It’s been just over a week since I arrived in Japan. This is my third time having the privilege to immerse myself in this country.
Here and now, more than ever, at this very moment it would be a Haiku that would be more than just appropriate to go hand in hand with the above picture. One like Sarah loves so much to write. One that skillfully weaves together all the feelings, all the impressions, the “alienness”, the comfort, the inspiration, the Wanderlust, the Fernweh – of course the laughter too and all the indescribable contrasts of that place over here. In just a few lines of text hopefully. Precise enough to leave ample space between the words for one’s own thoughts and experiences. Whether they stem from personal encounters in this country or, as it was for me for a long time, from a longing for this culture and its uniqueness. My Haiku would probably speak of the pace of life here. How many things are wonderfully slow over here. It would mention the noise and sensory overload, yet highlight how quiet it can be amidst the megacity. And it would conclude that laughter, tears, and Google Translate can overcome many of the numerous cultural and language barriers – not too bad at least.
Or would I choose a completely different Haiku? One that sketches traveling itself. Embracing the unfamiliar, losing control, and a certain level of helplessness. How it’s those – often completely unwanted and undesired – things that lead to discovering oneself anew. And how Japan, time and again, takes you by the hand to deal with all of that…without words. Just so.
I don’t know. And that’s okay.
About the photo: it’s of course a very obvious nod to Sarah’s last post. Once again, a bridge that spans thousands of miles or kilometers and several oceans, illustrating for me how different (everybody’s) paths can be. Literally and figuratively. Concrete, dust, yellow lines, no lines, moss, grass, uphill, downhill, nohill, straight or meandering. Whatever. Here too, as Sarah described in her post last week, it’s walking, wandering, letting myself drift that’s moving my spirit. Reflecting on the past, viewing problematic aspects from new angles, listening deeply to life, imagining and feeling new paths to think, dream and go. The photo was taken in the hinterlands of Arashiyama, the home of Tsukihashi Wataru. I can’t leave him unmentioned. He’s the local yuru-kyara here – a tourist mascot, to whom I feel curiously deeply connected. Tsukihashi Wataru is rather obscure, almost disturbing. Many Japanese cannot decide whether he is cute or repulsive. He is white, looks like a botched ghost, and carries on his back a replica of the locally famous and eponymous wooden bridge. Tsukihashi Wataru has two very special traits. His sensitivity and vulnerability, which he expresses by repeatedly asking politely that, please, no one should walk over his bridge recklessly, because it could not just break the railings but also his heart. And then there’s his characteristic of always being a bit uncertain and unsecure. Generally ending his social media messages with a shy “Sumimasen”, apologizing in advance for whatever might happen or has happened. Nobody knows why he does it but that’s okay as well. He’s quite like me.
Regarding the title of the post: It’s one of my favorite movie quotes from the film “Hanami – Cherry Blossoms” by the female German filmdirector Doris Dörrie. The film deals with themes such as transience, longing, and the unpredictability of life in general. But above all it tells the story of the catharsis of the male main character, who, until the death of his wife, had led a rather narrow-minded yet well-kept existence in rural Bavaria. To overcome his grief, he decides to visit his expatriated son in Tokyo – the place his wife had always wanted to travel to, but which he had always successfully dissuaded her from with statements like the one in the title of this blog post. Only through her death he not only dares but he has to travel far, far away to Japan only to be changed forever…