era that I’m currently experiencing this all in? I’ve never felt this way; the speed in which it is all moving is almost frightening. We’ve had swords for eons, and as if in days the very same tool has transformed into a sun on earth! Within days it seems that more innovations and technologies have changed the scape of this land, more than history’s most powerful Emperor. Within days the world changes, but me and my past remains the same.

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Alone, to the point that the sun finally wants to hide along with the new lanterns for the night life, glowing everyone’s faces to continue their small lives… This is the first time that my heart rate has finally slowed. Sitting alone at this small bench in a park has brought me something that I wish I can describe. The best I can surmise is that it is like a medicine. But that seems a bit far fetched. A supernatural meditation, perhaps? No matter the case, the urge to wander within this land became something I’d never thought I'd need… Something like the rain. Very few ever understand how crucial the rain can be.

A tasteless droplet fell on my lips as I gazed at the night sky, dimly lit by the always welcoming moon. Several passersby looked upward at the sky with their palms open. The foreseeable rain finally came, and as gentle as ever, however, many others didn’t see it that way. The rain is an aspect that people often forget about spring. Without the rainfall of this solstice, there’d be so much less color to show for the rest of the year. Forgetting even the smallest of negatives can lessen the strength of the positive in one’s life. To think that I’ve forgotten something so important… A natural smile finally grew on my face.

“Well… I suppose I’m going to have to plan some yearly trips…”

“To this place I called home.”

“I’ll never forget you.”